“Nadia … Nadia. You are safe.”
The scent of apples and laundry soap. It has to be Marusia. I open my eyes. It is Marusia, in her work clothes. I blink and look around, trying to get my bearings. I am still in the library staff room, bundled up in Miss Barry’s blanket. A shiver runs deep in my bones. I am unbearably sad and so very cold.
I feel Marusia’s arm around my waist.
Ivan is sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his brow creased with concern. There is no one else here, just me, Marusia and Ivan.
How much trouble was I in for running away from school a second time? Ivan seemed to know what was on my mind. “We told the inspector that you were ill,” he said.
I could feel my throat filling with tears — of relief, but also guilt. How long had I been here?
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s after six,” said Ivan. “We have been sitting here with you for hours.”
Money was so scarce for us, and I had made them miss work.
I had no control over it — the tears flowed. “I am so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”
“You are not trouble,” said Ivan.
Marusia said nothing. I could tell by her gulps of air that she was weeping. I realized it wasn’t just me she was weeping about. She had lost another Nadia — her own sister — years ago. Just as I had lost my family. She held me tight and rested her head on my shoulder. I hugged her back. Ivan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around both of us. We wept together.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but I was suddenly aware that we were still in the library.
“Can we go home?” I asked.
We untangled our arms, but when I tried to get up my joints were so weak that my knees buckled. Marusia was wobbly too.
“Let’s get my girls home,” said Ivan. He took the blanket off my shoulders and held my coat open so I could slip it on. He must have gone to the school to get it. He wrapped one arm around my waist and another around Marusia’s, giving us each support.
When we got home, Marusia warmed up some homemade soup and sliced a few pieces of rye bread. Before, a meal like this would have caused confusing memories and nightmares. But now that my memory was back — parts of it, at least — I was able to think of that last bowl of soup I had shared with my grandmother and sister. It was a sad time, but also a cherished one. How I missed them both.
I still had not pieced together all the details of my life before my parents disappeared. The ache of their loss was like a wound in my heart. I must have been very young when they were taken away. And I realized now that they weren’t just taken away. They were dead. Tato was killed by the Soviets and Mama was killed by the Nazis. My teeth chattered — not from the cold but from the realization of all that I had lost.
I wrapped my arms around my chest and rocked back and forth in my chair. Back and forth, back and forth, trying to remember the last time my parents had held me.
But I also knew that Mama and Tato had loved me. Flecks and shadows of scenes from the past told me that. When I thought hard now about Tato, I could remember his warm smile and the last time he tucked me into bed … Mama, dear Mama. Her lilting voice as she sang the kolysanka.
And Baba? What strength she had. But she couldn’t have survived the shock of losing me and Lida.
Lida.
The dark-haired girl in my dream who tried to grab my hand … The OST girl in the bombed factory who met my gaze. That was Lida. I knew it now.
Marusia brushed her fingertips lightly on my forearm. “Are you ready to tell us about it?”
I was. At least, about as much as I remembered. It was a relief to say the details out loud.
At first it was all jumbled, but as I continued, my memories began to fall more and more into place. I sorted through the parts of my life when I was Gretchen, and the earlier parts when I was myself. It was a weight taken from my shoulders to know for sure that Vater and Mutter were not my real parents. The thought of Vater in particular made bile rise in my throat. I had a twinge of worry about Eva though. She wasn’t my sister, but she was just a child. Where was she now? Was she safe? Did she ever think of me?
Marusia nodded as I spoke. She knew my history from when we met at the farm. Of my earlier life, she had guessed some of it. Ivan must have heard from Marusia all that she knew, but still he sat spellbound.
“I always wondered what your real name was,” said Marusia. “Larissa is a beautiful name. And you have a sister named Lida.”
“Yes.”
My sister. My dear big sister Lida. I started to cry again. “Do you think she still might be alive?” I managed to ask.
“With the memories that you’ve pieced together, maybe we will be able to find what became of her,” said Marusia.
“We’ll write to the Red Cross,” said Ivan. “We can always hope.”