Maria pictured the scene on the Ice Road and tried to imagine what had happened. Yuri must have put Katya in a different truck so she was taken to a different home. But where was her little girl now?

* * *

The day after finding Mikhail, Maria returned to the police station in Yaroslavl and asked for Leonid. When she told him that her seventeen-year-old son was being held awaiting filtration, he rushed across town to interview him personally and had him released by the end of the day.

“Thank you,” Maria breathed. “We spoke of kindness on our journey and I will never forget yours.”

She bought Mikhail a hot meal before they caught the overnight train to Leningrad.

All the time she couldn’t stop gazing at him, drinking in the changes. His voice had deepened, his eyes seemed sunken, and he was taller, much taller.

“Stop staring, Mother.” He smiled. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

She wanted to touch him, to straighten his collar, hold his hand, but she restrained herself. The joy of being with him after all this time was overwhelming.

“The others are fine,” she told him. “Stepan is working at the Peterhof palace, helping to restore it; Irina is studying law at university, and Yelena is working hard at school. I can’t wait to see their faces when we walk in the door.”

Mikhail looked sad for a moment, and she knew he was thinking of Katya.

“Next weekend,” she said, “I will carry on the search for your sister. There are still many places to try.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t write, Mama,” he said, his face stricken. “How could I tell you I lost Katya when you had told us we must stick together no matter what?”

“It would have been better to know.” He looked so distraught that she quickly added, “But I have you back now and that is all that matters.”

As darkness fell outside the train window, she asked him about the prisoner-of-war camp. There was a long pause. “I will tell you sometime,” he said eventually. “But not tonight. Not for a while. Do you understand?”

Maria nodded. From the look in his eyes, she could tell it had been bad. She shuddered. It was unthinkable what her children had been through. Life had to get better now. It must.

Chapter 51

Leningrad, summer 1945

THE CHILDREN’S HOMES AND HOSPITALS THAT MARIA had not yet visited were all a long distance away. If the journey took almost a day, she would have no time to search before she had to turn and head home again. Reluctantly she decided she would write to each one instead. The postal service seemed to be working again, and if she sent a stamped envelope, she hoped they would reply.