“I don’t want a gift. I want to be with you.” She bit her lip and stared down at the ground.
He pushed a brown leather book into her hands. “It’s a journal. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been writing down your stories on old newspapers and scraps of paper. Now, you’ll have a real book so you can record what’s happening to us, what they are doing to us, so someday our children and their children will know our story. Include the sad parts and the joyous parts. Write of our childhood friendship turning into the greatest love story of all time. Tell them how you dumped a bucket of water on my head when I pulled your hair in the school yard and of our first kiss under the moon and stars. Then, no matter what happens, I will always be with you.”
She ran a hand down the smooth cover and cracked the spine open. The thick, creamy pages begged for words to be scrawled on them. She’d never seen a nicer book.
“Pavlo, this is beautiful.”
“Promise me you’ll use it however you want. I’d love for you to write our story, but if stretching your imagination and writing your dreams is what you need to do to get through this, then do that.”
“I like your idea of documenting what is happening. And what has happened. With us, too. I’ve already started doing that on my scraps of paper. A fine book to keep it all together and in order would be nice.”
“You’d need to keep it well hidden, of course.”
She nodded, her mind already flipping through the possible places.
“Don’t think this journal makes up for you leaving me,” she said, her eyes glittering with tears. “I’m still angry with you.”
“I would never try to buy your forgiveness. It’s a gift.”
“Is Kolya going? Does Alina know about this?”
“No, Kolya is staying here. We talked about it and decided one of us should be here with you three. He’s not too happy about me leaving either.”
“So, you’ve discussed this with Kolya, but this is the first I’m hearing about it?” She slammed the journal back into his chest as anger heated her face. “I am your wife, Pavlo!”
“And that’s why it was so hard to tell you. I hate disappointing you.” He took her hands. “You have nothing to worry about, and if anything does happen to me, Kolya promised he will take care of you.”
“I don’t want Kolya to have to take care of me. I want you!” The memory of finding Pavlo bleeding and unconscious materialized in her mind, and she scrunched her eyes tight, willing it away.
“Katya, look at me. Please, don’t be angry. I only have tonight with you. I’m leaving at first light.” He gripped her shoulders and stared at her.
Panic set in and her voice broke. “Tomorrow? When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
She turned away, then stiffened as he pulled her back into his arms. “Please, I have to do this. Don’t you see?”
Katya looked into his handsome face and read the pain in his eyes, the loss. She understood his need for revenge. She wanted it, too, but he was right about her staying. She couldn’t leave her mother now, right after losing her father. It would kill her. She ignored the hard knot of foreboding taking root in her gut and opened her arms to him.
She led him to the barn loft, their secret place, and opened the upper-level door so the moonlight shone down on them. They sank onto the old quilt she kept up here for such occasions and she kissed him until all the fear and worry faded to the back of her mind. She blocked out the fact that he was leaving and that this could be the last time she saw him. They spent the night tangled together, looking out at the stars.
“You must wake me before you leave.” Katya nuzzled into Pavlo’s neck and breathed in his scent.
He kissed her cheek and pressed his body against hers. “Hush. Don’t talk of tomorrow. Let me enjoy tonight with you in my arms.”
“My mother will wonder where we are.”
“No, she won’t. She was a young woman once too, you know. And I told her I’m leaving. She’ll expect we wanted some privacy.”
“You told my mother before me?” Katya propped herself up on one elbow and glared at him. “First Kolya, and then my mother? Do you want me to hate you before you leave, Pavlo?”
“Only a few minutes before, I promise! She overheard Kolya and me talking about it and asked me. I couldn’t lie to her.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I want to help. More than writing. You were right before; I do want to fight back. I’ve heard about the women in other villages rising up against the activists and taking back their grain and livestock. I could do that here. I could start a Bab’i Bunty revolt.”