Outside Elizaveta set the bucket on the ground a meter from the cabin, then retreated to the rickety porch. She crossed her arms and studied the storming night. There was a feeling of foreboding and desolation to it, nothing moving yet everything moving.

There’s a murderer out there somewhere.

The thought came easily, opening a pit in her stomach. She clenched her jaw and told herself she didn’t know there was a murderer out there for sure, and even if there was, it didn’t matter. There was only one of him and eight of them. And Nitro had a gun. That was protection enough for any threat. So, no, they didn’t have anything to worry about, not really. Night would come and go. The storm would end. In the morning the boatman would arrive. If not, someone could take the canoe and get help. Either way, they would be dry and safe by noon at the latest.

A flash of lightning shocked the sky, turning patches of black a deep-sea blue. Rainwater began spilling over the lip of the bucket.

Elizaveta snatched it up and returned inside.

1957

1

The days at Saint Agatha’s School for Lost Children were long and busy, and there was never any time for rest or play because, according to Sister Lupita, these were Satan’s darling hours to tempt children to all manner of wickedness.

Each morning at five o’clock one of the nuns would enter the dormitory clapping her hands or banging a wooden spoon on the bottom of a metal pot. Once all sixty or so girls were up, the nun would supervise them getting changed. There was always a scramble to be the first to line up before the communal wardrobe. María sort of understood the others did this to select the best pieces of clothing for themselves. But then she sort of didn’t understand either; she didn’t understand why clothes needed to look good, which was why she often ended up in ill-fitting and mismatched outfits.

After everyone was dressed, the nun marched them in single file to the dining hall for breakfast. There, she would choose a girl to sing a hymn as well as say grace. María had been selected once before, and because she couldn’t sing the hymn right, or remember the words to grace, she was made to sweep the hallways with a toothbrush.

For the rest of the morning the girls went to “work.” Depending on what you were assigned each week, you might be sewing, knitting, peeling sacks of potatoes in the kitchen, cleaning, fetching water, or cutting wood. A lot of the girls complained in private about the jobs they were made to do, but this was María’s favorite part of the day. It was all pretty straightforward, and she could do what was asked of her as well as anyone else without getting in trouble.