It wasn’t until Heather stormed into the room that Galiana realized she had a problem. With a sigh, she put her writing aside and gave her teenage granddaughter her full attention. She hadn’t said anything when Anna had moved home after her divorce; it had seemed a good idea at the time. The house was too empty without her husband’s quiet laughter and she had yearned for company. She had forgotten what a difference youth made.
“He ruined them!” Heather waved what appeared to be a neatly mended pair of jeans at her grandmother. “RUINED!” Tossing the faded denim on the floor, she pointed at the portly black-bellied stove that took up a corner of the kitchen. “If he comes near me again, I’ll burn the whole damned house down! Keep him out of my room!” Her declaration of war delivered, Heather stomped angrily back into her room, making sure to slam the door just softly enough that the glass figurines remained on their lofty perches.
Galiana picked the jeans off the floor with a frustrated sigh, adjusting her reading light so that she could check the repair. Row after row of tiny perfect stitching, one could hardly tell that the jeans had been ripped at all. Ruined! She snorted. As if the domovoi could ruin something. She felt a whisper of a breath by her ear and she clucked comfortingly to the house spirit. “Nyet, nyet grandfather, just leave her be.” She’d have words with her daughter when Anna came home from work. It was long past time that girl was trained, what proper vedma would insult the domovoi?