TWO DAYS LATER I WENT UPSTAIRS WITH AUNTIE TO HELP HER PACK FOR OUR TRIP ACROSS THE FROZEN LAKE. “WHERE ARE YOUR TABLE AND CHAIRS?” I ASKED, STARTLED BY THE empty space in her kitchen.

“We used them for fuel, Ivan,” she said, locking the front door of her apartment behind us.

“You mean …” Auntie had been doing all the cooking for us on the wood-burning stove. I hadn’t stopped to notice where the wood came from. It hit me that even with the war and rationing, I still took a lot of things for granted. “Thank you,” I murmured. “I don’t know how we would have gotten along without you.”

She smiled. “And don’t worry. I remembered to take the money out of the table legs before I burned them.”

“Any surprises for me today?” I called as Auntie disappeared into the tiny hallway between the bedroom and the living area.

“Maybe a few,” she called from the bedroom. I followed her when I heard the scraping sound of something being dragged across the floor. Auntie was pulling a chair from the bedroom toward the hall.

“Let me,” I said, taking over for her. “Where do you want it?”

“In front of the closet in the hall.” I carried it the few feet that separated us from the closet and opened the door. “Can you reach the basket on the top shelf?”

“Of course.” I stepped up onto the chair and carefully removed a covered basket the size of a suitcase. It was surprisingly light. “Where do you want it?”

“Hand it to me.” Auntie took it and carried it into the living room.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, joining her.

“Some things that belonged to my husband.”

I studied Auntie Vera’s face to find the young woman underneath the ancient one I knew, trying to picture her with a husband, a man who had died long, long ago. I peered over her shoulder into the deep basket. “Valenki!” I exclaimed as she held up a pair of the dark gray felt boots.

“They were Arseny’s.” She gazed at them with a half smile. “Barely worn. Here.” She held them out to me.

“What do you want me to do with them?”

“Keep them, of course.”

As she continued emptying out the basket, I said, “I can’t accept them, Auntie. It’s too big a present.”

“Nonsense. A pair of perfectly good boots is going to waste. You’ll need them when we cross Lake Ladoga. And especially when you go up to your uncle’s place. They might be a little big for you. Try them on.”

Valenki were traditional Russian boots made out of felt, worn mostly by country people. They kept your feet warm in even the coldest temperatures. They weren’t waterproof so you had to wear galoshes over them, but valenki were so sturdy and invaluable that people were known to pass them down from one generation to the next. All the Soviet soldiers were issued valenki with their winter gear or their feet wouldn’t have lasted through one of our winters. Many hoped that the lack of valenki alone would defeat the Germans once they experienced the severity of our winter.

I’d never owned a pair because we lived in the city. I only went outside in the winter to play with Alik and Misha or run errands for my mother. If my feet got cold, I would soon be indoors again, drying off in front of the stove. I slipped my shoes off and cautiously put first one then the other foot into the valenki. They came almost up to my knees.

Auntie nodded. “A little big, perhaps. Wear them with a few pairs of heavy socks until you grow into them.” I walked around the room to get a feel for them. Arseny had worn them enough that they weren’t stiff and hard as I’d heard they were when they were new.

Looking up at Auntie with a smile, I said, “With these I think our journey won’t be as hard.”

She threw me a pair of black rubber galoshes. “Put these on over them when you use them outside.”

I caught one in each hand and slipped them easily over what were quickly feeling like my valenki. “Thank you, Auntie. But are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Take good care of them. You’ll be with your uncle Boris soon, and then a new chapter of your life will be opening for you.”

For the first time I let myself feel a little curious about what it would be like to live in the country, even if it was with my uncle Boris. If only I weren’t being separated from my mother, I might actually feel excited about it.

“I thought it was in here,” Auntie murmured as she emptied the last of the contents onto the sofa.

“What?”

“The knife.”

“What knife?”

“Oh … yes!” she said brightly, and disappeared into her bedroom. She reappeared with a shoe box, its lid gone, stuffed with an old pair of weathered-looking men’s work boots. She took them out of the box, set them aside, and pulled back a piece of fabric to reveal two slender knives with plain wooden handles, sheathed in brown leather. She held one out to me handle first; I stared at it and then at her. “Take it!” The smooth, wood-covered handle slipped easily into my hand and fit well.

“It’s Finnish,” she said, pulling out the other, holding it, turning it over. “This one’s a little smaller; I’ll keep it. You take that one.”

“For what?”

“Everything!” she said, looking surprised at my question. “Protection, cutting branches for fire, gutting fish. You can’t go to the country, especially on your own, without one of these.” Auntie Vera sometimes felt to me like she was a magician pulling endless rabbits out of her hat.

“So,” I said, glancing down at my new boots, “you think we’ll be crossing Ladoga soon?”

She looked at me, held my gaze, and said, “Yes. If we don’t, it’s more likely than not that we will die.” I knew she was right; the words hardly surprised me. There wasn’t a moment I wasn’t hungry. It was rumored that thousands of people were starving to death every day. Hardly any of my friends wanted to sled or play like we used to — everyone was too weak from hunger. We were all using our energy just to stay alive.

“It’s my turn to get our rations today,” I said. “I should go.” It was the last thing I wanted to do, waste hours in a long line in the cold afternoon air. The forecast was for snow by nightfall. At least I had new boots to keep my feet warm. I left Auntie’s apartment feeling lucky and proud of my new valenki, even if I did walk a little clumsily because they were too big for me.

After stopping in our apartment to get our ration cards, I went next door to see if Alik and Misha would go with me. They still didn’t lock their door in spite of Auntie’s warnings. I found them lying on their unmade bed in their living room, playing chess. “Do you want to see me checkmate Misha?” Alik asked, glancing up at me. “He hasn’t a clue it’s coming.”

“I do, too!” Misha protested. “And I’m sick of chess anyway.” He began putting the pieces back in their box without waiting for Alik’s consent.

“I have to go get bread today. Do you want to go with me?” I asked before the brothers could break into a squabble about their game. They agreed, and soon we were out walking as light snow flurries floated down around us.

Three blocks later we turned the corner and saw a line that stretched an entire block from the storefront where we received our ration of bread. We took our place at the end of it. Not two minutes had gone by when we heard a scream from somewhere near the front of the store. We ran toward it.

Two teenage boys, one with a knife in his hand, were trying to steal the purse of a woman who looked like she was Auntie’s age. Of course it contained her ration card. She’d laced her hands together, her purse in the crook of her arm, and kept turning away from the boy who was trying to take it from her. The boy with the knife in his hand yelled repeatedly to the rest of us, “Don’t try to help!” as he swung his weapon in a wide arc.

And no one tried to help, including us, because it was too dangerous. We all stared in horror as the unarmed boy became more and more frustrated that he’d been unable to wrestle the purse from the tiny old woman. He kept threatening to do terrible things to her if she didn’t let go. Finally, three women from inside the bread store rushed out, each one carrying some sort of wooden stick — broom handles, maybe — and began to hit the boy assaulting the old woman.

The boy with the knife ran away as soon as they began to hit his friend. The other boy soon followed after receiving a few good blows from the brave women of the bread shop. As they brought the frightened old woman into the store, one of them turned to address the crowd who’d been watching the drama unfold.

“We are so sorry,” she said. “We have to close the shop until we have spoken to the authorities.” She quickly closed the door. No one said a word; no one moved. I stared at the long line of people, almost all women, and a few children our age, and realized even more deeply that hunger now governed everything. No one had the strength to fight the thieving boys or to argue with the women who closed the shop. Our bread rations meant another day of survival, and none of us could afford to risk losing it.