He takes our bags and leads me to a large brick building that looks almost like an apartment building. It’s well-kept and maintained outside, neatly trimmed green bushes flanking the entrance, and stone steps leading to the main door. A wreath graces its center, with oranges and golds.
It isn’t until then that I really look around us. I couldn’t see much from the airport and even less through the tinted windows of our ride, but now my eyes widen in surprise and I breathe out, “Wow.”
It’s… like nothing I’ve seen before. The trees around us are afire with golden, burnt orange, and crimson leaves. We’ve arrived during peak foliage in New England, the magnificent vibrant colors more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. We don’t see a change in seasons like this in San Diego.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Dobrynin,” Tomas says with a smile. He’s proud, but I’m not sure if he’s proud of his home or me. Both? “Have you ever visited New England in fall?”
“Never,” I breathe. “It’s stunning.”
He chuckles. Something in me thrills at the sound, so rare it’s precious. I like making him smile.
“I’m honored to witness your first visit.” Opening the door to the large building, he gestures for me to go in ahead of him. I do, still turning to look around us at everything I missed before the large, solid door shuts.
“How long does it last?” I ask him.
“Weeks,” he says. “It’s a stage, a process if you will. What begins as minor coloring as the leaves die off morphs into full, beautiful foliage. But the beauty is a sign of dying. The leaves need to die off before new ones grow.”
I mull over his words quietly, the romantic in me wondering if it’s a sort of metaphor. Does everything die in beauty before welcoming new growth and opportunity?
“How many weeks do we have left?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “All depends on the weather.”
“My guess is three.” A soft female voice comes from behind me. I start, then swivel around to look at who spoke. She’s a pale blonde woman wearing a simple dress. When I turn to look at her, she flushes madly, as if embarrassed that she captured my attention. She looks as if she wants the earth to swallow her hole, which amuses me considering she volunteered this information. Do I intimidate her? Or does she always flush so easily?
“Yvonne,” Tomas says in greeting. She bows her head when he speaks to her and doesn’t meet his eyes.
“I spoke out of turn, sir,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re fine,” he says. “You’re allowed to speak.” His permission startles me. What sort of command does he hold that others wonder if they’re allowed to speak?
“Yvonne, meet my wife Caroline. Caroline, Yvonne.” I feel a bit shy myself after the introduction.
She shakes my hand, her own cold and clammy.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say.
“Yvonne, where is Yakov?”
“He said he’d be waiting for you in your office, sir.”
Tomas nods and looks to me. “Yvonne, will you show Caroline to our room? A few things have happened that I need to catch up on with Yakov.”
“Yes, of course.”
Yvonne comes to me and gestures for me to follow her. It surprises me how hard it is for me to leave Tomas. I know nothing of where we are or who I’ll meet within these walls, and my past experience makes me hesitant to be without the man who protects me. Reluctantly, I go down a hall while Tomas walks in the opposite direction.
“Who is Yakov?” I ask her.
“My husband,” she says quietly, a small smile playing on her lips.
We walk in silence, and I’m pleased to note she seems happy to be married to him.
“And your husband…” I think for a moment. Tomas says he’s under no one’s authority, which means her husband must be under Tomas’ authority. “He answers to Tomas?”
She nods eagerly, her eyes wide and brilliant. “We all do,” she says, then adds as an afterthought. “Even you.”
I don’t respond, mulling this over.
“How long have you been married?” I ask.
“Not long. Only several weeks.”
There are so many things I want to ask her. Surely Tomas wouldn’t have allowed me to be alone with her if I wasn’t to speak of my situation?
“Do you know how I came to be here?” I ask her curiously.
“Yes. You were given to Tomas by your brother.” She doesn’t even flinch. This is nothing out of the ordinary to her.
She leads me up a flight of stairs. The wooden floorboards are shiny and polished but creak a little when we step on them. This is an old house, but well kept. The ceilings are so high I couldn’t reach them on a ladder, and the staircase we’re ascending goes up four more flights. I wonder how many of his brotherhood live here. And just when I wonder why he didn’t guard me more heavily, and I’m flirting with the idea that he actually might trust me a little, I see the two armed men following only several paces behind us. He wouldn’t need to protect me within the walls of the brotherhood commands. It only stands to reason, then, that they’re here to make sure I don’t leave.