The Memory Keeper of Kyiv (8)

“We’re here!” she called to Birdie cheerfully, despite her stiff muscles and trepidation at the sudden move. Birdie looked at her with raised eyebrows and Cassie grimaced. Even her five-year-old could tell when she was faking it.

She pushed open the car door and let the cold air wash over her face. The pounding in her head lessened, so she stepped out and stretched her arms behind her and bent forward, letting her body unwind.

Birdie unbuckled herself and flew out of the car and up to the front door. A warm feeling swelled up in Cassie’s chest; the house looked just as it did when she was a kid. Long flower beds ran along the front wall. In the summer, they overflowed with peonies, hollyhocks, zinnias, and cosmos. Now, the small perennial sprouts were hard to tell apart, and the bare spots cried out for their annual planting. The empty beds called to Cassie, and for the first time in a long time, she had the urge to do something more than merely exist.

“I thought we could get you settled, then go pick up Bobby.” Anna sidled up next to Cassie and put her arm around her daughter.

“Sounds good,” Cassie replied. “Let’s get the first load, then.”

In no time, they had the personal belongings they’d need stacked up in one of the guest bedrooms and the extra household items stored in the basement. On the way out, Cassie paused at the holy corner on the west wall of the living room. The icons must face east, she remembered Bobby telling her. Two old, ornate pictures— one of Jesus and another of Mary holding the baby Jesus—hung on the wall with a beautiful embroidered rushnyk draped over them. Each end of the cloth hung down the sides of the frames and bore a mirror image of a red tree adorned with flowers, vines, and birds. On the bookshelf below, a few smaller prints of saints, a prayer book, blessed candles, a jar of holy water, and incense completed the space where Bobby prayed daily.

Cassie didn’t consider herself to be religious, but the importance of this holy corner to Bobby made it special to Cassie. Her anxiety over the sudden move melted away as fond memories of Bobby filled her thoughts. She wanted to be here to help her and to give Birdie a chance to really get to know her great–grandmother.

“Will you run this to Bobby’s room for me?” Anna stepped inside the front door and held out a laundry basket filled with folded clothes. “I meant to drop it off earlier, and I forgot.”

“Sure.” Cassie took the basket and walked it back to the bedroom at the end of the hall. The room smelled like Bobby’s perfume, and another wave of nostalgia washed over her. She set the basket on the neatly made bed, then paused at the sight of a book splayed open on the nightstand, as if someone had set it down, intending to come right back. A burned nub of a candle rose up from a mound of melted wax crusted over a tarnished candleholder, in sharp contrast to the large modern lamp towering over the scene.

Cassie leaned closer at the sight of the tiny Ukrainian words filling every square inch of space on the yellowed page. It wasn’t a book. It was a journal.

Carefully, she lifted the worn tome and closed it, running her fingertips down the scuffed brown leather cover. Grooves and scratches punctuated the surface and spoke of its long, well-used life.

As a history and journalism major in college, she’d tried for years to interview Bobby for different research papers. Bobby had refused every time. The past is done, Cassie. We must look to the future.

It wasn’t very useful advice for a budding historian. Bobby’s evasiveness had only furthered Cassie’s desire to find out more about her grandmother’s life, and each time she had an opportunity, she tried again. Eventually, she’d given up. Bobby’s stubborn streak was the stuff of family lore for a reason. But, if Bobby was slipping into the past like her mom said, Cassie needed to understand it if she wanted to help her.

Cassie closed her eyes and spread her hand over the cover. Warmth pulsed through her, as if she could feel the words coming to life, painting the picture of the stories and history inside. The hair on her arms stood up, and she shivered.

“Cassie? Are you ready?” Anna’s voice broke the spell.

Her eyes opened. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Cassie pressed the book to her chest, and she gave a sigh of regret. If only it were that easy. She thought about slipping the journal into her room so she could investigate it further, but taking such a personal item probably wouldn’t be the best way to start off this new living arrangement with Bobby, especially if Bobby came looking for it. Plus, having never learned Ukrainian, she couldn’t even read it. She set the book on the nightstand and gave it one last longing look, wondering what answers it held, then headed out to the car.





4





KATYA





Ukraine, January 1930





“Who is that?” Mama halted in front of Katya as they left the church one cold winter evening.

Katya stepped around her to get a better view of the village square. Lined with shops, several houses, and the church, it formed a small clearing where vendors set up on market days. Today, it stood empty as a group of people and two wagons approached from the east. The dark colors and sharp lines of their caravan stood out like a harsh stain against the soft grays and white of the snowy landscape.

“Tato?” Katya looked at her father, who had placed a hand on her shoulder as people spilled out of the church behind them.