All of a sudden, Maria’s eyes filled with tears. Silly! She shouldn’t cry in front of a stranger, but sometimes her grief welled up unannounced. She turned away, trying to disguise it. Ludmilla slipped an arm around her waist and laid her head on Maria’s shoulder in a gesture that was both warm and natural. Maria returned the embrace and the women stood in silence for a minute, holding each other, sharing their sorrow.

Before they broke away, Maria kissed Ludmilla’s cheek. “Stepan has good taste,” she whispered with a smile.

* * *

Three weeks later, Ludmilla and Stepan announced their engagement. It would be a civil service, of course, but Maria suggested they keep some traditional elements, such as tying the bride and groom’s hands with a stole, smashing crystal glasses into shards, and providing a feast for friends and family. They would both wear gold rings, and there would be many toasts to their good health and fertility.

When the day came, Maria missed the solemnity of the church service, with its sacraments, prayers, and vows. She remembered her own wedding to Peter, which she had sobbed all the way through, almost drowning out the priest’s words. She cried at Stepan’s wedding too, with a mixture of joy and sadness. Joy that he had found such a good woman and that her family was expanding once more; and deep sadness that Peter and Katya, whom she loved more than life itself, could not be there.

Chapter 52

Leningrad, 1949

FOR THE FIRST YEARS OF THEIR MARRIED LIFE, STEPAN and Ludmilla lived in Maria’s apartment. She rearranged the beds to give them their own room, but in truth they were seldom there. They left early in the morning for the journey by tram and bus to Petrodvorets and were not back till mid-evening.

The other children also spent less time at home. Irina was dating one of Ludmilla’s cousins; Mikhail was at college training as a carpenter; and Yelena had finished her school exams and taken work in a dress shop.

Galina had long since married, but she came to visit, and always Maria looked at her and wondered what Katya was like now. They were the same age. Was Katya married? Did she keep her hair long or short? Did she wear makeup? Maria was her mother and should know these things. She often saw her daughter in her dreams, but always in the distance and out of reach, and when she woke, she felt the pangs of loss anew.

One cold but sunny Sunday in November, Ludmilla asked Maria if she and Stepan could accompany her to visit Peter’s grave.

“I’d like to pay my respects,” she said. “And Stepan and I have something we want to discuss with you.”