“Katherine hasn’t indicated that she wishes to partake. She seems content sitting with my mother. I must have consent. I can’t assume.”
“Scarlett used to tell me boys were stupid. I didn’t want to believe her. You could simply ask Mamen’ka.”
The clock over the mantel says 9:45. There’s enough time to walk her back and make my meeting. “So you want me to dance with Katherine? Will that make you happy?”
“It’s a start, Papen’ka. You should marry her again. That’s my birthday wish.” She waves her hand to me as I do servants. “Now go on, go and do it.”
If it were only that simple. “One day, you’ll understand. One day, you’ll want to marry. You’ll pick someone who loves you so much that you never want to part …”
My daughter’s eyes have reddened. She looks so upset.
“Dorogaya, my dorogaya. What is wrong?”
“I thought you liked me.”
I’m off the desk, kneeling, scooping her into my embrace. “I love you. You’re my girl. Please tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
“How can you want me to have something you can’t make work? And you can do anything.”
Oh goodness. Her words stab me through my worn-out heart. “Don’t cry. Your mother has chosen me. She loves me, and us, but that’s not the same as choosing me to be her husband again.”
“Why not you?”
“I’ve disappointed her. I forget that she is as strong willed as me.” Katherine pressed for a new deal, but I was concerned about the ball, my master plan. “And our timing has been difficult.”
There are many other words about cross-purposes and concepts about assumptions and forgiveness that are too big for my little girl to understand. I offer the simplest thing I know. “I failed, Lidochka. I failed, and maybe the best we can be is friends.” Friends with baths and sheets. And bare feet.
Wide-eyed and wild with tears, Lydia tries to stop sobbing. But I hold her, hold her tightly to me until she quiets.
I gaze at her countenance. “Do you understand?”
She nods and sniffles. “Must be too tough to love.” Her sigh is long. “Too tough so you quit.”
Defeated and prideful, prejudiced of the past, fearful of the future—this love I have for Katherine is too much for merely me. “I’m sorry, Lydia. Maybe if we love her together, we can make everything work.”
“Papen’ka, what am I to hope for beyond birthdays, when either you or I aren’t here? We both have the sickness. Does that mean we’ll always be alone?”
My broken soul rips to pieces, like it’s been sliced with a jagged cutlass. “I don’t—”
“Papen’ka, I’m sorry. I’m talking like a quitter. You fought to live for me. That should be enough.”
“Nyet. Not enough. We must change our circumstances.”
Hope rises in her irises. “Papen’ka, are you saying there’s still time?”
“You and I work here. We work together. The two of us … we are unstoppable. Katherine won’t refuse such a powerful pair.”
She hugs my neck. “We can save joy together. We can give it to Mamen’ka.”
Surely, mindful of my waning strength, she gives me my cane, steadying it so I can lift from the floor.
My child holds her breath as I struggle, but I rise.
Then I hear footfalls from the hall. My appointment may start early. “Lydia, we work together now. Hide under my desk. No matter what you hear, don’t come out until I say so.”
She gives me a wink and scoots. Lydia makes it before the door to the study fully opens. Without knocking, Mr. Palmers enters. The rude man is here to collect a debt.
Chapter 44
