Page 6 of A War Apart

He sighed. “I suppose I can wait a couple hours.”

I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Go clean up. Supper should be ready soon.”

I stepped into the dining room, where Anna Ilinychna, Yakov’s mother and my closest friend, was setting the final dishes on the table. She was dressed in her second-best sarafan, the rich green of the dress setting of the pink tones in her light skin and the blue-green colors in her eyes.

“You’ll have Marya Ivanovna in a fit,” I said. The housekeeper was a stickler for ceremony. Anna and Yakov were staying with us for the week of the harvest, and Marya Ivanovna refused to let them help with any of the household chores.

“Yes, she was in the process of scolding me when Kyril Kyrilovich stepped into the kitchen. I took advantage of her distraction.”

I laughed, taking a seat at the foot of the table. “I’m sure you’ll hear about that later.”

“Evening, Mama. Mila.” Yakov came into the room and took a seat, immediately reaching for a piece of rye bread. His mother swatted his hand.

“Wait for blessing!” She sat down next to him, shaking her head. “I swear, you’re worse than a Drakra sometimes.”

Han came in as she spoke. “Who’s worse than a Drakra?”

“My son,” she said, scowling at Yakov.

“Ah.” Han took a seat across from me and snatched a piece of bread as well, taking a bite. “I completely agree.”

“And you!” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

Han set the piece of bread down on his plate, looking abashed. “My apologies, Anna.”

“Blessing,” she said.“Thenyou may eat.”

Han took a drink, then bowed his head. “Divine Otets, we ask you to bless the food and drink of your children, given to us by your gracious bounty. So shall it be.”

“Let it be,” we responded.

As we finished praying, Marya Ivanovna bustled into the room carrying a roast chicken. Her lips were tight with disapproval, and I had to smother a laugh as I caught Anna’s eye.

We were silent as we filled our plates and mouths. Marya Ivanovna had had the foresight to prepare extra food in anticipation of the men’s increased appetite. And my own, I realized, serving myself a generous helping of chicken.

“How was the harvest today?” I asked Yakov, watching him spoon a third serving of stewed beets onto his plate.

His freckled face darkened as Han laughed. “I didn’t eat enough breakfast. I’d have beaten him otherwise.”

Han chucked a chicken bone at his head. It bounced off, landing on the table. Yakov tossed it back, and it clattered to the floor.

“Boys!” Anna scolded. “Can we not have a peaceful meal without the two of you throwing things at each other?”

“Han started it,” Yakov said, as Han ducked his head and started shoveling food into his mouth. Anna and I shared a wry smile.

When we had finished eating, Han stood and stretched. “I should head to bed. Another early day tomorrow.” He offered me his hand. “Milochka?”

I hesitated. “I slept half the afternoon. I ought to get some work done.” It was too late for gardening, but I still had the baby’s gowns to finish. I could sew by candlelight.

Marya Ivanovna came into the room just in time to hear my remark. “You’ll do no such thing!” she scolded. “Up to all hours of the night, and with child, no less! I’ll hear nothing of it. Head you to bed and rest yourself. I’ve enough to do without worrying you’ll overwork yourself.”

I knew better than to argue with the motherly housekeeper. I didn’t object as she shooed me out of the room and up the stairs with Han.

“I’m really not tired,” I said as we reached our bedroom. “There’s no sense in me going to bed. I slept until supper.”

He caught me by the waist and kicked the door closed. “Well, if you’re not tired…” he whispered, looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Marya Ivanovna wouldn’t approve, you know,” I whispered back. “‘A gentle lady subjected to such goings-on when she ought to be resting! And with child, no less!’”

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