A Silver Willow by the Shore

by Kelli Stuart

  Annie nods her head up and down vigorously. “Yes,” she says, her voice firm. “I want this child to have siblings. I don’t want it to be alone.” The way she speaks this feels like a knife in Nina’s chest. She had hoped at one point to have more than one child, too. But life didn’t work out quite like she’d hoped.

  After a few more minutes of talking, Annie’s smiles come more freely. She quits clasping and unclasping her hands, and she looks much more comfortable speaking with Molly.

  “I just have a few more questions, Annie, and this first one is an important one that you don’t have to answer right away. You can think about it.” Annie nods. “Are you interested in an open adoption if the birth family is agreeable to the idea?”

  Annie pauses. “What does that mean?”

  “Well,” Molly says, leaning back, “it can mean different things based on the comfortability of the birth mother and adoptive family. But it usually means occasional photographs and correspondence so that you can see how your child is growing and developing. And as the child gets older, some adoptive families have met with the birth mother so that they can develop more of a relationship. What are your initial thoughts on this?”

  Annie shakes her head. “No,” she answers.

  Molly nods. “I understand,” she replies. “But please know this is not a decision we encourage you to make right away.”

  “I don’t need to think about it,” Annie answers. “I don’t want to see the baby. Not even after it’s born.”

  Nina looks at Annie closely, then shifts her eyes to Molly.

  “That’s okay, Annie,” Molly says softly. “It’s okay if you feel like that right now, and it will be okay if you want to change your mind later. We will discuss this all when we have you matched with a birth family.”

  Molly shifts her gaze to Nina. “You’re taking her in regularly for prenatal checkups, correct?” she asks. Nina nods.

  “Yes,” she answers.

  Molly nods approvingly. She turns to Annie. “And have you consumed any alcohol, drugs, or cigarettes since you discovered the pregnancy?” she asks gently. Annie snorts.

  “I’ve never consumed any of that,” she replies. “I’m hardly a party animal,” she says, a wry smile turning up her mouth. Molly smiles in return.

  “Okay,” she says, standing up. Annie and Nina stand up with her. “Let’s meet again next month. I’ll have a few family files ready for you to look at by then. And, of course, you can both feel free to call me anytime if you have any concerns or questions. Does that sound good?”

  Annie nods her head slowly. “I get to pick the family?” she asks.

  “Well, I will pull the files of waiting families that I think would match your desires, and I’ll let you read through them and, yes, choose the family that you want to raise your child.”

  Annie nods. “Okay,” she replies. She looks at her mother, then back at Molly.

  “What if I pick the wrong family?” she asks.

  Molly walks around the table and puts her arms around Annie’s shoulder. “You’re not going to pick the wrong family,” she answers. “You’re going to pick exactly the family this child should have.”

  “How do you know?” Annie asks.

  “You will have a mother’s intuition,” Molly responds. She turns so that she is looking Annie squarely in the face. “Remember one thing very clearly, Annie,” she says. “You will be this child’s mother. You’re the one choosing life for this baby, and making sure that he or she has the best chance at succeeding in that life. That’s what mothers do. And so, when the time comes you have to trust your instincts. You have to trust that you will know the right family for the child you’re bringing into this world. Okay?”

  Annie nods again. Molly smiles in return.

  “Okay, ladies,” she says as she leads them back out of the office and to the lobby. “It was a joy to meet both of you. I’ll see you again in a few weeks.”

  Nina and Annie wave goodbye and walk out of the clinic, the cold November air beating at their faces as they rush to the car. They slide into the front seats and sit in silence as the car slowly warms up.

  “I liked her,” Annie says.

  Nina puts the car in reverse and slowly backs out without responding because deep down, she doesn’t know how she feels about any of this.

  “Mama?”

  Nina knocks softly on her mother’s door. It’s quiet for a moment, then Nina hears the familiar stirring and shuffling behind the door that indicates her mother is awake.

  “May I come in?” Nina calls softly.

  “Da,” comes the muffled response. Nina pushes open the door and enters her mother’s room. It smells of stale perfume and age.

  “Can I speak with you?” Nina asks. Her mother nods and gestures to the bed. Nina sits down and watches as Elizaveta slowly lowers herself into the recliner in the corner.

  “How are you feeling today?” Nina asks.

  “Fine,” replies Elizaveta. “Old.”

  Nina smiles. “We need to go see Dr. Shevchenko again next week, okay? Just for a follow up.”

  Elizaveta nods her head. The two sit silently for several moments, Nina working up the courage to speak. There’s so much she needs to tell her mother—she needs to tell her about Annie’s pregnancy, and about her relationship with Viktor. The details of everything race through her mind as she works up the courage to speak.

  “Mama,” she begins. She stops, the words tangled on her tongue. Elizaveta stares at her daughter, her wrinkled eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a thin line. Nina takes a deep breath. “Mama, I need to tell you something,” she says.

  “You need to tell me that Nastia is pregnant,” Elizaveta interjects quietly. Nina’s eyes snap up, a look of confusion passing across her drawn features.

  “How...how did you know?”

  Elizaveta shrugs her shoulders. “A grandmother knows these things,” she replies. Nina stands up and runs her hand through her hair. Elizaveta sees the tremor in her daughters’ movements.

  “How long have you known?” Nina asks.

  “I have known for two weeks,” Elizaveta answers. “I haven’t said anything to either of you because it was clear you wanted to keep this information from me.”

  Nina notes the hurt in her mother’s voice, and she instantly feels defensive. She opens her mouth to offer a sarcastic reply, but thinks differently of it and closes her mouth again. She learned early on not to argue with her mother. Another memory pushes into her consciousness.

  She was twelve, and she’d been invited by her friend Alyona to go to their family’s dacha for the summer. Nina had practiced her speech all morning, hoping her heartfelt appeal would convince her mother to say yes.

  She approached the subject after dinner, when Elizaveta had processed her day and relaxed a bit.

  “Mama?” Nina had asked. “I would like to ask you something.”

  “What is it, Ninochka?” her mother responded. She held a copy of Pravda in her hands, the national newspaper feeding her the most important headlines of the day, most of them involving America and its big, bad, capitalist abuse of the world.

  “My friend Alyona invited me to go with her family to their dacha this summer and I really want to go, so can I please?”

  Her mother had looked up at her then, her large, round glasses magnifying suspicious, brown eyes.

  “Before you say anything, let me explain,” Nina had continued. “Alyona’s mother and grandmother will be there. Her father will come in July when he has his break from work. Her father works a very important job. For the government.” Nina hadn’t known if this was true or not, but she hoped it would impress her mother.

  “Alyona said that we will get to have some enjoyment and adventures, but also that we will be working. We’ll be responsible for gathering the mushrooms from the forest and helping harvest the garden. Her mother grows dill and potatoes in her garden, and also tomatoes, cucumbers, and squashes. And many other things, I believe. A
nd we’ll be working in the kitchen learning to cook and prepare foods. So I will be learning so many new things, and you won’t have to worry about taking me into work with you every day, or leaving me home alone.” Nina had stopped then, pausing to catch her breath. Elizaveta looked at her daughter for just a moment before turning her eyes back to her paper.

  “No,” she’d answered. Nina had stood stunned for a moment, unable to believe her mother hadn’t seen the perfection of her proposal.

  “No?” she’d asked. “Why?”

  “Because I do not know Alyona’s parents. I can’t send you into the country with a family I’ve never met. It would be irresponsible. Plus, you don’t need to be a burden to this family. You can stay here. With me.”

  “But...but, Mama,” Nina had wailed. “They invited me! They don’t think I will be a burden. They want me to come!”

  Elizaveta had peered over at Nina. Her greying hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that day. She looked harsh and imposing, her lips caked with the remnants of rosy lipstick applied early in the morning and never freshened up. Her blue housedress pulled tight against her chest and expanded waistline, the white camisole stretching into awkward patterns against her mother’s soft middle.

  “No, Nina,” her mother replied, her voice firm.

  “No, Nina,” Nina had mocked, raising her voice to an unfavorable pitch. “Do you not have a more original way of rejecting me?”

  Elizaveta slammed her newspaper on the table and stood up quickly, her chair toppling onto the floor behind her. She leaned over the table so that she was only a few inches from Nina.

  “Don’t you speak to me that way ever again,” she hissed while Nina blinked back tears of frustration.

  “Mama, Alyona is a good girl. She is the top of our class. She’s smarter than me. She can help me with the subjects that give me trouble in school. And she is very involved with the Young Pioneers. She’s even responsible for the Pioneer room! She straightens the drums and flags and she organizes extra meetings so that we can all learn how to better serve our country. Her family is very loyal. Those things are important to you. Why wouldn’t you want me to go with them?”

  “Why do you insist on leaving me?” Elizaveta replied. She turned and righted her chair, sitting back down and picking up her newspaper. “Why are you not content to stay here with your mother? I am your only family, and you want to leave me?” The hurt in her mother’s voice had formed into a poultice of guilt that settled on Nina’s heart, joining the many other times her mother had used guilt to manipulate her.

  Nina pulls herself out of the past and focuses back in on her aged mother who sits stoically across from her. There are so many things to say, so many words unspoken.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you,” Nina finally says, swallowing her pride. Elizaveta nods.

  “When will the baby arrive?” she asks.

  “The due date is May 1,” Nina replies.

  “And the baby will live here with us, I assume?”

  Nina pauses and looks gently at her mother. “No, Mama,” she replies. “The baby will not live here. Annie has decided to place the baby for adoption.”

  Elizaveta looks confused. “What does it mean, ‘to place the baby’? She is giving the baby away?”

  Nina shakes her head. “It’s not like that, Mama. She just isn’t ready to raise a child. She’s young, and she wants to give this baby the best chance at succeeding in life.”

  “Psh,” Elizaveta scoffs, waving her hand in the air. “If Nastia was ready to make a baby, then she is ready to raise one. And you will help her do that,” Elizaveta responds. “She doesn’t need to give the baby away. She can just live here and you will be her support. That’s what good Russians do.”

  Nina cocks her head to the side and looks at her mother quizzically. “That’s what ‘good Russians’ do?” she asks. “Mama, I don’t know what that means.” Nina draws in a deep breath. “Annie has made this choice on her own,” she continues. Her voice trembles. “And I’m supporting her decision. I do not want you making her feel bad about this.”

  “What is this attack on me, Ninochka?” Elizaveta responds. “It’s not Nastia who should feel bad, it’s you. You should feel bad because you don’t agree with her decision, but you’re doing nothing about it. Why do you make me the enemy?” Elizaveta’s voice is laced with hurt. Nina shakes her head.

  “It’s Annie, Mama, not Nastia,” she says, teeth clenched. “And you’re not going to do this to me. Not this time. You’re not going to turn the tables and make this all about me, because this isn’t about me, and it isn’t about you. It’s about Annie and the choice she has made—a choice that I will support.”

  Elizaveta leans forward in her chair. She places her hands on top of her cane, staring intently at Nina. “A choice you support, but you don’t understand,” she says softly. “Have you told her how you feel, Ninochka?”

  Nina sighs in frustration. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Mama. Annie doesn’t need the pressure of trying to please me right now.”

  “Hmph,” Elizaveta huffs. “You coddle her too much. Your goal has been to see her happy, but she isn’t happy. She’s sad, and she is lonely and scared, and all of that leads to too much introspection. She needs someone to remind her to think of others.”

  Nina stares at her mother in disbelief. “Do you really believe that?” she asks. Elizaveta sighs and studies her daughter closely.

  “I’m an old woman,” she says. “And I know what it’s like to be haunted by the words that were never spoken.”

  They stare at one another for a long time without speaking. Finally, Elizaveta breaks the silence.

  “Talk to her and tell her how you’re feeling, Ninochka,” she says. “You don’t have to change her mind. But trust me when I tell you that the memories of hidden confessions are a weight under which you do not want to live.”

  “Mama, are...” Nina stops as her mother holds up her hand.

  “I’m tired,” Elizaveta says. She leans back against her chair and closes her eyes. Nina watches her mother for a few quiet moments before turning and walking slowly out of the room. She doesn’t tell her about Viktor, deciding to protect that secret just a little longer.

  Elizaveta

  Idle thoughts are the downfall of the strong.

  It wasn’t the same when we returned home. After four years in Siberia, we were released, sent packing as quickly and mysteriously as we had been brought. I was ten years old when the Commander walked into his house mid-morning, a scowl etching lines down his weathered face.

  “I need the children,” he told Svetlana. “I must take them right now.”

  For three years, our routine had been the same. Six days a week, my mother was at the Commander’s disposal while Tanya and I spent our days in Svetlana’s care. I practiced my reading and writing and drawing under Svetlana’s careful and critical eye while Tanya played in the corner with the few toys they had been able to gather. On Sundays, we stayed inside our cabin and listened to Mama read from whatever book the Commander had let her borrow, oftentimes listening to the same stories over and over. When Mama tired of reading, she would walk around the small, wooden room with us quoting her scriptures. I once asked her why she talked so much during those long days.

  “We need to keep our minds engaged, my darling,” she answered. She pointed out the window at the white land that lay beyond our little cabin. A fresh snow had covered the ground, making it look pure and lovely, but only from inside by the fire. The icy cold transformed the land into a bitter vice when we left the comfort of our small home.

  “As soon as we let our thoughts go idle, there’s nothing left to do but lose our minds completely. The quiet and confinement will send you to places you don’t want to go, my dear. And so you must always keep your mind engaged, keep it set on things above, not on the things of this earth which fade away.”

  Dima snorted from the corner of the room at this response. Sundays were his day o
ff too, and he sat staring out the window, often speaking very little. The only one who seemed to be able to break through the wall he’d built around himself was Tanya. She’d crawl into his lap on those slow, quiet days and sit for hours, often falling asleep in his arms.

  Dima had changed. The grueling labor had taken its toll on his young body, and his attitude had hardened even more. His back was bent, his hands rough and calloused. His lips were constantly chapped from the wind, and despite the fact that he tried desperately to hide it, he winced in pain each time he sat down or stood up from a chair. He was fourteen years old, trapped in the body of an old man.

  “That sounds stupid, you know,” he said that day. “Set your mind on things above. What does that even mean?”

  Mama looked at him kindly. Her face was so soft and gentle, not etched with hardened lines like so many others around us. Her dress pulled tight around her round hips. It had once been a dark blue, but had faded in Siberia like most other things. Still, it made her look young and pretty. She had a kerchief tied around her head, tucked under her low bun and keeping all stray hairs away from her round face. Mama’s eyes always looked kind, even when she wasn’t smiling.

  “It means that our time here on earth is temporary. But there’s a new life that waits for us, if we choose to believe. There’s a God who...”

  “Oh, Mama, please!” Dima had shouted. “Don’t talk to me about a new life or a God who supposedly cares. This life is all there is. This broken earth is all we have, and we kulaks are the ones who suffer for it.”

  Mama stood with her head held high as Dima glared at her. I simply watched the exchange between the two of them with great confusion. I knew that Mama’s words were bad. They went against everything I had been taught in the camp school by Valerya Sergeyevna. Even Svetlana made sure I understood the importance of acquiescing to the greater good of the country. There was no higher power. There was only Father Stalin, and the NKVD, and the Soviet Union. These were the powers to which we had to submit. But my mother didn’t agree, and this made her dangerous.