by Nicole Bross
“Hi,” she says, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. She’s carrying a vase of sunflowers in her hands.
“Hey. Have a seat. Those are beautiful, thank you.” She puts the sunflowers down on the small table beside the window and settles into the chair Kellen recently vacated. “Kellen tells me you’ve been holding down the fort,” I say, deciding to plunge right in. “I can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“I—oh. You’re not angry?” She looks taken aback and stops fiddling with the hem of her shirtwaist dress.
“What? No, of course not. Why would I be? You’re saving my ass. No one else could have kept things going after everything that’s happened.” A thought occurs to me. “Wait, were you hoping it would make me angry?”
A sad sort of smile appears on her face, and she sighs. “No, not at all. I was trying to make amends, I guess. Look, Audrey, I’ve been incredibly unfair to you, from the moment you first got to town. Before that, really, since I’d already made up my mind before you got there that I wouldn’t like you, and you’d do nothing but cause problems. The truth is, you’ve done nothing of the sort. I should have given you a chance like Roz wanted me to. I’m sorry.”
I somehow manage to keep my mouth from dropping open in surprise. This wasn’t what I was expecting at all. Tears spring to my eyes, and I dab at them with the corner of my hospital gown.
“Anyway, if you want me to turn the reins over to someone else, I completely understand. I know I’ve burned a lot of bridges. I can probably get a fourth-year student intern here by the end of the week, and hire a temp until then—”
“No,” I interrupt. “No, I want you to stay. Like, stay, stay.” I hesitate. “If you want to.” Instead of regretting my hasty words, I really do mean it. Cora and I should be running the inn together.
“How much pain medication are they giving you?” she asks, skeptical. I laugh, pressing down my chest where I was shot at the twinge of pain from the sudden movement.
“Ow. Not enough,” I say, pressing the button on the pump. “I’m serious though, and dead sober.”
“Well…” she pauses. “I’m willing to give it a try. Maybe we can agree on a short-term contract to make sure it really will work out.”
“That sounds like a good idea. If you write one up, I’ll sign it. I’m coming home tomorrow, but it’ll be a few more days at least before I’m going to be up and around much.”
Home. The word, and how easily it slips from my lips, catches me off guard. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I had one. The idea makes me smile.
“I’d better let you get your rest then,” Cora says, and rises to leave, clasping my hand briefly. “I’ll see you soon.”
REGRESS
The sight of his nieces’ and nephew’s drawn, hollow faces had been haunting him since he last saw them while delivering firewood three days prior. He knew they were starving, that the rations weren’t sufficient to keep them alive. His sister Yulia had been almost too weak to stand. He had been the one to stack the wood and build up the fire, bringing at least some warmth to the miserable scene in the cottage.
All of a sudden, he made up his mind. Pulling up the false floor, he filled his rucksack with all the food it could hold—potatoes, onions, parsnips, some cured hard sausage, and a piece of cheese, and slung it over his back.
“What are you doing?” Slava asked, watching him in surprise from her chair, which she had pulled up to the hearth.
“Taking this to my sister’s family,” he replied as he pulled on his heavy boots.
“What if someone asks you what’s in the bag? What if she reports you?”
“I don’t care,” he told her and left their hut.
“Kolya,” Yulia said, her eyes wide when she opened the door. “I didn’t expect you. What brings you here?”
“I have food for you. Children, come have some sausage and cheese.” He opened his rucksack and began unloading its contents onto the table. The children, who had been sitting listlessly about the cottage, sprang up at the sight of the food.
“Has there been an extra ration?” Yulia asked, confused.
“No. This is food I set aside and kept back for us when the rationing was announced,” he said, avoiding her eye.
“Kolya,” Yulia said. He could hear the disappointment in his sibling’s voice at his deception. “Is there more still?”
He nodded. “Grain, as well. I was afraid.” He hung his head. The children were paying no mind to their conversation, tearing off hunks of cheese with their hands, barely taking the time to chew.
“What are you going to do?”
“I will make it right,” he said. “Please, Yulia, eat something. Elena, put four of those potatoes in the ashes to bake.” His niece complied quickly, rolling them carefully into the fireplace so they would cook without burning.
“I will see you soon,” he told his sister, bending to kiss her gently on the cheek. As he left the cottage he reminded his nephew, Dragan, to make sure his mother ate something. “The biggest potato goes to her,” he told him.
Walking through the village toward the church, he heard a commotion ahead of him and quickened his pace. It sounded like someone was cheering, but what was there to be happy about these days? It was as cold as ever, they were still drowning in snow, and there was no end in sight. He turned the corner and saw two men approaching, dragging something behind them. He couldn’t see what because their bodies were in the way, but he could tell from the way they were leaning forward as they walked that it was heavy.
“Father Lvov?” he called, recognizing the man’s hat. It was his uncle, Konstantin, with him. The priest was the man he was looking for. He rushed forward to see what they were so excited about. Both men were whooping at the tops of their lungs, and a few people had stepped outside to see what was going on as well.
He saw the antlers first and couldn’t believe his eyes. There was an enormous buck on the sled, larger than any he’d ever felled.
“Meat! We have meat!” people were exclaiming as the two men pulled the buck up in front of the house where the priest and his uncle made their home. Everyone was smiling, hugging each other, and clapping the two men on the back. For a moment, he contemplated staying silent about his deception, now that the village had this windfall, but he remembered his promise to his sister and joined the small crowd.
“Well done, Father, Konstantin. He’s a beauty. Can I assist you with the gutting and butchering?”
“Of course, thank you, Kolya,” the Father said. “Brothers, sisters, spread the word—there will be meat for everyone tonight.” There were cheers and laughter as everyone dispersed to share the happy news. Kolya grabbed the rope to help drag the sled around to the back of the house. For a few minutes, the three men worked in silence, laboring together to get the buck tied up by its hind legs and hung from a tree branch.
“Father, I have something to confess,” he said finally.
“I will go get the knives,” Konstantin said and walked toward the house so his nephew and Kolya could be alone.
“What is it, Kolya?” Father Lvov said.
“I have held back food that should have gone into the rations.” He described how he and Slava had dug the small cellar and built the false wall to conceal their stores, and how they had been supplementing their rations since the long winter set in. “I acted out of fear of starvation and suffering, but by doing so I have caused greater suffering for others,” he said. “It was cowardly and selfish of me. I knew it from the start, but I allowed the fear to control me.”
“I see. Fear has caused a great many of us to do things we later regret, myself included.”
“I accept whatever punishment the village council metes out.” He knew this would likely mean exile—he had little money to pay a fine, and the village had no means of imprisoning anyone. Those found guilty of minor crimes were often publicly flogged, but he had no doubt this was too serious for a mere whipping.
> “Have you still some food left?” Kolya nodded and gave him a rough estimate of what remained. “Do you renounce your sins, and beg forgiveness from God?”
“I do, Father. It’s why I decided to confess. My eternal soul is more important than my earthly sufferings.”
“Then here is what I propose. You will surrender your food to be added to the rations. You will forgo any of the meat from this fine beast,” the Father slapped the deer on its haunch, “and for the remainder of the winter, however long it may last, you will hunt and trap with me in order to add to the village’s food supplies. Finally, should your sister’s husband not return and is found to have died, you will support her and her children in addition to yourself.”
“Of course, Father, that goes without saying. I have no children of my own—my nieces and nephew are the closest thing I will ever have. It was them that made me realize my wrongs. What of the council? What will you tell the people?”
“I will not say a word, so long as you hold up your end of the agreement. We all deserve forgiveness, Kolya, and I believe you are sincere in your remorse.”
“Thank you, Father. I am.” He embraced the priest, his heart lighter than it had been in months.
Acknowledgments
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to write a book. I mean, not just write a book, but write a book that people who didn’t actually know me could pick up, take home and read. People like you (hi!). So first, thanks go to you for taking a chance on a debut author. It means the world to me.
I certainly didn’t get to this point alone; I made the words, and then many people stepped in to help make the words great. The first eyes on Past Presence were my beta readers: my sister Jackie, my parents and the folks from WRITERS GROUP!—Lindsay, Saryn, Teresa and Tiffany. Your feedback was invaluable, as was your support along this journey. I owe a great debt of gratitude to my editor, Kylee Howells for pushing me to make Past Presence the book it is today, the team at Literary Wanderlust for shepherding this noob through the publishing business, and the organizers of the #DVPit pitch party on Twitter, both for your support of diverse voices, and for hosting the event that connected me with my publisher.
My parents, Allyson and Rod, have been supporting my writing since I was able to grasp a pencil. Without their support and undying belief that I could be an author, I would not be writing this today. They are my first and best cheerleaders. Mom and dad, I’m so sorry you had to read my sex scenes. Thanks for not making it weird.
I am fortunate beyond measure to have a village of women who hold me up with love, wisdom and sarcasm. To all the members, past and present, of the OKGS: shoulder bumps. You’re welcome in my shed anytime.
Finally, this book wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for my family: My husband Darcy and my children, Mairead and Finley. You gave up time with me so that I could write, and encouraged me the whole way. Thank you for seeing that I could be Writer as well as Mom and Wife. I’m so lucky to have you. And to Oliver, my feline soulmate—I’m glad I’m your hooman. Please stop sitting on my keyboard.
About the Author
Nicole Bross is an author from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where she lives with her husband, two children and one very large orange cat. When she’s not writing or working as the editor of a magazine, she can be found curled up with a book, messing around with her ever-expanding collection of manual typewriters or in the departures lounge of the airport at the beginning of another adventure. Past Presence is her debut novel.