With all obstacles banished, wearing Lodzia’s pale green dress, cinched in at the waist, I set off to meet Krystyna. I felt such excitement at the prospect of seeing Stefan again; I was almost giddy with it.
He wasn’t there when we arrived, but a few other youngsters were, including the Ukrainians. The scratchy records on the gramophone, which had got on my pip on Sunday night, didn’t even irritate me tonight.
Karol and Natasha arrived at a quarter to eight. They both acknowledged me, but sat alone elsewhere. Stefan still hadn’t come. I felt sure he would be here soon and kept glancing at the door each time someone entered.
The evening wore on and I was becoming paranoid; perhaps he’d found someone else and taken her elsewhere – like where? The cantina was the only place I could think was warm enough, but who would want to sit in that smelly hole all evening?
I’d argued with my parents to allow me to stay out until nine-thirty, but if Stefan didn’t get a move on, my time would be up. They only allowed me some leeway because Karol could see the argument turning into a row, and intervened, promising he would keep his eye on me.
Each time the door opened and shut, it fanned my despair with a freezing blast of air, until I accepted Stefan would not show. The whole evening fell flat, and when I saw Karol pointing at his wristwatch. I bid Krystyna and Alina goodnight and walked back to the shack feeling empty.
‘Did you have a pleasant time, kohanie?’ Mother asked when I walked through the door.
I took off my boots and stood them beside the stove to dry. ‘Yes, it was good,’ I fibbed. ‘Krystyna’s fun. It’s good to have a friend again.’ I wasn’t lying because it was true, and I missed Wanda.
Sensing I was feeling glum, Lodzia said, ‘Was the boy who asked you to dance there tonight?’
‘Who? Oh, him. No, but it was still a good evening.’
‘Listening to scratchy Russian records? Never mind, he’ll probably be there on Sunday night. People in the bread queue and at the cantina have been asking if Gerhard, Karol and Zygmunt would play again – so we’re all going. The boys can’t disappoint them.’
I had never known time to drag so slowly.
I felt a little crazy. Stefan was all I could think about; I didn’t even know if he liked me that much. Because he didn’t dance with anyone else all evening probably meant nothing, and I was reading far more into it than there was. Here I was allowing him to consume my waking thoughts. But was he thinking about me?
18
Sunday arrived, and I was ready two hours before it was time to leave.
I wore Lodzia’s dress again and promised to make myself a shorter, more flattering pair of valenki. It meant I would muck up my hands, but this last lot of grime was wearing off, so it was a sacrifice I would make.
Lodzia kept smiling at me. ‘He’ll be there. Don’t be in such a rush – trust me.’
How could she read my moods so well? Lodzia was twenty three and married; how could she be so sure?
The place was already full when we arrived, and my brothers and Zygmunt were warming up on the dais.
I took in the room at lightning speed, but I didn’t see him. I saw his sisters, but not him.
Lodzia touched my arm, and I spun around. Stefan was standing beside me.
He said, ‘Hello, Marishu.’
His eyes had a way of creasing and lighting up when he smiled, and all the nerves danced on the surface of my skin. ‘Stefan, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.’
‘I was here on Monday night, waiting, but you didn’t come. I was also here on Tuesday and Wednesday.’
‘My mother wouldn’t let me out on my own.’ It sounded so lame.
‘It’s because she cares.’
On stage, Karol led the music with a waltz. He knew it was the only dance I knew and smiled at me when I looked up at him in amused surprise.
‘Shall we?’ Stefan said, and I took his hand. His touch sent the most disturbing sensation through me, and I melted into his arms, resting my cheek against his and feeling as if we belonged together. We waltzed around the floor, and when we reached the stage, I caught my brother’s eye and whispered, ‘Thank you,’ realising for the first time that Karol sort of cared about me too; as much as any brother could care about a pesky little sister.
The evening ended, and I felt almost bereft we were about to part, but Stefan accompanied me home – along with the rest of my family in tow.
‘I need to know where you live,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t risk losing you again.’ He also insisted on meeting my parents. ‘I want them to know I’m no ogre, and no harm’s going to come to you.’
My feelings oscillated between flattery, embarrassment and gratitude.
I wanted him to kiss me, but Stefan seemed to have other ideas.
My parents were both surprised and pleased as he made himself at home on the slats. I observed the way he rested his forearms on his thighs, fingers intertwined, relaxed in their company, explaining his father worked at the Artel sharpening saws and fixing wheel spokes and things.
Father said, ‘Well I never, so Novak’s your father! I like him. He’s a good man.’
Stefan didn’t outstay his welcome. He said, ‘Thank you for allowing me to see your daughter home. I hope you won’t mind if I call on Marisha again.’
He stood up, and I was at his side, showing him out. We stood in the little hallway, and he pulled me closer but said nothing. It was dark and cold out here, and I couldn’t see his face, but I felt his breath on my lips as they brushed against mine, almost like a butterfly fluttering.
‘Better go,’ he said. ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’
My arms were around his waist, and I reached up to kiss his earlobe. ‘Yes, please.’
‘See you at seven-thirty.’
The next day, I said, ‘Mama, can I use your sewing machine? I want to alter my clothes to fit.’
‘Ahh, kohanie – let me do it.’
‘No, it’s alright; I know just how I want them.’
She dragged the table closer to the slats, and I heaved the machine on top.
‘He’s a thoughtful boy. Are you seeing him again this evening?’
I dumped my clothes onto the slats bedside me and altered each one. Good job Mama taught me how to sew and make clothes. ‘He’s coming for me at seven-thirty. I want to wear something different; I can’t keep borrowing Lodzia’s clothes.’
‘Does he have siblings?’
I was concentrating on my sewing; I needed them to fit where they touched, to show off my figure. ‘He’s here with his parents and four sisters: Nina, she’s twenty two, Zofia’s twenty, Olga’s fifteen, and Rosalia who’s thirteen. They’re all so pretty, but Stefan told me they thought my hair was nice, and they might have theirs cut too.’
‘Who knows – you might have started a new trend.’
My fingers on the handle, I propelled the wheel around as I whizzed down another seam. Snapping the thread with my teeth, I stood up and held the skirt against my waist. ‘That’s better. Did I tell you Stefan’s a forester? They lived on a farm near Kobryn.’
‘And what about Jusio?’ Mother asked.
There was that flutter of betrayal again, but I thought no, Jusio was a childhood crush. Stefan’s the one for me. ‘I’ve written to Jusio and asked him to send food. Stefan said his mother’s written to relatives in Western Poland too. Don’t you think it’s wonderful Alina Zadarnowska’s brave enough to travel to Kholmogorki station every day to collect the post? You’d never get me on a horse. Stefan rides too, you know.’
Sundays were best because Stefan was mine from morning till night. We always made for the cantina first for our plate of fish-head soup, a slice of bread and a mug of sweet Russian tea.