Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash

by Tammy Pasterick

  Thirty-Nine

  JANOS

  BEAVER CREEK, NOVEMBER 11, 1917

  Janos picked up a small, round stone and skipped it across the surface of the river. He had no idea how long he’d been staring at the water. Time seemed to have stopped completely. He was grateful that his head had begun to clear and his heart rate had slowed. He was probably no longer in danger of a heart attack, but he desperately wished he’d brought the bottle of whiskey with him. Getting drunk and passing out on the banks of the river seemed like a good alternative to facing reality.

  Janos still could not believe what had happened that afternoon. It was a nightmare come to life. Only he’d never imagined such a situation in his wildest dreams. His deceitful wife had traded her loving husband and beautiful children for a life of lechery. It was impossible to comprehend. Janos shuddered as he imagined the kind of man who could have fathered the child Karina was carrying. What on Earth had she become? How had she fallen so far?

  He shook his head and skipped another stone. Was it possible to simply send Karina away and let the church care for her and the baby? Janos would do anything to spare his children the grief of seeing their mother again—especially in her current state. But could he live out the rest of his days in peace, knowing that he’d deprived Sofie and Lukas the opportunity to know their little brother or sister?

  Janos thought of his children. He was so proud of who they had become. Despite all that they’d endured, they had grown up to be kind and compassionate people, always sympathetic to the sufferings of those around them. Perhaps their life experiences had given them insight that luckier children—those with stable mothers—lacked. But even without those tumultuous experiences, Sofie and Lukas had always been reflective people. They were always asking questions, trying to understand the world around them. They were incredibly perceptive, seeing things that people twice their age could not.

  Janos suddenly wondered if he deserved all the credit for who his children had become. Weren’t they half of Karina? She had always been insightful, often seeing the world in ways he could not. She spotted injustices to which he was blind and had a knack for identifying people with dishonorable intentions. She had been the only member of St. Michael’s congregation who suspected the butcher’s wife was lifting coins out of the collection basket.

  It dawned on Janos that perhaps his children had inherited some of Karina’s traits, but what they got were better versions of them. Despite her many failings, she had miraculously produced two amazing children.

  Karina, the source of his life’s greatest miseries, was, remarkably, the source of his greatest joys.

  Janos laid his head on the ground, overwhelmed by the revelation. Karina had given him the gift of Sofie and Lukas. What if her baby had the same potential as its siblings? Janos sighed. He was so furious with Karina that he could barely see straight, but he was not the kind of man who would allow his anger to prevent him from doing the right thing. He would not hide the existence of Karina’s baby from Sofie and Lukas.

  He just needed to figure out a way to tell them. Luckily, Lukas was away at school in Johnstown and wouldn’t be back until the holidays. But Sofie? She would be home at any minute. How would she react to her mother’s latest betrayal? Janos looked up and searched the cloudless sky. Was he a fool to hope an answer might fall from the heavens? He closed his eyes and prayed.

  Forty

  SOFIE

  BEAVER CREEK, NOVEMBER 11, 1917

  Sofie peered through the barren trees, focusing on the gray-haired man lying on his back at the edge of the river fifty yards ahead of her. The man looked like her father, but she could not imagine what he would be doing near the river without a fishing pole.

  As she neared the sleeping figure, she could see that it was, in fact, Papa. She put down her stringer of fish and left the dirt path, climbing down over the steep bank. Not wanting to startle him, she whispered, “Papa? Papa, wake up.” She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  He jumped up, his eyes open wide. “Sofie! You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. Were you looking for me?”

  “No, sweetheart. I just went for a walk and needed to rest.”

  “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”

  Papa shook his head as he picked up a stone and cast it into the river. His forehead was creased with worry. “Something happened today.” He reached for Sofie’s hand and squeezed it. “Please sit. I have some upsetting news.”

  A chill went through her as she fell to the grass, her knees suddenly weak. Papa’s face rarely looked so contorted. The last time he appeared as forlorn was the night of Lukas’s accident. Sofie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is Lukas all right?”

  “He’s fine,” Papa said, nodding, running his fingers through his hair. “I fear I’m making this harder.” He scraped the heel of his shoe across the stones at the water’s edge, trying to remove a clump of mud from it. He finally turned to Sofie after a minute of silence. “Zlatíčko … your mother came to the house this afternoon.”

  Sofie stopped breathing.

  “Actually, to be precise, Father Figlar and Sister Agnes brought her. She is in poor health. I hardly recognized her.”

  “What … who?” Sofie stammered. She shoved a finger into her right ear, hoping to remove whatever was clogging it. Surely she had misheard her father.

  “Your mother needs our help.”

  There it was again. Papa had said “mother.” She hadn’t heard wrong. Sofie sprang to her feet, her body rife with adrenaline. “After what she did? She left us! She caused Lukas’s accident!” Sofie’s rage exploded in one furious breath. “We owe her nothing,” she said, shaking her head violently.

  “That was my initial reaction, too. But there’s more to the story.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” She covered her ears and began to pace. “I don’t care. I don’t care where she’s been or how poor her health is. We talked about this only a few weeks ago … we’re better off without her.” Sofie froze and glared at her father. “I assume you sent her away.”

  “Your aunt did. She slammed the door in the priest’s face.”

  “Good.” Sofie nodded her head so forcefully that a pain shot through the back of her neck. “Well, if that’s all, I’m going home to clean my fish.” She started up the bank.

  Janos leapt to his feet and grabbed his daughter by the arm. “Wait,” he pleaded. “You need to hear the rest of the story.”

  Jerking away, Sofie announced, “I will not hear it. I’m done with that woman.” She sprinted up the hill and onto the path. “I thought you were, too,” she called over her shoulder.

  “She’s pregnant!” Papa shouted.

  Sofie stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around and looked down over the bank at her father, who was standing with one foot in the river. He had lost his bearings, unaware that his shoe was submerged in the murky water.

  “I told you there was more.” Papa’s arms hung limply at his sides, like earthworms used one too many times for bait. “She’s carrying your little brother or sister.”

  Sofie dropped to her knees on the dirt path. “Why, Papa?” she wailed. “Why can’t we just be rid of her?” She buried her face in her skirt and tugged at her hair. She suddenly wanted to rip it all out. “How could she show up with another man’s baby? How?” she screamed into her lap.

  “I know, sweetheart. It’s not fair.” Papa was at her side, rubbing her back.

  Sofie wept into her skirt, clenching her fists into balls. Her fingernails dug deep into her palms, the throbbing sensation temporarily distracting her from the pain in her chest. As her middle finger pierced the flesh of her right palm, she became vaguely aware of her father’s breath against her ear.

  “How can I help?”

  Sofie looked up through watery eyes. Papa’s face was drawn.

  “Would you like some time alone?”

  She nodded. A hot tear escaped down her cheek.

  “It took me
a while to calm down. I threw a glass of whiskey at the dining room wall before I stormed out of the house. I ruined your aunt’s favorite wallpaper.”

  “You destroyed her blue butterflies?” Sofie whispered.

  “I think so,” Papa said, lowering his head. “Take some time to cool off. Skip a few stones into the river. We’ll talk more after dinner.”

  Sofie shifted onto her bottom. As she watched her father walk slowly toward town, she could see the weight of the world on his shoulders. His normally tall, erect frame looked decidedly bent. She cursed her poor excuse for a mother.

  Sofie tiptoed across the wooden train bridge, her pockets packed with stones of various shapes and sizes. She planned to launch them into the river and watch them sink helplessly to the bottom. She was hoping that small act of defiance might lessen her fury. However, once she reached the middle of the timber structure, fifty yards from either side of the riverbank, she questioned her judgment.

  It had been six weeks since she’d visited the bridge with Marie and the boys from the dance, and the water level had dropped dramatically. There had been heavy rains in the days before her last visit, so the river had been unusually high. But now, with only trace amounts of rain throughout the months of October and early November, the river had become shockingly low. The large, jagged rocks in the riverbed had been revealed, making Sofie uneasy. She wondered how many feet she stood above the river. Sixty? Seventy? She had no idea. She only knew that a fall from the bridge would kill her for sure. She wished there was a railing she could grasp for support.

  Sofie eased herself onto the deck of the bridge and allowed her feet to dangle over the side. Gripping the railroad tie on which she was sitting, she peered down at the rocks and the water swirling around them. She swallowed hard as her knees quivered. What had happened to her? She’d never been this fearful of heights. Maybe the trauma of her mother’s return had rattled her more than she’d realized.

  Before her encounter with her father, Sofie had been in an exceptional mood, feeling satisfied with the day’s catch. She’d been eager to get home and help Aunt Anna fry all those fish. She never could have predicted the upheaval awaiting her. Papa’s news had shaken her to her core and turned her world upside down. Sofie was disoriented and could no longer find the horizon.

  She gritted her teeth as she imagined seeing her mother again. Why had she returned after all these years? Did she really expect her family to forgive her and help her care for another man’s baby? Why should they take responsibility for a stranger’s bastard?

  Trembling, Sofie pulled a stone out of her pocket and hurled it into the river. It fell into the water with a soft plop. She cursed and reached into her pocket for a bigger one. This time she flung it toward a group of boulders near the base of one of the bridge’s pillars. The stone split into several pieces with a loud crack. Still not satisfied, Sofie emptied all the stones from her pockets, launching two at a time against the boulders, each throw more violent than the last.

  By the time she was done, Sofie was sweaty and breathing hard. She wiped her face with her forearm and was stunned to find that it was wet. Had she been crying? She hadn’t noticed in the middle of her fury. Sofie had never been so angry—not even after the realization all those years ago that her mother had abandoned her family on purpose. And now that wretched woman was back after seven long years, pregnant with another man’s baby and expecting help from her husband and children. It was even more infuriating.

  Sofie screamed so loud, her throat burned.

  There was no way she could ever forgive the woman who had once been her mother. Karina was a selfish, despicable person who deserved no mercy—pregnant or not. And there was no way Sofie would ever want anything to do with her child. She owed as much to that baby as she owed the German Kaiser. She spat into the river. Whatever her father decided to do about Karina and her baby, she would not be a part of it.

  Forty-One

  JANOS

  BEAVER CREEK, NOVEMBER 11, 1917

  Janos watched Sofie carry her dinner plate into the kitchen where their boarders, Vilium and Marek, were fighting over a piece of pumpkin pie. Sofie had barely eaten anything and hadn’t spoken more than a few words at dinner.

  “Is she all right?” Anna whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” Janos said. “She’s going to need more than a few hours to digest this afternoon’s news.”

  “You seem much calmer now. I’m relieved.”

  “I’m no less enraged. But I’m putting my anger aside for the sake of that baby.”

  “What are you going to do? Do you think Father Figlar and Sister Agnes are still in town? Will you try to find them?” Anna asked.

  “If I know Father Figlar, he’ll stop by again this evening. He doesn’t give up easily. I think we should sit and wait.” Janos looked down at his own dinner plate. He’d eaten only slightly more than his daughter. He got up from the table and reached for his sister’s plate, catching a glimpse of the soggy paper on the wall. “I’ll take this into the kitchen, Anna. It’s the least I can do for destroying your pretty wall and raising my voice. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I actually think you handled the situation quite well. A lesser man would have strangled that woman.”

  Janos forced a weak smile as he trudged into the kitchen to put the plates beside the sink. Vilium and Marek had disappeared, and Sofie was washing dishes. “Do you feel like talking yet?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I won’t have anything to do with Karina or her baby. It’s as simple as that,” Sofie said defiantly.

  Janos was struck by his daughter’s tone—and her use of the name “Karina.” It was disrespectful for her to refer to her mother by her first name, but he did not reprimand Sofie. Instead, he kissed her on the forehead. “It’s possible that Father Figlar may come by again this evening to discuss your mother. I don’t know if he’ll bring her along, but I wanted to warn you. Would you like to see her?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ll go upstairs for the rest of the evening as soon as I finish the dishes.”

  Janos’s eyes welled with tears. His poor little girl was suffering once again at the hands of her mother. Their past had somehow caught up to them. Suddenly, he heard a loud knock at the door. “That’s probably Father Figlar. You can go, Sofie. We’ll worry about the dishes later.”

  She hurried down the hall and up the stairs as Janos approached the front door. Anna peeked out of the dining room.

  “Where’s Sofie going?”

  “She doesn’t want to see her mother.”

  “I can’t blame her.” Anna stepped into the hall and stood beside her brother. “Would you like me to get the door?”

  Janos shook his head as he stepped toward the front door and opened it. He found exactly what he had been expecting. For the second time that day, Father Figlar and Sister Agnes stood on his front porch with a weary-looking Karina propped up between them.

  “Can we talk?” Father Figlar asked in a low voice.

  Janos nodded solemnly as he led the threesome into the parlor. He lowered himself into his favorite chair, watching the priest and nun help Karina onto the sofa. She leaned heavily against Sister Agnes, her eyes closed. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. “Why is she so listless?”

  “She’s in poor health. She was found wandering your old neighborhood a few nights ago. We have no idea when she arrived in Riverton—only that she was looking for you,” Father Figlar said.

  “Karina is rather incoherent. Much of what she’s said has been confusing. But she believes the baby she’s carrying is yours,” Sister Agnes said dryly.

  Janos could not stifle his snigger. “That would be a miracle, wouldn’t it? I haven’t seen my wife in over seven years. An immaculate conception, I guess.”

  “You must find a way to manage your anger, Mr. Kovac,” Sister Agnes reprimanded him.

  Janos wasn’t sure whom he wanted to harm more—his lecherous wife or the sancti
monious nun who had brought her into his peaceful home. He had no idea how to approach the situation without losing composure. He could feel the years of pent-up anger returning, threatening to corrupt his good judgement. He inhaled deeply.

  “His anger is valid, Sister Agnes,” Father Figlar interrupted the nun. “Obviously, the situation is unpleasant, if not scandalous. But I hoped that as a Christian—and one of the most honorable men I’ve ever met—you’d be able to care for Karina until the baby is born.”

  “Why can’t the church take care of her?” Anna snapped. “Surely one of the local convents can nurse her back to health.” She scowled at the three intruders on her sofa. “Where’s the baby’s father?”

  “We don’t know,” the nun said sadly. “We found a ticket stub in Karina’s pocket. She boarded a train from Philadelphia last week. That’s all she had on her besides a few coins. She didn’t even have a suitcase.”

  “She hasn’t been able to tell us much. She’s confused. Her ramblings have mostly been about you, Janos, but she did mention someone else,” Father Figlar said. “Unfortunately, she grows agitated when we try to press her for more information.”

  “Who?” Janos wanted to know.

  “His name is Victor. We think he’s the baby’s father,” said Sister Agnes.

  At the sound of the name, Karina recoiled in fear. She buried her head in the nun’s shoulder, pleading, “No, Victor! No! Keep him away!” She pawed at the nun, seemingly trying to find refuge under the woman’s habit.