I do not own


Monique's POV

I do NOT own the rights to Fiddler on the Roof

Authoress note: If you haven't read LOST STEP I suggest you do so as to have this story make sense. I never did catch a last name for Tevye, so I just gave him one, if it was actually mentioned please e-mail me and I'll change it.

Told in first person.

My name is Dianna Monique Swan Sharanksy. I am sixty-five years old.

My once brownish -blonde hair has long since begun turning to snow. The

days are becoming shorter, and shorter. My daughter, Dianna Sharanksy

Baldwin has been after me to tell her my life's history, and she'd write it

down. So, I conceded, I'd write it myself, but my wrists have been acting

up. So, I guess here we go and she can title things , or keep track of them

anyway she wants.

Day 1:

As I sit here in Dianna's home in Washington I sigh. I miss Tevye, and our

ranch in Oregon. He was a Jew from Russia who first came to New York then to Oregon. Grr ..

My daughter insists I tell this from my birth on up, says that starting that way is getting ahead of myself.

So, I guess I need to 'back track', as she would say.

I was born June fifth eighteen ninety-four to an American military officer,

and his Bulgarian bride. He separated from the Navy and then took my

mother back to the providence of Kyostendil. They planned to live there

until the day they died.

However well made plans are they do not always materialize. My birth

was hard on my mother's body, and she only lived long enough to hold me

in her arms as she gave me my name. Unable to view the gorgeous apple,

and plum, orchards serviced by the Struma tributories without his wife

Joseph took me back to America.

The Struma tributories had harbored a polite, hard-working, and caring

people, but that had not mattered. He decided I'd be better off with his

parents in Montana. His mother, Annie Grey Swan, tried to talk him into

staying, but his heart was running too hard to do so. Unable to sit still he re-

enlisted in the Navy. I only saw him a handful of time growing up, and he

was killed in nineteen-o-four during a skirmish we were not given details


Battles come and go, as do years, and so do the ages of little girls. I was

no different. Grandmother Swan did her best to show me love and

affection, and my grandfather did have a sense of humor, and was a caring

man, but not when it came to showing grief, or pain. Resentment for things

beyond my, and his, control nevertheless built up and blew after my husband

died and I was left with twins.

"Mother," my daughter interjects, "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself


"About what?"

"How did we go from your Dad dying to your first husband dying?"

"Life." She isn't impressed with my answer, so, I guess I'll answer her


After Dad died I pretty much closed down, until my husband came into

my life. Brandon was kind, gentle, and old. So, my grandparents claimed.

However, I hardly call nineteen old. Then again, I'd just turned fourteen

myself. We'd met at a town gathering and within a week were inseparable. A

year later I was Mrs. Harris, nine-months later I was a mother, and three

weeks after that Brandon drowned crossing a river and I was a widow.

Anyhow, shortly after that the feelings I've already mentioned surfaced

and my grandfather, and I, got into a huge massive fight. I yelled that I was

going to a local party being thrown by another rancher and that he wasn't

going to stop me. Storming out the door I left my children in the care of my

grandmother and headed south towards the other ranch.

Praise be, town wasn't far from my grandparents home. Because the

storm, which would have been the end of me, pushed me into a Mom and

Pop's diner instead. As it was my spirit was saved that night too.

"Here, have a drink." The small red head smiled as she convinced me to

sip on a cup of cocoa. The lady's name turned out to be Chava. She, and her

husband, had meant to go to Krakow, but unseen events had pushed them to

America, and then straight to the cold lands of Montana.

Chava's voice was as soft as her eyes. Her smile warm, and her manners

surprisingly comforting. All the resentment I'd ever harbored against my

father spilled out. The missed birthdays, holidays, and even cousins

weddings. The pain of losing Brandon was also poured out. Talking to her

put me back on the right path instead of the one I'd have been on.

Right path, or not, with the weather outside I could not make any kind of

departure home. Chava suggested I stay the night with them and her

husband, Fyedka concurred. Praise be, they had one of the few telephones in the area -as did my grandparents-

and Chava's husband informed them of my whereabouts. Needless to say, they were relieved to hear I was safe.

"Follow me." Her hand gently guided me into their one bedroom home,

just off the diner.

The kitchen was surprisingly efficient, with plenty of cupboard space.

Enough to satisfy my pickiest of aunts. The dining room had no shelves,

other than a matching hutch for the sturdy oak table the area cradles. The

front room sports a horrid looking green thing calling itself a couch, and

two chairs not worth sitting in. And the bedroom was gracious enough to

sport a queen sized bed covered with a purple, and white, comforter. I didn't

try to see into the room as it felt like an invasion of privacy would occur if

my feet crossed its threshold.

No pictures of people graced the walls, only flowers in vases. Chava

turned out to be Jewish, and Fyedka Catholic. What a mix, was all I could

think. But her faith explained the no picture thing. I had never aligned myself with one particular faith, but read my Bible on a regular basis. My belief of the hereafter tied me to Chava, but my acceptance of Christ as the Messiah tied me to Fyedka, hence, I was still on my own when it came to organized religion.

"Fyedka can drive you home tomorrow morning." Chava spoke to me as she pulled out a pillow and blanket for me to use.

Laying down I looked out the window and hoped the storm wouldn't hang around too long as I was eager to get back to my babies. BJ was a strong enough nurser I wasn't too worried about him, but his sister -Carrie= was weaker and it was she that concerned me the most. My children were the last thing I remembered thinking about before I feel asleep.