Miranda Dickinson 2 Book Bundle

Placing my hands Buddha-style on my knees I intoned, ‘Nate-Student must learn from Optimism Master. Rosie Duncan say: man without optimism in New York is like Old F’s coffee without good company.’

I think by now Nate had figured I was in fact completely insane. ‘And what, O Great One, is that supposed to mean?’

I shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But it sounded good.’

He laughed. ‘So I’m good company?’

I checked my watch. ‘Yes, thank you, but I’d better do some work,’ I replied happily.

The door opened and an old man entered.

‘Hello, Rosie! The wind blew me in this direction and I wondered why. And then I remembered that today is the second Thursday in the month so I should be here.’

I shook the age-crumpled hand of Mr Eli Lukich. ‘I have your order ready. It’s right here as usual.’

Eli followed me to the counter. ‘You are such a good girl. I was saying to my dear Alyona only this morning what a good girl you are. You remind me of my mother, Valentina Nikolaiova, God rest her soul, when we were in the Old Country. She always remembered special days. You know, she never had a calendar? She just knew. So the house in Losk had flowers for birthdays, holy days and saints’ days.’

I handed Eli a small bouquet of yellow roses. His hooded blue eyes scrunched up as he breathed in the scent. ‘Beautiful. Beautiful, Rosie. Like my mother used to love…they grew in Father Gennady’s garden, you know.’

I had heard the story a hundred times, but there was something about Eli’s tales of old White Russia that captivated me every time. ‘Tell me about the priest, Eli.’

Eli’s attention, however, had moved to Nate, who was watching the conversation with fascination. ‘Hello, young man. My name is Eli Lukich. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’ He slowly extended his hand and Nate scrambled to his feet to shake it.

‘Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Nathaniel Amie.’

Mr Lukich held Nate’s hand for a second and studied his face. ‘I wish you blessings, Nathaniel Amie.’ His eyes returned to me. ‘Now how much do I owe you, Rosie?’

‘No money, Mr Lukich. I’ll settle for a story from the Old Country,’ I replied with a smile. This was the usual, expected answer and delight lifted every line in Eli’s face.

‘Then I will tell you of the time Ivan Ivanovich’s cow became stuck in the river…’

Eli proceeded to spin his tale, painting characters as vivid as the intricate designs on a Matryoshka doll. He told us about Ivan the schoolteacher, who had bought a cow for his aged mother only to find the animal preferred the lush grass of his own garden; nevertheless he persisted in leading the stubborn bovine down the dusty road from the village to his mother’s house at the forest’s edge, again and again.