Back The Lost Daughter
Chapters (84)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. The Lost Daughter
  4. Prologue
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. Chapter 17
  22. Chapter 18
  23. Chapter 19
  24. Chapter 20
  25. Chapter 21
  26. Chapter 22
  27. Chapter 23
  28. Chapter 24
  29. Chapter 25
  30. Chapter 26
  31. Chapter 27
  32. Chapter 28
  33. Chapter 29
  34. Chapter 30
  35. Chapter 31
  36. Chapter 32
  37. Chapter 33
  38. Chapter 34
  39. Chapter 35
  40. Chapter 36
  41. Chapter 37
  42. Chapter 38
  43. Chapter 39
  44. Chapter 40
  45. Chapter 41
  46. Chapter 42
  47. Chapter 43
  48. Chapter 44
  49. Chapter 45
  50. Chapter 46
  51. Chapter 47
  52. Chapter 48
  53. Chapter 49
  54. Chapter 50
  55. Chapter 51
  56. Chapter 52
  57. Chapter 53
  58. Chapter 54
  59. Chapter 55
  60. Chapter 56
  61. Chapter 57
  62. Chapter 58
  63. Chapter 59
  64. Chapter 60
  65. Chapter 61
  66. Chapter 62
  67. Chapter 63
  68. Chapter 64
  69. Chapter 65
  70. Epilogue
  71. Acknowledgments
  72. An Excerpt from JACKIE AND MARIA
  73. Chapter 1
  74. Chapter 2
  75. P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
  76. About the Author
  77. About the Book
  78. Historical Afterword
  79. Sources
  80. The Love Lives of the Romanov Daughters
  81. Reading Group Questions
  82. Praise for The Lost Daughter
  83. By Gill Paul
  84. About the Publisher

The electricity became intermittent, then in November the water supply failed after bombs ripped open the pipelines. Now they had to fetch buckets of water from a fire hydrant at the end of the street, and use a kerosene lamp for light in the evening. Maria gave each child his or her own job: Yelena and Mikhail got the water and Katya collected firewood; Irina brought home the canteen food, and Maria went for the bread and any other food she could forage.

At night, when the planes flew overhead, they sang songs in the shelter to drown out the noise. “The Little Blue Scarf,” in which a soldier pined for the girl he loved, was a particular favorite.

It can’t last much longer, Maria told herself. Where was the Red Army? Stalin called himself “father of the nation”; now was the time for him to prove it.

* * *

“My tummy hurts,” Mikhail complained one night in November as he slumped over the dinner table. He was thirteen years old and tall for his age. Maria touched the back of her hand to his forehead and noticed that his skin was gray, his eyes dull, and he had a sore at the corner of his lips. She put her arms around him and felt his ribs sticking out. They were all getting thinner, but his weight loss seemed more severe than the others’.

“Have some soup,” she told him, ladling a generous portion into a bowl; then she dissolved a teaspoon of vitamin powder in water and told him to swallow it.

“Eat slowly,” she cautioned. “Don’t make yourself sick. Tomorrow I will try to find extra.”

When she picked up her bread the next day, counting out the precious coupons carefully, she asked, “Is there any way to get more for my son? He is unwell.”

“Marry a Party boss?” the woman suggested, with a cynical look. “I notice they aren’t suffering any hardships.”

“Besides that?” Maria shuddered at the thought. She would never marry again. Peter had been the only man for her.

“I hear you get extra rations if you donate blood,” the woman said. “But be careful not to weaken yourself. Personally speaking, I need all the blood I’ve got.”