Rashel looked much declined from the last time Nadia had seen her. Of course, it had been fourteen years, but still, she had aged poorly. No one would ever have guessed her to be the younger sister to Samara, either in age or general resemblance. Her eyes were not almond shaped like Samara and Nadia, but rather had a round, protuberant look to them. Thick gray streaks permeated her dark hair, and deep lines ran from the edges of her nostrils down to the corners of her mouth.
She was small and scrawny, a good head shorter than Nadia. Because of her skinniness, and because the house did not seem well-heated, she wore layers of sweaters and cardigans, as well as loose, billowing pants. She had on a pair of thick woolen socks beneath her slippers.
“You’re early,” she said in Russian, squinting up at Nadia.
Nadia had actually arrived at almost exactly the time she’d emailed to her aunt, so she simply pasted on a smile and said, “Thank you for having me to stay, auntie.”
“I put you in your mother’s room, like you wanted,” Rashel said. “It’s not the usual guest room, so it hadn’t been opened in a long time. It might be musty. The cats like that room because it gets the afternoon sunshine.”
“Polina’s kittens?” Nadia asked, remembering the photo in her mother’s album.
“Maybe her great-great grand-kittens,” Rashel scoffed. “They don’t last long around here, outdoor cats. Too many hawks and owls, not to mention foxes and dogs.”
Nadia followed Rashel through the house, trundling her suitcase.
She was surprised how dirty and cluttered the old house had been allowed to become. She could see dustsheets over much of the furniture in the main rooms, but many areas of the house had been closed off entirely, and dusty old drapes were drawn across every window, making the interior of the house terribly dark and gloomy.
The oriental carpets were filthy with dirt, including clods of mud trod in from outdoors. The mirrors were spotted within their tarnished metal frames, and Nadia could see piles of books and magazines on tables and chairs in the rooms that seemed to be in use.
“Auntie,” she said tentatively, “are the maids not coming anymore?”
“What’s the matter,” Rashel grunted. “Not up to your standards?”
Nadia blushed.
“No,” she said, “I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Since so many of the rooms are closed off.”
“Nobody comes here anymore, so what does it matter?” Rashel said. Then, angrily, “I sent the maids away. They were robbing us blind.”
Nadia felt a pang of guilt. Samara and Rashel were the only remaining Lebedevs, Nadia the only grandchild. This neglect was on her shoulders, now that her mother was dead
“Perhaps we can find some better maids for you,” she said, gently.
But Rashel shook her head stubbornly.
“There aren’t any better maids,” she said.
She took Nadia up the wide, curving staircase, the one that Nadia had seen in the photographs of her mother, where Samara had stood and posed, dressed in some pretty blue frock for some sort of party or ball. The wood had then been gleaming with polish, the carpet runner pristine. It was all battered and worn now. Nadia had to dodge several large tears in the rug that would have tripped her.
Once up the stairs, they walked past the library, down the long hallway to Samara’s old room. Nadia recognized it at once from her mother’s pictures. It hadn’t changed in the slightest, except that someone had taken down her mother’s old posters. The bed was still spread with the same heavy floral coverlet, and she could see the same small desk under the window.
As Rashel had warned, at least three cats were currently sunning themselves in various patches of light within the room—one black, one gray, and one massive old beast that looked more like a lynx than a housecat.
“I’ll let you get settled, and then you can come see Papa,” Rashel said. “He’s down at the other end of the hallway. He might be napping, but it doesn’t make much difference if he’s asleep or awake.”
“Alright,” Nadia said. “I’ll come down in just a moment.”
Rashel left her alone, and Nadia set down her suitcase. She went directly to the window and lifted the heavy sash to aid in the airing-out of the room, which was indeed as musty as Rashel had promised. She looked around the plain, empty space, wondering if she had made a mistake in coming here.
The room had been stripped of her mother’s personal items, whether by Samara herself, or by her parents after she left for Paris. The only part of Samara’s personality left was the fact that the room was in the absolute furthest corner of the house, a testament to her mother’s teenage desire for independence.
Nadia could see, too, that the thick branches of the oak tree outside the window grew right up against the house. An enterprising young woman could easily have slipped out the window and climbed down to the ground.
As she was looking out, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was Maxim calling.
“Hey,” he said. “You find the place alright?”
