Daughters of the Night Sky(63)

Vanya drew my face in for a long kiss, then pulled away. “You’re saving my life, Katyushka.”

“It’s the only thing dearer to me than my own.”

“I’m going into town to wire Father. See what he advises,” Vanya said, standing me carefully back on my feet. “Stay out here and get some rest in the sun. You’ll need your strength to travel.”

I caressed his cheek, and kissed him in farewell. “Be careful,” I urged.

As he bounded off to the telegraph office, I saw a spring in his step that I hadn’t seen since he’d arrived.

I did as he bid and curled up on the old chaise, basking in the sun like a spoiled house cat. Safe and protected. I imagined spending many such hours under the Portuguese sun and wondered how many years it would take for me to learn to rest without the looming guilt of one who had abandoned her sisters in arms.




Vanya returned to the hospital with his father’s response and the latest newspaper.

Antonin’s reply had been almost instantaneous: Do not come home. Contact will come to you.

“What did you put in the wire?” I asked. “Nothing too obvious?”

“No. I just asked if a certain ‘friend’ of his was still near Chelyabinsk. He knows the only reason I would have need of this man—Comrade Osin—is for papers. Father’s message told me what I expected—he’s out closer to the west, where he can profit the most. Father will send him word that I need to see him.”

“He sounds like a reputable sort,” I said with a derisive laugh.

“There’s good reason Mother and I were always sent from the room when he came to see Father, of that I’m certain. Anything more, I don’t want to know.”

“Wise,” I said, rubbing my temples against the thrumming behind my eyes.

“Are you all right?” He wrapped an arm around me, looking up from his paper.

“Fine, fine.” I nodded at the newspaper. “Tell me what’s going on in the world. My head aches too much for me to read for myself.”

“You need to tell the medics,” he chided.

“So they can do what? It’s the medicine that gives me the headaches. Either my side is unbearable, or my head is. They don’t have many choices this far from the front,” I reminded him. I closed my eyes, continuing to massage my head, taking in steady breaths. “News, please.”

“The usual guff. The tide is about to turn. We’ll retake Leningrad and push the Germans back to Berlin . . . the same things they’ve said for the past year, none of it coming to pass.”

“Watch yourself,” I said, opening one eye. “Ears.”

“Right,” he said. “God, I hope Osin turns up quickly. If we don’t get our papers before my leave is up, it will complicate things.”

“How so?”

“They’ll have people looking for me. I’d prefer that didn’t happen until we’re out of the country.”

“Even if he manages to get papers for us, how are we going to get out of here?” I asked, tracing the words on Antonin’s wire with my index finger.

“I’ll buy a truck,” he said. “That should get us through to Turkey, and then we’ll rest and figure out what comes next. Portugal, if that’s what you want.”

“And you trust that Osin to help us?”

“He’d sell his own babushka for a price. And he’s never refused Father anything.”

“I don’t like this,” I said, keeping my voice even. “So many things could go wrong. And I don’t want to put our lives in the hands of a stranger.”

Vanya stilled my tracing with his hand. “You don’t trust him, but do you trust me?”

“With my life, on many occasions.”

“Then trust me with it once more. I will get us out of here.”

I nodded and concealed the grimace, laced with fear and uncertainty, that loomed at my lips.




Osin was two days in coming to us—much faster than we expected. I had expected a man with a weaselish face. The sort where his eyes never fully opened, always scheming, and where his nose came to such a sharp end it seemed he was always pointing an accusing finger at you. But as was typical of the world, he wasn’t given a face that betrayed his dubious business connections and shady politics. He’d been graced with a strong jaw, flashing blue eyes, and a convivial demeanor that encouraged openness.

“Young Comrade Solonev and his lovely bride,” he said, shaking Vanya’s hand and kissing my own with a flourish before taking a seat in the courtyard. We’d opted for an outdoor meeting so there would be less chance of us being overheard. “I admit I was surprised to hear from my old friend that his son was in need of my assistance. Of course, I am so happy to be of use to you in these difficult times.”

“Quite,” Vanya said, his face lined with a scowl. “I worry for my wife’s well-being, Comrade Osin. She was injured in service to the country, but I fear the doctors are treating her injuries too lightly.”

“You wish for me to procure some medicines, perhaps? An examination with one of Moscow’s finest physicians?” he asked, head cocked sideways. His business had a scope I hadn’t imagined.

“No, I don’t want to be a drain on resources when there are soldiers in need. I am hoping to get her more adequate treatment elsewhere. If one were to venture as far as, say, Turkey, and then on to a friendly country in the west, then she would be able to find better medical help without harming the war effort.”