The Little Russian by Susan Sherman Read Free Book Online Page A

, which was embossed in gold above the author’s name. When she turned back to the flyleaf she saw his name, Haykel Gregorvich Alshonsky, written at the top in a cramped hand. She looked at him in surprise. “This is your book.”
    “I may have put my name in it,” he said indifferently. His eyes slid past her to a cart rumbling by on a parallel track. A young barefoot girl
sat in the back and hung on to the slats, while the cart bucked erratically over the ruts.
    She flipped through the pages again and this time found faint pencil notations in the margins in the same cramped hand. “This is your book.”
    His eyes traveled back to her. “Is it?” He gave her a teasing smile.
    She studied him for a moment. “You’ve been playing a trick on me.”
    He flicked a horsefly off her shoulder. “Well, what if I have? You deserved it, you know.”
    “I did? And why is that?”
    “You haven’t exactly been friendly. In fact, you’ve been pretty rude. And all because you thought I was unschooled and dressed badly and drove around in a broken-down cart. Is that anyway to treat a fellow traveler who only wanted to be sociable?”
    Of course, she knew he was right.
    “And what was I supposed to do? I just wanted to be left alone.”
    “Is it such a bother to receive a friendly greeting now and then?”
    She shrugged indifferently. The fact that she treated everyone in Mosny with the same discourtesy didn’t seem much of a defense.
    “Look, there’s no sense in arguing about it,” he said with a generous smile. “The sun is barely up and already it’s hot. Why don’t you get in and I’ll drive you back.”
    She was still feeling the sting of his reproach. “And why would I want to do that?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe for the conversation. You might be in need of it just now. I imagine you still think a lot about Moscow. It can’t very be easy living here after your life there.”
    A pang of grief and for a terrible moment she felt her eyes welling up with tears. She looked up into the sky to keep them back and shielded her eyes with a hand even though the sun was still low and not very bright. When the moment had passed and she was once again on solid footing, she said, “I suppose it is going to be hot today.”
    “Good, then it’s settled.” He took her hand and helped her up to the bench. As she climbed up she was acutely aware of a hole in her stockings just above her right ankle that she had been meaning to mend.
She didn’t want him to see it and was careful to stoop as she climbed up to keep her skirts over the spot.
    When she was comfortable, he went around and climbed up beside her. “Do you believe in fairies, Mademoiselle?” It was an allusion to Yeats.
    She smiled with pleasure. “Of course I do, don’t you?”
    He laughed and picked up the reins and gave them a snap. The horse started up and the cart dipped and bounced over the ruts. All the way back they talked about fairies, ghosts, and gods. They quoted passages, sometimes in unison.
     
    A FEW WEEKS later, Hershel pulled up to the store in a new droshky. Berta was the first one to see it.
    “Is that yours?” she called out as he jumped down.
    “All mine. You like her?” He turned back to admire the carriage.
    “She’s beautiful. I like her very much.”
    Berta had to admit that the droshky didn’t look all that new; the paint was peeling off the chassis and the mudguards were cracked and needed repair. But the brass lamps had been recently polished and the spoke wheels had been painted yellow and the seats seemed to be in good condition.
    “I bought her off a cabman in Cherkast. Come out with me. I have to see a man about a load, but it won’t take long. It’s a beautiful day.”
    Berta went up to change into her lavender tea dress. She wore her straw hat with the matching hat band and carried her lace parasol. After she was seated alongside Hershel, he urged the horse on and it trotted out to the clatter of hooves on the hard