Forty-Eight
JANOS
BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 15, 1917
Janos glanced up at the clock on the train station’s platform, a single snowflake landing on his cheek. The sky had been gray for days, threatening to deliver the season’s first snowfall, but the smattering of flurries floating down around him was a feeble attempt at best. It was mid-December, and they had yet to receive any measurable snow. The weather had certainly been cold enough, but there hadn’t been any precipitation for weeks. The entire fall season had been unusually dry, and the river, now frozen over, was the lowest he had seen it in years.
Janos had been pacing the platform like a nervous cat for almost twenty minutes. He’d arrived at the station fifteen minutes in advance of Concetta’s train, and now it was five minutes overdue. He had missed her terribly over the last three weeks, but had been grateful for the respite from his constant lying. He was shocked at how adept he’d become at deception, telling untruths with as much ease as his wife once had. As soon as his ordeal with Karina was over, Janos intended to head straight to confession. He hated the manipulative person she had forced him to become.
At least he’d been lucky in recent weeks, seeing Karina only once on most days. With her pregnancy advancing, her growing belly had made it impossible for her to escape her confinement in Anna’s room. After the night she had awoken from her stupor a few weeks earlier, Janos had feared her condition would continue to improve and that she would soon be wandering around the house or even the neighborhood. Thankfully, that nightmare had not come to life.
Karina was now well enough to flip through magazines between her many naps, but was too weak to get out of bed to seek him out. She had no choice but to wait for him to pop into her room for a few minutes after dinner each night. As for the absence of the children, Janos had explained to Karina that they were both confined to their rooms with the chicken pox. Unfortunately, that lie would not remain viable for long.
His legs growing tired from pacing, Janos was relieved when he finally heard the shrill whistle of a train. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping Concetta would not find him too disheveled. The stress of the last month was taking its toll. The clumps of hair clogging the bathroom sink each morning had grown more copious.
“Janos!” Concetta rushed toward him the second she disembarked from the train. She looked lovely in her red wool coat and matching hat, the vibrant color a perfect complement to her chestnut eyes. She kissed him on the cheek and took a step backward to survey him. “Have you lost weight? You look thin.”
“Do I?” he asked coolly, knowing full well he had punched a new hole in his leather belt the previous week to accommodate his shrinking waist. “How was your trip? You must be starving after the long journey. Should we go to Luigi’s for an early dinner?”
“I’d rather eat at home. We can grab a few cans of soup from the store.” She studied him. “But maybe we should go out for dinner. You look like you haven’t been eating well. Are you ill?” She stood on her toes to touch his forehead.
Once Concetta was finished gauging Janos’s temperature, he took her hand and led her toward the porter, who was unloading the baggage from the railcar. “Let’s find your suitcase and get you home. I want to hear all about Philadelphia.”
After Concetta had recounted her visit with Tony over canned chicken noodle soup and an entire loaf of French bread, she placed a bowl of stewed peaches on the table. The scent of cinnamon and brown sugar made Janos’s mouth water. He marveled at how she managed to make a meal of canned goods taste like she had been slaving in the kitchen all day. He wondered what it would be like to come home to such an accomplished cook every night.
“It sounds like Tony and Lucia are doing well in Philadelphia. It must put your mind at ease to know they have Lucia’s parents and sisters living nearby,” Janos said, lifting a spoonful of peaches to his mouth.
“Yes, the baby will have plenty of cousins to play with when he gets older.”
“I’m happy you had a pleasant trip,” Janos said, wondering when Concetta might broach the subject of moving again. She had been glowing the entire time she’d discussed her son and his in-laws. Janos worried his dreams of a life with Concetta were slipping away.
“I miss Tony already, but it’s comforting to know he is surrounded by good people. He has the large Italian family that Antonio and I were never able to give him.”
“You must want to join him as soon as possible,” Janos said, trying to sound supportive.
Concetta looked up from her bowl of peaches. “Did I give you that impression?”
“Your face lights up every time you speak of Tony. It’s only natural that you’d want to be nearer to him.”
Concetta bit her lip. “Tony said something similar about the way I look when I speak of you.” She turned away, presumably to hide her reddening face. She remained silent for a moment and then turned to meet Janos’s gaze. “I don’t want to move.”
“You don’t?”
“I adore my son and his new family, but I could never make a home in Philadelphia. It’s too crowded.”
Janos almost fell out of his chair.
“I want to be where you are. I think it’s time we discuss our future,” she said, stroking his hand.
Janos’s heart raced. Concetta’s words were music to his ears, but he was in no position to discuss the future—not while his pregnant wife was still sleeping across the hall from him. He clutched his chest.
“Are you okay?”
He reached for his water. “I think I’m choking on a peach.” He drained the entire glass in one gulp and then dabbed at his watery eyes with a napkin. When he had recovered, Janos saw that Concetta was staring at him.
“I think I know what’s wrong. You’ve changed your mind about me, haven’t you?” She pulled her hand away from him. “That’s why you tried to convince me to stay in Philadelphia for over a month.”
Janos sat paralyzed and speechless. For a split second, he wondered if this was the right course of action. Should he break things off with Concetta until he was finally rid of Karina?
Concetta got up and began clearing the dishes. “I’m a grown woman. I can handle the truth. You don’t have to let me down easy, Janos.” She slammed the dishes into the sink. “You can see yourself out.”
Panicked, Janos sprang to his feet. He was behind Concetta in the blink of an eye, his arms wrapped around her, his mouth against her ear. “I want to be with you. More than you know.” He kissed her cheek softly. “I just need time to sort things out.”
“What things?” She turned around, her brown eyes damp with emotion.
Janos’s mind raced to invent a lie. Desperate, he blurted the first name that entered his mind. “Sofie.”
Concetta tilted her head.
“She’s jealous of the time I’ve been spending with you and … I don’t think she’s ready for me to marry again.” Janos exhaled, realizing there was some truth to what he had said.
“Oh,” she said, sounding relieved.
“We need to give her a chance to warm up to the idea of you and me. Perhaps it’s best if we continue spending our time together at your house and avoid my family for the time being.”
Concetta frowned. “If you think it’s best.”
“Let me work on Sofie for a few weeks. Maybe we can share our intentions with her later in the winter.”
Her eyes widened.
“Maybe I’m underestimating my daughter.” Janos kissed Concetta’s forehead. “Perhaps it won’t take so long.” The truth was he had no idea how long it would take to sort things out—to be rid of Karina. As Janos pulled Concetta into his chest, he allowed himself a moment to fantasize about what a future with her might look like. But being a cautious man, he did not lose himself in that reverie for too long. He understood the obstacles standing in his way and knew his odds at overcoming them were dismal.
Forty-Nine
POLE
BEAVER CREEK, D
ECEMBER 15, 1917
Pole gazed at Sofie as she sipped her tea across the dining room table from him. She looked so pretty with her hair pulled away from her face. A few strands had escaped the loose braid at the back of her neck, but the effect was flattering. The wavy, blonde locks framed her face and drew attention to her sky-blue eyes. Pole was staring at her, but did not care if she noticed. Sofie had caught him gazing at her several times over the past three weeks and had simply returned his dreamy look. Sometimes they just sat in silence, holding hands and studying each other’s faces, awed by the fact that they were breathing the same air. The unknown distance between them had vanished, the misery of their separation now a memory. The world had somehow righted itself. Pole and Sofie were together again.
“How was work today? Is it getting any better?” Sofie asked, looking up from her tea cup.
“Still hot as hell. I can’t wait to move up and get away from the furnaces.”
Being new to the industry, Pole had been offered a position at one of the glass factory’s furnaces, working alongside Eastern European immigrants. His job was to oversee the melting of sand, limestone, and soda ash into glass in a furnace heated up to 2800°F. The work was scorching hot and miserable. But the foreman had promised him that his assignment was temporary, and he’d soon be moving up to the casting and rolling room. If he was successful and caught on quickly, he might become a foreman one day. Pole was assured there were plenty of opportunities for native-born, English-speaking workers.
“I get nervous thinking about you working in front of a furnace. It reminds me of when Papa worked at the mill,” Sofie said, shaking her head.
“It’s only temporary. I’ll be a foreman before you know it.” Pole reached across the table and caressed Sofie’s hand. “You worry too much. Always have.”
“Some habits are hard to break, I guess.”
Pole picked up Sofie’s hand and kissed it. “Where’s your family? It’s quiet for a Saturday afternoon.”
“Papa’s picking Concetta up from the train station, and Aunt Anna’s at the neighbor’s baking cookies.”
Suddenly, Pole heard shouting from upstairs.
“Anna!” the voice bellowed. “Anna! I need you!”
Sofie shot a panicked look at Pole. “What should we do?”
“Go see what she needs.”
“I can’t do that. She still thinks I’m ten.”
“Are you serious? I thought your father woulda marched you into her room by now. Karina needs to see that you’re all grown-up. She needs to know the truth.”
“She doesn’t care about the truth. She’s stuck in 1910. And Papa and Aunt Anna won’t correct her because they don’t want her to get hysterical. They say it’s for the sake of the baby.” Sofie rolled her eyes.
“Anna! Where are you?” the voice shouted even louder. The hollering was followed by a thundering crash. Something had hit the floor.
“Christ! I’ll go up.” Pole sprang to his feet and ran toward the staircase. He knocked only once before bursting into Karina’s bedroom. He was not prepared for what he saw. The nightstand had been knocked over, and a glass pitcher had shattered. The floor was covered in water and shards of glass. But that was not the most troubling aspect of the scene. Karina was sitting in bed, the quilt peeled away from her, her nightgown hiked up past her knees. Her swollen belly and breasts protruded from the thin fabric. Pole immediately looked away. He was not sure if he was more distressed by her scantily-clad pregnant body or the haggard appearance of her once beautiful face. She looked weathered, the cruelty of the years scars on her face.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Kovac. Aunt Anna will be here shortly to tidy up.” Pole turned back toward the door.
“John Stofanik! What the hell are you doing here?” Karina asked, the venom in her voice palpable.
Pole sheepishly turned toward her as she drew the quilt over her belly. “I’m not John. I’m his son, Pole.”
“What sort of game are we playing today? You think I don’t recognize you?”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but you’re confused. I’ll go find Aunt Anna for you.” Pole hoped to escape the room without incident. There was a wildness in the woman’s eyes that made him uneasy.
“You will not. Pull that rocking chair close to the bed.” Karina motioned for Pole to sit down and then wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She sighed loudly, as if irritated by his presence. “Seeing you …” her voice trailed off.
Unable to hear her low whisper, Pole said, “I’m sorry. What was that?”
Karina’s eyes bored into Pole’s. “Seeing you is troubling!” She practically spat the words at him. She began muttering to herself in Slovak.
Pole reluctantly took a seat, unable to take his eyes off Sofie’s mother. She was talking to herself and growing more agitated by the second. He could barely understand a word she said, her speech was so rapid and his knowledge of Slovak nothing but a long, distant memory. She closed her eyes and shook her head violently, as if to erase an unpleasant image from it. Karina was struggling, and Pole sat paralyzed, unsure of what to do.
Maybe she really has lost her mind. He had been doubting her memory loss was genuine, given what he knew about her involvement in the robbery and murder of her employer. When Hamish had told him the story behind his pop’s abrupt escape from Riverton, Pole’s opinion of Mrs. Kovac had changed dramatically. He now believed she was capable of anything. Faking amnesia certainly wouldn’t be beneath a woman able to commit murder. But the disturbing behavior Pole was witnessing made him think otherwise. Perhaps Karina’s torment was real. Without thinking, he reached out and stroked her hand.
“Calm down now,” Pole said reassuringly. “It’s all right.”
Karina stiffened at his touch. A crazed look overtook her face as she seized Pole’s wrist and dug her nails into his flesh. “I know why. I know why I’m bothered by the sight of you.”
His arm burning, Pole’s first instinct was to pull away. But he was afraid of provoking the woman’s ire any further. She looked deranged and full of hate. He tried to remain calm. “I told you, Mrs. Kovac, I’m not who you think. I’m Pole Stofanik. I’m not my father.”
“Enough already!” She clutched his wrist tighter. Blood began to trickle down Pole’s forearm. “You’re the reason I had to leave. You weren’t supposed to be at Henry’s.”
Pole steadied himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore, but he wondered if playing along might be worthwhile. Maybe he could get the final pieces of the puzzle of Sofie’s mother’s disappearance.
“I wasn’t?” Pole asked innocently.
“Stop playing dumb. Pavol was supposed to do it himself. Payback for what happened to his brother.”
Pole nodded slowly, now eager to hear more. “And?”
“And you messed it up!” Karina rubbed her temples. “My head hurts,” she whined, sliding further into the bed and pulling the quilt up under her chin.
Worried that she was about to lose her train of thought, Pole leaned forward. “How did I screw up?” he asked, lowering his voice to make it sound more like his father’s.
Karina cocked her head to the side. “When did you learn to speak proper English? And where’s your accent?” She eyed him suspiciously, an eyebrow raised.
Pole rushed to invent an excuse. “I’ve been takin’ classes.”
Karina sneered. “You in a classroom! Now that would be a sight.” She studied Pole’s face, her eyes squinted in concentration.
“What’s wrong?”
“You don’t look the same. You don’t sound the same either. But you’re still a rotten son of a bitch! Now get out!” she screamed.
Pole jumped up and bolted for the door. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I upset you,” he stammered, looking back one last time at the unhinged woman. He regretted that he’d entered her room. That he’d shown her his face. If Karina wasn’t insane, she was the best actress he had ever seen.
“What happened to you?” Sofie’s ey
es grew wide as Pole entered the dining room. “You’re bleeding,” she said, looking down at his arm. “And I heard screaming.”
“Your mother thought I was my pop. She was pretty upset at the sight of me.”
“Why?”
Pole shook his head. Could he tell Sofie what he knew about her mother’s involvement in her employer’s murder? He certainly didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, but he now knew enough to assume that Karina and Pavol had been part of a scheme to get revenge on Henry Archer. Pole just wasn’t sure how his pop had gotten involved and why Karina said he was the reason she had to leave town. And why did she care about the death of Tomas Tomicek anyway? Had she even known him? Pole scratched his head. The details were sketchy, but it looked like what Hamish had told him in the mine was true. Sofie’s mother was indeed the curvy blonde who killed Henry Archer.
“Pole? Did you hear me?” Sofie was standing next to him, dabbing the scratches on his forearm with a dish towel. “Why would she be upset by seeing your father?”
Pole studied Sofie’s beautiful face. She had been through so much in her seventeen years. Would knowing the truth about her mother ease or add to her burden? He was not yet ready to make that determination. “I don’t know, Sof. Your mother isn’t well. We shouldn’t take anything she says or does too seriously.”
Sofie nodded.
Pole stroked the back of her head. “You should probably go get your aunt. I think Karina was tryin’ to get herself some water when she knocked over the nightstand.”
“Okay. I’ll be back shortly.”
As Sofie rushed out the door, Pole opened up the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp and then poured himself another. He wondered how many drinks he needed to forget what he knew about Karina. He didn’t want to be the one to tell Sofie that her mother was far more twisted than anyone could have imagined.
Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash Page 28
