chapter 1

The smell of apples and honey wafted enticingly through the marketplace air. Natya, seven years old, followed the smell to the baker’s stand. She stood up on her tiptoes to look over the top of the counter, sniffing appreciatively. Natya’s mouth watered at the sweet pastilas laid out in neat rows. Her mother never let her have sweets…

A little head of dark curls popped up on the other side of the counter, startling Natya out of her rapture. Lyuba, the bakers’ daughter, squeaked and dropped her basket, bread loaves rolling all over the counter.

Natya jumped back, embarrassed to be caught pining over sweets. She buried her hands in her apron pockets and tried to pretend she was looking at a cheap tin bracelet in the next stall. But her eyes kept darting back to the glistening, jammy squares.

Lyuba saw her looking. She turned her head, making sure neither of her fathers were around to see. She quickly wrapped one of the pastilas in paper, and bashfully held it out to Natya.

Natya hesitated, but the aroma was too good to resist. She reached out to take the offering. The girls’ fingers touched under the paper. They pulled away from the touch, embarrassed but giggling.

Natya backed away smiling, clutching her treasure close to her chest. She looked down at pastila, not quite believing that it was real. She opened her mouth to swallow it. A grown-up hand came out of nowhere and slapped the pastila to the ground.

“You know better than that!” Natya’s mama yanked her daughter away from the baker’s stall, dragging her in the opposite direction. “No daughter of mine is going to stuff herself with sweets! That’s how little girls get fat, you know! No one will want to marry you then! Is that what you want?”

Natya looked back at the pastila lying abandoned on the ground. She wanted to run back and eat it, dirt and all. But she shoved that feeling down. She turned her back and let her mother drag her away.

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“Natya, your delicate hands are too lovely for work, let me carry your basket!”

“Natya, the sun will scorch your angel skin, let me find a shade for you!”

“Natya, the path is too muddy for your beautiful feet, let me lay down my shirt!”

Natya, twenty-one years old, smiled as she walked through the market, a basket of silk on her hip, surrounded by her usual crowd of admirers. She had grown up tall and willowy and lovely as the dawn. Ever since she braided the ribbon in her hair to mark that she was ready for marriage, all the young men and women in her village flocked to her, proclaiming their love, clamoring for a chance to be considered by the lovely Natya. They praised her dazzling emerald eyes, her sunny golden hair, the swan-like curve of her neck, proclaiming her beauty a gift of nature. Natya enjoyed their attention, but she had not singled out any of them. Even she was not sure why.

“That’s very kind Mikhail, but I can carry my own basket. Sonya, you’re so sweet, but I like the sun. Pytor, I can walk around the mud, please don’t ruin your shirt.”

Passing the baker’s stall, Natya caught the sweet aroma of freshly baked pastry. She looked over the heads of her adoring circle. Her feet slowed. The smells coming from the stall were absolutely heavenly. Her stomach growled. She gritted her teeth and shoved that feeling down. She had not eaten since yesterday morning. Being so willowy came at a cost.

“Oh, um, excuse me…” A soft, squeaky voice rose from the back of the crowd.

“Ugh, it’s Lyuba, make room.”

“-snort- Make LOTS of room.”

Lyuba squeezed her way through the reluctant crowd, arms full of sweet honey bread. Short, stumpy Lyuba was the butt of all the young people’s jokes. A lifetime of being fed on fresh bread and pastries by two loving, baking fathers had made her round as an apple. Every one of her dresses was bursting at the seams. Even her name sounded fat.

A few of the boys made pig noises behind their hands. Girls giggled as she waddled past, hissing to each other, “Oh that’s just sad! Is it really so hard to just stop eating?” Lyuba seemed not to notice, smiling sweetly at everyone, apologizing for being in their way (though technically they were in HER way, standing in front of the baker’s stall).

Natya stepped back and looked to the ground. She never made fun of Lyuba like the others, but she knew better than to defend her and risk being associated. Besides, Lyuba’s roundness was a good reminder of why Natya needed to push down the sharp rumbling in her stomach.

Lyuba tripped over an outstretched foot and jostled into Natya’s shoulder. For a moment, their eyes met. Lyuba’s freckled face turned pink. She looked back down and scurried away. Natya watched her go, roly-poly legs pumping, dark curls slipping out of their braid.

“Natya! Come help over here!” Her mother’s voice rang over the busy market.

Natya backed away, dazzling her admirers with her smile. “I have to go now, my mother needs this cloth.”

There was a general outcry of disappointment. Olya stepped in front of her, arms spread dramatically to block her way. “Sweet goddess above, would you leave us like this?”

Ivan took her hand and fell to one knee. “The day will be dark and sad without your face to outshine the sun!”

Pascha threw her arms around Natya’s shoulders. “I will listen every moment for the sweet sound of your returning footsteps!”

Natya disentangled herself from her suitors, laughing, “I really do have to go!”

She hurried to her family’s market stall. Her mother was spreading out bolts of multicolored linen and hanging up masterfully embroidered dresses and shirts. Baba sat in the back corner, rocking in her chair, embroidering a long satin ribbon.

Natya set her basket of silks on the counter. “Mama, it’s still early spring. Isn’t it too soon to start selling clothes for the solstice festival?”

Mama wagged a finger. “It’s never too early to prepare for the summer solstice! Speaking of which, are you prepared?”

Natya blanched. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“You’re of marrying age, Natya. By summer solstice, you need to make a choice about who to marry, or you’ll have to wait for next year! Think of that, Natya! A whole year for wrinkles and gray hair and extra pounds to appear!” Baba, who had plenty of all three, snorted and rolled her eyes. Mama ignored her. “Just pick someone, Natya! It’s not like you don’t have plenty of options!”

“I don’t think any of them are good enough for her.” Baba winked at Natya. “We’ve got a lovely girl here, but she needs someone who will love her up and down, even if she woke up tomorrow with no beauty at all.”

Now it was Mama’s turn to snort and roll her eyes. “Don’t go making up problems, Mother. Natya is beautiful, and that’s all she needs to be to land a good marriage.”

Baba pinned down the last stitch in her ribbon, and held it up for Natya to admire the pattern. “What do you think, dearie? Spiders and birds, charms for protection and luck from Wet Mother Earth.”

“It’s very pretty, Baba.”

Baba patted the stool beside her, and Natya sat down. Baba unwound the plain ribbon from Natya’s hair and began to weave in the new, charmed one.

“Mama, you were supposed to be working on Natya’s festival dress! It won’t be ready in time!”

“I have four months, child! I can take a break from making a gift for my granddaughter to make another gift for my granddaughter.” Natya turned in her stool and kissed Baba’s cheek.

Mama sighed, then her attention shifted to the counter. “Hey! Little boy! Don’t touch that with your sticky hands, that is imported silk!”

Baba gently smoothed Natya’s hair, her gnarled fingers twisting together a perfect braid as easily as they spun a perfect thread. Natya chewed her lip, thinking about what Baba had said earlier.

Lyuba waddled past again, carrying a white cake topped with drizzled chocolate and strawberries. Natya’s stomach rumbled. She shoved that feeling down.