An Old Wive's Tale

By Timothy Lantz

Albina Drozdov was tired. Still, she shuffled forward. Her steps were no longer as springy as they had been when she was a little girl, but she didn't care. She would still get where she needed to go. It will just take her a little longer.

Fortunately, the wind had gone to sleep once more and the clear sky promised her a day without rain. Although, she still would have made this trip, even if she had to brave the elements, for today was their anniversary.

Sixty years ago to the day, Vasilii Drozdov took her hand. It was the happiest moment of her life.

They were young and very much in love… and were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

She recalls being awakened by her mother that morning, and the terrifying sense of fear she had somehow gone deaf overnight… and how her mother smiled and reminded her of the wax she had in her ears to prevent her from hearing the cock's crow. It made her smile.

She was almost there now, her feet having carried her to the gates. A lone blackbird sat atop the fence watching, its presence sparking another memory.

Her younger sister's scream caught everyone's attention. Quickly each of the maids rushing to see what had happened only to be overjoyed at the sight of the lone spider making a feast of its captured prey. The women laughed at the naiveté of the young girl and delighted in the good fortune of the arachnid's presence.

Pushing her way inside the cast iron entrance, she continued on. The path was narrow and seemed to follow it's own course, more like a river turned to stone than a conscious construction of man. It reminded her once more of the past.

"Must we take such a long journey out of our way to reach the church, Mother?" "Yes, child. I know you are anxious, but you will have your whole life to be married. Besides, you know the usual way passes many churches and farms."

Stopping one last time, to catch her breath, she looks at the stairs that lead up to Vasilii. The exertion of the day's walk and the hint of sun bringing a mist of perspiration to her face, she reached into her bag for a handkerchief. It was blue.

She stared at the gold coin in her hands and traced its engraved design with her fingers. "Put that in your shoe, dear. It's almost time. And don't forget this," said her mother, as she tucked the blue handkerchief inside the bosom of her daughter's dress.

At the top of the hill, rested Vasilii's plot, forever watched over by marble representations of Kuz'ma and Dem'ian. As she lowered herself to the grass, she thought of him and the life they were destined to have. She remembered their unborn children and all the cold winter nights they couldn't keep each other warm. But most of all she remembered the last time she saw him alive.

"Oh Vasilii, why did you have to drop the ring?"