Chapter 4

"I go to the village today, tovarichka. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Do you wish me to?"

She stood in the kitchen, making the simple room elegant by her presence alone. Hands were sunk into a basin of water as she scrubbed the breakfast dishes. Slowly her presence had permeated the chapel. He could feel her in each room, as if she had left a piece of herself behind in all of them. It was cool and refreshing. 

It hadn't been until his last visit to the village that he realized how much of her he felt around him. Her presence had not been with him. In the beginning, her existence had been surprising to remember, she was so quiet. Now, she was ever-present in the chapel and it's small surroundings.

Of course he wanted her to go with him today because he wanted to see her interact with the villagers, on a deeper level than the services he held were able to provide. Their congregation was slowly, very slowly, growing, but it was still small, and she was almost painfully formal around them. It was apparent she had no friends among the villagers. No one bore her ill will, but no one bore her any particularly good will either. It was as if unless she were mentioned to them, or standing before them, they had no thought of her at all. 

She devoted herself to being his Chanter whenever he required, as it was not allowed by the Church that he celebrate alone. As the parish was indeed so small, she was very useful considering how often he required her. Vespers, Compline, Matins, the Divine Liturgy and of course the First, Third, Sixth, and Ninth Hours. They were celebrated on a strict, but constant schedule, and it would take someone of great stamina to keep up with him, who had been trained specifically for it. 

She was more than up to the task, and her voice was pure and sweet as she sang the prescribed responses during service. In a moment of vanity, he thought their voices sounded very nice together, lending a certain elegant gravity to their simple little chapel.

In order for her to learn the Hours so perfectly, she must have spent much of her life chasing down the occasional monk or priest who happened to pass through the area. There was no other way to explain how she knew them so well. He had discovered her memory to be particularly good, which probably had served in good stead during her self-study.

Such determination had probably not left much time for the more social aspect of secular life. It had certainly made her no friends among the villagers. No enemies, and none were ever rude or even dismissive of her. But they tended to treat her with the same cordial affability they treated him. She was obviously not family, and was still an outsider, as he was.

He didn't like it. The idea of her being even an unintentional pariah when she was such a good person galled. There wasn't much he could do to forward her relationships with the villagers, but he would do what he could. 

"I thought you might be able to lay in additional supplies while we were there. You did mention you had a pot that had to be mended?"

"Very well," she said. "Please allow me to finish this chore and I will prepare to go with you."

"Excellent. I will be waiting."

"I will work quickly."

True to her word, she finished up and was dressed and ready to leave within the quarter-hour. 

"It is a good day to walk," he said as they left the chapel and began the five mile walk to Rechka. The sky overhead was piercingly blue, without a single wispy cloud. The deciduous trees to either side had begun to turn a brilliant array of colors, explosions of red and orange and yellow. They were intermixed with the somber green of the pine, whose scent filled the air. 

"Here, Father," she said, reaching into her basket and withdrawing a handkerchief. It was a plain square of linen, without the elaborate and colorful embroidery even the simplest of peasants used to enliven such things. He had noticed her lack of the gentler womanly skills, but assumed it was due to her lack of guidance while growing up. 

Unfortunately, this was something he could not help her with. 

"Thank you," was all he said, accepting the handkerchief and using it to mop his forehead. There had been a definite autumnal chill in the air that morning, and he had worn his woolen cassock. "I am sorry you have to take that pot to the village for repair. I would be able to do it, but I don't have the tools needed at the chapel."

"There is no need for such an apology. You have greater things to concentrate on than mending cookware."

"Ah, it is so. I wish the greater things included a larger parish, such as easy access to a forge of my own. I should not waste thought on such frivolous notions."

She dismissed his frivolous notions with a flip of her graceful hand. "They will come in time. The numbers are growing."

"But at a paltry rate. If I do not create more interest, I will be recalled to Kyiv."

"Is it truly that serious?" she asked, eyes going dark and introspective. 

"It is. The letter I received yesterday was from my bishop. He is not pleased with my progress. I am praying for inspiration."

"I will ask for guidance as well."

Reaching out he put a hand on top of her head. The feel of the babushka was rough against his palm. 

"You truly are a great helpmeet. You are making yourself indispensable, you know."

"I know. That is my purpose."

He could only chuckle. That odd confidence chose to manifest at the strangest times. It was impossible to gauge what comment would be met with simple matter-of-factness, or with blushing hesitancy. She was certainly a riddle. One he was no closer to solving.

But he enjoyed trying.

"Father…may I ask a question?"

"Of course. You may ask me anything."

"I will remember that. I wish to know what your studies are."

"You have seen the books, my notes. What do you think they are?"

She shrugged. "I can make no sense of them. The markings are very mysterious to me."

"You cannot read?"

"No. Why should I?"

He had been taught to read and write over the course of his seminary studies, and he had forgotten what a rare skill it would be for commoners. Theirs was an oral tradition. News, gossip, history, all were verbally communicated. This meant, though, that all of her Orthodox knowledge had been learned purely by ear. That brilliant memory again.

"I will teach you, if you like."

The smile was its usual dazzling brightness. It was rare to see, like a shooting star, but it never failed to fill him with warmth. It wasn't that she was a particularly morose person, but displays of emotion were few and far between. It was as if they simply did not occur to her. All things were of equal import to her. 

Jokes were generally lost on her.

"I would like it very much indeed! To read the Word with my own eyes would truly be a great thing."

"They would teach you once you took your vows, but it will save time if you already know. And it will help to pass the winter. You are quick, it should not take long." 

She would rarely say something pleased her, but the blinding smile said it all for her. It was his hope that he would be able to find many things that would allow him to see that smile more often. And teaching her to read would give him the opportunity. He was quite glad of the ready activity that would allow him to spend a great deal of time in her close company during the harsh winter months.

"But to my original question, what is it you study so deeply?"

"They are involved, and some would feel useless. The lands we live in are complicated, with a complicated history. The ruling classes are far above the common. I believe Christianity can become a bridge between the two, so they are not so divided. I see very dark things in store for our people if that gulf is not overcome. I study the past, how we came to be where we are, and so hope to catch a glimpse of our future.

"Should the ruling class be able to truly embrace Christianity," he continued, "and learn tolerance in all things, that all sins can be forgiven, they can become what everyone needs to be prosperous. Of course I don't believe it is an ultimate panacea, but I do very much believe that it can establish a very strong foundation for our children, and our children's children."

"I see," she said quietly, and when he glanced at her in surprise, her eyes were once again turned inward. 

"Do my words trouble you?"

"No, not at all. They are very illuminating."

"Illuminating?"

"I have been attempting to determine my reason for being here. I believe your studies are that purpose. You are destined for great things."

"I am but a simple priest, with a simple parish. Greatness is best reserved for those with the shoulders broad enough to carry it. And your purpose is to assist me, is it not?"

Now she looked directly at him. "Your shoulders are more than broad enough."

Her gaze made him unexpectedly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, no words came to fill it. 

It was in silence they finished the walk to the village.