“A fit young man given adequate nourishment should easily recover from whooping cough,” the doctor advised after examining Mikhail. “Take him home, keep him warm, and offer as much food as you can.”

Maria was horrified. “Are there no medicines? I hoped you could give us something.”

The doctor spread his hands. “I have nothing that would help. Bed rest and good food are your best bet. Now, if you don’t mind . . .” He gestured to the line. Their turn was over.

Maria’s mind was racing on the walk home. She had to do more, but what? Suddenly it was as if she heard Peter’s voice in her head, reminding her that he used to use elecampane root to ease the little ones’ coughs. Where could she find some? She racked her brain and remembered seeing a small plant in the corner of the graveyard where he was buried. Would the root have survived beneath inches of snow?

Next morning, she rose at dawn and walked all the way to the cemetery. A couple of times she swayed, feeling light-headed, but she was driven by her determination to get back to her ailing son.

When she reached the corner where Peter’s grave lay, she stopped briefly to talk to him in her head. We are surviving, she told him, but Mikhail is ill. If you can hear, please tell me what to do.

A gravedigger’s spade lying abandoned on the ground nearby caught her eye. She picked it up and walked to the spot where she remembered seeing the wild elecampane. When she brushed the snow away, she saw that the plant had withered back from frost.

She lifted the spade and hit the hard-as-steel ground, vibrations rippling up her arm. “It’s not working, Peter,” she muttered out loud. She tried using the sharp corner of the spade, leaning her weight into it and seesawing back and forth. Gradually the earth began to chip away. She felt dizzy with the effort, but at last she broke the ground sufficiently to rip up the elecampane’s tuberous roots. She wrapped them in a sheet of paper and laid them in the top of her shopping bag, closing her eyes in gratitude. It felt like another gift from Peter, as if he was still trying to help.

On the way home, she began to feel very faint. She sat on a wall with her head between her knees, but the dizziness would not pass. Every time she tried to get up, the world spun. It started to rain and still she couldn’t get to her feet without feeling as though she would topple over.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a voice said, and she looked up to see a young man in army uniform, cap on his head. “Where do you live?”

She told him, but added, “It’s quite far.”