But what if she’d been mistaken about the satchel and bridle? What if the tradesman had merely returned from a trip? Surely if his horse and wagon were there, Jaska wouldn’t insist on going through with their mad plan.
It suddenly occurred to her that someone could see them together in the night, just as she’d seen Jaska’s brother with a village girl. She would never be able to explain it away enough to—
“Matrona!” Roksana called, a wide smile painting her mouth. She drew closer. “Feodor and Oleg at your home? For dinner? Things are going well, then?”
Matrona forced herself to focus on her dear friend, but her mind fluttered like moths near a candle. “I, uh, yes. Well.”
“Don’t tell me everything at once.” A line formed between Roksana’s eyebrows. “I’ve barely seen or spoken to you lately. I’ve been worried. Pavel tells me you came by looking for me the other day.”
Matrona blinked, trying to process the new information as it piled onto the clutter of Feodor, Jaska, and Slava. Roksana, yes. To hide from Slava.
“Yes,” she answered, glancing at the sky. Why was it darkening so quickly? She turned to look at the house, but neither of her parents had lingered in the doorway. “But I’m fine now.”
“Fine now?” Roksana repeated, grasping Matrona’s fingers to engage her attention. “You weren’t fine before? Are you still ill?”
“No, I was just . . . visiting.”
“We have time to visit now.” She smiled. “Luka ran over to the Grankins’, so he’ll be by in a bit to fetch me—”
Matrona rubbed her forehead. “Oh, Roksana, I . . . I’m sorry. I can’t talk now.”
The line between her friend’s brows deepened. “Why ever not? Your guests just left, and we have a lot to talk about. Do you and Feodor have a date set yet? Have you tried on the dress—”
“I have something to do. Something personal.” Her tongue felt too loose. Where was that easy lying when she needed it? “Yes, we have a date. Two weeks from today. And no, I haven’t tried the dress on yet.”
“Not yet! What if it needs a lot of tailoring? What are you waiting for?” Roksana tipped her head to one side. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?” She lifted her hand to check Matrona’s forehead.
Matrona stepped back to avoid the touch. Tried to smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll find you tomorrow and we’ll catch up. There’s no school, right?”
Roksana frowned. “You’ve been so strange lately.” She folded her arms. “You used to tell me everything.”
“I will, I will!” she countered, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice. “But it’s getting dark and I need . . . to do something. Please, tomorrow.”
Roksana’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded her consent, and Matrona took the gesture as permission to return inside, where she changed into the darkest sarafan she had. The palms of her hands perspired as she listened to her parents shuffle about while they prepared for bed. Matrona lit a candle and then grabbed a comb and unbraided her hair, the long black locks falling in waves over her shoulders. She plaited it in two tails, one over each shoulder, as Roksana wore hers, then found an old scarf to wear over her head. If she changed her silhouette, perhaps she would be less recognizable in the dark. She checked her pockets to ensure they were empty—it would bring bad fortune to take more out of the house than needed at night, and Matrona wanted to secure as much luck as possible.
A shifting of darkness at the window caught the corner of her eye; she turned, but saw nothing in the gap between her curtains. The wood had devoured the last wisps of twilight. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she tugged the curtains completely closed. Then she blew out her candle, bathing herself in darkness, and slid it and a single match into her pocket.
Listening for her parents and hearing their low voices in their bedroom, Matrona slipped into the hallway. She winced when a floorboard creaked under her heel and then quickened her step, again waiting until she was in the pasture to put on her shoes. Traveling this path in stealth had become all too familiar to her.
She slinked out the gate, spying windows in the village alight with candles and lamps. One extinguished under her gaze. She kept her distance from the main path, walking just close enough to follow it. She heard two men talking to each other on a porch; one laughed heartily. Matrona eyed the sky, the slim band of light over the wood summoning the rising moon. She was late. Her steps moved in time with her heartbeat, quick and sharp.
A few more windows darkened as she pulled away from the thickest grouping of the izbas and moved toward the north face of the wood. Cricket song filled the quiet space between each breath. The moon peeked over the treetops, and in its light Matrona saw the edge of Slava’s roof. No light emanated from his home. A good sign, yet Matrona’s nerves stung her limbs like hornets.
Her steps slowed as she neared the house. What if Slava lingered inside? What if he saw her? Her mind fumbled for an excuse—
A hand on her elbow shot her heart out of her chest. She spun and smacked her open palm into her assailant’s chest—
“Matrona!” the shadow whispered, letting her go. “It’s me!”
Matrona stepped back, trying to catch her breath. “Jaska?”
He rubbed his chest, the rising moon glinting off his teeth. “Quite an arm you’ve got.”
She adjusted her head scarf. “A butter churn will do that.”
He chuckled deep in his throat. The sound faded. “You were right; his horse and wagon are gone. The house is empty.”
“Except for the kite.”
“Kite?”
“His pet.” The darkness swallowed Jaska, so there was no telling if his expression changed. “How long have you been here?”
“Since twilight. I thought . . . I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”
“I promised.”
“You’re a woman of your word.” His tone softened in a way that rose gooseflesh on Matrona’s arms. Just the cool of night, she told herself. Certainly there wasn’t any hidden meaning in Jaska’s words or the way he’d said them.
She swallowed, the walls of her throat feeling too thick.
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Jaska said, “I’m sorry . . . If you tell me where the room is—”
“No, I’ll go. It’ll be quicker that way.” Besides, she couldn’t explain all the rules of the dolls to him now, and she couldn’t trust him to leave everything behind exactly as he’d found it. Scanning the path behind her and finding it empty, Matrona crept toward the house, Jaska falling in step beside her.
“Will they know you’re missing?” he asked. “Your parents.”
“I don’t know. I hope not. If they find out, I’ll tell them a cow escaped or something.”
She could feel his grin beside her like a flame. It gave her courage. Halting, she turned to him. “Stay here.”
He nodded, stepping into a black shadow beside the house.
Matrona licked her lips. “You know what it will do, don’t you?”
“Will it be the same?” he asked. “As . . . yours?”
Matrona shocked herself by not blushing at the question, at the reminder of how her most guarded secret had spread through their village like the seeds of a weed. She answered honestly. “I don’t know. I assume so.”
He hesitated only a second, but it was long enough for Matrona to notice. “I suppose we’ll see.”
She nodded, once, and hurried to Slava’s front door. Every footstep in the grass sounded like shattering ceramic, and the rays of the moon, so faint and gentle, became blazing suns. She reached the portico and spun around, pulling her scarf close, searching the village for onlookers. Her breath caught at the sight of movement close to the wood, but as she stared into the darkness, she saw only the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze.
She hurried to the door. The sooner this was done, the better.