They had been playing chess for close to three hours, game after game. Emma had won twice and lost four times, and now on game number seven, she was determined to win. It was a shame that she kept getting distracted.

The problem was, she realised, that Mr. Liniski was asking far too many personal questions, and she didn't know how Emma Remigrant would answer them. She tried to be as vague as she could, very aware that Mrs. Remigrant was calmly knitting right behind Mr. Liniski, occasionally staring at Emma with those piercing eyes.

He moved a pawn forward. "So tell me, Miss Remigrant, what sort of weather do you like?"

She giggled and moved out her knight. "You ask strange questions. Most people just ask my favorite colour."

"I think there's a lot that can be told from someone's favorite weather, and being asked an unusual question means they actually have to think about their answers more." He looked at her with a lopsided smile, one lock of his deep brown hair falling over his forehead. "If I were to ask your favorite colour you would have a practised answer. So what is your favorite weather?"

She thought for a moment. "I like when the sky is bright, but rain is coming down hard."

Mr. Liniski moved his pawn again. "That's a good one."

"What's your favorite weather?"

He answered immediately. "When I'm in the mountains I love it to be snowing, just a little."

"And when you're here in Denver?"

"Sun. Cities are less lovely in the mud, but mountains are nothing without it."

Emma moved a pawn of her own. "You had a practised answer."

"I always have an answer to my own questions," he said a little bashfully. "I spend too much time thinking of odd questions to not wonder about my own response."

"I have a question for you, then," she said cheerily. "What language would you learn, if you had the chance?"

His face screwed up in concentration, and Emma laughed. It seemed so theatrical, and yet she didn't mind. "There are quite a lot of miners I know from Italy and I love to hear them speak. Perhaps I'd learn Italian."

"Then it would be much easier to understand the opera."

He grinned at her. "It would. Have you ever been to the opera?"

She nodded. "Once. It was lovely, but I wish I could have understood all the words. The summary that they give you really can't convey the depth of the songs, can it?"

He moved his rook directly in the path of her pawn. "What language would you learn, Miss Remigrant?"

"I don't know. Really!" she protested. "Some days I think it'd be nice to learn French or German like many educated ladies do, but other days I want to learn something wild, like Russian or- or Japanese." She took his rook and looked up at him expectantly. "But I think, most of the time, I would just like to learn the language of people-- how they really think, so I can understand them and not just their words."

It was clear he had not noticed the danger he had put his rook in and he stared a little stunned at the lost piece. "That's a very profound answer," he said softly, moving out the queen. "I think I would like to learn that language too."

When the time came for him to leave-- he'd lost the last game to Emma, but only barely-- Mr. Liniski turned to Mrs. Remigrant.

"I had a wonderful afternoon," he said to her, his hat in his hand.

"I hope you'll come again," replied the lady eagerly. "You're not going to be going up the mountain until spring, I assume?"

He laughed. "No, I'll be here through the winter."He turned to Emma. "You play very well."

"I really don't," she said boldly, "but I suppose we're just well matched. I'm glad you came over, it really was a good way to pass the afternoon."

He bowed slightly, and Emma reached to open the door as he straightened and put on his hat. 

"You really should come over again soon," said Mrs. Remigrant as Mr. Liniski stepped out of the door. "If you'll be here all winter, that is."

"I'll look forward to it," he answered, looking at Emma. "Thank you again."

Mrs. Remigrant closed the door and grinned at Emma. "Such a nice boy," she said. "Can you believe he's not even twenty-five?"

Emma shook her head. "It's been a long time since I played that much chess," she said. "My head's started to hurt."

"Go have some water and you'll be alright," replied Mrs Remigrant impatiently. "You handled the conversation well."

Emma took a step towards the parlour door. "It's hard to keep up with a second life."

The old lady chuckled and walked briskly towards the stairs, but did not answer. Emma wondered if she wanted to.

*****

Mr. Liniski came over often during that winter-- once a week at least, mostly with a few other friends of Mrs. Remigrant's, but sometimes alone. He bounced sharply between talkative and withdrawn in the group settings, but when it was just him and Emma, there was always an easy flow of conversation. They discussed literature-- neither could stand Austen but both liked Wilde well enough-- and politics-- they both agreed that sending the army against striking workers was wrong-- while they played games, and sometimes they just sat in front of the fire and talked over tea. 

Emma enjoyed it. Although she knew Mrs. Remigrant desperately wanted her to marry him, she felt only a friendly attachment towards the dark-haired young man. It was refreshing to be able to speak her mind and to have someone who took her conversation seriously. She felt that she and Mr. Liniski were good friends now, and she honestly looked forward to his visits. They'd even begun using first names, when Mrs. Remigrant wasn't there, anyways. It was far easier to call Mr. Liniski Andrei than it ever was to call Mr. McDonald Duncan, Emma thought to herself.

"Do you prefer living in the city or in the mountains?" she asked one snowy night, sipping cocoa. It was only the two of them in the darkened parlour, in those sleepy days just after Christmas but before the New Year, where the days pass more slowly but also infinitely more quickly.

"It depends on what I'm looking for," he replied, running his finger along the side of his cup. "The mountains are infinitely more beautiful. There's nothing quite like walking through the forests-- it's always peaceful and beautiful, no matter the time of year. To watch the deer and the streams-- yes, that's one of the best things on this planet. But it's hard to be in the towns, because they're almost completely lawless. It's awful to think about, but in that neat mountain valley you just know three men have nearly killed each other in a drunken brawl, while a fourth robbed them while they fought. The city has conveniences that Tincup certainly never will." He stared at her with a bitter sort of smile on his face. "I don't know if I prefer beauty over convenience, or which would be more accepted."

"Beauty is a complicated subject." She put her cup and saucer on the table, leaning forward. "A mountain glen is beautiful, but is it more beautiful than being with people you love dearly? Is isolation beautiful because you can find yourself, or because other people are gone? I like to think that beauty is more a matter of choice and perception." She leaned back, picking up her cup again and raising it to her lips. "I think anywhere could be the most beautiful place on Earth if you're with the right people."

They looked at each other, close in the firelight. Andrei smiled. "You have such a way of putting things," he said with wonder. "I wish I had your clarity."

She laughed. "I don't feel clear. There's a lot jumbled around in my head and I don't know if you'd care to see much of it at all."

"I think I would."

She took the last sip of her cocoa and put the cup down softly. "I feel like I've put up so many masks that I've forgotten which one is really my face. I have to talk a different way with my sister than I would with my- aunt, and both are different from how I talk to you. I have to be a different person every time."

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, his elbows on his knees. "I think you're afraid of something, Emma."

"What could I be afraid of?" It was an honest question, but she knew the answers.

"Being genuine." Immediately he straightened. "I'm not calling you false, that sounded awfully wrong! I think you're just very concerned with what others think of you, and so you put up a front to please them. That's normal, I think, we all do it and I think women have to more than men in many ways. I just feel like you don't want to displease anyone, but you're still trying to be yourself and that's causing a great struggle."

She looked into the fire, feeling something break within her. It was at the same time like a burden had been lifted, but a dam cracking.