Nick stilled. “Wait, what was your grandfather’s name?”
“His name was Nicholas, actually.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “Oh man. That’s a whole other level of guilt. No wonder she’s been so upset.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nick gave a wry grin. “He’s been mentioned. Cassie, your grandmother didn’t lose two husbands. In Ukrainian, Nicholas is Mykola, often shortened to Kolya."
34
KATYA
Ukraine, July 1934
The first year after the famine, life went on. The OGPU disbanded and became the NKVD. They continued to purge enemies of the state at an alarming rate, but they loosened the starvation noose that had once choked the villagers and allowed more food to trickle back into the countryside. Everyone moved slowly and carefully, always afraid to offend an activist or be caught with too much food, but a small harvest was sown and reaped. Their hollow stomachs ached for adequate amounts of food, but they reveled in the meager quantities they had available in comparison to the winter. People still died and were taken from their homes in the middle of the night, but nothing like before.
Halya thrived because of Katya and Kolya’s foraging skills. That, compounded with the food the collective now gave out, meant her small body finally had a chance to grow. She no longer spent her days in bed, sleeping, but explored the house and yard at Katya’s side.
“Eat?” Her tiny voice sounded so sweet to Katya’s ears.
“Yes, Halya?” Katya bent low so she could hear. “You want some food?”
Halya nodded. Her head, still too large for her small frame, wobbled far less than it had last year.
Katya scooped some kasha into a bowl and placed it at the table. “Come, sit with me and I’ll help you eat.”
Halya scrambled up into her lap, and Katya helped her grasp the spoon in her small hand. At two and a half, Halya was still far behind where a child her age should be, but they made progress every day, and her bright smiles as she learned gave Katya all the hope she needed to keep trying.
“Is breakfast ready?” Kolya came in from the barn. Now that they were subdued and considered good citizens of the state, they were allowed to keep chickens and a cow again. Small improvements, but they made all the difference in their daily life.
He tickled Halya under the chin until she giggled, then filled a bowl for himself and took a seat across from Katya.
With his lanky frame slowly filling back out, his cheeks appeared less gaunt. His smile at Halya’s laughter brightened his serious face. A swell of emotion rose up inside Katya. She’d never wanted to fall in love with Kolya. She didn’t plan it. But when she watched him swing Halya around until she shook with laughter or prop her up on a horse so she could “ride,” she saw a man she wanted. The hard exterior he’d put up to survive cracked, the grief and pain fell away from his face, and in response, something warm and bright blossomed in her. Love.
It wasn’t like the love that consumed her for Halya. Halya’s survival was Katya’s reason for existence. Halya’s smiles, coming more frequently now, kept Katya going. Her words showered Katya’s ears with joy. She didn’t think anything ever could compare with her love for the small child, because tangled up in that love were all of her feelings of grief, loss, and guilt. That wasn’t fair to Halya, but Katya could no more change it than she could bring back the ones she’d lost.
Nor was it like the pure first love she’d shared with Pavlo, either. Her love for Kolya grew from the bond of survival they shared. What they’d endured, what they’d seen, left an indelible mark on the two of them and created a connection that she couldn’t explain if she tried. He had become her safe haven in a terrifying world. They had united to keep Halya alive, and to keep each other alive. The feelings that followed occurred without any suggestion from either of them, but they couldn’t be denied or ignored.
After breakfast, they made their way to the wheat field near their house. There, Katya settled Halya with a girl who tended the children off to the side and went to work.
Kolya walked in front of her, the lean muscles in his back flexing and bending in rhythm with the other men in the field. He moved slowly, methodically, swooping his scythe through the large swatches of wheat. The stalks fell in loose piles, and Katya followed behind with the other women, gathering them into sheaves she tied with loose straw. When they had enough sheaves, they stacked them into a shock to dry. It was the way they used to harvest, before the collective leaders brought in the new machinery. With those machines being rotated amongst a few fields, they had to work here the old-fashioned way. Although the wheat wasn’t solely theirs, the familiarity of the work soothed Katya and the hours passed by swiftly.