“Yuri’s hitching the wagon,” Vanya said.
“To take you to the clinic.”
“Yes, then to the train. If you won’t marry him, shouldn’t we let him go without us?”
“Maybe I can convince Yuri, change his mind?”
“That’s not what you want, is it?” What she wanted was for the pregnancy to disappear. She’d drink more of the tea or find another way. “We all make mistakes. It’s how we learn,” Vanya said. His shoulders had fallen even further now. “We test a hypothesis. It doesn’t always pass muster. I’ve made greater mistakes than you. Like coming here. I never should have dragged us all to Brovary. I’m not ashamed of you, sister. You’re a strong woman. You’ve been through a lot. I of all people understand this world is changing. And I know Baba. She won’t like it but she’ll accept it. She sent you with Sasha. She must have trusted you two together for a reason.
“Yuri is a good man. You were right about him. But, Mirele, think how many times Baba has pulled new brides into the kitchen to fix their mistakes. If you don’t want either man, we’ll go to America and say the father, your husband, is dead. No one will know better. If anything, I’m the one who’s ashamed. I risked all our lives, for what?”
“I made my own choices.”
“Only after I made mine. That time you spent with Sasha is only a small part of the whole. Everything in our universe is made of pieces. There’s no one point at which anything is truly distinct.” Vanya put his arm over Miri’s shoulder. His ribs spiked into her side. “Remember, I told you other men called Einstein a fool for this theory, and how he seemed to shrug them all off. How he had such conviction he persisted even after all that ridicule. What I’m trying to tell you is that Einstein persisted because Newton wasn’t right. No laws are absolute. Life, the universe, they aren’t written in stone. Yes, you were supposed to marry Yuri, but that doesn’t mean you must.”
She dropped her head on Vanya’s good shoulder. They listened to the screech of a wheel outside. The wagon. Vanya hobbled across the room, toward the dresser. He was tiring quickly. He wrenched open a drawer. Then he reached in and slid out a sheet of wood—a false bottom, one of Babushka’s tricks. He smacked a stack of rubles on top of the dresser.
“Yuri sold Clay’s equipment to someone in Kiev. You’ll need the money for bribes, for this friend of Sasha’s, for the train. Use it all. Whatever it takes.”
“What if you need it to buy off the American? To get the photographs?”
“Russell Clay.” Vanya exhaled. “We’ll never find him. Use the money. The only thing that’s certain is that we need to get to America with Baba.”
XI
Miri, Sasha, Vanya, and Yuri traveled to Podil in silence, dressed in old clothing they scrounged from closets around the dacha. Yuri drove the wagon. Vanya sat covered in piles of coarse blankets next to him, his notebook tucked into his belt. Miri and Sasha walked behind with hoods pulled low, looking out for Zubov’s men. They tripped through snow in the high grounds and freezing puddles along the flats. Branches weighted by ice snapped around them. No peasants braved the slick conditions. Even soldiers stayed clear. Near the city limits, they split. Vanya and Yuri headed toward the clinic. Miri and Sasha continued on to Avram Noskov.
“What happened with Yuri?” Sasha asked as they wound through alleys, near the docks where the smell of rotting fish grew thick. Battered boats had been hauled up to the shore, away from encroaching ice. Fishing nets hung like ghosts.
“I can’t. Not yet.” She bit her lip to keep herself from crying. “You still haven’t told me how you know where this man lives. Avram Noskov. Or why he’ll help.”
“I told you he was my grandfather’s friend.”
“Who is he that he has such power? How did your family know him?”
Sasha stopped next to a skiff covered tight with a tarp. “I tried telling you.” He took a deep breath. “Remember, after our first night in the woods. I told you about the Polyakov brothers. That one broke away and started the railroads?”
“I remember. He forced your family from your home.”
“No.” Sasha dropped his head. “My mother was Ethel Sergeyevna Rabinovitch. Her father was Shmuel Polyakov.” He looked at Miri without blinking, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Polyakov was my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?” Miri stepped back.
Sasha continued, speaking quickly. “Yes. And Avram Noskov was another railroad baron. He controlled a different section of Russia. In a sense they were competitors, but because they were both Jews they were also allies. My grandfather helped Noskov stay alive. I don’t know the details, only that before Zede died he told me to go to Noskov for anything I ever needed. That he owed our family a deep debt and he’d never turn me away.” Miri leaned against the skiff. It shook under her weight, but held. “You understand now?” he asked.
“You’re a Polyakov?” Sasha had talked about the Polyakov family with such disgust. Hatred. Or had it been shame? “You could have told me.”
“I meant to. But look at how you’re pulling away. Even now. I can’t bear it.”
“I’m…surprised, that’s all. But I know you, Sasha. We are not our parents. Or our grandparents,” Miri said. “You’d never do what he did.”
“How can you be so sure? He was hungry. Terrified. And he saw an opportunity.”
“You’d never starve your own people.”
“It’s not that simple. If it were you starving, if I could save you, I might.”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
“What if we had a family? Children crying at night because their bellies were empty?”
“A family?” she gasped.
“Is that so repulsive to you?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Miri said. “It’s just…” She reached for him. He moved to her immediately and held her as tight as he had the night of the fire.
“Tell me. Please. Whatever it is,” Sasha said. “Tell me.”
“Later. I promise. Later.”
Sasha handed her Baba’s handkerchief. He’d kept it clean, washed it every night, and she used it to wipe her eyes. Then he leaned down to kiss her there, where her skin was still damp.
“We’re close,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.” But not a bone in her body felt prepared.
XII
Noskov’s building was nestled above a quagmire of sewage. Miri and Sasha skidded as they made their way up a slope of pebbles toward the brick entrance. Up close, the foundation looked so weak it might tumble at the next storm. They trudged up rickety stairs inside. “Avram,” Sasha called as he knocked. He put his ear to the door. “Avram, I hear you in there.” A door downstairs slammed shut. Small feet, a child, scampered.
“Patience,” Avram crooned. His voice was a rasp. They could hear him grunting as he moved and then the slide of metal rings on a curtain rod. “Patience for an old man,” he said. The door swung open, and a wave of tobacco smoke hovered around Avram so he was too blurred to see clearly. He peered at them for a moment, saying nothing, and then he leaned out the door, scanned the hall, and ushered them in.
It was dark. Every window in the apartment was covered with thick drapes. Avram lit a candelabra, and Miri realized he was bigger than she expected. His chest jutted out and his stomach bulged. He smelled like rancid grease. “Did anyone see you coming?” Avram asked.
“Of course not,” Sasha said. “But what do you care? You’re not a hunted man.”
“No.” He shook his head. “But I made my deal with the devil. Never trust the devil. Or a woman.” He pointed to Miri, then Sasha. “I know who you are. Aleksandr Grigorevich Petrov, né Polyakov. But who is she? Has she compromised us both?”
“No.”
“Shh! Keep your voice quiet. These walls have ears.” Avram led them down a hall and into a library. The walls were decrepit, like the rest of the building, but the floor was covered in an ornate carpet. Painti
ngs hung on exposed beams. Piles of books sat on heavy shelves. “You’re in trouble? It’s this woman, she’s done something? Speak already. Don’t waste my time,” Avram said in Yiddish.
Sasha walked to the window. He poked a finger into the drapes and pulled them back, just a touch. He seemed to survey the crumbling pebbles below. “We weren’t followed.” He dropped the curtain and turned to face Noskov. “We need train passage to Petrograd for three people.”
“For four,” Miri said.
“No, just for three,” Sasha replied.
“You know it’s dangerous,” Avram said. “There’s ice. War. You should wait for spring.”
“We can’t wait.”
“Ah, I see. You have a problem, then. Problems can be opportunities.” Avram limped to a cabinet with inlaid ivory. He set a bottle of vodka and three thimbles on the table and poured before settling into a chair. “To opportunities.” Avram held his thimble up to toast. “To profitable opportunities.”
“Profitable?” Miri asked.
Avram laughed and swept his arms around the room. “You see, I’ve sold all but my few pieces of furniture, some books. These are not easy times. And what I share with Aleksandr’s family is not a debt but a horror. I will help and that is more than generous, but there is a cost. Tell me, Aleksandr, how much do you love this woman? How badly do you need her to escape?”
“We have money,” Miri interrupted, thinking of the purse Vanya had given her.
“Whatever you have isn’t enough, or you wouldn’t be here,” Avram said.
“How much?” Sasha asked.
“Even if I sold everything in this room, combined it with what’s in that purse, it wouldn’t give me the reward offered for a Polyakov.”
Sasha and Miri both froze. Avram laughed. “He didn’t mention that, I see. His grandfather tried skimming extra gold here and there. He was brilliant at running books. But all brilliance has its end. He got greedy. Or sloppy. Either way, the czar found out. It’s why they came for them when this one was a boy.” Avram leaned closer. “Your lover is worth a fortune. Or at least his head is.”
Miri stood quickly. “We should leave.”
“So I’m your price,” Sasha said evenly, ignoring Miri. His eyes were locked on Avram.
“No!” Miri said. “I won’t do it. I won’t let you.”
But Avram kept speaking. “Your ransom will be enough to put me on a boat and send me far, far from this wretched country. Enough even for me to purchase a house or an apartment in an American city.” Avram steepled his fingers and thrummed them together. “You don’t have to accept my help, but then you’ll have to find your own way. The last train for civilians leaves tomorrow.”
“What kind of man would offer that sort of bargain?” Miri asked.
“An honest man,” Avram replied.
“I knew you’d do this,” Sasha said, shaking his head. Avram narrowed his eyes. “I have something more valuable than the reward for my head. My father, he hid the deeds to his property. I can tell you where. I’ll give them to you. Every last one.”
Avram threw his head back and laughed even louder than he had before. “That was your plan? To walk in here and offer me worthless paper in exchange for a train ride?” His laughter grew. “Even if those deeds survived, who would honor them? Coming from a Jew?”
“They’re signed by the czar,” Sasha shot back.
“That means nothing. Paper is worthless, even signed paper, without the backing of the man himself. The czar signed those before he knew your grandfather betrayed him.”
“You’re lying,” Sasha said.
“We’ll see once the police start questioning you, and you tell me where the papers are anyway. I’ll retrieve them and see if they have any value.” Avram swirled more vodka. “In any case, if you want this woman safe on the train, you have my terms and you have tonight to decide. The train, the Rudov, leaves at eight a.m. If you are there, you will find a conductor, Erik, waiting at the shed behind the station. He will make sure your three friends board the train. As they board, Aleksandr, you will report to the police. It’s my price. If you don’t turn yourself in, Erik will find out and he will kill anyone he helped board the train. You will decide your own fates. Ticktock,” Avram laughed. His mouth fell open so wide it looked like a gaping hole that would swallow them both.
XIII
Miri and Sasha started arguing the moment they made it past the pile of pebbles that held up Avram’s building. “I won’t let you turn yourself in,” Miri said. “We can wait out the winter here. Find a train on our own in the spring.”
“My fate is not your choice,” Sasha said. “Baba needs you. Your brother needs you. You must get them to safety.”
“I’d never forgive you.”
“Miri. As a Polyakov, as a deserter, as someone who impersonated Grekov: I’m a dead man. Any day someone will catch me. And it looks like today was the day. Even if Yuri won’t marry you, you have a long life ahead. This way, I will have done something good.”
Miri was terrified and furious. They walked in silence, following Yuri’s directions to the clinic, until they stood in front of a two-story brick building. Miri’s shoulders relaxed, just a touch, when she realized it wouldn’t burn, at least not completely, if the Okhrana came. A candle flickered in a window in the back.
Miri squeezed Sasha’s hand. “I need to talk to Yuri.”
“I’ll wait here.” He gestured to the shadows. “Not for long.”
Trying not to look back at him, trying not to imagine him trapped in Avram’s thick, greasy fingers, Miri crossed the street and opened the clinic door. It was heavy, its hinges screwed too tight into the bricks so it didn’t swing easily. Inside, downstairs, she found Yuri working. He was down on one knee, examining a little girl who was so thin she was barely thicker than a shadow. He held his stethoscope to her chest. “Do you ever eat green vegetables?” Yuri asked. He shifted the stethoscope to her back.
“Mold?” She giggled.
“Beet leaves. Cabbage. Carrots.”
“Carrots are orange.”
“Then you eat them?” Yuri wasn’t smiling. Miri remembered he was always serious like that with patients. Even children. “Tell your mother to come talk to me tomorrow.”
“Mama is at the factory.”
“Your papa?”
“War.”
“Sarah, please tell the child what she needs to do to feel better.” A woman wearing a nurse’s apron stepped from the corner. She was petite with bright eyes and luscious braids wound into a bun. She didn’t hesitate to bundle the child onto her lap. “Bubbeleh, you feel sick because you’re hungry. And if you don’t eat more vegetables, you will lose your teeth.”
“Gentle,” Yuri murmured. He stood over Sarah just as he’d stood over Miri.
“The rabbi serves cabbage soup every night. Can you come for meals? I’ll give you extra greens,” Sarah continued.
“Mama says we’re not desperate.”
“Please tell her I told you that cabbage soup is the cure you need. Now, run home. Before Baba Yaga finds you!”
The girl jumped off the chair and skipped past Miri, into the alley. “What’s next, Doctor?” Sarah asked. Miri had posed the very same question when she’d started at the hospital. Yuri whispered something, and then Sarah disappeared up a back staircase Miri couldn’t see. She only heard Sarah’s light step moving up and up.
“Miri, I see your shadow,” Yuri called. He kept his head down over a tray that held his stethoscope and other instruments. To an observer he would have looked like he was focused on organizing his tools, but to Miri his shoulders and back were stiff with nerves. “You didn’t tell your soldier yet, did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I want to marry you.”
“I won’t let you.” He turned back to face her. “I need to apologize. I truly am sorry I was so angry at the dacha. I’m ashamed of the way I acted, but that doesn’t change things.” Mi
ri could imagine herself back in Kovno, in his office. She even thought about the ink spilling between them, that first day they’d met. Perhaps Yuri was thinking the same because he lingered there, staring at her. “We’ve changed, Mirele. Both of us. We missed our chance. Or perhaps we never had a chance. Either way, we can’t marry.”
“Is it the nurse? Sarah?”
“Of course not.”
“The orchestra, then? This clinic? You can’t leave. I understand. I’ll stay. With you.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do. And I love you, too. I won’t say it doesn’t hurt to see you and the soldier together, but I don’t want…” He paused. “I can’t spend the rest of my life thinking I took him away from you.”
“You’re not taking him away. It’s my choice.” The thought, again, of Sasha being tortured by the czar’s men caught her.
“If you marry me, it’s what you’ll think. Maybe not now, but in time. Once the child’s born, you’ll see Sasha in him. You’ll compare us. You couldn’t help it. You’d wonder. I’d wonder. Surely, Babushka has shown you that marriages die for less?” He reached for her hand and held it but didn’t wrap his fingers around hers. “Maybe you don’t even notice yourself pulling back from me. But you are, even now. Listen, Miri. Every time you see the child, you’ll think about this soldier. And he’s a good man, Vanya says.”
And a Polyakov, she thought. “You’ve discussed this with my brother?”
“Of course. I know you don’t want to see me hurt. It’s one of the things I love about you. It pains you to see others injured. But I’ll heal.”
“You’re still a deserter. Aren’t you worried about staying here in Podil? After what happened?”
“You’ve decided to stay, Doctor?” Sarah asked. She stood in the doorway holding a steaming cup that smelled like Yuri’s favorite black tea with strawberry jam. She placed it on his desk and turned to Miri. “You must be the great lady surgeon.”
Sarah’s smile was warm, and Miri saw Sarah was younger than she’d realized, just barely a woman. Miri couldn’t respond. The weight of Yuri’s words, of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, lay heavy on her. She reached for a chair and sat down, dropped her head into her hands. My God. She couldn’t fathom what it had taken for Yuri to say what he’d said. And as much as she wanted to tell him he was wrong, was he? But what future could she and Sasha even have together?
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