Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash

by Tammy Pasterick

  Lukas sank into a chair and held his head in his hands.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Janos asked, tension in his voice.

  Pole took a deep breath as he pulled Mary tighter to his chest. “There’s been an accident. Karina left the house before dawn with the baby. She must’ve been confused again. Lukas found her at the train bridge and tried to get her to come home, but she refused. She didn’t recognize him.” Pole hesitated. The faces around the table were hanging on his every word. His mouth froze up, unable to form the words.

  “And?” Janos asked, his voice breaking.

  “Karina fell off the bridge.”

  Pole’s heart ached as he watched Sofie and Janos’s faces twist with grief. Sofie reached out to touch her father’s shoulder as his head fell toward the table under the weight of his sorrow. He began to cry. Sofie turned her face to hide behind a wall of thick, blonde hair. She made no sound, but the subtle movement of her shoulders gave away her crying. Pole knew she was hurting, even if she didn’t want to show it.

  Only Aunt Anna remained stoic. The only indication that she had processed the news was in the way she gripped her tea cup. She seemed to be holding onto it for support as she looked from her brother to her niece and nephew.

  “The coroner is taking care of—” Pole broke off. “I’ll stop by the funeral parlor tomorrow mornin’ and make arrangements.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Aunt Anna said softly.

  Pole looked around the room at the people he had come to think of as family. Every one of them was either grief-stricken or in shock. Maybe both. How had things gone so terribly wrong? Karina did not deserve this tragic end to her life, no matter her sins. And now Pole was left wondering if her death relieved him of his duty to tell her family what he knew about her disappearance all those years ago.

  For weeks, the burden of his knowledge had become increasingly difficult to bear. He debated telling Sofie about her mother’s involvement in Henry Archer’s murder almost daily. But telling her the truth was a double-edged sword. Sofie might be relieved to know that her mother only left her family because she was fleeing the police. But on the other hand, she would learn that her mother was a murderer.

  And if Pole were to tell the truth, he certainly couldn’t leave out the details about his pop’s involvement in the debacle. Karina claimed he was the reason she had to leave town.

  Pole had been so conflicted about the situation, he’d consulted a priest in the local Catholic church’s confessional. He changed the names of all the people in the story, of course, and poured out his soul in the hopes that a man of the cloth might shed some light on his predicament. But unfortunately, Pole had left the church more confused than ever. The priest had instructed him to recite ten Hail Marys and five Our Fathers. Pole cursed the old codger on his way out of the church, wondering why he’d wasted his time.

  As tragic as it was, maybe Karina’s death gave Pole an out. Many months from now, her crimes would not matter. They would all grieve her loss and find a way to move forward with their lives. Her sins would be buried with her.

  But more troubling now was the image of Lukas pushing his mother off the train bridge.

  Pole shook his head, trying to erase the ridiculous notion from his mind. It was dark, he told himself. He was at least fifty yards away when he saw the boy with his arm extended toward his mother. The snow was falling steadily and had reduced visibility. Could anyone see clearly under those conditions?

  Pole sighed heavily. He gazed at Mary’s sweet face as he assured himself that Lukas had merely been protecting himself and an innocent baby from a deranged woman. There was no other logical explanation.

  As Pole stroked Mary’s cheek, she opened her pretty blue eyes, sending a rush of emotion through him. He stumbled into a chair as he fought the urge to cry. He did not succeed. As the tears rolled down his face, he prayed for Karina’s tortured soul, hoping she would find the peace in heaven that she had been denied on earth.

  Fifty-Six

  SOFIE

  BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 23, 1917

  her eyes heavy with sleep, Sofie inhaled the musky scent of Pole’s aftershave as she lay nestled against his chest on the parlor sofa. She felt comforted by his familiar aroma, the warmth of his muscular body pressing against hers. She was not sure how long she had slept, only that she must have cried herself into a deep slumber. As she buried her head further into Pole’s chest, praying the rest of her nap might be dreamless, she heard her father whispering nearby. Sofie could have sworn he’d said her name. She had no wish to return to a full state of wakefulness—the reality of the past twenty-four hours was too much to bear. But Papa had said Sofie and Mary’s name in the same breath. What was he talking about?

  Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, Sofie lay quietly against Pole, focusing on the voices around her.

  “Do you really think she’s ready to take on that kind of responsibility, Janos? She hasn’t even graduated from high school yet,” Aunt Anna said. “She wants to continue working for the paper.”

  “I know. I know,” Papa said, the frustration in his voice palpable. “But what are we to do? We can’t send Sofie and Lukas’s baby sister to an orphanage. She needs to grow up around family.”

  “That’s a lot to ask of her. It might be different if she were married and ready to start a family of her own.”

  Pole suddenly shifted beneath Sofie. She felt his chest rise and fall. And then a slight quiver. “Mr. Kovac,” he said, his voice cracking. “Maybe … maybe marriage isn’t that far off. For Sofie, I mean.” He coughed nervously.

  Sofie’s ears perked up. What were they all proposing? What was he proposing? Her heart raced. She quickly debated whether to speak up or continue eavesdropping. She willed herself to calm down and listen further.

  “What do you mean?” Papa asked Pole.

  “Well … I care about Sofie an awful lot.” Pole paused to clear his throat, then crossed his legs. “I was hoping we might marry someday … but with everything that’s happened, maybe the time is now.”

  “Oh my,” Aunt Anna whispered.

  “I love Sofie,” Pole said, sounding more confident with each word. “And little Mary is an angel. I’d be honored to take care of them both.”

  Sofie could no longer contain the torrent of emotions whirling inside her. She bolted upright, startling her father, aunt, and Pole.

  “How long have you been listening?” Pole asked, his face beet red.

  “Long enough. I can’t believe you’re all making plans without me—as if I don’t have a say in the matter. And, Papa …” Sofie glared at her father. “What makes you think I want to raise Karina’s baby? Have you lost your mind, too?”

  “Sofie! That’s enough! That is the last time you will refer to your mother as ‘Karina.’”

  “Why are you defending her, Papa? What’s changed?” Sofie stammered, wounded by her father’s tone.

  “Everything. Absolutely everything.” He shook his head before burying it in his hands.

  Sofie turned around to face Pole, who seemed to be holding his breath. She then turned to Aunt Anna, desperate for an explanation. Her aunt stared at her blankly, looking tired and short on sleep.

  Suddenly, Papa raised his head. “I barely slept last night. I was haunted by your mother’s agony at remembering the identity of Mary’s father—this Victor person.”

  Sofie noticed her father had practically snarled as he’d said the man’s name.

  “I don’t want to imagine what he did to her. It’s too painful. But I fear I am partly to blame.” He shook his head again—violently this time, as if trying to erase an unpleasant thought. “If only I’d seen the warning signs. If I’d taken her to the right doctor …”

  “What are you talking about?” Sofie asked, trying to make sense of her father’s ramblings.

  “I finally figured it out last night … what I couldn’t see while she was still living with us. Your mother was not well,
Sofie. She hadn’t been well for a very long time. Not since—”

  “Before Sofie was born,” Aunt Anna interrupted her brother.

  Sofie and her father turned toward her aunt.

  “Yes,” Papa said, nodding. “The mood swings, the erratic behavior—they all started after Sofie was born. She became so distant. So detached.” He looked down at his lap.

  “So it’s my fault my mother was such a troubled woman,” Sofie said bitterly, knowing her insinuation was childish.

  “No, sweetheart,” Aunt Anna said. “Not you, but maybe the pregnancy. Childbirth can wreak havoc on a woman’s body. Sometimes her mind, too. It’s possible that the pregnancy triggered something.”

  “We may never understand the extent of your mother’s suffering, but I will forever regret that I failed to recognize it in time to help her. Maybe she wouldn’t have left us. She wouldn’t have fallen victim to this stranger, and she’d still be alive.” A fresh stream of tears flowed down Papa’s cheeks. “I wish I’d done more.”

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself, Janos,” Aunt Anna scolded her brother. “Karina lost her mind because of what Victor did to her. He’s to blame for her death. The problems she had during your marriage have nothing to do with her forgetting the past seven years. She was clearly traumatized in some way.”

  Sofie got up and knelt before her father. She took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’m sorry you feel responsible. But even if you’d taken Mama to a doctor, it might not have made a difference. She still might have left us.” Sofie turned to her aunt. “I would like to believe that a mental illness was the reason Mama was so neglectful when I was little. Maybe she wasn’t as cold as I thought.”

  Papa stroked Sofie’s hair. “We’ll never get all the answers, zlatíčko. The only thing I know for certain is that your mother loved you. Despite all her failings, she loved you and Lukas. All of us.”

  Sofie trembled. She was overwhelmed by her father’s confirmation of what she had always hoped to be true, what she’d often doubted in the years since her mother’s disappearance. Her heart heavy with sorrow, she laid her head on her father’s knees and wept.

  “My poor, sweet girl.” Papa placed his hand on Sofie’s shoulder. “It’s time to let go of the past. Let go of the anger. Hold onto the happy memories.”

  Sofie sniffled as she looked up at her father, nodding slowly. “I loved her, too, Papa. I was just so hurt after she left. I pushed my feelings way down deep inside me and covered them up with anger. Hating her was easier.”

  Papa kissed Sofie’s forehead. “We can honor your mother by taking care of her baby. Say you’ll raise Mary.” Papa looked past her and smiled. “Pole will make a fine husband.”

  Sofie met her father’s eyes. A glimmer of hope shined through his sad expression. She turned to Pole, who was looking at her expectantly. She took a deep breath before rising to her feet to disappoint everyone.

  “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.” As Pole’s face fell, Sofie rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “You mean the world to me, Pole. I never want to be separated from you again.” She caressed his cheek lovingly, hoping her touch would communicate what she was too embarrassed to say in front of her family. “But I’m not ready to be a wife or mother.”

  Pole nodded as he squeezed Sofie’s hand.

  She leaned closer and whispered, “Someday I will be. I hope you’ll still be around.”

  Pole raised Sofie’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Sof.”

  A shiver went down Sofie’s spine. Pole’s love for her was written all over his face. It was in the tender tone he used when he spoke, in the gentle way he had kissed her hand. Sofie wanted to tell Pole that she loved him, too—that she had for as long as she could remember. But her declaration deserved a more perfect moment. She needed to be free from the heavy cloud of grief threatening to swallow her. She needed to reveal what was in her heart when she felt lighter and more hopeful. She prayed that moment would not elude her for too long.

  “I need to check on Lukas,” Aunt Anna said suddenly. “He was so distraught when I put him to bed. I gave him some Veronal to help him sleep.”

  “He’s still in shock. He needs some time to process what’s happened. We all do,” Papa said, his voice unsteady. He rubbed his temple. “Maybe Mrs. Harford can be of some help. Perhaps she can take him on another trip and distract him for a while.”

  Sofie tilted her head. The solution was so obvious. “I know what we need to do.”

  Fifty-Seven

  JANOS

  BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 23, 1917

  The sun was setting as Janos climbed the steps to Concetta’s front porch. He rarely entered her house this way, as he was used to slipping in and out of her kitchen through the door inside the store. But it was Sunday, and the store was closed. Concetta would not be expecting him. He had turned down her invitation to Sunday dinner the day before, thinking he would use his only day off to travel to a convent in Pittsburgh to see if the nuns might assume responsibility for Karina and her baby. Janos now understood the cruelty of that plan.

  He wiped a tear from his cheek, wishing there was a way to rewrite the past, to create a happier ending for Karina. His heart ached at the thought of Sofie and Lukas grieving the loss of their mother a second time. How he longed to turn back the hands of time and remove a link from the dreadful chain of events that had led to this inconceivable suffering. He sighed, wondering why grief made sane men wish the impossible.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Startled, Janos turned around to find Concetta coming up the sidewalk, a covered plate in her hand. “I came to see you,” he said.

  “Your timing is perfect. Mrs. Rossi and I were baking all afternoon. I made you some pizzelles and ricciarelli.” She grabbed Janos’s hand as she climbed the steps. “Come inside. We’ll have dessert before dinner,” she said with a wink.

  Janos followed Concetta into the house and helped her remove her coat. She had traces of flour on her burgundy skirt and a smudge of almond paste on the front of her white shirt. Without thinking, he took her face in his hands. “Do you have any idea how special you are to me?”

  She smiled. The color of her cheeks was now the same shade as her skirt.

  “Can we go into the parlor for a minute?” Janos asked, a lump forming in his throat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I haven’t been honest with you for quite some time.”

  Concetta’s eyes widened.

  “Please, come,” Janos said, leading her to the sofa and sitting down next to her. “Before I begin, I want you to know that I care very deeply for you.” He shook his head, knowing those words did not ring true enough. “No, Concetta,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I love you.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “I only pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Janos took a deep breath in preparation for the emotional conversation that lay ahead. He sensed the coming moments would be pivotal. They would determine the course of his future, for better or worse. As he met Concetta’s gaze, he saw both fear and sympathy in her lovely brown eyes. She squeezed his hand, a subtle sign of encouragement.

  The confession suddenly flowed from Janos’s lips, like a dam released one too many days after a torrential storm. The flood was fast and furious, its effects momentous. Through intermittent sobs, Janos revealed the identity of the guest who had been staying at his home, the existence of her newborn baby, and the tragic end his wife had met at dawn of that same day. He even recounted Lukas’s heartbreaking reunion with his mother the night before. As the details streamed out of him, Janos feared that the truth, like a raging river, would carve out a new landscape and change the world as they knew it.

  When he reached his story’s end, he wiped his eyes and focused on Concetta. He had been so caught up in the emotion of his tale that he had barely made eye contact with her. Or perhaps it was shame that ha
d caused him to avert his gaze so many times. He studied her face and was surprised to find it streaked with tears. He caressed her cheek. Had he broken her heart with his betrayal?

  “I’m so sorry I lied.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Concetta whispered. “You’ve suffered more than enough.” She shook her head. “My heart aches for all of you.” She wrapped her arms around Janos and buried her face in his chest.

  He exhaled, relieved to be free of his lies. He leaned back on the sofa, pulling Concetta with him. They sat in silence for several minutes, taking refuge in each other’s arms.

  “I hope your feelings for me haven’t changed,” Janos whispered as he stroked Concetta’s hair.

  She lifted her head to meet his eyes. A tear escaped down her cheek.

  Janos held his breath. Had he lost her forever?

  Concetta leaned into his face, nodding. “I love you more than yesterday. More than I ever thought possible.” She pressed her lips against his. “You are an even better man than I imagined.”

  A wave of warmth washed over Janos. The ache in his heart abated.

  Fifty-Eight

  EDITH

  SHADYSIDE, DECEMBER 24, 1917

  Edith sat in the parlor admiring her ten-foot-tall Christmas tree adorned with gold and silver ornaments. She was surprised by the elegance of the new metallic theme and rather enjoyed the way the light reflected off the dozens of shiny bulbs and baubles hung on the Douglas Fir. Green and red decorations were so prosaic anyway. So commonplace. She was not an ordinary woman. An average tree would no longer do in her home.

  As she gazed out the window at the blaze on her front lawn, she was struck by the strange beauty of the scene. The enormous pile of draperies, bedding, linens, and clothing stacked atop her red chaise lounge and four red-patterned armchairs had created an impressive fire. The flames shot as high as the second story of her home. And the ashes. Their beauty was mystifying. They fell gently from the sky amidst the fluffy, white snowflakes, their contrast stark yet strangely wondrous.