by Kelli Stuart
My dearest Nastia,
Today you are one year old, and I just can’t believe it. This has been a hard year for me, for both of us really, though I suppose you will never remember this hard time. We were alone this year, my darling. Your father died just weeks before you were born, and you and I had to figure out how to do this life on our own. I had one friend from work who checked on us infrequently, but it was mostly just you and me. It was difficult, but we made it, and I will cherish these months that I had with you forever.
You are the most beautiful baby. I didn’t get many photos of you this year, not nearly as many as I would have liked, but I made sure to take at least one photo every month so that I would never forget the way that you changed over the course of a year.
Oh my darling, I have so very many hopes for you. I hope that you will grow to be kind and free. I hope that you will be strong, that you will take charge of your life and live it fully. I hope that you will never be held back by circumstances, but that you will face each moment of your life with courage. And more than anything, I hope that you will always know how much I love you.
I grew up in a home where love was a foreign concept. I don’t want it to be the same for you. I love you, my darling, and I will until the day that we’re parted. May the path before you be filled with light, my Nastia.
With great love,
Your Mama
Annie folds the letter and places it back in the box on top of the rest. They’re all the same, though the tone of the letters changed after her grandmother came to stay. The writing was scrawled hastily across the pages in the letters that followed Babushka’s arrival. Somehow her grandmother had infiltrated every crevice of their lives.
Annie reaches into the tub and pulls out the photo of her mother and father, the only photo she’s ever seen of the dad she never met. He sits next to Nina, his shoulder leaned into hers as they both grin up at the camera. His sandy blonde hair hangs over his right eye, his wide mouth stretched out easily and happily across a smooth face.
“Who took this picture?” Annie had asked her mother when she first discovered it. She was ten years old, digging through an old shoebox of photos one Saturday while waiting for her mom to finish making their weekly pancake breakfast.
“Where did you find that?” Nina had asked, her face turning white. She took the photo from Annie and ran her finger over it.
“It’s my father, isn’t it?” Annie asked.
Nina nodded. She glanced at Annie, then back at the photo. “I didn’t think I had any pictures of him,” she said softly. “I forgot about this.”
“Who took it?” Annie asked again, holding her hand out for another glimpse at the man her mother spoke so little of.
“A friend of your father’s,” Nina replied. She turned her back to Annie so her daughter couldn’t see the emotion fighting its way to the surface. “We were at a birthday party for one of his work colleagues. That was taken right before I found out I was pregnant with you.” Nina took a deep breath and composed herself before turning back around and smiling at her daughter. Annie had blinked at her mother for a moment, then looked back down at the picture.
“How come you never talk about him? And why don’t you have more pictures?” Annie asked.
Nina shrugged. “It’s painful for me,” she said, her voice quavering slightly. “I had so little time with your father, and I loved him very much. It makes me sad to talk about him, so I don’t. As for the photos,” Nina paused and stared at the wall thoughtfully. “After your father died, it was very difficult. I had no one to talk to help me process what happened. Grief makes you do strange things, my darling.” Nina shifted her gaze to Annie’s face. “I threw away the only album I had with photos of your father and me.”
Annie sighs as she runs her finger over the photograph. It’s a little faded now, worn from years of her staring at it, touching her father’s face and wishing she had more information. But she would never get more information on this man, not as long as her grandmother was around. Her mother locked up tight as soon as Babushka came to town. Annie gently places the photo back in the tub and pushes it back under the bed.
She jumps when the phone rings and swallows hard at the name that flashes across the screen.
“Hey,” she says quietly, pressing the phone hard against her ear.
“Hey,” Toby answers.
Annie takes a few big breaths in the cavernous silence that passes between them. She closes her eyes and waits for Toby to speak, but the phone remains quiet. Finally, she takes in a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” Toby answers. “My arm is broken, and I have whiplash and a concussion, but I’ll survive. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Annie answers. “Just a few stiches in my arm and a cut on my head.” They both fall silent again. Finally Annie speaks. “I think we need to talk,” she says. She hears a sigh on the other end of the line.
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice resigned.
“So, do you want to talk now and get it over with, or would you like to meet and talk face to face?” Annie asks, annoyance clipping through her words.
“Look, Annie,” Toby begins. Annie cuts him off.
“Oh come on, Toby. I’m not asking you to propose. I just want you to talk to me. This is kind of a big deal, you know?”
“Yes, Annie, I get that,” Toby answers. His teeth are obviously clenched and Annie shakes her head in frustration. “I was trying to tell you that I can’t right now. I don’t have a car, remember? But my dad gets off work soon, and I’ll borrow his car, okay?”
“Fine,” Annie retorts. “My mom has some business dinner tonight, so I’ll be free to meet while she’s gone. Can you come around 7:00?”
“Fine,” Toby replies.
“Fine,” Annie replies with a sigh. She hangs up and tosses the phone on the bed, then glances at the clock. Walking to the mirror, Annie pulls a brush through her hair and straightens her shoulders. With a deep breath, she heads down the stairs to the kitchen.
Nina stands at the stove, a glass of wine in one hand as she stirs chicken and vegetables in the pan in front of her. Annie watches her for a moment, trying to decide how to begin a conversation. She still feels a knot of anger stir in her stomach when she thinks of the way her mother lashed out at James the day before. She considers heading back upstairs when Nina turns to face her.
“Oh!” Nina says in surprise. “I didn’t hear you come down.”
“Hey,” Annie says with reluctance. Nina looks warily at her.
She puts down her spatula and gestures Annie into the kitchen. “How was your day?” she asks as Annie slides into a stool behind the counter.
“Okay,” Annie answers. Nina takes a sip of wine, her eyes never leaving Annie’s face.
“That’s good,” Nina murmurs. She sets her glass down on the counter. “Annie,” she begins, “I’m...” she pauses, taking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m sorry I said what I said in front of your...friend.”
Annie blinks slowly at her mom. “He is just a friend, you know,” she says.
Nina nods. “I believe you.”
Annie clasps her hands in front of her and squeezes them together, watching the way her knuckles turn white with the pressure. Nina pushes back to a stand.
“How are you feeling today?” she asks. The question is uncomfortable and hangs between the two of them like a cloud. Annie coughs nervously.
“Fine,” she says.
Nina nods. “Good,” she replies. “Still sore?”
Annie shakes her head no. Nina turns back to the stove. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” she says. “Could you make the salad?”
“Yes,” Annie replies.
“You remember that I have a business dinner this evening, so you and Babushka will be alone for dinner,” Nina says. Her eyes shift nervously to her feet, then back to Annie’s face as she speaks.
Annie nods slowly. She waits a beat
before the words come tumbling out of her mouth. “Mom, I’m going to meet with Toby tonight.”
Nina stands frozen for a moment before turning back to her daughter. She narrows her eyes and stares at Annie. “What?”
Annie swallows and takes a deep breath. “There’s just something that I need to do,” she says weakly. Nina shakes her head.
“You will have to tell me what this is about, Annie,” she says. Gone is the gentle patience from her earlier words. “You can’t possibly think I will let you go out alone with that boy without more of an explanation.”
Annie looks down at her hands and realizes that she doesn’t have the energy to fight right now. She lets out a long deep breath before speaking, her eyes downcast, unable to look at her mother.
“I’m going to tell him that it’s over.”
Nina straightens up, the color draining from her face. She glances at Annie’s stomach, then back at Annie’s face.
“What’s over?” she asks. “The pregnancy? Did you...have...an...”
“No! Mom! No.” Annie runs her hand through her hair and takes a few deep breaths. Nina rubs her eyes, her hands shaking as she fights to regain her composure.
“I’m going to tell him that I can’t be in a relationship with him anymore. It’s just...”Annie takes a deep breath. “Too much has happened,” she murmurs.
Nina turns and shuts off the stove, then walks around the counter and sinks into one of the stools next to Annie. The two are quiet for several minutes. Annie presses her lips together to keep them from quivering. Finally, Nina turns and looks at her daughter.
“I don’t even know this boy you’re meeting with,” she says. Annie can hear the hurt in her mom’s voice.
“I know,” she replies.
“Why?” Nina asks. “Why did you hide him from me? Why did you hide everything from me for the past year?” She blinks hard against the frustrated emotion bubbling in her chest.
Annie sighs and leans back in her stool. She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, Mom,” she says. “I guess...” she hesitates for a moment, trying to decide how to put the last year into words. “It’s just...we’re not exactly great at communication.” Annie looks at her mom. “Why have you never shared more information with me about my father?” she asks.
Nina lets out a long breath, the years of secrets suddenly looming before her eyes like one long, ongoing mistake. She looks sheepishly at Annie and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she answers. The two stare at one another for a long moment. Nina opens her mouth to speak, but stops when Elizaveta’s door opens and her mother shuffles out into the kitchen.
“Is dinner ready?” Elizaveta asks. Nina looks into Annie’s eyes, her gaze apologetic. Annie shifts her eyes back down to her hands. Nina sighs and pushes herself up from the counter.
“Not yet, Mama,” she murmurs. “It will be soon.”
Elizaveta looks from mother to daughter, her eyes narrowed as she takes in the sight of the two.
“Good evening, Nastia,” she says. She takes a step toward her granddaughter. “You look pale, child. Are you still not feeling well?” She doesn’t wait for Annie to answer before turning to Nina. “You should take her to see a doctor,” she says firmly. “And she needs to eat. You must stuff her full of food so she can get stronger and fight off illness.”
Nina presses her lips together and nods her head once. “Thanks, Mama,” she says. She glances at Annie whose face has once again hardened.
“Mama,” Nina says quietly, “you remember that I have a dinner to go to tonight, right?” Elizaveta sighs and nods her head. Nina glances at her daughter. “And Annie will be going out with a friend for a short visit, so you’ll be alone for a little while, okay?”
Annie looks up at her mom, relief washing over her face.
Elizaveta lets out a long sigh. “So I will be eating my meal by myself, is that it?”
“No,” Nina replies, and Annie winces. “Annie will eat with you. She’s meeting her friend after dinner.” She glances at Annie, eyebrows raised.
“I’ll make the salad now,” Annie says, tossing her grandmother a wary glance and forcing a smile. Nina stifles a sigh as she watches her mother and daughter look uncomfortably at one another. Her gaze settles on Annie’s back, and for the first time a feeling of genuine relief washes over her. There was a moment of tenderness that passed between them. She glances out the window and takes in the sight of the sun sliding behind the trees, the sky lit up in an autumn sunset, the first she’s seen in a long, long time.
Elizaveta
You can’t move faster than your shadow.
I remember exactly the day that I decided to lock away the past. I remember the chill in the air and the lilt of a bird floating on the wind above my head. I can pinpoint the moment in time when I made the choice to keep my memories hidden, stuffing them into a corner of my subconscious and willing them away, only to be haunted by them instead. I remember it now so vividly as I watch Nina and Nastia...Annie, move.
Mother and daughter float past one another in the kitchen, Nina stealing soft glances at Annie from time to time, a look of concern and heartache writing a story through her dark eyes, and I recall the feeling of pulling away from my own mother. I remember the way it felt when she looked at me, how she studied me so closely as she tried to figure me out, and the more she studied, the tighter I held my secrets until I couldn’t hold her at bay any longer. She had figured me out.
The first secret I kept from my mother was during our second year in Siberia. I didn’t tell her about the man’s hungry eyes or groping hands. I didn’t let her know what he said to me behind closed doors. I couldn’t tell her these things because to do so would have meant sure death for us all.
Our situation had changed since our early days in the holding camp. We were no longer living in the overcrowded barracks, trying desperately to survive the howling winter winds. Now we stayed in a small, brown house outside the camp. The house had a fireplace where mother could keep embers burning through the night to stave off the cold that still seemed to seep through the ill-fitting slats of the walls. We ate one full meal each day, and Mama often brought home enough bread and potatoes for us to eat a good breakfast in the mornings, too. We were warm and fed. But we were not safe.
Our placement in this little cabin came about by sheer luck and a little bit of quick thinking by my Mama. It happened in the spring of that first year, as the ground beneath us began to thaw and Tanya’s cough subsided. We had survived the winter, and this made Mama brave.
Dima and I still trekked to the one room schoolhouse each day, where we continued to endure the abuses of Valerya Sergeyevna, whose every lesson reminded us of just how unwanted we were to our great and growing Soviet society. Despite the fact that she no longer had the protection of the wind to hide her whispered words of rebellion, Mama continued to read to us each night from her scriptures, the pages of her precious book growing faded and worn. It didn’t matter, though. Mama knew most of the words by heart. It was her rebellion that ultimately saved us. Her rebellion got us out of the camp. My talent and my innocent youthfulness kept us in the good graces of the commanding NKVD officer.
The night he burst through the door of our shelter was the most fearful I’d felt since our arrival in Siberia. He ducked his head, crouching down into our dirty hole, and loomed in the doorway. There were a lot of us stuffed into that makeshift shelter, though fewer remained since typhus had swept through the camp. Many had simply disappeared, as though somehow they had never even existed. We were piled on top of one another, the shuffling cacophony of bodies forming an unwanted melody. But Mama’s voice smoothed out the harsh rhythm. Everyone listened to her those nights as she read. The sound of her voice was peaceful, and some even found her words hopeful.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Mama spoke these words so boldly that people started to believe it. This is what we were listening to when
he kicked open the door. I’d seen this man before. He was the Commanding officer in charge of our settlement. He visited the schoolroom on the first day of school and stood next to Valerya Sergeyevna who looked up at him with such admiration that she almost seemed to be drooling.
“You should all be grateful that you’re here,” he’d told us that day. He stood tall in the front of the room, legs slightly apart, his dark brown coat stiff and sharp. I took in the sight of his shiny medals hanging proudly over his chest, and the way that he spoke with such calm authority. There wasn’t any bitterness or fear in his voice like I’d heard from most of the other men I had ever met.
“You are all being given a second chance—a chance to step away from the rebellion of your families and make a new life for yourselves. You should all be grateful that the Soviet power has been forgiving. They have allowed you, the children of kulaks, to be educated so that you can become good Soviet citizens.”
I could tell that Dima remembered him that night he came into the barracks, too. He stiffened next to me, and I heard a small growl escape his throat. The commander picked his way through the mass of people huddled on the floor and stopped in front of Mama, who was standing in the middle of the room. She had lowered her book and now held it behind the folds of her skirt. His brow was furrowed as he leaned in to her. My heartbeat quickened and my mouth went dry. I could just make out his features in the moonlight that streamed through the small opening above our heads.
“What are you speaking, woman?” he asked.
Mama lifted her chin, but she did not respond. He reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand from behind her back. He snatched the book away and held it up to the moonlight, scanning the words.
“This material is forbidden,” he hissed. Still Mama did not respond. I shrank back into Dima’s arms, pulling Tanya with me into the shadows, away from the man who I knew could decide our fate with the snap of his fingers.
“You were reading this?” he asked.
