Adeline did not consent, and she would not be a spoil of war. She took her attention off the Russians and hurried on through the cut field and across the south hayfield toward that line of hardwood trees turning color. The air was already cooling. The light was soft and golden in the late-day sun. Horses neighed in their pastures, and cocks crowed in the distance. Far behind her, she heard her sons laughing as they played before dark.
Reaching the trees, Adeline stopped in the shadows beneath one old elm. She shut her eyes and listened and breathed, her nostrils open to the smell of leaves and cut hay. She could still taste the applesauce, and for a moment she could almost believe in a world without hardship and strife.
Then she heard the soldiers singing raucously in the distance, drunk already, soon to be fed and soon to be drunker and in search of a woman. Adeline stayed in the shade of the trees and walked the length of them behind houses that reminded her of the nicer homes in Birsula, and one in particular that always put her in mind of Mrs. Kantor’s house. She did not stop to admire it but hurried on into thicker foliage until she was abreast of the rear of the old Lutheran church and out of sight of the main road that ran through the village.
Adeline continued past the church a good twenty-five meters, looked around to make sure she was alone, then squatted to pee before returning to the church. The small rear door was slightly ajar. She paused to listen and to peer at the narrow slices of the main village road she could see. No one was walking. No one was talking.
She dashed across the forty meters of grass that separated her from the door, pushed it open, slid inside, and then almost closed it shut. She turned, breathing deep and slow as she let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, seeing two women in their forties already camped in the pews forward and left, and a much younger woman midway down the center aisle on the right.
Adeline knew them by sight, if not by name. They all had Soviet soldiers billeted in their homes. One by one, more women entered the church by the rear door and began to stake out places to sleep. Adeline preferred a pew in the back right. Most of the women who sought refuge in the church were locals, either from the village or the surroundings. They knew who Adeline was, where she lived, and her circumstances. They treated her with civility but little warmth or friendship.
That was fine by Adeline. She was there for one reason: to sleep in safety so she could rise and go home early to be with Will and Walt while the Russians slept and suffered their hangovers and wondered where all the village women went on Saturday night. Let them. She was going to pick apples tomorrow and enjoy the bounty and beauty of harvest time before it was gone and snow blanketed the land.
There were sixteen women in the old church when one of the fathers of the two youngest girls wished them all good night. An older woman barred the door behind him. Adeline heard him bar the door from the other side and lock it in place with three different locks.
Adeline sat on the blanket, looking forward past the small knots of women whispering to each other. For a few minutes, she stared into the fading light at the altar and the shadow where the cross had hung high on the wall behind it.
When she could no longer see the shadow of the cross, she drank some of her water and told herself it had been a good day. Better than she could have hoped for.
But then she thought about Emil and felt a deep pain in her heart. When she was with Frau Schmidt or out working in the fields or with the boys in their room, she could keep thoughts of him at bay. But here in the gathering darkness of the old church, there was nothing to distract her, and her loneliness was almost overwhelming.
How long could she last, living on hope and a vow? She’d always told herself she wouldn’t be like her mother, wouldn’t live a life of hoping that every knock at the door was love returning, only to open it and endure heartbreak all over again.
When the darkness was complete and she could hear the other village women settling down to sleep, Adeline did the same, realizing that she had not opened the Bible while it was still light enough to read. But then again, she rationalized as she pulled the blanket over her and plumped the pillow, why should she pray when she wasn’t getting answers anymore?
Drained by six days of labor, Adeline fell asleep quickly and into deeper, dreamless, merciful darkness.
She awoke eight hours later at the sound of keys turning in the locks and the bar being lifted from the door. The rear door opened and was left slightly ajar. She gathered her things immediately and went outside to watch the dawn and the first fingers of light reaching toward her from the east.
November 1, 1945
Poltava, Ukraine
The Soviet guards rang triangles in the darkness, the peals and pings penetrating the sleeping heads of the surviving prisoners. Emil roused groggily. The afternoon before, he’d suffered cramping and
