We Are Defined By What We Do

Seven

Somewhere in Russia, nestled in a plain around mountains and hills, there is a house with a little stream running through its backyard. A chicken coop stands off to the side, constantly clucking and the gate constantly unlatched. A garden with vegetables and fruits of all sorts, tended to by a red-haired woman.

Beside her an older girl holds a basket, in her teens, collecting all the ripened foods the woman plucks from the dirt and the vines.

In the chicken coop, two little girls, only a few years apart, steal eggs from the chickens, nestling them in recycled cartons. Every so often a bird squawks at them, and they squawk back. The woman in the garden smiles at their clucking.

Two dogs trample through the river behind them, snapping at fish and jumping on one another. One is a coon dog, sleek and spotted. The other a fluffy Akita, fur slick from the water.

An old blue Bronco comes rolling up the grassy drive, the driver a brunette woman with her hair pulled back. She comes to a stop off to the side of the house and takes out the bin of items she goes into town for once a week. Food items they can't make themselves, toiletries, books, mail.

This time, something intriguing from the post office. A silver crate, their names printed on it but no sender.

Vic takes it all inside, depositing the bin on the table and beginning to put away all her purchases. She steps over children's toys and coloring sheets, dog bones and stacks of books. Kate had gotten big into reading ever since Nat had gifted her a book of poems by Anna Akhmatova.

When everything is put away, Vic takes out the crate, placing it on the kitchen table. She stares, looking it over, not wanting to open it until Nat is with her. She runs her hands over it, feeling the cool material of it.

She goes to the window, looking out at her family, and she catches Nat's eye. Nat smiles, and Vic motions for her to come inside. She stands, giving some orders to Kate, who takes her place in the squatted position and begins looking over tomatoes.

Vic stands over by the sink when Nat comes in, turning on the water for her so she doesn't have to touch the faucet with dirty hands.

"How was town?" Nat asks.

"Fine. I got some paints for Tig and more glue for Elena. And a book of Emily Dickinson poems for Kate."

Nat smirks, turning off the faucet and drying her hands on the dishtowel. She leans toward Vic, planting her lips on hers.

"She'll like Anna more."

"We'll see," Vic smiles, giving her another peck before turning to the table. "This came in the mail."

Nat tilts her head at it, running her hand over it the same way Vic did. "What is it?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"No return address?"

Vic shakes her head.

"Well, let's open it."

Nat moves to cut open the few strips of adhesive with a letter opener from the table but Vic stops her.

"Wait. What if it's a bomb or something?"

"You've spent too much time in the war, my love. No one knows we're here except the people we want to know we're here. I'm sure it's just a gift of some sort."

"A gift for what?"

Nat shrugs, then swipes the letter opener through the tape, the crate opening down the middle and splitting into two halves. Inside is a black box, a note laying on top of it. Nat takes it and reads.