Forever... Love

By Patricia Riddle Wilcox

A wonderful boy finds his way from Russia during the dark days of oppression, starvation, and political change. He is a survivor.

Eventually he crosses many oceans to arrive at his destiny, where he meets an intriguing woman unlike any he had ever known.

Love becomes very complicated with many twists and turns. Many lives are affected with some of the complications being laughable as well as sad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466908284

Patricia Riddle Wilcox

Patricia Riddle Wilcox was twenty years ahead of her era. Her father told her at the age of eighteen that she did not have to do traditional women’s work. She could do anything she wanted to do. This was in the late 1950s. She chose to get married and have babies. Rude awakening was presented to her—she would have to go out to work in order to maintain a lifestyle that was acceptable to her. Her career evolved into positions in an industry where no woman during that time had ventured into—engraving and printing. She paved the way in that field for many young women.

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Forever… Love

Patricia Riddle Wilcox

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© Copyright 2012 Patricia Riddle Wilcox.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

isbn: 978-1-4669-0829-1 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-0828-4 (e)

Trafford rev. 01/28/2012

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CONTENTS

Father Leaves His Family

Svetlana’s Dream

Svetlana’s Happiest Day

Growing Up

Another Move

Solitude and Togetherness

The Predictable

Maggie Moves

Mikhail’s story begins on a frigid, snowy day in December 1930. In the lottery of life, he drew Leningrad, where his little body would come into a tormented but magical life. His mother, father, grandmother, and doctor saw this beautiful blond and blue-eyed bundle of life appear. His first breath in the world was cold, not soothing and warm as in his mother’s womb. Loud noises, soft cries, and drinking of vodka surrounded him. A small wood-burning stove tried pitifully to heat the room. His first cry of salutation to the world was soft and enchanting. As his little lungs filled with air from the cold room, Grandmother wrapped him tightly in a warm blanket, gave him his very first kiss, and handed him to his mother.

While Mikhail’s mother, Svetlana, labored, the doctor and Ivan talked about communism and how great it was for the country. They were loud and obnoxious, never hearing Svetlana has muffled cries. The men were well educated; Ivan was an engineer at the power plant, and Yuri Kaminski had earned renown in the city as an activist for the communist movement as well as for his work as a physician.

Svetlana was a studious woman from an upper-middle-class family. She read four books a week; this was her escape from the despair and hopelessness overwhelming her homeland. When she learned she was pregnant, she was filled with joy and hopes that maybe, just maybe, it meant something good for the future.

She and her mother attended the Russian Orthodox Church. Ivan was, of course, an atheist, working very hard for the Party and teaching fair and equal treatment to everyone. The jargon and philosophy of how all the resources would be the same for everyone, not just the rich, convinced the masses to accept the doctrine. These people were just coming out from under an oppressive government, and anything new seemed promising—even if it was actually born of desperation.

Svetlana and Ivan argued about the future of their beautiful new boy, as well as that of her aging mother. There was not enough food; the apartment was cold and crowded one room with faded wallpaper. They had to resort to tearing the wallpaper off the wall to start fires in the rickety old stove, which in itself was dangerous. The Party had already taken their silver service, good linen, shoes, and some of their clothing to give to others. Grandmother’s family had once owned the entire house, complete with fine furniture. Persian rugs had once covered now-bare wooden floors. Heavy lace-and-velvet draperies helped keep the cold out at night, but when the sun shone, they were tied back to let the warmth into the room. Now, other families had been moved into their home, one room per family, regardless of the size.

Svetlana lay on the bed nursing baby Mikhail, Ivan on her other side. A lack of proper diet during her pregnancy wrought havoc with her ability to produce enough milk for him, but at least she could give the baby the comfort of being close to his mother. They supplemented his diet with goat milk, and grandmother and mother went without food on many days so that Mikhail could have broth made from an oxtail or a half-rotten cabbage—anything that they could find in the garbage or on the street.

At night, while Mikhail slept peacefully at her breast, Svetlana would plan her escape. She knew her husband would soon leave her and the baby to take the cause to the east.

Grandmother was already frail, stooped with osteoporosis, her shriveled fingers and toes gnarled with arthritis. She loved her daughter and new grandson, but she dreamed and yearned for her old lifestyle, the glorious days when the house was filled with music and dancing, laughter, good food,