“Did you check that?” Prokyp pointed at the linen chest.
“No, sir,” the young man replied as he strode across the room. He flung open the lid and shoved the rod inside. Metal clinked on metal.
Katya sucked in air through her teeth as cold sweat sprang up on her back. Mama crossed herself and closed her eyes in defeat. Prokyp stormed over to the trunk and began ripping linens out. He squealed like a stuck pig when his bare hand hit the hot pot.
“No food, eh? You’ve lied to me and the state!” Gripping the pot with a sheet, he pulled it out and set it on the table. He pushed the lid off, grabbed a spoon, and began poking around in the contents.
“Potato peels? I wonder where you could have found potato peels,” he mused. He brought the spoon to his lips. “Ah, you make this garbage taste rather good.”
Food splattered from his lips as he began shoveling their only meal of the day into his rotten mouth. When there was almost nothing left, which didn’t take long because there was hardly anything to begin with, he turned the pot upside down and began banging it out onto the floor.
“No!” Katya and her mother gasped simultaneously.
“This is stolen from the state! I should arrest you all!” He shook the pot, flinging precious bits of potato peels all over their house.
He set it down and walked over to Alina. She turned her head, refusing to look at him as he ran his filthy hand down her cheek “Even after childbirth, still so beautiful. It’s a shame you didn’t choose me. You wouldn’t be starving here. You would be the wife of someone important. I could have taken care of you, unlike the idiot you wanted.”
“You animal!” Katya pointed her finger and stepped toward him, the words snapping off her tongue like bullets. “You speak your lies of love to her, but you may have killed her! She’s weak, and she needs food! The baby is taking everything from her, and you just ate her only meal of the day!”
Prokyp’s eyes flickered to Katya with a look that froze her blood.
“You’re jealous of the attention I give your sister, eh?” He sauntered over to her and touched her hair. “You may not be as pretty as her, but you’re not so bad. You’d do in a pinch, even if you are with child. And there’s no one here to save you now, is there? Your man is dead, isn’t that right?”
Anger rolled through Katya, but it was quickly replaced by fear as Prokyp grabbed her and dragged her over to the door.
“Put your hand on the frame!” He pushed her against the wood.
Katya pressed her lips together and shook her head. You must stay strong. Pavlo’s instructions echoed in her mind. “No!”
“Now!” Prokyp yelled. He backhanded her across the face, and her vision clouded. She fell forward into the doorway and caught herself, her hand splayed across the frame just as he’d requested.
Prokyp gripped the door and sneered. “No stealing food, thief!”
He slammed the door shut on her hand, and Katya screamed. Pain shot up her arm and doubled her over. The room faded around her as she straightened, cradling her throbbing left hand. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced them back and stuck her chin in the air. You must stay strong. She would not give Prokyp the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her mother wrapped an arm around her and guided her to a chair.
“It’s lucky for you that I have bigger worries today than stolen potato peels. I must collect the grain from other thieving households, but we will be back, and we won’t be so nice next time.” He lumbered out the door, yelling at his companion. “Check the yard with your pole!”
The young man gave them a dirty look and spat on the floor before following Prokyp out. Mama rushed over to Katya and picked up her injured hand.
“Can you move it?” She pressed on the inflamed knuckles of Katya’s left hand. “I don’t feel any broken bones, but it’s hard to tell. It’s so swollen already. I’ll get a cloth to wrap it.”
“I’ll be fine, Mama.” Katya spoke through teeth clenched against the pain. She pulled her hand away and dropped to her knees. With her good hand, she picked up wayward potato peels and chunks of millet and put them in a bowl, desperately trying to salvage every drop of the precious food Prokyp had flung on the ground.
17
CASSIE
Illinois, June 2004
“Hurry,” Bobby urged Cassie as soon as she came in the kitchen. “It’s two o’clock already. The afternoon is nearly gone.”
Bobby laid a bag of potatoes and a knife on the table next to a large pile of beets. “Here, grate these beets. I’ll cut cabbage. The beef shanks have been boiling since seven this morning, and the bread is already baking in the oven.”