Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  Stepan uttered a gurgling sound of approval as he held up Katerina’s spoon for his mother to see. She nodded at Stepan, a wide smile on her pleasant face.

  Katerina clasped the rosy-cheeked woman to her, to Stepan’s delight. “Your cooking is delicious, and thoughts of your wonderful dinner will keep both of us hurrying throughout the day.”

  “Hot beet soup, roast lamb with dumplings, and a spiced honey cake baked especially for you.”

  Both women laughed as Stepan rolled his eyes and rubbed his stomach.

  Without waiting any longer, the two young people headed for the barn, Stepan running slightly ahead. He turned once, motioning for Katerina to hurry, anxious for her to see the care and attention he had given Wildflower.

  Inside the moist, sweet-smelling stable, Stepan placed Katerina’s hand on the mare’s belly and grinned.

  Katerina laughed. “What do you think, Ostap, is the mare well?”

  Ostap shrugged. “There are no signs of complications, and the mare is hale and hearty, thanks to my son’s care.”

  Katerina nodded as she pulled a woolen cap over her hair. “We are going to walk around the village and see what has to be done in preparation for Father’s return.”

  Ostap puffed on his pipe and motioned to them to hurry and close the door before the mare felt a draft.

  Katerina spied her father’s summer home, the largest in the village, as was proper for the hetman, and felt fear settle over her. Her large eyes raked the quietness around her. The village was no different from any other Cossack settlement; the huts, constructed of logs, were insulated with moss to conserve heat in the cold months, each boasting an oven made of baked clay, laid out in a circle surrounding the camp to prevent attack from wild marauders. Wearily she rubbed at her temples.

  Inside one of the huts, Katerina forced her mind to the task at hand. She had to pay attention to Stepan and the work she had to do.

  On the rough plank wall hung the only adornment, the treasured icon that held a place of honor on a wall in every home. The Blessed Mother with Christ Child, painted on a smooth wooden plaque and trimmed in gilt, pleased Katerina as she gazed at it. She, like all the people of the Ukraine, had been taught at a very early age two values: love and protection of the steppe and reverence and preservation of their Eastern Orthodox religion. These were dearer than life itself.

  Together, Katerina and Stepan cleaned the hut, sweeping and dusting with zeal. The spring move down from the mountains was almost at hand, and she wanted the home to be neat and refreshed for the Kat’s arrival.

  Their task finished, Katerina spoke. “I know your father has kept the fences in good order, but let’s check them to be sure none of the posts have worked loose.” They walked in companionable silence to the southeast corner of the village, where the animal compound stood empty, waiting to open its gates to the horses. Katerina’s eyes darted about, looking for a fallen post or split rails. All appeared to be in good order, with the exception of a protruding nail here and there inviting the blows of a hammer.

  They continued their inspection until reaching the massive barn. “In the next few weeks this area will be filled with wonderment. Mares will birth their foals, the foals will test their new legs, and, once tried, their wobbly legs will carry them eagerly to their mother’s milk. There they will suckle until their bellies are full. All will be quiet again, until the mares and the foals, nestled in an atmosphere of love, talk to each other. The sound will be heard throughout the village. Then, in three years, the fillies and colts will be ready for market. In seven years those blotchy gray-white foals will be pure white Cosars,” she whispered to Stepan, who nodded his head in agreement.

  Katerina sought the compartments containing mountains of hay, wheat, and oats. The storage bins were filled to capacity. “We’ll begin by laying straw on the floors of the stalls and fill all the feed and water troughs. When we finish here, we’ll check the storehouse to see if we have enough smoked meats, and the root cellar to see how well the vegetables fared through the winter. The men will bring back the sheep and goats, and fresh meat will be in abundance, except for game and rabbit. If we complete our chores ahead of time, we’ll go hunting. Would you like that, Stepan?”

  The boy waved his arms wildly, a grin splitting his face.

  “Roast goose for the first night back.” Katerina laughed. “I have an idea, Stepan. With your mother and father’s help we can carry all the tables and benches from the huts to the barn and prepare a feast for the men’s return. A feast for all to enjoy before the hard work of spring begins. Start with the straw, Stepan, and I’ll get the water.”

  The sun was high in the west and the shadows grew longer as they entered the storehouse. “We’ll have to do this fast, Stepan, the light is fading.” Quickly they checked the shelves and hooks in the storehouse. Seeing that the smoked meat was plentiful, they turned to the fragrant root cellar, which they found to be pregnant with foodstuffs. “No problem, Stepan, there’s plenty of food until the next harvest. If you aren’t too tired, we can check the toolshed now and get an early start in the morning.”

  Stepan nodded and pulled on her arm to show that he was willing to go with her.

  Inside the shed the lantern cast eerie spectral shadows upon the rough walls as Katerina inspected the tools. “Your father has a system all his own,” she said, laughing. “You see how all the tools on these three walls have been finished, sharpened to perfection. These,” she said, pointing to the fourth wall, “are still to be done.”

  Katerina leaned against the wall as Stepan removed one tool and then another to test its sharpness. Wearily she let her thick lashes drop; she was tired, but not exhausted enough to sleep. She opened her eyes again as Stepan bent down to pick up a tool near her. Katerina’s breath caught in her throat for a second. If only she had had a weapon with . . . would she have used it? Could she stick a knife in a man’s ribs or heart? Could she bludgeon to save herself? The Mongol’s face with his midnight-dark eyes swam before her. Could she have killed him? A shudder ripped through her slender body as Stepan reached up to take the lantern from where it hung above her, a puzzled look on his face. “It’s all right. I’m just tired,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll race you back to the house. The first one there gets all of the spiced honey cake.” Stepan’s eyes lit up as Katerina tore ahead of him. He loped along behind, the lantern bobbing freely in the air, the yellow light twinkling and winking in the darkness.

  The following days were grueling. Katerina worked with Stepan at her side from dawn till dusk. She ate her dinner quickly, took a hot bath, and fell into bed. When she slept, her dreams were invaded by a dark-eyed man with hair the color of night. He stalked her slowly, insidiously, through the thick trees. She always woke just as she was about to be captured, a hammer raised in her hand, her coppery hair wet and matted, and a sheen of perspiration on her face. Could she slay him when the time came? Finding no answer, she would crawl from her bed and work nonstop throughout the day, only to fall into bed and have the same bad dream.

  “Volin,” she said to Stepan one morning, “will shine like a kopeck when we are finished. My father will be proud of me.” She still hadn’t forgiven him for berating her the way he had, but she knew she would the moment she saw him. At that moment she would forgive him anything, because beneath their arguments they deeply loved each other. Their quarrels were usually caused by their similar temperament.

  By the end of the week Katerina noticed the dried, yellow grass poking through the snow and pointed it out to Stepan with the toe of her boot. He waved his arms and uttered a sound much like that of a new baby. It was the first sign that winter was slipping away and spring would soon cause the earth to give birth to its greenery. Once again the steppe would be covered with a rainbow of color, as animals and birds returned to sing the sounds of life.

  “We have a few good hours of daylight left, Stepan. Come, we’re going hunting.” An hour after sunset, they returned with nine g
eese and seven rabbits. “Hardly a feast, but each will get a portion.”

  Stepan waved his arms and hands to show he agreed as they thrust out their bounty for Olga and Ostap to see.

  That night as Katerina soaked in her bath, the steamy wetness relaxing her, she thought of the coming weeks. Soon the farming would begin and the fields would be seeded. Once the sowing was done, the buyers would begin to arrive and the bartering for the Cosars would start. It was exciting to watch the outsiders and her father trying to outsmart each other. She slid farther down into the tub and tried to remember what it was she had to do the following day. She wanted everything in order for her father’s arrival. How could she have forgotten? She had to stack the wood, light the ovens, and lay the oblong lace cloth on each bread table, in a north-to-south direction, and place an unlit candle, a loaf of black bread, and a tiny dish of salt upon it. This was the Cossack custom for good health and good luck in the new year. When she finished she would walk to the end of the road and watch for her father. She missed him, Mikhailo, the horses, and the old man who sat by the fire waiting to die.

  The bathwater was cooling; it was time to get out and snuggle into the warm bed. Lord, she was tired to the very bone. If only she could have one good night’s sleep, one without the Mongol invading her dreams.

  It was not to be. As soon as the dark lashes were stilled and her breathing was regular, a dark-eyed man on horseback raced after her as she spurred Bluefire onward. She thrashed about in the big bed, the quilt sliding onto the floor from her frantic movements. He was gaining; closer and closer he came, until he was abreast of her. His dark eyes were laughing and his white teeth gleamed in the early night. He wore a brown cape, which he threw to the ground as he reached out a long arm and dragged her from Bluefire’s broad back. She fell to the ground, and from somewhere she felt her fingers touch a heavy wooden pallet. He stood over her, laughing, his stance arrogant, his face amused and mocking. She struggled to her knees, the mallet raised, ready to strike. A bloodcurdling scream ripped from her mouth as she tumbled from the high bed onto the softness of the quilt. She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, and was not surprised to see it come away wet.

  Her heart beating madly, she gathered the covering around her and walked to the huge oven. Katerina secured the quilt around her and lay down on the felt-covered floor, her eyes wide and staring.

  The following morning Katerina and Stepan worked diligently to finish their tasks, scurrying from hut to hut performing their specific duties.

  Laughing and teasing each other, they walked to the end of the road. Suddenly Katerina commanded, “Sh-h-h, listen. Do you hear them?”

  The boy tilted his head toward the open steppe. He motioned that he heard nothing.

  “Listen again,” she urged, “the hoofbeats are louder now, you should hear them.” Again he turned his head, intent on listening, his face brightening and a broad grin emerging, acknowledging that he, too, heard.

  As the horses thundered closer, Katerina stood directly in the middle of the road, her hands on her hips, her legs astride, waiting for her father. Moments later, Katlof came thundering down the road, majestic atop Snowfire, almost running her down. She didn’t move a muscle. Her father brought the horse to an abrupt stop.

  “So, you’re alive after all!” he shouted, looking down at her fiercely.

  “Yes, I’m alive, and so are Wildflower and Bluefire!”

  Katlof dismounted and stood at the side of his horse, a stern look on his face. “Then come here, baryshna, and give your father a proper welcome home.”

  As Katerina ran toward him, the stern look dissolved, a broad smile crossing his face. As they embraced each other, her father said, “In my heart I knew you were alive. Why didn’t you send word? Why didn’t you return?”

  “Because, Father, I haven’t forgotten your scolding, and I hadn’t forgiven you until this moment. I was angry with you so I thought I would let you spend a week agonizing and praying for me,” she said coolly. “I thought it would do you good.”

  “Ha!” roared Katlof. “Spoken like a true Cossack,” he said, as he gave her a hearty slap on her back. “A true Cossack, that’s my Katerina!” he chuckled.

  A Cossack rode up and led Snowfire away as Katlof and Katerina walked toward their summer dwelling together. “So, Daughter, tell your father what you have been doing this past week.”

  “You’ll see.” She laughed as she led him through the town toward their hut.

  Before they entered, Katerina looked out across the endless plain and thought, the steppe and I have something in common—it goes on endlessly, as does my bad dream. She knew then she would never be free of the Mongol. A feeling of panic began to engulf her. She silently pleaded, God, dear God, help me! “Please!” she whispered as she closed the door behind her.

  Again they embraced fondly. Katlof stepped back, staring down into her eyes. “I’m sorry for my tirade back in the fortress,” he said gruffly. “How like your mother you are. You have the same fiery Mongol temper and the same gentle persuasiveness.”

  “Was she beautiful, Father?”

  “You have only to look in the mirror to see the beauty of your mother. Because of you, your mother is always with me,” he said tenderly.

  Katerina threw herself into his arms, burrowing her head into his broad chest.

  His words, softly spoken, were barely audible. “How I love you, child, you’re my life, my reason for being. Without you I would have nothing.”

  Tears welled in the amber eyes. “I’ll never fail you again, Father.”

  * * *

  Spring was everywhere. Most evident was the farmland, where the ground, now softened by the thaw, left the earth ready for the plow. Cossacks could be seen with plow straps draped around their shoulders as the Cosars that were fit only for farming pulled the primitive plows forward.

  The village bustled with activity as each Cossack performed his tasks. There were farmers, hunters of game, lumberjacks, and the women who worked in the homes and helped in the field. The remaining Cossacks tended the famed Cosars.

  Katerina and Katlof spent their days in the barn with the mares, watching the miracle of birth. The birthing made her feel clean and near to God as she watched the foals leave the shelter of their mothers’ wombs, bringing a closeness between her and her father that was renewed every year at this time. As they watched, the attachment expressed between mother and foal engulfed them also. Katrina looked at her father with love-filled amber eyes as he enfolded her in the crook of his arm. She felt safe and secure, out of harm’s way. Safe from the Mongol for the moment.

  As the weeks passed, the steppe was again a playground for wild game and birds. The young fillies and colts frolicked and ran along with the wild inhabitants through the short grass and budding flowers. Katerina adored watching the horses when they were on the plain, running like the wind, testing their spindly legs, and at the same time strengthening them. When she could stand it no longer, she would leap on Bluefire’s back and race along with the colts and fillies.

  Each day as new foals were born, Katerina and Katlof were in attendance. “It looks like an especially good year for selling stock. Except for one or two sickly colts, we haven’t lost one horse, and with the proper attention, the two sick fillies will be up and around again,” Katlof said quietly.

  “Father, let me nurse the two sick colts. You know how they respond to me; let me take care of them!” she begged.

  “If you want to spend that much time with the animals, of course you may tend them. But as you know, it’s a full-time task which must be done with much love and patience,” he stressed.

  “Just trust me,” she said confidently.

  “Very well, Katerina.”

  Every day and every night for weeks, Katerina hand-fed the colts and tended to their every need, sleeping in the barn at night to make sure nothing went awry. Almost a month to the day, they were up on their legs, kicking up their heels with the urge to ru
n. Katerina led them from the barn to the open steppe, where they disappeared like the wind. She had done well; her father would be proud. She had the Kat’s touch. As she gazed after them, she noticed a streak of white flash by. It was Whitefire, prancing and running with his offspring. Busy with the ill horses, she had forgotten it was time for Whitefire to perform stud service. The stallion would stay in Volin for two months, and then Stepan would take him back to the Carpathians.

  Leaving the barn, Katerina looked toward the compound and saw it filled to capacity with the mares selected for next year’s supply of foals. This was Katlof’s system, so long as his herd was plentiful and healthy, he divided the mares into thirds, each group going to stud once every three years.

  As she watched the men release a mare to run with Whitefire, feelings of desire began to stir in her. It was spring, and the animals, birds, and horses were busy reproducing. She smiled as Whitefire chased a mare behind a small clump of trees. Soon thereafter, the stallion reappeared, reared up on his hind legs, and whinnied triumphantly. It was done: another mare carried the seed of the prized horse.

  Strange feelings and emotions began to course through her as she watched the mares. But deep within her she felt a need for tenderness, for love. She wondered if she could love. Was love the same as lust? Underneath it all, was it just a matter of copulation? She couldn’t and wouldn’t believe that was all there was to it.

  That night two lovers stole into the barn under cover of darkness, unaware of her gaze. How sweetly they embraced each other and how passionately they vowed their endearments in husky murmurings. As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, leaving a wide-eyed Katerina staring after them.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought of the young couple. She wanted desperately to be held, to be kissed tenderly and gently. She felt confused and afraid.

  Forcing her mind to think of other things, she walked back to the hut to tell her father the colts were well and running in the fields, healthy young Cosars.