Life Will Have its Way

By Angie Myers Lewtschuk

The lives of two women behind the Iron Curtain take an unexpected turn when they discover a young girl in the garden outside their building. The girl, who looks like she just stepped out of a photograph from the 40’s, offers little to explain who she is or what she’s doing alone in the city. As the pair tries to keep her hidden while they figure out where she came from, their efforts are greatly complicated by old friends, intrusive neighbors and one especially ambitious police officer. When separate events finally come together to reveal the girl’s true identity, pieces of a somewhat tragic past reemerge to alter the future of everyone involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angie Myers Lewtschuk
• Release date: Feb 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311360335

Book preview

Prologue

The forest floor crumpled under her tiny feet as she scampered along the trail, well worn in spots, over grown and covered with nettle in others. Floating through an endless corridor of dusky brown, she paused each time the path separated and waited for Petra to make her decision. Columns of streaming yellow light shimmered from the heavens; the flavor of the air was quickly changing, a heavy damp moss to a sprightly fresh floral.

Unable to see through the flowering weeds that bordered the meadow, she panicked, Petra, wait! Petra, where are you? The grass collapsed as she stepped onto it, swimming forward in the sea of green. She ran over it, in circles and squiggling lines, falling clumsily into its cold, smooth clutches. For a moment, she stayed settled, just as she had landed, poured over the ground. Her eyes fixed dreamily to the sky where thick wisps of gossamer wandered over a cerulean canvas.

At the river’s edge she hesitated, feeling scared, uncertain about crossing, but Petra called out to her and she knew she must follow. Balancing on the shiny smooth stones of the riverbed, teetering, laughing, trying not to be distracted by the slow stream of water that wiggled between the rocks beneath her. When her small feet finally touched the silted sand of the far bank, she stopped to sun herself on a felled tree and drifted into sleep. Perhaps there had been too much excitement, a walk too long. Petra was feeling quite impatient and her displeasure would be made known. I’m coming, the small voice strained, I’m coming!

Chapter 1

Light from the late afternoon sun reflected off the fountain and danced about the garden. The girl in the little blue coat didn’t look real behind the glassy golden rays that glimmered over her and for a second I thought perhaps she was unreal. I blinked hard then opened my eyes. She was still there. Tiny with delicate features, she couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. Sitting on the edge of the bench, her feet angled together swinging carelessly through the dirt beneath them. She watched me move toward her through soft squinting eyes and the corners of her mouth lifted into a sweet, impish smile.

Where is your mother? I asked.

Still smiling, she raised her shoulders into a shrug and tilted her head sheepishly.

Are you here all by yourself?

She nodded.

I looked around the garden. There was no one else there. I doubted anyone would have intentionally left her and figured she’d probably just been separated from her mother who would be along soon enough to collect her. She scooted to one side making room for me on the bench. We watched in silence as people passed by on the street; I was eagerly hoping that one of them would turn our way, recognize the girl and race across the grass to retrieve her. But no one did. The minutes turned into an hour, then another. The sun had slipped behind the building and the temperature was quickly dropping. We watched our breath float away in small, fluffy tufts while the street traffic slowed to a trickle. Still, no one came.

The garden sat between a pair of three story apartment buildings. A small stone path cut through the middle connecting the main sidewalk to the arbor. Well-cultivated bushes circled the grass and the plant beds that ran along the edges were thick with flowers. It was unusual to see such care afforded an outdoor space that wasn’t attached to an official government building, but my dear neighbor had claimed an obligation to make the space look as beautiful as it possibly could. And in that she had succeeded, the garden stood out, awash with color and serenity, completely unaware of the dreary, grey world that surrounded it.

Do you think your mother will be back sometime soon? I finally asked.

She shook her head.

A gust of chilled air worked its way under my jacket; I shuddered and wrapped my arms over themselves. Then we must go inside, I’m afraid we’ll freeze out here. I pointed in the direction of the building, I just live right there. If you like, we can watch for your mother through that window.

I didn’t know why I kept referencing her mother when even she didn’t seem to be expecting a mother to return. She followed me across the garden to the front entrance and we started down the hall. I felt continually certain I had heard the heavy click of the main door behind us but didn’t dare turn around. Instead, I clenched my jaw and readied myself for a hysterical woman, rushing in, scooping up her daughter, undecided about whether or not she should be ecstatic or angry, should thank me or report me. Or perhaps, it would be the father, only he would have no trouble deciding whether or not to be mad. He would snatch the girl up, then grabbing me with his free hand, he would pull my face to his so I could feel the warmth of his breath as he raged, What do you think you’re doing with my baby?

My iced fingers fumbled with the keys and I searched nervously down the empty corridor hoping the surrounding doors would remain closed. The girl fixed her gaze straight ahead, staring hard at the door while she waited for it to open. Once inside, I watched her eyes as they scanned the room, they moved quickly as she tried to take in everything at once.

Is this your house? she asked. Her voice was small and airy, but exactly as I had imagined it would be.

I nodded.

She seemed confused, This is a house?

Well, I guess it’s not really a house, I answered, it’s an apartment.

A…part…ment? she repeated, squinching up her eyes.

Yeah, an apartment.

Oh, apart…ment, she said quietly. Do you live here with your mama and papa?

Nope, just me.

It’s pretty here, she added with a smile.

I glanced around the room, pretty was quite possibly the last word I might have used to describe it. The walls hid behind heavily grained sheets of paneling and the floors were covered with faded linoleum in an abstract floral pattern that looked oddly similar to longhorn skulls. Once I’d made the connection, I could no longer not see them and from that day forward my floors were effectively covered in tiny, orange Texas longhorns.

The furnishings were a generic collection of hand-me-downs and thrift store finds that really had no business being in the same room together. A dated sofa with a gaudy orange and brown floral print covering flat, lifeless cushions ran along the back wall. Angled toward it on the end closest to the door was a low slung, high backed side chair upholstered in crushed velvet. The color was a brilliant shade of lime and under the perfect lighting conditions, the fabric would almost shimmer. On the other end of the room, another chair, this, a low piled velour swirled with giant blue flowers, capable of being both swiveled and rocked. Surrounding the sitting area was a trio of tables. I dare say all three looked quite nice, if only for the first twenty minutes after they’d been polished.

She stayed close to the door and directed her attention to the ceiling, noticeably impressed with what she saw, she leaned her head back as far as it would go. I looked up to see if I could tell what she was looking at. The ceilings were unremarkable except for a somewhat garish crown molding. I wouldn’t have expected this to be her first look at a tall, ornate ceiling but my building was old and one of a very few that hadn’t been entirely destroyed during the war. When the city was reconstructed it was done in a rush, people needed places to live, they didn’t care anymore about crown molding.

I reached out to reassure her, It’s okay if you want to go inside. My fingertips grazed the soft blue of her coat, which fit around her rather tightly creating a sort of stiff bundled look when she moved. She passed into the room, keeping close to the edges, her fingers trailed over everything as she passed. She ran them along the side of the table, the back of the chair then worked her way to the window where she paused and looked out into the garden. She placed her hands gently on the glass then pulled them away. She ran them along the sill and through the space between then repeated the process at the next window. The tips of her fingers continued to drag themselves across the wall and past the doorjamb into the hall. Keeping my distance, I followed behind her. She stopped short in the bathroom doorway.

What’s wrong?

She held her tiny hand toward the toilet while her expression became gravely serious.

Oh, this? I reached for the fluffy pink seat cover, You’ve never seen one of these before?

She shook her head and continued to point firmly in the direction of the seated porcelain statue that had been bolted to the floor and filled with water.

Do you mean…the toilet?

What is it? she whispered.

What is what? I pushed the lever to flush it, are you really asking me what a toilet is? Or are you just trying to be silly?

Her eyes expanded as she watched the water suck down into the bowl. When everything had settled, she smiled and pushed herself back into the hall. Still clinging to the doorway, she dipped her head into my room, Oooh, is this where you sleep?

Yes, yes, you can go inside.

She stepped carefully over the threshold as though there were a small fence separating the two spaces. Again, her eyes seemed to fill with awe and again I found myself entirely unable to identify the source of her amusement. The contents of the room were quite unimpressive; a full bed ran along the outer wall, flanked by a large caramel colored dresser, there was little else. She rushed toward the bed and playfully flopped herself into its side. Her arms reached out across the cover, a purple floral patchwork with small tufts dotting the connection points. I could tell she liked the way the collapsing yarn felt under her fingers as she ran her hands over and over the blanket. Her head rested against the mattress and I thought she might work herself into sleep, but at once she jumped up, moved quickly to the dresser and pointed straight away to the tray of perfume that sat on its top.

Oh! Did you want to try one of these?

She nodded and I reached for a bottle, the frilliest one of the lot, the one I was sure she would choose. Before I could pick it up she took hold of my hand and pushed it toward another. She stood staring at the bottle, waiting to see what would be done with it. I popped the lid off the top and faced the spray nozzle in her direction. Her arms were thrust immediately over her face and she cowered behind them.

What are you doing? I asked.

She peeked cautiously from behind the barrier she had created with her arms, glancing with uncertainty at the bottle.

It’s only scented water! I coaxed. Taking hold of her wrist, I sprayed a small amount of the perfume over it. She smiled.

Now, smell your arm.

She did. Her smile became greater. Mmm, I smell like a yellow flower!

When the bottle had been returned to its spot, her face puckered with embarrassment and her hand burst in the direction of the other bottles, this time pointing to the pink frilly one.

Oh, so you do want to try this one?

She nodded shyly and we continued playing with the perfume until the room was filled with musky rose and balmy, sweet floral. She stepped away from the dresser, continuing to inhale the air that surrounded her. She glided across the room; the jewelry box on the dressing table had become the latest beacon for her attention. It had been a present for my tenth birthday, a simple, rectangular shape, covered in decorative white vinyl. She opened it slowly. A small ballerina on a tiny spring popped up in the back and she squealed with delight clasping her hands together in front of her. I rotated the winder on the bottom of the box and a slow, tinny version of Chim Chim Cheree began to play. Her eyes filled with delight as the ballerina began to turn. When the music stopped she asked to touch what was inside and pulled a pair of earrings from the rest. Small gold balls dangled at the end of long, thin rods, she held them to her ears, swinging side to side, admiring her reflection in the mirror as she did so. Once she had handled or tried on every single thing in the box at least once, she lowered the lid. I caught the tiny fingers of her hand waving, waving goodbye to the ballerina.

When we returned to the living room, she went immediately to the couch. She sat clumsily undoing the double buttons that ran down the front of her coat then peeled it away to reveal a pale yellow dress. The cut was cute enough but the design on the fabric was oddly mature and nothing you would expect to see on clothing intended for a child. Indeed, her entire look was incredibly old-fashioned and quite unlike that of any of the girls her age I’d seen around town. It seemed instead, that she much more closely resembled an old porcelain doll my grandmother had always displayed amongst her vast collection of antique salt and pepper shakers. The six inch figure was cast in the shape of a small girl caught in the wind, a scarf wrapped tightly over her head and a look of curious wonder painted on her face. Her tiny porcelain hands clasped the front of her jacket while a basket filled with apples teetered on her arm.

The girl struggled to remove her boots and I lowered myself to help her. They were quite unusual, made of thick, dark leather and lined with an incredibly silky fur that had soft white roots and rigid grey ends. Before I’d made my way to the laces of the second one, she dipped her hand hastily into her shoulder bag. An empty cloth napkin was pulled from it, she looked it over seemingly surprised that it was empty, forgetting that she’d already eaten whatever had been there.

Are you hungry? I asked.

She nodded