The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (75)

“Alina?” Bobby said quietly. “Are you here?”

The silence echoed around them.

“So much has happened since I lost you.” She paused, waiting for a response. “I have a great-granddaughter now. Would you believe I lived long enough to see such a thing? I’ve been telling her stories about when we were girls.”

She gave a low sob, then went on, the raw grief in her voice so tangible Cassie winced. “I’m sorry, Alina. I’m so sorry for everything that happened. I never meant to hurt you. I hope you know that. I light the candle so you can come back to me, but I think I’ve failed you too much.”

The clock chimed, announcing the hour. Bobby closed her eyes, and Cassie could feel her grandmother willing something to happen, someone to speak. Her pulse raced as she watched the tragic scene. As crazy as it was, she almost expected Alina to manifest in front of her.

But there was only silence.

Gingerly, Bobby lay down next to the spot Birdie talked to and reached her hand out toward the nothingness. Tears ran in crooked courses down her grooved cheeks. “I’ll keep waiting, Alina.”

She closed her eyes, and her breathing evened out. Cassie inched closer and watched her shoulders rise and fall in a steady rhythm. When she was convinced Bobby was asleep, she ran to the kitchen. If she couldn’t read the journal on her own, maybe researching what life was like in Ukraine back then would give her some insight.

She plugged the internet cable into her laptop and—for once grateful for her mom’s pushiness—punched in the login information stuck on the refrigerator, then opened up the search bar and typed “Ukraine, 1930s”.

The first entries shocked her.

Holodomor, death by hunger, terror-famine, Stalin, death toll estimates from 4–10 million. The horrific words screamed out at her from the screen. Pictures of bloated bellies and emaciated bodies both drew her in and repulsed her at the same time. Children with large heads perched on spindly bodies stared out at her with haunted eyes.

Cassie blanched as she clicked on picture after picture. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “How did I not know about this? If she lived through a forced famine, it’s no wonder she hoards food.”

“What’s a famine?” Birdie’s little voice piped.

“I thought you were in bed!” Cassie slammed the computer screen down so her daughter wouldn’t see the pictures. “A famine is when people don’t have enough food. They get very hungry.”

“Oh, yeah.” Birdie nodded in an understanding way that belied her young age. “Alina and Katya were really hungry all the time. I heard all about it.”

From who? Cassie wondered. But before she could press for more answers, her mom came in the back door.

“Hello!” Anna bent and kissed Birdie on the cheek. “Why don’t you go pick out a few books for me to read to you. Wait in your room and I’ll be right there.”

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.”