“My hope is dead,” Kolya said, his words flat and lifeless. “Tomorrow will not be better. It will probably be worse, if we even make it until then.”
Katya set down Halya, now asleep, and picked up Denys. She couldn’t bear leaving him to lie by himself in this condition. His rapid, gurgling breaths reverberated in her ears, and he looked up at her imploringly, as if begging her to save him somehow. Her eyes smarted, and she blinked.
“Katya, you have to realize that baby was already starving and ill when Lena brought him here.” Kolya peered down at the baby over her shoulder. “He never had a chance.”
“Maybe so.” She rocked gently back and forth, trying to get him to sleep. If he slept, at least he’d not feel the pain he must be enduring, and then she could pretend everything was fine.
Kolya stared at her, concern evident on his face. “This is not healthy for you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about!” Katya snapped back. “It’s Viktor!”
“You mean Denys,” Kolya said softly.
Pity rolled off him in waves, and Katya’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, Denys. I’m tired. That’s all.”
“Yes, because you are running yourself ragged caring for this extra child who never had a chance at surviving. You should be putting all your efforts into Halya, not this boy. He was already half-dead when he came here. What makes you think you can resurrect him when we can barely keep ourselves alive?”
She glared at Kolya and continued rocking the baby. “Then who are we, Kolya? Who are we if we turn away a child, let him starve without even trying to save him? I won’t do it. I won’t be that person.”
Kolya shook his head, but instead of responding, he turned his back on her. “I’m going out to look for game again. I can’t stand sitting here, watching you pour yourself into him when he will only die!” He grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him, waking Halya.
Anger flashed through her. Kolya might not be strong enough to deal with the tiny, suffering child, but she was, and she would do anything possible to give him comfort.
Katya sat next to Halya and caressed the girl’s cheek with her free hand. She bit back her bitter words and forced out a wavering smile. “Tato will be right back. He went to look for some food. How about I tell you another story?” Katya cuddled herself around the two frail babies. If she couldn’t give either of them food, she would give to them all the love that she had. That much she could do, even though, deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Halya made a small sound that Katya took as a yes. “Good, let’s see.” She arranged the blankets around them and made sure each child had enough to stay warm. “I know the perfect story. You like this one, Halya. Maybe Denys will, too.” Katya felt the slightest of movements as Halya nodded. “It’s about two little girls who loved to make mud pies.”
Katya sang a song her mother used to sing to her and Alina when they were children. She couldn’t think of any other songs, so she kept singing that same one over and over. She didn’t remember when she started or how long she sang. She simply sang until her voice dwindled away to not much more than a whisper. The babies seemed to like it very much, so she couldn’t stop.
Kolya came into the cabin, stomping snow from his feet. The sound registered somewhere in her brain, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She continued to sing for Halya. For Denys. For Viktor.
“Katya, I have meat! Maybe the babies could get some broth down.”
Katya continued to sing.
“Katya?”
She heard him walk over and felt him looking at them, yet she still sang. He reached down and peeled back the blankets.
“Oh, Katya, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked.
She continued to sing.
“Katya.” He grabbed her arm and shook her. “Katya!”
She could hear him, there next to her, calling her name over and over, but he seemed so far away and unimportant. What was important is that she sing her song for the babies. They needed her now and she was not going to let them down.
The bed sank down as Kolya sat next to her. He tried to pull them away, but Katya tightened her grip on each child, one cold and one warm, and sang even louder, her voice now a low, croaking sound she no longer recognized.
They struggled like that, him trying to take away what Katya was trying to fix, until finally, he walked away. She didn’t know how long she lay there singing to Denys’s dead body. Hours. Days. All meaningless markers of her grief. When her voice finally gave out, she let the truth wash over her. He was gone, and she had let another child die.