“Stop doing that.” Alina elbowed her. “You’re scrunching up your nose, and it’s so unbecoming.”
“I’m trying to see.” Katya elbowed her sister back, then nervously plucked at a flower woven into one of her thick, dark braids. When her gaze landed on Pavlo, the tall, wide-shouldered man walking next to the groom, her heart quickened. She touched a tentative finger to the cheek he’d kissed the week before. That one impulsive move had changed everything between them. She needed to talk to him, but unsure of what to say, she’d avoided him earlier at the church ceremony.
“I see Kolya,” Alina said, interrupting Katya’s thoughts.
Alina had been in love with Pavlo’s older brother Mykola, or Kolya, as everyone called him, for as long as Katya could remember. Luckily for her, the feeling was quite mutual.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends spilled out of the house and gathered around the table as the rollicking music intensified. Sasha’s sister Olha, the bride, remained inside, waiting for the groom to pay his ransom to her family.
After a few minutes, Boryslav, puffed up with pride, strode into the yard, carrying a basket and a bottle of vodka. Surrounded by his closest friends and family bearing more of the same, he approached, and Sasha called out, “Why have you come here?”
Boryslav broke into a wide smile. “To receive my beautiful bride, Olha!”
“And what have you brought to show your appreciation for Olha?” Alina asked.
Boryslav set his basket filled with sweets and money down on the table, and Katya’s mouth watered at the sight of the fine chocolates. Nobody from their village made anything like that; Boryslav must have traveled a great distance for them.
“Is that all you think our lovely Olha is worth?” Katya asked the question she’d been instructed to issue, trying hard not to meet Pavlo’s probing eyes.
“Of course not!” He waved his arms, and two of his groomsmen came forward bearing baskets with loaves of bread. “Olha is priceless, but I have brought these gifts in my appreciation of her.”
Pavlo, on his right, bowed low as he set Boryslav’s offering down on the table. He threw a grin and an easy wink Katya’s way, and she stumbled over her next question.
“Tell us of Olha’s beauty, Boryslav.”
“Ah. That’s easy. Her eyes sparkle like the bluest sky on a summer day. Her long golden hair ripples like the wheat shining in the sun. Her smile brightens the room and brings men to their knees.”
Katya almost laughed at the idea of Pavlo speaking such words of love to her, but the burning intensity of his gaze on her face stopped her short, and she dropped her eyes.
Sasha took up the questioning, then Boryslav’s party sang his praises to balance the negotiating and ensure that Boryslav wouldn’t “pay” too much for Olha’s hand. Of course, all of this was fun and games. Olha couldn’t be bought any more than Boryslav could march to her house and claim her. Playing out this old tradition was only a fun part of the wedding festivities, and the crowd laughed and cheered along with the entertainment.
After Boryslav was finally granted permission to enter the house, the party could finally begin. In no time, the tables set up outside were laden with delicious foods—meat, potato, and sour cherry varenyky, holubtsi, potatoes, slabs of ham, loaves of bread, cheese, fruit, and, of course, the intricately decorated wedding bread: korovai. People took seats around them, chatting, as liquor flowed from the bottles Boryslav had presented earlier in the day. The musicians began to play next to the open area set aside for dancing.
Katya found Mama and Tato talking to Mama’s cousin, Lena, and her husband, Ruslan. Concern creased their faces as they spoke in hushed tones.
“When they arrived in my brother’s village last month, the process started right away. They formed brigades, set up headquarters, and arrested some of the villagers and deported them.” Ruslan leaned closer to everyone, his voice low. “Those with the nicest houses were the first to go, of course.”
Questions hovered on Katya’s lips, but she didn’t dare speak them. The minute she started, her parents would shift the conversation to something they considered more appropriate for her ears.
“Deported where?” Tato uncorked a wine bottle.
“I heard they are sending them to Siberia.” Yosyp, Pavlo’s father, joined the group as Tato began filling glasses.
Fedir, Pavlo’s older cousin, lowered his voice. “I’ve heard the same. My uncle told me they forced the whole village to join the collective farm.”