Ivan’s cause of death was drowning. More precisely, drowning due to a slip.
He had warmly welcomed the Count, an old friend who had traveled from afar to find him, and it was said that he had slipped while trying to show off the riverside scenery, the village’s only point of pride.
Though the villagers valued a single coin more than the word of God, they all expressed their condolences for the death of a pastor who had traveled to such a remote countryside for the sake of saving souls.
Ivan’s coffin was placed in the center of the church chapel. Since it was the season when everything froze, no flowers bloomed in the fields, so the people fashioned bouquets out of mistletoe and placed them upon his coffin.
Anastasia sat in the front row of the chapel, staring blankly at her father’s coffin. The Village Head looked at Anastasia with pity.
The child, who had always worn old, tattered clothes, was now dressed in black garments that the Count had hurriedly procured from a large village nearby. To think that the first fine clothes she would ever wear in her life were mourning clothes. The Village Head looked at the Count, who was greeting the villagers in place of young Anastasia, and spoke to her.
"He is a gracious man. You must never forget to live with a heart of gratitude."
"……."
Instead of answering, Anastasia nodded weakly. The Count was indeed a gracious man. To Anastasia, and to the Village Head as well.
In such a cold winter, burying someone is a difficult task. That is why those who die in winter are cremated. However, cremation requires firewood. When the Village Head cautiously mentioned this fact, the Count ordered him to be given ten gold coins and then said:
"As for the firewood, see that you prepare it without stint."
Ten gold coins for firewood. When the Village Head asked for the wood, the people, hearing that they would be paid without having to travel to the large village, brought out every bit of firewood they had in their sheds. Thanks to this, a mountain of firewood was piled up on the outskirts of the village. Ivan’s body would burn very well.
That was not the only thing for which they were grateful to the Count.
'He is even taking the child in.'
When he heard the news that Ivan had died, the Village Head immediately thought of Anastasia.
In cases where a child loses their parents in the village, the wealthiest person in the village usually takes them in. It is not exactly a losing proposition. In this barren land, a human being is an important labor force; even if you only feed them one potato a day, they can dig up a hundred later. However, the Village Head did not want to take responsibility for Anastasia.
'I can see why the pastor kept her locked away.'
She was twelve years old, yet she had a small, thin frame that made her look at most eight. Even so, the villagers who had come to mourn the deceased’s final journey kept glancing at Anastasia. Especially the men.
The Village Head had seen Anastasia’s mother. When the pastor first arrived, the woman at his side, heavily pregnant, had been a beautiful woman, even if she was clearly sickly. He had hidden her deep within the church, and by the time he saw her again, she was already buried on the hill.
The pastor had been so possessive of his wife that he had buried her alone, without anyone else knowing. Since then, he had kept his daughter, who resembled her quite a bit, locked away. He must have known she would grow up like this.
'Anton has been talking about that child quite a bit lately, too.'
The Village Head knew that his son had been hovering around the church every day, waiting to see if Anastasia would come out. He knew that was why he had wanted the new dictionary he had bought him—to lure her out. And now, to bring Anastasia into his own home?
'That won't do.'
His son was not a child meant to rot in a place like this. He was a child who would go to a larger city, no, to the capital, and become the pride of the family. But if Anastasia were there, he would undoubtedly follow her around like a puppy. And one day, he might even find that girl lying in his son’s bed.
That was not the future the Village Head desired. He had been worrying about where to send her, as it wasn't appropriate to just send her anywhere, but then the Count offered to take her. The Village Head had easily cleared away his problem.
After the few villagers had paid their respects, Ivan’s coffin was immediately placed upon the pyre.
The ignited pyre burned fiercely. It burned for a day and a half. The Village Head gathered the remaining bone fragments from the ashes and placed them in a wooden box. He then handed it to Anastasia, who was standing in front of the carriage.
"Mind the Count well."
"Yes…."
Anastasia looked up, startled by the warmth of her father, which she was feeling for the first time. Far away, on the hill beyond the church, her mother’s headstone looked very small.
As Anastasia climbed into the carriage and looked out the window, the villagers who had gathered to see the Count off waved their hands. The children all looked at Anastasia with envious eyes.
To think that the most pitiful child in the village would be going to the Count’s estate in an instant. To the country folk, working at a noble’s mansion was the greatest honor imaginable.
While Anastasia hesitated, unable to even offer a greeting as she received such gazes for the first time, the Count pulled up the leather curtain used as a window. Anastasia closed her eyes. She did not know where she was going, but she felt as though this golden carriage would take her to a more beautiful place.
As the carriage moved, the villagers bowed their heads. When they lifted them a while later, the carriage was already leaving the village. The great event of the Count’s visit, which had occurred in the small country village, had come to an end.
Once the carriage completely crossed the hill and disappeared from sight, the people returned to their homes. From tomorrow, it would be the same boring daily life again.
There was a fact they were forgetting amidst the great event of the Count’s visit. The fact that in this season, there was no ground thawed enough to slip on. And even if one had fallen, there was no river thawed enough for a person to be swept away.
Without anyone thinking of that, they would only remember the Count’s visit forever.
***
"Ugh…."
Inside the swaying carriage, Anastasia covered her mouth. Then, she cautiously looked up to gauge the Count’s mood. Even though three days had passed since they boarded the carriage, his demeanor remained upright and elegant.
After calming her churning stomach, Anastasia hugged the carriage cushion. Her father’s remains, which she had been holding when she left the village, were no longer in her arms. Not long after they left the village, the Count had taken them and thrown them right out of the carriage.
The remains that were supposed to be buried in Ivan’s hometown had been tossed onto land she didn't even know. Anastasia had stood up in shock, but under the Count’s cold gaze, she had no choice but to sit back down.
It wasn't that she had any affection for her father. But he was still a person connected to her by the name of family….
After throwing away her father’s remains, the Count, who had been cold for a while, began to act kindly again after some time had passed. He sat across from Anastasia and began to talk about her mother. Thanks to that, Anastasia was able to learn things about her mother she had never known.
As her name, Chloe, suggested, she was not from Novgod, but from Ils. She had been crossing the North Sea by ship when it sank, and she had survived by clinging to a floating bag until Ivan, a fisherman, rescued her. The family she had been traveling with had died, and with not even a cousin to contact, her mother had nowhere to go; a year later, Chloe married Ivan. And one month after that marriage, she met Count Lauderdale, who had been vacationing at a villa near that beach.
"It was a good time. Your mother wouldn't go home, so your father visited the villa every day."
The Count laughed lowly as he said those words. Even though it was the sound of laughter, Anastasia trembled. The laughing Count was, in some way, terrifying. After three or four short stories, the Count said no more.
The difficult and awkward journey continued. Then, when the carriage suddenly began to travel on a road that swayed less, she heard the coachman say that the mansion was not far off. At the coachman’s voice, the Count said to Anastasia:
"You will need a new name."
"A new… name?"
"Yes. I, too, am from the glorious Ils. Therefore, the things I cherish on my land shall bear the name of Ils. So, I shall bestow one upon you as well."
Things he cherished. Those words lingered in Anastasia’s ears.
Just then, the coachman’s voice was heard again.
"We have arrived, Count."
At that, the Count threw open the curtain he had kept drawn throughout the journey.
"Ah!"
Anastasia closed her eyes at the sudden influx of sunlight. The overly bright sunlight created darkness in her vision. Because of that, Anastasia could see nothing for a moment. Instead, she could feel other things. The warm breeze that one could not imagine in winter, the fragrance mixed into that breeze, the chirping of beautiful birds she had never heard before.
After her eyelids moved slowly, the scenery began to take shape. The moment the blurriness sharpened, Anastasia stood up abruptly and approached the window, forgetting even the fact that the Count was there.
"Ah…."
At what entered her field of vision, Anastasia could not say a word other than a short exclamation.
Just a few days ago, she had been in a desolate frozen land, but outside, spring had arrived. A vast meadow full of grass, sheep grazing here and there, a river quietly sparkling and flowing in the sunlight, and colorful flowers. And beyond that, a massive mansion.
The Count did not rebuke Anastasia for her rude behavior. Instead, he spoke with pride.
"This is my land, Edenhurst."
At his answer, the corners of Anastasia’s eyes turned red. Ah, I have finally….
A short distance away, there was a large stone with the name of the land engraved upon it.
Anastasia wept quietly, engraving that name into her eyes, her mind, and her heart.
Edenhurst
That was the name of the Paradise Anastasia had longed for so much.
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