Despite the scheduled intercity bus not being due to arrive for at least an hour—or even an hour and a half, in case it got held up by one of the perennial village problems—a lively group had already gathered at the bus stop.

The conversation began with the weather, as it so often does in the countryside.

“Before lunch the sun blazes, and after midday, for several days now, the rain has been lashing down!” sighed a woman of about seventy, wearing galoshes on her bare foot. “Yesterday I went out to weed the onions and came right back—too damp. I thought it would dry by lunchtime, but at noon it was the same story! The garden will be overrun with grass right before our eyes!”

“Exactly, Anna! The grass will grow up to our waists by the time the earth dries out!” chimed in her slightly younger neighbor. Yawning, she added, “At least the cows will have plenty of room.”

A third woman, gazing dreamily into the distance, announced her plans:

“It doesn’t matter. If this weather holds for a few more days, I might go on an expedition for slippery jacks (mushrooms). Today my grandson is arriving, and tomorrow we’ll take a walk to the pine grove. Maybe we’ll pick some for frying, and if luck’s on our side, even enough for pickling.”

A woman in a wide-brimmed hat and a stylish linen dress, who had been standing a little apart, perked up at these words:

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and if it isn’t too much trouble, could you tell me: where is the best place around here to go mushroom picking?”

“See that little wood over there?” replied the “quiet hunting” enthusiast in a friendly tone. “That’s exactly where we usually go!”

Anna was surprised:

“Really, Maria, you’re interested in mushrooms too? City folks usually aren’t into that. They’d rather have the store-bought ones—without any aroma or flavor!”

“I’m not doing it just for myself,” Maria smiled. “Today my daughter is supposed to send rubber boots and other clothes for her grandson. Can you imagine—they sent him to the dacha in sneakers and without a windbreaker! Once everything’s ready, I want to take him for a walk. I’ll combine business with pleasure. Besides, I really crave genuine mushrooms, not those store-bought champignons!”

New people gradually joined the conversation among the women. Each had their own reasons for heading into the city or waiting for the bus. Some immediately announced their plans, while others merely greeted one another and took seats on the bench, triggering bouts of lively curiosity from the village’s chief gossip, Anna.

“Andrey, where are you headed?” she asked an elderly man leaning on a cane as he approached the stop.

“To the city, where else!” he grumbled in an angry tone. “Do you think I just come here to admire you all?”

“On business or just for fun?” Anna pressed, but the man merely waved his hand, making it clear he wasn’t about to offer any explanation.

The arrival of the bus interrupted all the chatter. A typical bustle ensued, which subsided only after the bus departed back to the city.

The early July sun, barely risen above the horizon, warmed everything softly and gently. The group of women moved toward the shop, which was already open. However, no one hurried inside. It was better to wait for fresh bread in the open air—it was to be brought in from a neighboring village. These were blissful moments of rest, when there was no need to rush anywhere. For soon the season of provisions would begin, and then there would be no time for idle chatter, so it would be a shame not to take advantage of this brief lull.

Maria, having received a bulky bag of her grandson’s belongings from the driver, did not rush to her summer house—whom she fondly called her “residence.” Denis, as usual, wouldn’t be roused before noon—not even by a cannon! Settling on a bench near the shop, she addressed the local “information bureau”:

“Can someone tell me who here can fix an iron? Mine is broken—it’s not heating at all.”

The chief gossip immediately replied:

“Oh, that’s Andrey Alekseevich—he’s our jack-of-all-trades! Only, as you saw, he’s gone to the city. But most likely he’ll be back by this evening. His house is at the end of the central street, heading toward the water tower. You can’t miss it—the window frames are painted blue. He can fix almost anything. Well, except modern phones. Everything else, he handles with ease.”

Another local added:

“Andrey works diligently. True, you’ll have to pay him for his work, though sometimes he accepts goods instead. For instance, he fixed my separator, and I gave him a jar of clarified butter and milk twice a week for a whole month. When my yogurt maker broke, he fixed that too. By the way, Mashenka, come by in the evening. There’ll be some ryazhenka ready. Denis will be delighted, and we can stock up on milk. It’s good for the kids to be out in the fresh air!”

Anna interrupted her friend, steering the conversation back to the handyman:

“That’s true—Andrey’s hands are golden, and he never refuses to help anyone, but he lives like a real miser. In winter, you can’t even get a handful of snow out of him.”

“Don’t even start, Anya!” supported the fellow mushroom enthusiast. “Where does he put his money? He’s been wearing the same clothes for decades. He bakes his own bread, saying it’s cheaper and more natural. Oh, what a miser! And in the next life, there won’t be any pockets! Maybe he doesn’t even know why he hoards it all!”

The cow’s owner snorted:

“Well, you know how it goes—everything comes out in the end! He’ll probably tell everything to his granddaughter Nastya. She’s the only one who visits him. His daughter is still resentful towards Andrey.”

Soon a car carrying pies arrived, delivering fresh bread from a mini-bakery, and after completing their shopping, the group dispersed throughout the village.

Anna and Maria headed in one direction, and the chief gossip continued recounting Andrey’s story:

“He had a wife—an absolute marvel! Lusenka Sokolova. I went to school with her. Oh, what a beauty! In her youth, her braid was—I swear, I’m not lying—as thick as a hand. And her voice! Pure, clear, like that of Aida Vedishcheva. Many young men were smitten with her, but she chose Andrey. He came to our collective farm when they were building the farmstead. What can I say—our farm was advanced, always among the regional leaders. Andrey worked as an electrician, married Lusa, and stayed here. Outwardly, they were the perfect family: a teetotal husband, Lusa the homemaker, and their daughter Verochka—a beauty and a top student. But Andrey didn’t appreciate any of it. He controlled everything, keeping them in an iron grip. After the wedding, Lusa even stopped singing. Her life gradually faded away. She wouldn’t exchange a word with anyone—not even with us, her friends. In the nineties, when everything fell apart, Lusa went to great lengths to feed the family. She used to go to the market in the district center, selling everything that grew in her garden. Vera helped her. And then people noticed that Lusa started to look frail…”

The women had long reached Maria’s house, yet the “dacha lady” was so absorbed in the story that she wasn’t in any hurry to leave. And Anna was delighted to have such an attentive listener.

“When Verochka finally raised the alarm and practically forced her mother to go to the city clinic, it turned out that pills were no longer enough. Surgery was required. Lusa later told me herself: the sum quoted by the doctor wasn’t exorbitant, but it was impressive—yes. However, the most terrifying thing was not even that. Lusa’s chances of recovery with surgery were minimal, and Andrey refused to give any money, even though he had some. Vera pleaded with him to at least try to save her mother—but he was unyielding. Lusa passed away around the May holidays. That year, Vera was finishing school, and, as you can imagine, her studies took a back seat. The teachers, however, tried not to hurt her feelings—she still received good grades. After all, the girl had always been diligent. Just after the fortieth day since her mother’s death, Vera stood before the guests and declared that from that moment on, her father no longer existed for her. We were all stunned. Such a quiet girl, yet full of courage. And Andrey didn’t even bat an eyelash. Vera helped clear the table, and that very evening she left for the city hitchhiking.”

“Her life turned out well. My daughter sometimes sees Vera in the city—they maintain a good relationship. She married an ordinary worker and gave birth to a daughter, Nastya. Now she’s probably about twenty. They all live together in a communal house. Vera and her husband never come to the village, but Nastya has been visiting her grandfather for several years now. The granddaughter has such a kind soul.”

“Ah, fate…” Maria sighed, noticing her grandson strolling in the yard behind the fence. She hurried to say goodbye to her loquacious neighbor.

While the villagers fussed over Andrey in the clinic, he sat in line, sensing that no good news awaited him. His strength was fading rapidly, and he noticed physical changes: walking was becoming increasingly difficult, and his weight was dropping so quickly that every week he had to tighten his belt around a new hole.

The old man listened almost indifferently to the doctor, who pronounced his verdict:

“At your age, surgery is no longer recommended. A course of chemotherapy is necessary, and then we’ll see. Before your first visit, you need to prepare fresh tests and have an MRI done. The next appointment is in three weeks, but I wouldn’t delay. Possibly, it would make sense to consult a private clinic.”

“Speak plainly, doctor: how much time do I have left? I want to get my affairs in order.”

The oncologist replied honestly:

“Half a year, maybe a little more. But don’t lose hope. Sometimes miracles happen.”

Andrey nodded and bid farewell.

Exiting the clinic, he reached the nearest bench and sat down, leaning on the stick that his granddaughter had once bought and brought him. The sun was beating down relentlessly. Now, it was pointless to try to avoid a sunburn—if this was his last summer, why take extra precautions? Andrey had long decided not to fight the illness. He felt it was a fair retribution for refusing to help his wife when she asked for money for her treatment. Perhaps Lusa had had a chance to survive. Who now knows how things might have turned out?

Bitterness and sorrow filled his heart.

The man mentally thanked himself for his foresight: he had taken the documents for his house with him. He headed to a notary, but after visiting the first office he encountered, he decided not to approach that one. The notary seemed too young. “Surely, no experience,” thought Andrey, and he continued his search.

Only in the third office did he find a suitable specialist. Yuri Pavlovich Skobinsky inspired trust: a man of middle age with a slight graying at the temples. Most importantly, he agreed to see Andrey alone, even removing his secretary.

“So, Andrey Alekseevich, I’m listening carefully. What is it that you want?”

“I’ll speak frankly. I don’t have long to live. Most likely, I’ll see the New Year, and then I’ll stand before God’s court. I want to dispose of my property, but with some conditions. I have a daughter, but we’ve been estranged for a long time. Therefore, I want to bequeath the house and plot to my granddaughter.”

“By law, if your daughter is incapable, she is entitled to a share of the property.”

Andrey waved his hand dismissively:

“Let her have what she’s entitled to. I’m even ready to let her live in the house immediately after my death, without a six‑month waiting period. But the thing is, I want to leave my granddaughter more than just the house. I have some savings, but I doubt that she will be able to manage them properly. She’s only twenty—still a child. I’m afraid she’ll squander everything. However, she has potential, and I’m sure that once she gets married and has a child, her priorities will change. After that, I believe she’ll be able to manage the money wisely. Is it possible for you to hand her a letter from me when she sorts out the inheritance? In the letter, I’ll specify the conditions for receiving these funds.”

“If your conditions are legal, then everything is possible. What exactly do you want?”

“Nastya must find a husband and get married within a year. After that, she and her husband will have two years to become parents. If she does not fulfill this condition, the money should be donated to a charity to help cancer patients.”

“We’ll do everything as you wish,” the notary nodded. “Would you like some tea or coffee? I need time to prepare the documents.”

“Thank you, but just give me a piece of paper and a pen. I will write the letter for Nastya specifying where to find my savings.”

After finishing business with the notary, Andrey discovered that there were still several hours left before the bus departed for the village. He felt like visiting his daughter—he had known her address for a long time. But judging by the way Nastya closed herself off when speaking of her mother, Vera still harbored deep resentment towards him. At least the granddaughter, despite the family disputes, continued to communicate with him.

He could have called her immediately—she would most likely have agreed to meet. But why spoil her mood with bad news? Over the weekend, she had already promised to visit him. Perhaps then he would tell her about his condition. Although Andrey was almost certain he wouldn’t do that. Nastya was the only one who pitied him. Why upset her?

Weary from a day full of events, Andrey slowly trudged to the bus station. The air seemed scorching, and the man barely managed to hide in the shade of a building so as not to lose consciousness. The road to the village was uncomfortable too: while the asphalt in the city was melting, a torrential rain had passed in the countryside. When the bus finally stopped and the villagers dispersed to their homes, Andrey was completely exhausted.

The man didn’t even bother to have dinner. Laying his documents on a shelf in the wardrobe with the other important papers, he collapsed onto the bed, drained of energy. Through his drowsiness, he heard someone knocking at the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up to see what was needed.

Maria, having learned from the all-knowing Anna that the village handyman had returned home, grew worried when he didn’t respond. In the end, a whole delegation came to Andrey to make sure he was all right.

The awakened old man, seeing a boy trying to climb through the window, couldn’t contain his emotions. Denis barely managed to explain that he had been forced into that bold move by an agitated grandmother. Once everything was clarified, the owner of the house took the broken iron from Maria and grumbled:

“Oh, what would you do without me?”

By the weekend, Andrey had somewhat recovered and met his granddaughter in a rather cheerful mood. Nastya was bustling around the house and garden, and during lunch she only laughed when her grandfather said it was high time she got married and had children.

“Oh, what are my years? I still have time! And I’m not even looking for anyone at the moment. In our pedagogical institute, almost all the students are girls, and discos don’t interest me.”

“Look, Nastya,” her grandfather cautioned, “youth passes by quickly! In the blink of an eye, all worthy suitors will have found each other!”

“Don’t worry, grandpa! As soon as I meet ‘the one,’ I’ll get married immediately!”

“One would like to believe!”

After spending the weekend at her grandfather’s, the girl prepared to return to the city, explaining that she was helping out at a pre‑school camp. Andrey, never having decided to tell her about his condition and his will, asked:

“Give my regards to your mother and invite her to visit me.”

Nastya passed on her grandfather’s request, but Vera categorically refused to go.

“Listen, daughter, I have plenty of my own concerns. You know your stepfather is recovering from an injury and needs my help. I will take care of the man who has replaced an entire family for me. And my father… He’s selfish to the core. So I won’t torment myself with pangs of conscience if I don’t come.”

Vera was mistaken. Andrey was suffering. Either the trip to the city had taken its toll, or the illness was progressing too rapidly. The man began experiencing severe pain. By Thursday he could no longer stand, and on Friday, when Nastya entered the house, she found her grandfather unconscious.

The ambulance confirmed: the hospital was powerless. A day later, Andrey quietly passed away without regaining consciousness.

When Vera learned from her daughter about her father’s coma, she hurried to the village—but it was too late. Holding his cooling hand, she wept, pleaded for forgiveness, and whispered that she forgave him, hoping that somewhere he would hear her words.

With Anna’s help, Nastya organized a farewell ceremony. While sorting through her grandfather’s belongings, she found his will and showed it to her mother:

“Look! Grandfather took care of all of us!”

Embracing, they wept in the empty house, but it was impossible to bring back its master.

When Vera and Nastya went to see Skobinsky, the lawyer immediately realized that they knew nothing about the second part of the will, in which the deceased had hidden the money. It was an opportunity to get rich, and the crafty Yuri Pavlovich decided to remain silent. “The house and plot will be enough for them. They’ll manage,” he thought, feigning sympathy while explaining the nuances of the inheritance.

“Anastasia Vladimirovna, Vera Andreevna, you can renounce your inheritance in favor of one another. This will help save on the formalities.”

Vera immediately decided to make her daughter the sole heiress.

Taking advantage of the holidays, Nastya helped her parents move from the communal house to the village home—an ideal place for her stepfather’s recovery.

Yuri Pavlovich, intrigued by the potential riches the girl might acquire, opened the envelope with the map to the hiding place. Now he needed to break into the house. However, a robbery in the village would arouse suspicions. After long deliberations, he devised a cunning plan.

One day, while returning from classes, Nastya found herself in a dangerous situation. In a dark square, two drunken men attacked her. She was rescued by a handsome man with a dog. He scared off the hooligans and offered:

“Allow me to accompany you! Archie and I would be happy to keep you company.”

Nastya, who had always dreamed of having a dog, believed that bad people never owned them, and she agreed. The man, introducing himself as Kirill, entertained her with conversation:

“You know, we usually walk in another area. I’m glad that today Archie decided to change our route.”

Kirill and his dog charmed Nastya. She gave him her phone number, and a passionate romance began. The girl was convinced she had met her true love. Kirill met her in a luxurious car and took her to her parents’ place every weekend.

After a month, he proposed:

“I really like your daughter. Vladimir Sergeyevich, Vera Andreevna, I ask for Nastya’s hand in marriage. I am a man of means and I value time, but love comes first for me. I’m sure I can make her happy.”

Vera burst into tears of joy, and Nastya was over the moon when Kirill, dropping to one knee, extended a ring to her—exactly the moment she had always envisioned.

The groom did not insist on living together before the wedding, and Nastya saw this as a sign of his love and respect.

She did not know that her meeting with Kirill was only part of the cunning notary’s plan.

Returning from the village to his modest city apartment, the man grabbed his phone and dialed a number:

“Yura, are you serious? The hiding place you want me to arrange is under the bed of Nastya’s ailing father. He hardly ever gets up and lies there all day. What do you expect me to do? Should I sprinkle sleeping pills on everyone and act while they’re asleep? Yes, I can shove that old pig off the bed, but what if something happens to him?”

“Kirill, pull yourself together! Think of something else! Maybe send them to a sanatorium—say it’s for the sake of the father-in-law’s health, and so he can attend the daughter’s wedding.”

“Yurka, what are you on about? With what money? I’ve already spent so much, and this girl is even asking about a dog! And I already returned the dog to a friend. You’re wealthier than me. You sit in your office all pristine, while I have to take on all the dirty work!”

“We need to act quickly, not whine! You’re a master at charming women, so figure out how to organize everything. Just get moving with my ideas!”

“Okay, there’s still time, and I have one idea,” Kirill assured, ending the conversation.

Kirill easily played the role of a lovestruck man, but he was annoyed that his cousin had loaded all the dirty work onto him. He himself sat in his office as if nothing had happened, while he had to lie and steal.

Later, while helping her mother clean, Nastya climbed into the attic and found an old notebook. It turned out to be her grandfather’s diary. What she read shocked her.

Apparently, on Andrey’s conscience was not only the fate of his wife but also the death of a man with whom he had planned to start a joint business based on the bankrupt state farm in a neighboring village.

Nikita Kotov, the economist of that state farm, had managed to get rich through cunning maneuvers. To preserve his money during perestroika, he bought jewels and devised a project for a company producing meat products. He had a bosom friend—Andrey Alekseevich, the very “village handyman.” When Nikita believed Andrey’s story that bandits had stolen all the money, it was a terrible blow to him. Unable to cope, he took his own life.

The final lines of the diary shocked Nastya: “Everything that belonged to Nikita is in the hiding place beneath me. I cannot use it—my conscience won’t allow it.”

The girl guessed where to look for the hiding place. With her mother’s help, she assisted her father into an armchair and reached the hidden spot.

Inside a tin box were banknotes issued in the late nineties and jewels.

“Nastya, what is this?” Vera exclaimed in surprise.

The girl handed her the diary:

“Here, read it. I’m even ashamed to talk about it.”

Vera read her father’s entries together with her husband, after which she suggested:

“I think we should try to return all of this to the Kotov relatives. Do you agree?”

Her husband and daughter supported Vera. Nastya promised:

“I’ll call Kirill right away. Maybe he can suggest how to find those people.”

Nastya’s call triggered an outburst of anger from Kirill:

“That’s complete nonsense. Why give everything away? This money was originally earned dishonestly!”

“Kirill, you don’t understand? A man ended his life because of that money! His family, no doubt, suffered!”

“You’re such an oddball! And your parents are the same. Just give it all away for nothing! Eh, I didn’t get to the hiding place first…” Kirill paused, but the words kept coming.

Nastya froze:

“Wait, you knew about the hiding place? From where?”

“Oh, get lost!” Kirill retorted and, pressing the end-call button, blocked her number.

The betrayal by the person she had dreamed of building a family with deeply shook Nastya. However, searching for Nikita Kotov’s relatives helped distract her. The local residents, led by Anna, actively assisted, and soon the girl met with the sole heir of the discovered treasures.

Mikhail, a modest programmer, was astonished when the girl, inviting him to a café, recounted the story and handed him a bag.

“Here. Do as you please. And once again, forgive my grandfather.”

Mikhail looked into the bag and, surprised, regarded Nastya:

“I never even thought that in our time someone could refuse wealth. It’s amazing! I think it would be fair if you took a part of the money—for responsible safekeeping.”

Nastya hesitated, but agreed. Indeed, Mikhail had every right to decide what to do with his relative’s money.

On the way home, she couldn’t help but think about how handsome this Misha was—modest and not greedy.

After a family council, it was decided to repair the house. Nastya insisted:

“You know, I want you to go to a sanatorium and recuperate. Spring is coming soon; we’ll grow something here. Then there’ll be no time to worry about health.”

Nastya was hardly surprised when she saw Misha near the institute. She secretly hoped to meet him. The young man smiled shyly and offered her a bouquet.

“I thought I’d come see you… You’re such an unusual girl… How about a walk? Shall we go somewhere?”

Nastya blushed, took the bouquet, and nodded.

Their relationship developed gradually, and with each passing day, the sting of betrayal seemed more distant. But the love between Nastya and Misha grew stronger. It was clearly heading toward marriage. Vera couldn’t have been happier for her daughter—she hoped that now her girl would finally find happiness.

Looking at the happy couple, Vera often thought about how winding and unpredictable the path to happiness can be