The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (20)

“I want to see Pavlo,” she said. She craved his calming presence like the town drunk craved horilka.

“We can’t go anywhere,” Alina said. “You know that.”

Katya jumped up as an idea occurred to her. “Maybe we can! Maybe we should take the wagon and leave the village.”

Tato set his jaw. “I will not be chased off my land.”

“Where would we go?” Mama asked. “Nowhere is safe. They’re checking travelers, and we could be stopped and arrested on the road just as easily as here. No, we should wait here. Maybe they won’t realize we were there, and it will all blow over.”

So, all that day they waited for the OGPU to come. At every noise, they jumped, certain that it was death knocking on the door. After lunch, Kolya, Pavlo, and Yosyp came and talked to Tato for a few minutes, but they didn’t stay to visit, and Katya didn’t get to speak to Pavlo alone. They shared a look, he squeezed her arm, and then his father ushered him out the door. He didn’t want to leave his wife home alone for long.

Katya stared after him as he walked away, worried it would be the last time she ever saw him, and an awful feeling of helplessness rushed through her. Was this her life now? Constant fear and worry?

When they made it through the daylight hours, Mama became convinced that the OGPU men were waiting for the darkness of the night like they typically did. Nobody slept, expecting state officials to come barreling through the door at any moment to take them, but they didn’t come that night either. Over the next few days, Katya allowed herself to be lulled into a sense of complacency and, with Tomas gone, talk of resistance abated in the village.





Spring and summer blurred together into their typical flurry of labor. Katya’s family worked hard in their fields—sowing their spring crops, tending their kitchen garden, and today they’d finished taking in the winter wheat harvest they’d planted last fall. Her back and legs ached, but it was the satisfying ache born of a good day’s work. Katya relished it, though she couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her as she sat on the stool next to the cow for the evening milking.

“Katya?”

Pavlo’s voice made her jump, and she spun around.

“What are you doing here?”

Pavlo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he pushed the door closed. “Can’t I come see my girl?”

“Of course, but I can tell something is bothering you.” She stood and hugged him, ignoring her stiff muscles and inhaling the smell of woodsmoke and leather oil that was uniquely him.

Pavlo’s hand absently stroked her hair. “There’s a group of activists going around taking surpluses of grain and food from homes to fill government quotas. They say it belongs to the state, and if you aren’t in the collective, you owe twice as much as someone who is.”

“How did you find this out?” Dread soured her stomach as she thought of the beautiful golden wheat stacked in their barn, waiting to be threshed.

“They came to my uncle’s house. They took everything he had, even the seed he’d put away for his fall planting of winter wheat.” Pavlo pulled away and paced. “It’s a ploy to get them into the collective. Take their grain so they can’t plant or make bread—then they have nothing unless they join and get their own goods doled back out to them for a price.”

“My father mentioned hiding some grain.” The cow lowed impatiently, so Katya sat back on the stool and began to milk as she talked. “I know the taxes he’ll have to pay will be high, but maybe we should separate what we have left. Keep small stores of it—and other things we may need—in different areas.”

Pavlo grinned, and this time, his whole face lit up. “Ah, Katya, you’re so smart. I came here to tell you the same thing. It’s not much, but it’s something to do at least.”





The next week—with their parents’ blessing—Katya and Pavlo each took a small tin of wheat, as well as some food, and met in the woods behind their homes. Walking under the clear, cold starlight with Pavlo almost felt like a treat, until Katya snapped a twig underfoot, and they both froze in fear. When a few minutes passed with no one stepping out to arrest them, her pulse slowed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be more careful.”

Pavlo squeezed her hand, his voice low. “I’m just glad to be alone with you.”

Despite the relative newness of their romance, the ease born of a lifetime of close friendship made it feel natural to pull him closer. This evolution of their camaraderie into love rang true in every part of her being.

As they moved deep into the woods, Katya pointed to a large, gnarly oak that would be easy to find again. “There’s a hole in the base of that tree. We can hide everything there.”

Pavlo nodded. “We’ll fill it in with leaves, too, so no one will notice it.”

They worked as fast as they could, digging into the rotting leaves and dirt with a small spade Pavlo had brought before tucking the tins into the hole. As Katya brushed her hands off on her skirt, Pavlo leaned over and kissed her.

Her body stilled as his lips met hers. Even amid the fear and worry, his touch still made her tremble. When he pulled away, reality rushed back in like a cold splash of water, and she moved toward him again, desperate to erase the frightening truth of their lives. Pavlo gave a low groan and kissed her, his lips moving fast and hot across hers. His hands tangled in her hair and ran down her back before he pulled away again.