Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

He wends his way back through the field, stepping softly, not wanting to crush a single stalk.

DON’T FORGET TO CHECK THE CHICKEN FENCE,” Ivan cautions.

“I won’t.” Petro is offended by the lack of confidence.

“I’ll come by every morning to clean the poop,” Katya promises Lesya as she carries out a bundle of blankets.

“I know.” Lesya stands taller since Maria entrusted her with the sole care of the chickens. It doesn’t bother her if she has to water, feed, and clean up after them by herself; they are now hers to love.

“And I’ll have to still come for the eggs and to help pick tomatoes.” Katya struggles to make her contributions invaluable, though she has to hand off her load to Lesya because she can’t reach over the side of the cart.

“I’ll meet you at the stone wall every day,” Lesya reassures her and sets the blankets on top of the quilts.

Myron struggles through the door with a bedroll and flops it on the overstuffed cart. Teodor rearranges the dismantled stove to the front of the load to make extra room. The children march back and forth between the shack and the cart, loading the last of the supplies, utensils, household goods, and preserves. Maria and Dania scrub the log walls. Sofia sweeps the dirt floor. Behind the blanket chest she finds a wad of hardened dough and swats it out the door. A black cat pounces and bats it under the shack. When Katya sees Myron hauling out the blanket chest, she charges into the house.

“Where’s Christ?” she shrieks. Through her inconsolable sobs, Katya blubbers in half Ukrainian, half English, about starving and a Christ ball and hiding the body and none left for them, which doesn’t quell Maria’s confusion at all. Sometimes she worries Katya will never outgrow her imagination.

Dania notices the black cat swiping its paw under the shack, its tail twitching, and shoos it away to see a roundish ball, which she fishes out with a stick. Gingerly, she picks up the yellow-tinged glob smeared with dirt. “Is this it?”

Katya scoops it to her heart and Maria, who has had enough, swats her with the broom: “Back to work.”

The cart is fully loaded by noon. Maria takes one last look at the room and is struck by its darkness. Even empty, it’s too small for a granary. She almost forgot how low the rafters were. How cold the nights. How many times she wanted to run screaming from its confines. Maria gives thanks and shuts the door. She props a fieldstone at the foot to keep it closed.

Teodor scoops up the yellow tomcat and tosses it on the pile. The cat disappears under the blankets. The children stand alongside with their bundles in hand, waiting for the order to move out. Maria knocks on Anna’s door. Lesya makes circles in the dirt with her foot and tells herself over and over not to cry. Maria knocks again. Anna slowly opens the door.

“We’re going now.”

The two women look at the ground rather than each other.

Teodor urges them on. “For God’s sakes, woman, we’re just goin’ to the next quarter, we’ll see them every day. Besides, you have the garden here,” refusing to make this a good-bye.

Maria ignores him. “Send Petro if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine,” Anna insists.

“I’ll never be able to thank you.” And before Anna can retreat, Maria puts her arms around her and hugs her. She feels Anna’s body stiffen as she tries to pull back, her arms still at her sides. Belly pressed to belly, Maria feels the roundness and firmness. She feels the engorged breasts, the soft baby fat padding her arms, the long loose dress covering her from neck to toe. She looks at her face and sees the plumpness, the glow of her skin, and her eyes pleading Maria not to say anything.

Anna throws her arms around her and pulls her close, suffocating her with fear. She whispers, “Please, don’t.”

“Maria, we still have to unload.” Teodor shifts, embarrassed by the women’s display of affection.

“Please,” Anna’s fingers dig into Maria’s arms, her forehead bows against her shoulder. “I’m not going to have it.”

Maria pulls back, fighting the urge to throw up. “I’m coming.” She refuses Teodor’s hand to help her into the cart. “Go.”

Teodor leads the horse. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” The cart rolls forward, the children fall in line behind it. A cloud of dust trails after them.

“Bye,” Ivan shouts.

“Bye,” Katya chimes.

“Bye.” Petro waves.

Maria looks back at Anna framed in the doorway. Maria raises her hand, but Anna disappears in the dust.

“Bye!” Petro hollers, though he can no longer see them. “Bye!”

The white cloud plumes upward, drifting across the skyline. “Bye!”

Lesya says, “They can’t hear you.” She heads to the sanctuary of her chicken coop.

Petro watches the cloud spilling across the field. The day is perfectly quiet. Not a breath of air. Petro’s heart quickens. Then his feet begin to run. They run as fast as they can through the dust, over gopher holes, jumping cow patties. They fly across the prairie grass, through foxtails and burrs…

Late that night, Teodor brings Petro home, curled up asleep on the floor of the cart.

THE CHILDREN CLIMB THE HILL IN SILENCE, AWED BY the size of the house and the glass window reflecting the sun. They enter with the same reverence reserved for church and stand huddled in the doorway as Maria unpacks the food and Teodor assembles the woodstove.

“Put your things in your rooms,” Maria directs, but the children don’t respond, unable to grasp the idea of rooms. Dania takes the lead.

“Sofia, Katya…” and shepherds them to the back of the log house through a door opening into a room nearly as big as their previous shack. Lined up against the wall are three small crates, roughly the same size, stamped DR. GIBSON’S LINIMENTS, GREAT WEST IMPLEMENT CO., and ROBSON’S SOAP . All have carved pine tops.

Dania runs her fingers over the letters of her name, entwined with wild roses. Katya places her ball of dough in the back left-hand corner of her box, then closes the butterfly lid and sits on its wings. Sofia’s chest is adorned with a fawn. She imagines it lined with scented paper overflowing with beautiful dresses. Her three smocks, two sweaters, two blouses, Sunday skirt, and two pairs of leotards snugly fill the box.

Ivan follows Myron through the adjacent doorway. A new bed frame, long enough to hold Myron’s lankiness, fills the room.

“I get the side closest to the door,” Myron declares as he runs his hand over the rail of coat pegs that span the length of his wall. On the other wall, Ivan hangs his coat on a peg mounted at exactly his height. “This side’s mine.”

They go to bed early, feigning sleepiness so they can lie in their beds and feel the new space. Without Ivan in the bed, the three girls can lie on their backs and not touch one another. In the boys’ room, Myron can stretch his legs long. Out of habit, Ivan curls against Myron’s back and is promptly kicked over to his own side. He spreads his arms and legs wide, amazed that all this is his.

Teodor and Maria’s bed is in the living and kitchen area, nestled against the back wall, with the foot of the bed facing the woodstove and the head tucked against the boys’ wall. Teodor sleeps against the wall, so Maria can have a clear view of the stars.

LESYA HALF WAKES BEFORE DAWN WITH A CRAMP IN HER foot and Petro’s legs sprawled over hers. She tries to pull her foot out, but it is deadened to her will. She grabs the shin and drags it out. She wiggles her toes and winces as the blood surges back in.

An ache in her arm rouses her again. Sleepily, she rolls over but is blocked. She looks over her shoulder and Anna is pressed against her, fast asleep with her arm draped heavily over hers, cutting off the circulation. Lesya lays her head back down. She wills herself to sleep, but the tingling in her arm won’t relent.