by Kelli Stuart
“Have you heard any news?” I ask. It’s the same question I ask every night. Usually Sophia has nothing new to report, but tonight she hesitates. I open my eyes wide to look at her.
“Have you heard something, Sophia?” I ask.
Sophia sighs. “I don’t know if there’s any truth to it, Luda,” she begins, and I push myself up straight.
“Any truth to what?”
“I met today with some of the men in town who’ve continued to keep tabs on the fallout of the war. There are whispers of trials and hangings and consequences for the actions of many of Germany’s leaders.” Sophia picks up her cup again and sips her tea. I wait impatiently for her to continue.
“The Nazi Party, in theory, no longer exists,” Sophia begins. “Of course, you and I both know that there are still plenty of people who cling to their ideology. I don’t think those people will suddenly wake up to realize they were wrong.”
“Sophia, please. What does this have to do with Hans?”
Sophia sighs. “Luda, the point is if Hans were still alive, he would have made it home a long time ago. The war has been over for so long. The fact that we have had zero communication from him is not a good sign.”
“What did you hear, Sophia?” I cry, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
Sophia cuts her eyes at me, and I shrink back. “Sorry,” I mumble.
She sighs, then continues. “One of the men said today that he believes there are many former soldiers who have been living quietly outside of Berlin and other western areas of the country until things die down a bit. There is a process of repatriation that needs to occur, and perhaps many are trying to lie low until they can more easily integrate back into society.”
“Do you think Hans could be one of them?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch.
“Luda, please don’t get your hopes up,” Sophia says quietly.
“Hopes up?”
“My comrade, Wilhelm, told me he thought he saw Hans last week when he visited his brother in the countryside. He isn’t totally sure, but he said this man looked very much like the picture I have.”
My heart skips and my hands begin to shake. “It’s him, Sophia,” I whisper, and she shakes her head.
“We don’t know that, Luda,” she answers. Sophia and I have had many disagreements over whether or not Hans still lives. She’s ready to move on. I’m not.
Sophia and I sit together in an awkward, quiet silence for a long time. I feel hope soar, and my consternation over the earlier discussion with Sasha fades away. All I can think of is my love and how desperately I long to see him again. I have almost forgotten the sound of his voice.
“I’m going to bed,” Sophia says quietly. “I have to work tomorrow.”
I nod and grab her hand as she stands up. “Don’t give up hope just yet,” I whisper. Sophia pulls her hand from mine with a sigh.
“It’s too late, Luda,” she answers. “Hope died for me a long time ago.” She trudges out of the room, and I listen to her heavy steps on the staircase. Sophia works two jobs, something that’s left her weary and emotional. In the mornings, she teaches at the local school. This fall, Sasha will begin school, and I could not be more thrilled that Sophia will be his teacher.
In the afternoons, after leaving the school yard, she makes her way into the city and helps with the cleanup. She is one of the Trümmerfrauen, the hardworking women of Germany who bend their backs to clean up the devastation of the Allies’ bombs. She trudges home late at night, fatigued from her long days. I struggle to express how deeply I admire this woman who has become family. One of the greatest blessings of my life has been coming to live with Sophia. Despite our disagreements, she loves us dearly, and Sasha and I love her in return.
I walk to the kitchen to put away the teapot and notice a letter sitting on the counter. Picking it up, I let out a yelp of joy. It’s from Katya. In the last year, she and I have written frequently as the mail service between our countries has picked up. Getting a letter from Katya is like receiving a piece of home.
I tear open the envelope and begin reading eagerly:
Dearest Luda,
I hope this letter finds you and Sasha well. How is your precious boy? He must be five years old now. I imagine he’s quite joyful and lovely to be around, and I hold hope that someday I will know him again.
We’re doing alright here. I have news, both good and bad. The good news first because it’s always best to embrace goodness, yes?
Oleg got married last week. He married a lovely girl named Svetlana and they’re very happy. For that, all of us are grateful.
Papa is working again at the town clerk’s office. He doesn’t enjoy the work, but he’s glad to have something to do. He doesn’t do well with idle time.
Now for the bad news: Baba Mysa is very sick. She’s grown quite weak in the last few months, and she seems to get thinner every day. The doctor came yesterday and told us there is little that can be done. I fear there isn’t much time left. She misses you, and she talks of Sasha every day. Could you find a way to send a photograph, Luda? And quickly? I don’t know how much time we have left.
I’m well. I still attend classes at the university. I’m going to become a teacher. I haven’t met a boy that I’d like to spend any regular time with yet, but I do have hope that I’ll find love in the future. I often think about how Hans treated you and loved you, and I long for that kind of love from a man. Perhaps I will be as lucky as you someday.
Tell me, Luda. Has Hans returned to you yet?
I love you, my sister, and I miss you desperately. Write me back, please, and tell me all about yourself. And don’t forget to send a photograph of Sasha for Baba Mysa.
Big kisses from me to you.
Katya
I slowly fold the letter back up and place it in the envelope. Trudging upstairs, I make it into my bedroom before I collapse on the bed. I knew I would likely never see Baba Mysa again, but the reality of it hits me, the grief tightening my chest and flooding my eyes.
I walk to the chest of drawers across from my bed. I pull out the few photographs I have, and dig until I find one of Sasha. It was taken just after Christmas. He has changed much since that time, but it will have to do for now.
I sit down and quickly scrawl out a letter to Katya, filling her in on our lives and begging her to give Baba Mysa extra hugs from us. I feel a pang of regret and sadness that I have not even spoken of Katya and Baba Mysa to my son. I’ve never been able to figure out how to frame the conversation in a way that he would understand.
I seal up the letter and crawl into bed, exhausted.
I wake up the next morning to the sounds of Sophia and Sasha chatting in the kitchen, and realize I’ve slept much too long. I throw on my dress, pull my hair back off my face, and rush downstairs.
“I’m sorry,” I cry out, hurrying into the kitchen. Sasha sits at the table, a plate of eggs and fresh bread in front of him. Sophia smiles and shakes her head.
“That’s okay. Sasha and I had a lovely date this morning, didn’t we little man?” she says. Sasha grins wide, the eggs in his mouth spilling out onto his plate.
“Aunt Sophia let me gather the chicken eggs,” he squeals, and we laugh—Sasha at our delight in him, and Sophia and I at his ever-constant need to yell when he gets excited.
“I need to leave,” Sophia says with a smile. “What are your plans today?”
I reach out and ruffle the top of Sasha’s head. “We’re going to walk into town to mail a letter, and I’m going to talk to the owner of the grocery store about a job,” I answer. Sophia raises her eyebrows.
“Luda,” she says gently. “You know you don’t have to work. We’re doing alright.”
I nod. “I know, but with Sasha starting school soon I’m going to need something to do,” I answer. I lean forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She returns the gesture, and I feel the tension of the previous evening melt away in the embrace.
“Have a great day,” I say.
/> “Danke,” she replies. She leans forward and kisses Sasha on the cheek. “Good-bye, silly boy,” she says, and he giggles.
“I love you, Aunt Sophia,” he says. Sophia melts at his words and leans in for another long hug. Shaking my head, I wink at Sasha.
“You’re good, Sashinka,” I say with a laugh.
Sophia leaves, and I pull Sasha out of his chair and clean him up. “Can I play outside until it’s time to leave?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say with a nod, “but stay close to the house so I can find you when I’m ready.” Sasha claps his hands and runs for the door in a bustle of little boy energy. I smile because I know he’s headed into the beauty of his own imagination.
As I begin cleaning the kitchen and preparing the food that we’ll eat for dinner, I think back on my life before Germany. It seems so long ago, almost as though those days didn’t even belong to me.
I’m twenty-two now, but I feel much older. I think of Katya attending classes at the university and the world of possibilities that lie before her. It’s a life I can only imagine, but one that could never be a reality for me. My life revolves around a little boy and the hope of a returned love. I understand what I’m missing, but I don’t really care.
My imagination isn’t nearly as developed as my son’s, unfortunately. I can’t imagine a life that looks any different than the one I have.
I’m lost in my thoughts when Sasha comes bursting into the house, shouting for me. I set the plates down and rush to the door.
“What is it, Son?” I ask as Sasha jumps up and down from one foot to the other.
“There’s a man out there!” he cries.
“What? Who?” I ask. I push open the front door and stop cold, the wind sucked from my lungs. He is thin, a shadow really. But it’s him. Hans.
“Luda.”
Just my name. One whisper, and a thousand joys come flooding over me.
I yelp, jumping off the porch and into his arms. He spins me around, both of us laughing and crying. My arms squeeze tight around his neck, and he nearly crushes me in his grasp.
He sets me down, and I tip my head back to look up into his eyes. His face is streaked with tears as he pushes my hair back, both of us drinking in the sight of the other.
“Is it really you?” I whisper, and he smiles. He leans forward and kisses me, gently at first, then with a passion that takes over, the lost years pulling us tight. He pulls back and grins.
“It’s me,” he says.
“Where were you?” I ask. His face clouds over.
“I’ll tell you everything later,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get back to you the whole time.”
I nod, and he kisses me again, picking me up off the ground and into his arms.
“Mama?”
Hans sets me down, and I turn to look at Sasha, who’s standing on the front porch looking at us suspiciously. Hans looks at him, then looks down at me. “This is Sasha?” he asks. I nod. I reach my hand out to my son as he walks slowly to me. He places his tiny, dirt-covered hand in mine.
“Who is this?” he whispers, and I smile. Squatting down, I look deeply into his precious, innocent eyes. There’s only one answer to give.
“Sashinka,” I say softly, glancing up at Hans. “This is your father.”
Hans looks at me in shock, then looks back at Sasha. He leans forward and places his hands on his knees so that he’s eye level with my boy. Sasha looks back at him, his eyes scrunched in careful concentration.
“It’s good to see you, my boy,” Hans says, emotion choking his voice to a whisper. Sasha studies him for a moment before breaking into a grin.
“You wanna see our chickens?” Sasha squeals. “Aunt Sophia let me get the eggs out this morning!”
“Sophia!” I stand up quickly and look from Hans to Sasha. “We have to go into town to see her. Oh Hans, she’s going to be so happy. We should leave now!”
Hans looks at Sasha and raises his eyebrows. “What do you say we go see Aunt Sophia, and when we come back, you can show me those chickens?” he asks.
“Alright,” Sasha quips. “And you can also come see my room, and the new book that Mama got me, and my toy car that Aunt Sophia gave me for my birthday!” Sasha reaches up and grabs Hans by the hand. “I’m really glad you came home,” he says, squinting up at Hans.
Hans squeezes his hand, then slips his other arm around my shoulders. He kisses me on the cheek and grins so wide, his face nearly splits.
“I’m glad to be home,” he says. Together, we walk down the road, the three of us connected as one.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel took flight on the rich soil of Ukraine where I sat in the presence of true bravery. It was in conversation with a woman named Maria that the longing to tell stories was birthed.
The characters in this book are composites of the hundreds of men and women I met while touring Ukraine. They don’t tell one single person’s story, but rather hundreds of stories combined. While the characters are fictional, the circumstances and horrors they faced were very real. I pray I did them justice in the retelling of it all.
There are so many others to thank—so many who believed in me and pushed me through the painful parts of writing so that this project would one day be complete.
Thank you to Bob Darden, who was the first person to make me truly believe that becoming a writer was an attainable goal. Your class changed everything for me, and I’m grateful that you set me on this particular trajectory.
To Dan and Sherry Bouchillon, who heard my big idea to write a book and wanted to be a part of it. Thank you for investing in my dreams all those years ago. Your gift made all of the research possible.
Thank you to Jeff Michelman for seeing something in a shy writer girl, and pushing me to get on the ball and finish.
To my dear Lakehouse ladies: Wendy, Bethany, Jenni, Angie, and Tammy. Our yearly creative retreats allowed me the freedom and space I needed to unearth these treasured characters. Thank you for believing in me, for encouraging me, for editing my work, and for celebrating with me when the contract came in. I love you all.
Thank you to Ruth Samsel from the William K. Jensen Literary Agency for your willingness to take my manuscript. You saw potential and you ran with it. You literally made my dream come true. I am so grateful.
And thank you to the team at Kregel Publications for taking the chance on an unknown girl with a really big story. Your chorus of voices worked together to sharpen and shine up this story so that it could most honestly be shared with the world. I’m thankful for, and humbled by, your confidence in this book.
A special thanks to Tatiana Mykhailenko, who urged her students to talk to their grandparents and gather stories of survival and then share those stories with me.
A big thank you to Victoria Marchenko, who gathered together the most fascinating group of Ukrainian war veterans I met in all my travels and who also showed me the remains of Hitler’s underground bunker. It was a privilege to know her.
A very special thank you goes to Alexander Markov for his faithful translations and encouragement. And to Svetlana Tulupova, who became more than just my interpreter—she became a dear friend, and a sister across the sea. I am a better woman because of her friendship.
Finally, I need to offer up the largest thanks to my family. To my parents, Richard and Candy Martin, who taught me that life is an adventure and the world is worth exploring. Thank you for putting me on that plane to Ukraine so many years ago. You all believed in me first, and gave me the confidence to chase my dreams. I love you.
To my husband, Lee, who has cheered me on for sixteen years now. You’re the reason I finished this book. You told me not to give up, and your belief made me feel like I could conquer the world. Thank you for being as excited about my dreams as I am. And my precious children: Sloan, Katya, Landon, and Annika. You all have been gracious with a mom who stays up too late, and gets up too early, who reheats a lot of meals, and is always behind on the laundry, all
because the call to write tugs at me day and night. I am so proud to be your mom, and so thankful that I get to live out these dreams with you all by my side.
A portion of the proceeds from this book will go to World Hope Ukraine for the Hope House, a place dedicated to young women who have aged out of the orphanage and need someone to tell them they have value in this world. For more information on this transformative ministry visit http://worldhope.ca/projects/ukraine/hope-house-i-ii/.
