I COULD SEE PART OF LAKE LADOGA FROM MY ROOM AT THE BACK OF VLADIMIR AND HIS WIFE NATALYA’S HOUSE. IT LOOKED AS FROZEN AND FORBIDDING AS THE DAY I CROSSED it with Auntie. For the last two days our hosts had fed us and warmed us in front of cozy fires and under thick comforters. They made me feel so welcome that I wanted to stay, to forget my idea of being a partisan, to abandon my plan to breed the dogs to help our underground army.

If I’d had a magic wand, I would have made my mother appear, and Alik and Misha, Polina, too, and Galina to keep Auntie company. We would all move into a big house together and wait out the war. But no magic wand appeared. The talk on that second night of our stay was of the best route to Uncle Boris’s cabin. Vladimir would take Petr and me there in the sleigh. We’d start out several hours before dawn to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, and hopefully arrive just as the sun was breaking the horizon.

The worst part for me was saying good-bye to Auntie. She was like my second mother, my aunt, and my grandmother all in one. She’d taught me about the world, helped me see and understand things, made me feel safe, and helped me to be brave. For the time being, she would stay in Kobona with Vladimir and Natalya. We’d make a long-term decision soon.

Petr had committed himself to staying with me “for a while.” He said, “I have responsibilities to so many. We’ll get you settled in with your uncle, and then we’ll see.” So it was no surprise that when we said farewell to Natalya and Auntie my heart felt like it was made of lead. The best thing I can say is that I held back my tears.

All my comfort and hope came from the dogs, nestled on the floor of the sleigh under several blankets. As Petr, Vladimir, and I drove north, I thought about what a short time ago I’d left Leningrad, and how much had happened. I didn’t feel like the same boy who’d waved a tearful good-bye to his mother; I felt so much older.

Soon we’d have Uncle Boris to deal with. He wouldn’t recognize me, I was certain; too many years had passed. What if he thought I wasn’t his nephew, but an impostor? He might be terribly upset or frightened by our plans for breeding the dogs, think it too dangerous, and ask us to leave. Or the cabin could have burned down, or be empty. Uncle Boris could have passed away, for all I knew.

I felt like Vladimir was reading my mind when he said, “I’m coming in to meet your uncle.”

“Why?” Petr and I asked at the same time.

“Because you don’t know much about him. You can’t be sure of your reception.” We nodded silently. “I’d never forgive myself if I just dropped you off and he turned you away with nowhere to go, no food, and two little puppies. I’m meeting this fellow.”

Hours later, after a few wrong turns, we finally found his sturdy-looking wooden cabin, with a slim stream of smoke floating out of the chimney.

“Let’s all go to the door with the dogs. I want him to know immediately what he’s getting into,” I said as the sleigh pulled to a halt.

“Why not?” Petr asked. Vladimir shrugged, as if to say it was fine with him. If anyone heard us arrive, there was no sign of it. Petr held Thor, I held Zasha, and Vladimir stood next to me as I knocked hard three times on the cabin door.

A man of medium height opened the door, his thick hair a silvery gray, his eyes kind, a long-stemmed pipe in his hand.

“You’re not my uncle Boris!” I exclaimed. Petr, Vladimir, and I glanced at one another in surprise.

He smiled and said softly, “No, I’m not. You’re his nephew?” I couldn’t place his accent.

“His great-nephew.”

“Please come in out of the cold.”

“Can we bring the dogs in?” I asked.

His smile deepened. “If you didn’t I would be very disappointed.” He held out his hand to each of us as we entered. “I’m Taavo,” he said. I thought that might be a Finnish name, but he didn’t look Finnish. “Make yourselves at home.”

The cabin was warm and inviting; a fire burned low in a stone fireplace. Before I sat down, I asked, “Is it all right to let the dogs down?” Although the dogs had relieved themselves as soon as we got out of the sleigh, I didn’t want an accident to make Taavo mad.

“Of course!” He had such a serene look on his face, such a calm air about him, that it made me feel more peaceful. “What are their names?”

“The darker one is Thor. The one with the golden face is Zasha.”

He bent over in his chair, stretching his hands out so the dogs would come to him. When he made a funny chkkk sound out of the side of his mouth, both of the dogs turned to him. Zasha trotted over to him, while Thor continued to sniff around the cabin. Taavo rubbed Zasha’s head and scratched behind her ears and under her chin. “Who does this dog belong to?”

We hesitated, exchanging awkward glances. “She belongs to me,” I said finally. “Both of them belong to me.” He nodded, but I sensed his skepticism.

“Maybe you should tell Taavo why we’re here today, Ivan,” Vladimir suggested, as if he was anxious to understand this new turn of events. Petr nodded his head slightly to give me his okay.

“Yes. Well,” I began, looking him in the eye, “my name is Ivan Savichev. I am the great-nephew of Boris Savichev, who lives here … or used to live here. When the bombings began in Leningrad, I was sent by my mother to live with my uncle until the war is over.”

Although Taavo seemed like he was listening, most of the time he kept his eyes on the dogs. He said nothing. After almost a minute went by, I said, “So … where is my uncle Boris?”

He smiled kindly. “It’s hard to say.” I sensed Vladimir and Petr were feeling impatient with his vague reply. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment. “I haven’t seen a dog in months. I miss them so much….” His voice trailed off.

“What do you mean?” Petr asked, speaking for the first time.

“Yes, I should explain,” he said softly. But first he offered us tea, which we refused. We were more interested in understanding why he was here, and where Uncle Boris was.

“Your uncle is my dear friend,” he began. Thor was now at his feet, sniffing his rough shoes. He petted him as he continued. “I came to know him when he first began coming on our winter migrations.”

“Migrations?” Vladimir said.

But I thought I understood. “Are you a Sami?” It was the name for the nomadic northern folk who migrated anywhere from Russia’s Kola Peninsula across the tops of Finland, Sweden, and Norway.

He nodded. “Your uncle was born in the wrong place. He should have been born one of us, in one of our tents. He is a man made for the north, for quiet, and for hard work.”

“I didn’t know the Sami welcomed strangers into their groups,” Petr said, looking skeptical.

Taavo smiled. “Not many want to join us. It’s a hard life.”

“Where did your paths cross?” Vladimir wanted to know.

“He saved my life. Someone had set a bear trap under the snow. There are many who do not welcome us, you know.”

I nodded, having heard that the nomads were not always wanted on the lands they crossed and on which they fed their reindeer herds. There were rumors of confrontations and violence.

“What happened with this bear trap?” Petr asked.

“I stepped right into it!” Taavo laughed. “If not for your uncle Boris freeing me, I would have frozen to death.”

“He just came upon you out in the middle of nowhere? Didn’t your own people notice you were missing?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure they noticed, but it happened during a terrible ice storm. My band was traveling west, trying to outrun it.”

“So they abandoned you?” Petr asked bluntly.

“Not exactly. If they had stayed and looked for me, everyone would have been in danger.” Vladimir, Petr, and I exchanged uneasy glances again. “If you live in the north, you understand these things. I have no bitterness.” Although I was sure I would have had bitterness to spare, I tried hard to accept his tale without judgment.

“How is it Boris found you?” Vladimir asked.

“He had just joined us,” Taavo said with a faint smile. “He told me later he had gotten turned around in the storm when he was out hunting and wasn’t sure which direction to go in. When he saw me, he thought I’d been sent to find him! Lucky for both of us in the end.”

“What happened after he rescued you?” I asked

“He took me all the way down here to his cabin and tended to my wound.”

“And obviously,” Vladimir said, motioning toward Taavo, “you’ve now healed. How long ago were you trapped and injured?”

“Five winters ago.”

Now I was really confused. “Then why are you still here? And where’s my uncle Boris?” I was starting to wonder if everything he said was nonsense and he’d somehow stolen my uncle’s cabin, or even hurt him.

“It turns out I was born in the wrong place. Just like your uncle Boris.” He laughed, as if enjoying a good joke.

“You traded places,” Petr said quietly.

“Yes.”

“But, but …” I stuttered, so many questions in my mind that I couldn’t get them out. “What about your family?”

“I am a widower in my eighth decade. We had no children. The weather, the work … it was all getting to be too much for me. I felt like I was becoming a burden.”

I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and sighed. It was one thing to come to the house of a family member, who was also Russian, and tell them of your plan to breed dogs for the partisans. But Taavo was a stranger, and a Sami. There was no time for Vladimir, Petr, and I to develop a cover story for our being there, or for having two perfect purebred German shepherds in an area where such animals were not only a luxury, but would probably be resented, even hunted, because of their German heritage.

“So you came here to live with your uncle?” Taavo asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes. But now …” There was silence. Both Petr and Vladimir were frowning, looking as disconcerted as I felt.

“I would welcome your company.”

I didn’t answer right away, but when I did, I told him what to expect. “My friend Petr may come and go. My aunt will visit regularly, and Vladimir, too. It’s too much; we can’t impose on you. Plus, there are the dogs.”

Taavo started to speak, but Petr interrupted him. “Where were you born, Taavo?”

“It’s hard to say. I was born east of the lake near where Finland, Norway, and Russia all meet.”

“But which country were you born in?”

He smiled. “I don’t know. The Sami have land markers to find their way through the snow; mountains, rivers, and meadows. Settled people have borders. Somehow, I was never able to see the borders, so I don’t know where I was born exactly. I just say ‘in the far north.’”

“Which has no borders and extends over four countries,” Vladimir said.

“Yes.”

“Whose side are you on in this war?” Petr asked bluntly.

“No one’s.”

“That’s not possible!” I exclaimed. “Russia was invaded. You live here. You have to be on our side.”

He shrugged. “Wars come and go. I stay out of them.”

I decided I would have to take a risk. “We are army men, the underground army, that is. We want to breed these dogs so that we can use their offspring to help our soldiers in the field.”

Taavo looked at the dogs, and then at us. “You want the dogs to be soldiers?”

“Not these two, but any puppies they might have.”

Taavo shook his head. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“For many reasons. Mostly because it’s not fair to them.” He gazed at me calmly.

“Why not? All the armies use them! Dogs like to perform tasks. It can help us win the war.”

He shrugged. “They are your dogs. You can do as you please with them.”

“But you don’t approve,” Petr said.

“No. You’re right that dogs like to perform tasks and please their masters. But you’re wrong to ask them to do it at the price of their lives.”

Vladimir leaned forward. “Certainly dogs risked their lives every day for you on your migrations in the north.”

“They did,” he acknowledged, “but it’s different. They were part of our family, almost as much as our children. We all depended on one another. Sometimes the adults would go hungry to make sure the dogs were fed.”

“But still,” Vladimir insisted, “you risked their lives.”

“You’re correct — there are special dangers in the north because of the cold. But no one shoots bullets at them.”

“Someone set bear traps,” Petr said.

“Yes, they did. I’m glad it was me and not one of the dogs who was caught. The dog would not have survived.”

The entire time he spoke, Zasha and Thor competed for his attention. Finally, Zasha jumped into his lap. I’d always believed animals had a deep and quick sense about which humans were good and which were bad. Zasha’s action told me a lot. It emboldened me.

“I have a proposal. I will live here until my uncle Boris returns, as my mother requested, and my friends will visit, as I told you before. Perhaps you could help me train the dogs, but not for any type of work with the partisans.”

Taavo sighed and stayed quiet for a few moments before he answered.

“Train them for what?” Taavo asked.

“Uh … to be good dogs.”

“No. That’s not enough; they won’t be happy. They’ll have nothing to do,” he answered.

I eyed Vladimir and Petr, thinking of how much we’d gone through to get to this point, how it seemed to be slipping away.

“I have an idea,” Taavo said as he stroked Zasha’s head and Thor pawed at his leg to be picked up. “These dogs are shepherds. That’s what they’re bred for, that’s what will fulfill their nature.”

“And?”

“I propose that we teach them, help them to be the best shepherds they can be.”

“And then?”

“Then we have some decisions to make.”

“Like what?”

“We can rent their services out to farmers, or shepherds, to guide and guard their flocks. Dogs are getting scarce now, so I’ve been told.” His words reminded me that in Leningrad I hadn’t seen one for two months before I left. He continued before any of us could respond. “We could give the money we made to this army of yours.”

“Ah!” Vladimir exclaimed. “Not a bad idea.”

“I’m sorry,” I said firmly. “The dogs aren’t going anywhere without me. I’d never see them again.”

“I think Ivan is right.” Petr sighed. “But the general idea is good. What other ideas do you have, Taavo?”

He laughed as Zasha licked his face; I felt a little jealous. He thought for a moment and said, “We could buy our own sheep and let the dogs herd them. We could sell their wool and give the money to your army.”

“Will sheep do well in this climate?” Vladimir asked skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Taavo answered.

“What do sheep eat?” Petr asked. “It could be expensive.”

Taavo shrugged, but smiled. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to come up with an idea that’s better than yours!” Then he laughed as Thor jumped on his lap, pushing Zasha off. “You couldn’t turn these dogs over to soldiers. Those men are good, but hard. They’d use the dogs as they saw fit.”

I shook my head. The idea sounded awful. How could I not have thought it through? Still, I said lamely, “Not Thor and Zasha, just their puppies.”

“Oh, I see,” he said softly, as if to indicate we both knew I now had no enthusiasm for it.

“Do you have a garden, Taavo?” Petr asked.

“Oh, yes. Although until spring we’ll be eating what I preserved from last year’s harvest.”

“Why did you want to know, Petr?” I asked.

“Because the partisans also need food. And although Taavo’s idea about herding is a good one — it’s too complicated.” He cleared his throat. “Here’s what I propose. How much land is here, Taavo?”

“About five acres, but I can only plant one.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s just one of me!”

“Is the rest of the land good for planting?”

“Most of it.”

“That will be our contribution to the partisans — food.”

“But there will be only Ivan and me,” Taavo said. “At best we can tend two acres.”

“What about the dogs?” I asked, trying to get my mind around this new turn of events.

Petr looked excited. “I can send men up here, men who need a break from the fighting. They’d welcome the chance to work outside in the sun with the crops, and with dogs as their companions.”

“What about the dogs?” I asked again.

Taavo spoke before Petr could answer. “We could begin to train them as farm dogs. As for breeding — why don’t we let nature take its course? Let’s see who these two are when they’re a little older. Sometimes, dogs raised together act more like brother and sister and won’t breed.”

I felt a peacefulness when I heard his thoughts. “I like that idea a lot.” I could see that Vladimir and Petr did as well. “This changes everything. I’ve never done any gardening or farming. But I know I can do it.” I walked over and picked up Zasha, who was sniffing at the logs next to the fireplace. “Could … could my aunt come up here and live with us?”

Taavo shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The cabin is small, but I can sleep in this room.”

“Or we can build another room! Or two, because we’ll have the partisans coming up to help us.”

“I hate to ask this,” Vladimir said, “but what if the Germans get this far north?”

“Wasn’t it you who said improvising is what makes a partisan so effective?” Petr answered.

Vladimir looked pleased. “That sounds like me — and true, too!”

I hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

Petr looked serious when he said, “Taavo, how often do you go to town?”

“Once a month or so.”

“Do you have friends there, or among your neighbors?”

He shrugged and looked uncertain. “People are polite to me, but they’re just acquaintances. No one comes to visit, if that’s what you mean. We’re far from the town. Isolated.”

“Do they know about your arrangement with Boris?”

“I don’t think so. I never discussed it with anyone.”

I interrupted, remembering what he’d said earlier. “But Boris visits during the year; someone must see him coming and going. They’re used to the fact that you live here. So no one’s suspicious of you, or watching you. When does Boris visit?”

“It depends on the weather. May or June, usually, and October. Oh,” he added, as he pushed tobacco into his narrow pipe bowl, “I go back with him to visit my people for about a month each time.”

“How do you get back here after your visit?” Vladimir asked.

“Boris brings me back down!” Taavo laughed and shook his head. “I think he’s trying to make up for all those years before he became a nomad.”

Vladimir left an hour later. Petr stayed that night, but now that Taavo was there, and he didn’t have to worry about me, he wanted to go back and see what had happened in Vilnov. “We saw the smoke,” he reminded me. “I have to see what was burned … and who escaped.”

“When will you come back?”

Quoting Taavo, he said, “It’s hard to say. But you two can get started without us.”

“Not until the winter has passed,” I said. “I don’t know anything about seeds, and planting, and …”

“There are the dogs to train, Ivan. And didn’t you talk about adding rooms on to the cabin? Surely you can start on that even though snow is on the ground.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, suddenly overwhelmed with all the things that had to be done, although each one excited me.

“And your auntie Vera will be coming up soon, I’m sure.” That thought filled my heart with joy. “Christmas will be here in no time. Go find a tree to bring into the cabin! There’s plenty to do.”

That night Petr, the dogs, and I all slept in the same room on two comfortable, straw-filled mattresses. “Petr,” I said, just after he blew out the last of the candles that lit our room. “Do you really think this will work?”

He laughed and sighed. “It’s hard to say.”