Pole grabbed Lukas and pulled him away from his mother. “That’s enough, Lukas. That’s enough.”
Lukas swatted at Pole repeatedly, forcing him to tighten his grip. He continued to struggle for what seemed like minutes, but quickly realized his efforts were futile. He was no match for Pole’s massive frame.
In between sobs, Sofie noticed a striking change in Karina’s demeanor. Her lip quivered as she inched toward Lukas, her arms outstretched. She reached for his cheek.
“Lukas, my baby,” she whispered. “What happened to my little boy?” Tears streamed down her face.
His own face wet with emotion, Papa approached Karina and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve tried to tell you, Karina. So many times. Lukas and Sofie are all grown up. They’re not children anymore.”
For the first time, Karina focused on Sofie. Her hand went to her mouth. “The blonde hair … I should have known,” she whispered. “She’s so pretty,” Karina said in awe. “And this one?” She pointed at Pole.
“This is Pole Stofanik. Not John. He was killed in a mining accident several years ago,” Papa said.
Karina nodded slowly as she surveyed the room. The picture was becoming clearer now. “The baby!” she gasped, gripping her husband’s shirt. “You said she’s not yours.”
“No. No, she’s not,” Papa said sadly, shaking his head.
“Oh, God!” Karina doubled over. “I remember,” she cried through labored breaths. “I remember. It’s Victor’s!”
Sofie watched in horror as her mother collapsed onto the floor, wailing and clawing at her scalp. She writhed like a wounded animal, her savage cries threatening to shake the house from its foundation. Sofie trembled with fear. She had never seen a more tormented soul. Her first instinct was to run to her mother’s side and comfort her, but her legs refused to move. Sofie was frozen and on the verge of tipping over. An ice sculpture about to shatter into a million pieces. Suddenly, Aunt Anna was at her side, steadying her, whispering words of comfort into her ear.
In the midst of the turmoil, Sofie detected motion to her right. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of Pole. He was pulling Lukas tight to his chest and turning him away from his mother’s suffering. He wrapped his arm around Lukas’s head, covering his ears, shielding him from the deafening screams.
His eyes half closed, Papa bent down and scooped Karina off the floor. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her and whispering in her ear. Her sobbing gradually subsided. But as Papa began to climb the stairs, Karina’s crying was replaced by something puzzling and no less troubling.
“I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to. I was going to stay,” Sofie heard her mother whine. Then the wailing resumed.
Fifty-Three
JANOS
BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 22, 1917
Fighting back tears and biting his quivering lip, Janos gently laid Karina on the bed. He pulled the hem of her nightgown down over her knees and covered her with the quilt. “Calm down. You’re safe. You’re safe now,” he whispered in Slovak as he stroked her hair.
“Please, Janos,” she begged in between cries. “Don’t leave me.” She reached up to pull him onto the bed.
Janos took hold of her hands and squeezed them. “I’ll stay. I promise. But let me get you some water. Your throat is probably sore.”
Like a sick child desperate for comfort, Karina nodded her head eagerly. Her face grew more sullen as Janos moved toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, grabbing the empty glass resting on the dresser. He took it into the bathroom and filled it halfway to the top. He pulled the vial of Veronal out of the medicine cabinet and poured a few crystals into the glass. He returned to the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to Karina.
“Drink this,” he instructed his wife, wondering how quickly the medicine would take effect. He wasn’t certain he had given her the correct dose.
Karina contained her crying long enough to drain the glass.
“You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Janos patted her shoulder.
“Will you hold me? I’m so scared. Please hold me,” Karina pleaded through shuddering breaths.
Janos could not stand the sight of his wife’s anguished face. Against his better judgment, he pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried. She was a child again, unable to calm down after a tantrum, gasping for air in between sobs. But sadly, Janos understood Karina’s fit was not brought on by childish concerns.
“Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Janos no longer felt disoriented or repulsed by the woman in his arms. She was broken and in desperate need of compassion. He would never forget the harm she had inflicted on him and his children, but he was beginning to see that Karina deserved his forgiveness. Her agony upon remembering the identity of her baby’s father spoke volumes. It was clear she had already suffered for her sins at the hands of this Victor person. No matter her crimes, Janos had never wished such a severe punishment for her. He had never wished for her to be driven to madness.
Janos was also beginning to realize how blind he had been to the true nature of his wife’s suffering throughout the course of their marriage. He had lived in a constant state of denial, making excuses for her strange behavior. Perhaps he should have sought the advice of a doctor all those years ago after Sofie was born. Karina’s disinterest in her baby and constant weeping were troubling, but everyone said it would pass. Anna assured him that it would. And his sister had been right—at least for a time. But Karina’s sadness returned, and her mood swings became more unpredictable. She withdrew from her family and allowed her dark moods to consume her.
Janos had ignored the warning signs and failed to recognize that his wife’s symptoms pointed to a larger problem. He understood that now. But unfortunately, whatever she had endured during her seven-year absence had completely robbed her of her sanity. He feared she was now beyond saving. He pulled his wife tighter to his chest and buried his head in her hair. It still smelled of rosewater. As he caressed her cheek, he wondered if the Karina of his youth was still in that body somewhere, buried beneath layers of sorrow and anger. And unspeakable trauma. Could she be coaxed out?
Janos did not know the answer, but he had to try. He had to give his children a chance to love their mother. They deserved a chance to know the woman he’d fallen in love with almost two decades ago. He missed her desperately. As his eyes filled with more tears, he vowed to seek out as many doctors as necessary to repair his wife’s broken mind. He would even ask Edith Harford for help. She had plenty of connections, and her pockets were deep.
Janos knew there was no way to turn back time. The ending to his and Karina’s love story had already been written. But he would do his best to restore his wife’s health. Not for his own sake, but for hers and that of her children. Sofie, Lukas, and baby Mary needed the love of a mother. Janos hoped there was a doctor somewhere who could help his family find the path to redemption.
“Janos? Are you crying?” Karina’s sleepy voice interrupted his thoughts.
“No,” he said, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Try to get some sleep.” He kissed her on the forehead and laid her back down on the bed.
“Don’t be sad,” she whispered. “We have three children now. Three beautiful children.”
“Yes, Karina. They are beautiful.” Like their mother once was, he lamented to himself.
As he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for his wife to fall asleep, Janos closed his eyes. The image of a stunning, seventeen-year-old blonde appeared before him. Her eyes were the color of the sky, and her smile was bright. She’d dropped her suitcase in the middle of the road, and Janos was helping her collect its contents. As they both reached for the same sweater, their hands touched and their eyes met. Janos trembled, certain that the earth had moved.
Despite all that had happened since, he did not regret meeting that enchanting beauty in the middle of a dirt road.
Fifty-Four
<
br /> LUKAS
BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 23, 1917
Lukas fought to maintain his balance as he stumbled through the snow, his head throbbing, his insides in the midst of a rebellion. He had already stopped twice to vomit into a snowbank. Unfortunately, the fistfuls of powder he’d shoved into his mouth had not done much to remove the bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He hoped some tea and toast might do the trick.
His walk home from Charlie’s house was taking forever. Snow was beginning to fall, and his coat and shoes were getting wet. He pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his wristwatch. Was it just before six or seven? He could barely make out the hands. It was a moonless night, and his arm refused to stay still.
Lukas was not used to drinking whiskey, but all he had wanted to do after seeing his mother the night before was forget. He needed to purge himself of what he’d seen, what he’d heard, and most importantly, what he’d felt. The shock at seeing her had shaken him. He had fled the house and escaped into town, ending up in front of the nickelodeon with a few acquaintances from his old school. They weren’t really friends—just some football players who used to tease him about his wooden leg. But when Lukas offered to pay for their admission to see a film, they were suddenly his new best buddies.
They had gone to a diner after the movie, and then Teddy suggested they go to a saloon after he’d caught a glimpse of the thick wad of cash in Lukas’s wallet. It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially since the saloon was owned by Teddy’s uncle. They could sit in the back of the room and drink as much as they wanted, and no one would bother them. How badly Lukas wished someone had kicked them out.
Lukas had no idea how much he’d drunk or how he had ended up on the floor of Charlie’s bedroom. He was the nicest of the three boys, so maybe he had taken pity on him. He might have felt guilty if the kid who had bought his dinner and drinks froze to death in a snowbank. He probably didn’t have any idea where Lukas lived either.
All Lukas knew was that he felt like shit and that his wallet was empty. He trudged toward home, grateful it was a Sunday and everyone in his house would be asleep. As he neared Dogwood Avenue, he stopped dead in his tracks, almost certain he had seen a shadowy figure descend the front steps of his house. He rubbed his eyes. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he still drunk? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He squinted harder at the porch, but this time he was sure he saw movement. The figure was now on the sidewalk, making its way down the street.
Curious, Lukas quickened his pace. He wondered why any member of his family would be roaming around the neighborhood at this hour. Maybe one of the boarders had to work a Sunday shift. But if so, he was headed in the wrong direction. It looked like this person was headed for the river. Unable to quell his curiosity, Lukas followed several yards behind.
As he pursued the mysterious figure onto the path along the river, he began to wonder if it was Sofie. Were she and Pole meeting in secret in the woods? He knew many of his classmates met girls in strange places for the purposes of bushwhacking, as they liked to call it. Lukas cringed. He didn’t want to witness any part of that. He’d had enough trauma in the past twelve hours. He turned to head home, but the distinct cry of a baby sent a shot of adrenaline through him.
Was that his mother’s baby? And who was wandering around with her in the cold? Lukas closed the gap between himself and the darkly cloaked figure, finally catching up to it at the old wooden train bridge. The pitch blackness of the sky had turned a dark gray, and he could make out the outline of the bridge as well as the shape of a person crossing it. The baby’s cries were much louder now.
Horrified, he shouted, “Stop! That bridge isn’t safe!”
The figure ignored him. It continued to move further across the deck.
All of Lukas’s senses were suddenly heightened. He scrambled up the bank, then paused at the beginning of the bridge. Afraid to go any further, he yelled, “Stop! It’s too icy.” He tried not to look down at the frozen river below.
The person finally turned around at the sound of his voice. It was his mother.
Lukas gasped. What on Earth was she doing? “Come back. Come back to me,” he pleaded. “I’ll take you home.”
“Leave me alone! I’m taking a walk with my baby.” She continued her journey.
“Mama! It’s Lukas. Please stop. It’s not safe here.” He tried to sound calm so as not to scare his mother, but she showed no sign of having heard him. As the baby’s cries grew louder, his mother began to sing a lullaby. “Jesus Christ!” Lukas muttered under his breath.
As he gingerly stepped forward, he was surprised to find that the bridge was not as icy as he had feared. The freshly fallen snow was providing some traction. As he slowly made his way toward the middle of the structure, the baby grew quiet. His mother didn’t seem to notice when he was only a few feet from her. She was looking down at her baby.
“Will you come home with me? Please, Mama.”
She looked up abruptly. “Do I know you?” she asked, her tone hostile.
“It’s Lukas. Your son.”
“My son is only eight.”
“We can talk about it when we get home. Just come with me.” Lukas offered his hand.
“Absolutely not. Now get away from me.” She took a step backward.
The sky was brightening, and Lukas could see how perilously close his mother was to the edge of the bridge. He dared not make a move. He didn’t want to frighten her and cause her to slip. His panic rising, his mind raced to find a way to get her to safety. But his head hurt, and he couldn’t think clearly. He blurted, “I know you don’t recognize me—it’s been seven years. But I really am your son. My birthday is January 15th, my eyes are green, and I once put a frog in Aunt Anna’s tea pot. She almost boiled it.”
His mother’s eyes grew wide.
“And I used to love The Wizard of Oz. How’s that? Do you believe me now?”
She stared at him, her face expressionless.
“Can we go now?” Lukas’s fear was quickly being replaced by impatience. He was cold, dizzy, and tired of playing games. He took a step forward and reached out to his mother. He could now see that the baby was attached to her breast.
She swatted at him.
“Why’d you do that? Can you at least give me the baby?”
“No!” she shouted. “Someone, help me! He’s trying to steal my baby!” Without thinking, Lukas lunged at his mother, snatching the baby from her breast. He grabbed hold of her coat with his free hand and tried to pull her toward him, but he was met with a flurry of fists. He stumbled backward. The forceful blows were too much for his wooden leg. As he fought to regain his balance, he felt the burning sensation of fingernails tearing at his cheek. Lukas hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction from his mother. Suddenly, and without warning, an inexplicable surge of energy coursed through him. He rose to his full height and extended his arm to shield his face from further damage.
A shrill scream pierced the silent forest. When Lukas lowered his arm, his mother was in the air, falling backward off the bridge, plummeting toward the frozen river. There was no time to react.
“Lukas!” a deep voice shouted.
Disoriented, he turned toward the sound of his name.
Pole was rushing toward him with a rifle and a limp rabbit in his hand. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?”
Lukas’s knees buckled. “She fell. Oh, my God! Mama fell!” His hand flew to his mouth.
Pole peered over the side of the bridge and put his hands on Lukas’s shoulders. “Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what happened?” Pole was shaking him.
Lukas nodded.
“You didn’t push her?”
“No! I would never. I was trying to pull her away from the edge, but she wouldn’t stop hitting me. She wouldn’t stop clawing at me. I was so scared she’d drop the baby,” Lukas said, gasping for air.
Why can’t I breathe? Why is the world spinning? And why does Pole think I pushed
her?
Pole put an arm around Lukas and led him and the baby back across the bridge to solid ground. “Sit here, Lukas. Take it easy for a minute.”
Lukas saw Pole’s mouth moving rapidly, but couldn’t make out the words. His friend’s face was blurry. Distorted. The back of Lukas’s head was suddenly cold. Was that snow? He turned his head to the side and buried his burning cheek in the fluffy, white powder. Ahh, relief. Now if only the throbbing in his head would go away.
Fifty-Five
POLE
BEAVER CREEK, DECEMBER 23, 1917
As Pole slipped through the front door with the baby in one arm and Lukas sagging against his side, he silently prayed for strength. The entire walk home from the train bridge was a complete blur. He had been so focused on trying to find a way to deliver the heartbreaking news to Sofie and her family. He and Lukas had remained at the scene of the accident and had spoken to the police at length. They’d left Karina in the care of the coroner, who had assured them that he would take great care in delivering her body to the town’s only funeral parlor.
Pole could hear Janos, Sofie, and Aunt Anna in the dining room speaking in hushed tones. He immediately wondered if the news had already reached them. As he entered the room with the baby in his arms, they all fell silent.
“What are you doing with Mary?” Sofie asked, a puzzled look on her face. “We thought she was asleep upstairs with Karina.”
“No one checked on her this mornin’?” he asked.
“No. After what happened last night, we figured it was best to let her and the baby sleep late. We haven’t heard a peep out of them,” Aunt Anna replied. “And where have you been, Lukas? What happened to your face?” she asked as soon as she saw the scratches on her nephew’s cheek.
Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash Page 30