There had never been such a night in his household. His father and grandmother had never thought they’d see Natasha again. They were overwhelmed with joy, weeping and hugging her, blessing Pyotr and the gods that had driven him to make such a desperate attempt. As Natasha recounted the tale of their escape to her family, Pyotr announced that he would take the first bath. Sven was sure the water must have hurt, with the man close to hypothermia, but no sound came from the room. He brought out fresh clothes for his guest—his own best suit and shirt—and announced that he would buy him a new wardrobe tomorrow.

The man emerged, looking four sizes too small for Sven’s clothes, yet somehow neat and defying laughter. He said a quiet word to Tasha, and she instantly tore herself from her parents and followed him to the bathroom; Marianne selected a warm nightgown and robe for her, and fleece-lined slippers, then busied herself in the kitchen, delighted to see her husband so happy. Despite their good fortune, Sven had always missed his sister, and then there was the cloud over their daughter’s prospects. He had not smiled much lately. Here, in the world’s far north, winter was a serious business, and it was hard to find nuggets of joy in the long darkness. But tonight, with their guests in warm clothing, there would be a fire, and wine, and whisky from Scotland, rare roasted meat, and warm baked potatoes.

The family settled around the fire. Marianne served them on their laps. Tasha told the story, her teeth still now, sipping gratefully at the whisky, one eye on the blazing fire as though it were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. How her husband had started to drink, then to beat her, and finally had threatened murder. How Pyotr, a merchant from the market square, had challenged him when he hit her. How the banker had threatened to call for the secret police. Escape had been their only option, and without papers there was only one way: to buy an old-fashioned sleigh, take what supplies they could and a pack of dogs, and set out on the long, wretched journey across the frozen wastes to Finland.

But first, north from Estonia on the train, with stolen money. Bargaining and arguing in small, no-account towns for dried fish and meat, furs, and rosehips—dried for their vitamin C. A gun battle when a local Red Army captain asked the wrong questions. Risking imprisonment and torture, and even death in the snow, and lastly, making the attempt: days and nights lashing at the huskies; gnawing on tough, half-frozen food; cutting the carcass of one dead dog to feed to the pack; the brutal cold that they thought would kill them, overnight, as they huddled with the remaining animals under the fur coat; and at last, though they’d thought they must die, reaching Finland—and freedom.