Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

He doesn’t know the words bolero , velvet , or royal. But he understands the price. He folds the page back up and slides it farther under the pillow. Of all his children, she is the one he worries about the most. She wants to be someone else. Katya groans and stretches, digging her feet into Sofia’s side. Gently, Teodor reaches under the covers and lifts her legs. Katya squirms, her eyes open blearily.

“Tato?”

“Shhh,” Teodor soothes her.

Tears spring to her eyes. “I stole Mama’s blanket.”

He thinks she’s had a bad dream and is about to say so when Katya breaks his heart.

“Do I have to go to jail now too, Tato?”

12 bushel oats: 3.48

Harness: 11.75

3 lbs nails: 1.00

Ax handle: .75

1 barrel: 1.00

1 box bullets: .73

8 boxes of matches: .16

Kerosene: .50

6 grain bags: 1.80

2 med. chickens: .40

3 lbs sausage @.20/lb: .60

3 lbs bacon @ .20/lb: .60

5 lb pigs feet @.10/lb: .50

9 lb chuck roast @.12/lb: 1.08

15 lbs sugar @.12/lb: 1.80

1/2 lb coffee @.19/lb: .10

10 lbs salt: .80

10 lbs rice: 1.00

Yeast: .10

Soap: .15

Childrens winter boots size 6: 1.00

Childrens winter boots size 7: 1.00

1 young ladies winter underwear: .65

Yarn: .70

6 yards fabric: .60

1 tin of tobacco: .32

Penny candy: .10

PAID CASH: $32.67

MARIA NEATLY FOLDS DANIA’S OLD WINTER STOCKINGS for Lesya. The legs might be a little long, and the wool is picked, but they’re clean and darned. Dania washed them herself yesterday, while she and Teodor were in town getting supplies. She built the fire, cut through the ice, hauled water up from the lake, filled the washtub, and topped it up with snow. It was ten below yesterday.

When they arrived home before dinner, she was still outside. Her hands raw and cracked, the front of her coat and sleeves had frozen. She was churning Maria’s blanket for the third time through the steaming water. She had scrubbed the moldy patches and raspberry stains with a horse brush. She was down to the last thumb-sized cake of soap. The dyes in the wool had leached where she had rubbed. The grass stains were impenetrable, but still she scrubbed. Maria told her, That’s enough .

From the window Maria can see it hanging on the line, frozen stiff. The sun bleaching its pastel colors to bone white. Tonight she’ll hang it by the stove, let it thaw, and see if the smell is gone. She plans to nail it to the back wall to keep out the wind’s chill. Put it to some good use. She lays the folded underwear in the bottom of the basket. The clothes smell like winter.

She tucks in one bar of soap, two skeins of yarn, and Petro’s new boots, size 7. She hopes they’re large enough. His toes were poking through the old ones. Ivan hasn’t taken his new boots off all day. Last night, he tried to sleep with them on. His feet were jutting out from under the covers so he could admire their shine. When she insisted he remove them, he set the boots in front of the woodstove, beside his father’s, carefully lining them up to face the door. This morning he slipped them on, in unison with Teodor. Left foot first, then the right. He laced them across, giving a final tug, mimicking his father. But he still needed help tying the bow: The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around the tree, and back down the hole again. He has been clopping in and out of the house all morning. She caught him twice bending down to wipe snow from the toes.

If there had been a middle boy, Ivan would be wearing hand-me-downs, like his sisters. But Myron’s old clothes have long been reused as rags and patches and his old leather boots have been cut up to repair harnesses and saddles. Ivan has always been the roughest on his clothes. No matter how many times she tells him to stay out of the mud and not to drag his toes, he doesn’t remember. He’s worn a hole through the toe on his left boot, and the leather has cracked and split at the seams from the constant soakings. She had to get him new boots this year. She tried not to make it an event—she just casually passed them to him.

He let Katya touch them. Sofia pouted and kicked her boots against the table leg until Maria swatted her still. Sensing that it wasn’t fair that his boots hadn’t lasted another year, he did his best to hide his feet under the chair. When Dania unwrapped her new winter underwear, Sofia ran to her room and didn’t come out for the rest of the afternoon. Later, Maria found a pile of shredded paper under the bed; all she could piece together was the head of a young girl with ribbons in her hair. She is thankful school is back in and the house is quiet today.

Maria folds a little bag of candy and hides it in the folds of the linen. Lesya will make sure Petro doesn’t eat it all at once. Dania divided up their stash: two black balls, three peppermints, four butterscotch, and one lemon drop apiece. None of them took a bite, instead they squirreled their treasures away in their trunks, hiding them in socks, under skirts, and in pants pockets. Even Myron, who initially said to give his share to the little ones, was relieved when Maria refused his charitable act. He tucked the lemon drop in his shirt pocket.

Maria sucks on the butterscotch candy she pilfered last night. There are five more stored in the tobacco can. She prefers to bite down on these hard candies, feel them shatter between her teeth, but then it would dissolve too quickly. Instead, she holds it in her cheek, her tongue gauging the halfway mark, when she will wrap it in wax paper and hide it back in the tin.

It’s been harder dividing the food. The way Anna has been eating, she’ll empty the pantry in a month. And she’s not convinced that Anna will salt the meat or that Stefan will freeze it properly. Maria decides to ration the supplies: half a pound of sausage, a pound of chuck roast, a pound of sugar, two pounds of salt, and a pound of rice. She adds four jars of preserves to fill out the basket. She ponders including a chicken, but knows Stefan will want it roasted and then will eat it in one meal, whereas she can stretch it for weeks by turning it into jellied chicken, making a broth, and using the feet, gizzards, and heart in stews. She reassures herself that it is best that she administers the food. She can send over a basket once a week to replenish their supplies.

“It’s ready,” she tells Teodor, who is repairing the ax.

IVAN HOLDS TEODOR’S HAND AS HE TRIES TO MATCH HIS father’s stride through the snow. His leather boots squeak. He looks back at their tracks. Big and small, marching side by side, we were here, we were here, we were here . He stumbles and scuffs his toe. He wears a pair of Myron’s oversized mitts. Mama has promised to start knitting him a new pair tonight with the gray wool, and he’s asked for a red stripe.

He breathes into his scarf and it condenses wet against his throat. Overhead, dark clouds hang low and heavy. Tato says it’s going to snow. He can’t wait to show Petro his new boots; they’ll have matching pairs. He wonders whose will be faster.

Tato carries the basket. The ax handle sticks out from under the linen handkerchief that Mama used to cover the presents. Teodor lets go of Ivan’s hand and shifts the weight to his other arm. He pulls his glove off with his teeth and reaches into his pants pocket. Reassured, he puts the glove back on. Ivan races around him and takes his other hand.