Kolya strengthened his grip on her. “No. She’s crazy with grief. I’ll take her home.”
Without waiting for a response, he dragged Katya alongside him and marched away from the prison house. From the activist. From his dead wife.
Anguish clouded Katya’s vision so that she didn’t even recognize when they were back in their yard until Kolya finally released her. She fell to the ground, sobs racking her body. Kolya glared at her with red, puffy eyes.
“What did you mean back there when you said it was you? You stole and let Alina take the blame?”
His accusation stung, and Katya welcomed the pain. She deserved it. “I stole the corn I brought home the other day. The food hidden in the woods was gone, and I needed to bring something home for Halya and Alina. So, I went to the collective fields and took some.”
He balled his fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “You told me nothing happened! If you were seen, why were you not taken then?”
“It was a Young Pioneer boy. I talked him into letting me go.”
“But why Alina? Why did they not take you?” He paced in front of her as he yelled. The front door opened, and Mama peered out.
“I don’t know!” Katya shouted as she stood up. “I wasn’t home yet. Maybe the boy was confused when he said which sister it was.”
“Alina confessed.” Mama stepped out into the yard. “She told them it was her, not you.”
“What?” Katya whipped around to face her mother. “I never wanted her to do that! Was she delirious?”
“No. It was the most clear–headed I’ve seen her in months. Maybe she was afraid they would take you from Halya and then she would have nothing to eat.” Mama wrung her hands, her eyes darting between Kolya and Katya. “Are they deporting her? Or keeping her for a few days? I’m hoping they go light on her since she’s a woman and so ill.”
“No.” Kolya’s eyes bore into Katya’s, though he spoke to his mother-in-law. His agony hit her in the stomach so hard she doubled over. “She is dead.”
Two days later, the OGPU allowed the family to bring Alina home. Kolya carried her in his arms the whole way, refusing to let anyone help or to bring a wagon.
“I would gladly give my life for hers. I loved her.” Katya’s voice stayed strong as he set Alina on the bed, but her insides quaked. Mama threw herself on Alina’s legs and wailed.
Kolya’s face crumpled as he dropped it into his hands. “I know that, Katya.” He leaned on to Alina’s frail chest and cried. His body shook with silent sobs, his grief palpable in the air.
Alina had not been far from death before she’d been murdered. Starvation had drained her until she was a shell of her former self. Once upon a time, she’d been one of the prettiest girls in the village, with her thick dark hair and flashing blue eyes. Now, her thin, lackluster hair revealed bare patches of scalp where it had started to fall out in clumps. Her eyes, closed for the last time, were sunken deep into her head, like her cheeks. But admitting how long she’d been fading away didn’t make her death any easier.
Katya swallowed her anger and screams, keeping them bottled because she had to. Someone had to stay strong. Someone had to be there for her mother, Kolya, and Halya to lean on. If not Katya, then who else?
Kolya wiped the back of his hands across his eyes and stood shakily. Katya wrapped her arms around him, steadying him as he had steadied her when Pavlo died.
“She’s gone,” he said, his voice raw as he buried his head in her shoulder and sobbed.
Tears scorched a path down Katya’s face, each drop branding her a failure. She’d let Alina down. She’d let everyone down.
21
CASSIE
Illinois, June 2004
Cassie regarded the tidy backyard and gave a contented sigh. The sun was shining, and the scent of flowers perfumed the warm spring air. Her date with Nick at the carnival a few days ago had gone well—aside from the excessive number of women who’d approached him—and they had plans for him to come over today and dive back into the translations. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so eager to take on the day.
She swelled with joy as she watched Birdie helping Bobby in the garden, just like she had when she was a child. Bobby handed the small begonia plant to Birdie, who patiently waited for instructions.
“Put it in the hole, then gently push dirt in around it. Fill it in and pat it down,” Bobby said.
Birdie complied, her brows knit in concentration as her chubby hands followed the directions exactly. “I want to do another one!”