Daughters of the Night Sky(59)

“I haven’t disturbed your stitches, have I?”

“Not at all, dearest.” The throbbing was no more than it usually was after a walk, so I took it as a good sign that all was still mending. “How long are you here?”

“I have a week, more or less,” he said, the lightness in his voice disappearing. “I couldn’t be spared for any longer.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, kissing his knuckles. “Tell me how you’ve been, Vanyusha. Really. The postcards, they conceal more than they tell.”

“My commander would be happy to hear that, at least. How else can I do? I fly a mission, hope to survive it, and fly another.”

“You look so thin.” I rubbed his cheek with my thumb, tracing the cheekbones that now protruded painfully due to the regimen of malnutrition and fatigue on which the army managed to survive.

“You’re not exactly plump and rosy cheeked, Katyushka.” He ran his fingers over my ribs, which were, admittedly, closer to the surface than they’d been when he’d last held me. “God, I can’t believe they almost got you.”

“Taisiya . . .” I still couldn’t say her name any louder than a whisper.

“I know, darling. I was told. I’m so very sorry. I know she was a good friend.”

“The oldest one I had,” I said. I stopped stroking his cheek, unable to draw a full breath. I’d not formed any lasting friendships in my girlhood. The others could never understand my ambition. Taisiya was the first.

“I’ve had some goodbyes to make as well,” he said, brushing my forehead with kisses. “One was my own navigator. A freak bullet and he was gone. I kept thinking of our days back at the academy, with you in the rear cockpit. Imagining that it had been you. I couldn’t sleep for three nights together.”

I gripped him tighter, stifling a grimace as my stitches pulled slightly. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered into his chest.

“Do you mean it?” he asked, brightening.

“Of course I do. I’m going to survive this mess. You are, too. We’re going to make a life together. We made a pact, remember?”

“Let’s get you up and go for a walk,” Vanya said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The grounds near the convalescent center would have been lovely under good care, but as with so many things, war had made pruning and weeding a needless waste of energy, and the once-orderly flower beds had been left to neglect. I couldn’t quite make out whether the stately old building was once a hotel or simply a manor house claimed from the old nobility and repurposed, but the hum of soldiers and airmen in various stages of recovery gave it a renewed purpose the walls hadn’t seen in years. I could feel the usefulness radiate from the cool bricks and wondered if the old stones were grateful to be more than a stop along the road for weary travelers or a vain tribute to inherited wealth. I liked to think so.

“I wrote to your mother just before I left the front,” Vanya said as we meandered about the patchy lawn. I was irritated that I had to use him for support as I walked but was calmed by his solid form at my arm.

“Just as well that she should know, I suppose. I hope you told her not to worry.”

“Darling, I told her I was sending you home to her.”

I turned to him, too quickly, and took in a ragged breath as my stitches pulled from the sudden movement. I steadied myself by placing my hands against his chest. “Without asking me?”

“Katya, all I had was a two-line telegram telling me you had been injured in the line of duty and so badly hurt they were sending you here instead of back to the front. You realize that they send men who are half-dead back to the front lines?”

“I’m sure they do, but the doctors are more cautious with the aviation regiments—you know this. We can’t be so easily replaced.”

“True enough, but darling, I had no idea what was going to be left of you. When they gave me leave to come see you . . .” His voice cracked as he sought the words. “I was sure it was to say goodbye. I promised your mother that if I found you in any condition to be moved, I’d see you back on the next train, plane, or automobile headed to Chelyabinsk. The back of a truck, if it’s what I could manage.”

“It’s not all that bad, my love. It hurts when I move, but I imagine I’ll be well enough in a few weeks.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever hold you again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” I said. “I’m too stubborn.”

“Thank God for that,” he whispered. “Please promise me you’ll go back to your mother? Stay safe? This was too close, darling. Far too close.”

“I can’t be a coward,” I said, my words muffled against his drab-olive shirt. “I’ve made a promise.”

“And you’ve honored it. You’ve been so brave—all of you. We hear about your regiment all the time. It’s been my solace. To hear how you’re performing beyond anyone’s expectations, to imagine you working around the clock, flying a dozen missions a night.” He held me now at arm’s length, his deep coal eyes blazing into mine. “You could leave service now and sleep knowing you’ve done more for Mother Russia than millions of the soldiers who had to be forced into duty.”