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fear her son was dead. He said he would write (a promise he kept, faithfully, until his death), although he only wrote to Meredith and her grandmother—never to Elena.
    Meredith’s grandfather found out his son was gone when he arrived at the slaughterhouse and no one was in the stall opposite him to hold the straps. He worked alone that day, holding the cattle, trying not to wipe at his tearstained eyes with hands flecked with gore.
    One other thing of significance occurred the night Vasily left—his wife gave birth, to a daughter.
    Her father saw Meredith once, and then left forever. Six months later, her mother married Michael Langbein.
    O O O
    Long legs (Langbein means ‘Long Leg’ in German), as her grandmother came to call him, was only somewhat accepted into Meredith’s mother’s circle of friends. Elena’s family accepted him readily enough, and Vasily’s mother accepted him for the sake of the child and her mother. Her grandfather never spoke to him, or even acknowledged his presence during one of their infrequent family visits to her paternal grandparents’ home.
    Michael was tall and swarthy, curly-headed, leaner than her father, and had a distinguished air to him that Vasily would have been uncomfortable with—her grandfather certainly was. Michael had recently become a visiting Professor of Ancient Literature and Historical Studies at the University of Vienna, but most of the year, he taught philosophy at local high schools. He also was the reason, through the proper channels, of course, that Meredith eventually got a scholarship to Oxford—though by that time, she and Michael were no longer speaking, and her grandparents shouldered any financial burdens that arose.
    Elena seemed to miss Vasily terribly, but she would never speak to her daughter of why he chose to leave. For his part, he wrote diligently, sending letters to his mother to be passed on to Meredith. She pleaded many, many times for him to visit, or allow her to visit him, but he always declined—lovingly, if not forcefully. The only hint Meredith was given, however inadvertent, came just before she started school in England, but it was enough to significantly change much in her life.
    One evening, as she continued her preparations to leave Vienna, her grandmother asked Meredith to come to her room to talk. Her grandfather, having settled comfortably with his pipe in front of the fire, did not notice them go, as Meredith thought had been intended. In their room, the old woman pushed aside a dresser and removed a small metal box from the space underneath. Unlocking it with a small key from her apron, she opened it to reveal a sheaf of letters—dozens and dozens of letters, sent over many years by Vasily to Elena.
    “B-but,” Meredith stammered, not understanding, “I thought father never wrote to mother at all, ever. What are these?”
    “He wrote,” said her grandmother. “Every month, sometimes more. He wrote to her, but I never delivered them. You are old enough, now, to know—and I think if your mother will ever read these letters, it should be you who chooses to allow it.”
    “Why?”
    She just shook her head and pressed the bundle into her granddaughter’s trembling hands. “Read. Read and know your family—then decide.” She then stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
    Meredith read the letters, then took them into the next room and threw them into the fire. Her grandmother sat silently, praying, and her grandfather, saying nothing, squeezed her hand as together they watched the papers burn. The next day, Meredith went away to college. She never spoke to Michael again.
    O O O
    “How was he killed?” asked June.
    Hjerald related to them the story he had told Meredith, then again for the Beecrofts, who had rushed to Fuji’s room immediately when they heard what had happened the day before. Thus concerned, Glen even forgot to insult anyone (for a little while, anyway), and Delna was convinced