It was already time to prepare for Easter, but spring was still lingering. The ice on the river hadn’t broken yet, though it had darkened. And there was nothing surprising about it—frosts came at night, and there was no real warmth even during the day.
Clutching her lower back with one hand, pregnant Olivia waddled toward the riverbank. Walking was hard; her tired legs ached. At least Michael had helped carry the basket of laundry. Childbirth wasn’t far off, and her husband never left her side. He took care of her and tried to help.
“Definitely another boy,” all the neighbor women declared.
“Our Olivia’s belly is pointy.”
And Michael just listened and smiled.
“What joy—a second son! And five-year-old Johnny will have more fun with a little brother.”
Meanwhile, mischievous Johnny ran ahead in leaps, splashing water from the dirty spring puddles in all directions.
The family stopped at the well. The tireless village gossips were already chattering away.
— Michael, set the laundry on the bank, then go for a walk with Johnny. I’ll rest here a bit, gather my strength, and head to the rinsing spot myself. Come back in an hour. I won’t finish sooner.
Spotting Olivia, the village women waved warmly. Come join us, stand with us, chat. Vera was the most vocal. They didn’t call this young, cheerful woman the News Bulletin for nothing. Her voice was loud—heard all over the neighborhood. She’d share gossip loudly or start debating politics.
— This is no joke at all. Don’t you understand? — Vera chimed in relentlessly. — I’m telling you! What, their Korean plane just flew straight at us? Didn’t you see where it was headed? No way, my dears, this is no coincidence. Grandma Nadia told me yesterday at the store—it’s some kind of sign.
— That’s it, here we go again! Stop screeching! Your tongue’s like a broom. You pick up a rumor and run with it! And the truth doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll go to the club in the evening. That’s where you’ll hear the news, — Mrs. Andrews grumbled sternly.
The elderly woman was respected in the settlement. And how could she not be—she was the widow of their former collective farm chairman.
The women nodded approvingly at Mrs. Andrews, and Vera finally fell silent. Mrs. Andrews turned to Olivia with a smile.
— Hello, dear. When are you planning to give birth?
— Soon, very soon, Mrs. Andrews. Just two weeks left.
At that moment, Michael was returning from the river, with Johnny laughing beside him. Approaching the chatty women, the man said seriously:
— The footbridge is completely soaked. Johnny almost tumbled into the polynya by miracle. So be careful there.
Olivia nodded and hugged her son tightly. But he couldn’t stand still, wriggling free, laughing, telling something. Then Michael calmed the mischievous boy, and they left together.
And the women—all as one—began to admire. What luck to find such a husband! A golden man! Calm, caring, handy—what more do you need for happiness? Just live and be happy. Praise poured from the village gossips’ mouths. And Olivia listened and smiled modestly.
In the distance, a slender silhouette appeared. The women peered closely.
— That’s our Valerie, the loose one, — Vera squealed.
— Yep, it’s her, — someone replied, and everyone fell meaningfully silent.
Valerie approached unhurriedly, holding herself straight and proud. It seemed the villagers’ scornful glances didn’t affect her at all. Surprisingly, even the laundry basket in Valerie’s fragile hands seemed almost weightless.
Olivia frowned disapprovingly and began to reproach herself. She’d stood with the women for a whole hour, ears wide open. Now she’d have to rinse laundry next to Valerie. Well, nothing to be done. Olivia sighed in frustration and slowly trudged to the bank.
Dipping the duvet cover into the cold water, the woman glanced furtively at Valerie. Look at her, so deft! The work was going smoothly for Valerie! She’d already wrung it out.
Neatly folding the laundry into the basket, hardworking Valerie left. Olivia clenched her teeth irritably. In the village, they didn’t like the “loose” one, mocked her, tried to sting. But Olivia felt a special dislike for this woman. And there were reasons for it.
Once they had been friends. They studied together at school, planned to enter agricultural college together. Inseparable. At that time, the collective farm was busy with construction. They were planning to open a new farm with the most modern equipment. They couldn’t do without city specialists. They invited a whole team and housed them in the dormitory. The guys were young, often went to the club, danced, socialized with the girls.
Among them stood out Victor—a tall, charming brunette. As luck would have it, he caught the eye of both friends. But they tried not to discuss it. One evening after dancing, Victor offered to walk them home. Olivia lived nearby, so they said goodbye to her quickly. Then Victor and Valerie walked on alone. And that’s how the romance started. Poor Olivia harbored resentment in her heart.
The former friends entered agricultural college. True, they planned to study by correspondence. The collective farm lacked workers, and the chairman persuaded them to go to the new farm.
Soon, happy Valerie announced her pregnancy to her fiancé. But Victor wasn’t happy at all. The assignment ended, and the future father quickly left for the city. Didn’t even say goodbye. It turned out the guy had been married for a long time, with a child growing at home.
Olivia didn’t gloat much. She felt a bit sorry for the unlucky rival. After all, if things had gone differently, she could have been in deceived Valerie’s place. True, offended Olivia firmly supported the general condemnation. She even spoke at the youth league meeting, denouncing Valerie’s immoral behavior. Maybe it wasn’t right, but a woman’s pride is serious.
Valerie had it hard. Even now, village gossips loved to chatter about unlucky single mothers. What about back then! As soon as Valerie’s belly grew, they called her loose. She’d step outside, and insults followed. She didn’t try to talk to anyone—they’d spit and turn away. She should have left for the city, but her grandmother was sick at home. How could she abandon the old woman? Priscilla didn’t judge her granddaughter. Her heart ached, but she couldn’t protect her. The woman had grown very frail, so she didn’t leave the yard. She’d step out, stand on the porch, then return inside—she needed to lie down and rest.
Little Iris became Valerie’s salvation. And joy for Grandma Priscilla in her old age! True, she couldn’t watch the great-granddaughter, so they had to send her to daycare. Valerie worked all day on the farm, sparing herself nothing. For her beloved daughter’s sake.
Several years passed. Priscilla grew very weak and quietly died. Left without moral support, Valerie felt loneliness. If only she could marry a good man! But who would take a loose woman as a wife?
Of course, there were admirers—among the reckless womanizers. They’d pass by the yard, flirt, invite themselves over. But Valerie rejected frivolous offers; she didn’t need that. One particularly persistent fellow, drunk, started pounding on the door. Valerie hit him with a shovel—he had to go to the clinic.
His wife came for a showdown. You’re loose, you give him reason yourself. Valerie said nothing—just silently grabbed the shovel. The scandalmonger vanished like the wind. She never showed up again. But rumors spread through the village again, and poor Valerie was hated even more. The village women harassed poor Iris too. “Like mother, like daughter.” And so they lived in isolation—strangers in their own village.
But luck smiled on Olivia. She got a good husband—hardworking, easygoing. Mischievous Johnny was growing, they awaited a second child. After successfully graduating from college, the girl got a job as a livestock specialist. Everything was smooth at work, they built a good house, got a household. There it was—woman’s happiness!
But as soon as she thought of Valerie, an unpleasant prick in her heart. Wasn’t she guilty of anything? So what if she spoke at the youth league meeting. The whole village condemned her! But no matter how Olivia reassured herself, that heavy feeling returned.
In the last week before Easter, it rained heavily. And right on Maundy Thursday, the river finally broke up. Everyone not busy at the collective farm went to the bank for a walk. They wanted to see the spring ice drift. And the sight was truly impressive. The river seemed to come alive and breathe. The thick ice crust rose and crashed with a crack. The roar reached the village. Only along the banks did the fragile, melting edge still hold, ready to suddenly break off, crack, and dissolve in the murky river water.
Olivia cleaned the house, polished the floors to a shine, and cooked plenty for dinner. There was plenty of time left. And her son really wanted to go outside—you couldn’t keep him in the yard.
— Oh, you’re a lively one, son. Well, let’s go to the river.
Quite a crowd gathered by the river. Soon milkmaids joined the old folks and curious kids. They had a break between milkings. Adults settled a bit farther away, while the children ran right by the ice, trying to break it with sticks. The women yelled at them, and they laughed back.
Valerie and Iris arrived too. They stood aside and silently admired the raging river. The little girl was dressed to the nines, sporting a brand-new blue coat. Such a thing was rare in the village. And Mom, apparently straight from the farm—in a work smock and old vest.
Olivia looked at them and paused for a moment. Johnny was nowhere in sight. “Sonny, where are you?” — the woman muttered confusedly and suddenly froze tensely. Shrill cries came from the river:
— People, people, save him, quick! There’s a boy on the ice!
“No, no, not him, not my sonny!” Olivia turned her head to the river, and her mother’s heart nearly burst with fear. An ice floe had broken off from the bank, and Johnny stood on it. Olivia jerked toward the bank, her vision darkened, the ground slipped away… And the woman fell in helplessness.
Not only she ran. Everyone except the elderly crowded at the water’s edge. The floe drifted slowly away. And suddenly a blue shadow flashed—landing near Johnny. “Iris, honey, stop, wait!” — Valerie panicked. The brave girl grabbed the toddler firmly and tried to jump back. But it was too late; the floe cracked under the children’s feet and began to break apart.
— Don’t move, sweetie, just don’t move, everything will be fine, don’t stir, — the woman repeated pleadingly, not taking her eyes off her daughter.
At the river bend, a jam formed; the floe stopped briefly. Valerie walked resolutely straight toward it. The water reached her chest, but the floe held. She made it!
— Come on, Johnny, don’t be afraid, auntie will get you, — Valerie whispered quietly and reached out to the boy.
She grabbed him and quickly pulled back. On the bank, the women caught Johnny. “Look, girls, he’s dry, didn’t even wet his feet. Good job, Valerie!”
And Valerie rushed for Iris.
Just a little more. One step, and her daughter was saved. But suddenly a crack, and the girl went under. “No, honey, no!” The poor mother threw herself after, and both vanished in the cold, churning mess.
On the bank, no one moved. Tense anticipation hung. Olivia hugged crying Johnny and stared at the water. A few more seconds passed, and a child’s head appeared on the surface. “Iris, thank God! And there’s Valerie. Alive! Alive!” — the crowd buzzed joyfully. Some quick-thinking man spotted a plank from the footbridge by the bank and extended it to the exhausted woman. Valerie clung with her last strength; they pulled them out quickly. The crowd sighed in relief.
Olivia watched as if in a dream. The women comforted Iris, said something to Valerie, pulled off their clothes, tried to warm them. Then consciousness blurred, sharp pain pierced her belly, exhausted Olivia cried out loudly. Contractions were starting. Michael arrived in time, took his wife to the maternity ward, and soon a wonderful blue-eyed girl was born. They chose the name immediately—they called her Valentina.
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