ZASHA LAY QUIETLY ON THE FLOOR, NEXT TO MY BED, WARM AND SECURE IN A NEST OF OLD BLANKETS — LIKE THE ONE IN THE KITCHEN THAT RINA had made. I couldn’t sleep after my conversation with my mother. To know that she, too, was waiting for my father made me unbearably sad. It made us both seem like foolish dreamers, people who couldn’t face reality. It almost undermined my belief that he would come home one day.

I turned onto my side, staring out the open window. Stars filled the sky. So Zasha was going to have puppies. This, too, should have made me happy. Instead, it doubled my fears for Zasha’s safety.

How many puppies would she have? I wondered. Three, four, six, seven? How long until they were so big they needed their own homes? Would they bark? Of course they would, I thought, and then everyone would know about Zasha and her babies. If some crazed citizen didn’t kill them out of patriotic duty, the men in the yellow truck would descend upon us like an avalanche that destroys everything in its path. I tossed the blankets off me and sat up, breathing hard.

“Mikhail, what is it?” I heard rustling from Nikolai’s bed but couldn’t see him in the dark.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s wrong?” I heard a scratch and then saw the flare of a match. He lit the squat candle we kept on the nightstand for the times when the electricity went out, which happened often in the winter.

Zasha leaped onto my narrow bed and settled next to me. “Zasha’s going to have puppies.”

“That’s wonderful news! How do you know?”

“Mother told me.”

Nikolai swung his feet onto the floor, leaning across the space that separated our beds, and petted Zasha.

“Good girl. Let’s keep them all. It will be fantastic.”

“You must be talking in your sleep, because this puts the puppies and Zasha in danger.”

“Why does it have to be like this? The war is over!”

An idea began to form as we sat there in the candlelight. “Can you see the clock? What time is it?”

Nikolai stretched around to see the little clock on the other side of the room. “I think it’s almost four. It will be light soon.”

“Good,” I said. “Blow out the candle and turn on the light.”

“No, that hurts my eyes.”

“Close them, then. And get dressed. We’re going on a visit.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked as he blew out the candle. When he turned on the small lamp that sat on the nightstand between us, we both groaned and closed our eyes.

“Do you remember what Katia said? There is a man not far from here who is going to start a kennel.”

“Yes. So?”

“We need to go there and have a look.”

“Why?”

“He may be able to help us.”

“Don’t be silly. We need to stay away from him.”

“No. We need to find out what he’s planning to do. Katia said he had only a few dogs. Now that we know Zasha is going to have puppies … we have something he may want. Don’t you see? It could keep Zasha safe.”

“What are we going to do when we get there? Knock on his front door and announce that we have a dog we’re trying to hide? He might steal her from us.”

“We’re not taking her with us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I certainly hope not. But what exactly are we going to do?” Nikolai pulled on his boots as I fumbled in a drawer for a warm shirt.

“We’ll look around, see what he’s built, what he’s got planned.”

“Will we introduce ourselves?” Nikolai asked, this time sincerely.

“Not yet. Let’s just see what we can find before he gets up. Maybe we should go to the village afterward, hear what people are saying about him.”

As I finished lacing up my shoes, I glanced one last time at Zasha, who sat watching us curiously from my bed, looking almost concerned. “Don’t worry, girl,” I said, petting her head. “We’ll be back in time for breakfast.” I closed the window and the bedroom door to make sure she wouldn’t follow us.

Nikolai guided Paku quietly out of the barn. We rode together, he in the front and I behind. At fifteen and thirteen, our combined weights equaled one grown man; Paku didn’t complain. When we reached the paved road that ran in front of our house, Nikolai said, “Katia said he’s at the old Orlov place, right?”

“Yes. Let’s cut through the back pastures instead of going all the way around on the main road.” I knew Paku was happier walking on soft ground, and it would be at least a ten-mile round-trip — more, if we went into the village afterward.

Our little corner of Russia, being so far north, had missed most of the terrible events that destroyed so many farms, and families, in the 1920s and ’30s. In the richest and most fertile lands in the south, the government had taken farms away from their owners and put them under the control of the state. It had resulted in a terrible famine when Nikolai was a toddler.

As the years passed, practicalities began to replace theories, and farmers in our part of the world carried on as they had for centuries. True, the state sometimes told us what to plant and hired workers for us, but our farm had never been taken over. The Orlov place had been occupied by the government for seven dreadful years. The once-productive dairy farm had been poorly run and badly treated by those who had no personal interest in its success. Eventually, it was abandoned: The Orlov family never returned. This was the first time in my memory that someone was living there.

After almost an hour of riding, Nikolai and I jumped off of Paku to give her a rest. She grazed for a few minutes and let us walk her — with a stop for a bite here and there in the last mile.

Fence posts still stood along the southernmost property line of the Orlov farm, but many of the cross boards were gone or fallen at one end. “This is it,” I said, stopping in the hazy dawn light. “What should we do now?”

Nikolai looked around thoughtfully. “I think we should tie Paku’s reins to a tree and explore that building.” He pointed to the right, to a long building with a high roof, the type where cows are usually milked. It wasn’t a barn exactly, but that’s how I thought of it.

I nodded my agreement. “That looks like the house up there.” I pointed to a dilapidated two-story structure to the left, far in the distance.

“He won’t be able to hear us,” I said, “but let’s try not to be seen.” Nikolai nodded his agreement.

We tied Paku to an oak not far from the barn. Climbing through a large gap in the fence, we moved quickly toward it. The grass was long and thick; a twisted runner caught on my shoe and I stumbled. The door hung loose on its hinges; Nikolai went in first. The floor was cement and the first sound we heard was the crunch of glass under our shoes from one of the many window-panes I could now see were missing.

We walked slowly. On the right were stalls where the individual cows used to be kept and milked; on the left, an open area with scraps of hay still scattered over the floor.

“I can see why he chose this building to turn into a kennel. These old stalls are perfect. You could probably divide them in two and still have plenty of room in each one for a dog.”

Nikolai nodded. “But it’s in terrible shape. How is he going to pay for all the repairs that need to be done?”

“And where will he get the dogs? And what kinds, I wonder?”

“Hey, look at this!” Nikolai bent down and picked up something shiny off the floor.

“What is it?”

He blew off a little dust and rubbed it with his thumb. I stood close by and watched over his shoulder as he cleaned it up. “I think it’s a piece of a —”

“Don’t move!” a deep and loud voice behind us yelled. “Put your hands on your heads and turn around.” My heart beat so hard, I could practically hear it. We turned around slowly, as asked, hands on our heads.

About twenty feet from us stood a man with only his pants and boots on, his curly dark hair a tangled mess. He was well muscled and aiming a military rifle at us.

“Who are you?” he barked. “Why are you here?”

Nikolai and I exchanged frightened glances.

“I am Mikhail Tarkov,” I said in a higher than normal voice, “and this is my brother, Nikolai.”

“And?” he demanded.

“And we’re here because … because we heard you were going to open a kennel.”

“And we like dogs,” Nikolai added eagerly. The rifle stayed aimed at us.

“Is anyone with you?”

“No,” we answered in unison. “Just our horse,” I added.

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen and my brother is fifteen.” My arms were aching. I think they might have been shaking, too.

“We’re sorry, sir, for having invaded your property like this,” Nikolai said in his most proper voice.

“Yes, we’re very sorry. May we go now, please?” I thought I saw a flicker of a smile pass over his face, but I couldn’t be sure because the gun and the scope covered so much of it. He slowly lowered the gun to reveal a weathered face with a scar on the side of his cheek near his left ear.

“Don’t ever come snooping on the land of a soldier. You could get yourselves killed.” He stared at us, seeming to take in every detail. “You say you like dogs?”

“Yes, sir,” we answered. I was sure now my poor arms were turning to stone.

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No, sir,” we said.

“Come on, then.” He waved us toward him with his rifle. “I was just about to have some tea.” Long ago my father taught us never to argue with a man if he had a gun in his hand. I wasn’t about to start now.

We followed him out of the barn to his run-down farmhouse. I don’t think you could say we really had a choice.