Or at least create it.
It’s a hotbed of gossip and chaos in Burrrsk, and apparently, I’m exactly what Chase accuses me of being: the ringleader.
Just because a girl sits naked in a sauna and occasionally nods at the conversation around her—mostly to keep her head from filling with fog—doesn’t mean she endorses the torrid affairs of others.
Apparently, that’s exactly what Ulia was having. One version of the story is that a tall, handsome ferryboat captain from Khabarovsk whisked her away at the first sign of spring. Another story says she’s upriver, sailing to the mouth of the Amur with a salmon fisherman.
The only thing we know for sure is that no one has seen her. And that she took off with her all the cash she’d earned from the sale of her birchbark crafts.
I’m sitting in the steam room, listening to the women assail their husbands, sure that I shouldn’t say a word.
“Misha says I can’t go to the community center anymore,” says tall, thin Anya.
“So does my husband,” says another woman. “And I was planning on remodeling our kitchen.”
I wonder what that looks like without plumbing…
“Igor took all my money and hid it.”
I purse my lips at the words.
“What should we do, Dzhozhy?”
You’re asking me? I shake my head. I’m the last person who has answers, given my own crumbling marriage. Chase has practically moved in with Anton, although he slinks in every night like a jackal. I haven’t seen Nathan in two weeks, and I’m dearly hoping that he didn’t rap on the door looking for shelter and get a coal shovel to the head.
No, Chase wouldn’t do that. Would he?
“I don’t know,” I finally mumble, because everyone has fallen silent.
“Are you going to leave Chase?” a voice pipes up from the back.
“Of course not!” My tone is stronger than the question deserves, but I wouldn’t think of leaving Chase.
Or running home to Berglund Acres, where I’m loved.
Accepted.
And where there are flushing toilets.
“I’m not leaving Chase,” I repeat quietly. But I wish the words didn’t feel so far away, so outside my body.
“But you love Nathan, don’t you?”
These words, from Olya, shock me.
“Of course not,” I say with surprise. I mean, I love him like a brother or a friend. I breathe in the thick air, turning over my memories. It’s true that Nathan makes me laugh. And he listens to me. And compliments me. And he’s smart and full of wisdom and knowledge. Of course I like him.
“We saw the way he looked at you at the Women’s Day celebration. He had his arm around you,” Anya says.
“He picks up your kids at detski-sod.”
“And he’s here more than he’s ever been since you showed up.”
“I think he’s cute.”
Oh, that’s helpful. But as I listen, I see their point. From all outward appearances, it does seem as if Nathan and I have a little…something. I close my eyes, and the truth rushes in. Maybe I did enjoy his visits more than I should have. Maybe I enjoyed his attention, appreciated that he saw me, listened to me, enjoyed my children. I let him open a door that should have stayed locked. Maybe that’s what H was trying to tell me.
Oh, Chase.
I wince, remembering the hurt in his voice and eyes.
“I think you need to be like Sophia and follow your heart,” Anya says.
I am not Sophia and I don’t live in a soap opera. Anymore.
“I’m not leaving Chase,” I say again, and this time the words come from clarity and settle inside.
“What about the business? They can’t just take that away from us, can they? It’s our future,” Olya says, sounding panicked.
I glance at her through the curtain of my wet hair. I feel like I’m in grade school. Boys against girls.
Except, somehow, we all have to win.
I get up, step out, take the cold plunge before I lose my nerve and then hit the showers.
Lord, please help me fix this.
God must be on Chase’s side. (After careful examination, I wouldn’t blame Him. I do look guilty. But He knows my heart, right? I just had a little issue with boundaries.) It’s so utterly unfair that I find Nathan on my doorstep when I get home, his duffel slung over his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, looking around to see who might be watching. Suddenly I feel like I’m naked and running down the center of the street screaming, “Adulterer! Adulterer!” I feel dirty. And sneaky. “Chase is going to be here any minute!”
Josey, you are making it worse. Please, mouth, stop.
“So?” Nathan smiles at me.
Perhaps I imagined his feelings for me. Or maybe he’s just a giant faker. I narrow my eyes at him.
“You don’t care that Chase is about to come home…and…” What, interrupt us? There is nothing to interrupt!
“Is this a game? Is it Chase’s birthday? Did I forget a surprise party?” Nathan asks, confused.
Oh, good grief. “Where have you been for the last two weeks? I thought you’d been buried in a potato field.”
“Huh?” Nathan slides the duffel down off his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He peers at me like he can see deep inside my soul and identify the alien that has taken possession of my body. Josey, are you in there?
“Stop it. Don’t pretend like you have no idea what’s going on.”
He raises his hands, as if in surrender. “Okay, you got me. I’ll stop pretending and say it right out. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lowers his hands and shrugs.
Now it’s my turn to peer deep inside.
“What is it, Josey?”
I shake my head in disgust. “You haven’t a clue that the entire town thinks we’ve been having an affair and that Ulia left Anton because of it?”
He actually turns a little white.
Clearly he didn’t have that clue.
“What?” he says, and there’s something wrong with his voice. He takes a step back from me, like I’m emanating some toxic gas.
“Oh, stop. Like you haven’t been super nice to me, complimenting me, and bringing me flowers and a turkey and making me dinner—”
“I’m staying on your sofa, for crying out loud. What’s a guy supposed to do to show his thanks?” But his color hasn’t returned.
“And what’s with the ‘you’d make a great pastor’s wife’ line? I’m not married to a pastor!”
“But you should be!”
His frustrated tone stops me in my tracks. He shakes his head, dialing his voice back to normal. “I mean Chase. Chase should be a pastor. He has it in him—the desire to help and to change lives—and I think all this frustration over the past year is telling him exactly that.”
I blink at him.
“And it’s not every man who has a woman like you who would be willing to sacrifice and minister to people who live way out in places like Siberia.”
See, it’s statements like these that get us in trouble. I don’t know whether to strangle Nathan or thank him.
“And I should know,” he says, looking away from me. “My fiancée broke it off with me when she found out God had called me to be a missionary in Siberia.” His voice is tight, and when he looks back at me, I see pain in his eyes. “Chase is a lucky man. I would be the last guy in the world to mess that up.”
Oh.
“In fact, the reason I’ve been up here so much is…well, I’ve been seeing someone.”
He’s turning red now, and I can’t help an instant flare of annoyance. I live to play matchmaker, and here he found someone right under my nose? Without my help? “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I’m sorry I…damaged our friendship. And put you and Chase on the skids. And made you feel uncomfortable. And made the whole town believe a lie. I was just trying to encourage.” He picks up his duffel and slings it back over his sho
ulder.
Oh, Nathan.
But I don’t stop him as he walks past me, and I stand there in the mud long after he’s gone.
Chapter Eighteen
A Blank Slate
The house is quiet when I enter. Chase agreed to pick up the kids from detski-sod, and I only hope he hasn’t forgotten.
The hum of the furnace fills the house. Chloe’s kitties are taking a nap on the sofa. Justin has left a toy car on the television set. I go into my bedroom, pull up a pillow and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Now what, Lord?
Humble, gentle, patience, peace.
Yeah, I’m real pastor’s-wife material. Brought real peace to this little community. I’m just a stellar example of tranquillity and homemaking.
I put the pillow over my mouth to stifle the scream I feel building inside.
But what were my choices, exactly? Throw myself over the threshold and demand we return to Gull Lake? Or follow my Vagabond Hero to the far reaches of the world for yet another adventure?
Can you fix this, Lord?
I roll over, and there it is, evidence that I have it all together. My Bible, with the bookmark in Ephesians where it’s been for, oh, say, four months?
I sit up and open it to where I left off.
My eyes fall on Ephesians 5. You know what I’m talking about. The Submission chapter.
Perfect. Submission is what got me into this mess. It was Chase’s idea to invite Nathan into our lives.
Chase’s idea to let him cook.
And Chase gave his thumbs-up to me helping Nathan with the women’s Bible study.
So I was a willing accomplice. Another perspective might say I was submitting.
I’m starting to think that perhaps I’ve misunderstood all this submission stuff. Maybe it’s not about going along with everything that enters my beloved husband’s head.
I track back to the Humble verse and read Ephesians 5:1-2. “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”
I stare at the verse for a moment and suddenly I see. Live a life of love, just as Christ loved us.
The win-win.
Because maybe this isn’t about who will surrender and who will dominate, but rather about finishing the race together, side by side.
I must be on to something because I flip back to the submission verse and discover that the amplified words say, “Adapt yourself to your husbands, as a service to the Lord.”
As a service to the Lord.
Don’t know why I missed that earlier.
But I see it now and I realize what I have to do.
I slip to the floor, kneeling beside the bed. It’s not often I find myself here, and perhaps that’s part of the problem.
“Lord, I’ve made a mess of things here, but you know I didn’t mean to. However, I want to serve you. And if that means serving Chase, then I’ll do it.” I take a breath. “Help me to see Chase and love him the way you do.”
I hear the door opening, someone calling my name.
I meet Olya at my bedroom door. She’s sweaty and breathing hard. She doubles over and clutches her knees. “Dzhozhy, come quickly!” She stands up and grabs my hand. “The community center is on fire!”
As we run up to the community center, the fire practically growls as it licks up the sides of the building and rolls over the top. Sparks spit from the flames and fly over the heads of the onlookers. The gray dusk of the night is lit up like high noon as flames pour out of windows and twine into the sky.
“Where are my kids?” I look over to the detski-sod yard, but it’s empty. I see others—Misha and Anya’s two children are huddled in fear around their legs. Where’s Maya? What if she’s inside?
“Have you seen Maya or Chase?” I direct my question to Vasilley, who is standing near me in the crowd. He looks at me with incomprehension, but I see relief wash over him when he realizes Olya is right behind me.
Anton is standing away from the crowd, in the street, his hands in his pockets. Watching.
I turn back to the fire, a sick feeling in my gut. All our hard work in cinders. All the hopes and dreams of the women, of the village, turned to ash.
I stalk over to Anton. “How did this happen?”
He lifts a shoulder and I suddenly want to send my fist into his face. This is no time for humble. Or gentle.
“Anton, I swear, if you know anything—”
“Josey!”
I turn and see a blackened-faced Chase running toward me. Tears, probably from the smoke in his eyes, run down his face. His jacket is smoky black, and he’s covered in mud. “I can’t find Chloe!”
I stare at him for what seems like a long moment. I can’t seem to process his statement. “You…Where did you last see her?”
He is wild-eyed. “We came out of the community center, and I told her and Justin to stay by the fence—”
“You didn’t stay with her? She’s three!” I take off, running toward the blaze, but it’s so hot it pushes me back.
Chase catches me around the waist. “Maya was with her! But she ran away from her—”
I hit his shoulder and yank his arm off my waist. “Maya!”
I see her, holding Justin by the hand, tears running down her face, mesmerized by the flames. “Maya! Where’s Chloe?”
She looks at me, but her eyes are vacant. I remember that this isn’t the first fire she’s been through in her life.
Oh, God, help us all.
“Chloe!” I scoop up Justin as I run toward the detski-sod.
Please, God, just keep her safe, wherever she is.
The blaze is burning bright as I hurdle the knee-high fence encircling the play-yard. I hear breath behind me and then Chase passes me. “Chloe!”
Where would she go when she’s afraid? My mind spins…
Lord?
The playhouse. She loves the playhouse. I turn toward it and see that Chase is already there. He’s on his hands and knees, crawling inside.
I hear her voice and it turns my knees weak. “Daddy!”
Chloe.
Chase pulls her out, and her arms are tight around his neck, her legs around his waist. His face is buried in her soft blond curls.
I’ve reached them now, and Chase looks up, grabbing me and Justin and pulling us to him.
For a second, we just breathe relief. Then we move apart. We both look closely at Chloe, scanning up and down as if assessing for damage. “Are you okay?” Chase asks her.
Chloe nods.
He’s the one who looks like he’s walked through Hades. “What happened to you?”
He shakes his head, wraps one arm around me and Justin and holds me close again. He’s still shaking a little. “I’m really sorry, GI.”
I nod, but can’t find any words. He takes my hand in a death grip and we walk back to the crowd watching the blazing community center. The fire takes down the front wall with an explosion of flame and sparks. “Why isn’t anyone putting it out?”
“They don’t have a fire department.”
I stare at him. “So if something catches fire, it just burns down?”
“You found her!” Maya runs up and takes Chloe from Chase, hugging her tight.
Chase gives me a grim look. “I tried to rescue some of the crafts.”
I blink at him, trying to wrap my mind around his words. He must see my confusion.
“After I got the kids out, I went in and tried to save a few boxes.” I see now the sweat on his face and realize he wasn’t crying but perspiring from the fierce heat. “I’m so sorry. All your hard work, destroyed.”
In the face of that huge fire, he tried to salvage the village livelihood. Maybe, in fact, the man does have the heart of a pastor.
And when he thought Chloe was gone, he had the heart of a father.
Just like that, I see it. The long hours spent listening to the elders talk about thei
r lives. The disgusting vodka he consumed (or not) so Vasilley would invite him hunting. The days he picked up the kids at detski-sod and made me soup. Even my beautiful, sweet-smelling outhouse. All Chase, trying to love me, to love others.
“It’s okay about the crafts, Chase,” I say quietly. “I was going to close the business, anyway.”
He looks down at me, pain on his face. “Because of my stupidity?”
“No. I mean, I wouldn’t call it—”
I’m interrupted by Anton. “There she is! Arrest her!”
For a second, the voice yanks me back to a place in my past and I stiffen. Me? I didn’t do it!
But Anton strides past me and grabs Maya’s arm. “She set the fire!”
Behind him are the locally appointed militia officers, looking at one another, not sure what to do.
Maya yanks her arm free, rage and fear in her voice. “What? I didn’t set this!”
“Where were you this afternoon when the fire started? I checked with your preschool—they said you left early.” Anton’s voice is low, and it contains enough hatred to prickle my skin.
The memory of the night Maya showed up at my house, bloodied and afraid, rushes at me and I stare at Anton, horror creeping up my spine.
Who, really, was having the affair—Ulia or Anton? Something dark grips my stomach, twists it.
It’s not my place to make accusations, but I do know who is innocent here. “Maya didn’t do this.” I glance at her, stepping closer. She meets my eyes with surprise. “Maya wouldn’t do this.” That much I know.
“What do you know about this?” He refers to Maya with a bad word, one that even I know. I feel slapped. “She probably killed her husband, too.”
I hear myself gasp, and all possible retorts vanish from my open, speechless mouth. Maya goes pale and shakes her head.
“She didn’t do it, Anton.” The voice comes from behind Maya, and it’s one I know, one I’ve come to recognize without looking.
Ulia shoves her hands into the pockets of a green army coat. I barely recognize her in a scarf and jeans. “You know she didn’t set this.”
Get Cozy, Josey! Page 21
