The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (14)

“Did you tell Bobby?” Cassie asked.

“I told her I thought my father was sad,” Anna said. “She told me everyone has things in their past that makes them sad, but you have to push through it.”

Cassie twirled the note absently as she thought. “Remember when I had that family history project in college? She’d refused every other request to use her past for research papers. I thought she wouldn’t be able to say no to a genealogy paper. But she wouldn’t do it, and she told me the same thing, about looking to the future and not worrying about the past. I finally had to go interview Dad’s Aunt Maude, and nothing remotely interesting ever happened in her life.”

Anna laughed. “She’s a sweet lady, but unless you’re super into couponing, she’s not too exciting.”

Cassie traced the Ukrainian words. “Have you ever seen Bobby journal?”

“Like, write in a diary? Never. Why?”

“I saw one in her room the other day. I couldn’t read that either,” Cassie said.

“Do you think it’s hers?”

“Maybe. It looked really old,” Cassie said. “I’m thinking about asking her about it and these notes.” She held them up.

“Good luck with that.” Anna stood and paced across the kitchen. “Cass, I need to tell you something.”

“Nothing good ever comes after that line.”

Anna gave a weak smile. “Bobby’s doctor thinks she might be in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. She’s got some tests scheduled, but this isn’t the first time she’s wandered off and gotten lost.”

Cassie’s stomach lurched. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to admit that Alzheimer’s was a possibility, but her doctor thinks it’s time we got her evaluated.”

“Do you think it’s connected to her speaking Ukrainian and zoning out?”

Anna rubbed her face. “Yeah, maybe. She gets confused sometimes, too.”

Cassie twirled one of the notes on the table. “Or maybe she’s just getting old and finally wants to think about all of her repressed memories. Maybe she needs us to help her process it.”

“I hope so, but don’t count on it.” Anna stifled a yawn. “Sorry, I’m exhausted. Do you need me to stay or are you good if I go home?”

“I’m fine. Go get some rest.”

Anna gave her a quick hug and a promise to return tomorrow. As her mother walked out the back door, Cassie tucked a few of the notes in her pocket before putting the rest back.





6





KATYA





Ukraine, February 1930





As the weeks passed, the villagers settled into the routine of twice-weekly Party meetings. When the activists weren’t organizing the collective farm or the communist groups, they marched about the countryside and tried to convince individual households to join.

“I heard Fedir was sent to the train station,” Tato said one evening.

“To be deported? Where?” Katya asked.

“I don’t know. Siberia, maybe?”

“Kolya and his family tried to say goodbye, but they wouldn’t let anyone see him,” Alina said.

Katya shuddered at the memory of finding Fedir’s house in such disarray. “I hate to think of what they did to him.”

“We must do our best to keep our heads down and not draw attention to ourselves,” Tato said. “Things will settle down soon, I’m sure.”

For the first time in her life, Katya didn’t trust Tato’s words. She didn’t see how any of this could settle down or where it was all headed. Yet she was going on with her life. Every day she got up and did her chores, helped her mother, and broke away to see Pavlo as often as she could. Amid the collapse of their village life, she was dreaming of her future, and it felt wrong.

Mama cleared her throat. She hated talk about what was going on in the village and preferred to ignore the situation altogether. “I need someone to take this to Oksana’s house.” Mama held out the basket filled with a jar of borscht and a loaf of bread. “She’s been ill, and a good meal will be a big help to them.”

Katya threw aside her mending and jumped out of her chair. “I’ll go!”

A chuckle escaped Tato’s weary face. “Even after a day spent helping me clean out the barn, you can’t sit still, can you, Katya?”

“I feel like taking a walk.” She shrugged and grinned when Tato winked at her. She’d do anything to get out of patching clothes, and he knew it.

“She shouldn’t go alone. Go along with her, Alina,” Mama said. “You’ve been working on your embroidering all day. It will be good for you to take a break.”

Alina stretched her arms over her head and sighed. “You’re right. My eyes are starting to ache. A walk will be nice.”

“It’s late, so don’t linger,” Tato said, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. “Drop the food off and come right home.”

“Yes, Tato.” Katya buttoned her coat and wrapped a thick shawl over her head. Continued tensions with the activists kept everyone on edge, including her normally placid father.