“What’s a kulak?” Maria wondered if it was something like a Cossack, but it seemed not.

“Bourgeoisie; born to wealthy parents. We shouldn’t be hiring kulaks, but my husband, Joe, likes your husband and thinks he will be an asset to the farm.”

“Peter is not a kulak,” Maria said quickly. “My parents were bourgeoisie but they are . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “dead” and sought alternatives. “They are gone now.” Tears came. They always did when she talked about them.

Svetlana put an arm around her. “Don’t cry, my dear,” she soothed, rubbing Maria’s shoulder. “There, there. Too much grief will infect the child in your womb so he will have a melancholy soul.”

Maria thought there was no chance the child could avoid infection because grief filled every cell of her body, even if she was able to control it a little better now than she had a few weeks ago.

Svetlana kissed her cheek and squeezed her shoulders. “I am no lover of the Bolsheviks and their countless rules. We are supposed to abandon religion because it is old-fashioned and anti-Communist, but I still perform obednyas every day, in secret. We have a local priest you can trust. Perhaps you would like to worship with me?”

Maria hesitated. “I will ask my husband,” she said, for they had told the farmer and his wife that they were already married in order to secure the job and the cramped living quarters in a room above a barn. The words “my husband” had a ring she liked.

* * *

“Might we ask the priest to marry us?” she asked Peter later. “I want my baby to be born legitimate.”

Peter smiled indulgently. “I think you will find that Bolsheviks set little store by such formalities. But let us meet this priest and decide if we trust him, then if you want us to be wed it shall be done.”

“You don’t want to?” she asked quickly, anxiety in her voice.

He pulled her close for a hug, and kissed her forehead. “In my mind and in my heart we are already husband and wife, but if a priest’s blessing will make you happy, then so be it.”

Two weeks later, Maria could not stop the tears flowing as the priest intoned the sacred words of the Orthodox wedding ceremony: “O Lord, our God, who hast poured down the blessings of Thy Truth according to Thy Holy Covenant upon Thy chosen servants, our fathers, from generation to generation, bless Thy servants Peter and Maria, and make their troth fast in faith, and union of hearts, and truth, and love . . .”

When the crowns were held above their heads, it was almost too much to bear. The old man stopped and asked, “Are you all right, child? Do you want to continue?” and she nodded and blurted out, “Yes, please.” Peter squeezed her hand tightly but still she could not stop sobbing.