The Angie Chronicles:: Six Summers & One Winter

By Eva Fischer-Dixon

Angelina (Angie) Aranyi was only eleven years old but far ahead both mentally and physically of her peers. She was raised in a strict household in Budapest, Hungary, but she dreamed about experiencing a quieter village life. Her dream came true when her mother met a peasant woman whose granddaughter was the same age as Angie. To her surprise, her parents allowed her to spend her long school break with the Nagy family in the village of Kisegres. Her entire world changes when she encounters not only a different culture and religion but also her host familys nephew, an incredibly handsome boy named Joe, who immediately fell in love with Angie, a feeling that was mutual. The off-and-on romance continues for six summers and a winter that she spent at her host familys rural home. Being a beautiful young girl, she is being courted by other young men who mistake her for being much older, but Joe always managed to work his way back into her heart, until Angie met a soldier named Andy. Joes bad temper and jealousy cast a dark shadow on Angie and Andys new romance. Angie knew that a hard decision was ahead of her; she had to choose between her first love and uncertain future with Joe, or the steady and deeply loving Andy who would do just about anything for her. Angie could have never imagined that when she makes her final decision at age sixteen, it would send her on an unexpected and incredible journey in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503549661

Eva Fischer-Dixon

I came into this troubled world during the early morning hours of June 17, 1950, in the city of Budapest, Hungary. I was the first and last child of my 41-year-old mother and my father who was 45 years old at the time of my birth. As I did not know any better, I could not possibly understand that we were living in poverty, as I was growing up with loving parents and there was always a bite to eat. My childhood was poor and saddened with tragedies. As a six-year-old child I witnessed the bloody 1956 revolution and received the first taste of true prejudice by those of whom I thought liked us, yet turned against my family. That tragedy did not match the untimely death of my beloved father when I was not yet seven years old, on February 14, 1957. My mother remarried in 1959 and our financial situation was upgraded from poverty to poor. After finishing elementary school I made a decision to earn money as soon as possible to ease our financial situation and I enrolled in a two-year business college (high school diploma was not required). I received my Associate Degree in 1966 and I began to work as a 16-year-old certified secretary/bookkeeper. During the same period I began my high-school education, which I completed while working full-time and attending night school. I discovered my love for writing when I was 11 years old after a movie that my childhood friend and I saw in the movie theater. We were not pleased with the ending and Steven suggested that I should write a different ending that we both liked. Voila, a writer was born. With my family’s encouragement, I entered a writing contest given by a youth oriented magazine and to my genuine surprise, I won second price. My desire to live in a free country and to improve my life was so great, that in 1972, leaving everything, including my aging parents behind, I managed to escape from Hungary during a tour to Austria, (then) Yugoslavia and Italy. I spent almost nine long months in a rat infested refugee camp, located Capua, Italy, while I waited for official permission to immigrate to the country of my dreams, to the USA. In 1975 I met and married a wonderful man, my husband Guy. Thanks to his everlasting patience, he assisted me in my task of learning the English language. He is truly my partner for life and I remain forever grateful to him for standing by me in some tough times. It is difficult for me to describe my love for writing. I cannot think of a bigger emotional joy for an author than to see a published novel in somebody’s hand and to see a story come alive on the screen. I yearn to experience that joy.

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Copyright © 2015 by Eva Fischer-Dixon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Rev. date: 03/19/2015

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Contents

Prologue

THE SUMMER OF 1961

The Village

Joe ~~~ Year One

Farm Work

Second Saturday

THE SUMMER OF 1962

Steven

Joe ~~~ Year Two

Robert (Robbie)

THE SUMMER OF 1963

Joe ~~~ Year Three, Part One

James

Joe ~~~ Year Three, Part Two

David ~~ Part One

David ~~ Part Two

David ~~ Part Three

THE WINTER OF 1963

The Winter Wonderland

Joe ~~~ Year Three, Part Three

THE SUMMER OF 1964

James

Joe ~~~ Year Four, Part One

Joe ~~~ Year Four, Part Two

Christopher (Chris)

THE SUMMER OF 1965

Soldier Boy (Andy) – Part One

Joe ~~~ Year Five

Andrew (Andy) – Part Two

Steven

The Visit

THE SUMMER OF 1966

Joe ~~~ Year Six, Part One

Sweet Sixteen

Things to Learn

The Wedding

Almost

The Unexpected Visitors

Epilog

DEDICATION

I wish to dedicate this book to those who shown me

the beauty of nature and proved that

real love will always prevail if

the love in our heart is

strong enough.

PROLOGUE

I WAS A CITY girl through and through with a heart that craved small towns or villages to live in. I shamelessly admit that I liked picket fences, white or otherwise. Living in the largest city of my country, it left me with not much experience in the quiet life that I always wanted to live. I was born in the capital city, Budapest, Hungary that had a population of two million. It was crowded, although nothing like India or China if I must compare. Don’t be mistaken, I loved the place where I was born, but hearing stories from my mother and father about the places where they grew up, I developed an overwhelming desire to leave the city and establish a home in the countryside. If I could not do that, at least I wanted to spend time there to inhale the fresh air and experience the simple, yet fascinating country life.

In the summer of 1961, unexpectedly my dream came through, even if only for a couple of months each year during my summer school breaks. They were vacations that somewhat shaped my future and my way of thinking about people and about falling in love.

THE SUMMER OF 1961

THE VILLAGE

E VERY FRIDAY MORNING, in the city of Budapest’s Fourth District, peasant women appeared carrying heavy baskets on their backs, selling goods to the city dwellers who wanted freshly made butter, cottage cheese, sour cream, or cheese, occasionally, even fresh eggs. There were at least twenty or more of these women of all ages in our area, usually dressed in dark, mostly black outfits who slowly made their way, door to door on their designated territories. We had one of these women stop by once by chance, and after that, regularly, even if we seldom ever bought anything from her. I suppose she just liked us as my mother always offered her a seat to rest and coffee to drink.

I was in school during most of those encounters, but there were times when I met the older woman who always had a smile for me. I gave her the name Grandma Molly, at first behind her back, and later on that is how I called her in everyday life. My mother talked to her about me, well, she talked to everybody about me, and she mentioned to Grandma Molly that I had never been in the countryside, other than travelling through on a train, but I never truly spent time there. Out of the blue, on one particular Friday morning, Grandma Molly offered that I could go and spend my summer at her village home, with her and her family. As always, my mother’s first reaction was absolutely not but looking at me that morning, she saw how genuinely I wanted to take on the older woman’s offer.

One thing for certain, my mother did not expect that the family would keep me for two months without any financial compensation, but my mother encountered resistance on the subject by Grandma Molly. At first she did not want to accept the money that my mother pressed upon her, but she convinced Grandma Molly that food doesn’t come cheap and she would feel much better if she paid for my keep. She eventually accepted the money but not without murmuring that it was not necessary.

Grandma Molly made her rounds in my neighborhood selling her sour cream, cottage cheese and even homemade cheese, before she headed toward the bus stop where we were supposed to meet. It was not our normal bus stop, it was for long distance travelers, which meant that it made some stops along way, although not as many as the city bus would have. It took me no time to pack, not that I had so many things to take, only some change of clothing and essentials.

As I was standing among twenty plus other women of various ages, Grandma Molly introduced me to some of them, and told them that it was going to be my very first trip outside Budapest where I lived, and that I had never experienced village life before or being in the any countryside, period. They were all very friendly and they assured me that if I accept their way of life, I will have a great time. That is what I fully intended to do.

The long distance bus finally arrived and all of us boarded the vehicle, which took a while because of the heavy loads that all of the women carried. Most of them sold everything they had but the basket was very large and they usually carried them on their backs with a sling around it that was placed over and under their shoulders. I placed my small green suitcase on the rack above the seat and took my place at the window with Grandma Molly sitting next to me. As soon as the bus departed, she dozed off and after waking up only occasionally; she pretty much slept through the entire trip.

Once the bus left the city, the towns that were located outside Budapest itself were becoming smaller and smaller until large parcels of land began to appear alongside with the villages that I craved to see. The grain and cornfields were visible everywhere from the road and I knew that in just a month or so, they would be harvested either with combines or manually.

Villages were different in those days and not one person owned a large piece of land. The country’s leadership confiscated the land from its owners at the beginning of the Communist regime, but eventually people received parcels and even larger properties to cultivate after working on the commune’s fields first. Farm animals were kept track of but most families still managed to keep cows, horses, and pigs, and naturally, all of them raised chickens.

The bus made three stops before we arrived to our destination. Getting off the bus took some time, as the people, mostly women began to gather their belongings. It did not cross my mind until much later that they should have placed them in the luggage compartment of the bus, but obviously for some reason they did not. A few minutes after stopping, I finally hopped off the bus and helped Grandma Molly too, who looked at me gratefully. We began our brief ten-minute walk toward the house, my future home for the next two months.

Despite the fact that Grandma Molly’s family did not know that they had a visitor who was supposed to stay for a long period of time, they welcomed me with open arms. I also immediately knew that the youngest member of the family, Lucy Nagy and I were going to be good friends. The family was small and made up from Grandpa George, Lucy’s parents whom I named Aunt Lucinda and Uncle Frank, and of course, Grandma Molly. They were hard working people and while money was never discussed, I knew that they were not poor.

Their property was made out of two building as living quarters. As we walked into the yard, to the right was the older building which had a large furnace, the kind that real pizza makers use, they only used that during the cold winter months, and there was a wood burning stove where all the cooking and baking took place. The large room had a table with five chairs, it was used for everyday dining, and finally, as strange as it may sound, there was a large bed where Grandma and Grandpa slept. At the time I thought that it was a strange place to have a bed, but I learned later on that in old places, where I later visited, had the same arrangements.

Across from the old building were the new living quarters. There was a short entry way and from there; to the left was what I named the fancy room. It was beautifully decorated with local art painted on the walls, on the two single beds and the shrunk, the table and chairs all had fancy decorative art painted on them. Nobody slept in those beds with the exception of visitors and if all other beds were occupied. To the right of the entry way was what I called the dayroom where a large and long table stood seemingly abandoned and around it were several chairs. On the opposite wall had a China cabinet like furniture without any glass, but was also decorated with native art. At both sides of the cabinet stood several empty chairs, neatly lined up. I had so much to learn and I was told later that the dayroom was only used for dining on Sundays, when they had visitors or on special occasions. That eventually changed when a year later they purchased a television set and a love seat, so they can watch it in relative comfort the one channel that the TV station offered.

From the dayroom opened the bedroom, which was shared by Lucy and her parents. It may sound strange to many but that was the same arrangement in my parents’ apartment as well. The two double beds were alongside the wall, foot to foot; it meant that my head was by the left side of the room and Lucy’s parent’s pillow rested by the right wall of the room. Both beds had high foot and headboards for privacy. There were also two shrunks in the bedroom and Lucy pushed her clothes to one side so I could hang up mine.

There was no running water in the house; therefore there was no bathroom with a shower or bathtub. Just like in my parents’ apartment, we warmed up water and usually cleaned up in the older building of the house. There was a relatively nice outhouse, if one can call such things as nice. They kept it clean and outside they had a wooden stand with a bucket of water and a basin to wash one’s hand after finishing in the outhouse. The trouble was, mostly in the winter months, that the outhouse was the opposite side of the entire yard, so to get there without getting muddy was a challenge, or else, the person had to walk alongside the newer building, pass the stable, the two barns, the pigsty, and then, there it was, the outhouse stood by itself.

Facing the main gate was the stable for the horses, they had three, and I was actually there when one of them foiled. In the barn were four cows, more about those later; the pigsty was fairly large for the eight big pigs. The second barn was kept very clean and had a large amount of hay, always neatly stacked on the right side, and on the left, there was dry corn hanging, also neatly arranged in rows, underneath them were freshly harvested alfalfa. On the same side of the old building, to its right was another storage building that was divided into two parts, one was used as the chicken roost and egg laying area and the other part had barrels where they kept potatoes, vegetables, along with cured hams and sausages.

Not having running water, the water was pulled up from the water well that stood not far from the entry door of the newer building. It was covered so nothing could be dropped in from above. While I was hesitant at first, I later realized with pleasure that the water from the well was the best cool and clear water that I ever drank, and that goes for the rest of my life.

As I mentioned, the Nagy’s had four cows and what I witnessed was nothing less than amazing. With the exception of Sunday, Grandma or Grandpa would get up at five o’clock every morning, meaning from April until late September and opened the double gate to the street. One of them would get the cows out of the barn and herd them into the middle of the yard. Soon, I witnessed this almost every morning, I could hear cowbells as cows from every house in the village, those who had cows, would join the already walking cows and the herders would lead the cows to pastures outside the village. Sometimes there were hundreds of cows and as soon as the cows on the street walk by, the Nagy family cows without an urging word would walked out to the street and join their peers. In the late afternoon, around four thirty, the village folks would open their gates again and as the cows were headed home for having a great day grazing in the wide open fields, each returned to their respective homes. Who said that cows were not smart? I asked Grandma Molly if they ever had someone else’ cow enter their yard by accident, she said, never.

After my first dinner at the house, in my new temporary home, I was certain that I was going to like it there. When Lucy and I were sitting on the bench outside the newer house, I asked her about the history of her village. She was the same age as I was, eleven to be exact, and to my surprise she was not at all curious about living in the capital city or even to visit there. She told me that once I learned of the villagers’ way of living, I would have a better understanding why the majority of the people in small villages do not want to live in a large city. She also mentioned that many of the older people never stepped foot in Budapest and she personally only knew one couple that actually went for their honeymoon there.

I brought up the issue that her grandmother and other people go up just about every week to sell their goods, what about them? She replied that they were the village link to the outside world, so to speak, and other than making money, none of them ever considered moving there and neither did their families. They simply took care of business and rushed back to the place they loved and cherished.

How old is this village? I asked my first question.

It’s hard to believe but my village, Kisegres was established in the 1280ish. It survived wars, even Turkish invasion. Lucy said proudly.

How many people live here? I inquired again and I already suspected that not that many, given the number of houses and knowing that just in Lucy’s family, three generations lived in the same vicinity.

About 850, she replied.

I soon learned and some of that was confirmed with my own eyes, that the village was built in the area that was sort of securely tucked in a valley surrounded by hills where it was easy to cultivate grapes and manufacture wine from it. Because there were smaller hills in the valley itself, some of the homes appeared as if they were built in a higher elevation which made the streets harder to walk on as they were relatively narrow, crooked and turned in all sort of directions.

There was a running creek at the border of the village and both sides of the creek was declared protected areas and would never be developed for homes or businesses. All and all it was a quiet, relaxing village with beautiful scenery and crispy clean air. The majority of the people, according to Lucy, worked the fields or found jobs at small local businesses, such as the General Store, the agricultural supply store, the school, constructions of homes and some even worked at the military base that was just outside the village perimeter and which I later saw on our way to work on the Nagy’s vineyard.

It was very interesting to me that there was also a medical facility, but the two doctors who provided health care to the people in the village, only were present two times a week, their time was split between Lucy’s village and other villages nearby. The time they were at our village, they had a small pharmacy as well, but it was only open while the doctors were present. There was also a Licensed Nurse Practitioner who actually lived in the village just in case there was an emergency.

What do the villagers do for fun? I asked my next question. Lucy shrugged.

We have a Cultural House and every other week they show movies. We have dance parties with a gypsy band, things like that, she explained.

One thing I must also mention is the colorful outfits the women and girls wore on Sundays for church and on special occasions, such as weddings, Christening, festivals and such. It would be very difficult to explain how beautiful those embroidered outfits look like, but for certain, the colorful clothing was a feast for everyone’s eyes.

The most interesting thing for me was the fact that nobody in the village with the exception of the priest, the doctor’s office, the tiny Post Office and the General Store had telephones. It was nothing new to me as I lived in an apartment building in the capital city, which had 19 families as tenants, yet only the Superintendent, had a telephone.

Speaking of the priest, the village had three churches, Catholic, Evangelical and Baptist. I have not known a single person in the village who did not worship in one of the churches out of the three. Religion was a very important part of the villagers’ life and if someone did not go to a Sunday mass, unless the person was sick, rumors immediately began to circulate about all possible motives as why that person did not attend mass.

Another thing that I loved in the village was how the people interacted with each other. The favorite gathering place was not around the water cooler like in the United States, but was in front of the General Store. I don’t know how the two o’clock in the afternoon bread delivery originated, but that is where a lot peasants gathered to pick up some bread and went to the General Store a few minutes earlier to exchange news, comments, warnings about the weather, and yes, even gossip.

Needless to say, gossip was heard everywhere we went, but most of the time they were not malicious in nature, yet, sometimes it had effects on people’s lives. I am not ashamed to say that I was involved with gossip as well, but not as much as a teller of the gossip, rather, I was more like a listener. Most gossip was about people’s morals, such as who was seen with whom, where they got the money for this or that, and such. I was part of the gossip chain because after my arrival everybody was asking me questions in a friendly manner about my parents, where I lived and where I went to school. The most interesting gossip about me, and which was the topic for a long time to come throughout the village was my age. Yes, I was truly eleven years old, but my breasts were developing at a faster pace than other girls’, and my mannerism pointed at a direction of being more mature for my age and therefore, I became the favorite subject between the village boys and young men.

Since there was a certain unwritten rule, I knew that I was safe, and that the Nagy family was right there if I ever needed them. I was determined to make the best of my first away vacation, and also, that I would help the family in any which way was possible.

JOE ~~~ YEAR ONE

L ATER IN LIFE I often asked myself how all did happen, how my mother who was overwhelmingly protective actually allowed me to go with Grandma Molly. Although I already wrote about the village above, I would still like to explain for clarity’s sake, what happened on that particular day when I first experienced life outside my comfort zone.

I was barely awake when I heard voices coming from our kitchen. Our apartment was made up from a fairly good size bedroom that also served as a living room and kitchen that was also our dining room. The bathroom, basically a toilet with running water was accessible from the outside of the apartment and was shared by two other families. When later in life someone asked me how people could live like that, I always replied how grateful I was to have a roof above my head.

I quickly got dressed and joined my mother in the kitchen where she was talking to a peasant woman in her early seventies. She travelled on a bus to the capital city from a village little over a two hours’ drive away from where I lived to sell homemade sour cream, cottage cheese and occasionally even real cheese.

Good morning, I said as I entered the kitchen. Grandma Molly, as I began to call the peasant woman and my mother looked up.

Molly, mom said. This is my daughter Angelina, we call her Angie. She introduced me. She nodded as an acknowledgment.

I was intrigued and asked her where she was from and what kind of village she lived in. I also made inquiries about her family. She was somewhat surprised by the flood of questions but she ever so patiently answered to all of them. She told me that she had a granddaughter the same age as I was and that her name was Lucy Nagy, named after her mother, well sort of as her daughter-in-law’s name was Lucinda.

I would love to meet her, I blurted out. My mother shook her head.

She loves the country side despite the fact that she had never been there, she commented.

Grandma Molly stared at me for a brief moment and said. I am sure that my family wouldn’t mind to have you for a couple months, she suggested knowing that I was on my summer school break as was her granddaughter, Lucy as well. I immediately went into the sad eyes and begging mode.

I could tell that my mother was not happy, but as always, she had a soft heart when it came to me, so she gave in relatively easily to my pleas. Only if I can pay you, she said to Grandma Molly. Unfortunately I can’t pay you much.

I will work off the cost of my food, I suggested even though I had no idea what I volunteered for, but what can be so hard to work in the field, I thought. It just showed how little did I know about farm work.

Grandma Molly smiled about my enthusiasm and nodded. Only if you want too, we don’t ask you to help us as you are not used to do backbreaking work.

I was so ready to go, I could not sit still. We agreed that I would meet her at the long distance bus stop around two o’clock in the afternoon, after she finished her round. I packed my small suitcase and as I was about to leave, my father came home and he most certainly had questions to ask. My mother explained where I was going and to my luck, my father was too tired to argue after working a double shift at the factory. Fast forward to my first Sunday in the village, early in the morning, after breakfast, the Nagy’s asked me if I wanted to stay home or to go with them to the Roman Catholic church where they usually attended Sunday mass. My answer was an immediate yes, I wanted to go too.

The morning worship was supposed to begin at ten o’clock and by that time the church was full with families with various ages of children and adults. I guessed that each family had their own regular seats as Lucy directed me to the fourth pew on the right. Her grandparents whom I called Grandma Molly and Grandpa George sat on the far right, Aunt Lucinda and Uncle Frank sat next to them on the left and then Lucy and finally I completed the entire line of the pew with only one seat left.

The priest entered with two altar boys on each side of him and he walked down the aisle toward the altar. I was surprised to see how young and good looking he was and eventually when I looked around, I noticed that most teenage girls were making goo-goo eyes at the priest, which he properly and expectedly ignored. I was not used to being in a Catholic church, as the matter of fact that, it was my very first time attending a full mass, but Lucy prepared me of what to do, when to kneel and such.

Fifteen minutes into the forty-five minute long praying and singing, I heard a voice whispering. Excuse me, said the voice. My I sit here?

I had not noticed right away, but when I looked to the side to the person who asked, I had no idea that for the next six years my life was going to be different. The boy who sat down next to me was simply beautiful. His short blonde hair seemed messy on the top of his head and his blue eyes were clear as the bluest sky. His lips were perfectly formed and I watched as if he said in slow motion. Thank you.

I felt a never experienced heat wave rush through my body and I ached to look at him long and hard, but I was only eleven years old and I did not know how to interpret my body’s natural reaction toward the opposite sex. I slowly and casually as I could, turned my head towards him and I was sure that my face turned cherry red. He was intently watching me, not paying any attention to anything or anybody, not even the priest. From that point on, when he sat down next to me, my mind wandered to another planet and I did not hear any of the songs that the parishioners were singing.

Lucy leaned to me and asked. Are you alright? I just nodded in response.

Soon the collection plates were passed around and I put the money that Aunt Lucinda gave me before entering the church on the plate. The mass concluded and people were getting up and out of their pews. We got up too, the boy next to me got up as well, and stepped out of the pew ready to leave. As I watched him, I held my breath while I waited if he was going to say anything at all, but he did not. He did turn around and gave me a strange look without a hint of a smile on his face.

During our ten minute walk back to the house from the church, Lucy and I walked arm in arm and I just could not help it, I asked her if she saw, or if she knew the boy who sat next to me in church. She shrugged. Sorry, I did not pay attention.

As soon as we got home, all of us changed into more comfortable clothes and the women, including me, went to the kitchen to prepare the Sunday lunch. It was the most celebrated day of the week when the meal was more carefully prepared and when more elaborate food was served. Lucy and I set the table in the dayroom that also served as the dining room area, we were told to place an extra setting on the table. I asked Lucy who the expected person was. She sheepishly smiled at me and replied. It’s a surprise.

Excitement came over me, what if, oh, my goodness, what if that handsome boy who sat next to me in church was the surprise person. I bumped into everything from chair to the table and I almost tripped over the threshold. Of course, Lucy immediately noticed and she just had to ask. What’s going on?

I looked around to make sure that nobody was around, as I didn’t want anyone to make fun of me. A boy was sitting next to me and he was so beautiful, I whispered to her. I would like to see him again. I added.

She looked at me kind of funny and gave me a friendly hug that I could not interpret at all. Aunt Lucinda and Uncle Frank brought the food over from the kitchen in nice serving dishes and set them down on the crispy white tablecloth. Uncle Frank, Lucy’s father pulled up fresh cool water from the water well and poured it into carafes that were only used on special occasions. White and red wine was also poured into carafes and placed on the table in respectable distances. Grandma Molly was baking fresh rolls and I could smell the almost ready rolls as she was about to take them out of the oven.

She and Grandpa George, after the rolls was baked golden brown brought them over to the dayroom where by that time the table was completely set with food and drinks and the only thing remaining was to sit down and consume all the tasty food. We were sitting on the bench that was nearby the water well and I looked at my watch for the time as I was getting hungry and our mystery guest yet had to arrive. Lucy chuckled. Are you excited?

About what? I inquired.

About our guest, she replied but would not give me any clue who it was. It just had to be that boy from the church; I decided when we heard the squeaky sound of the small gate when a person stepped inside. I could almost hear myself gasping for air and disappointment reflected on my face so much so that Lucy felt sorry for me. You thought that it was that boy? She asked. Lucy and I became as close as sisters could be and because we were the same age, she could associate with what I felt. She was a bright girl, but nevertheless a country girl who lived by even stricter rules than what I was raised in.

In villages, such as where she lived and where I was spending my summer school vacation, a girl was not allowed to go anywhere, not even for a short walk with a boy without any other person present. The second person didn’t have to be a parent, or relative, it could have been a girlfriend, but a girl could never be alone with a boy, it would have raised some eyebrows and gossip would surely followed. When a boy and a girl got engaged, the same rules applied with the exception that they were allowed to hold hands, but there was no kissing or hugging, and sex was an unknown object and subject.

In Budapest, where I grew up, after I was educated by my mother when I was around ten years old about how children were conceived, my mother firmly promised me that if I ever had sex outside marriage and she found out, or if I got pregnant, I could not go home again. In my heart I knew that she would not throw me out to the street, but I most certainly would have broken her heart. Besides, I was only eleven years old and having sex never crossed my mind. I could never even come close enough to imagine getting pregnant, Lord forbid.

My mother realized early on that she had to educate me about the ways of the world because as I mentioned, I was well developed and looked much older than my age. I looked fairly good to be already noticed by boys older than me. I took everything she said to me to heart and while I had brief courting with boys, she made sure they were short by pointing out that I was way too young to date or to have a serious boyfriend, but that is an entirely different story. The bottom line is, Lucy was not educated about real life yet, and the girls in the village got their sex education after they got married.

The parents in villages seldom ever had the birds and the bees talk with their children, but boys will always be boys and God knows they have tried to be intimate with the girls who would not dare to have sex with them because of what the people in the village would have said about them. Of course, there were cases when girls got pregnant and sorry to say, in the majority of the cases, they either left their villages on their own from feeling ashamed, or they were hated out of the village when people made crude offensive and derogatory comments to them and about their families.

Good afternoon, everyone, we heard the voice coming from the gate. Uncle Frank hurried to welcome the newly arrived guest who turned out to be the parish priest, the very same young one who held the mass just a couple of hours earlier.

I was introduced to him with the explanation of my presence as he asked Uncle Frank where my parents were. How do you like our village? He asked.

I like it very much, I replied, and added. Everybody seems very nice.

He was seated on my right side and he asked me all kinds of questions about my life in Budapest, about my school and what my parents were doing. I personally did not care how he leaned so close to me, whispering his questions, which gave the impression that he was telling me some sort of secret, which he was not. What troubled me the most about the priest, Father Lukács, was that he constantly pressed his leg against mine under the table. I was fidgeting so much that Aunt Lucinda actually asked me if something was wrong. I moved my chair even closer to Lucy who sat by my left.

We almost finished with the delicious chicken soup when there was a knock on the door. Uncle Frank, who was sitting at the end of the table got up and opened the door. Well, hello there, he said to the person standing in the doorway. Come on in, you arrived just in time.

I turned my head towards the door and promptly dropped my spoon into my plate. Lucy pushed my side with her elbow and whispered to me. Is this the boy from the church? I nodded. He is my cousin Joe, my dad’s brother’s son.

Come, sit across from Angie, Aunt Lucinda said and added an extra chair to the table while they moved their dishes down one seat. Uncle Frank placed another set of dishes in front of Joe, before sitting down again.

Sorry about just dropping in like this, he apologized to Aunt Lucinda, who waived his apology away.

You are welcomed here at anytime, she replied and pushed the plate full of schnitzels and baked chicken toward Father Lukács and Joe. Especially because you seldom stop by nowadays, she added. Lucy whispered to me that her cousin lived in the next village, only about sixteen kilometers away.

I was speechless seeing him sitting there. It was somewhat strange that nobody formally introduced us, nor that we volunteered to exchange names. I already knew his, but he did not know mine. Are you alright? Lucy whispered to me. I looked at her wondering why she was asking me. You are trembling like a leaf that is about to fall to the ground. She was not making fun of me, I was indeed trembling and I had to steady my hands with the fork and knife so they would not give me away.

Father Lukács made me feel very uncomfortable as he sat much to close to me and he certainly wasn’t shy about asking me questions. Which Catholic Church are you attending and where do you live? He asked. I swallowed hard and it was one of those moments that I just had to tell the truth, as I could not possibly lie to a priest.

Actually, Father Lukács, I am not Christian and my parents are not religious people. It was my very first time attending a Catholic mass. I replied and gave a half glance toward the blonde and blue eyed boy’s way. His hand with the fork stopped hearing what I said and then he continue eating.

That is very interesting, Father Lukács remarked. It appeared to me that you enjoyed the service.

Indeed I did, I replied. Your church is beautifully decorated and I am very interested in learning about the Catholic religion.

Perhaps you can stop by tomorrow and I can gave you some reading material, he suggested. I was about to answer when my eyes met with Aunt Lucinda’s and I read her lips as she mouthed the words, don’t say anything.

At the very same moment, Aunt Lucinda turned to the priest. Thank you, Father Lukács, Angie will be busy in the next few weeks, but we have a lot of reading material anyways, she can take them home with her when she leaves at the end of the summer.

The priest cleared his throat before he replied to Aunt Lucinda. Oh, that is fine. I just wanted to make sure that this young angel will get the religious nourishment that so many of today’s youth are prevented from receiving. He said finally and bit into a chicken leg that was baked to perfection.

I didn’t dare to look at the priest who once again began to press his legs under the table against mine. However, I did look at my blue-eyed wonder and his eyes were like steel that tried to pierce the priest’s heart. The look on the boy’s face was nothing less than threatening and I needed someone to explain to me why the family got so quiet after the priest’ invitation to me and Aunt Lucinda’s reply to him.

The lunch lasted a little over an hour and while we did not eat during all that time, there was some wine drinking from the part of the adults. There was also a short mass at four o’clock and although it was hours away, Father Lukács thanked Lucy’s family for having him over and he wished good luck to me, and he expressed hope to see me again in church.

Grandpa George and Uncle Frank escorted the priest to the gate and bid their goodbyes. Aunt Lucinda and Grandma Molly made the sign of the cross on themselves, which seemed unusual under those circumstances. I wanted an explanation for that as well as about Aunt Lucinda’s quick intervention between the priest invitation and my reply that I was unable to give.

Child, Aunt Lucinda said in the kitchen where we took the dishes to be washed. We like Father Lukács, unfortunately he also likes everyone, mostly young girls, she explained. Obviously I was in shock and she could tell from the expression on my face. You are too young to understand this, but we, in this village, look away from his sins. Basically he is a good man and always helps the needy, but he already fathered two children to young women and nobody said anything to the Bishop because we didn’t want to get involved.

What happened to the girls with the babies? I asked.

The answer was obviously painful for her. They had to leave the village, she finally told me. While you are here, I will always treat you like my own daughter. Besides, Father Lukács probably thinks that you are older than your real age, being well developed for an eleven years old.

I stepped up to her and gave her a hug. Thank you for looking after me, I said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She hushed me away. One thing about the people in that village, people never expressed love or affection in public, not even in front of their own family members. It was something I always had to remind myself.

Aunt Lucinda and Grandma Molly busied themselves washing dishes, which I offered to help with, but they refused, they told me to join Lucy and her cousin in the dayroom. I took a deep breath and I was about to enter when they were leaving the room to get outside. I took a step back and just stood there, nervous and intrigued at the same time. I wanted to talk to that boy whose name was Joe and who had a previously unknown effect on me.

Angie, Uncle Frank called to me. I joined them on the veranda and stood next to Lucy who had a smirk on her face. We never properly introduced you to Joseph, or as we call him, Joe. He is my brother’s son, which would make him my nephew and Lucy’s cousin.

I reached out my hand for a shake. He took my hand and gently shook it. We did that quietly and I was nervous that I would say something stupid, say anything that would possibly be unintelligible. Uncle Frank questioned Joe about his parents and what he was up to. He answered all of their questions and when he was asked about going home or staying overnight, he looked at me while his lips