“You didn’t need to bring me with you,” I said. “Are you trying to show me your kind side, then? Trying to get back in my good graces?”
“No. Trying to show you why I did what I did.”
“How do the children have anything to do with nearly blowing our plane out of the sky?”
“The only thing that might save those children and millions of others just like them—Russian, German, Polish, French, Dutch, and otherwise—is to finish this damn war. And we have to win it, Katya. You weren’t in Kiev. You didn’t see what the Germans were capable of. I will do what I can to follow the safety protocols because I want you in my plane, but I have to do what I can to end this war, even if it isn’t always safe. I made a mistake. It was a foolish maneuver, and I’m sorry.”
“That I can understand,” I said after a brief pause. “I’ll fly with you.”
Oksana took my hand in hers and shook it. “I won’t abuse your trust again.”
CHAPTER 21
November 1943, the Crimea, Sorties: 478
My dearest Katinka,
This letter brings with it all the love and blessings a mother can bestow upon her daughter. I am pleased to hear your wounds have mended and that your regiment has earned such honors. Pleased and unsurprised. You have always been one to quash a challenge that others would think insurmountable. You have your father’s heart.
I have news of my own that I hope will cause you more joy than grief. I have been in the company of a Colonel Grigory Yelchin. He has been overseeing much of the industry in Chelyabinsk Oblast, reporting directly to the highest echelons in Moscow, including the little factory where the ladies and I sew the uniforms for you and the other brave citizens at the front. We formed a friendship some months ago—he and his late wife were quite fond of ballet as well, so we had much to talk about. Just last week he asked me to become his wife. I confess I have spent most of my hours since then wondering how you will react to the news. He is a good and kind man, dearest Katinka, and I know you will love him in time.
I will never forget your papa, Katinka. I can say little else about the world these days with such certainty. You know what love is now, having found your Vanya, and I want to remember what it is to be a beloved wife once more. It won’t ever be the marriage your father and I had, but I think he will make me as happy as I can be until you and your husband are nestled safely around my supper table, warm, well fed, and far from harm’s way. I fear this letter won’t reach you until after the deed is done, so if I cannot ask your opinion on the matter, I will ask you, humbly, for a daughter’s blessing.
“Lucya Yelchina.” I tested the name on my tongue. Beautiful. Unfamiliar, almost foreign.
“Who is that?” Polina asked from her bunk.
“My mother,” I said. “She’s remarried. That’s her new name.”
“How lovely,” Renata chimed in. “You must be so happy for her.”
“Yes,” I said, knowing the nobler side of me wished my mother the companionship her marriage would give her. “She’s been alone quite some time. It sounds like she’s made a good match for herself.”
“You don’t look convinced of that,” Oksana said, peering up from her book.
“Stop being so damned observant,” I said, wishing I had something other than my mother’s letter to lob at her.
“Too many years as a navigator,” she said. “Risk of the job.” She closed her book. “Speak. I won’t take you up in the air if you’re distracted.”
“It’s just odd to think of her with someone other than Papa, that’s all. The way she spoke about him, I thought she’d never love anyone else again. It’s disconcerting to find out it isn’t true.” I folded Mama’s letter and placed it back in the envelope and tucked it in with the rest of her letters and those from Vanya.
“That stands to reason,” Oksana said. “Our parents are supposed to be monoliths. Unchangeable. Solid. It’s unmooring when we discover they’re human.”
“Mama deserves her happiness,” I said, not wanting to imagine what this Grigory Yelchin might be like and how he’d managed to woo my mother after years of solitude.
“Write her to tell her so,” Polina said. “It will make you feel better.”
She passed me a sheet of her ivory stationery and a matching envelope. I accepted the papers, noticing there was something hard tucked in the envelope. I shook it out into my hand to reveal a small gold pendant encrusted with gleaming gems in pale blue and deep purple. In the center was a large gem—an aquamarine, I guessed—surrounded by a six-pointed star enameled onto fine gold filigree.
The shine caught Polina’s eye, and she leapt from her bed to retrieve it. “So sorry, I wondered where that had got to.”
“A Star of David?” Oksana asked.
“Yes. Silly to keep it, really. It belonged to my grandmother before she passed away. She wanted me to have it as a little keepsake of her. No one in the family has practiced in ages. Since my family joined the party in the revolution.”
“Wise,” Oksana said quietly. “It isn’t safe these days.”
“It isn’t safe for anyone to have faith these days,” Renata said, producing a cross from around her neck. She’d managed to conceal it for two years without a hint to the rest of us. “My family is Orthodox. Stalin tolerates us because of the war, but we still don’t crow in the streets. I’d never have been given a place here if the party knew.”
“Well, you needn’t worry,” Oksana said. “I’m your commander now, and I’m not sending you home. Just keep it from my superiors, and you won’t have a problem. Other than the problem we’re all facing right now, that is. Let’s move out,” Oksana said, closing her book.
Polina and Renata headed out for the airfield, Oksana several paces behind them. I tugged on her arm to keep her behind.
“That was kind of you to quell their fears,” I said. “Other commanders might not have been so understanding.”
“They’re excellent at their jobs,” Oksana said. “So long as that’s the case, the brass won’t question anything, and I have no desire to cause trouble for them. We all have our secrets.”
I thought about how close I had come to crossing the border—how willing I had been to escape with Vanya to save my own skin—and the truth of her words washed over me. People had lost their lives for less than what Vanya and I had done. I’d spent years becoming the perfect communist and dutiful patriot, but my actions were far more incriminating than those of my comrades, whose very identities could put them at risk.
“I need to chat with you,” Oksana greeted me one evening a few months later as I stood by the aerodrome after our last sortie of the night and mused over my coffee as the sun rose over the plains to the east. It was my moment of solitude, now that I hadn’t a spare half hour to meddle with my violin. More often than not these days I paired it with a cigarette, forcing myself to ignore the weakness in the little indulgence. It was early in the new year, but I made no plans to cast off this vice.
“What can I do for you, Major?” I answered, extinguishing the cigarette with the toe of my boot.
“Counsel. We’ve been offered some male support crews. It would save the backs of our armorers and get us a few more sorties per night.”
“I’d advise against it,” I said, taking a sip of the rapidly cooling brew. “The men won’t have the same work ethic, and they’d make the women nervous. We’re working as well as we are because we haven’t had male influence.”