Daughters of the Night Sky(71)
“The wee one looks a bit young for school,” I commented to Oksana, who had served Comrade Mishin a larger portion of soup and bread with an admonishment to eat it all so that he would be better able to keep an eye on the children. “Is he tagging along with an older sibling to stay out of his mother’s hair?”
“Not exactly,” Oksana said, pulling me a bit farther from the table. “He’s here with his sister, but their parents were killed in a raid a few months ago. They’re all orphans. They’d be fending for themselves if it weren’t for Mishin.”
“He’s a good man,” I said, watching the man who tried, and failed, to siphon off some of his soup into the children’s bowls without being observed.
“There aren’t enough of them,” Oksana replied. “And as soon as we move on, he’ll be back to scraping together enough food to keep them alive. Most of them won’t make it through the winter. Fewer, if Mishin won’t eat his portion and keep himself alive, though there’s no reasoning with him.”
I looked at the faces, alight with happiness at the prospect of bellies that weren’t exactly full, but not rumbling for the first time in several days.
The sun began to hang lower in the sky, and we’d be needed in the air in a few hours. We made our farewells and loaded the empty crate back in the truck.
“It’s kind of you to help them,” I said after a few minutes on the road. “Not many would think to do it.”
“I’ve tried to do what I can whenever we’re near a village. They’re all the same. The people need help, especially the orphans.” It occurred to me then that over the past two years, much of what I’d considered to be her silence might very well have been her absence as she’d quietly tended to those who couldn’t tend to themselves. Knowing that her aid was a small mercy that was likely only to delay the inevitable.
“You didn’t need to bring me with you,” I said. “Are you trying to show me your kind side, then? Trying to get back in my good graces?”
“No. Trying to show you why I did what I did.”
“How do the children have anything to do with nearly blowing our plane out of the sky?”
“The only thing that might save those children and millions of others just like them—Russian, German, Polish, French, Dutch, and otherwise—is to finish this damn war. And we have to win it, Katya. You weren’t in Kiev. You didn’t see what the Germans were capable of. I will do what I can to follow the safety protocols because I want you in my plane, but I have to do what I can to end this war, even if it isn’t always safe. I made a mistake. It was a foolish maneuver, and I’m sorry.”
“That I can understand,” I said after a brief pause. “I’ll fly with you.”
Oksana took my hand in hers and shook it. “I won’t abuse your trust again.”
CHAPTER 21
November 1943, the Crimea, Sorties: 478
My dearest Katinka,
This letter brings with it all the love and blessings a mother can bestow upon her daughter. I am pleased to hear your wounds have mended and that your regiment has earned such honors. Pleased and unsurprised. You have always been one to quash a challenge that others would think insurmountable. You have your father’s heart.
I have news of my own that I hope will cause you more joy than grief. I have been in the company of a Colonel Grigory Yelchin. He has been overseeing much of the industry in Chelyabinsk Oblast, reporting directly to the highest echelons in Moscow, including the little factory where the ladies and I sew the uniforms for you and the other brave citizens at the front. We formed a friendship some months ago—he and his late wife were quite fond of ballet as well, so we had much to talk about. Just last week he asked me to become his wife. I confess I have spent most of my hours since then wondering how you will react to the news. He is a good and kind man, dearest Katinka, and I know you will love him in time.
I will never forget your papa, Katinka. I can say little else about the world these days with such certainty. You know what love is now, having found your Vanya, and I want to remember what it is to be a beloved wife once more. It won’t ever be the marriage your father and I had, but I think he will make me as happy as I can be until you and your husband are nestled safely around my supper table, warm, well fed, and far from harm’s way. I fear this letter won’t reach you until after the deed is done, so if I cannot ask your opinion on the matter, I will ask you, humbly, for a daughter’s blessing.
With all my love,
~Mama
“Lucya Yelchina.” I tested the name on my tongue. Beautiful. Unfamiliar, almost foreign.
“Who is that?” Polina asked from her bunk.
“My mother,” I said. “She’s remarried. That’s her new name.”
“How lovely,” Renata chimed in. “You must be so happy for her.”
“Yes,” I said, knowing the nobler side of me wished my mother the companionship her marriage would give her. “She’s been alone quite some time. It sounds like she’s made a good match for herself.”
“You don’t look convinced of that,” Oksana said, peering up from her book.
“Stop being so damned observant,” I said, wishing I had something other than my mother’s letter to lob at her.