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

“Uh, no. Uh, you need some? I can make sure you’ve got enough.”

Adeline smiled. “You can drop by a little every day if you like.”

Emil blushed, smiled, and then nodded. “I can do that. I . . . I’d like that.”

Their conversation never ended from that day forward. Granted, it stopped during the day when they were apart and working, but together they picked back up right where they’d left off, both of them mooning over each other like fools. At times, Adeline felt like they could complete each other’s sentences, and her heart physically ached whenever they parted.

But when Emil asked her to marry him on the first anniversary of their meeting, Adeline was conflicted and asked him for time to think about it. She loved cooking and taking care of Mrs. Kantor. And she had a steady paycheck for the first time in her life and made more money than Emil did gathering firewood. On the other hand, she adored Emil. He was funny, hardworking, and even though he had not stayed in school as long as she had, he was smart, street-smart, the kind of man who would survive. But would he grow and thrive? Would she have a better life with him than a life alone?

The next morning, Mrs. Kantor noticed her fretting, and Adeline explained her predicament, finishing, “I have it so good here. You are kind to me. We have enough to eat, and you’ve given me a warm place to sleep. What should I do? He collects firewood for a living.”

Mrs. Kantor gazed at her for several moments before replying. “I shall be heartbroken if you leave, Adelka, but it is better to be a poor wife than a rich maid. You have said Emil is a good man, which means you will know love if you leave me. You will have children if you leave me. You will have a family. And what a family it will be!”

Her employer had said this last statement with such enthusiasm that she almost knocked over her water glass. This caused Adeline to burst out laughing, which very much pleased Mrs. Kantor.

“Keep laughing,” she said, wagging a finger at her. “Laughter keeps you young at heart. Laugh at least once a day. Twice is better.”

“That’s easy,” Adeline said.

“Not always. Can I give you some other advice that has helped me in life?”

“Please,” she said.

Mrs. Kantor waved her to the chair across from her where her friend Esther had sat. Adeline took the chair tentatively, but then smiled at the older woman.

“My dear,” Mrs. Kantor said, “I have come to believe after eighty-one years on this earth that our job in life is to endure, to be kind, and to constantly put the past behind us and not dwell too much on the future. If you must look back, try to find the beauty and the benefit in every cruelty done to you. If you must think about the future, try to have no expectations about it. Trust in God to guide you through. You understand?”

Adeline did not understand everything the older woman was saying, but she nodded.

“Good,” Mrs. Kantor said. “Because when you do that, my dear, you will know God’s blessing and deserve every happiness and abundance this life has to offer as long as you give part of your abundance to others less fortunate. Do you understand?”

Adeline was still not fully grasping what Mrs. Kantor was telling her, but she nodded again. Her uncertainty must have shown in her face because her employer sighed.

“I’m trying to give you the keys to a long and happy life, Adeline,” Mrs. Kantor said. “Listen again. Our job in life is to endure, to be kind, and to constantly put the past behind us and not dwell too much on the future. If you must look back . . .”

The old woman’s voice blurred and faded, replaced in Adeline’s dream by another memory, a later memory, one far more bitter and scarring.

January 13, 1936

Pervomaisk, Ukraine

Feeling weaker and more helpless than at any other time in her life, twenty-year-old Adeline gazed down at her baby boy, dear sweet Waldemar, fussing in her arms, still trying to nurse at her painful, dry nipples, his own arms so tiny, and his skin so thin and close to the bone, she wanted to break down sobbing and did.

Emil put his arms around her shoulders. “My friends are trying to find cream for him. We will find some; I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll both go ask strangers,” she said, panicked. “Anyone and everyone. Find your mother first. Get her to come take care of her grandson while you and I try to keep him alive.”

The couple had relocated to Pervomaisk shortly after their marriage because Emil’s mother had moved there and said there was work in the small city four hours east of Birsula. Emil got a job first as a field hand and then in the brewery. Life as newlyweds suited them despite their humble living arrangements, and soon Adeline became pregnant.

Back in August 1935, more than six months into her term, Adeline was still working in the fields. The month had started out wet, and then turned hot. The mosquitos along the aptly named Bug River were thick as she worked, so she never knew which bite passed the disease. But by the first of September, as she entered her seventh month, Adeline was suffering the debilitating symptoms of malaria. The first attack began with a pleasant, heavy feeling at the base of her neck that led to drowsiness and then to a delicious sleep in a darkness so complete and comforting, only painful joint ache and a soaring fever could wake her.

Day after day, Adeline burned up, hallucinating her father’s long-awaited return as new fevers spiked and then broke, drenching her in sweat. Within minutes, she’d be chilled to the bone and shivering so violently, blankets could not warm her.

She’d fall asleep finally, only to have the same pleasant, heavy feeling at the back