Never one to turn down a story, Birdie ran back to her room. As soon as she was out of earshot, Cassie opened the computer again and spun it towards her mom. “Look at this. Have you heard of the Holodomor?”
“No, why?” Anna scrolled through the page for a few minutes and went pale. “This is terrible!”
“I know,” Cassie said. “I’m pretty sure Bobby lived through it.”
Anna shook her head. “No way. I would have known. My parents would have talked about it.”
“Maybe it was too hard.”
“I had a good childhood,” Anna went on, ignoring Cassie. “A comfortable house, home-cooked meals every day, parents who loved me. We were happy.”
“But what about before they came to America? We’ve never heard anything about that.”
“I don’t know. They didn’t talk about it. But life here was normal. My mother and father were so in love. He used to bring her flowers every Friday night after work, and she’d light up when she saw them.” Anna chuckled. “Every time, like it was a big surprise, even though he never missed a week. They’d sit in the garden snuggled up together while I caught fireflies in the summer and hold hands when we went ice-skating in the winter. The three of us were happy, and their love formed the foundation for it all.” Her smile faded. “We struggled so much after we lost him, but it helped me knowing he’d had a good seventy-nine years on this earth. Or I thought he did.”
Cassie touched her mom’s shoulder. “It sounds like he had a wonderful life, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t harder parts.”
Anna rubbed the back of her neck. “I guess there were little signs. Mama never let me waste food, no matter what. She used to say, “Bread is life. You always eat it.” And there were those few times my father was sad, like that day in the garden. But that’s normal. This…” Anna nodded towards the computer. “This is anything but normal.”
“Experiencing a forced famine would explain both those things, and the recent food hoarding,” Cassie said gently.
“It’s hard to believe, though. How could she bear so much grief and still be such a wonderful mother to me?” Anna stood. “Maybe we should talk to her.”
“No.” Cassie folded her arms. “She shuts down. That’s the whole reason she wants Nick to read it to me. We need to finish the journal first to see what it says, then we can decide how to approach her.”
“Grammy, are you coming?” Birdie walked back in the kitchen, a stack of books in her hands.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll be right there.” Anna started after Birdie, then turned back to Cassie. “Fine, we can wait, but please move it along. If this is what really happened to her, I can’t stand thinking of her reliving it.”
The next morning, Cassie peered out the front window, watching as Nick dug through the bushes and found the newspaper. He’d continued the practice after she’d moved in, even though she was quite capable of getting the paper out of the bushes herself, but she didn’t complain.
She yanked open the door right as he got to the front porch. “You know, I can do that.”
Nick jumped and grinned sheepishly. “You startled me! I know you can. It just got to be part of my routine to stop by and bring it up. The paperboy always throws it over in the bushes, and your grandmother had a hard time getting it.”
Cassie grabbed the coffee cups she’d set on the front table and held one out to him. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.” He took the cup and followed her as she sat on the low bench hugging the front of the house. He glanced down at the cup, and his lips curled into a smile. “Were you waiting for me?”
Cassie bit back her own smile and played coy. She shrugged. “Maybe. I have a couple of questions for you.”
Nick raised the mug to his mouth and sipped. “Good coffee. All right. I can be bribed.”
“How old was your grandmother when she came to America?”
Nick pursed his lips. “Not where I thought this was going, but I’ll play along. I think about twenty-five. She came after World War II.”
Cassie leaned forward. “Did she ever mention anything about a famine?”
“You mean the Holodomor? Of course. I thought you realized that’s what we were dealing with in your Bobby’s journal.”
“No. You say Holodomor like it’s common knowledge.” Cassie plucked at the hem of her shorts, her cheeks burning. “But I’m mortified to say that until yesterday, I had no idea about it.”