Together, Miri and Sasha followed Sarah upstairs to the apartment she shared with her father. It occupied the second story of the building. “Your brother’s in there,” Sarah said. She pointed through the kitchen, to a small sitting room where soot from the hearth had stained the walls. In the dim light, Miri tripped on a footstool. “I’ll bring food,” Sarah said.
Deeper in the apartment, the walls were lined with thick tomes, most in Hebrew. A single piece of art sat over the hearth. It was a faded map. The city of Jerusalem was marked with a Jewish star. The Okhrana would have shot the rabbi for owning any one of the books, let alone the map. But they would have also executed him for running a secret, unsanctioned clinic. Sarah’s father must have paid a heavy price to remain unharmed, to hold on to such a sanctuary.
Vanya lay on a worn divan next to the hearth. He was covered in so many blankets Miri couldn’t see the outline of his body. Watching him sleep so soundly there, she began to feel that this small space existed outside of Podil, and even Russia. It was soothing and calm where the rest of the city was chaos. She understood, a little, what drew Yuri to this life.
She pulled back the layers of blankets covering Vanya. His skin looked sallow. She squeezed his hand to make sure the blood flowed back. His thin shirt hung off of his gaunt collarbones. Somehow he looked older, sicker than he had only hours earlier, but even in sleep he clutched his notebook to his chest. He seemed to have healed on the outside, but she’d seen soldiers in Kovno who looked the same. There were no problems to diagnose and yet still they faded. Miri kissed Vanya’s soft curls and he opened his eyes. “You need to come back to me,” she said.
Sarah brought warm broth with black bread. Miri was hungrier than she realized. When they were done eating, Sarah brought more blankets. All had holes that had been mended more than once, but they were soft, like Baba’s blankets. Sasha lit the single log Sarah offered. It was damp and covered with moss that made the room smell like the forest. A drunk in the alley below the window crooned. A bottle skittered over cobblestones. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Miri said.
“Stay as long as you need,” Sarah said, and then disappeared down the hall.
Sasha insisted on taking the floor, on giving Miri the other divan, and Miri was too exhausted to object. She unlaced her boots and sat with a weariness she’d never felt before. She’d had hundreds of patients tell her that pregnancy made them tired beyond description, but until now hadn’t fully understood. Still, once she lay down, she couldn’t close her eyes. “Sasha, I won’t let you do it. We’ll find another way.”
“Is Yuri going with you to Petrograd?”
“He says he won’t. He thinks you should come in his place.”
“What do you think? What do you want?”
I want you to be safe, she thought. But she couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes and saw a parade of sobbing women who’d come to Baba to break engagements. All of them pleaded the same, claiming they loved someone else. At the time, Miri thought they were scared. Or selfish. Maybe both. Yet Baba did everything she could to stop the marriages. She had explained that the heart doesn’t follow what it should—only what it wants. It’s the most honest organ in every body, Mirele. Any good doctor should know that. But Miri had never agreed. Until now.
Sasha pressed, “Miriam, I can’t follow you to America, not like this. You and your brother have to leave tomorrow on the Rudov and then…”
“Come. I want you to come with me.”
“What?”
“Please, will you come with me to America?”
“You’re sure?” His breathing was shallow. Nervous, she knew. And she felt the same. She slipped off the divan and onto the floor, next to him. He hesitated. She didn’t. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more certain in my life,” she said, and he opened his arms wide so she could lean into his chest where he held her tight. She fell asleep before another thought entered her head.