A Night of Reckoning in 1939
The evening of 1939 seeped into the home with a heavy expectancy that filled the air with dread. A woman, whose name had long been overshadowed by mundane concerns, sat at a crudely fashioned table, her fingers nervously clutching a narrow strip of leather. With weary yet piercing eyes, she repeatedly glanced at the round face of the wall clock, its steady ticking syncing with her rising frustration. Her eldest daughter, the one who embodied both tempest and flame, was late once again, tightening the knot of uneasiness in her heart. Why had her firstborn, a child born from youthful, reckless love, grown so unruly? Unlike her, the younger children — a seven-year-old girl with cornflower eyes and a gentle spirit, and a nine-year-old boy, serious and remarkably wise for his age — were a serene haven, a source of comfort and hope. But this one… The child of her first, failed union, capricious and disobedient. How many times had sharp words, like hail, struck her? Yet the girl only laughed boisterously, dismissing maternal wisdom as if shooing away a bothersome fly. No sign of respect, no hint of assistance around the house — just endless revelries and carefree escapades. The moment the accordion played somewhere, her slender figure flitted to the heart of the festivity. Stifling shame, the woman could feel the piercing gazes of her neighbors, whispering about her daughter’s behavior, but something had occurred today that shattered the floor beneath her.
A creaking door welcomed a neighbor, Valentina, into the modest abode. With her eyes lowered and shifting nervously from foot to foot, she fidgeted with the edge of her apron.
— Listen, you hold a prominent position and are very visible in our community, but I need to speak frankly — you must rein in your little bird before something irreparable happens. Who knows what may occur? Even if he’s free, does it befit a respectable young lady to frolic in the grass with anyone she meets?
— What nonsense are you spouting? What little bird? And clarify your vague insinuations!
— Your eldest daughter. Of course, I’d prefer to remain silent since I respect you, but such behavior tarnishes the reputation of the whole family.
— What has happened to her? She dances, she makes merry — is that news? I am at my wit’s end with her.
— You see, — Valentina’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper — I tied my cow up near the river and went back to water her around noon. What I witnessed was disgraceful. I approached, rattling my buckets, and heard someone rustling in the bushes. Your girl was in the tall grass, hiding under a man’s shirt while her dress lay nearby. I was dumbfounded, and when I asked her what unseemly thing she was doing, she boldly claimed she was resting away from prying eyes. When I asked if she was alone, she only laughed in my face and called me foolish. Out of anger, I nearly leapt into those thickets to see who was hiding from me. I confess, I feared it might be my Grishka losing himself in this affair, but then my Zorya broke loose, and I had to chase after her, leaving my buckets behind. By the time I returned, not a soul was in sight.
— Perhaps you imagined it? It was dusk, light and shadows playing tricks…
— I did not imagine anything. Look, — she produced a little handkerchief from her bosom, adorned with intricate patterns. — I found it there. Is this her handiwork?
— Her… — a heavy, resigned sigh escaped the woman. — Val, please, let this remain between us.
— What do you mean? I genuinely pity you. The girl is on a destructive path, who will marry her? If she had a respectable suitor, he would have been at your door long ago. However, if she hides in bushes, it means nothing serious is happening. And as for my Grishka, he was home when I got back, he hasn’t stepped out.
— Go, Valentina, go, I’ll handle it myself. Thank you for the warning.
— Well, brace yourself…
As the neighbor departed, the woman was left alone amidst the encroaching darkness, and the silence shattered under the weight of muffled sobs. This was the last thing she needed! When would this relentless disgrace cease? Not only did people point fingers at her, but her position was also at risk — could a foreman allow his daughter to be branded as wanton?
The clock’s hands inexorably approached eight, yet her daughter still did not return, despite promising to be home by six. Where could she be? Hearing cautious steps in the hallway, the woman tightened her grip on the belt so that her knuckles turned white, bracing herself for a difficult conversation, but it was her husband, the father of the younger children and the stepfather of her eldest daughter.
— What is it, dear? And what do you have in your hands?
— I’m going to teach my eldest daughter a lesson; my nerves are frayed! Just once, can you not be the forgiving father?
— You’re suggesting I raise my hand against a girl? That’s no solution. Besides, what right do I have to treat a non-blood child that way?
— That’s just you. Your kindness sometimes borders on weakness. When they act out, I must be the stern one, while you only show pity and comfort.
— What in the world has happened? Did she run off to a dance in the neighboring village again?
— Worse, — she moaned and recounted the distressing exchange.
— Are you sure the neighbor tells the truth?
— Why would she lie? — she shrugged in desperation.
— Who knows. No doubt our girl is a wild one, but such a scandal! I can’t believe it!
— But I do! I see no reason for Valentina to fabricate a story! Our little bird spins tales easily and often; you’d never know where the truth ends and fiction begins. That’s enough, go, I’ll handle this!
— But no! This isn’t a discussion; this is punishment…
At that moment, the door swung open, and there she stood. Upon seeing her mother’s furious expression and her stepfather’s bewildered one, she immediately sensed a difficult conversation awaited her. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defiant smirk playing on her lips.
— What, are we going to read me a moral lesson again?
— No, this time we won’t, — the woman slowly rose, gripping the belt tightly in her hand, and took a step forward.
— Stop, don’t! — the man attempted to intercede between them.
— Step aside, or you’ll get it as well!
She didn’t understand where her strength came from, but her hand shot upward, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle that mingled with loud protests. Suddenly, the girl, collapsing to the floor, thrust her hands forward, and her scream echoed not as a challenge, but as a desperate plea.
— Mom, please, stop! I’m not alone!
The woman’s hand froze and fell limply by her side. The belt thudded onto the floor as she stumbled back, collapsing onto the bench, her body wracked by silent, bitter sobs. Her worst fears, those lurking in the darkest corners of her soul, had materialized.
Despair, black and bottomless, engulfed her. What an indelible disgrace! How could she face the villagers? Her bewildered husband shifted his gaze between his sobbing wife and his frightened stepdaughter. Gently, he took the girl by the elbow and led her out into the yard. What they discussed under the cloak of impending night, the woman could not hear, only seeing their anxious and conflicted faces through the window.
Wiping her tears with the edge of the handkerchief, she waited for her daughter to step inside, and in a quiet yet firm voice commanded her to sit across from her.
— Who is the father?
— He’s not around, — the girl mumbled, staring at the floor.
— With whom are you frolicking in the bushes? Who is the father of the child, I ask again!
— Consider him non-existent. I will never tell you his name. Don’t worry, I’ll go to old Avdotya; she’ll brew me some herbs, and it’ll all be taken care of.
— You think it’s that simple? You think it’s all a matter of just that? You got pregnant, got rid of it, and then you can run off to dance again? You are the disgrace of our family. I hoped until the very end that you’d come to your senses, but now… You will leave for the city and enroll in school.
— I’ve told you a thousand times — school is not for me, — she interrupted her mother sharply. — My mind is not for studies.
— I don’t care. You will leave my house; I don’t want to see you again. What were you thinking, indulging in pleasures? Did you think of your brother and sister? Did you think of me, what will happen when people find out about your shame? I’ll lose my position! If you refuse to go, I will speak with the chairman, and they’ll assign you to the pig farm; you’ll clean up after the pigs there. We’ll see how much you like that.
— Women… — her husband entered the house. — I overheard something… You cannot go to Avdotya; you could endanger your life. No, you must give birth. Once you do, we will help you; we will raise the child.
— Are you out of your mind? — the wife exploded. — You should rather find out who the father is!
— As long as she keeps quiet, you’ll find out nothing. You know her character — stubborn as a mule.
— And what will people say, have you thought about that?
— And what will they say? That’s what people do; they gossip… Autumn and winter are ahead; under warm clothes, nothing will be visible. She can stay out of sight for a while. And you, in turn, can act like you’re in a condition, and when the time comes, announce that the child is yours. There’s no other way: our girl will either ruin her health or carry a shameful label, and then no one in our village will want to marry her!
All night long, the house echoed with the clamor of arguments, and by morning, the mother and daughter, worn out and beaten, reluctantly agreed to this risky venture, though both doubted they could deceive everyone.
But as her husband predicted, no one suspected a thing. The winter turned out to be unusually harsh and frosty; under thick jackets and coats, it was impossible to discern the remarkably small belly of the girl. Meanwhile, the woman carefully padded her clothing to give the impression that she was expecting her fourth child.
— Why haven’t you come to see me? Isn’t it time? — a local paramedic asked her one day.
— Why should I disturb you? I know everything; I can manage it myself. Besides, my mother has given birth to eight, so I’m no novice in this matter. You just focus on your patients, dear, and I’ll take care of myself, — she countered.
— Well, as you wish, — the paramedic shrugged and left her be.
In March, the girl went into labor, and a boy was born, named Alexei. The relationship between mother and eldest daughter remained strained and cold; every time she looked at her, the woman bitterly thought that she resembled her father — that vagabond and libertine who met his demise in a drunken brawl. And the daughter had turned out just like him. How indifferently and even disdainfully she treated her situation, as if it wasn’t a new life within her but a bothersome hindrance. The mother hoped that perhaps maternal instincts would awaken in her soul, and though to the whole village he would be seen as her son, in truth, he would still remain the blood of her daughter, and her tenderness for him would be assumed as love for a late child.
But once again, her hopes were dashed — the child proved to be unwanted and burdensome to the young mother.
— Feed him, — she softly ordered, handing the newborn to the mother.
— No… Now he is your son. From this day forward, he shall be my brother.
— How can you say that! — the mother stared in shock. — What cold-hearted words! Take your child, hold him to your heart. There’s nothing more precious than a mother’s milk!
— When my brother was born, you had no milk, yet he grew up strong and healthy. Alexei will grow up just the same.
— You’re no mother; you’re… a cuckoo. God, why must I endure such trials? — a bitter whisper escaped her.
— Let’s take him to an orphanage and tell everyone that he didn’t survive…
The woman could no longer restrain herself and struck her daughter across the cheek, appalled by her cruelty and heartlessness. This was the second time in her life that she had raised her hand against her, and now she felt bitter regret — perhaps she should have raised her with greater strictness from infancy…
— As soon as you’re strong enough, you’ll head to the city. I do not want to see you anymore. I’ve already spoken with the chairman.
— And if I refuse? — the daughter defiantly smirked.
— Then pack your things and go wherever your eyes lead you!
— Well then, I’ll tell everyone the truth! What do I have to lose?
— Go ahead. I no longer care, — the woman sank down onto the bed wearily. — I no longer care…
But three days later, having stuffed a few belongings into an old suitcase, the seventeen-year-old girl left her parental home. No matter how much her stepfather persuaded her to reconsider, her mother remained unyielding. He took her to the city and returned with a vacant gaze and a sorrowful expression.
— Are you sure you did the right thing?
— I couldn’t do otherwise, dear, I couldn’t… Though she is flesh of my flesh, looking at her turns my stomach. What sort of serpent did I nurture at my breast? This is my fault, entirely my fault… Somewhere, I failed her, didn’t keep watch.
The girl settled in the city, finding work at a factory, with no thoughts of schooling, nor did she recall her son even once. But the mother was no longer concerned about that; she poured all her energy and unspent tenderness into raising her grandson. Her younger children helped her, and despite their tender age, they understood all the nuances of the events yet kept the family secret. They bore no warm feelings for their older sister but idolized their mother and father. The husband treated the boy as his own, and within a year, the woman had almost forgotten that little Lesha was her grandson and not a late, longed-for son.
They lived as a large and loving family, making plans for the future, dreaming of gifting little Lesha a sibling when he turned a couple of years old. However, disaster invaded their peaceful lives — the year 1941 arrived.
Her husband was drafted to the front in August. As they bid farewell, she wept bitter tears.
— How will we survive without you, my dear one, my beloved…
— Don’t cry, my joy. Take care of yourself and our children, especially keep an eye on little Alyoshka; he’s still so tiny, so fragile…
After kissing the younger ones farewell, he scooped little Lesha into his arms, and unbidden tears glimmered in his eyes.
— Son, look after your brother, now you’re the oldest man in the house.
He left, and a terrifying solitude enveloped the woman. Nights passed with her tossing in the empty room, unable to find peace. She felt cold without his strong shoulder in bed, and each day her heart quaked with dread whenever she spotted the postman outside. What if he was on his way with bad news for her? Yet simultaneously, she awaited him, this messenger of fate, for he could bring her news from her beloved. Thus, caught in the agonizing conflict between hope and fear, she watched Palych as he moved about the cottages of their neighbors.
Her husband wrote regularly, inquiring about the family and children, even asking about the eldest daughter, whether she had been around, whether they had reconciled.
But it was as though she had sunk into the ground. The mother’s heart shattered from the pain — where was her girl, how was she, alone in a large and unfamiliar city? Yet alongside that strife came bitterness — she had done everything right; perhaps this exile would benefit her, civilized her, make her more sensible. But clearly, the daughter had no interest in her family.
* * *
Little Lesha was approaching his second year. He frequently fell ill, weak and pale, which led the woman to give him twice the care and attention. One day, she brought work home and was engrossed in filling out documents when the chairman visited her.
— Hello! Did you prepare that schedule for me?
— Yes, of course, Leonid Savelievich. I’m just finishing up. Can you hold on for a minute?
— What’s there to wait? I’ll wait.
— Sweetheart! — she called for her daughter, who was sitting by the baby’s crib. — Please, prepare some tea for our chairman.
— Coming, mom. Leshka’s temperature has gone down, — she reported as she approached the table.
— Thank God, — the mother nodded, returning her focus to the paperwork.
While the girl busied herself by the stove, the baby climbed out of the crib and padded over to his mother with bare feet.
— Ma-ma, water…
— Ask your sister; she’ll get you some water.
— You have a lovely boy, — the chairman remarked. — He’s a spitting image of his father!
The woman’s hand froze in midair, and she slowly lifted her eyes to Leonid Savelievich.
— Of whom? What did you just say?
— What’s wrong? Are you overly absorbed in your work? I said your son is like his father, like two drops of water.
— Yes? I hadn’t noticed… But the eldest, he’s a dead ringer for his father, — she said, choosing her words carefully.
— Oh, just look; this one will soon be the spitting image of his big brother while that one is the spitting image of the parent.
— Uh-huh… Here, hold this, Leonid Savelievich, everything is ready, — she handed him the folder, her hands quivering with anxiety. Once the door closed behind him, she stared intently at little Alexei. My God, how had she not noticed before? She had grown so accustomed to the thought that he was her son that his resemblance to her husband seemed entirely natural. But he was her grandson! Was this even possible?
The notion pestering her for several days, she scrutinized the boy’s features, and day by day, she found that he bore striking similarities — the same smile, the same amusing eyebrow movement just like his older brother’s at that age. And the gaze… That clear, kind gaze. But Lesha wasn’t the child of her and her husband! No, it couldn’t be. She, much like the chairman, was merely imagining things.
She fought against these rebellious thoughts, but they relentlessly returned. No matter how flawed her daughter might be, she wasn’t capable of such a thing. Or was she? But her husband… No, he loved her; she was positive of that. He loved her and the children; he would never cross that line.
As she sat down to write a letter, her hand involuntarily penned the questions that tormented her. After sealing the envelope, she headed for the post office but was suddenly called back. Turning around, she saw the postman — Viktor Pavlovich.
— Arsenyeva, come here.
— What is it, Palych? It was just a week ago that there was a message…
— There’s another paper for you from the military enlistment office. I’m sorry, Arsenyeva…
Trembling fingers signed for receipt as she tore open the envelope, her eyes scanned the official lines: “Your husband, Arseniev Timofei Petrovich… in battle for the socialist Motherland… died in May 1942…”
The ground disappeared beneath her, her vision darkened, and an unbearable pain erupted within her. The women who noticed that Palych had handed her not an ordinary triangle, but an official envelope, hurriedly gathered round, realizing that tragedy had struck.
For two months, she was as if out of herself, wandering the house like a ghost, finding no solace from her grief. She had lost her support, her love, her hope… But then, recalling her children and the promise made to him, she slowly began to return to life. She knew it would never be the same, but she had to live for those who remained. Only one question gnawed at her soul, a searing pain from within. No, her feelings for the boy had not changed, yet she was desperate to know the truth.
And soon, fate would give her that chance.
* * *
1944. Two years had passed since she received the death notification. She accepted her fate, living with the knowledge that she alone would raise her children, to be both father and mother for them.
— Yet you are still a young woman, — her neighbor Valentina commented shaking her head. — You’re only thirty-nine, yet you look even younger: your braid is youthful, your figure slender…
— We are all thin now, — she bitterly smiled.
— I’m not talking about that… I’m referring to Leonid Savelievich. Tell me, why do you reject his attentions? He’s a good man, likewise a widower; you too are alone. You could come together. Your children get along. Where there are three, there can be five… Surely, you don’t find him unappealing?
— Why would I? I like him; he’s a wonderful person, and I feel warmth for him, but it’s not the kind of love I need. As for him… I still love my husband. I think being with another would mean betraying his memory.
— Foolish you, and a brigade leader at that. If I were ten years younger, I’d marry him myself. He’s a remarkable man, and you’re turning your nose up. Just watch; someone else will scoop him up, and you’ll start regretting it.
— Valentina, just go; I’m sure you have other things to do, — she sighed.
— Why are you sending me home? Who else will tell you the plain truth? By the way, whatever happened to your elder daughter? It’s been five years, and she has yet to show up. She left four years ago, didn’t she?
— Yes… And not a word from her. Is she alive? Is she well? I went to the city trying to find her, but they said at the factory that she quit three years back. I searched, but to no avail. And if I find her, what would I say? If she hasn’t visited even once during all this time, then she doesn’t need us; she hasn’t changed…
— Oh, bitter grief. But at least your younger one is pure gold. How old is she now? Fourteen? Meanwhile, her sister has only known how to dance at balls, yet this one is with a needle and a book.
— Thank God, Valya, thank God.
— True enough, — the neighbor agreed.
Once she left, the woman leaned against the cool wall of her house, mulling over her lost daughter. But right behind the sadness came fear — what if she did return and wanted to take her son? No, she’d never give him up. But then the secret would be revealed, and would Alexei, when he grew older, be able to understand and forgive them all?
— Mom, Leshka has a cough again and is burning up, — her daughter called out to her.
The woman dashed into the house and saw her son and daughter by the youngest’s bed. Feeling his forehead, she quickly sent for the paramedic.
— He seemed to be recovering, had no fever for a whole day.
— I don’t know what is wrong with him, — the paramedic shrugged. — He needs to go to the city, to the children’s hospital. Here I am powerless. Act quickly, and as soon as possible. I’ll write out a referral.
After arranging things with the chairman, she took the boy to the city, where he was immediately placed in a ward. She was allowed to stay with him.
The next morning, stepping out of the ward to seek the doctor, she saw a nurse washing the floor. The nurse had her back to her.
— Excuse me, could you call the doctor? The child has a fever again.
The nurse turned around, and the woman almost screamed in astonishment: standing before her was her eldest daughter.
— I’ll call him now, — she said coldly and walked away.
An hour later, stealthily entering the ward, she approached the crib.
— Is this him? My son?
— Shh, don’t wake him. No, this is my son, Alexei. You don’t have a child, since you’ve never once bothered to visit him.
— Why would I? — she shrugged indifferently, with a challenged air. — He would never have been given to me; I wasn’t going to air my family’s dirty laundry for the entire village. Besides, I didn’t need him back then. Later, I wanted to come, but I realized — he is a stranger to me, I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me either.
The woman remained silent, digesting her words, then, raising her pained gaze to her daughter, asked:
— How are you living?
— Well. I’m marrying our nurse. He’s shell-shocked, but that doesn’t hinder our feelings.
— You… love him? — the mother couldn’t help but ask in astonishment. — I thought you weren’t capable of such feelings.
— I’m not the monster you assume, you know. And… what about my father?
— If you mean Timofei… He’s been gone for two years.
— I’m sorry, — a single tear trickled down her cheek.
— The father of the child… Is he? — the woman shot straight out, without any preamble, prompting her daughter to reveal:
— Did he confess everything to you?
— So he is the father… But how? — she gasped with pain. — How is this possible?
— Everything is possible, Mom, absolutely everything, — she said and stepped out of the ward, closing the door behind her.
Throughout the week that Alexei was in the hospital, the woman tried to speak with her daughter, but she continuously avoided encounters, citing busyness. Finally, when the boy was discharged, she took him home. She knew — her daughter was lost to her forever, and all these years she had clung to empty illusions. And now, there was nothing to fear — the child was of no importance to her.
But once again, she was mistaken. A month later, her daughter appeared at her doorstep. Standing on the porch, she twisted a cheap beret in her hands and, not lifting her eyes, murmured:
— I came for my son. I’ve told everything to my fiancé; he initially cast me aside but then forgave me…
— I won’t give him to you.
Her daughter’s voice immediately grew harsh and demanding:
— He is my child, and I will take him back.
— Listen closely. By documents, he is my son. The entire village saw me during my pregnancy; no one will believe your words. Just leave, and it will be better for everyone.
— I won’t leave without him.
— Then tell me, daughter, how did all this come to be? I must know.
— Want to know? Well, listen! You are always lecturing me, telling me how to live. I was fed up with your moralizing! I thought, how can one be such a nag in your years? It irritated me that you lived by other people’s opinions, so I decided to throw a wrench into your syrup. I dragged him into bed myself, remember? He came back drunk from the Petrov’s wedding? At first, he didn’t even realize what was happening. But then I told him that if he rejected me, I would spill everything to you. I saw how he suffered, but you know, at that moment, I thought that was love. I genuinely thought that. He stayed with me for two months. Do you remember the day I confessed to you? He told me he would admit everything, and even if you cast him out, he wouldn’t live with me. I had a choice — to confess and be alone because you would never forgive me, or stay silent, and he would raise our child. I chose the latter. During pregnancy, I came to loathe him. It made me nauseous to see how he kisses you. I regretted my actions. Do you know how I wanted to tell you everything? But I also pitied you. Yes, yes, you were nothing but an object of pity. Mother, so righteous, living for the opinion of others. When the child was born, I hated both him and his father, which is why I rejected him.
— Why did you come now then? — the woman hissed, struggling to keep from striking her and descending into hysteria.
— In the hospital, I saw him and… suddenly realized I wanted him with me. Something awakened inside me… I owe him an apology, but I will make things right.
— Do you really think it’s that simple? Lesha is already four; he understands everything. First of all. Secondly, I don’t trust your suddenly awakened feelings. I overheard a conversation between the nurses in the hospital last night when I woke up. They discussed you. It turns out, three years ago, you had a secret abortion, and you can’t have children anymore. You committed sin without considering the consequences, and someone spilled the beans; that’s why they’re gossiping about you. I saw how her face twisted in fear and anger, but this was the truth. — You found out you would never become a mother again, so you decided to take Alyosha. But I raised him; I taught him to walk and talk; I spent sleepless nights by his crib! You thought you could come and take it all?
— I am his real mother! — the daughter stubbornly shot back.
— You are gravely mistaken.
Entering the small room, the woman took the frightened boy by the hand and led him out of the house. She didn’t know where she was going; she simply moved forward along the dusty country road, far away from the very spot where her eldest daughter remained. Daughter… It still seemed unreal that she was of her blood. Ahead appeared the chairman’s house, and without hesitating, she walked towards it. Yes, he was kind and attentive, and now she saw him as her only source of support.
— Tell me, Lena, what should I do? — she lowered her head onto his table as she recounted the bitter truth.
— Shh, shh, don’t cry, — he cautiously stroked her hair. — Yes, you’ve made quite a mess… And he… how could he?
— She blackmailed him, threatened to tell everything. I don’t excuse him, but had he known I was aware, it’s unlikely our lives would have turned out better. I would have loathed her even more. For this not being him who led her astray, it was she who did it just to spite me! This thought terrifies me, Leonid, but I hate her! God, what a sin — to speak thus about your child, but it’s true. How much pain she has brought me — firstly, with her behavior, rudeness, and then… she came after the man who raised her from the age of three. How? How is that possible? And when she gave birth, do you know what she suggested? To give him to the orphanage and tell everyone that he died. Isn’t she a monster? A monster. And I am the same since I am her mother and I raised her as such.
— Don’t torment yourself, — he interrupted her sternly. — I remember her father well… You are not to blame for anything. Save for having bound yourself to the wrong man while young.
— But he courted beautifully, Leonid… — she smiled bitterly through her tears.
— That he could do. Well, go wash up. I will send my eldest son to fetch your children. They can spend the night here tonight.
He called his son, a peer of her Boris:
— Vasya, run over to the Lyudmilas; tell Varkas and Borya to come here for the night. Mind you don’t divulge that their mother is here, especially… to that guest.
— Got it, Dad.
The boy dashed out the door, and Leonid turned to her:
— Don’t be afraid of anything. By all documents, Lesha is yours and Timofei’s son. The whole village saw you pregnant; you had the wool pulled over everyone’s eyes! I’ll confirm this. If necessary, I’ll ask the paramedic to testify that she helped you give birth.
— Will she agree?
— Will she refuse her brother? — he threw up his hands. — You can count on me. I will always be there for you.
Early in the morning, she woke to find Leonid absent from the house.
— Where is Father? — she asked his daughter Nastya.
— I don’t know, Auntie. He said he had important business to attend to.
A wave of anxiety swept through the woman, and soon she deduced where he might have gone. Quickly putting on her shoes, she raced to her home, and indeed, she didn’t err: Leonid stood there in the middle of the room, talking to her eldest daughter.
— If she won’t give me back my child, I’ll expose the truth! — she shouted.
— If you dare, I’ll find a way to throw you in prison. For example, for theft. I’m the chairman; I have the means. Manufacturing a case is as easy as pie. Don’t you believe me?
The daughter fell silent, looking at him with skepticism.
— And why are you defending her so fiercely? Is she now more to you than just a brigade leader?
— I’m marrying her, — the woman stepped across the threshold, stating firmly. Leonid looked at her in surprise:
— You’re marrying?
— Were you not calling me? Or have you changed your mind?
— No, I haven’t changed my mind. Any time.
— Make up your mind, — he faced the daughter. — You either raise a scandal, dishonoring your mother and achieving nothing, and I will throw you in the camps. Or you leave right now and let her be. If you wish to visit the child, come back, but you will always remain a sister to him.
The daughter, screaming bitterly, fled the house.
— I don’t know if we did the right thing… — the woman softly voiced.
— You wouldn’t have given him to her anyway. Isn’t that right?
— How can I give up my son?
— Come to me, — he embraced her, and in his arms, she felt much-awaited calm and protection. — I will never let you down. I will always be your solid wall.
* * *
Epilogue
Leonid and Lyudmila intertwined their destinies, creating a large and resilient family. Together, they raised five children: three of hers — Varvara, Boris, and Alexei, and two of his — Vasily and Nastasia. Their home was filled with laughter, occasional loud disputes, but always mutual support and understanding.
The eldest daughter never returned to the village again. Five years later, when Leonid was transferred to another region for work, Lyudmila without hesitation packed their things and moved with her husband. She was certain that the girl would not come looking for them. There was no place in her daughter’s heart for familial love; she did not know what it meant to cherish her roots. But until her last breath, a quiet, nagging pain would reside in the mother’s heart for the one who had once been her little girl, for no matter what happened, a mother always worries for her child.
Alexei never learned the secret of his birth. Leonid, Varvara, and Boris carried it through their lives, safeguarding the peace and happiness of the one they all loved so sincerely and deeply. He grew up in the warmth of that love, becoming a steadfast support for his family and a gentle comfort for the mother who had found her home and her peace in caring for those who were dear to her.