Donia took to her bed, complaining constantly of a fluttering heart and immobilizing headaches. I brought her tea and assumed the responsibility of cooking, which meant more and more water in our already-thin soup, and less and less sugar for our tea.
I cleaned the house from bottom to top and then back down again. I organized the shelves in my father’s study. One evening, fresh snow swirling white at the windows, I had a bout of generosity and decided to organize Donia’s writing desk—it was drowning in paper, envelopes and dried-up bottles of ink. I methodically emptied the drawers and began sorting through everything, deciding what to keep and what ought to be discarded.
I didn’t mean to snoop into Donia’s personal correspondence. But one of the letters in her drawer fell out onto the carpet, and when I snatched it up I saw the first line by accident.
I read the rest in a blaze of shock and anger.
Dear Mrs. Donia Alkaev,
Suzdal Bank has made the requested deposit on your behalf in the amount of 30,000 roubles, with interest to be paid quarterly into your account. For withdrawal requests or any further assistance regarding the sale of your late husband’s property, please write to the address below.
Thank you for choosing Suzdal Bank for your financial requirements.
Yours very sincerely,
Fedor Novak
Enclosed were several lists of figures with cramped notes written next to them. It was dated a month past the wedding.
As far as I could tell, the sale of the bakery had more than canceled Donia’s late husband’s debts—if he’d had any at all—and she was sitting on a sum of money that staggered me. Why had she not told my father? Why had she let him go off to the city with his precious manuscripts, allowing him to think it was our only hope?
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” came a sudden voice behind me.
I wheeled to see Donia, in all her menacing arctic-bear size, glowering down at me. She was wrapped in a brocade dressing gown, her hair hanging in limp curls on her shoulders. Her eyes were red like she’d been crying, and that made me more angry than anything.
“Youviper,” I spat, jabbing the letter into her face. “You plunged us into debt when you could have paid for everything! Why did you keep it from us? Why did you keep it fromPapa?”
She glanced at the paper impassively. “What I do with my money is not your concern.”
“If you’ve killed him—” My voice pitched unstable and high. “Donia, if you’ve killed him I will never forgive you.”
“Fortunately for me I give little thought to your forgiveness. His death is not on my hands, nor my conscience.”
I crumpled the letter and let it fall to the floor. “Why did you even marry him?”
“I wanted a comfortable life—I knew your father would provide that for me. And there are rewards in heaven, I think, for becoming stepmother to the Devil’s child.” Danger lurked behind her gaze. “Which reminds me. This came for you today.” She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her dressing gown and held it up: it was postmarked from the city, addressed to me, with the seal already broken.
Hope and horror rushed into me. I grabbed for the envelope but Donia snatched it back, crossing the room and holding it over the roaring fire.
“Give me the letter, Donia.”
She smirked. “It’s only fair that I read your mail since you took it upon yourself to read mine. Would you like to know what it says? Of course you would.” She unfolded the letter. “‘Dear Miss Alkaev, We would be happy to receive you at the university in the spring, provided you have with you upon your arrival three references from persons of note in your chosen field and the fee—in part or total—for your initial term …’”
I shrieked and lunged for the letter, which Donia thrust suddenly into the fire.
She caught my arms to keep me from scrambling after it, and I was forced to watch as the paper crackled and curled and fell away to ash.
“You didn’t think I would let you attend the university, did you?” said Donia calmly. “Even if you managed to come up with the fee, they would take one look at your monstrous face and shove you back into the gutter where you belong.”
I stared at her, breathless and numb and hot. “The only monster in this place is you.”
I turned from my stepmother without another word, stopping only to grab the lamp from the desk, my shoulder bag and furs from their hooks on the wall before stepping out into the frigid night.
CHAPTER FIVE
ITRUDGED INTO THE FOREST, the lamp banging against my knee, snow blowing thick and wet into my face. It was bitterly cold, but across the boundary of the wood the wind blew less sharp. I wandered on, fighting back anger and tears and a blinding sense of helplessness. I couldn’t stop seeing the letter from the university devoured by the fire, ashes falling white in the hearth. Donia’s words repeated endlessly through my mind:They would take one look at your monstrous face and shove you back into the gutter where you belong.
One look at your monstrous face.
