IF THERE WAS ONE thing the servants were good at was coming up with names to call them. The boy and the girl were malenchki, because they were like little ghosts running in and out the rooms laughing, hiding, stealing food and sneaking around. For the senior one they had a lot more; she was spokoynyychka, the calm one, when she was quietly reading or studying; they call her milaya, sweet, dear heart, when she was kind, helping around in the kitchen or teaching something to the little ones. But there were other times when she was derzkiychka, insolent, daring, audacious. They started calling her that after getting in a fight with one older boy who was picking on her juniors traits, the first time she actually did something instead of running to Ana Kuya for help, who also never did a thing to stop the little band of bullies.
The junior and senior girl arrived a week later than the little boy, all of them parentless because of the war. They had taken a like for each other and they had stayed that way years ahead, helping each other throughout the long hours of chores and lessons every day.
Sometimes in the summer, when the heat was too much or just to escape from the housekeeper and servants eyes, they would run into the woods to the meadow and watch the sun setting, sitting in the grass, the senior one singing softly while braiding her juniors dark hair, the boy laying his head on her lap.
In the winter, when the Duke went to his house in the city and the servants drank at night before passing out in their beds, the older girl would sneak into the kitchen to prepare warm milk and steal a few cookies, going back to her room where two little ones were waiting for her sitting quietly on the bed. They would eat and talk, sometimes she read to them, other times she sang them to sleep, their small arms over her body and their heads resting on her chest, the boy snoring a little.
She liked those nights, but she loved the ones where she sneaked out in the morning when the sky was dark and the moon and stars were still shining in it so brightly at her, sitting in the meadow with nothing but the calmness of the silence and herself after a day with noise and fake smiles. She felt lonely those nights, but also whole. When the darkness was fading and the sun was slowly coming up, that moment when both the night and day were merging made her feel complete and worthy, almost like she belonged there, almost like that moment was her home. Then she would walk to the old house, with the sun on her back and the warm wind caressing her dark hair gently, and start the day with a smile.
Those day after the sunrise when she was at peace, they would call her solnechki.