Shandi Mitchell - Under This Unbroken Sky

They sneak up on the horse first. Its head is cocked and ears pricked when they round the corner. It neighs and tosses its head, like a good joke. Teodor reaches in his coat pocket and brings out a palm full of sugar. He winks. “Don’t tell your mother.” The horse licks appreciatively.

They cut through the barn and Teodor is pleased to see that the cow has been milked. He unties the sack and pours a handful of oats into the feed bucket. Ivan fetches an extra armload of hay and stacks it where it can be easily reached. The cow chews on it like it’s nothing special.

On the way to the house, Teodor assesses the snow-covered pile of wood and makes a note to split a week’s supply before he leaves. He can’t let his sister freeze.

He bangs on the door. He hears Stefan’s muffled voice. The door opens slowly. Petro pokes his head out.

“I got new boots,” Ivan beams and sticks out his foot as proof. “And so do you.”

But Petro doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even seem to care. Ivan notices that Petro is wearing his mittens indoors.

“Where’s your mama?” Teodor asks the boy. His sweater has unraveled at the bottom, the front is soiled. He has no socks on in his ragged boots. And he’s not at school.

“In bed.”

Teodor scowls, it’s almost noon. “Tell her to get up.”

Petro shuts the door. The sound of voices, a man’s grumbling, followed by heavy footsteps. The door swings open. Stefan looks gray and shaky. Teodor looks past him for Lesya. He finds her at the stove, trying to restart the fire. The house is freezing.

“I’m here to see Anna.”

Stefan squints into the bright light as if it’s burning his eyes. He heads to the table. “Shut the door.” Teodor follows him in.

Stefan pushes aside the tin cup and the empty flask tipped on its side. He ignores the dirty dishes and empty jars. “Anna, get up, your brother’s here.” Teodor glances to the mound of covers that shift and groan. A layer of ice has formed in the pail of water.

Stefan sits down heavily. “My head’s killing me. It’s been throbbing since yesterday. Need something for my nerves. Do you have that fire going yet?”

Lesya nervously squeaks, “No.”

“What’s taking so long?” He rubs his forehead, his own voice jarring the pain. “She let it go out.”

“I was milking the cow,” Lesya protests feebly.

“I don’t give a goddamn, it’s freezing in here.”

Teodor watches Stefan’s shaking hands sift through the remnants of cigarette butts. “Do you have a smoke?”

Teodor’s first reaction is to say no, but Stefan’s eyes are desperate. He retrieves his one hand-rolled from his pocket. Stefan lights it from the oil lamp. He breathes in deep.

“Thank Christ.” His body relaxes into the nicotine. “I’m going crazy cooped up in here.”

“It’s going!” Lesya blows on the crackling fire.

“Get some wood,” Stefan orders, and Petro, who is standing behind him in the shadows, flinches, startled that his father can see him through the back of his head.

Petro reaches for the ax, but Teodor stops him. “He’s too small.”

“No, I’m not!” Petro stands as tall as he can.

“Mind your manners,” Stefan snaps. Petro lowers his head. “You think you’re strong enough to chop the wood? You think your uncle is wrong?”

“Yes,” Petro answers, staring at the holes in the toes of his boots.

“Pick up the ax, hold it over your head. Higher.” Stefan leans back in his chair and blows a smoke ring. “Hold it there. Show us how strong you are.”

The ax wobbles for balance. Petro spreads his legs farther to brace himself. The ax pulls him to the right. He straightens, his arms tremble, his face flushes pink.

“Look at those arms, there’s no meat on them at all. Do they look like a man’s arms?”

Petro sways backward. The ax tilts and Teodor grabs the handle before its weight pulls him over. Petro drops his tingling arms, his ears flush with shame.

“Your uncle’s right. You’re not strong enough.”

Teodor sets the ax on the table. “You get some branches. Your father will split the wood later. He’s strong.” Stefan glares at Teodor as if he’s just been trumped.

“I’ll help,” Ivan offers, eager to escape the danger he senses but can’t identify.

“I don’t need any help.” Petro storms past.

Ivan wishes Petro would put on his shiny new boots and then he’d be happy too. But Petro slams the door in his face and he has to run to catch up. His new boots squeak with every step.

“Maria sent some things over.” Teodor sets the basket on the table and speaks to Lesya: “There’s something for you in there.”

“Don’t be shy, take a look.” Stefan waves her forward.

Lesya lifts the linen cloth covering the basket, sees Dania’s stockings neatly folded, with a lovely new soap perched on top. Stefan’s eyes brighten.

“Is that sausage?” He sniffs. “Mmm… smell the garlic. And beef. You’re cooking that tonight. No more eggs and stale bread.”

“Maria thought you might want to salt it.”

“And ruin a good cut of meat? Tonight we eat like kings. Anna, come see this, get up.” Anna grunts and heaves herself up. Her hair is disheveled. As she swings her legs over the bed, Teodor sees a purple bruise across her shin. Anna modestly pulls her hem down and looks to see if Teodor noticed. He has. “I ran into the table last night,” she murmurs.

“She’s up all night pacing. Bumping into things. Drive a man right out the door. Stoke that fire, girl, we need the oven hot.”

Lesya, who wants to touch the winter underwear and feel its softness against her skin, limps back to the stove.

Anna swings her bloated belly off the bed and gingerly puts weight on her leg. It was her fault he threw the log. He didn’t mean to hit her. He just wanted her to stop rattling the dishes so loudly. When he gets his headaches, he can’t take the noise. She knows that. She knows the pounding in his head only goes away with a shot of whiskey. He felt terrible afterward. She calmed him with a warm towel on his forehead and promised to be quieter from now on. She pads across the icy floor in bare feet. “Make yourself look presentable, woman, we have company.”

She brushes the hair from her eyes, which are outlined with dark circles, and investigates the basket of goodies.

“Is that jam?” She helps herself to the strawberry preserve. “Can you open it?” She hands it to Stefan, whose spirits have lifted with the prospect of food. He twists the lid firmly and it pops off. He hands it back like he’s a champion.

“What time is it?” she asks, absently dipping her finger in the sugary concoction.

“Time for lunch.” Stefan pats his belly. “Looks like you made a killing, Teodor.” He fishes for a dollar figure as he rifles through the basket. “Candy! Any lemon drops?”

Teodor can’t help but notice his sister’s size. “Maria might come by tomorrow, she wants to see how you’re doing.”

“Tell her I’m fine.” Teodor searches Anna’s eyes for the truth, but a smile is pasted on her face.

“Stefan, I need to talk to Anna alone. I’m hoping you’ll understand.” He lowers his eyes to avoid a confrontation.

“There’s nothing you can say to her you can’t say to me.”

“I know that. It’s between us. Brother and sister. I know it’s your house, I’m just asking for a few words.”

Stefan, confident that Anna will report back everything to him and not wanting to spoil the moment of gracious host nor jeopardize his newfound riches, acquiesces. “I’ll step outside. A gesture of my goodwill.” He pushes back the chair. “I don’t want any bad feelings between us, Teodor.”