“He is alive,” Maria began, knowing that was the information she would want to hear first. “But he has been sentenced to five years in a gulag in Kemerovo.”

The woman began to wail. “But why? What has he done?”

“I’m so sorry.” Maria put a hand on her arm. “I don’t know what he was convicted of, but my informant said conditions there are not too bad. The men are mining coal, but they are well fed. And five years is much shorter than the average sentence.”

“Mining coal . . .” The woman couldn’t stop crying. “He is a clever boy. He had a bright future.”

“He still does. Five years will pass, and you can write and send packages. I have the address for you.” Maria found a scrap of paper in her bag and handed it over.

The woman read it. “Thank you,” she said, sniffing back her tears. “I will write tonight and send some warm clothes. At least I can do that. But five years . . .” She shook her head. “What kind of state would do this to their young men?”

Maria didn’t reply. Criticizing the government to a stranger was a fool’s game. She could understand the woman’s anger. If she let herself think of the men who had sentenced Peter to death, and the ones who had carried out the sentence, her own fury threatened to overwhelm her, but it could serve no purpose. She couldn’t attack the state or their “great leader,” Stalin. Best to keep quiet, look after her children, and get on with her own life.

* * *

Two days later, when Maria visited Peter’s grave, another woman approached. It looked as though she had been waiting for her.

“Are you Maria? My friend told me you can get information about people who have been arrested. I wondered if you could ask about my husband? He was taken by the NKVD a month ago and I’ve heard nothing since.”

Maria was about to say no, she couldn’t help, but the woman’s eyes were swollen, her face etched with desperation. She imagined Peter listening to their exchange, and replied, “Give me the information and I’ll see what I can do.”

As she walked home, she pondered the problem. Yuri would not take kindly to her asking another favor when she had nothing to offer in return. Perhaps she should try to locate Annushka, and if she found her, they could concoct a story together.

On her next day off, Maria caught a tram to the Winter Palace and was glad to see that Annushka’s brother Fedor was still a guard there.

“How are you?” she greeted him, smiling brightly. “It must be easier to stand here all day now the weather is warmer.”

He agreed, but seemed tense.

“Do you work long hours?” she asked. “When do you finish today, for example?”