Peaceful Places

Daryna held her mother’s hand as they explored the largest town of a very small country. A few paces back, her brother Symon begged her father to return to the sweet shop.

Her father pretended to sound very cross as he told Symon not to be a greedy boy. And Daryna could not help but laugh.

Suddenly Daryna gasped and stared ahead. There were a dozen gorgeous teapots before her. Not just any teapots! Teapots that could float!

As her mother led her closer she was able to see that the teapots were actually part of the wall of a corner tea shop.

“Look, Mama! Teapots! We could make grandma’s teapot part of our house!”

“What a thought, my Daryna! But then we couldn’t make tea and remember your grandma when we do!”

“But we could remember her when we looked at the wall!”

Her mother chuckled. “That’s true. One day when we can’t use the teapot to make tea, perhaps we’ll make a new plan.”

Daryna nodded.

“We’ve had a long walk,” her mother remarked. “How about we take a rest and have some tea?”

“Make sure Symon’s has sugar.”

Her mother laughed.

“Do you suppose they make tea as well as grandma used to?”

“No, Daryna. No one makes tea the way your grandma could.”

“Not even you, Mama?”

“Not even me.”

***

Twenty Years Later

A loud boom shook the walls and a jolt rattled the ground. They had expected an attack but not now, not so early. Daryna had to hurry. She rushed to the front room, snatched up two bags, handed the smaller one to her mother, and slung the larger one over her shoulder.

“So heavy, Mama! You packed too much!” Daryna declared. But there wasn’t a moment to lose. “Come. We have to run.” She grabbed her mother’s hand and they sped through the doorway. Smoke consumed the sky and flames danced from the house down the street.

Daryna pulled her mother as she led them forward. Drones buzzed overhead and the blast of a bomb echoed from the center of town. The road was a stream of fearful faces. Everyone was desperate to reach the edge of the crowded structures and seek sanctuary amongst the trees.

Daryna was grateful they wouldn’t have far to go. Her mother’s bad knees slowed them down and the shouts of the scared people overwhelmed her. But Daryna tugged her along past the cemetery where her father’s tombstone stood.

“Daryna!” her mother yelled. “Where’s Symon?”

“At work, Mama! He can look for us once we’re safe!”

They were nearly there. Past the town boundary lay a vast expanse of forest.

Then suddenly they were knocked to the ground as the warehouse near them exploded. Daryna got to her knees. She’d lost hold of her mother’s hand.

“Mama!” she called.

A scream rang out as the warehouse began to collapse.

Daryna’s eyes darted madly. A wave of metal and concrete was about to descend. Where was her mother? Someone grabbed her shoulders and yanked her away as the warehouse tumbled.

“Mama!” she screamed.

Once they reached the woods the hands released her. Daryna peered at the face of the man who saved her. She attempted to say thank you, but only sobs escaped her open mouth. He patted her shoulder and then turned away. Daryna followed after the throngs of people that weaved about the trees. All she could do was move forward and hope she found Symon when they were far enough from danger. Her feet walked as her heart succumbed to sorrow.

After an hour she paused, aware of the burden on her shoulders. She set the bag down and opened the top. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mother had packed her grandma’s teapot. A crack ran from the top to the base. The lovely pottery would never be completely whole, just as Daryna wouldn’t be.

***

Three Years Later

Daryna locked the shop door and began to clean. Saturdays were always very busy. There were the regular customers, other locals, and people from peaceful places who traveled to other peaceful places for fun. Daryna was always jealous of the last group, the ones that got to go home after they’d had enough of new and novel adventures.

She was lucky though. She’d landed somewhere that had welcomed her. She’d met people who had helped her get a house and a job. Then she’d gotten a loan and opened a tea shop of her own. She was safe, accepted, and successful, not all refugees could say the same.

But her heart ached for her country, her home, her parents, her brother.

Everyday she walked through the door of the shop and remembered the people she had lost. She’d had her grandma’s teapot embedded at the entrance. She’d touch the smooth surface gently and gaze at the blue pattern. And her memory would flood with her mother’s soft hands and cups of her grandma’s tea. The people from peaceful places would pose to take photographs next to the teapot. And she was glad the cracked pottery was able to have happy company.

Her tasks were nearly complete when there was a knock on the door.

“We’re closed,” she called out. “Come back at seven tomorrow!”

“Daryna!”

The sound shocked her to her core. She dropped the glass she held.

She ran and flung the door open.

“Symon!”

They embraced, but an element was wrong. Daryna couldn’t bear to let go for fear the joy was part of a dream. But she yearned to see her brother’s face. She pulled back. They both had cheeks dotted by tears. She looked down. There was open space below the hem of Symon’s left sleeve. A hug from one arm, that has been the strangeness she’d felt. “You’re really here!”

“Most of me,” Symon joked.

“But how?”

“The teapot.”

“What?”

“Came across a photo of grandma’s teapot on the web. Some guy from work posted a photo from recent travels. As soon as my eyes locked on that old teapot, hope surged through me. You had to be here and you are!” Symon beamed at her. He had grayed some. He was leaner too. Only three years had passed, but Symon appeared ten years older.

“What happened to you? Where have you been?” Daryna asked.

“A drone attacked the school. A few of us had stayed to make sure everyone had gotten out. The roof came down and we were trapped. When rescuers got there my arm was too far gone. They took us south. Recovery was hard and took longer than expected. And then there was no way to know what had happened to you or Mama.”

Symon peered at her and she stared back. Her brother’s eyes begged her for good news that she couldn’t supply.

“She’s gone, Symon,” Daryna declared.

He nodded. “Then we must mourn her together.”

“Together,” Daryna echoed as she squeezed Symon’s hand.

“What’s a guy have to do to get some tea around here?” he teased.

Daryna laughed. “That can be arranged, but don't expect tea as good as grandma’s or mama’s.”

She led Symon through the door and prepared two cups of tea. Then they sat together. Symon held the cup aloft. “To Mama.”

“To Mama.”

He gulped a swallow, then looked at Daryna. “Not the same as grandma’s or mama’s, but just as good. Although a tad more sugar would be even better.”

Daryna laughed just as she had on that street when they had wandered through that small country so many years ago. Her brother was here. She wasn’t alone. And though her grandma and her parents were gone, to share the memory of them once more made her feel as though a part of her had returned. She wasn’t whole but the crack was smaller now that she and her brother were together. Symon had brought home to her.

Home. Who knew whether they would ever return to the country where they had been born. But maybe they would and perhaps one day people from peaceful places who travel to other peaceful places would journey to the town they had fled. But for now she would dream for the future, enjoy the present, and remember the past as she made cups of tea the way her mother had taught her.