Page 19 of A War Apart

Chopping wood one-handed had been one of the first tasks I’d learned to do after returning from Barbezht. Even now, after five years, it didn’t come naturally, requiring concentration to ensure the ax landed where I intended. I was grateful for the focus today, as it kept my mind from wandering.

I didn’t stop until the tree was felled and the branches were stripped. I raised the ax to begin splitting the first branch when Yakov shouted.

“Are you going to take a dinner break today?”

I looked up. It was later than I’d expected. I set down my ax and walked to where my friend sat on a nearby stump.

“I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes,” Yakov said, handing over my dinner basket.

“And you’ve still got food left?” I raised a brow. “I don’t believe it.”

“No. I finished mine and started on yours.” He took a last bite of his apple and tossed the core over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, reaching into the basket for a hunk of black bread. It wasn’t Marya Ivanovna’s pirozhki, but it was good nonetheless. Anna had been cooking for us since Marya Ivanovna’s death, spending her days at our house and only going back to the house she shared with her son at night.

“It’s good to get out,” I said, pushing away thoughts of the past month as I took a bite of the bread.

“I’m surprised you stayed in this long,” Yakov said with a sidelong glance. “I’m surprised Mila let you.”

“She needed me.”

He snorted. “She hasn’t seemed to need anybody, from what I’ve seen. She’s been mean to everyone since the moment she woke up.”

I clenched my fist, crushing the bread. “You wouldn’t understand.” I stood and turned away. “It’s like—like an animal caught in a trap. She’s hurting so much she’ll lash out at anyone nearby.”

Silence met my words. After a moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned. Tears glistened in Yakov’s brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Han. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve never been…” I took a deep breath through my nose. “Nevermind.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he said, tugging at a loose string on his sleeve. “I know I haven’t lost a son, and it wasn’t my wife who was attacked, but if you think I’m not hurting too, you’re wrong. You’re like a brother to me. Mila’s like a sister. Whatever hurts you hurts me. What those bastards did, they did to all of us.”

I pulled him into a tight embrace. “Thank you. That…that means a lot.”

His ears were red, but he grinned as he pulled back. “Just don’t go hugging me like that in front of other people. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“As what? A eunuch?” My throat was swollen with unshed tears, but I swallowed the lump, grateful for the change in topic. I’d spent enough time drowning in my emotions.

“As a ladies’ man.” He puffed out his chest, and I shoved him.

“You’d have to actually spend time with ladies to get that reputation. And no,” I added, seeing him open his mouth to respond, “Mila and your mother don’t count.”

“Oh, shut up. Shouldn’t you be working?” He grabbed his ax and stalked back off into the woods, ignoring my laughter.

As he walked out of sight, I sat down on the stump. I felt almost guilty, laughing so soon after everything that had happened. But it was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The walls of the house had threatened to suffocate me, and while I was reluctant to leave Mila alone for long, even with Anna, the work and laughter were healing.

Nothing would be the same as it was before, but we could get through this.

Chapter seven

Writing Home

Mila

My dearest mother…

The words swam in front of me. I’d put off writing this letter for weeks, but my mother would be expecting a letter announcing the birth soon. I couldn’t put off the news any longer.

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