“Volksdeutche?”
“Ethnic Germans from the Slavic countries,” the mother explained.
This conversation made me think of the lists the Germans made, and how they thought Germans were better. But even though people from Viteretz were suffering because of the German occupation, this bedraggled mother and daughter hadn’t had it easy either. They were stuck in the middle of warring countries, just like we were.
“Let me get you that milk,” I said.
The girl took a battered tin cup from her knapsack and handed it to me.
I rubbed my face against Krasa’s cheek and whispered, “I know it’s not time to milk you, but just a cup?”
Krasa snorted as if she understood. I knelt down and milked her, then handed the cup to the mother. I felt sorry for them, but where would all these Volksdeutche live? Where would we all live?
“Thank you for your kindness,” said the mother. “And at least tell me your name.”
“I’m Krystia Fediuk.”
“Good to meet you, Krystia Fediuk. My name is Frau Gertrude Schneider, and this is Marga, my daughter.”
“Good luck to both of you,” I said as I grabbed the cows’ tethers and started back on my way to the pasture.
“Get your fill,” I said to Lysa as I let her off the rope so she could graze in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “Who knows what will happen to you tomorrow?”
As the cows grazed, I sat on Uncle Roman’s rock and watched the road. So many Germans coming to our town — including ragged Volksdeutche fleeing the Soviet Union, better-off civilians coming from Germany, and the military.
Standing on top of the rock, I could see the surrounding countryside where Ukrainian farmers had lived for hundreds of years. It made me wonder whether the whole area would soon be filled with Germans.
I spotted the familiar blue-roofed house and wondered if Polina Semko was home yet. And that gave me an idea. Auntie Polina could take Lysa for now. That way, we wouldn’t raise suspicions by having two cows in our shed, yet Auntie Iryna wouldn’t have to give up Lysa.
“Sorry to do this to you, Krasa,” I said, caressing the cow’s neck one last time as I left her tethered in a hidden shady spot in Auntie Iryna’s pasture. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I wrapped Lysa’s rope around my fist and led her off the main road and through a grassy shortcut. The walk took nearly an hour, and many of the farms I passed had already been taken over by new people. As I led Lysa onward, I had a growing sense that the Germans had not come to liberate Ukraine, but to take us over.
The familiar blue roof came into view. Thankfully, there was no truck around, or soldiers, but Polina Semko’s buildings and fields were in shambles. Just a portion of her house still stood, and her barn looked like a lean-to. The fruit trees had been hacked down, and where wheat should have been growing, there were only weeds.
I rapped on her door. “Auntie Polina, are you home?”
She stepped out and looked from me to Lysa. “Krystia! What are you doing here?”
“Any chance you’d be able to look after Auntie Iryna’s cow?” I explained about Auntie Iryna being forced out of her house.
“I can keep her here,” said Auntie Polina. “And I’ll appreciate the milk, as my only cow is dry.”
“What happened to your farm, Auntie?”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “The Soviets, of course.”
“Do you have enough to live on?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I have a cow that gives milk now. And the Soviets couldn’t steal or destroy everything. I will get by as I always have.”
By the time I got back to the pasture, Krasa had worked herself free of her tether, but fortunately she hadn’t wandered off. She was happily munching away at a patch of grass under some trees. I wrapped her rope around my fist and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, Krasa,” I said. “Mama will wonder what is taking us so long.”
Ahead of me on the road were soldiers who were gathering the newly arriving refugees into a work unit. One of them was passing out shovels, and a second was giving instructions. I overheard snippets of conversation — something about digging a ditch in the woods.
I stayed a dozen or so metres behind the group practically all the way home and watched as it grew in size. I felt sorry for these refugees. Even before they could rest for the night or find something to eat, they were being assigned to heavy labour. I didn’t see Frau Schneider or her daughter in the group, but they would have been farther ahead, as it had taken me some time to get Lysa into the country. Had they been assigned work as well?
When I finally got home, Mama was standing on our doorstep, hands on her hips and a worried look on her face. She followed me to the shed as I settled Krasa in. “Where is Lysa?” she asked.
“With Auntie Polina,” I said.
Mama’s face lit up. “Good thinking.”
In the wee hours of the night, low voices in the kitchen startled me awake. One was Auntie’s, and another… Could it be? I crept silently out of bed, taking care not to wake Mama or Maria. I had to see for myself. With Auntie Iryna was Cousin Borys!
“You’re alive,” I whispered, running to him and wrapping my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine as I hugged him tight. “I was so worried about you!”
“I’m not ready to die yet, my dear cousin,” he said, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
“I thought I saw you at Josip’s funeral.”
“I was there briefly,” he said. “But I didn’t want the Germans to see me. And I cannot stay long now. Go back to bed, Krystia, and don’t wake your mother or sister. I came to see Mama so we could remember Josip together. And I’m trying to convince her to come with me to the forest.”
“Will you visit again?” I asked.
“There are things that need to be done,” he said. “But I’m never far away.”
“Stay safe, Borys,” I said, hugging him again before reluctantly going back to the bedroom.
As I tried to get to sleep, I thought about what Borys had said about things that needed to be done, and that maybe Auntie Iryna would be going to the forest to live with him. What were they working on?
Chapter Eight
An Act of Treason
When I got back from the pasture the next morning, people were clustered around the closed doors of our church. I stood on my toes to peer over their shoulders and saw Dolik close to the front. I wormed my way through the crowd and poked him. “What’s so interesting?”
“A poster. All the original townspeople are ordered to assemble in the main square today at noon,” he said. “Any disobedience will be considered an act of treason.”
Treason meant death. My knees suddenly felt weak. “I need to find Mama.”
“I saw her go to the Tarnowsky place about an hour ago. But I haven’t seen her since.”
As I rushed into town, I passed a large group of ragged and tired newcomers, and like the refugees from yesterday, they were carrying shovels. These ones were mostly men, and younger. From the fresh dirt smeared on their clothing and faces, it looked like they were on their way back from a job.
When I got to the Tarnowsky house, I hurried upstairs to find Mama. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor. She sat back on her heels and looked at me.
“Mama, there’s an important notice,” I said. “All the original inhabitants must come to the town square at noon, and those who don’t will be considered traitors.”
“The square’s just outside,” said Mama, pushing a loose piece of hair away from her eye. “I’ll go out as soon as the municipal clock begins to chime.”