A/N: We've made it to Chapter 20, y'all! From the depths of my heart, I want to thank all of you for your likes, support, and kind comments both here and on Archive of Our Own. Little did I know when I started back in July of 2019 that this story and this community would become such a big part of my life. It's been an incredibly fun and fulfilling experience. I love you all! THANK YOU! Cheers!
Three weeks later:
"There, I am finished!" Dr. Dubois straightened up and rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "You may try it now."
Gleb stared down at the ankle that had been hidden by the cast for so long. It looked white and thin. Fragile almost. Gingerly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and put it down on the floor. He stood, putting some tentative weight on his foot and then gave a grunt of surprise as his leg promptly collapsed beneath him. He grabbed the bedpost to steady himself and winced. Dr. Dubois chuckled at his bewildered expression.
"My boy, you haven't put weight on that on that foot in weeks. It will be weak and sore for a some time. It's called muscular atrophy."
Gleb raised an eyebrow.
"So I'm as crippled as ever then?" he said, his voice heavy with disappointment and disgust.
"No indeed, monsieur," the doctor replied kindly. "You can walk now. It will just take your body some time to get used to having the cast off."
Gleb looked over at Elena, still frowning. She shrugged.
"Maybe if you keep using your crutches for a bit, it will be easier," she suggested. "Should he wear shoes or not, Docteur?"
Doctor Dubois thought for a moment.
"I would suggest that you wrap your foot in a linen bandage for a few days, just to provide some extra support. Other than that, go barefoot for a week or so."
The doctor deftly wrapped Gleb's ankle with a bandage that he procured from his bag, then stood up, gathered his instruments, and prepared to leave. At the door, he turned back.
"You should be washing that foot twice a day with warm water and some gentle soap. No hard scrubbing. Good day, monsieur! À bientôt, Elena my dear."
As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, Gleb sighed. He flexed his ankle experimentally, grimacing a little at the stiffness, and couldn't help a slightly giddy smile from breaking out over his face.
"It is nice to move it again!" he declared.
Elena walked over and stood by the bed, smiling.
"Just be careful with yourself. Don't overdo it."
"Right, because I'm not know for that or anything."
"Says the man who climbed down a wall and knocked out two burglars while walking on a very much still broken foot."
They both laughed and Gleb shrugged, fingering the spot on his shoulder that was marked by a small scar.
"You neglected to add I was shot."
Elena rolled her eyes.
"Yes, you narcissistic baby, you were shot."
"I'll have you know that that scratch stung a lot after the adrenaline had gone down enough for me to feel it!"
Elena simply handed him his crutches and suggested that they head downstairs as the doctor's visit had put both of them behind schedule. As they walked to the stairs, Gleb tried to put a little weight on his foot. It got easier the more he used it, but the pressure and movement was still uncomfortable.
It was almost eleven in the morning and the kitchen was bustling with preparations for the noon meal. As Gleb and Elena came down the stairs, Mme. Dassin was at the stove, stirring something in a huge iron kettle. Marianne and little Vera stood next to one of the prep-tables chopping what appeared to be a mountain of multicolored carrots into neat, even chunks. Vincent was helping Jean, who was bringing in more firewood. Elena hurried over to the bread table and began readying some loaves to go in the oven and Gleb thumped his was way over to the corner where a stool was set up by one of the tables. He sat down and stretched his foot again before setting to work on his own mountain of vegetables.
"So what did the doctor say? How's the foot healing?" Mme. Dassin asked.
Gleb smiled at her maternal tone.
"He liked what he saw," he replied. "He took the cast off, but said I should keep it wrapped for a while. I'm just glad to get that…" Elena gave him a sharp look, "…that… cast off."
"I imagine so," Mme. Dassin chuckled to herself. "Henri broke his arm when he was twelve. He climbed up into a tall tree and then jumped down so he could test out his homemade sheet glider." She shook her head, "He just about went crazy with his arm plastered up. It was his right arm too."
Gleb grinned.
"Did he ever try to remove it himself?" he asked curiously.
"Boys will be boys," was the response, followed by a sigh and a quiet chuckle from Gleb's corner.
They had been working together for several minutes when the relative silence was broken by a large bang from above.
"Qu'était-ce que ça?" Elena exclaimed, jumping in surprise.
"Henri et Papa. They're up on the roof, looking at that leaky spot."
Mme. Dassin had hardly finished speaking when there came a terrific CRASH! followed by a yell, a horrified shriek of "Papa!", and then an ominously heavy thud.
Everyone in the kitchen dropped what they were doing and ran outside. Gleb limped a little behind, not stopping for his crutches. When they reached the garden there was a concerted gasp of horror and fear and Elena darted forward, echoing her brother's cry, her mother not far behind. Gleb took one look at the scene before him and his heart dropped into the soles of his feet.
There on the ground, amid the remains of several ruined herb bushes, lay M. Dassin. Not far away stood the ladder to the roof which Henri was now descending in reckless haste. Gleb hurried forward to join the others who were now clustered around the man, trying desperately to revive him. He hesitated.
"Please," he said, "let me look at him. I was in the military for many years and learned some emergency first-aid."
He knelt down, went to feel for the jugular pulse, and froze. Gleb close his eyes, as if he could deny the truth by not seeing it. Forcing them open, he checked for a pulse in three other places. Finally, he reached up and, repressing a shudder, felt along the man's neck. He sat back abruptly, unable to meet any of their anxious eyes. Gleb had been a soldier long enough to know what he was dealing with. For a moment, he was back in the horror of battle, dragging a comrade's limp body over his shoulders as they retreated or staring in mute horror at the remains of a blasted tank, the acrid, reek-filled air burning his lungs. He swallowed thickly, choking down the nausea that rose up in his throat and slowly shook his head.
"There's nothing we can do for him," he said at last, his voice low and rough, "he…it was instantaneous."
There were cries of horror and grief from the others. Mme. Dassin gave a moan and sagged against Elena who was staring at her father with wide, tear-filled tears. Henri dropped to his knees, putting his arms around them, Jean not far behind. Elena gathered in Vera with her other arm and Vincent sank against his mother's lap. Gleb sat motionless a little ways away, knowing that he didn't belong in this moment of intimate grief, but unable to leave; still fighting off the old horrors and memories that came crowding in on him no matter how much he tried to stop them.
At last, he got shakily to his feet.
"I'll go for the doctor," he said.
Once Gleb was inside, the sight of the soup and un-chopped vegetables snapped him back to reality. He pulled the pot off the stove, then hurried upstairs. Grabbing his shoes and a coat out of his wardrobe, he ran back down again and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. He came up short when he saw his wrapped foot, realizing that it was now aching dully. After a short moment of debate, he pulled off the wrapping and stuck his foot into the shoe. He cursed quietly at the discomfort, but laced it tightly, hoping that it would provide some support. He then tied the other one, pulled on his coat, and grabbed a hat that belonged to Henri off the hook by the door. Only when he reached the street, did he realize that he had absolutely no idea where to go.
xxxx
The gently colored light that came though the stained glass windows gave an almost dreamlike quality to the interior of the small church. It was packed full of people. Everyone in the village and even a few from farther off had come to show their respect for the innkeeper of Le Miroir. Every person had been touched by him in some way, big or small. M. Dassin had been much beloved and they would miss him sorely: his big voice, jolly laugh, and excellent advice.
Gleb sat in the Dassin's pew, feeling a strange sense of déjà-vu as the service played out before him. The last time he had been in a church was many years ago, when he was still young enough to cling to his mother's hand. Ekaterina Vaganova had been a staunch woman of faith, even when her Roman Catholicism had been frowned upon by others in Yekaterinburg. Mikhail too had been Catholic though he was not a devout one until shortly before his death. His inattention to religion had rubbed off on his son and Gleb's time in the army had not helped. He had not prayed in many years, but sitting there in the rose-colored light of the stained glass, he did pray, asking for help and strength for this family for whom he had come to care so much. Gleb knew that the Dassins went to church each Sunday and resolved to accompany them now that he could walk reasonably well without his crutches. In truth, though he had been too busy to give much thought to his foot, it was sore and ached dully from all the strain.
Elena was next to him in the pew and as the priest began the funeral mass, Gleb could see the knuckles of her clasped hands go white as she strove to keep her composure and support her mother and siblings. Remembering how she had comforted him on the balcony, Gleb reached over and laid one of his hands over her clasped ones. Elena didn't turn her head, but she slipped her hand into his and held it tightly the rest of the service, drawing courage from the touch. If anyone saw, no one remarked on it or at least didn't remark aloud. A few people did look thoughtfully in their direction, but said nothing.
Gleb had been introduced to many of the people the night before at the wake that was held at the inn. He prided himself on being someone who could remember people, but the sheer volume of new faces had completely overwhelmed him. The fact that he had only gotten three hours of sleep the night before had not helped. Having dealt with the death of both his parents, Gleb had some experience when it came to the sorting out of the affairs of a deceased person and was able to assist Mme. Dassin and Henri as they tried to work though the papers and arrangements. Poor Elena, Jean, and the two little ones had been forced to run everything by themselves, though Gleb had tried to help them whenever he could. They had "closed" the inn, meaning they were taking in no new customers and the public dining room and bar where not open. They couldn't turn away the guests who were currently staying, of course, so there was still extra laundry, cleaning, and cooking to be done. Gleb had been honestly impressed at Elena's composure both in running the essentials of the inn and in dealing with people who were unsatisfied with this turn of events. She was always perfectly kind and polite to the latter, but completely uncompromising for all that. Gleb was proud of her and when, towards the middle of the Mass, his hand had gone numb from her clutching it too tightly, he decided that the discomfort was well worth giving this amazing girl the extra strength to carry on.
xxxx
Late that night, after several solitary hours of bending over accounts and ledgers in M. Dassin's office, Gleb blew out the lamp he had been working by and wandered out into the kitchen for a glass of water and a midnight snack before heading upstairs. As he walked through the door, he heard a sound that brought him up short.
Looking over, he saw Elena was crouching on the ground beside the stove. She was wearing her nightgown, sobbing with her face hidden in her drawn up knees.
Gleb's heart twisted. He knew well the pain of losing a parent. The loss hurt with an all-consuming ache, like knives stabbing relentlessly into the heart. Nothing could ever make you wholly complete again, no matter what happened.
He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her if she wished to be left alone, but wanting desperately to comfort her. He shifted a fraction and the board beneath him squeaked loudly. Gleb cursed under his breath, annoyance causing him to fall back into his long habit. Elena started at the sound, jumping up and turning towards him. He gasped quietly. The maturity and strength with which she had acted the past two days was gone, the calm front completely dissolved. This was Elena, the girl who had just lost her father and was finally allowing herself to drop her guard, overwhelmed with grief. She stood for a moment, and then ran to him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest, sobbing against him. He hugged her tightly, giving that comfort and support that he had so desperately longed for after his own parents' deaths and never received. He could feel tears prick his own eyes, but he didn't care. Elena needed him right now and that was all that mattered.
They stood there in the kitchen for a long time, Gleb rocking her in a gentle, unconscious rhythm. At last, she stopped crying, but she didn't move for a while, taking comfort in his strong arms and warm embrace. Almost Gleb thought her to be asleep on her feet, but finally she sighed deeply and stepped back, wiping her face. Gleb leaned against a nearby counter. His ankle was aching and he couldn't quite hide the slight groan as he stretched it. Elena looked at him sharply.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"Fine, fine, just stiff mostly," he assured her. "Don't worry; you've always taken such good care of me. Let me help you for once."
Elena sniffed and the corner of her mouth twitched in a halfhearted attempt to smile.
"You already have, so much. Oh, Gleb, I don't know what I'd do without you!"
Her voice broke again. Gleb put his arm around her and she sagged tiredly against him. He looked at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning.
"It's time you were in bed," he said gently. "Come on, I'll walk you to your room."
Elena simply nodded. It was tight going, walking side by side in the narrow staircase, but Gleb sensed that she needed his support both mentally and physically. He didn't take his arm from her shoulders until they reached her room and she was safely deposited her on the bed. She sat there tiredly, her face still flushed from her crying.
"Thank you, Gleb. I…I know it's safe to drop my guard around you. Mother needs me to be strong."
Gleb nodded.
"I'm always here if you need me, but don't feel like you can't share your grief with the others. It isn't healthy to bottle everything up inside, and a family needs to be open with each other. It's not fair for you to have to suffer alone. Trust me, I've been through this."
Elena nodded heavily, looking at her hands clasped in her lap.
"I know. But oh, Gleb, I'm so scared. Everything has changed so fast! The past two days are a blur; like a nightmare only real."
She shuddered, hugging herself.
Gleb limped over and sat next to her on the bed, his arm once again encircling her shoulders.
"I know, but I'm here for you: we all are."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a moment and then Gleb began to sing softly. It was an old Russian lullaby that his mother used to sing him when he would awaken with a nightmare back in Yekaterinburg. It talked about a soldier and always made Gleb think of his father.
The time will come when you will learn
The soldier's way of life,
Boldly you'll place your foot into the stirrup
And take the gun.
The saddle-cloth for your battle horse
I will sew for you from silk.
Sleep now, my dear little child,
Bayushki bayu.
He could almost hear his mother's soft voice, and feel her hand on his head, smoothing away fear and uncertainty.
On the road, I'll give you
A small holy icon,
And when you pray to God, you'll
Put it right in front of you,
While preparing for the dangerous battle
Please remember your mother.
Sleep, good boy, my beautiful,
Bayushki bayu.
He let the last words die away into a murmur and sat, wrapped in his thoughts until a soft snore roused him. Looking down, he saw that Elena had actually fallen asleep, still leaning against his shoulder. Very softly, so as not to wake her, he laid her down and stood up. Taking the quilt from the end of the bed, he covered her warmly and slipped out of the room.
Only when he was in his own bed did Gleb realize that if Henri ever learned of what he had just done, there would probably be another funeral. He shrugged to himself. He was tired and not thinking straight. At the time, had been solely focused on comforting Elena; she had needed help and he had done his best. Whispering a quiet prayer for a girl and her family, Gleb fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, notwithstanding his aching foot.
The Russian lullaby came from the website Mama Lisa's World. The song is called Bayushki Bayu which is the Russian equivalent to something like hushabye.
Sorry that this chapter is so sad. Better things are coming.
French Translation:
À bientôt - See you soon
Qu'était-ce que ça? - What was that?