Meanwhile, she began visiting the relatives of Leningrad men who were being held in Yaroslavl prisons. It was wonderful to share good news, and some families were so delighted they showered her with gifts of jam, cakes, and sweetmeats. So much food seemed a miracle after the years of starvation and she developed a sweet tooth. When there was enough sugar, she made the almond toffee that had been her favorite as a young girl.

Please God, she prayed, bring good news for me soon. But the letters that came back from far-flung children’s homes and hospitals said they had no record of Katya. Maria filed them, putting a cross beside each name on her list. There were still many who had not responded, so she clung to hope. She would never give up, she vowed. Not ever.

Mikhail was quiet for the first few weeks after his return and spent a lot of time in bed. Maria worried that he was brooding, and asked Stepan’s opinion.

“He was always quiet,” Stepan reminded her. “The women are the chatterboxes in our family, while the men keep their thoughts to themselves.”

Maria had to admit that was true. She had always been much more talkative than Peter, and both Irina and Yelena chatted nonstop throughout their waking hours.

“He told me a little,” Stepan continued. “He says it was bad in the prison camp but other men looked out for him because of his age. I don’t think any lasting harm has been done. He feels terrible about losing Katya, but I reminded him he was so ill with whooping cough that night he could barely walk. There was nothing more he could have done.”

“Thank you for talking to him,” Maria said. Maybe it was easier for Mikhail to share his experiences with another man than with his mother. She didn’t mind so long as he was recovering from his ordeal.

“Would it be all right if I bring a friend for supper on Saturday?” Stepan asked, and there was something about his tone that alerted Maria. He was trying so hard to sound nonchalant that the effect was anything but.

“Of course,” she replied. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Ludmilla.” He blushed, and bent to adjust his shoelace. “She works with me at the palace.”

Stepan was twenty-six years old and this was the first girl he had brought home, so Maria was curious. Her eldest son was not particularly handsome, with his heavy-set brow, but she knew the right girl would love him for his gentleness and steadiness—the qualities she had fallen for in Peter.

She was startled on Saturday evening when Ludmilla arrived: an exquisitely pretty girl with pale blond hair, green eyes, fine features, and an intelligent air. She handed Maria a box of chocolates from the Krupskaya sweet factory, tied with a red satin ribbon.

“I’m delighted to meet you,” she said. “Stepan speaks of you constantly.”