The Altar Girl: A Prequel

CHAPTER 2

After studying his compass and map carefully, Nadia’s father hacked off a dead limb from one of the trees. The morning sun poured through the gaps between the branches and made a circle of light atop a bed of pine needles. He told Nadia to sit down precisely in that spot, and she obeyed. Nadia’s brother, Marko, stood off to the side sipping water from his canteen.

Beads of sweat covered her arms as though her skin was a pancake in the making. Her body pulsated from the two-mile hike. She was warmed up. Ready for the survival test. The details were a closely guarded secret, but she figured she’d have to build a camp and survive a night alone.

Nadia took three deep breaths. She could do it. Whatever it took, she could do it. She wouldn’t let her father and her brother down. Heck, the forest wasn’t the worst place in the world. Not even close. In a month, she’d turn twelve and school would start again. Sixth grade. The day before summer vacation, Rachel Backus and her friends had promised to flush her “disgusting Russian head down the toilet” in September. She’d told them her parents were Ukrainian, not Russian, and that there was a big difference. They’d disagreed, and promised her head was going down the toilet no matter where it came from.

Nadia looked around. Recognized the dip in the path ahead that lead down to the river. Diamondback Pass, they called it, because you could hear the rattlers hiss if you stepped in the wrong place. She spent her summers twenty miles away on a five-hundred-acre lot of land in northwestern Connecticut that Ukrainian immigrants had bought on the cheap in the 1950s. They used it as the setting for their PLAST scout camps. Plastun was the historical Ukrainian name for a Cossack scout or sentry. Sometimes the counselors bussed the plastuny and plastunky north to the Appalachian Trail to hike for the day. Nadia remembered the spot by its pine groves.

Her father walked up to her. He reminded her of an old lion, with sandy hair combed straight back and blown thick by the wind.

“Nadia, you live in America,” he said in Ukrainian. “The greatest country in the world. This makes you a lucky girl. You understand that, don’t you, my kitten?”

“Yes, father.”

“And you’re sitting at the exact point,” he said, tapping his right index finger on the map in his left hand, “where Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New York meet. This makes you an even luckier girl. How many girls can say they’ve been in three states at the same time?”

Nadia glanced at the ground beside her. “Really?” A smile spread on her already-chapped lips. “That is so cool.”

“And now you’re going to become the youngest girl ever to pass the PLAST survival test. Are you ready?”

“Yes, father.”

“Good.

“Here is your knapsack. Inside you’ll find a compass and map, food and water for one day, three matches, a knife, a poncho, a plastic bag, some twine, a flashlight, and a mess kit. Attached to the bottom of the knapsack is your sleeping bag. You must survive three nights on your own with just these things. Do you understand?”

What? Three nights? Nadia nodded her head mechanically and managed a “Yes, father.” He couldn’t possibly mean it. He and Marko would probably be close by. Yeah, that was it. They’d be close by.

“Your brother and I will be far away,” he said. He glared at Marko the way he did when he was ready to ream one of them out, which was pretty much all the time. “Neither of us will be holding your hand.”

Marko gave their father a blank stare in return, but Nadia knew Marko was probably fantasizing about drop-kicking him from here to Niagara Falls.

Her father knelt before her so they were face-to-face. Nadia bit her tongue to try to look strong.

“Your parents are immigrants,” he said. “You have a strange name. You speak a strange language. And you are not a Barbie doll. That is the cruel truth. You aren’t going to get by in this world with your looks alone.

“To succeed in this country, you’re going to have to compete with men. Men are selfish, petty, and cruel. The world where this behavior is rewarded is called business. To beat men in business you will have to be smarter and tougher than them. We know you’re smart. We know you’re very, very smart. But are you tough?”

Nadia tried to sniff in the tears before they rolled out. She bit down harder on her tongue. “Yes, father.”

He smiled for a beat, and turned his face into granite. “We’ll see. You’re on your own for three days.” He handed Nadia a whistle attached to a long pink chain she could wear around her neck. “For emergency purposes. If all else fails, get to high ground, and blow.” He turned to Marko. “Let’s go, slacker.”

Marko walked over to Nadia. She spied the concern and affection in his eyes that always perked her up. As soon as Marko caught her glance, though, he put on his easygoing smile, the one that wanted to make light of any situation.

“It’s just three days, Nancy Drew,” he said. “Three days is nothing. You and me, we can take three days of anything, right?”

Nadia stood up and looked her brother in the eyes. “Right.”

She tried to muster her inner strength, but her lips trembled and her eyes watered. She was about to look like a pathetic little girl, the same weakling she’d been before Marko had made her strong. The thought of him seeing her cry was unbearable, so she jumped up, grabbed her knapsack, and ran farther into the forest. She knew how to appear cool even if she was nervous. It was part of daily living because her father made her nervous all the time.

“I’ll be okay,” she said over her shoulder. “I can do this. If a boy can do it, I can do it.”

“That’s right, Nancy Drew. If a boy can do it, you can do it.” A few seconds passed and then she heard Marko’s voice again. Louder now, to make sure she heard him. “Hey little sister. What’s your name?”

“Nadia,” she said.

“What does it mean?”

This time she turned her face to the side so her voice would carry in his direction and shouted, “Hope.”

She walked aimlessly for a minute, wishing she’d never agreed to take the stupid test. The merit badge wouldn’t make a difference. All the kids would still pick on her. Compete with men? What the heck was her father talking about? This whole thing was wacko. She didn’t want to compete with anybody. She wanted to be left alone.

Eventually the walking calmed her down, and her training kicked in. Her PLAST troop master was Mrs. Chimchak, a woman who’d fought for a free Ukraine against the Nazis and the communists in World War II. She thought American kids were spoiled, so her purpose in life was to make her scouts miserable. She’d taught them survival skills, how to build a shelter and an eternal fire, even how to gather water from dew with nothing more than a bowl, a plastic bag, and a pebble.

Nadia headed down the path in the opposite direction from where her father and brother had disappeared. The first thing she had to do was find the right place to build her camp. It had to be near water so she could boil it and drink it, but on higher ground so if it rained the water would flow away from her. As a plan for a campsite began to take shape, the tears stopped flowing and she started to believe she could do this. In fact, it might not be so bad. Maybe she’d want to stay a fourth and fifth day for fun.

But as she descended toward the river, the sun vanished behind a patch of clouds and the darkness of the forest enveloped her. A light wind shook the pine trees to either side of her and they began to whisper and move as though they were human, capable of pulling her to their trunks with their branches and devouring her with hidden mouths, and deep down, Nadia knew she was mistaken.