Yuri dropped her at the end of her road and she walked home, lost in thought. There was no doubt in her mind that Annushka must have left him and wouldn’t want to be found. She would have to handle the situation very carefully so as not to make an enemy of Yuri. Meanwhile, she couldn’t wait to go to the Preobrazhenskoe Cemetery and visit Peter’s grave. She would disregard all the other people buried in there with him and pretend they were alone once more, just the two of them.

* * *

The very next day, as soon as she finished work, Maria made her way to the cemetery, picking some early snowdrops from a park since the florists’ shops were closed. She hesitated at the entrance gate; the cemetery was divided into Orthodox and Jewish sections, and she assumed Peter’s grave must be in the Orthodox side. She walked past grand memorials in ornately carved stone to the southeast corner. There, just inside the boundary wall, she saw a patch of ground where the earth was bare, around twenty feet long by fifteen wide. It was marked with a simple wooden sign: Enemies of the state. This must be it. She fell to her knees on the wet grass.

“Peter,” she whispered out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. They wouldn’t tell me . . .” She stopped. He didn’t need to know that. She took a deep breath. “I miss you terribly, my love. I still can’t believe it.” Tears were coming now and she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to show him she was being brave. She gulped, staying very still until she had controlled herself, then continued. “The children are fine. Stepan and Irina have grown up a lot. We all miss you. But we are safe. Peter, I tried so hard to save you. I hope you know that.”

A woman appeared in the half-light and knelt beside the same grave, a respectful distance away. She bent her head and stayed very still.

Maria did not speak out loud again, but sat silent with her thoughts, hoping Peter could read them, wherever his soul might be. The earth was still hard from winter. His body would have been preserved by the freezing temperatures. She imagined he would still look like himself, strong and sturdy, with his compassionate gray eyes and cowlick hair. If only she could dig him up and kiss him one more time. The yearning was overwhelming.

She became aware of a low keening sound coming from the other woman. She rose, brushing the mud from her skirt, and walked across to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I suppose we are in the same boat,” she said gently. “Is your husband also buried here?”