She knew she should have left it at that, but she added, “And the land would have been given to idiots who knew nothing about farming. No surprise that they produced nothing, and people starved.”
Captain Kharkov’s eyebrows flickered, but he said nothing, just gazed at her a few more moments before downing his glass and pouring himself another. Adeline got up and cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled. She dried the carving knife last, turned from the sink, and said, “Okay, boys, time for bed.”
“It’s only just dark,” Captain Kharkov said. “Sit, have another drink with us.”
“The beer has already made me a little tipsy,” Adeline said. “Will? Walt?”
Will yawned as he got up. “I am tired.”
“Me, too,” Walt said. “Mama, will we get Christmas presents tomorrow?”
“We’ll see,” she said, smiled at them all, nodded to Captain Kharkov. “Sleep well. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Kharkov said. He poured another drink and saluted her as they went out the door into the snow.
A half inch had fallen on the bare ground, enough to make the landscape look pretty and safe as Adeline and the boys went to the outbuilding. She got them changed, and as they had almost every night since Emil disappeared, they held hands and prayed for him before she had them climb into the bed.
“Tomorrow is Jesus’s birthday,” Will said. “He was born with donkeys.”
His mother smiled and said, “Sort of.”
“And we believe what Jesus taught,” Walt said. “That’s why we celebrate Christmas, right, Mama?”
Adeline hesitated, but then nodded. She was going to tell them good night and leave but changed her mind and picked up the Bible Frau Schmidt had given her. She flipped to the book of Luke and read them the story of the Nativity.
“See, there were donkeys,” Will said when she finished.
“Yes, there were,” Adeline said, laughed, and kissed her younger and then her older son on the head. “And sheep and other animals.”
She kept the light on long enough to put on her coat and to gather up the quilt, two blankets, and the pillow and the wool knit hat Frau Schmidt had given her. She turned to tell them good night, only to see them already sleeping. She thought of Emil again, how he would never know moments like this, and despite the wonderful food filling her belly, she felt robbed of love and time.
Adeline went out the door into the short hallway, shut it, and locked it, thinking, They robbed me; they robbed my sons; and they robbed Emil. They’re still robbing us!
Outside, the snow was still gently falling. Adeline looped around the barn to get her bearings, then set off by dead reckoning through the darkness and the snow toward the tree line that marked the village. She wandered off course twice before finding the leafless trees and following them past the backs of the village homes before coming parallel to the old church.
As was her custom, Adeline went beyond the church to pee and then went to the rear door, finding it ajar. But when she pushed open the door to listen for the sounds of other women, she heard nothing. The glass windows of the church had been boarded over for the winter, so once inside, she felt comfortable digging around in her bag for a candle and some matches with the door shut but not barred in case another woman wanted refuge for the night.
She lit the little candle, which threw enough light that she could see her breath in billowing clouds and confirm that the church was indeed empty. She shivered and understood why. Boarded up like this, the building got little or no heat during the day. In fact, it felt colder in there than it had outside in the falling snow.
Adeline went to the pew where she normally spent her Saturday nights and started preparing her bed. As she did, she thought about Walt saying, And we believe what Jesus taught, right, Mama?
She sat a moment with her hands clasped and felt torn between wanting to go down on her knees and pray and fearing to pray because she would not be heard or heard in the wrong way as she’d been that day near the Reichstag when they had no food and no shelter. In the end, she bowed her head and asked God to forgive her for not praying much of late.
“It’s been hard without Emil, Lord,” she whispered, that ball of emotion swelling in her throat again. “Taking care of the boys and working for the Schmidts . . . I’m grateful for the roof over my head and the good food we eat. I am. But please watch over Emil, wherever he is. Protect him, Lord. He’s a good man. The only man I’ve got or want. So please, bring him back to us, and keep me and the boys safe in the meantime.”
She bowed her head and sighed before unfolding the quilt and blankets. She was arranging the pillow and about to blow out the candle when the rear door pushed open and someone shone a flashlight inside. Several of the women who took refuge in the church had flashlights, so she stood there, waiting to see which one had decided to brave the cold.
Captain Kharkov stepped inside, looked around, saw her standing in the candlelight. He smiled drunkenly and held up the nearly empty bottle and waved it around at the interior of the church.
“How romantic, Adeline,” he said. “What a perfect place.”
Chapter Thirty
Six hours earlier, that same Christmas Eve
Poltava, Ukraine
Watching Nikolas die in front of him shook Emil in ways he did not expect. He had hated the man in life, and yet he felt some pity for the way Nikolas left it, terror filled and unforgiven, sure that he was about to face judgment.
I’m not facing judgment, Emil thought after covering Nikolas’s body and dragging it outside to freeze. There is nothing beyond this life. The only thing you
