little - whatever need that was, I knew that he would be man enough for it, in the end."
Katerina loved this woman with her simple manner and her deep wisdom, loved her like the mother she barely remembered. Piotr also seemed a good man, though he was so full of his own doubts that Katerina could hardly talk to him. And for the first time in her life, inside this protected house, knowing that Baba Yaga was thousands of miles away, Katerina felt utterly safe and at peace.
She was, in fact, happy. It was not an unfamiliar feeling - she had been happy many times. Standing with her father after a hard day at the harvest, watching the people dance despite their weariness. Delighting in the children, dancing at a wedding, there was often joy in her life. But it was always joy in others, the happiness of a princess glad that her people are happy. Or sometimes it was the momentary peace of confession, of communion, knowing that the God of love had forgiven her and would welcome her to him when her life ended, even if Baba Yaga had found some terrible way to overmaster her beforehand - peace was also a familiar feeling. But here in this house it simply... well, it did not end. She would be happy and at peace one moment, and then, the next moment, she would still be happy, still be at peace. She wanted to cry. When Mother showed her to her own room, not one to be shared with Ivan, and offered it to her, she did cry. "No," she said. "I want to share your son's room."
"He already told me," said Mother. "That you would be more comfortable apart from him."
Katerina shook her head. "No, you don't understand. In this house I am comfortable everywhere."
"Then let me say it another way. He would be more comfortable apart from you."
The two women looked at each other a moment, and then burst into laughter, though for Katerina the laughter was tinged with despair. "All right then," said Katerina. "My own room for now. But I do mean to be a true wife to your son. However we began, I do mean for it to end well."
Mother touched a finger to Katerina's lips. "I know that," she said. "There isn't much time in this world, but there is always enough time, if you know how to use it."
Katerina shook her head. "Not enough time for everything," she said. "Not enough time with my mother."
Ivan's mother reached out and embraced her. "Your mother surrounds you every moment," she said. "I know, because I feel her love for you in my own arms, around you now."
Katerina was weeping as Mother gently closed the door behind her, leaving her alone in the room. And that, too, was joy, for there are tears of joy, and tears of peace as well.
Ruth cried bitterly about the broken engagement, and her mother made sure that within hours every Jew in Tantalus knew that Ivan Smetski had broken his vow to Ruthie in order to marry a shiksa, and the first Ruthie heard about it was at the airport, seeing the girl hanging on Ivan like a goiter. Everyone was properly horrified, which helped Ruth's parents feel better. But not Ruth.
Nor did talking to her friends at school and listening to their almost triumphant response. What do you expect of men? Women as property, men as walking cauldrons of hormones, yadda yadda, she had heard it all before and wasn't particularly glad to have provided the occasion for more triumphant feminism. What she wanted from them was sympathy - because she still felt, or at least feared, that Ivan was a good man and she had lost a prize. But if he was a good man, how could he leave me? So he must not be a good man. But if he isn't good, then why does it hurt so much to lose him? Is it just my pride that's wounded?
Maybe. But she still knew, deep in her heart, that this was not true, either. Because if Ivan came back to her, even now, she would go to him. She wouldn't trust him, but she would take him back. Because she really did love him. And love doesn't disappear just because of the vile unworthiness of the loved one.
She had always thought Ivan was the kind of man who kept a promise.