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His smile was slow and satisfied. Perhaps the wait wouldn’t be as long as he’d thought. “Are you asking me to Thanksgiving dinner at your mother’s?”
“My mother asked,” Natasha said precisely. “She always makes too much food, and she and Papa enjoy company. When it came up, I thought about you and Freddie.”
“I’m glad to know that you think about us.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, annoyed with herself for stringing out what should have been a simple invitation. “I always take the train up on Wednesday after work and come back Friday evening. Since there is no school, it occurred to me that you both might enjoy the trip.”
“Do we get borscht?”
The corners of her lips curved. “I could ask.” She pushed her plate aside when she saw the gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing, she thought, as much as planning. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s simply an invitation from friend to friend.”
“Right.”
She frowned at him. “I think Freddie would enjoy a big family meal.”
“Right again.”
His easy agreement had her blowing out a frustrated breath. “Just because it’s at my parents’ home doesn’t mean I’m taking you there for…” She waved her hand as she searched for an appropriate phrase. “For approval, or to show you off.”
“You mean your father won’t take me into the den and ask me my intentions?”
“We don’t have a den,” she muttered. “And no. I’m a grown woman.” Because Spence was grinning, she lifted a brow. “He will, perhaps, study you discreetly.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Then you’ll come?”
He sat back, sipping his coffee and smiling to himself. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
CHAPTER TEN
Freddie sat in the back seat with a blanket tucked up to her chin and clutched her Raggedy Ann. Because she wanted to drift with her own daydreams she pretended to sleep, and pretended so well that she actually dozed from time to time. It was a long drive from West Virginia to New York, but she was much too excited to be bored.
There was soft music on the car radio. She was enough of her father’s daughter to recognize Mozart, and child enough to wish there were words to sing along to. Vera had already been dropped off at her sister’s in Manhattan, where the housekeeper would holiday until Sunday. Now Spence was directing the big, quiet car through the traffic toward Brooklyn.
Freddie was only a little disappointed that they hadn’t taken the train, but liked snuggling up and listening to her father and Natasha talk. She didn’t pay much attention to what they said. Their voices were enough.
She was almost sick with excitement at the idea of meeting Natasha’s family and sharing a big turkey dinner. Though she didn’t like turkey very much, Natasha had told her that there would be plenty of cranberry sauce and succotash. Freddie had never eaten succotash, but the name was so funny, she knew it would be good. Even if it wasn’t, even if it was disgusting, she was determined to be polite and clean her plate. JoBeth had told her that her grandmother got upset if JoBeth didn’t eat all her vegetables, so Freddie wasn’t taking any chances.
Lights flickered over her closed lids. Her lips curved a little as she heard Natasha’s laugh merging with her father’s. In her imaginings they were already a family. Instead of Raggedy Ann, Freddie was carefully tending to her baby sister as they all drove through the night to her grandparents’ house. It was just like the song, she thought, but she didn’t know if they were going over any rivers. And she didn’t think they would pass through the woods.
Her baby sister’s name was Katie, and she had black, curly hair like Natasha. Whenever Katie cried, Freddie was the only one who could make her happy again. Katie slept in a white crib in Freddie’s room, and Freddie always made sure she was covered with a pink blanket. Babies caught colds, Freddie knew. When they did, you had to give them medicine out of a little dropper. They couldn’t blow their noses themselves. Everyone said that Katie took her medicine best from Freddie.
Delighted with herself, Freddie snuggled the doll closer. “We’re going to Grandmother’s,” she whispered, and began to build a whole new fantasy around the visit.
The trouble was, Freddie wasn’t sure that the people she was pretending were her grandparents would like her. Not everyone liked kids, she thought. Maybe they wished she wasn’t coming to visit. When she got there, they would want her to sit in a chair with her hands folded on her lap. That was the way Aunt Nina told her young ladies sat. Freddie hated being a young lady. But she would have to sit for just hours, not interrupting, not talking too loud, and never, never running in the house.
They would get mad and frown at her if she spilled something on the floor. Maybe they would yell. She’d heard JoBeth’s father yell, especially when JoBeth’s big brother, who was in third grade already and was supposed to know better, had taken one of his father’s golf clubs to hit at rocks in the backyard. One of the rocks had crashed right through the kitchen window.
Maybe she would break a window. Then Natasha wouldn’t marry her daddy and come to stay with them. She wouldn’t have a mother or a baby sister, and Daddy would stop playing his music at night again.
Almost paralyzed by her thoughts, Freddie shrank against the seat as the car slowed.
“Yes, turn right here.” At the sight of her old neighborhood, Natasha’s spirits rose even higher. “It’s about halfway down, on the left. You might be able to find a space…yes, there.” She spotted a parking space behind her father’s ancient pickup. Obviously the Stanislaskis had put out the word that their daughter and friends were coming, and the neighbors had cooperated.
It was like that here, she thought. The Poffenbergers had lived on one side, the Andersons on the other for as long as Natasha could remember. One family would bring food when there was illness, another would mind a child after school. Joys and sorrows were shared. And gossip abounded.
Mikhail had dated the pretty Anderson girl, then had ended up as best man at her wedding, when she’d married one of his friends. Natasha’s parents had stood as godparents for one of the Poffenberger babies. Perhaps that was why, when Natasha had found she’d needed a new place and a new start, she had picked a town that had reminded her of home. Not in looks, but in ties.
“What are you thinking?” Spence asked her.
“Just remembering.” She turned her head to smile at him. “It’s good to be back.” She stepped onto the curb, shivered once in the frosty air, then opened the back door for Freddie while Spence popped the trunk. “Freddie, are you asleep?”
Freddie kept herself balled tight, but squeezed her eyes open. “No.”
“We’re here. It’s time to get out.”
Freddie swallowed, clutching the doll to her chest. “What if they don’t like me?”
“What’s this?” Crouching, Natasha brushed the hair from Freddie’s cheeks. “Have you been dreaming?”
“They might not like me and wish I wasn’t here. They might think I’m a pest. Lots of people think kids’re pests.”
“Lots of people are stupid then,” Natasha said briskly, buttoning up Freddie’s coat.
“Maybe. But they might not like me, anyway.”
“What if you don’t like them?”
That was something that hadn’t occurred to her. Mulling it over, Freddie wiped her nose with the back of her hand before Natasha could come up with a tissue. “Are they nice?”
“I think so. After you meet them, you can decide. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Ladies, maybe you could pick another time to have a conference.” Spence stood a few feet away, loaded down with luggage. “What was that all about?” he asked when they joined him on the sidewalk.
“Girl talk,” Natasha answered with a wink that made Freddie giggle.
“Great.” He started up the worn concrete steps behind Natasha. “Nothing I like better than to stand in the brisk wind holding three hundred pounds of luggage. What did you pack in here? Bricks?”
“Only a few, along with some essentials.” Delighted with him, she turned and kissed his cheek—just as Nadia opened the door.
“Well.” Pleased, Nadia folded her arms across her chest. “I told Papa you would come before Johnny Carson was over.”
“Mama.” Natasha rushed up the final steps to be enfolded in Nadia’s arms. There was the scent she always remembered. Talc and nutmeg. And, as always, there was the strong, sturdy feel of her mother’s body. Nadia’s dark and sultry looks were just as strong, more so, perhaps, with the lines etched by worry, laughter and time.
Nadia murmured an endearment, then drew Natasha back to kiss her cheeks. She could see herself as she had been twenty years before. “Come on, you leave our guests standing in the cold.”
Natasha’s father bounded into the hall to pluck her off the floor and toss her into the air. He wasn’t a tall man, but the arms beneath his work shirt were thick as cinder blocks from his years in the construction trade. He gave a robust laugh as he kissed her.
“No manners,” Nadia declared as she shut the door. “Yuri, Natasha brings guests.”
“Hello.” Yuri thrust out a callused hand and pumped Spence’s. “Welcome.”
“This is Spence and Freddie Kimball.” As she made introductions, Natasha noticed Freddie slip her hand into her father’s.
“We are happy to meet you.” Because warmth was her way, Nadia greeted them both with kisses. “I will take your coats, and you please come in and sit. You will be tired.”
“We appreciate you having us,” Spence began. Then, sensing that Freddie was nervous, he picked her up and carried her into the living room.
It was small, the wallpaper old and the furniture worn. But there were lace doilies on the arms of the chairs, the woodwork gleamed in the yellow lamplight from vigorous polishing, and here and there were exquisitely worked pillows. Framed family pictures fought for space among the potted plants and knicknacks.
A husky wheeze had Spence glancing down. There was an old gray dog in the corner. His tail began to thump when he saw Natasha. With obvious effort he rose and waddled to her.
“Sasha.” She crouched to bury her face in the dog’s fur. She laughed as he sat down again and leaned against her. “Sasha is a very old man,” she explained to Freddie. “He likes best now to sleep and eat.”
“And drink vodka,” Yuri put in. “We will all have some. Except you,” he added and flicked a finger down Freddie’s nose. “You would have some champagne, huh?”
Freddie giggled, then bit her lip. Natasha’s father didn’t look exactly like she’d imagined a grandfather. He didn’t have snow-white hair and a big belly. Instead his hair was black and white at the same time, and he had no belly at all. He talked funny, with a deep, rumbly kind of voice. But he smelled good, like cherries. And his smile was nice.
“What’s vodka?”
“Russian tradition,” Yuri answered her. “A drink we make from grain.”
Freddie wrinkled her nose. “That sounds yucky,” she said, then immediately bit her lip again. But at Yuri’s burst of laughter she managed a shy smile.
“Natasha will tell you that her papa always teases little girls.” Nadia poked an elbow into Yuri’s ribs. “It’s because he is really just little boy at heart. You would like hot chocolate?”
Freddie was torn between the comfort of her father’s hand and one of her favorite treats. And Nadia was smiling at her, not with that goofy look grown-ups sometimes put on when they had to talk to kids. It was a warm smile, just like Natasha’s.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nadia gave a nod of approval at the child’s manners. “Maybe you would like to come with me. I show you how to make it with big, fat marshmallows.”
Forgetting shyness, Freddie took her hand from Spence’s and put it into Nadia’s. “I have two cats,” she told Nadia proudly as they walked into the kitchen. “And I had chicken pox on my birthday.”
“Sit, sit,” Yuri ordered, gesturing toward the couch. “We have a drink.”
“Where are Alex and Rachel?” With a contented sigh, Natasha sank into the worn cushions.
“Alex takes his new girlfriend to the movies. Very pretty,” Yuri said, rolling his bright, brown eyes. “Rachel is at lecture. Big-time lawyer from Washington, D.C. comes to college.”
“And how is Mikhail?”
“Very busy. They remodel apartment in Soho.” He passed out glasses, tapping each before he drank. “So,” he said to Spence as he settled in his favorite chair, “you teach music.”
“Yes. Natasha’s one of my best students in Music History.”
“Smart girl, my Natasha.” He settled back in his chair and studied Spence. But not, as Natasha had hoped, discreetly. “You are good friends.”
“Yes,” Natasha put in, uneasy about the gleam in her father’s eyes. “We are. Spence just moved into town this summer. He and Freddie used to live in New York.”
“So. This is interesting. Like fate.”
“I like to think so,” Spence agreed, enjoying himself. “It was especially fortunate that I have a little girl and Natasha owns a very tempting toy store. Added to that, she signed up for one of my classes. It made it difficult for her to avoid me when she was being stubborn.”
“She is stubborn,” Yuri agreed sadly. “Her mother is stubborn. Me, I am very agreeable.”
Natasha gave a quick snort.
“Stubborn and disrespectful women run in my family.” Yuri took another healthy drink. “It is my curse.”
“Perhaps one day I’ll be fortunate enough to say the same.” Spence smiled over the rim of his glass. “When I convince Natasha to marry me.”
Natasha sprang up, ignoring her father’s grin. “Since the vodka’s gone to your head so quickly, I’ll see if Mama has any extra hot chocolate.”
Yuri pushed himself out of his chair to reach for the bottle as Natasha disappeared. “We’ll leave the chocolate to the women.”
Natasha awoke at first light with Freddie curled in her arms. She was in the bed of her childhood, in a room where she and her sister had spent countless hours talking, laughing, arguing. The wallpaper was the same. Faded roses. Whenever her mother had threatened to paint it, both she and Rachel had objected. There was something comforting about waking up to the same walls from childhood through adolescence to adulthood.
Turning her head, she could see her sister’s dark hair against the pillow of the next bed. The sheets and blankets were in tangles. Typical, Natasha thought with a smile. Rachel had more energy asleep than most people had fully awake. She had come in the night before after midnight, bursting with enthusiasm over the lecture she had attended, full of hugs and kisses and questions.
Natasha brushed a kiss over Freddie’s hair, then carefully shifted her. The child snuggled into the pillow without making a sound. Quietly Natasha rose. She took a moment to steady herself when the floor tilted. Four hours’ sleep, she decided, was bound to make anyone light-headed. Gathering her clothes, she went off to shower and dress.
Arriving downstairs, she caught the scent of coffee brewing. It didn’t seem to appeal to her, but she followed it into the kitchen.
“Mama.” Nadia was already at the counter, busily rolling out pie-crusts. “It’s too early to cook.”
“On Thanksgiving it’s never too early.” She lifted her cheek for a kiss. “You want coffee?”
Natasha pressed a hand to her uneasy stomach. “No. I don’t think so. I assume that bundle of blankets on the couch is Alex.”
“He gets in very late.” Nadia pursed her lips briefly in disapproval, then shrugged. “He’s not a boy anymore.”
“No. You’ll just have to face it, Mama, you have grown children—and you raised them very well.”
“Not so well that Alex learns to pick up his socks.” But she smiled, hoping her youngest son wouldn’t deprive her of that last vestige of motherhood too soon.
“Did Papa and Spence stay up very late?”
“Papa likes talking to your friend. He’s a nice man.” Nadia laid a circle of dough on a pie plate, then took up another chunk to roll out. “Very handsome.”
“Yes,” Natasha agreed, but cautiously.
“He has good job, is responsible, loves his daughter.”
“Yes,” Natasha said again.
