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32 days later

"Good evening." Vladimir greeted before sitting down on the couch he and Zoya had set up in their living room.

"I didn't hear you come down the stairs." She bent over the side of the couch and gave him a long kiss. "Are you ready for dinner?"

"No, I want to talk first." The happy tone in his voice and smile on his face was impossible to miss. "How was your day?"

"I packed up the scarf I knitted for 'Saint Olga' and am awaiting the completion of your letter to your sister so I am able to send it. But, I know by your expression that you have news for me. You must tell me now, or I will send you off to bed without any dinner."

Vladimir let out a chuckle and his smile grew wider. There were days between them when Zoya would tease him without mercy.

"With such punishment looming over my head, I had better think of something quickly." He waited until Zoya placed her hands on her hips in a pose of impatience. "I have an interview on Saturday with Mr. Preston of Trinity Architecture."

"What? Is this the business you had applied to for the draftsman's position?"

"The very one. Mr. Preston himself came down to the job site I was working at today and waited a full thirty minutes until I was able to have audience with him."

"The owner?" Captured by what he was telling her, Zoya sat down next to her husband and gave him her full attention. "Vladimir, what did he say?"

"He went through the samples I left him and said that I come highly recommended. Mr. Moore must have spoken to him at some point in time and forgot to mention it to me. Mr. Preston would like to talk to me at length on Saturday. Zoya, he appeared…" Vladimir searched for the correct word, "enthusiastic?"

"The owner of the firm came all of the way down to your construction site to speak with you about a draftsman's job? I was under the impression that the position was entry level; one you are over-qualified for."

"I do not understand the man's actions, either. Trinity Architecture is a large firm and it does not fit that Mr. Preston would even know the names of his draftsmen."

"Is it possible that he may be referring to an architect position?"

"Zoya, I can only wonder since I did not think to question him until after he had left. I would accept any chance just to prove myself, but to be able to avoid the tediousness of drafting would be a godsend."

"I am so proud of you, and happy. You have earned this opportunity."

"You have earned opportunity, yourself. If I were to become an architect, you would be able to leave your job and not work anymore." This was a subject they had never discussed before, but always a goal for Vladimir. He desired to give her the best life possible and believed that her freedom from the wants of others would be part of it.

"And what would I do all day? Wait for you to return home?"

"But, we would be able to afford for you not to have to work."

"What I do is not difficult, Love. The Moores are pleasant people and they treat us like family. If you were to really reason this out, you would see that there is nothing but benefit for me to stay where I am. We could continue to live here and save our money like we have been. Just think of this Vlad, the more we save now the sooner we will be able to build our own home some day. The home you designed for us."

"You want to work?"

"For now it is the most logical way for me to get what I really want–our house. I do not have any children to tend to, therefore I should use my time profitably."

There were no children to tend to although Vladimir and Zoya had never taken precaution against her conceiving a child during the entire time they had been together. Granted, the short period when they were living in Brooklyn would have not been ideal for the bringing of a child into the world, but the cost of such preventive measures were so high that they prayed it would not happen. Vladimir was beginning to wonder if they had not prayed too hard. Even in these better times when he was working steady, Zoya was still not pregnant, and it was a very painful subject for her to address.

"Zoya, I will once again ask you to go see the doctor Mrs. Moore told you of." Vladimir continued speaking although she was shaking her head no. "Please, take our savings and go. I have witnessed your sadness when you are around the Moore's grandchildren, and you have told me yourself how much you desire a child of our own."

"No, I am not going to squander our money like that."

"That is not fair. It is not wasteful and you know it."

"Let us give nature a while longer. If another year passes, then I will go."

"Is that a promise?" Vladimir knew that Zoya always kept her promises.

"Yes."

Deeply embedded inside of her, Zoya believed that God did not see fit to give them a baby of their own because their marriage was not only illegal (she had never divorced General Vabka), but also a sin in the eyes of the church. Zoya was willing to face God's possible wrath for what she had done, but she would never leave Vladimir to right any wrong she had committed. It appeared to her as if the forfeit of a family of her own was the price she would pay.

Saturday
July 31 1999
11:05 am

Role Reversal

Jane stood on the edge of the lawn with her eyes wide in disbelief. It appeared that a circus had deposited itself on the front lawn of her cousin Shelly's house in celebration of Shelly's son's first birthday. Frederick noticed Jane as she stood transfixed tallying the cost of a production such as this, and made his way through the crowd.

"Cousin Jane! I thought you weren't going to come. Aren't you the one who doesn't like Shelly?" He bent down and they exchanged customary pecks on the cheeks.

"No, that's Elizabeth. What is this?" Jane pointed to the extravagant waste of money before her.

"Shelly breaking the bank to prove she has money to burn. I think she's trying to out do Mary Kathryn Christine's Forth of July party."

"Sorry to have missed that fiasco. After going to it, my mother suggested that Charles and I hold a big Labor Day cookout. I told her no." Jane tilted her head back to look up to Frederick.

"Where is Charles?"

"He works on Saturdays until about three in the afternoon." She reminded him.

"That's right. How's everything at home?" Jane herself had allowed Frederick access to more information than most after the Eric incident. Simply put, he was someone she knew she could completely trust.

Jane nodded her head. "Just fine."

"Would you like to take a short walk with me? The subdivision park is a block away."

Jane and Frederick walked down to the park filling their minutes with small talk. Once there, they found a bench under a tree to sit, and not a man to known waste time, Frederick directly went to the point.

"How is everything at home? How are you?" When she had answered him earlier, he could see that she was not being forthright with him.

"I already answered that question. I'm fine."

"Then how is Charles?"

"The same as I. He's fine, he's…perfect, supportive, everything. I couldn't have found a better…" Her dear cousin would not take his eyes off of her, and Jane buckled under the pressure rather quickly. If the truth were known, she really needed his attentive ear right now because she wasn't quite sure what to do about what was happening at home. Other than Charles, Frederick was the person she was closest to in the world. She could tell him things she would not even say to Elizabeth.

"Frederick," she said under her breath, "he won't touch me."

"What do you mean? Is he angry at you?"

"No, no, no. That's not what I am trying to say." Jane lowered her voice even more. "We haven't made love in over a month. I don't believe he 'thinks' of me in that way anymore.

"Jane, I've watched Charles around you. I can't imagine that he has lost any desire for you."

Jane briefly looked away. "This is so embarrassing."

"We've told each other embarrassing things before. Please, don't worry about it."

She took a deep breath and continued on. "For instance, we'll be kissing at night and once we progress to a certain point, Charles will pull back and start a conversation, or tell me he's tired, or say he couldn't remember if he set the alarm. This hasn't occurred just one time, but several. I don't think he wants to."

"Okay, I want to ask you a question. Have you two gone through dry spells before? You know what I mean."

"No, never. We were honeymooners in every sense. Well, we were before Eric showed up. I'll admit that I was shutting down there for a few weeks after everything happened and I didn't have any interest in anything, but he always remained constant. He was so sweet and he gave me…I don't know, Frederick."

"How did Charles feel about what Eric did? Other than the obvious?"

Jane had to think back.

"Other than what you'd expect, he hasn't really said much on it. He talks about what took place in a therapy-like manner, but I'm ashamed to admit that I really can't tell you his personal thoughts."

"Does he feel any guilt?" Frederick saw her frown. "I'm going somewhere with this question."

"He shouldn't. No, Charles hasn't said that he…Oh, Frederick! Surely not. It wasn't his fault!"

"It doesn't matter, Jane. I'm only asking if it is possible that he might believe he let you down. That he didn't protect you and therefore he failed his duty?"

"I'm not sure, but it's very possible. But, why would something like what you suggested make him shy away from intimacy?"

"Guilt can cause so many different side effects in a person."

"I know. Charles and I have talked so much, but this never came up."

"It almost sounds like you need a break from all the talking, maybe become the honeymooners once again even if it's only for a night. I'm not suggesting a Band-Aid cure, just an alternative. Verbal isn't the only form of communication. Have you let Charles know that you've noticed his stopping himself when you two become too close?"

"No. How can I say anything that might be interpreted as critical after all he has done for me?"

"Then don't 'say' it."

Chapter 7 A

Posted on Friday, 30 July 1999

Elgin, Illinois
3:34 p.m.

Jane spent a minute looking around his waiting area. It was so 'Charles'; friendly and non-intrusive. There was something she just had to do and Jane walked over to an end table and flipped through the magazines placed there.

"They're all current!" There wasn't a five-year-old copy of Better Homes and Gardens to be found. Impressed, Jane straightened the stack and walked down the hall past two other rooms to the door to his office. She was going without a plan and wasn't quite sure how to approach him, but the details had already been arranged and there wasn't a chance Jane was going to turn back now.

Opening the door, she looked for him to be behind his desk, but he wasn't sitting there. Standing by one of the bookcases, he turned his head and greeted her with a surprised expression.

"I thought you were at a birthday party?"

"I went and left while I still had my sanity."

Missing her humor, Charles's face immediately became serious. He was about to ask her what went wrong when she spoke up.

"It was gluttony at its best. I think our entire wedding cost less than that party, but I did leave with one important piece of information. Circus performers can be rented out by the hour."

He laughed lightly while Jane went around his desk and sat down in his chair.

"This is a great chair." She claimed as she moved around comfortably in it. "Is it yours or the clinics?"

"Mine."

"And you're going to take it with you when your contract is up at the end of October?"

"Yes." He answered slowly watching her covet his desk chair. "I really like that chair, too."

"Hum. Did I tell you that I have a really nasty chair at work? Steven's too cheap to buy me a good one." Jane gave him a quick pout face. "Well, he'll learn his lesson the hard way when our insurance premiums go up because of all the trips to the chiropractor I'll have to make due to a bad back…caused by the chair."

Charles leaned against one of the bookcases and crossed his arms against his chest, completely amused.

"Some people just have to learn the hard way, I guess." Attempting to appear pathetic, the smile that she couldn't quite keep down ruined the effect. "I just thank the Good Lord that you won't have to go through that."

"Did you come here today to refurnish your own office downtown?"

"No!" Her eyes traveled from him to what he was leaning against. "Are those bookcases yours or the clinics? I've always admired them."

"Jane." He was laughing heartily now. "Why don't we take a trip down to OfficeLand tomorrow and get you set up with your own furniture?"

"Well, we can't. That's what I'm here to talk to you about." She nodded to the empty chair on the other side of the desk. "Take a seat."

Jane leaned back and put her feet up on his desk while she waited for him to be seated before saying anything else.

"Dr. Bingley…or may I call you Charles?"

"Charles is fine."

"Charles, I've noticed that you've been looking rather haggard lately. When is the last time you've had a good night's rest?"

"Last night?"

"No. A good night's rest. Not just sleep?"

"Well…"

"I thought so." She interrupted. "I think you have been under too much stress and strain lately. I'm going to write you a prescription!"

Jane opened his desk drawer and located his prescription pad, leaving Charles to wait patiently while she spent several minutes writing. She mumbled a few words to herself as the small page filled and looked up once to give him a devilish grin before she was finally finished.

"Here you go," she said as she tore off the page. "Follow my expert advice and you'll be feeling better in no time."

"Oh, yeah," his eyes dropped first to where the physician's signature was required. "Dr. Jane?"

She nodded her head as he began to read.

For Charles Bingley.

• Problem: Taking very good care of others while ignoring self.
• Treatment: 2 full nights stay at Swiss Hotel. Room 523.
• No phone calls, pagers, cell phones, or annoying uninvited guests.
• Room service a must.
• No serious talk–except to finish the discussion from two months ago about who is the better baseball player: Mark McGuire (HA!) or "Slammin" Sammy Sosa (!!!)
• Plenty of exercise. Dr. Jane will help with this.
• Watch at least two comedies–No Jim Carey; he's just too frustrating to endure.
• Exaggerated compliments about wife's talents acceptable encouraged.
• Did I mention exercise?
• Soaking in Jacuzzi tub.

Your clothes are already packed and I love you,
Please?

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The grin he had from reading her note slowly faded the longer he looked at her. How would Jane ever understand his regret? Even at times he saw the flaws in his own persecution, but there still remained the culpability. And the protectiveness. But the note itself was actually a sign that Jane had finally reached a point where she was ready to try facing life normally again, and perhaps it was time for him to join her and move away from the past.

"You're thinking too much." She claimed as she leaned forward on her elbows. Her remark wasn't a judgment but a simple statement of fact.

"Why do you say that?"

"I can see you thinking." Jane removed a room key from her purse and pushed it across the desk toward him. "Will you come with me downtown?"

"You don't even need to ask twice. Let's go." Charles stood up, tucked the prescription into his shirt pocket, and went about putting away a few files he had laying on his desk into a locked drawer while Jane waited for him by the door. It wasn't long before he was ready to leave his office with only the hotel room key in his hand.

"We'll need to take both cars because I'm planning on heading to work from the hotel on Monday morning."

"Okay. I'm glad you came here today." With unnatural shyness, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"I've missed being just Jane and Charles." She hoped that he understood the message behind her words. They had been in other roles since Eric barged into their lives, but she had not forgotten what it was like before.

"I see Jane right before me." He did understand.

"And I see Charles. Will you kiss me good-bye?"

There could be no refusal to her request.

"I've missed you…" was murmured before his lips stirred against hers, and from first press he found it hard top hold back over a month worth of undeclared emotion and desire. She was so soft and warm and it had been too long since he last touched her for the pure pleasure of the experience. Threading his fingers through her silky hair he felt her move into him using the weight of her body to push his against the door. "I've missed you," was breathlessly whispered again…and then a third time before the ounce of hesitation he was still clinging to disappeared. He wanted his wife back. He wanted the woman who smelled like spice after her morning bath to take away all logical thought, like she had so many times before. He wanted Jane.

Breath gave life to intent and it brought about the words that each needed from the other. Hers were simple; she only said his name, but his were put into sentences that would have made little sense to anyone but the receiver of the precious sentiments. How many times in the last month did he wake up in the middle of the night with an urge so strong to love her that he had to leave the bed lest he lose control? Too many to count? Even on nights when he would purposely put space between them so he could fall asleep, the morning would find her curled up against his chest in a position she had adopted while in Bermuda. And it was torture.

On ourselves there are often favorite places where another person's hands feel most alluring, and Charles's was the small of the back. Jane was aware of this and took advantage of her knowledge to create the response in him she was certain he would give. As soon as the tingling sensation brought about by the light touch of her fingers hit his spine, his impatience bared itself through a noticeable increase in pulse and fervor. The breaking point had been reached.

Leaving the haven the office created was not a plausible option and as if to prove the fact true, Charles reached out with his right hand and locked the door.

The lovers inside came out from hiding to spend the rest of the afternoon in the reintroduction of their selves to each other.

Late March
1934

My Beloved And The Best Of Times.

With an overcoat draped over his left arm and a long hard-case tube in hand, Vladimir entered his favorite of the three rooms they shared after work.

"How was your day?" Zoya asked as she turned from his drafting table.

"Zoya! You startled me." Vladimir emptied his arms into a side chair before taking his place beside her to deliver a kiss. The plans for their future home were laid out on the table's top. "I brought home a copy of the project I am working on so you could see it."

"Good, I've been quite curious." She returned his kiss. "I received a letter from Olgivanna Wright today. She and her husband will be in town next month and she has asked me to join her for tea one afternoon during their stay."

"You should go, Zoya. It would be good for you to have another to talk with."

"I will." She stretched her arms above her head.

"Are you tired?" Reaching behind her back, he brought her long braid over her shoulder and ran his fingers over it. She had the most delicate hair he had ever touched.

"Just a little tired. Vlad, I've been thinking."

"About what?" He questioned softly.

"Baking cakes." A sly glint was present in her eyes when she said the words.

"Baking cakes? What about cakes, Love?" His wife's thoughts were never that simple, and Vladimir was interested to know how complicated her 'baking cakes' idea really was.

"I've decided that after we build our home I will not continue working here, but bake cakes instead." Zoya was leading up to something much more important than what she had stated, but she wanted to see if he would 'take the bait' first.

"That sound like a very good plan and one that will not take long to mature. We are only one hundred twenty dollars away from the money required by the bank as down payment.

"One hundred five dollars." She corrected.

"We're getting closer."

"Yes, we are. And I think I am going to bake cakes. After all, caring for a new house and a baby will take up most of my day…"

"Whose baby, dear?" Vladimir was about to get the surprise of a lifetime.

Zoya did not answer him with words, but her smile. It still took him several seconds for the answer she had just given him to be absorbed.

"The stomach flu you had last week was not the flu?" The pace of his speech exposed his excitement.

"It was not the flu."

"Zoya, this is agony! Please, just say it out loud and ease my mind."

Taking hold of his necktie, she gently pulled on it so that he would lower his ear down to her lips.

"You're going to be a Papa in November." All the years of waiting were worth it to finally be able to say those words to him, and Zoya's calm exterior began to crack. She was as thrilled as he was. "I went to the doctor two days ago and received confirmation this afternoon. I am going to have your baby."

Monday
August 2nd 1999

10:41 am

Monday Never Looked So Good.

Charles rifled through the mail Iris had left on his desk at home as he listened to the messages on the answering machine left over from the weekend.

Jane, this is your mother. I want to come over tomorrow, but since I have to call and beg for permission first…"

"Delete." He said to himself as moved on to the next message.

This message is for Jane. You haven't called me back and it's getting late. The other girls don't expect me call first…

"That's not true." Grinning to himself, he pressed the next message button and waited. Rose Bennet was still angry with him for his making her leave the house several weeks ago and she absolutely refused to talk to him directly. The down side of this blessing was that William was openly envious of Charles's good fortune, because in an attempt to win support in her anti-Charles argument, Rose had redoubled her efforts to get to know her future son-in-law by showering William with extra attention.

Greetings Jane and Charles. This is Joanna. I have returned from Holiday in Warsaw with information for you. Vladimir Oleksei was not born in Warsaw like his death certificate indicated, so I abandoned that particular avenue and moved on to tax records. This is where my search became successful. For a period of four years he paid taxes on a shop and a home located in the area known today as Old Warsaw. Later the property must have been sold or transferred to someone else, because there are no more records on file for the man. I also discovered that he was an architect–I thought you might find that interesting.

I went to investigate the address I gleaned from the forms, but had little hope of finding anything. As you may not know, most of Warsaw was destroyed during the war. My first stop was at the building of his former employer. I was not surprised to find that it no longer exists, although it has been replaced by a rather charming American Gap store, I say sarcastically.

I went on to the business Mr. Oleksei owned. I had not expected the original shop to still be there, and it was not. An antique business occupies the address, and remembering that you collected those beautiful plates, I decided to go inside and look around before I traveled on. I am so thankful I made the stop.

An older man runs the business and we began to speak at length about your plates before the subject changed to the previous owners of the building itself. You will not believe what the man told me!

An Olga Oleksei was the proprietor of a dress shop for over fifty years before she sold her business and retired. Oleksei! I became excited at the information the man gave me, bought the plate I had in my hand and went directly to a final address. In my haste I forgot to ask the man if she happened to live in the house her relation had paid taxes on and felt quite silly as I stood in front of the home itself.

Jane, it is still standing and in very good condition.

I confess that my nerve almost abandoned me as I hesitated to knock on the door, but it was of little consequence because in the time it took me to blink, an elderly woman opened it with a big stick in her hand.

Now that the experience has passed, I can find the humor in my first meeting with Olga Oleksei. I must have spent five minutes accounting to her why I was standing on her porch before she finally lowered her guard and asked me in for some tea. Yes, tea!

You must simply meet this woman. She is 90 years old and as fiery as I have ever seen. Miss Oleksei IS Vladimir Oleksei's sister. Jane and Charles, I believe this woman holds the answers to most of your questions.

I had a lovely hour-long visit with her and explained myself as best as I could. Miss Oleksei would like to meet you. Like you, she is curious about her brother and sister-in-law's life. She is in possession of every letter her brother had ever sent her, although she stated that she had none remaining from Mrs. Oleksei. I wanted to ask her what happened to Mrs. Oleksei's letters, but she did not look like she wanted to go into detail.

I have set you e-mail to your home address with several attachments. They are a few of the letters she allowed me to photocopy.

Please call me when you are able and let me know how your mystery goes. Much love to you. Good-bye.

Charles dialed Jane's work number so quickly that he had an error the first time and had to redial. As he waited for her to answer, he started up their computer all the while his thoughts traveled at the speed of light.

"Jane Bingley's office." Lydia answered the phone.

"I need to speak to Jane."

"I'm sorry, but she is in an important meeting with a customer. She told me that unless the building was burning down, I wasn't to disturb her."

"Do you know how long the meeting will last?"

"No. Is this you, Charles?"

"Yes. Will you leave Jane a message for me?"

"Sure. I have a pen."

"Tell her to call me at home and to check her e-mail. I'm going to forward something she'll want to see."

"Is it bad?"

"No," he laughed. "Did you write that down?"

"Yes."

"Great. Go put it on her desk in a place she won't miss it, okay?"

"I'll do it now."

"Thanks, Lydia."

Charles hung up the phone and checked his monitor screen. It was still loading Windows. In an act of anticipation, he smacked the computer a couple of times to get it to move faster, but quickly realized the folly of that move and stepped back until the hard drive ceased to grind.

It was another minute before the connection was made and his e-mail program produced the treasure sent from Joanna. While waiting he pulled out his pack of post-it notes and wrote a note to Jane: Lydia needs to work on phone etiquette.

Dear Jane,

Here are the letters I told you about on the phone. They are short and written in Polish longhand, but Mr. Oleksei's handwriting is neat, so I do not foresee you having difficulty reading them. If you come across a word you need interpreted let me know.

Love,
Joanna

"Not a problem." Charles said aloud to no one. He was quite confident in his ability to read Polish longhand as he opened the first attachment.

February 1930

My dearest Sister Olga,

I apologize for the tardiness of this letter, but the past month has been difficult, and I had not the motivation to write. My beloved fell ill for four days last week, and I exaggerate not when I say that I feared for the worst. A flu epidemic spread through this dirty, over-crowded city and she must have been exposed to it from one of the patrons downstairs.

Olga, the land we are now on is not what it appeared to be. I beg you not to mention this in any letter you might send to us because I do not want to upset her, but I do not like it here at all. The times are hard and the people angry. She would have been so much happier in Poland, I know this.

I worry about you constantly. Although you have reassured me the HE has not contacted you since the day we all received a visit, I find that had to believe. HE is a hateful, despicable man. Do not let yourself become too comfortable in thought that he will not continue his search for her. Promise me that you will watch yourself and seek out help if you are in need. I would give anything to have you with us…but not where we are now.

Someday?

Vlad

Charles didn't spend much time going over the contents of the first letter because it made no sense to him. The man was obviously not pleased with his situation, but with the absence of names and locations Charles had no idea what to make of the letter. He open the second hoping it would supply more information.

October 1930

My dearest Sister Olga,

We have been in our new quarters for five weeks now and the relocation was a success. I am working regularly with thanks to the connections we have made, and both my beloved and I are very content. We presently occupy three rooms in a home designed by FLW (think Olga…FLW. You have heard the initials before). There is such a source of energy living here that I have once again picked up my pencil and square and am drawing. The employment available to me is not in my field, but at the moment it is of little consequence. I have learned the hard way about being thankful for what I have.

SHE is caught smiling most of the day, and I thank God she had the strength to get us through the previous dark year. But, she has always had the ability to comfort those around her. I regret that you and she did not have more time together. I have no doubt you would have been as close as sisters would. I must go now. I am helping her with her English and must listen to her read.

You are ever in our thoughts and prayers,

Vlad

August 1932

My dearest Sister Olga,

One guess as to what I am once again. I will give you a hint: I am NOT a construction worker anymore.

Vlad the A…..

March 1934

My dearest Sister Olga,

I fear I will not be continuing with the 'dearest Sister' part in another eight months, but substituting 'dearest Aunt' instead. Now, read the next part slowly.

My Wife is with….maybe you do not want to know? Maybe you will think I am boasting? I am boasting dearest sister!

My Wife is with child.

Are you happy? I am, more than you could ever imagine. Just tonight I received word from her and I could not sleep afterwards, so I rose to pen you this letter instead. We have waited for this blessed event for so long, and it could not have happened at a more perfect time.

I have more good news to inform you of. Since our arrival here, she has put away every cent we have made, and not allowed us one luxury in exchange for all of the hard work we have endured. The fruits of our labor are now to be harvested. In another month or two we will have the money for the down payment required by the bank for the house we wish to build!

Olga, if all goes well our baby will be brought home from the hospital to our own family residence.

Life is so sweet.

My Wife will be writing to you with a proposition. Please consider it. We would be complete if you were with us.

Love,

Vlad

Charles forwarded Joanna's e-mail message to Jane before settling back in his chair to mull over what he had just read. He found it odd that Vladimir never used the name of the town he was living in his letters, let alone write out Zoya's name. She was referred to as my beloved, she, her, and in the letter dated March of '34--My Wife. From what he understood this practice was not a Polish custom.

Vladimir's words 'There is such a source of energy living here that I have once again picked up my pencil and square and am drawing' stuck a cord within Charles. He had always thought of it as a special home, too.

Although the letters were interesting, they didn't answer any of the questions he had. Why were they living in the basement? What connection did they have to the second generation of Moores? And of course the most complex question of all; What did this all mean to him and Jane?

He was about to listen to Joanna's message from the answering machine again when inspiration hit. In the instant that memory and knowledge fused together, a course of action was put into motion that would lead to a new level of understanding and conjecture for the man.

Vladimir and Zoya Oleksei occupied three rooms in the home, not one like he and Jane had originally believed and a flashback of her checking the walls for a cut out section in the Fairy Room before they were married revisited him. Jane had been expecting to find something hidden in the wall, although she did not know what she was looking for.

Was it possible they were looking in the wrong room?

Charles called, "I'll answer the phone down here" as he passed their housekeeper on his way down the basement steps. He knew this was a long shot. The chances of there being any evidence left after 60-some years was near impossible, but he could not forget his surprise when Jane had found the empty wall compartment that he never knew existed.

Standing at the end of the long hallway, he logically considered his next move. There were six separate rooms that could have possibly been used. The room containing the large safe was out. No owner would ever allow anyone to occupy that room. That left five. The Fairy Room was the next to be eliminated. He and Jane had already checked it and it was clear. That left four. A storage room with plastered walls was taken off his list of possibilities because it would have been impossible to disguise a cutout. That left three.

One of the remaining rooms was at the far end of the hallway, so for the time being he would put checking that place on hold. That left two. Two maybes with one on each side of the Fairy room. Charles next applied the greatest law of averages known to man to make his final decision: Murphy's Law. He opened the door to the left first. It was full of crates and boxes; some stacked to the ceiling. This would be the room he would start with, because if there was a secret compartment hidden anywhere in the basement, it would surely be in the most inconvenient room of the six.

He had to remove fourteen boxes from the room just to be able to maneuver around, but once he made a path it was not as difficult as he thought it might be. Using Jane's method of running his hands down the wainscoting, he felt for any irregularities in the wood pattern. It was on the third wall that he was working on that a splinter caught in his palm. He pulled his hand up and was working the splinter free when his eyes dropped to the area it had come from. He had found what he was looking for.

The familiar pop sound marked the freeing of the cover and as soon as he peered in, Charles knew he had found history.

Chapter 7 B

Posted on Sunday, 1 August 1999

Friday
August 6th 1999
6:50 am
O'Hare Airport

We Will Not Forget Where We Came From.
The Beginning Of The End.

Jane let out a deep breath after Flight 1503 from Chicago, Illinois to Warsaw, Poland was called. She was about to do the most impulsive act of her life, and her 'partner in crime' wasn't able to join her to she cross the globe on the off chance that a old woman would be willing to fill in the missing scenes they were searching for.

Yes, this could have been done over the phone and through letters, but to be completely honest: Miss Olga Oleksei was ninety years old. Ninety! That element alone was motivation enough for her to accept her husband's challenge to go on without him and meet the sister of Vladimir Oleksei.

Charles had used up all of his personal days between the wedding and the incident with Eric, and his contract with the clinic clearly stated that except in cases of emergency, he was to refrain from taking any more. Although Jane's own contract was lenient, she had already exceeded the two weeks she had insisted on by five days. But, Steven was family, and her father did own the company, so that made it easy for her to go into Steven's office and tell him that she would be out of town for several days to see a friend in Poland.

No one in the family knew the entire story behind her and Charles's investigation into the mysterious couple from the past and they most certainly were not informed of the uncomfortable suspicions the two were now having.

The dilemma in a nutshell was this: Jane and Charles were both raised Roman Catholic. She still attended services and he was no longer practicing, but in both cases they found themselves thinking in directions not only outside the traditional teaching they were taught as children, but also outside of anything they had ever explored before.

Was it possible that there a connection between the two couples that broke through the boundaries of known time and into the past? Do people get a second chance to correct the mistakes from another time and place?

Since the moment she laid eyes on the treasures that had been hidden in the basement, Jane knew there would be no turning back. They had too many fragments of the riddle before them to abandon it. She wanted to know why her and her husband had been sharing parts of the same dream since they were children. Why she knew so many details of a room she had never been in before, like that of the fairy bed's existence. Why did Charles have the reaction he did at the gravesite of the Oleksei's. Was it just chance or something more? And why did she start to cry when she beheld the signature of Vladimir Oleksei on the bottom of a blueprint titled 'Zoya's Cottage' for the first time.

Jane was in High School in the 1980's during the time of great tension between the Soviet Union and The United States; times that included talk of 'The Red Menace', bomb shelters, the Communist threat, and nuclear holocaust. In an attempt to profit from the frenzy, Hollywood began to pump out movie after movie in which the USSR was depicted as evil, Godless manipulators who would stop at nothing to promote their dogma. Ticket sales were proof that this was what the American people wanted to see, and movies like 'Red Dawn' were instant hits. Propaganda has many faces.

Both countries were focused on winning the Cold War at any price and when it was over, some political figureheads would simplify the explanation by stating that the United States was willing to outspend the USSR to a point where the communist country was forced to yield. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple.

Jane joined the school newspaper during her sophomore year and wrote several editorials that went against the grain of popular thought. She predicted that someday the two countries would find a resolution to their differences, stressing the importance of looking past the government of a country to see the people. This is what she did by spending hours alone in the basement of her family's home watching news specials about the USSR. She didn't watch them for the political commentary, but to catch the pictures that went along with the report. Pictures of Moscow, images of the faces of the people, the countryside, and the sound of their voices when they spoke.

Her interest began to broaden when she met Joanna at College. The two bonded instantly although they were from very different worlds. Jane had the privilege of beauty and money to open doors for her if she so desired, and Joanna was of a gritty nature who had fought to be one of the small handful of individuals allowed to study abroad in the United States. While the other girls from the dorm they lived in were off in search of men, beer, and sororities to join, Jane and Joanna stayed in their room and discussed their respective countries. Joanna shared the gift of the Polish language, and Jane planned and executed weekend trips for them so she could show her new friend what it was like to be American.

And Jane's obsession with Eastern Europe grew.

Last Monday night Jane had been sitting in the middle of the floor in the living room with yellowed papers in different sizes and shapes scattered all around her. Some were sketches of buildings and homes, and others fully drawn out building plans. Before she had left work, Charles had stacked the papers together matching up the documents and drawings that went together, and she held in her hand a sketch of a cottage while Charles read aloud from a stack of letters he had found in the hidden compartment.

The letters themselves were found bound together with a faded red ribbon and there were six total. They were all addressed to Mr. V. Oleksei of Oak Park, Illinois from Miss O. Oleksei of Warsaw Poland. The information within was of the trivial nature but it gave them a glimpse into everyday life in pre-war Poland. Olga did not go into detail very often, but through her words they were able to determine a general timetable of the Oleksei's travels in the United States.

Jane stood up and stretched her legs. She had been sitting on the hard floor for too long studying the drawings of Vladimir Oleksei and needed a break.

…therefore the rent collect from the story above the shop will give me the extra income needed to make the improvement I desire.

Otherwise all is well here. I do have a message for my dearest brother. Vlad, your last letter to me was far too short, but the meaning was clear. I will assume that you are now working as an architect. Am I correct? In Zoya's letter she alerted me to the fact that you asked her not to tell, so I would be forced to guess. You are naughty, Vladimir! Very naughty! For penitence I must insist that you take writing instruction from Zoya. Her LONG letters are always full of valid information and personal commentary and if were not for her, I would know nothing of your lives. Your letters, dearest brother, lack substance?! Do not concern yourself, I do still love you despite your shortcomings.

I miss you both terribly. Please write again soon.

Love,
Olga

"We now know who the letter writer of the Oleksei family was." Sitting down next to him on the couch, Charles put his arm around her shoulder and leaned his head back.

"That was number six. I can't say that we learned a lot, but they were very interesting to read." Charles laid the letter on the table next to the where he was sitting and took a drink from his coffee cup.

"In her letters she does sound 'fiery' like Joanna described her. I'd like to meet her someday." Jane's sweet sentiment was the beginning of a thirty-minute conversation that ended with her 'considering' flying to Poland to talk to Olga Oleksei.

It was well after nine when they started to pick up the papers littered about on the floor. Jane placed the sketch of 'Zoya's Cottage' reluctantly on the top of the stack.

"You really like that house, don't you?" Charles had been observing her all night and she hadn't laid the paper down for any long period of time. Having the advantage of six hours before she came home from work to go over everything, he too had spent some time focusing on the cottage, although his attention was drawn more to the floor plans and technical descriptions.

"Yes. This sketch is so beautiful that I want to frame it."

"I want to build it." His statement tore her attention away from the drawing. "It's crazy, isn't it?"

"Well… Why? Do you want to live in this house?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just that I really like the cottage. It would make a great summer cabin on Lake Michigan." The Moore Home was now their home and he couldn't imagine he and Jane living anywhere else, but….

"Isn't it too big?"

"Not really. I think Louisa's cabin has more square footage than this one. We couldn't add the basement because there is too much sand in the soil, and that is where Vladimir had all of his storage area located. So really, it would be a nice size. The wood-shingled roof might have to be changed. Even if it is treated, I don't know if it would hold up well against the lake affect… I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Keep going...."

Now Jane found herself standing in an airport terminal kissing her husband good-bye before she took the long flight across the ocean. They had carefully packed up the papers and letters for Olga to examine, and after three different phone conversations to Poland Jane had a meeting set up. She was a little nervous and a little anxious at the same time, but she was ready.

"This is the first time since we've been married that we'll sleep apart." Charles stated as he held her close. He was a grown man and really this probably shouldn't be bothering him as much as it was, but it was difficult for him to know she would be away for too many days.

"I know."

"Please be careful while you're in Warsaw. Although it is relatively safe city, petty crime…"

"…Is on the rise and an American woman traveling alone could be considered an easy target. Don't worry, Charles, I'll be careful. No subway hopping this trip."

"It's hard to let you go." Charles continued to hold onto her as the second call for her flight was announced. "Phone anytime and don't worry about waking me up in the middle of the night."

"The same goes for you. I bet these five days will just fly by, you'll see." Jane reached up and kissed him once more. "I love you, and I have to leave now."

His hold was released and Charles took a step back to let her depart. He would put his faith in her ability to take care of herself in the large foreign city without him. Charles knew Jane would be fine.

"I love you, too."

April 1934

"Zoya, are you asleep?" Vladimir whispered in the dark to the woman next to him.

"No." she answered back.

"I have been thinking about something and I want to ask your opinion."

"Tell me, Love," she yawned, "what is it?"

"I would like our baby to have either a Russian or Polish name, not an English one."

"Why do you say this?"

"I want him or her to know where we came from, and be aware of our heritage."

"Do you not fear that they will be treated differently because their name is not like the other children's?"

"Zoya, in Brooklyn I was shunned and overlooked because of my name and accent. Although I cringe thinking of our child treated in the same manner, I do not want them to feel shame for who they are. If we teach them well and raise them without prejudice, we have done a good deed for the child, and I believe they will be able to bear the weight of our name. After all, you are Russian and I am Polish, and we are now Americans. I do no want our children and their children to forget."

A long pause followed his statement and Vladimir began to doubt Zoya would agree to his request. He could understand if she said no, but hoped she would see that there was more than pride behind his suggestion. When she finally did deliver her opinion, it was in a soft, but certain tone.

"Vladimir, this baby's name will be Polish, and the next will be Russian. We will not forget where we came from."

Chapter 8 A

Posted on Tuesday, 3 August 1999

Saturday
August 7th 1999
10 am

Warsaw, Poland

It all comes down to the last sentence.

Fidgeting like Lydia would, Jane stopped herself from rubbing her hand over her arm and waited patiently for the door to be opened. The small porch she stood on creaked when she moved giving away its age, but it wore it well especially when one considered all it had seen in the past one hundred years. A minute had already passed since she knocked for the first time, but Jane still held back on doing so again. She had spoken on the telephone to Miss Oleksei earlier in the morning and she knew she was coming. Jane's wait wasn't much longer as the front door of the house opened to reveal a smiling old woman.

Using his key, Vladimir unlocked the door and opened it. Much to Zoya's surprise, a young woman was already waiting on the other side with a relieved look on her face.

"Olga!" Vladimir hugged his sister tightly, kissing her several times on the cheek before releasing her to make the introductions.

"Zoya Borodin, may I introduce my sister, Olga Oleksei. Olga, this is the woman I have not stopped speaking of for many months."

Both women looked at each other quite uncertain of what their response should be. Olga saw Zoya shyly bite her bottom lip and she would have none of that. This woman was her brother's beloved, and Olga was going to make sure Zoya knew she was welcomed into their family.

"Zoya, I have waited long for this moment. Our house is now yours." Olga stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the frightened Russian woman. They would be friends for life.

"Miss Oleksei? I am Jane Bingley." Jane extended her hand in the direction of the older woman. "It is a pleasure to have this opportunity to meet you."

Olga raised her eyebrows and grinned. She was going to like this woman, she just knew it.

"Hello, Jane. You must call me Olga." Olga took her young hand and wrapped both of her old around it. "Please, come in."

"Was it love at first sight?" Olga was gathering information from the American woman sitting next to her on the divan.

"No, although it did not take much time for me to fall in love with him. The first time I met Charles I called him a 'Shrink'. This is a derogatory term for his profession, and then I went on to tell him to 'go choke on his own vanity.'" Jane gave an embarrassed grin and Olga chuckled. "I was wrong, though. He is definitely not vain."

"It is a shame he could not join you on this trip."

"He was disappointed. Like me, Charles is curious about your brother and his wife." Jane bent over to pick up the satchel she had brought with her. "What little information we have is from your letters to Vladimir and his drawings."

Olga placed her hand atop Jane's to stop her from opening the zipper on her bag.

"I believe I have questioned you enough for now. Before we bring out what documents we each have, let me tell you the story of Vladimir and Zoya. I am old and this is what I like to do; tell stories." Olga removed her hand. "You must stop me when you do not understand something I have said. Your Polish is very good for a foreigner, but I tend to use big words."

Olga winked at Jane, bringing a laugh out of her. Olga Oleksei was an ornery little woman and had Jane was completely comfortable in her presence. Obviously the three days Jane and Charles spent before her trip speaking only Polish to each other had paid off, because she was having no problems with the language.

Settling back against the back of the divan, Jane gave Olga her full attention as she waited anxiously for the knowledge she had flown half way around the world to hear.

"Vladimir was born in a small town outside of Moscow. Our father was a Russian national and our mother Polish. When he was two years old my father moved his small family here to Warsaw. Mother was homesick and father loved her so dearly that he could not bear to see her unhappy. My father was an architect and easily found employment at the Lapinski and Associates Architecture Firm, which no longer exists. Vladimir grew up watching and imitating Father and to no one's surprise, followed in his footsteps as an adult in more ways than one. After his formal training, he went back to Moscow and worked for a large group for three years. Because he was born there, he was able to maintain dual citizenship and cross the border without trouble. This was rare. Our parents passed away when we were quite young, leaving everything to Vladimir, and when I became the age of seventeen, he signed possession of the house and Mother's dress shop over to me. Vladimir wanted to make sure I was taken care of.

During his time in Moscow I had Mother's elderly Aunt living with me and this alleviated my brothers conscience about leaving me alone in Poland. There was an architect he was working under in Moscow who was considered 'great' and Vladimir was learning much from him. I would not hold my brother back and supported his decision to stay in Russia."

Olga stopped to ask Jane if she was able to keep up with her story and when she received a positive response, she continued on.

"Being one of the youngest architects in the group, he was often given the mundane tasks, and one of them was to design barracks for the Soviet Army. He was on the site where the buildings were being erected, in a town I no longer remember the name of, when he went for a walk. He later told me that the area had only one small patch of woods and he would often go there to clear his mind. The General whose men were to be housed in the building was difficult and demanding, and had insisted that the designer of the barracks be available at all times during the construction process in the off chance that a problem would arise. His request was granted, and Vladimir spent several months away from his desk to appease the man. This is where he met Zoya.

Following the noise he heard amidst the trees, Vladimir went several meters off the traveling path and found a young woman sitting on a rock with her face hidden by her small hands.

"Miss." He said as softly as he could, hoping not to startle the poor dear. It was the sound of her crying that he had been following. She did not answer but the sobbing stopped.

"Are you injured?" She shook her head. "Are you lost?" Once again she shook her head, not looking up at him.

Vladimir placed the tablet of paper he was carrying under his arm and removed a handkerchief from his pocket. He placed it directly below her hands and waited for her to take it, but she would not.

"Zoya!" echoed through the trees and her back straightened. "Zoya, are you in here?"

In slow motion she raised her face from her hands and looked at the man standing in front of her. It was unavoidable; their eyes locked and unspoken recognition passed between their spirits while their minds told them they were seeing a stranger for the first time. They had found each other once again without knowing they had ever been lost.

Zoya blinked and took two steps back from Vladimir. Taking one last look, she then turned and ran through the woods to the voice calling out her name.

Vladimir did not move. Unsure of what just happened, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had just found his true love. He listened for her arrival at the mouth of the path.

"There you are forest nymph. It is time to return home." General Vabka's tone was only slightly less sharp than usual. "Have you been weeping?"

"No." This was the first time Vladimir heard her speak.

Olga paused to make a decision about how much of the truth she would share with the woman sitting next to her. To this point, Jane had been a good listener and seemed sincere in her interest. Realizing that all participants in her tale, with the exception of herself, had already passed away, she chose to give the complete story.

"In the beginning of his friendship with Zoya, Vladimir mistakenly believed that she was General Vabka's daughter. This was not accurate; she was his wife. By the time he asked Zoya about her father and was corrected about their relationship, it was too late. He was mad in love with the Russian woman, and she with him. According to my brother everything was innocent between them up to this point, but their situation changed while the General was away for a week on a training mission with his troops. Vladimir came home shortly thereafter and told me everything. Well, everything he could tell a younger sister. He said, 'Once you have been loved by the person you are certain God intended you to be with, there is no turning back.' And my brother did not. After the project was complete he started a plan of action. A position was accepted with my father's former firm here in Warsaw, and he began to prepare in the hopes that he could find a way to bring Zoya to Poland. He traveled between the two countries to meet with her and on November 15th of 1928 he brought her home with him."

The moonlight streaming through the window cast a bluish shadow through the room. Amidst the color, the two lovers embraced while looking out at the neighborhood. Their escape from Russia had left them weary but it was more of a relieved tired than a psychical one. Zoya was now safely in Poland standing in the bedroom Vladimir had occupied since he was six years old.

"When there is time, please tell me of your childhood." She requested. "I want to know everything about you."

"Anything you want, Love." Vladimir's arms were draped around her shoulders as he stood behind her. Running his lips over her soft cheek, he repeated the words he knew to be true since the first time he saw her in the woods. "I love you."

A smile came upon her face and she snuggled closer to his warm body.

"And I love you. Thank you for bringing me here safely." Zoya turned her head as much as she could and caught sight of his face out of the corner of her eye. "Vladimir?"

"Yes?"

"Make love to me in your bed."

Her request momentarily took his breath away before the weariness disappeared. The lovers expressed their joy of being together deep into the night.

"Before they left Zoya's home, Vladimir gave her false papers, but he also had her get all of her original documents from the house. This move would later prove to be a wise one when the General uncovered them, but I am getting ahead of myself. Would you like to hear of my impressions of her?"

"Yes." Olga's voice and the images her words were creating mesmerized Jane in her mind. Any detail the old woman was willing to share would be savored.

"For the first three days after her arrival here, Zoya was very quiet and timid. I believe she felt that I could not respect her because of the circumstances she left behind in Russia, but what she did not know was Vladimir had told me everything he knew before she stepped foot in the house.

Her father had been a titled man of class in Russian before the revolution had taken place and they lived a prosperous life until the royal family was removed. The new government stripped him of all his land and money and he was left to work as a laborer in an ammunition factory outside of St. Petersburg. In an attempt to give Zoya a life as close to what she would have had if the revolution not taken place, he forced her to marry General Vabka at the age of twenty. Vabka was much older than her and a man who used intimidation and force to achieve his goals. He saw her, decided that she was what he wanted in a wife, and he married her. He never asked her if she loved him. She didn't. Vabka then went about changing her into his perfect vision and Zoya complied without a fight. The General was not a man to be crossed. In return for her cooperation, he allowed her small freedoms, believing she was happy with the iota of generosity he chose to grant her. The walks alone in the woods were one of his 'gifts'. He was a controlling, inflexible man unable to know love if it was right in front of him, but he could not completely break her spirit. Zoya just knew how to hide it.

The third night in residence Vladimir came to me after she was asleep with his concerns. He had been with the real Zoya and knew she was not adjusting well to her new environment. We talked, and it was decided that the next day I would stay home from my shop and spend the day with her. By the time Vladimir came home for Luncheon, she was smiling, and by sundown we were laughing in the kitchen preparing supper. She confessed that she felt like an intruder in our happy home and was worried that all she could offer us was hardship and danger if she was discovered. For my part I made it perfectly clear that I held no judgment against her for the choice she and Vladimir made to be together. Zoya was a cheerful, kind, intelligent young woman and she made my brother so happy–How could I possibly pass judgment on that?"

Olga smiled and thought back to the past, temporarily losing herself in the happy 23 days they three shared together.

The table was littered with dirty dishes yet no one moved from their chair to clear. They were enjoying themselves too much. Olga looked over at her brother and rolled her eyes as he rambled on about a project he was working on.

"Olga, I saw you do that."

"Well, I am sorry, Vlad. But that is the dullest story you have told since… ten minutes ago! I am begging you, please, no more about load-bearing walls."

All three laughed.

"Zoya is interested. Am I correct, Zoya?" Vladimir flashed her a good-humored smile.

"Oh, no. I will not be put in the middle of this. You two must work out your dilemma on your own."

"I have a solution." Olga proclaimed. "Vlad, save it for pillow talk!"

"Olga! You are no supposed to know of things like that. You are my baby sister and…" Vladimir stuttered to finish his sentence. "…Have you been reading those romance novels, again?"

Zoya had to cover her mouth to stifle the giggles trying to escape. Vladimir and Olga were constantly jesting with each other and at times it was some of the funniest banter she had ever heard. She knew Olga would not let his last sentence lie for long.

"Reading them? I'm living in a house with one! I see you making goo-goo eyes at Zoya all of the time. Yes, Vlad, that is a new word. Goo-goo. I may end up being the best educated…"

"I give! I give! If you promise not to finish that thought aloud, I will attempt not to bore you with my work life. Do we have a deal?" Quite aware of his sister's bluntness in speech, Vladimir knew he had no choice but to fold to her wishes. It could have been an embarrassing situation otherwise.

"We have a deal."

"Olga." Softly, Jane said her name after a prolonged silence.

"I apologize. I was remembering a very good time."

"Would you like to take a break?" The sadness in the old woman's face concerned her and Jane hoped she wasn't tiring her out.

"Yes, that is a fair suggestion. Tea?"

Once in the kitchen Jane set about making their tea for them after insisting Olga sit at the table and rest her self. From over the stove she brought down the porcelain teapot and removed the cups and saucers from the cabinet located on the right hand side of the sink. Olga had asked her about what she did in the United States and Jane was telling her of her life in Oak Park without paying attention to what she was doing. Had she, she might have found it as odd as Olga did that she knew the location of the tea accessories without being told where to look.

After one sugar cube was dropped in each cup to dissolve, Jane sat down at the oval table and sipped her tea while Olga continued her narrative. She began with the raid of December 8th when General Vabka and his men descended down upon them.

"I sent the soldiers who came to the shop to the residence of General Kukowski, a Polish Military man who is a distant cousin of mine. Vabka received word and went himself to collect his wife. Of course, she was not there, but General Kukowski was. From what I heard later the scene was quite ugly as tempers flared and guns were drawn but never fired. Vabka was demanding to search the premises and Kukowski held strong against him. Eventually Vabka was escorted out of the country, but his spies were everywhere. For the next several years I was often watched and followed. My mail was gone through on a regular basis, and my shop was broken into. It was a horrible time. Vladimir had prepared in advance for the possibility that General Vabka would locate Zoya and had rented a locker at the train station in which he hid money, a few changes of clothes, and their papers. He had also directed me that if any correspondence was received from him, it would be sent to my cousin Dahlkes and not our home address. Any letters from Zoya were to be destroyed after reading and not kept. He didn't want me to be in possession of any evidence that I knew her. They left Warsaw on December 8th, and that was the last time I ever saw either of them.

They arrived in your country after a long journey through Europe. I was never given the details about the route they traveled and received little news until America. Your country was going through an economic depression during their years there, and some of the few letters I received in the first year were alarming. Vladimir was unable to find work and very, very unhappy. His letters made my heart ache, but Zoya was able to keep them sheltered and fed. She worked as a cook, something she was good at. There was a fright during this time. Zoya fell ill and Vladimir feared the worst."

Vladimir sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair away from her face. Wrapped only in a thin sheet, Zoya's temperature was beginning to rise again only minutes after the third cool bath he had soaked her in.

"Is she any better?" a harsh voice said from the doorway. Mrs. Kroger stood with her feet firmly planted while she waited for an answer. The customers downstairs were starting to complain about the quality of the food being served in the restaurant, and she needed her cook back as soon as possible before they abandoned her business all together.

With an angry glare, Vladimir's head snapped in her direction as he hissed at the woman he had never liked.

"This is the third damn day that she has been burning up alive, so NO, she is not any better! If you do not leave me alone to tend to my wife, when she is well again, I will take her from here and your business will suffer. Do you understand?"

The German woman and the Polish man each held their gaze steady as they stared each other down. Like their homelands, neither had much respect for the, other and the only common emotions they shared were mistrust and scorn.

Vladimir came out the victor due to the fact that Mrs. Kroger knew what he said was correct. Zoya had single-handedly kept her restaurant open during these depressed times thanks to her talent in the kitchen. Mediocre food would not tempt people to spend what little money they had on the luxury of eating in a restaurant, but exceptional food might.

"Do you need anything?" Her tone was still angry, but she was willing to indulge the man who held her future in his hands.

"Ice. I need more ice. And have that cook you have downstairs send me up more broth. I will restore her health."

Without answering him, Mrs. Kroger turned on her heel and went to get the nasty Pole what he wanted. Once he was certain she had left, his attention turned back to Zoya.

"I will make you better, Love." He vowed as he adjusted the sheet around her nude body. "And when you are, I am going to ask you for a promise."

The little rest he had taken since Zoya became ill left him emotionally vulnerable and while freeing her arms from the cover so that the air might cool them, Vladimir's shaking bore proof that he was on the verge of breaking apart.

Zoya stirred, but his hopes did not rise as they had the previous times this action had taken place. Even in the depths of fever she was still able to move, but not awaken.

Vladimir's hands took hold of her braid and he removed the ribbon tied at the bottom of it. He continued to talk to Zoya as if she could hear him.

"I fear I got your hair wet from your bath and some of it has come loose." Using his fingers he brushed through the weave until it hung down straight. "I will redo it for you because I do not want you to wake up and accuse me of negligence."

His attempt at humor brought him no response.

Dividing the mane into three sections, his hands lovingly worked it into a neat braid, being careful not to leave any loose strands.

"I think I will tie it with the yellow ribbon." He looked over at the only other piece of furniture in the room other than the bed as he laid her hair on her chest. On top of the dresser was a little cardboard box that held the few ribbons and combs she owned, and the sight of it brought on a wave of depression so intense that he could not hold it in.

Rapid breathing came first and was closely followed by hot tears. Vladimir buried his face into the areas between neck and shoulder and wept out his dread that she would not recover like he had been professing and that her last memories would be of the squalor she was forced to live in because of him. Wrapping his arms under her, he pressed his cool body against her hot one and sobbed out his words while gently rocking her.

"Don't leave me, Zoya. Please, don't leave me here alone in this hell." He tried to catch his breath, but the crushing weight of his fear was bearing down with too much force. "You're all I have in this world and I need you to save me.

"You have to promise that you will outlive me. If you do this I will never ask another thing out of you for the rest of my life. Never. You are the stronger of us." Vladimir pulled her unresponsive self closer to him. "Please wake up and make me this vow."

Mrs. Kroger came in to see the Pole crying over his wife. It almost touched her not-so-cold heart, and she laid down the ice and broth on the floor and went down the hall to her own bedroom.

A couple of minutes later she returned to the room with a medicine bottle. Espying the two spoons he used to crush her medicine laying on the dresser, she opened her aspirin bottle and brought four pills out.

Hearing noise in the room, Vladimir raised his head and wiped his wet face with his palms.

"What do you want?" he asked bitterly.

"Shut up and come pour a glass of water. Then I want you to sit her up at an angle so I can get more aspirin down her."

"But she just had some two hours ago."

"And it did not work. If you want her to live, we have to break her fever one way or another. "

Mrs. Kroger crushed the pills between the spoons and added a little water to make a liquid.

The German and the Pole worked together to nurse the Russian, each taking turns wiping down her body down with a wet rag and spooning water into her mouth. Shortly before midnight Zoya's eyes fluttered and by the next afternoon her fever broke due to the cooperation exhibited in the room that evening.

"But the two of them survived and when the opportunity came for them to move to the town you are from, they took it. It wasn't until three years later that I was informed that they had wed before moving to Oak Park."

"Zoya was able to divorce the General?" Jane wanted to hear this part of the story, which she believed Olga might have skipped over.

"No, she never tried."

"Polygamy?" Jane said the word in English, uncertain of the interpretation and Olga did not understand. "She was married to two men at once?"

"No, Zoya was Vladimir's wife, and he was her only husband, legally or not. Whatever she was to Vabka was over when she left him. Do not judge her, Jane. Until you have lived through the experience of being married to a cold-blooded, vindictive man, you will not be able to fully appreciate that she deserved Vladimir. I assure you, Vabka would have rather seen her dead than give her a divorce."

Jane didn't have a response and remained quiet while Olga observed her. "Is Charles the only husband you have ever had?"

"No. I was married before."

"You were divorced then?" Jane nodded. "It is easier to obtain divorce today than it was in 1930."

"Yes, but I wouldn't call my divorce 'easier'."

"I want to hear about it." Olga folded her arms in front of her and waited, unwilling to relent her request. It was once again Jane's turn to tell a story and she did so with hesitancy. Occasionally Olga would stop her to ask a question, but for the most part listened without comment.

"So, you were given a choice to marry him?"

"Yes. I was young and naive, but it was my decision."

"Where is he now? In prison?"

"No, he died." Jane went on to fully explain the circumstances surrounding Eric's death, and once Olga was satisfied, she let the subject drop. A suspicion was forming in Olga's mind, a suspicion outside the realm of the conventional to some, but considered completely possible by most of the world's population. She wanted to continue on with Vladimir and Zoya's story.

"Oak Park must have suited them well, because the tone of the letters changed. Zoya's grew longer, and it was nothing for me to receive a five-page letter from her, and Vladimir once again began to tease me. They loved living in the house you now own, and the couple Zoya worked for were kind, for she spoke of them often in her correspondence. The man, Mr. Moore, wrote Vladimir a reference shortly after their arrival, and Vladimir was able to use it to find employment. My brother was not a man whose pride would allow him be idle while his wife supported him and he worked long hours, but was grateful to be able to contribute. He wrote to me that with his first paycheck, Zoya insisted that he go out and buy some drafting materials. Since being in America he had not drawn or sketched, and she would not let him forget that he was an architect. He told me that she would sit in the room they set up with his supplies during the evening and watch him draw for hours, which sounds quite boring to me, but lovers do strange things!

Then it finally happened, Vladimir was hired as an architect. I remember receiving an eight-page letter from Zoya after it happened. I wish I would have defied my brother's wishes and kept it, because the letter was so joyful, and Zoya praised him as only someone in love could. It seems as if Vladimir had applied for a draftsman position and submitted his samples, but was offered an architect's job instead. Fully expecting to be assigned lowly projects, since he had not yet proven his abilities as an efficient employee, he was surprised when his first project was working on a large building with one of the senior architects in the firm. His responsibility level rose from there, and by the end of his first year, he was working solo.

Much happened during this period of time. Some very happy and some not. Why don't we move back into the living room where it is more comfortable and I will continue from there?"

Jane readily agreed and together they left the kitchen, moving slowly toward the living room. Up to this point, everything Jane had heard she found fascinating, but it would be the end of Olga's story that would change her forever.

Continued In Next Section