A small barn swallow flutters in the eaves. Róża feels Shira wriggling from her grasp.

Sweat breaks and gathers beneath Róża’s arms. She has seen the way Shira envies Jurek and Piotr tromping in and out of the coops, their hair wet. What if Krystyna is right, that Shira needs to move about more? She grows unsure and Shira sidles toward Krystyna. Together they move down the ladder and out the barn door, toward the coop.

Róża’s heart batters in the cage of her chest as she shifts between cracks in the wall, glimpsing her child in fragments: Shira’s cocked head, her left leg, a dangling hand. When they step into the coop, disappearing entirely from view, Róża starts to count, one, two, three, four, five, six …

Distraught, she picks up Shira’s blanket, runs her finger over the seam. She could sew Shira’s name there, tiny stitches, in case they were ever parted. She could ask Krystyna to borrow needle and thread—

She puts the blanket down. Where are they? She peers through the largest crack, desperate for the sight of her child.

They reappear and in a few steps they are back in the barn. The whole outing, less than five minutes. Despite her relief, Róża flares with anger. She’d barely breathed while Shira was gone.

“There will be chicks in the spring!” Shira’s voice trills.

“Quiet!”

“Yes, Mama,” she whispers.

Krystyna stands just inside the door as Shira scuttles up the ladder. Róża rakes her into her arms and tries to regularize her breathing.

A few days later Krystyna comes back, again before sunrise. Róża strains against the dull light to watch as Krystyna leads Shira by the hand to see the chickens, a bit farther to pet the cow. Even as she keeps vigil, her eyes trained on Shira’s every movement, Róża feels grateful for these few moments alone.

Krystyna sets out a small basket of food behind the hay pile that blocks the barn. Róża squints, straining to see: Hard-boiled eggs? Slices of bread? She wants Shira back—but she is eating.

Róża’s stomach rumbles; saliva pools in her mouth. When she thinks Krystyna sees her watching, she shifts and peers through a different, tinier crack.

Krystyna abruptly packs up the food.

Is someone passing by on the road?

Róża listens for the clomp of boots as Krystyna leads Shira back to the barn, up the loft ladder, into Róża’s arms. Róża inhales the scent of bread on Shira’s lips.

Beneath the hay, Róża lies beside Shira, her hand gently running over the child’s full belly.

“I wanted to bring food for you, Mama, but Pani Wiśniewska took it away.”

“It’s all right, Shirke. I’m glad you had good things to eat.”

“She said that Pan Wiśniewski would bring you potatoes later.”

Róża is silent.