“Halya, calm yourself. It is not a punishment. The trip to Volin could well be the greatest opportunity of my career. Don’t you understand, Halya, the Czar chose me to represent him, his own emissary, to the Cossacks. I’m to have the privilege of handpicking the horses from the Cosars! It’s an honor, Halya, and one I am proud of,” he said excitedly, his handsome face beaming. “Be proud of me. Of all the men he could have chosen, he selected me.” Enthusiasm burst from his whole being, culminating in his handsome face, his grin emphasizing the deep cleft in his chin.
Halya was shocked at his words. Indebted to the Czar for sending him on a mission that could be extremely dangerous! She must get through to him and make him understand how dangerous and unpredictable the Cossacks were.
“If I do all that is asked, this could be the beginning of a great career for me. Both of us should be pleased that the Czar chose me. Halya, do you see . . . ?”
“Yuri, stop it. He’s using you. Ivan never does anything without some insane reason behind it. Why can’t I make you see? There are older, more responsible men than you, and far more capable of handling this mission, and that is what concerns me. Why is he sending a boy to do a man’s mission?”
“Are you saying you have no faith in me?” Yuri asked angrily.
“It’s Ivan I have no faith in. I know you will do well and I wish you well. It’s just that I feel so protective toward you and I want nothing to go wrong. You’re all I have and I don’t want to lose you,” she cried tearfully.
“You won’t lose me, Halya. When my mission is completed I think we should ask permission to travel to Moldavia to see our parents. Would you like that?” he asked, hoping to divert her from her unhappy thoughts.
“Of course I would, and I’ll look forward to it. Godspeed, Yuri.”
“I leave at dawn, Halya, so let this be our temporary farewell. I want you to spend your time thinking about how happy our parents will be to see us. Promise me, Halya, that you will not worry about me, for if you do, then I will not be able to function with a clear head.”
“You have my promise,” his sister said, throwing her arms around Yuri and smothering him with wet kisses.
As she ran to her room she cried over and over, “If it’s the last thing I do, if it takes my last breath, you’ll pay dearly, Ivan, for what you’re doing to my brother. Yuri is all I have and you’re taking him away from me, just as I was taken from my one true love to be brought here to be your mistress.”
Inside her room, with the door bolted, she threw herself on the bed and cried brokenheartedly. Later, when she dried her tears, her face was cool and composed. Looking in the mirror, Halya spoke slowly and distinctly. “If anything happens to Yuri, I will kill you without a second thought!”
Chapter 3
Katerina lay in the middle of the fluffy pedina and delighted in the warmth the goose-down quilt exuded. Warmth, precious warmth. “God, I thought I would never be warm again,” she sighed. For now, she had the comfort of the soft quilt, her home, and the fire burning in the oven. She felt safe and protected with the devoted Prokopoviches, Stepan’s parents. This was what she wanted, and what she needed, this secure feeling. Here in her own bed, the Mongol couldn’t reach her. All he could do was invade her mind. In her bed, in her house, he couldn’t reach out his long arms and touch her, nor ravage her as he had on the steppe. Here, in her room, she was Katerina Vaschenko; on the steppe, she had been an animal taken by another animal, a wild, ferocious animal. “It’s over, I’m alive and it’s over,” she whimpered as she buried her head in the pedina. “On the outside I’m no different than I was when I rode from the mountains. No one will ever know what happened to me unless I tell them. I’m still the same. Then why do I have trouble looking in the mirror? Why can’t I look at myself? Why do I feel that somewhere, somehow, the Mongol will find me again? Will he be the hunter and I the hunted? Will he be the fox and I his prey? If he catches me, will he devour me as he did on the steppe? God, help me,” she sobbed again. “Make me forget, make me the same as I was before. Help me!”
She was fully awake, but she stayed beneath the pedina, unable to leave its warmth, as she remembered the last two days and that cold, vicious night. Katerina let her arms creep above the cover, and at the first touch of the chill air against her bare flesh, she quickly snuggled down into the depths of the soft comforter.
Her hazel eyes focused on a closed shutter where light was seeping through a crack. Her thoughts began to drift, and the Mongol again began to take them over. Katerina fought him, pushed him away as she had in the snow. “I won’t allow you to . . . I won’t let this happen. I’ll think of other things, things that please me and make me happy. I’ll think of the steppe when I was a little girl, and my father. My father and me . . .” It was working. For now, she was a five-year-old running through the high grass of the plain. She saw herself playing in the fields of flowers that grew there: pale blue, indigo, and lilac cornflowers, the yellow broom and the white meadowsweet. Millions of blossoms that turned the vast expanse into a shimmering, waving ocean of breathtaking color. In her mind, she became a bird taking wing, soaring to the heavens and looking down from the sky, reveling in what God had created.
Not until she was full grown and seated upon her horse was she able to see the great distances the grasslands covered. Every Cossack on the steppe knew the flower stalks grew taller than any child and the high grasses could swallow up a man on his horse so he became invisible to the naked eye.
As a child, Katerina loved playing in the fields. Vague images of her mother looking for her as she hid came floating back. Hard as she tried, she could not see her mother’s face. If only she were alive. But she had been killed by invading Poles soon after Katerina’s fifth birthday. They had cut down her mother and older brother as if they were sheaves of wheat. If they were alive, they would be with her in the mountains and she would be . . . safe. Just the thought of that word, and the Mongol wove his way vividly into her mind. Katerina shook her head fitfully to clear his hateful face from her tortured mind. Her eyes drifted to the wooden icon hanging on the rough plank wall. She prayed silently, the familiar words giving her some small measure of comfort.
You must get up, an inner voice whispered. You’ve got to keep busy. You must work so there is no time to think. And when your body cries out for rest, then you will sleep. In sleep, you’ll be able to forget.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Katerina slipped from the cozy bed and dressed hurriedly. She splashed water on her face from the wooden bowl that Stepan had placed near the hearth and felt ready to confront whatever the day would bring. Woolen underclothing, a wide-sleeved Cossack blouse, snug-fitting trousers, and fleece-lined boots would keep her warm, yet would not hamper her while she worked. Satisfied with her appearance, Katerina left the crackling fire and started the short walk to the Prokopoviches’ house.
Stepan waited impatiently, his round blue eyes full of concern. Katerina was late. Breakfast, always served at the first sign of dawn, had been over two hours ago. His round, childish face puckered up in thought. Should he go after her and make sure she was all right?
He turned to his mother, who was standing near the oven, and waved his arms in agitation.
Olga Prokopovich placed the ladle she held in a heavy wooden bowl and looked fondly at her son. She shook her head, jostling a strand of dark hair loose from under her kokoshnik. “She’s tired, Stepan. She’s probably still sleeping.” Olga laid her head in the crook of her arm and closed her eyes, demonstrating, so the boy would understand. She laid a plump hand on his muscular arm and looked up at Stepan with twinkling blue eyes. “Put the bowl and the cup on the table for Katerina,” she said, hoping to take his mind off the time. Stepan nodded happily. Olga’s glance met her husband’s, and they smiled. How they loved this man-child. In their opinion he was as strong as any Cossack fighter. He was their son and they loved him unashamedly.
A cold draft of air swirled and eddied about as K
aterina entered the room, stamping the snow from her boots. “I know I’m late, but Stepan’s fire was so warm I couldn’t bear to leave my bed,” she said, as she tousled the boy’s fair hair. She turned to Olga. “Today was my one day of luxury. From now on I’ll be here on time for breakfast.”
The older woman nodded and smiled as she looked into the girl’s amber eyes. Where was the sparkle, where was the merriment that was always there? Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Ostap to see if he, too, noticed. Her husband was lighting his short Cossack pipe, the fragrant cloud of blue-gray smoke swirling around him. Only to Olga was his sharp gaze apparent.
His pipe going to his satisfaction, Ostap pulled on his sheepskin coat and buttoned it to the neck. “I’ll leave you women to your talk”—he grinned—“and see to my other women. The ones that don’t answer back and complain when there’s no fresh-cut firewood.”
Olga clasped his round, ruddy face in her plump hands and kissed him resoundingly. “Go then to your horses and see if they can keep you warm, and before dinnertime you’ll be back and in our bed, looking for me to cuddle you.” She laughed, her body shaking in delight.
Ostap grinned and winked at Katerina. His expression clearly stated, Women!
Olga ran her hands over her slate-gray kirtle and offered Katerina a cup of tea. Stepan set a bowl of steaming porridge in front of her and made a motion for his friend to eat.
She laughed. “After two days of nothing but black bread, this is going to taste like caviar.”
“Each morning until your father and the others return you will breakfast with us,” the old woman said matter-of-factly.
Katerina smiled. “I was hoping you would ask me.”
When the simple meal was over, Katerina motioned for Stepan to sit next to her. “There is much that has to be done, and we’re going to work long and hard to prepare for my father’s return. We will both be so tired at the end of the day your mother will have to feed us with a spoon.”
Stepan uttered a gurgling sound of approval as he held up Katerina’s spoon for his mother to see. She nodded at Stepan, a wide smile on her pleasant face.
Katerina clasped the rosy-cheeked woman to her, to Stepan’s delight. “Your cooking is delicious, and thoughts of your wonderful dinner will keep both of us hurrying throughout the day.”
“Hot beet soup, roast lamb with dumplings, and a spiced honey cake baked especially for you.”
Both women laughed as Stepan rolled his eyes and rubbed his stomach.
Without waiting any longer, the two young people headed for the barn, Stepan running slightly ahead. He turned once, motioning for Katerina to hurry, anxious for her to see the care and attention he had given Wildflower.
Inside the moist, sweet-smelling stable, Stepan placed Katerina’s hand on the mare’s belly and grinned.
Katerina laughed. “What do you think, Ostap, is the mare well?”
Ostap shrugged. “There are no signs of complications, and the mare is hale and hearty, thanks to my son’s care.”
Katerina nodded as she pulled a woolen cap over her hair. “We are going to walk around the village and see what has to be done in preparation for Father’s return.”
Ostap puffed on his pipe and motioned to them to hurry and close the door before the mare felt a draft.
Katerina spied her father’s summer home, the largest in the village, as was proper for the hetman, and felt fear settle over her. Her large eyes raked the quietness around her. The village was no different from any other Cossack settlement; the huts, constructed of logs, were insulated with moss to conserve heat in the cold months, each boasting an oven made of baked clay, laid out in a circle surrounding the camp to prevent attack from wild marauders. Wearily she rubbed at her temples.
Inside one of the huts, Katerina forced her mind to the task at hand. She had to pay attention to Stepan and the work she had to do.
On the rough plank wall hung the only adornment, the treasured icon that held a place of honor on a wall in every home. The Blessed Mother with Christ Child, painted on a smooth wooden plaque and trimmed in gilt, pleased Katerina as she gazed at it. She, like all the people of the Ukraine, had been taught at a very early age two values: love and protection of the steppe and reverence and preservation of their Eastern Orthodox religion. These were dearer than life itself.
Together, Katerina and Stepan cleaned the hut, sweeping and dusting with zeal. The spring move down from the mountains was almost at hand, and she wanted the home to be neat and refreshed for the Kat’s arrival.
Their task finished, Katerina spoke. “I know your father has kept the fences in good order, but let’s check them to be sure none of the posts have worked loose.” They walked in companionable silence to the southeast corner of the village, where the animal compound stood empty, waiting to open its gates to the horses. Katerina’s eyes darted about, looking for a fallen post or split rails. All appeared to be in good order, with the exception of a protruding nail here and there inviting the blows of a hammer.
They continued their inspection until reaching the massive barn. “In the next few weeks this area will be filled with wonderment. Mares will birth their foals, the foals will test their new legs, and, once tried, their wobbly legs will carry them eagerly to their mother’s milk. There they will suckle until their bellies are full. All will be quiet again, until the mares and the foals, nestled in an atmosphere of love, talk to each other. The sound will be heard throughout the village. Then, in three years, the fillies and colts will be ready for market. In seven years those blotchy gray-white foals will be pure white Cosars,” she whispered to Stepan, who nodded his head in agreement.
Katerina sought the compartments containing mountains of hay, wheat, and oats. The storage bins were filled to capacity. “We’ll begin by laying straw on the floors of the stalls and fill all the feed and water troughs. When we finish here, we’ll check the storehouse to see if we have enough smoked meats, and the root cellar to see how well the vegetables fared through the winter. The men will bring back the sheep and goats, and fresh meat will be in abundance, except for game and rabbit. If we complete our chores ahead of time, we’ll go hunting. Would you like that, Stepan?”
The boy waved his arms wildly, a grin splitting his face.
“Roast goose for the first night back.” Katerina laughed. “I have an idea, Stepan. With your mother and father’s help we can carry all the tables and benches from the huts to the barn and prepare a feast for the men’s return. A feast for all to enjoy before the hard work of spring begins. Start with the straw, Stepan, and I’ll get the water.”
The sun was high in the west and the shadows grew longer as they entered the storehouse. “We’ll have to do this fast, Stepan, the light is fading.” Quickly they checked the shelves and hooks in the storehouse. Seeing that the smoked meat was plentiful, they turned to the fragrant root cellar, which they found to be pregnant with foodstuffs. “No problem, Stepan, there’s plenty of food until the next harvest. If you aren’t too tired, we can check the toolshed now and get an early start in the morning.”
Stepan nodded and pulled on her arm to show that he was willing to go with her.
Inside the shed the lantern cast eerie spectral shadows upon the rough walls as Katerina inspected the tools. “Your father has a system all his own,” she said, laughing. “You see how all the tools on these three walls have been finished, sharpened to perfection. These,” she said, pointing to the fourth wall, “are still to be done.”
Katerina leaned against the wall as Stepan removed one tool and then another to test its sharpness. Wearily she let her thick lashes drop; she was tired, but not exhausted enough to sleep. She opened her eyes again as Stepan bent down to pick up a tool near her. Katerina’s breath caught in her throat for a second. If only she had had a weapon with . . . would she have used it? Could she stick a knife in a man’s ribs or heart? Could she bludgeon to save herself? The Mongol’s face with his midnight-dark eyes swam before her. Could s
he have killed him? A shudder ripped through her slender body as Stepan reached up to take the lantern from where it hung above her, a puzzled look on his face. “It’s all right. I’m just tired,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll race you back to the house. The first one there gets all of the spiced honey cake.” Stepan’s eyes lit up as Katerina tore ahead of him. He loped along behind, the lantern bobbing freely in the air, the yellow light twinkling and winking in the darkness.
The following days were grueling. Katerina worked with Stepan at her side from dawn till dusk. She ate her dinner quickly, took a hot bath, and fell into bed. When she slept, her dreams were invaded by a dark-eyed man with hair the color of night. He stalked her slowly, insidiously, through the thick trees. She always woke just as she was about to be captured, a hammer raised in her hand, her coppery hair wet and matted, and a sheen of perspiration on her face. Could she slay him when the time came? Finding no answer, she would crawl from her bed and work nonstop throughout the day, only to fall into bed and dream of the same terror.
“Volin,” she said to Stepan one morning, “will shine like a kopeck when we are finished. My father will be proud of me.” She still hadn’t forgiven him for berating her the way he had, but she knew she would the moment she saw him. At that moment she would forgive him anything, because beneath their arguments they deeply loved each other. Their quarrels were usually caused by their similar temperament.
By the end of the week Katerina noticed the dried, yellow grass poking through the snow and pointed it out to Stepan with the toe of her boot. He waved his arms and uttered a sound much like that of a new baby. It was the first sign that winter was slipping away and spring would soon cause the earth to give birth to its greenery. Once again the steppe would be covered with a rainbow of color, as animals and birds returned to sing the sounds of life.
“We have a few good hours of daylight left, Stepan. Come, we’re going hunting.” An hour after sunset, they returned with nine geese and seven rabbits. “Hardly a feast, but each will get a portion.”
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