Manumission

Epilogue

One Year Later

Zoja wiped the sweat from her forehead and tossed the last weed in the wheelbarrow.

The sun was high over their garden and chickens roamed freely through the orchard grove. Bees buzzed through the trees, whisking the pollen from the apple blossoms into their hives. Maya teased the rooster and ran shrieking from him as he chased her up a tree, flapping his wings in anger at her escape.

It was Saturday. The May breeze was warm and soothing, bringing scents of early-blooming lavender from Zoja's well-tended patch.

Ryan had left after breakfast to help a neighbor fix his fence, kissing Maya, Zoja, and Zoja's barely noticeable baby bump before he went.

Zoja picked up the wheelbarrow and dumped it into the compost bin, picking a piece of grass from underneath her wedding ring.

Their wedding had been in the orchard, a mere month after arriving. Frank and the Atwoods had made the trip. Officer Davis had sent a card. Tim and Dave had joined forces and sent flowers which had graced the wooden arch that Ryan built for the ceremony.

Jo had given Zoja away. Frank and Rachel had been best man and matron of honor. Maya and Mikey were flower girl and ring bearer. Their only guests were the Atwood boys and two neighbors from down the wooded road.

Zoja had worn white. And Ryan, all stoic, rough, and manly, had shed tears at the sight of her.

The day was like a fairy story Zoja had read as a little girl.

Zoja smiled at the memory of it. Almost a year had passed, but she and Ryan felt as though they'd been together a lifetime. There were struggles of course. Fights. Miscommunications. Even tears. But at the end, they met in each other's arms. Forgave. Forgot. And worked things out again.

Mint gum had replaced his cigarettes, which he'd given up when they moved.

"I don't want Maya to grow up with that shit in her lungs," he'd reasoned. Zoja had kept him supplied with gum and encouragement.

Now, they had a baby on the way. Ryan had cried once more at the news. He'd kissed her and promised that he'd be a better father than his had been. That their child would never have to live in fear.

Zoja had taken his promise with the seriousness it deserved, but she had no worries. Ryan, who self-admittedly had a fierce temper, had not once yelled at her or Maya, even in his most frustrated moments.

"Maya, miláčik, let's go make lunch," she called to the little girl in the big tree. "Daddy will be home soon."

Maya had begun to call them 'Mama' and 'Daddy' shortly after their move. The adoption had become official several months later.

"I can see his truck, Mama! And another truck, too!"

Zoja frowned as Ryan pulled in, followed by a black SUV.

"Ryan, who's-" she began to ask as Ryan stepped out of the truck, but he cut her off, grabbing her hand.

"There's someone who wants to see you, sweetheart."

As the door opened, Zoja's pounding heart slowed and her eyes misted over.

"Papa," she whispered.

He was older now, gray hair gracing his temples. Though Zoja knew he wasn't yet fifty, he was thin, gaunt even, with eyes too old for his face.

"Zoja," he whispered, lips trembling. "Moja miláčik."

She was in his arms before he could breathe another word, sobbing against his chest. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, and took her face in his hands.

"I can't believe it's you. My beautiful girl," he wept, the Slovak washing over her like a baptism.

"Papa," she hiccuped, taking in his dear face. "I've dreamed this so many times, I'm not sure it's real."

"It's real, my love," he answered her, voice thick. "I'm here."

She hugged him again, breathing in his familiar, long lost scent.

"Welcome home, Papa."

The bees buzzed. The rooster crowed. The wind blew gently through the trees.

And Zoja, with papa on one side and Ryan on the other, walked up the wooded pathway.

Home at last.