The Last Green Valley - Mark Sullivan (black female authors .txt) 📗

snow off their boots before they went into the farmhouse. Frau Schmidt had been up cooking sausages from the pig they’d butchered the month before. The smells in the house were delicious as she glanced around, happy not to see any of the Soviet soldiers up and about, especially Kharkov.

“Merry Christmas!” Frau Schmidt cried from the kitchen, where Will was already munching on one of the cookies.

“Merry Christmas!” Adeline replied.

“Mama, can I have a cookie, too?” Walt asked.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s Christmas Day.”

He took off his coat, hung it, and kicked off his boots before trotting through the main room into the kitchen to get his cookie. Adeline followed him, happy to see the fire dancing in the stove, and how warm and inviting it all was.

Herr Schmidt was drinking hot tea. When the boys were finished with their cookies, he said, “I think I saw presents for the Martel boys under the tree.”

Will and Walt looked to their mother, who nodded. “Go ahead.”

They ran to the other room and found two small presents wrapped in butcher paper. Will and Walt opened them and drew out two wooden spinning tops that Herr Schmidt had carved for them.

He showed them how to get them going and how they could battle each other. Their shrieks of laughter and triumph when one knocked the other top over made Adeline feel better than she had since Emil was taken.

Outside, she could see that the drizzle had turned to snow again. Herr Schmidt, going to look out the window at a thermometer, saw the temperature was dropping, which he told the boys was a good thing for their other present.

“Another one!” Will cried. “Where?”

“In the barn,” he said. “Get your coats and hats on, and I’ll show you.”

Walt said, “You want to come, Mama?”

Adeline had heard from Herr Schmidt what else he planned to give the boys the week before and nodded. “I do.”

“I’ll have hot tea and cider waiting for you,” Frau Schmidt said.

They dressed and went out into the lightly falling snow and the deepening cold. They’d only been in the house an hour, but the slush mixed with the new snow was freezing already, turning crunchy and slick, perfect for the boys’ big present.

Herr Schmidt had the sled up on a bench in his barn. It had belonged to his son when he was a boy. The farmer had fixed it up the week before. It had a seat, two runners, and a rudder to steer and slow it. He showed them the runners—wood with screwed-in metal edges and another strip of metal down the middle—and how to turn them with the rudder.

“Who’s first?” Herr Schmidt said. “Walt?”

Adeline’s older son appeared uncertain. “Will can go first.”

Will grinned and nodded. “Yes, please.”

The old farmer led them out of the barn, back into the snow, and set the sled at the top of the knoll above the snow-covered field and the village beyond. Will got on it and held the rudder with both hands.

“How do I get it going?” he asked.

“I’ll push you,” Herr Schmidt said, put his boot on the back of the sled, and gave a big shove.

With a whoop, Will went flying down the knoll and out onto the flat before crashing. Adeline had a moment of panic until her younger son rolled over onto his knees and threw his arms in the air, laughing.

The sled had a rope that allowed Will to pull it uphill. Walt looked scared before he went, but with Herr Schmidt’s coaching, he, too, went sailing down the knoll and onto the flat. He didn’t crash, jumped up, threw his head back and yelled, “I love this!”

When he got back to the top, he said, “Your turn, Mama.”

“Yes!” Will said.

“I don’t think . . .”

“It really is safe,” Herr Schmidt said.

Reluctantly, Adeline sat on the sled, watched the farmer show her how to use the rudder, and then screamed with delight as he gave her a shove, and laughed as she started accelerating down the hill. She kept the rudder steady and flew even farther than the boys out onto the flat.

Gasping, delighted, Adeline lay back for a moment, staring at the snowflakes falling, and felt as alive as she ever had, until she thought of Emil and felt guilty for enjoying anything while he languished in a prison or worse. But she refused to ruin the boys’ holiday, so she got up and dragged the sled to the top of the knoll.

The boys kept sledding, but it had gotten too cold for Adeline. She went back to the farmhouse to help Frau Schmidt in the kitchen. But as she passed the barn and happened to glance at the upper windows of the house, she saw Captain Kharkov at one of them, glaring out at her.

She dropped her eyes, feeling the joyous state she’d been in vanish because she knew in her heart that the Soviet officer was the kind of man who kept score. She’d one-upped him, and he would want to make things even.

As she entered the house, Adeline made a decision and went straight to Frau Schmidt to tell her what happened in the church the night before.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, because you have been so very good to us, Frau Schmidt,” Adeline said, “but as soon as I can find another place to live, the boys and I will be leaving you.”

Frau Schmidt saddened, but then came over and hugged her.

“I understand,” she said. “But please don’t become a stranger.”

Poltava, Ukraine

The blizzard broke at dawn on fierce northwest winds that brought piercing blue skies and breathtaking cold. The sun threw rose patterns across the swirling winter landscape. Twenty-eight centimeters had fallen overnight. Where the snow had come to rest leeward, it was powdery and relatively easy with the pony to get the death cart to roll.

But where the wind had drifted the snow, Emil and Corporal Gheorghe had to break trail and shovel so the wheels, axles,