Out the window she saw acres of ruined buildings and piles of broken stone; this town had clearly suffered enemy air raids, just like Leningrad. It was afternoon now and she decided that after visiting the prison she would try the hospital, then look for somewhere to spend the night. There were two more homes to visit in the morning.

The bus driver called out to let her know when they reached the prison. It had a double row of barbed wire around it, some squat brown buildings, and a yard in which a few dozen men in army uniform were milling around. Maria walked to the point where the road ran alongside the yard and peered through the fence, scanning the men one by one. Now that she was here, it seemed a crazy idea.

One of them called to her. “Who are you looking for?”

“Mikhail Alexandrovich Dubov from Leningrad,” she replied.

The man yelled into the crowd. “Is Mikhail Alexandrovich Dubov from Leningrad here?” A couple of others echoed his call and word was passed around. Suddenly a figure stood up and came running full pelt toward the fence.

“Mama!” he called, and his voice rose to a scream. “Mama! Is it you?” He looped his fingers through the fence and began to sob.

Maria couldn’t believe her eyes. He had a long beard, his hair was matted, and he looked a decade older than his seventeen years, but it was unmistakably Mikhail.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded through his tears.

“I will,” she promised, a big lump in her throat. “Hang on, and I will.”

Chapter 50

Yaroslavl, July 1945

MARIA WENT TO THE PRISON GATE AND SPOKE TO A guard. “My son is being held here but there must have been some mistake. He’s only seventeen so he was too young to fight. Please can I speak to someone?”

She was allowed inside and made to wait over an hour in a corridor with no chairs before she was led to the governor’s office, where she repeated her story.

“Let’s get your son to explain himself,” the man said, and Maria gave a sob of joy.

When Mikhail was led in, she leaped to her feet and embraced him. He was skin and bone, his clothes in tatters—but he was alive.

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?” she asked first.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“How could you be in the army? Is it a mistake? Were you forced to join up?”

“No.” He looked at the floor and spoke in a mumble. “I was separated from Katya on the Ice Road. I looked everywhere, for months, and couldn’t find her.”

Maria’s throat constricted. She squeezed his hand tight. “You should have written.”