Problems of the Heart
DURING THEIR SECOND WINTER in Russia the community was plagued neither by wolves nor by too much snow and frost. Enough food had been laid by that, although the villagers were hungry sometimes, they did not suffer excessively. They were fortunate. For their people and their livestock had remained healthy for the most part, and those illnesses that did befall were of the varieties they knew how to cure.
Their Sundays were spent in fellowship in the new church, which, through the kind labors of some, had acquired chairs for older people and the many pregnant women among the congregants.
When the eerie sounds of the ice breaking on the rivers announced spring, they were received with great joy. Christoph’s grandmother jubilantly announced, “Glory be to God, for sending us an early spring.” As if to prove her grace, a mild wind began to blow from the south, green dressed the woods and meadows, wild flowers splashed color madly over the scene, and babies were born.
Soon the village resounded with the hungry cries of babies, the lowing of calves, the bleating of lambs and kids. A feeling of renewal, of growth, love and joy permeated every corner of Norka.
Christoph was twenty now, and contrary to all the joy and love experienced by others, he only felt restless, alone, left out, and unhappy. He still could not decide which of the two women in his life he should pursue and ask to be his wife. Over the last six months he’d seen one or the other in church, in the village, during the harvest. However, it was always among others; never did he have a private moment to speak to either one. Shielded by the crowd, both women spoke sweetly, reservedly and slightly mocking to him. It seemed as if they realized that his heart was divided and each occupied one half and not the whole.
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, he made up his mind to fathom Karin’s mind first, trying to detect if she had a liking for him, before tackling the more formidable Carolina. Then fate intervened. Coming from his father’s house, having feasted on Ute’s memorable sweet berry pancakes with cream, he met Carolina leaving her brother’s house. After greetings and small talk, his adored mentioned that Vadim, when last in town, had taken her for a visit to the estate of the Vorontzovs, probably Russia’s most powerful family. There she had met the tutor of the clan’s children, a very charming, educated Russian man, who had asked her to attend a ball with him at the estate.
“Of course you will not go there, will you?” Christoph threw these words like pebbles at Carolina. She heard the control in his words and her face closed, as if to shut him out. However, the sunlight of her smile returned momentarily and she asked impishly, “And why shall I not go? Perhaps because I do not have a dress, or do not know how to dance?”
Christoph was immediately contrite. “No, no, but how would you speak to such a one? You don’t know Russian, do you?”
“You are correct. I do not. However, the gentleman speaks French and German fluently and is quite delightful to talk to.”
She saw that he was upset and confused by her confession, and now she knew for certain what she had suspected for a while – Christoph had a huge crush on her. “Such a charming young man, so clean, so sweet,” she thought, “but much too young for me.” To let him down gently she said, “Let us walk up to the church.” By and by, she told him that the tutor was thirty-years-old, just the right age for her; that he owned a charming little house on the estate, and that he could help her gain a teaching position.
“You must understand, dear Christoph, that since my abysmal divorce I have lived with my brother and his wife. Oh, they have been kind and helpful, but I am, as the farmers say, one piglet too many on the teat. I make their life more difficult, especially now that they will have a child soon and will need every corner of their small place.”
“But,” he protested with emphasis, “you do not have to marry a Russian to get away. Plenty of men from our village would marry you,” and then he added, “if you would have them.”
Carolina took his arm and turned him to face her. “Dear Christoph,” she smiled at him, “we both know that every man in the village except for you is already married or a widower with children. And we both know in our hearts that I am much too old for you.” He protested this thought vigorously. No, no, she was perfect for him in every way. He had a house – was as well-to-do as any young man in the community and, most importantly, he loved her. Could she be sure that the Russian did?
Carolina felt suddenly so much more mature. The man before her seemed a mere boy, and although she did not fully know the intentions of the Russian, Alexander Ormulov, she sensed that all would be well. She pressed her lips to Christoph’s forehead, like a loving sister, and murmured, “Yes, I know he loves me, as I love him. For you, I feel the love an older sister, and I would like it if you were to allow me to be that.”
Christoph never knew how he got home that day. A strange mixture of love sickness, rejection, anger and yes, he had to admit it, relief, resided in his breast. Why the feeling of relief? He could not understand it, but it made the rejection easier to be born. Of course he heard through the village gossip-vine that she had gone to the ball in a white lace dress she had restored. Since the ball she had visited the estate often, and everyone in Norka said that she would marry Ormulov soon.
In the days to come the dull ache in Christoph’s heart would not leave. He did not understand himself anymore. What was it about Carolina that, despite his palpable relief at being released by her, she still remained on his mind – vivid as ever? A few times he set out for his father’s house, hoping to see Karin in the neighbor’s garden and take her for a stroll to the top of the hill, but he always hesitated, his thoughts still on Carolina.
He was in need of counsel. He needed someone to explain his ambiguous soul to himself, but whom to ask? His father? Impossible! Martin would have been at a loss to even understand what the problem was. Most of the other men, although close in age, were simple, straightforward thinking fellows, not given to emoting and philosophizing.
Often in life solutions evolve painlessly and elegantly. For a long time Anna’s sharp eyes had recorded his internal strife. But being a woman, and his grandmother, she bided her time, not wanting to intrude on his struggle. However, the time came when she could no longer bear his unhappiness.
One evening, with her chores finished early, her bread baked and a soup simmering on the stove, Anna sat on the small bench Franz had made for her and placed in the uppermost corner of the garden.
From here she could see the road slightly curving downward; she could see most houses and watch the people milling about. Overlooking her end of the garden toward the East, she could see the dark line of shrubs and trees, a sign that there flowed the shallow, lazy Karamysh. The old woman loved sitting here, her hands restfully folded in her lap, her mind at peace. In this manner, centered and calm, she would wait for the sunset far away over the Medveditsa. Then it was time for her to thank God for another day and the beauty of His world. She thanked Him for His goodness, for allowing her to stay healthy, usefully fulfilling her destiny.
Christoph had been mucking out Jonah’s and the cow’s stalls, heaping the used bedding in a compact pile as far as he could cart it on his improvised, one-wheel pushcart. This he did not by absolute necessity, but to remove offensive odors from his grandmother’s presence. The farmers did not perceive the rich, pungent smell of manure as offensive, per se. One could not farm and take offense at nature’s exudations, but some of the women were sensitive to smells and insisted that the dung pile be located at a greater distance from the house.
After completing the smelly task, Christoph prepared to fetch water for the animals and the needs of the kitchen before the evening meal. He had barely picked up the pails when Anna’s voice stopped him. “Come sit with me for a moment,” she commanded more than she asked. Knowing this tone well, Christoph complied. It was useless to argue that the water needed fetching, when she thought otherwise.
Anna allowed a good while to elapse in complete silence, drawing Christoph, albeit unwilling at first, into her zone of peace and restfulness. When his tensed and restless young body finally gave in and slumped a little, she suddenly said, “Tell me, what is between you and Carolina? I know she is on your mind, and it’s not in a happy way.”
Christoph was stunned. How would his grandmother know what he thought? Surprised, without checking the impulse, he blurted out, “How do you know about Carolina?”
“I have eyes, and I have seen your reactions when she is around. And then, when she went to the ball at the Vorontzov estate – the one the entire village talked about for days – then you changed.”
The sun had been close to setting. Nightjars swooped through the air, taking the emerging moths on the wing. People in the village were in their homes, sitting down to their Abendbrot, the evening meal. It was so still that Christoph heard his heart beating fast. “You still have her picture in your mind, have you not – naked on the ground – all white and her hair jet-black, like raven’s feathers around her face? I know you looked at her, although your mother told you not to.”
Anna took his hand into her own and said quietly, “That isn’t love, Christoph. These are the anguished wishes and wants of the boy who then was thirteen. You still feel the sting of being powerless to alleviate her condition, her hurt, and then, of course, because she is beautiful, you might like to possess her. But it is all just a bad dream. She doesn’t need your rescue. She is a grown woman and long done with her past. She has gone on and is likely to marry soon, while you won’t give her up.”
Gently petting his hand, the way she used to when he was a child, she urged sweetly, “Let her go, my child; in years Carolina is young, yet in her soul and mind she could be your mother.”
By now the sun had slowly dipped into the tall grass on the horizon. The tips of the grass, illuminated from behind, appeared to be a lace-patterned band. A moment later the grassland swallowed the sun’s orb, and the land was cloaked in purple dark.
“I find my mornings a joy and my evenings are at peace. It’s the days that I have trouble with,” smiled Anna, allowing Christoph to help her off the bench. Companionably, in reflective silence, they returned to the house.
“Say a prayer for Carolina, and then commit her to God,” were his grandmother’s last words.
It was, as if having his dilemma brought to light by another that the spell was broken. Christoph slept well that night. Fewer and fewer thoughts of Carolina intruded on his waking hours. During one of the many christenings – there were twenty that season – he managed to find Karin alone and asked her to walk with him. The party, after leaving the church, had commenced at the baby’s parent’s house and garden, with good things to eat and cider and beer to drink. The weather was balmy. Summer had not yet begun with its searing heat – a perfect day to take a stroll. Christoph, thinking himself unobserved, sidled up to the girl and said, “Would you care to walk with me a while?”
To which Karin, sending him a penetrating look, replied, “Are you finished with Carolina then?”
“What would you know of that?” asked Christoph surprised.
“Did you think that your mooning eyes whenever she was near, so like a calf’s seeking its mother, would go unnoticed by those with eyes to see? I asked your sister a long time ago what it was about her, and she told me a strange tale.”
They were walking up the broad road to the top of the slight hill where, like on an island, surrounded by grass, stood their humble wooden church. Had it not been for the small steeple, two stained glass windows brought from Hessen, and a fine door carved by one of the village men, it could have been easily thought to be just a barn – at least in the old country.
Karin stepped lightly, the hem of her long dark skirt barely moving. Her feet, enclosed in willow-bark sandals, hardly seemed to touch the ground. She wore a white blouse with loose, medium long sleeves and a rounded neckline. From her slender white neck hung an old silver cross on a thin, long chain – her only adornment. Her long, light brown hair was hidden under a white kerchief, so cleverly folded that, as a nun’s wimple, it shielded her face.
Christoph had adopted the Russian peasant blouse for his own attire. These blouses came in many colors, but were mostly white. They were loose upon the body, with wide, comfortable sleeves gathered at the wrist. His breeches were just as the Norka men liked them – not too close fitting, but not too loose either. Cut from dark, woolen cloth, they looked too warm for wear in spring. On his feet he wore light, almost elegant, leather slippers that his grandfather had made for him, the top stitched from kid leather, the soles from solid, durable pig hide.
Curious beyond belief, he questioned her. “So what kind of tale did Annelis tell you then?”
“She said that once, when you were children, you came upon a horrible sight – women staked upon the ground by the French, and that you helped free them. She thinks that you fell in love right then with beautiful Carolina, when she arose and stood there naked and unashamed, like an avenging angel,”
Suddenly it became quite clear to Christoph why Karin had always treated him in this slightly mocking way. “So, my sister now knows what I think and feel. How would she know any such thing? She was barely nine when this happened.”
“Oh, girls know such things. Never mind the age,” quipped Karin.
“Well, never mind what she says,” he said abrasively, but then he softened his tone, adding reassuringly, “I assure you I don’t love her. It is likely she will marry the Russian tutor.” And then, as if this was not explanation enough, he said in wondering tone, “Perhaps I just wanted to protect her. Yes, that’s what it must have been.”
The girl’s face had become serious. She intuitively realized that the horrible incident from long ago had plagued him ever since. However, how was she to comfort him? And so they walked, both in deep thought, until they reached the church. Someone had carved and set up a few solid benches from the leftover planks of the building. The couple perched there, taking in the mild view.
“If I asked your father for your hand, would you say yes?” he queried.
“I guess I would,” she answered in the same manner, making Christoph very happy.