The Past Part 4

The Past
Part 4

“I have a plan.” Father Paul spoke the words over breakfast the next morning. Two pair of eyes looked at him with apprehension. “I used to minister to a church in Jersey City,” he said. “There was a lady in that church who did what you might call private foster care. I spoke with her last night, and she would like to meet the two of you. If you all get along, she would be willing to provide you with a home.”

“Together?” Tessa asked anxiously. “Because we don’t want to be separated.”

“Yes. Together.” The priest ran his fingers through his hair. “She raised nine children in her apartment. I don’t think you two will daunt her. The best part is that St. Augustine is only a few blocks away from Mrs. Maxim’s apartment. You can attend school there with her grandchildren.”

“Won’t you need our school records for us to go to school?” Dan asked the question quietly. “Because if you ask for the records, they’ll find us.”

“True. But St. Augustine is a private school located within the Ukrainian Catholic Church. I plan on pulling a few strings within the diocese to get you enrolled without questions. Most importantly, you will be away from those Cowhands.”

“Is Jersey City far?” Tessa asked.

“Just across the water, a twenty minute subway trip,” Father Paul explained. “But it’s in New Jersey, which puts a psychological barrier between you and those ruffians. I have a few contacts in the courts. I can keep an ear open, just in case one of your relatives shows up looking for you, but in the mean time, you would be safe. What do you say?”

Tessa looked at Dan. He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Father,” he said. “We would like to meet this Mrs. Maxim.”

“Good. Now eat up. We’ll go this afternoon.”

Yelena Maxim lived in an old and beautiful four-story apartment building two blocks from the river. There were only two apartments on each floor, and Mrs. Maxim lived in apartment 4A. It was a spacious apartment with three bedrooms and a small study. The large kitchen opened up into the living space, and the whole place was decorated in rich, deep colors. Family photographs hung on the walls, and brightly colored scarves covered the many shelves and tables.

Dan and Tessa stood behind Father Paul, their hands clutched tightly. A tiny little white-haired lady with a big smile opened the door. “Come in,” she said brightly. “Come in, and welcome to my home.”

They entered, looking around nervously. Yelena Maxim watched them with kind, shrewd eyes as they took in the apartment. “I have lived here for forty-seven years,” she told them in her heavily accented English. “With my husband, God rest his soul, I raised all nine of our children in this apartment.” She gestured to the couch. “Please. Sit. We will have some tea and we will talk.”

Dan and Tessa planted themselves on the couch, hands still clasped together. Yelena sat in the overstuffed chair opposite and began pouring tea into small glasses. The glasses looked like regular juice glasses, but they sat in metal rings with ornate handles. Mrs. Maxim handed a glass to Father Paul, sitting in the wing chair, and then to Tessa.

“I’ve never seen a tea cup like this,” Tessa said quietly. “It’s very pretty.”

“It is very Ukrainian in design,” Mrs. Maxim told her, handing Dan a cup and pouring one for herself. “My husband and I brought it with us from Minsk, the place where we were born.”

“When did you move to New Jersey?” Tessa asked.

“Nearly fifty years ago. I was a young bride, and my husband, Denis wanted so much more than what was available in our homeland.” Mrs. Maxim sipped her tea and offered around a plate of cookies. “War was coming in Europe, and the communists had taken over in Russia. We left and came to New York.”

“It must have been hard to leave your family.” Dan spoke for the first time.

“It was very hard. But we had each other, and we had dreams of a good life in America. So we came, and it was very hard that first year. Our son Grigori was born while we still lived in very poor circumstances. By the time our daughter, Marina, was born, Denis had found a wonderful job that allowed us to move here, to New Jersey.”

“Father Paul said you have nine children,” Tessa said.

“Indeed I do.” Mrs. Maxim pulled a photo album from the shelf under the coffee table and moved to the couch, sitting between Tessa and Dan. “This is my Grigori, my oldest. Then there is Marina, Nikodim, Elina, Sergei, Alexei, Pavel, Ekaterina, and, finally, Stefan. They are all married and have given me beautiful grandchildren. I have twenty-eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.”

“Do they all live around here?” Dan asked.

“No. They have gone many different ways. Grigori owns a restaurant in New York City. Marina married a man who works on movies. She lives in Oregon. Nikodim lives near here. You will attend school with his children, and also with Katya and Sergei’s, as they also live nearby. Elina lives in Connecticut, Alex in Albany, and my Stefan is in Europe.” She closed the album with a smile. “It is a lot to take in, yes?”

Both teens nodded. Dan licked his lips and asked, “What would you like to know about us?”

“I know a little bit already.” Mrs. Maxim moved back to her chair. “I know that you have had a bad time in state foster care. I know that you are alone here and waiting for relatives to come for you. I know that the two of you have a strong bond, and that you want to stay together as much as possible.” She paused, looking at Father Paul. “And I know that Father Paul is vouching for you. Is there more?”

Dan hesitated. “I sort of joined a street gang,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to, and I really don’t want to be with them, but...”

“I told her already, Dan,” Father Paul interrupted. “Mrs. Maxim knows that there is a chance that members of the gang might come looking for you.”

Dan sighed with relief. “I just thought you needed to know. Father Paul helped me paint out the gang name on my jacket, and I definitely don’t want them to come here, but Luke, he’s the leader, he doesn’t want to let me go.”

“It is good you told me, Daniel,” Mrs. Maxim said. “It speaks well of you, that you are concerned. We will deal with that if and when we need to.”

“Does that me you are going to let us stay with you?” Tessa asked.

“Da...I mean, yes,” Yelena Maxim told her. “You and Daniel are welcome in my home. I will expect you to help out around the house, and to do well at school. I also will expect you to do your togetherness activities in the common areas. You will each have your own room. I expect you to stay out of each other’s rooms.”

Tessa felt her face redden, and looked to see Dan also blushing. “Yes, ma’am.” They both replied at the same time, and then laughed. “That won’t be a problem, Mrs. Maxim,” Dan assured her.

“Call me Yaya. That is what my grandchildren call me, and I will consider you as my grandchildren.”

“Why do they call you Yaya?” Tessa asked curiously. “The Russian word for grandmother is baba or babushka, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is. Do you speak Russian?”

“No. My dad had just started teaching me when he died. I can pronounce Cyrillic letters, but not much else.” Tessa smiled shyly. “I can speak and read French, Spanish, German, Italian and Hawaiian. Dad was a linguist, and he wanted to teach me Japanese and Russian, but I was still learning the characters.”

“I will teach you to speak Ukrainian, if you like,” Yelena Maxim told her. “All of my children and most of my grandchildren are bilingual. But you asked how babushka became Yaya. It is simple. When my first grandchild was born, I had, myself, a baby only eleven months old. I did not feel like a grandmother. My older son took my initials and created Yaya, which is also Greek for grandma. My name is Yelena Alina Yurianova Maxim. Y-A-Y and a little “a” for the end. Yaya. They have called me that ever since. Even my baby, my Stefan calls me Yaya instead of Mama.”

“What a wonderful story,” Tessa exclaimed. “I always called my grandma Noni, even though most kids in Hawaii call theirs Tutu. Daddy always said I was showing my aptitude in language early. Noni is Italian for grandma.”

“Well. It is settled.” Yaya rose from her chair. “Let me show you to your rooms, and I will prepare dinner for us while you get settled. You will begin school on Monday.” She looked at Father Mazzeo. “You have arranged for their clothing and books?”

He nodded. “Yes. Everything will be sent over tomorrow.”

“Good. You will stay for dinner. I have made borscht and rye bread.”

“Oh, yes! I’ll definitely stay.” Father Paul turned to the kids. “This lady can cook like no other. I guarantee the two of you will gain ten pounds in the next two months.”

Yaya chuckled. “Get on with you, Father. Help the children while I cook. We will sit down together and you will bless our meal, yes?”

“Indeed. It will be my pleasure.” He leaned down and kissed the old lady on the cheek. “God will bless you for your kindness, Yelena Maxim.”

“He has already blessed me more than one can believe.” She patted the priest’s cheek and started for the kitchen.

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