Father Paul disagreed with my decision. He told me this many times in the next few weeks.
My physical recovery was quick. Papa's doctor called the school and had my finals postponed. Studying for them speeded my mental recovery, but I felt empty without Vasily. Father Paul assured me this was normal and would pass in time. I moved back to my parents' house and waited for Vasily.
Frank gave me the section of the icon I had taken to Rick's. I don't know how he recovered it. I gave it to Father Paul and told him where he would find the rest of it. He did not ask me how I found it or who had hidden it, and I did not tell him. I try, during confessions, not confess other people's sins along with my own.
Father found the money also, where I had hidden it under the stand that held the icon of St. Sergius. He moved the stand to make room for the ladder he used to replace the Trinity Icon, and there it was, all fifty thousand, in cash. It was another miracle. The bishop was more skeptical, but after a careful and unsuccessful search for the owner, he distributed the money among the churches, with St. Sergius getting the lion's share.
Sarah disappointed Father Paul, because to my knowledge, she never laughed again. He seemed content, though, with the miraculous conversion of Boris, who even assisted in the Liturgy once he could walk again. This I know only second-hand from Mama, because I left while Boris was still confined to a wheelchair.
In fact, it was Boris' first Sunday out of the hospital when Vasily came back for me. That morning the papers were full of news about a fabulous shoot-out in St. Louis. Father Paul had just pronounced the final blessing when Vasily, Misha, and Louis entered the church.
They were grim-looking men, rather scruffy, unshaven and disheveled. In contrast, Father Paul faced them calmly with splendor, strength, and power. Boris sniveled in his wheelchair. He had a long way to go yet. Mama began to cry. Papa's expression was bitter. I saw this in a moment and ignored their faces from then on, because my attention was fixed on my love as he crossed the room and stood beside me.
"Marry me?" he whispered.
"Yes."
"I have an announcement," began Father Paul. "This is Alex's last Sunday with us, and I think it is appropriate that we sing 'Many Years.'"
"Her last Sunday?" asked Erin. "Where are you going, Alex?"
I could not answer because I did not know.
Vasily answered for me. "We are to be married, and we will live in Europe."
"Married!" This came from several people and was followed by hearty congratulations and questions and comments about my handsome fiancé (and unspoken but obvious surprise at my having landed him). There was a marked lack of enthusiasm among my parents, the priest, and the lump in the wheelchair, but nobody seemed to notice, least of all the Matushka, who was busy trying to welcome Misha and Louis into the church.
Misha gave her a sub-zero stare that could not be mistaken for anything other than active dislike. She was mystified, and I must admit I was, too, for many years, until Misha explained it to me at your father's funeral.
Misha did not like Erin because he believed she betrayed her husband by hiding the icon. It was tantamount to shooting him with his own gun, said Misha. She had access, and she misused it. I countered with the argument that she did so out of love for her husband. That made no difference to Misha.
Unfortunately, Misha and I had that discussion because he was accusing me of doing the same to Vasily. You see, both Mama and I were right. Vasily did turn, and when he did, he was dead within five days. Misha accused me of betraying Vasily by causing him to quit, but I told Misha that I never asked him to. Vasily's work was a No Man's Land that I did not enter after our marriage. It was his decision to leave his gun at home that day, his decision and his obsession. He did it as much for himself as he did for you or for me.
He called you his miracle, and as you grew, entombed with the rest of us in the comfort and security of our prison-estate, he wanted other things for you, things he knew about only vaguely, what he called a "normal" life. He was practicing, pretending, trying to experience life without fear, hoping to someday give you that kind of life, wishing it was his. I miss him dearly.
I still tend to choose life at any cost, even this fearful, constricted life that we've tried so hard to help you escape. I was glad Misha did what had to be done when they tried to kill you with your father. I am only sorry you had to witness such a gruesome thing, especially when you were only twelve, and I fully understood your reluctance to go near Misha afterward.
But there is one other thing that I must tell you. I tried to tell your father, several times, but he always prevented me. You were his miracle, and he did not want to know the cause. He was your father in every sense except one, darling, because on that Sunday in Chicago when he came for me, I was already pregnant.
It always amused me that no one else saw the resemblance. I saw nothing but. Even Misha's wife, Katya, remarked on how closely you resembled Vasily, but then she had a talent for self-deception and maybe she was helping to maintain the fiction. I don't know. All I know is that your slavic features came from me, Dear, but your exceptional beauty came from Misha.
As I look back on it, I think that everybody, Louis, Katya, and even Vasily, knew. Only Misha is truly in the dark about it. I know he is because he mentions marrying you off to his son. I suppose that night in my apartment is a non-event to him, as it can never be to me. Anyway, he has suggested a sponsalia, wanting me to agree to a marriage that is not a good idea for more reasons than he knows. I enjoy knowing something he doesn't. It does not happen often. But I thought to arm you with this knowledge just in case.
Your half-brother Michael is a chip off the old block, chiseled from stone, compelling, and doubly dangerous because he has inherited Katya's charm. He took Vasily's place in Charlemagne after his sister and mother were killed. I don't think he is particularly interested in you, but he is an obedient son, so do be careful and use this information if you have to.
It is because of Michael that the recruiters have contacted you. He has taken more responsibility within the team, and has a prejudice against Americans, after the loss of half his family. Frank has not yet retired and is highly placed in his organization, but his organization is still a leaky, loose collection of very smart men who can't keep secrets because they try to keep too many. Michael shuns them absolutely, and Frank wants you to help change Michael's mind. I'd say you have about as much chance of that as I have of converting Misha to Orthodoxy.
Still, there are miracles, and some cannot be explained. I remember something Misha said before we left the church that day, and I left home forever. Everyone else was crowded by the door. He was looking at Sarah, restored to her proper place on the north wall. He motioned for me to stand near him.
"Do you think she will ever laugh again?" he asked.
"No," I said. "She has seen too many things that are not funny."
"I disagree," he said. "She will laugh again." He paused and looked at me. "But you and I will never hear it."
EPILOGUE
Erin enjoyed this chore. It was quiet. Quiet was a precious commodity and there was comfort here in the empty church. The Saints, especially the women, commiserated with her as she dusted, polished, and vacuumed. It went quickly, sometimes too quickly, now that Yelena Dolnikova watched the children for her. It was odd that Yelena would offer to do that. No one else ever did, as much as Erin had longed for it, and Yelena had never been a particular friend.
I suppose she misses her grandchild, thought Erin. Strange that they should name the baby Mara. Too bad for Yelena that they live so far away. Still, the one time I met her daughter's husband and his friends...I have to admit I wouldn't want them to live too close. Alex always was a strange one. And I don't care what Paul thinks, that girl had something to do with the money, she and her creepy friends, no doubt. I owe her, though, for not telling Paul how she found the Icon. Come to think of it, how did she find it?
Erin was not one to solve puzzles willingly and found a read
y distraction in a new carpet burn that required treatment. Boris is hopeless, she thought. Paul insists that he is improving, but I don't see it. He nearly killed my husband when he set his vestments on fire with the incense. I suppose he tries hard, but I wish he'd start succeeding.
She said a short prayer for Boris' success.
She said another short prayer for her husband's rapid recovery.
Paul suffered a second degree burn over his lower left leg, but did not take it well. Long-suffering was not his strong suit, he told her. She agreed.
"It's a good thing men don't have babies," she said.
"Ooooo. Don't start telling me about labor and all that again. Ooooo." He groaned, moaned, and made himself a real nuisance.
"Why don't you try some breathing exercises like we did when we had Peter? I'll coach you."
"You'll what? Don't be ridiculous."
"No. Really. It'll help. Come on."
Their concentration lasted almost five minutes as they stared into each other's eyes, breathing in rhythm. Until the laughter began. They accused each other of starting it, but once started, it was mutual and simultaneous and overpowering, leaving them helpless in each other's arms, unable to speak, unable to do anything without starting it all over again.
Erin was dusting the Trinity Icon as she remembered this, gently rubbing a smudge from a shiny new hinge on the right side.
She did not realize she was laughing aloud again, until she heard the answering chuckle from just above her right shoulder.
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Discover other titles by Niles Kovach
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