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Authors: Seré Prince Halverson

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BOOK: All the Winters After
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CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Instead of packing up a few things to leave as she'd planned, Nadia followed her morning routine. The chickens and goats shared in her jittery nervousness, calling their questions while she fed them. Feeding and tending to them usually cleared her head, but not this morning. She stopped before she began the milking and carried the eggs up to the house.

In the empty living room, the imprint of Kache remained. She could still see him running his index finger over the bump on his nose, staring at objects around the room, lost somewhere deep in his mind. She picked up one of the photos of him on the piano, and no, just as she thought, there was no bump.

She boiled thistle and drank it to soothe herself. She ran a hot bath and retrieved one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen, locked the bathroom door, and jammed the doorknob with the chair. Her shirt came off first, then her jeans, until she stood in the steam-filled room naked and gently swatted herself with the birch broom—the same calming remedy her mother had used when Nadia was young and awoke from a nightmare. Lying in the bathtub with her ears under the water, she bathed in the echoes of her mother's soothing voice, the laughter of her sisters and brothers, her father's chanting of the old scriptures, voice rich and dark as
braga
.

• • •

Her family had once belonged to the small village of Ural, about a thirty-minute drive from the road that turned off toward the Winkel homestead. She grew up with a loving if strictly religious family, a close, secluded community of equally religious friends, and a boy named Nikolaus, whom she had loved since she was eight. Everyone knew she and Niko would marry as soon as she turned thirteen.

But right before her birthday, an unforeseen rift tore the village in two. Some of the Old Believers wanted to appoint a bishop to act as a leader in the church. Not allowed, not in a church committed to no hierarchy. Instead, a
nastoyatel
had always been enough, just a man in the village who volunteered to help out with church duties. Nadia's parents were strongly against a bishop. For them and nineteen other couples, this deviated from the truest interpretation of Christianity. Many before them had died in Russia trying to protect the purity of their religion. Compromise meant contamination. So thought her parents and some of the others, though they were in the minority. They devised a plan to break off from the group and settle even deeper into the wilderness in a new village they called Altai.

Niko's family stayed, and so did Niko. Nadia didn't blame them. If only the division had taken place two months later, she and Niko would have been married, and she too could have stayed. But she still fell under her father's rule, and he insisted she go with them. He had once loved Niko as a son but now treated him with disdain.

“I want my daughter and my future grandchildren to be of the purest faith. Otherwise your mama and I, we would have stayed in Oregon, where the world weaves in and out of one's soul. You understand this, Nadi?”

No, she did not.

Whether they appointed a bishop did not concern her in the least. The truth—the truth that she'd shared with no one, not even with Niko—was that she didn't know if she believed any of it. She did not even know if she believed in heaven or hell. She certainly did not believe that it mattered whether you crossed yourself with three fingers or two or crossed yourself at all. She did not believe women needed to wear long skirts or scarves or men long beards. In town, she'd seen the other women in their pants with their uncovered hair and the men with their shaven faces. Lightning did not break out from the sky and strike any of them dead. It was obvious to Nadia that the world was an interesting place, but the adults spoke of it with acid on their tongues.

She believed in the mountains and the water and the trees and the animals. She believed in Niko.

When all this was happening, Niko pulled her aside from picking blueberries with her sister. They ducked into the woods. He said, “We will find a way to be together.” He kissed her urgently, and his green eyes held tears. “We will. I promise you, Nadi.”

The day came when the group departed, peacefully, lovingly, saying good-bye despite their differences. Except for Nadia, the once-complacent child, who had to be physically dragged away by her father and brothers. She did not scream or cry or even speak as she scratched and kicked against them, her father breaking the silence, saying, “Nadi, Nadi.
Nado privyknut
.” Their lifelong dictum:
one must get used to it
.

• • •

Now she stepped out of the tub to dry herself and pulled on clean clothes with a renewed awareness that they were not her clothes. Outside the bathroom door, Leo greeted her as if she'd just returned from a long journey.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

When Kache walked into the Old Folks', the nurse Gilly introduced him to a few staff and pointed him toward Lettie's room. “She's doing great today.”

Where the hallway turned left, a Native man slumped in a wheelchair in the corner. He kept moving his right arm in big up and down sweeps, grabbing and pulling at the air with his left.

Gilly said, “That's Leroy's fishing hole, and you better not go putting a laundry bin or food cart anywhere near it. He makes me wheel him over to that exact spot every morning.”

Leroy. Marion's grandfather. Kache bent down and said, “Hello, Mr. Tilloko. Nice to see you. It's Kache Winkel. Used to date your granddaughter years ago.”

Leroy nodded and cast his line and his eyes somewhere over Kache's head. Leroy used to be strong, stoic, and intimidating as hell. But that was in 1985, when Leroy was the mayor and Kache was devising plans on how he might get into Leroy's granddaughter's pants.

In her room, Lettie sat propped up in bed, reading, open curtains revealing a killer view of the mountains of rock and snow beyond the choppy bay, which sparkled as the sun burned pale yellow through a lone cluster of pewter clouds. A skyline of family photographs topped the dresser. “Hi, Grandma Lettie,” he said. “It's Kache.”

She closed the book. “You're my grandson, Kache. There's no need for introduction. No matter how long it took you to get yourself home. Come here, honey. Give me a hug.”

“Am I glad to see
you
.” He held her close to him, her head almost covered by the expanse of his hand. Lettie must have come back and kicked out the impostor who had been hanging out in her wheelchair.

“There, there now,” Lettie said into his chest, before she leaned back to look at him. “You look good. A little tired around the eyes, but not bad for an old guy.”

“Thanks. I think. Where's Aunt Snag?”

“Hovering somewhere close, no doubt.”

At that moment, Snag appeared in the doorway, pushing a cart with a loaded tray. “Mom. I am
not
hovering. Some might call it
helping
. Why, hello, Kache,” she said rather formally. Her eyes darted between Lettie and Kache.

“I just got here,” Kache said to put her mind at ease.

Snag got busy preparing Lettie's tea and toast, and Kache accepted the piece she offered. “So, Mom,” Snag said. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Lettie folded her hands and rested them on her stomach. “Shoot.”

Snag kept her back toward them, occupying herself with the items on the tray. “It's about the homestead.”

“Aunt Snag, we don't have to go into the details right now.” Kache went over to where she stood and gently elbowed her in the side, shook his head, and took the tea to Lettie.

“Subtle, Kache. You two think you're so smart,” Lettie said. “Eleanor, finish what you started. Sit down and tell me what's on your mind.”

Snag glanced at Kache and obediently sat in the chair next to Lettie's bed, reaching for her hand.

“Good Lord,” Lettie said. “Who died now?”

“No one died, Mom. It's just about the homestead.”

“Wait, Aunt Snag. Things aren't as bad as you think. Not nearly.”

“Kachemak. Let Eleanor finish. Something tells me she's had this on her chest for a while now.”

“Mom?” Snag took a deep breath. “I've been lying to you for a long time.”

“Aunt Snag.” Kache shook his head. “Don't. It's okay.”

“No, it's not okay, Kache. I did something horribly wrong, and I need to tell my mother, if you'd hold your tongue and give me a chance.”

“The house is fine,” he told her. “Everything looks great.”

“Of course it's fine,” Lettie said. “Your grandfather and I built that place with our own hands. We built it to last, to hand down through the generations. You two do remember that, don't you?”

They both nodded emphatically.

“But, Mom, I—what do you mean, it's fine, Kache?”

“I mean, it's in perfect condition.”

“Impossible.”

“Eleanor. Kachemak. You don't think I'd let nature have its way with that place after everything A. R. and I did to build it and Bets and Glenn did to expand and maintain it. Just because the two of you let your own demons keep you away for twenty godforsaken years, you don't really think I'd just sit here and let my legacy rot into the ground, do you?”

Snag stared at Lettie for what seemed like an eternity. “You
knew
?”

“Of course I knew. Well, at first I only suspected. Then I went out there myself and saw that my hunch was right. Renters, schmenters. We have a lot to catch up on, Eleanor. But what I need to know, Kache, is how is my sweet Nadia?”

Snag's mouth dropped open as she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Your sweet Nadia? Who the hell is Nadia?”

Kache said, “The Old Believer who's been squatting there.”

Lettie pointed her chin at him. “You mean, dear boy, the conscientious caretaker who saved our asses.”

“Well, yeah. I guess that is what I meant.”

“Someone's
living
there?”

“Ah…that would be yes,” Kache said. “Definitely yes.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY

And so it went, with Kache filling in Snag and Lettie, Lettie filling in Kache and Snag, and Snag wiping her eyes with her tissues and blowing her nose in relief and regret. Apparently, Lettie had been sneaking out to the place since that first winter, running water in the pipes when the temperature took a dive, even climbing the ladder to knock snow off the roof. When Snag pictured her elderly mother finagling the broom up each rung, she started tearing up again. But the truth was that until a few years ago, Lettie was stronger than any of them, at least in spirit, which evidently compensated for a lot. As Lettie explained, she'd only had to tend to the maintenance the first ten years or so, because then this Nadia person moved in and stayed, taking care of things, hiding out from her Old Believer clan, a vague explanation that Lettie didn't delve into except to say that Nadia had never stepped foot off the property in the time that Lettie had known her.

“Are you sure, Mom? That sounds awfully strange.”

“She's not strange. She's smart and responsible, and I trust her to no end.” Lettie crossed her thin arms.

A wave of jealousy crashed into Snag's solar plexus. Had the Old Believer become a surrogate daughter to Lettie? Someone who obviously did what Snag did not—take care of the property Lettie had so loved? Even Kache seemed more concerned for this woman than he did about the fact that she'd been living there scot-free for ten years. Not that Snag was complaining. She wasn't stupid. This stranger, this Old Believer woman, had saved the house from extreme disrepair. And there was the fact that Snag herself had once met an Old Believer on their beach. She was pretty sure it was an Old Believer. But that had been fifty-some years ago.

“Well, I guess I should head out there and meet this woman,” Snag offered.

But Kache said, “She's going to need some time. Gram, she never left the property?”

“Nope. Not as far as I know. I took her supplies before I got sick. Last trip out there, I must have brought enough toilet paper and toothpaste and whatnot to last a decade. Now don't go plowing over her, Snag. She's not used to people.”

“And neither of you find this odd?”

Neither of them said whether they did or didn't.

“Mom? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because, Eleanor. She asked me not to, and I respected her request. It seemed important to her that I did. Besides, she's quite self-sufficient.”

Snag pressed Lettie for more details, but she started getting loopy, rattling on about who knows what. One minute, she could have run the country. The next minute, she thought Eisenhower was still running it.

“Kache, can you make sure she takes those pills in the little paper cup? I'll be right back.”

Snag went to get more hot water for tea and ran into Gilly. “Honey, what's wrong? Is your mom okay?” Gilly, with her limitless generosity and compassion, might have been the kindest person in Caboose.

Snag shook her head. Then she realized the question and switched to big, fast nods. “Mom's fine. A little loopy, like she gets when she's tired.” But her voice cracked and gave her away even more. She felt like her head might spin clear off and veer down the hallway. “I'm a mess, but Mom's fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gilly's voice alone had a calming effect. Snag suspected that when Gilly talked to her patients, their blood pressure immediately improved.

“Oh, you're so sweet, Gilly. But I know how busy they keep you. It's a story twice as long as the Caboose Spit, and I'm afraid if you knew it, you wouldn't want to be my friend any longer. And I wouldn't be able to stand that.”

“Nonsense. Nothing is that bad.” She held on to both sides of the stethoscope that hung around her neck. “Tell you what. Thursday's my day off. How about we go get a coffee or a drink or whatever and you can tell me about it then. Or we'll walk the spit—twice—while you tell your long story, and then we'll go for the drink. Either way.”

The last thing Snag wanted to do was tell Gilly Sawyer what a neglectful aunt and daughter she was, but she nodded anyway.

BOOK: All the Winters After
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