“It’s irresponsible to bring us another mouth to feed at a time like this. Didn’t your mother teach you how to stop yourself falling pregnant?”

“No,” Maria replied, wide-eyed. She’d had no idea such a thing was possible.

“You must count the days after the start of your monthly bleed,” Svetlana explained. “Avoid lovemaking from the tenth to the seventeenth day.”

“A whole week?” Maria was astonished. She and Peter made love several times a week and she couldn’t imagine abstaining for such a long time.

“I expect you to keep up with your chores during this pregnancy,” Svetlana scolded. “There’s a lot to be done bringing in the harvest and preparing for winter. This is no place for idle hands.”

“Of course,” Maria agreed. “I promise.”

* * *

Maria gave birth to a baby girl in August 1920, by which time Stepan was toddling around the farm. He was enchanted with the newcomer, whom they named Irina, and sat watching patiently while Maria fed and changed her, then entertained her by dangling a rag doll made from scraps of fabric. Irina smiled at anyone who came near, and soon won the heart of the farmer’s wife.

“She is a happy soul.” Svetlana beamed, giving her a cuddle. “Your little boy is serious, as if he has the world’s problems on his shoulders, but this one is full of joy.”

Maria felt guilty at that. Stepan had been conceived, carried, and born while she was in the depths of mourning. All those tears she had shed must have infected him, as Svetlana had warned they would.

“Nonsense,” Peter said when she told him later. “Irina smiles at us because we smile at her. She is mimicking our expressions. Perhaps we did not smile so much at Stepan because we were still learning how to be parents. I don’t think it’s done him any harm.”

Maria liked the way he always had a logical answer. They were a good match: she was prone to bouts of anxiety and panic, but he quelled them with his calm rationality. As a child, she had feared she was not lovable, certainly not as well loved as her siblings, but Peter made her feel precious and special, as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be with her.

Sometimes she woke in the night, stricken with terror that she might lose him one day. She knew she would never manage to look after the children without him. But listening to his breathing helped to soothe her, and if the fear was especially intense, she would snuggle close and pull his arm across her, feeling the heat of his body—he was always much hotter than her—and the steady beat of his heart.

* * *