Yvgenie by C.J. Cherryh Page B

There's a vodyanoi! ’
    ‘ I know it. She knows it. But the greater danger's here. ’
    ‘ Me. ’ Things were her fault, they were always her fault, dammit!
    ‘ Mouse, I want you to think as kindly toward her as you can. And be very honest with me—please be honest. Do you promise? ’
    ‘ I didn't do anything!''
    Her father patted her hand. ‘ It's all right.''
    ‘ What are you saying, that I made her leave?'' Her father was mad at her. Her father was treating her the way her mother did when no one cared what was right, her father had his opinion, and that was her mother's doing, dammit, no telling what her mother had told him except it was Ilyana's fault, everything was always Ilyana's fault—her mother arranged it that way.
    Another tear spilled, plop, down her cheek.
    ‘ Don't cry, ’ her father wished her. But her wishing had to stop it. He gathered her up, covers and all, and held her und rocked her, while she laid her head on his shoulder dry-eyed and thought how she wanted—
    No. She mustn't think bad thoughts. Mustn't want people hurt.
    Even her mother, for trying to take her father away from her for good, and for pulling a tantrum and making him blame her, when it was all her mother's fault.
    Her mother never wanted anybody to like her, her mother never, ever wanted her to have anybody, and if she had not fought back and if it were not for uncle Sasha, her mother would have made her father mad at her forever and driven him away. As it was, she was just misera ble, and upset, and she wanted—
    —wanted her friend back.
    Mouse, her uncle reprimanded her. No!
    Uncle Sasha believed she was wrong. Everyone did. All the time.
    Even when she loved them. Her mother took everything she ever wanted away from her and nobody was ever on her side. She had no idea why h er mother wanted her to be alone or why everyone thought she was a fool or why they alw ays protected her mother.
    Her uncle said, inside her head, Mousekin, don't thin k like that. Absolutely we're listening to you. But you have been wrong a couple of times in your life. Haven't you?
    She had to admit yes, but she still refused to believe it tin time. She told her uncle: I've been seeing my friend every spring, every spring since I was little. And he's never hurt me. I don't know why he would now.
    She embarrassed her uncle. She caught something abo ut her being grown-up now and grown-up girls being an entirely different question with a rusalka.
    If men can be rusalki: th at thought came through the con fusion, too. Her uncle was not entirely sure that was poss i ble.
    So maybe you're wrong about what he is. So there, uncle . Who's not listening, now?
    That was impertinent, her mother would say. That would get her sent to her room if her mother were here. Which her mother was not, this morning. And she was already in her room, with her father stroking her hair and saying:
    ‘ Dear mouse, don't give me trouble, please don't give me trouble today. Your mother's gone away so you'll have som e rest and quiet. And we'll talk about it, if you like— ’
    If I don't like, too…
    ‘ But mostly, right now, mouse, I just want you to dry your eyes and come have breakfast and let's not worry about it. ’
    He can only come here a few days more. And then it's another year. And I can't even talk to him—
    Not wise, her uncle said.
    Leave me alone! she wished him.
    But she did not completely mean that. She really did not completely mean that.
    ‘ Breakfast?'' her father asked.
    She nodded against his shoulder. And wished her uncle not to be mad at her, which he was kind enough to tolerate.
     
    I'll make breakfast, ’ Sasha insisted; and Pyetr decided to help —
    Cleverly, he thought, because Ilyana needed something to ta ke her mind off the situation—and two men trying to find essentials in her mother's carefully arranged shelves had her off the bench in short order, had her protecting her moth er’ s things; and perhaps, a devious man could surmise,