Some things would never be okay.
“Brother Timofea was like a father to me. I had the privilege of serving him the last five years of his life.” The young monk Papov sat in the grass, legs crossed, his spine board-straight and hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. If Kat hadn’t known better, she would have felt like she was sitting in her office, listening to a potential young father outline his qualifications, nerves pinching his voice thin. The young monk never looked up, never met her eyes.
It sent a chill through her bones.
“What about the key?” she urged.
Beside her, Captain Vadeem proved little help. Despite the sun adding color to his angular face, he still seemed spooked. Sitting in the grass, he appeared a sullen contrast to the bright chirp of sparrows, the wind combing the willows to the south, the late morning sun winking and turning the ground into a lush emerald carpet.
The sweet spring air hinted at a glorious day, especially if she could wheedle some answers out of the skinny monk, and all the captain could do was pick at the grass, as if searching for the ends to his fraying composure, oblivious to the fact she was trying to have the most important conversation in her life.
“I only saw the key once. When I helped him package it.”
“How did he get my address? How did he know me?”
“He had a picture of you.”
Kat wrestled with her racing heartbeat. “Of me? How?”
“It was in his Bible.”
“Do you still have it?” This news had stirred Captain Vadeem out of his stupor.
The monk shot a look at Spasonov. “I’m not sure. Perhaps. I gathered his things and gave them to the father. I don’t know.”
“Did he have any other pictures? Anything else that might tie me to him?”
“One other picture. A black and white of a woman. I think she was American. Her name was Russian, however. I remember it, because he said it sometimes, in prayer. Nadezhda.”
“Hope,” Kat whispered. She fingered the shoelace that held the key around her neck. “That was my mother’s name.”
She felt the captain’s eyes on her, burning into her. “How would he know your mother?”
“She was Russian, or at least her mother was Russian. I think my grandfather met her here, during the war.”
“Perhaps Timofea was related to your grandmother.”
The young monk shook his head. “Brother Timofea had no family. He had a few horror stories. Some relatives died in the Red Army massacre in 1918, others at the hands of the Nazis. But I’m pretty sure he was the sole survivor. He once told me about it.”
Kat leaned back on her hands, her palms digging into the dirt. She lifted her face to the bloom of the sun. “I never met my grandmother. She died when my mother was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” This from Captain Vadeem. She met his blue eyes, and saw genuine sympathy, the kind that knows pain. It found a soft place in her heart, right next to the memory of him saving her life.
“It’s okay,” she said, fighting free of the thought. “My mother was raised by a loving father. He never remarried, but we know he loved grandmother. Her name was Magda.”
“So Brother Timofea somehow knew Miss Moore’s mother.” Captain Vadeem seemed to be recovering, his voice gaining strength, energy outlining his blue eyes. He looked worlds apart from the shell-shocked soldier who looked like he’d seen death materialize from the chapel walls.
Or like a child who’d just watched his world crumble.
It ripped a hole in her heart. She knew too many children whose world had shattered. It hurt to see it relived on an adult. What secrets did Captain Vadeem Spasonov have hidden behind those bone-piercing blue eyes?
He turned them on her, and for a second, they rattled her right off her footing.
She’d better get a grip on her goals. She’d come to Russia to unearth her past, not to drown in the rugged magnetism of a Russian cop, even if he did have dark, curly hair that begged to be smoothed, and arms that still made her tremble when she thought of them locked around her…
She forced her voice out of heart-struck paralysis and stared pointedly at the monk. “Brother Timofea never mentioned the key, or me? Just one day decided to send me a letter?” Her voice was harsh, but her time ticked down.
“He was a strong man, his quiet presence always gave me strength to face my own fears. But he was aged, and after awhile, his old bones wouldn’t even allow him to kneel to pray. He told me that God asked him to fulfill the promise.”
“Fulfill the promise? What promise?”
“An old promise. Something from his youth. He began to see people who were long gone, perhaps memories dredged up by a mind sorting out time and place. One day we had a conversation, only he spoke not to me, but someone else. ‘Oksana’, he said, ‘He has promised, and He is faithful. He will repay the years the locusts have eaten’.”
The monk paused, his voice low and choppy. “Even in senility, he had more faith than I have in my youth.”
Kat’s blinked at him. “But you’re a monk. Your life is devoted to God.”
He sighed. “But I have few moments to truly test my faith. It is not faith honed from the scrapes and blows of life in this world, but rather something I cling to, in the hope it will shelter me from that which might destroy me.” His wretchedness scraped across Kat’s heart. She winced and shot a look at the monastery, the white walls that sheltered the brothers from the brutal world. But surely this monk wasn’t recanting his vows to a pair of strangers?
“Isn’t that what faith is, though? A shelter in the storm of life?” Kat resisted the urge to reach out and pat the monk’s hand, like she might reassure a young parent that the child he’d waited for so long would join their family soon.
“I believe faith must be more. Perhaps it is not something to hide behind, but to give us vision. Help us see clearly. The faith of Brother Timofea was true faith. He saw the Master’s hand in everything. He had discovered something… more about God.” His voice pinched into the tight tenor of grief. “I still miss him.”
Kat glanced at Captain Vadeem and saw the planes of his face harden, his gaze turn dark and hone in on the monk. “Faith does not give vision, Brother. It betrays and destroys and crushes.”
His words punched the breath out of Kat. She stared, shocked dumb, at the captain as he pounced to his feet. “Come, Kat. It’s time to go. Your visit in Russia is over.”
Chapter 6
“No!” Kat’s plaintive voice stabbed at him. “I’m not ready!”
Vadeem forced himself to ignore her protests and stalked through the cemetery toward the road. She’d better be on his tail. He wasn’t above turning around, slapping her in handcuffs, and hauling her bodily to the train station.
Faith, indeed. Oh, yes, he knew all about faith. How it deceived and hurt. How it killed. He balled his fists and made a deliberate effort to slow his rocketing heartbeat.
“Please, Captain. I need to know more. How did Brother Timofea know my family? How did he know me?”
He heard the unspoken plea in the echo of her words. Who am I? Where do I fit into this puzzle of life? To whom do I belong? He kept walking, furious at the burning in his eyes, at the tempest of emotions this little two-hour excursion had whipped up. He was dangerously close to reliving every nightmare he’d been dodging for twenty years, and he had no one to thank but a feisty runaway with a knack for choosing the wrong friend. “Let’s go,” he growled, not caring that he sounded like some remnant from the Cold War. “Train’s leaving.”
“No!”