The old military car bumped along the well worn dirt road. It was odd to see any kind of car or motorized vehicle this far into the countryside and it drew stares from many of the farmers that passed in oxen drawn carts or on horseback.
It had been hard, the lands of Ukraine were scarred and the people still had a frantic look. They had had their own war between the Russians and the Austrians during the World War, but finally it was safe enough to return and see the one woman who had kept him going in the trenches.
Matthew sat in the back of the car, his arm in a sling. He'd been wounded four times throughout the war, but being a nation it always healed quickly. He wasn't elegible to leave a war zone no matter how badly he'd been wounded. But what the real damage for him was the loss of his people. Men that had drowned in the thick mud, killed on the battlefield, in the air and the sea, or just gone missing in the heat of battle. Those wounds were still raw on his body, ached or burned, and his arm still wounded from the massacre at Beaumont Hamel. But his attention was far away from himself, fixated on the countryside rolling past him.
Winter was almost upon Ukraine, the farmers getting the last of their hard earned crops put away before the first hard frost of the year took hold. The trees given up their leaves, and a biting wind blowing down from the great northern Russia.
The driver took a fork in the road and Mathew winced when a rut jarred his arm against the seat. There was a murmured apology from the driver in Ukrainian. Matthew didn't understand him but the man seemed to understand English just fine and had agreed to take the wounded soldier far out of the city to the almost forgotten village far out in the farmland.
The small village soon came into view. Thatched roofs and wooden fences protecting the wooden homes and keeping the livestock out of the gardens and flowerbeds. The homes were spread out with large plots of land and barns tucked away behind the houses. It was the essence of picturesque medieval village.
The car drew tons of attention, people sticking their heads out of their homes as it rattled by, a few children even dropping their baskets and chasing after the car wondering who the obviously important people were in their tiny little village.
Matthew smiled and glanced at the driver who smiled back at him in the rear view mirror. The village pulled past as the car headed up a small hill to another house. It was set aside from the rest but just as simple. But to Matthew it was greater than the Palace of Versaille. The driver parked the car and came around, opening the door for Matthew. The Canadian thanked him and gave him a tip. The man merely smiled and gave him a bow before getting Matt's things from the trunk. It wasn't much, just a simple duffle bag and a suitcase that were carried to the front door.
Matt gave the man a wave as the car pulled away from the front gate of the property, bumping its way back down the road and out of sight around a bend. Looking at the front door Matthew ignored it, heading for the back gate. It took him a moment with only one arm but he managed the latch and stepped into the farmyard.
A goose honked at him and ducked into the old barn as Matt looked around. He knew she was here, Yekaterina barely left her farm in this time with so much work to be done. But it was a soft melody that caught his attention. A very familiar melody that he'd heard her sing many, many times. Soft and delicate but enchanting when she sung it in her soft voice; listening to the notes vanish away like a wisp of fog in the wind.
He followed the voice, moving through another gate to where she'd obviously set up her things to do laundry. Brightly coloured quilts flapped in the strong autumn breeze as he finally saw her. It struck him how much he'd missed her in the years the war had taken away from them. Even in her oversized overalls and muddy boots she was gorgeous in his eyes.
He moved around the laundry, watching her reach and pin up another corner of her shirt to keep it from flying off the line.
"Do you need help at all Kat?" he asked softly with a small smile. Wide doe eyes, blue as the skies above the Praries in Canada stared at him over her shoulder.
"Matvey?" her voice was quiet, unsure, like he was a ghost. "Matvey!" Tears shone in her eyes as she dropped the basket of clothespins and ran to him. Warm arms wrapped around his waist as his one good arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Sobs shook her frame as she clung to him. She'd been so worried, hearing all the horrid things that had been going on in the east. But he was safe and alive, she knew he would, but she'd still worried.
"It's alright Kat, I'm not going anywhere and I'm fine" he said softly pressing a kiss to her soft hair. It worried him, he could feel that she was thinner than he remembered and could tell she was tired in just the way she was clinging to him. The war had been hard on the both of them.
"I-I know.. just... w-worried okie?" she hiccoughed and buried her face in the soft wool of his soldiers uniform. It was such a relief having him there, knowing he was planning on staying for a while.
"I know" he rubbed her back and rested his cheek on her soft hair. It was over, the war was over, so was having to stay apart from Kat. The horrors of that war were over and he'd talked with his leaders on the idea of separating from England. A gasp startled him out of his thoughts as Kat touched his arm in the sling.
"Matvey, what happened?" she asked, her gentle eyes glassy with unshed tears. She touched and looked at his arm, finding no obvious serious wound on him easily.
"England sent my troops into an ambush... it was a massacre and my arm hasn't worked properly since." he admitted, knowing she'd get more upset if he lied and said he was fine.
Kat shook her head and gave a sigh, tracing her fingers over the lapels of his uniform and the medals that were affixed there. She said nothing about them. Neither of them ever did. Medals didn't mean much to the two of them. To some countries they were the utmost of importance. But to them there were merely a reminder of the death and suffering that was brought along with war.
Matt looked at the grey soapy water and put an arm around Kat, pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss to her warm lips. The same gentle and strong hands, smelling of soap brushed his cheeks. It was all so familiar, so welcome, and so missed after the horror of the trenches. But after a moment he pulled back to kiss her forehead and her nose.
It elected a giggle from Kat and brought another warm hug, a bright sweet smile on her round face. It made Matt's heart soar, feeling better than he had in what seemed forever. His arm tightened around her shoulders as he moved, leading her into her house.
Both were quiet but no words needed to be said. As Matt smiled down at Kat he realized that this was what he'd wanted. Not going back to Canada but to Yekaterina, to his home, which he'd found not in place but in a person. The beautiful Ukrainian that he'd go miles for and fight a war for just so see her smile.
"Come inside Matvey, you get sick in cold wind." she smiled at him and lead him inside. Yes, this was exactly what he'd fought for, to come home. To the warm fire, a safe home, good food. To his wonderful, gorgeous Yekaterina.