Threads

By Elizabeth Pulford

When Yana Petrenko follows her lover, Leonid Kostenko, to Canada in 1893 as the wife of another man, her life changes forever, little realising her action causes consequences for two other women, living in different eras, Eleanora-Rose in 1904 and Anna Jamieson in 2018.

In 1887 when young Yana Petrenko meets Leonid Kostenko, she little realises he will change her life forever.

When Leonid reaches manhood, he emigrates to Canada. As a farewell gift, Yana sleeps with him and becomes pregnant. In her desire for Leonid she decides to follow him. To do this she marries Yegor Liskle, a man she doesn’t know, but who is on the verge of emigrating. While on the ship Yana creates Sofina.
In Canada she gives birth to twins, Nicholas and Zoya, but five years later when her husband and Nicholas die in a tragic fire she leaves their homestead to begin anew.

In 1904 Zoya ‘loses’ her beloved Sofina doll at Highbury House where Eleanora-Rose (fourteen and a doll collector) and Merritt (eleven) live.
Both sisters are socially inept, yet through good fortune Eleanora-Rose meets Albert Rutt. Three weeks before they are to be married (1909) Albert dies in what Eleanora-Rose thinks are strange circumstances.

Both sisters never marry. When Merritt dies Eleanora-Rose finds Sofina hidden away. But she never uncovers the small bottle which once contained rat poison, giving her the answer to Albert’s death.

Upon Eleanora-Rose’s death (1980) her collection of dolls ends up in an Antique Dealers in New Zealand, where Sofina is purchased by Maxwell Stevens for his wife, Anna Jamieson (doll restorer).

While Anna and Max’s are on their honeymoon in Switzerland (2018) Max meets an untimely death while skiing, after which Anna retreats to his cottage in England, where she discovers Sofina packed at the bottom of the trunk. Gradually she settles into village life and enjoys the locals, especially Timothy Thistlewaite, a bachelor and popular writer.

In her restoration of the doll, she never understands why a tiny bottle is tucked deep within her body.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Pulford
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005806248

Elizabeth Pulford

Before I became a writer I was a traveller, a typist, a cleaner and an ice-cream girl in a cinema.Now I live in New Zealand in a small southern seaside town with one extra nice husband who is a king of-all-trades.We have two children and two grandchildren.Every morning I go to my little writing room to make up stories. From this room I look out into a small garden, where I can hear the birds squabbling.Writing has long been a passion and sometimes even a curse!I have had over sixty children's books published from the very young to YA with regular publishers. Plus my adult short stories have been lucky enough to win many short story competitions.I love being creative, be it baking bread or chasing after new characters.Photograph by: Liz Cadogan - http://www.facebook.com/LizCadoganphotos

Book preview

Part One

Chapter One

YANA PETRONKA

1887

On the edge of a forest, in a small dwelling, a young girl stood beside her grandmother watching her gnarled fingers whittling a piece of wood.

‘Let me. Please, Baba.’

‘To learn you must first watch. Patience is needed. Much patience.’ The old woman nodded. ‘You do not have enough.’

‘But I have watched and watched.’

‘You have.’

‘Then why can’t I try?’

‘Because you must watch some more. And because you’re not yet ready.’

‘When will I be ready?’

‘When a piece of wood calls your name.’

Yana frowned and pouted. As much as she loved Baba, she didn’t love it when she wouldn’t let her use her whittling tools. And as much as she had pleaded for her own, she knew her family had no money.

The village where Yana, her mother, father, two brothers and Baba lived was tiny and far away from the biggest city. When Yana was eight she had told her best friend that she was going to be a grand person and go and live in a big house in Moscow.

Marisha asked if she could come too.

‘You can carry my bags,’ Yana had said. ‘And clean the house.’ Marisha, a shy and lacking child told Yana she was horrible and ran away to play with Sasha.

‘Isn’t it time for you to be collecting the eggs?’

With a sigh Yana dragged her feet until she was out of the cottage.

The day was mild but the leaves on the trees had already turned on themselves. Soon it would be winter and Yana’s skin would crack with the cold. Her lips would blister with the blue ache and her stomach would rumble with lack of food. Yet for all that she had a rare beauty. Large luminous dark eyes and a tangled mass of black curls falling about her small face and shoulders like bunches of berries. She was a rebellious child with a chin to match. Many a time Baba likened her to her grandfather, a silly stubborn so-and-so who never knew when to give up.

Scowling, her eyes darkened. With her hands on her thin hips she stood and gazed out at the far stretch of land. Land that was owned by the Bodnar family, including the patch of ground and cottage where Yana lived. In exchange for that privilege her father and brothers worked the fields from dawn to dusk, reaping great profits for the Bodnar family. In two years, it would be time for her to join them. Until then she helped her mother.

Yana didn’t like the Bodnar’s. Not one of them. Especially not Zlata, Olek Bodnar’s wife. Nor Fadey, the youngest son.

They both had the same narrow, dead fish eyes and thin, mean mouths and any time Zlata was on her weekly call to see no damaged had been caused to the cottage she was forever poking Yana with her fat fingers and telling her how she needed to eat more and grow strong when her time came to be out in the fields with her brothers.

Wandering over to where the berries bushes grew Yana lifted up several branches where she spied a single unseen bunch hidden inside the turning leaves. She plucked it and one by one she popped the berries into her mouth. Their sweet summery taste lasting on her tongue for but a moment.

Just beyond the bushes was her very own garden. Usually Yana loved working the soil. Turning it over, kneeling down and keeping it free of weeds and pulling out a carrot or picking peas and munching on them, but not today. Today she felt cross.

Cross with Baba for not letting her whittle.

Cross with her friend Marisha who wouldn’t come over because she was too busy playing with Sasha.

Cross with Papa because he had promised to take her down to the pond last night. When she’d begged him, he shook his head and said another time, he was too tired.

Cross with the Bodnar’s for making Papa and brothers work too hard.

She glared at her small garden as if it was the one in the wrong.

‘Yana.’ Her mother’s call interrupted her cross thoughts.

Now what had she done?

She stomped back across the hard, thirsty ground in boots that were far too big, handed down from her brother, to the cottage.

‘Here,’ said Mama. She placed a warm loaf of bread wrapped in a piece of cloth in her arms. ‘Take this as a welcome to our new neighbours.’

Marsha Petronka, Yana’s mother, had retained her pretty and youthful looks in spite of working herself to the bone each day and delivering three handsome children. Her features were fine, her hair still as dark as the day she had been born. Her lips as full, as were her hips. When she laughed it was a merry one, making those around her wanting to join in. No wonder Olek Bodnar had wanted to take her for his bride. Instead her mother had chosen her papa and Olek had ended up with Zlata.

‘Go now and don’t dawdle. Be back before the sun drops behind the hills.’

Halfway across the cropped field Yana was tempted to unwrap the bread and pull off a chunk. So delicious was the smell. But then what would the new family think of that? Of her? Not much, decided Yana. As much as the bread tugged at her hunger she left it alone.

The cottage she was making her slow way towards was also owned by the Bodnar’s. The family who had been there had shifted away last week, having gone to live with the wife’s brother. Yana had heard all this as she had crouched beneath the small open window near the table where her mother sat. Over the years Yana had learnt many a useful piece of information. It was here where she had learnt about Moscow and how grand it was. Not that her mother or father had ever visited – no – it was Zlata Bodnar who had been going on about it. As Yana sat listening it set a great longing inside of her to visit the grand city. A great longing to escape the dreariness of the small village and countryside. She often wondered if her life would be like her mother’s and even at her young age she decided she wanted more.

By now she had left the field and was taking the shortcut to the neighbour’s cottage, winding her way between a cluster of trees. The breeze waved the branches making patterns on the ground. Ten-year old Yana held the bread close. She liked coming this way, but it was better if someone was with her. The other way, to go around the thicket, was too long. She had almost reached the end when a figure loomed against the sunlight. She knew immediately it was Fadey Bodnar. Yana drew back her shoulders and told herself he didn’t scare her. After all he wasn’t much older than she was. Only by four years.

‘What do we have here?’ he said, stepping in front of Yana, blocking her way. She tried to go around him. When she did he reached out and whipped the cloth away, causing the bread to tumble to the ground.

Without a word Yana stooped and picked up the warm loaf. She brushed away the few specs of dirt. Only then did Yana force herself to look into his grey dead fish eyes. ‘You can keep the cloth,’ she said.

‘Ha!’ He threw the material on the ground and stamped on it with his boots. Then he snatched the bread out of her grasp and pulled off a large chunk and stuffed it into his mouth.

Tears filled Yana’s eyes. She bent down so he would not see her distress. The cloth was filthy. She picked it up, shook it and then folded it carefully and placed it in her pocket. Again, she lifted her head, all her tears having vanished, sucked back down into a deep place inside of her. Now a fire rose, and as she stared into his hateful eyes, she vowed one day she would give him what he deserved.

Before she could turn away Fadey spat out what was left in his mouth over her boots.

‘You call that bread?’ He thrust the loaf back into her hands.

Yana watched him leave. Swaggering his stocky hips, his smoothed down blond hair looking like a helmet on his paunch head, then she looked down at the bread. Should she take it back home? Or should she deliver it?

Either way didn’t bode well for her.

Frustration flooded her eyes and dripped onto her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, gulping as fast as they came. She pulled out the piece of cloth and wiped them away. It would not do to have the new family seeing her in such a state. The Petrenko’s did not cry over something as trivial as a Bodnar taunting them.

Yana pulled back her small shoulders and carried on her way to complete her task.

In the yard she spied a boy sitting swinging his legs on the rain barrel. He glanced up when he heard her and jumped down.

Yana wondered why he wasn’t in the field working. He looked strong and old enough. His brown hair was long and fell about his face in a careless manner. His eyes were the same colour. His skin tanned.

‘I’ve bought you this,’ said Yana, pushing out the bread. ‘It’s from my mother.’

As he took it a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Thank you. It looks grand.’

Yana did not tell him the truth of what had happened. Why there was a large chunk missing. Instead she told the boy she had gotten so hungry she had torn it off and eaten it before she could stop herself. ‘The Petrenko’s don’t tell tales. Whatever happens they keep close to their heart,’ her father was always reminding them.

At this the boy grinned. ‘I’ll say I couldn’t resist and took a piece for myself.’

Yana’s eyes widened and for the first time since the incident she smiled shyly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Now, here we are and I don’t even know your name.’

‘Yana Petrenko. We live over there.’ She waved in a haphazard manner.

‘Pleased to meet you Yana Petrenko.’ He banged his bare ankles together and saluted. ‘Leonid Kostenko at your service. The youngest of seven and the most spoilt child.’

Yana giggled. ‘You are spoilt?’

He laughed. ‘Do you believe everything you’re told?’

‘No.’ Yana’s eyes sparked. She stuck out her chin. ‘Sometimes. When the people are good.’

‘You think I’m good?’

Yana was getting confused. At first, she had liked him because of the bread. Now he was teasing her just as her brothers did which she didn’t like. ‘Yes,’ she said in the end.

The last of the sun’s rays were about to disappear. The line of hills took the sun early, even in the summer. And especially in the spring and autumn. In winter they were lucky to see it at all. Yana shivered thinking about the walk home.

As if sensing her dilemma, he offered to accompany her.

As much as she wanted him to Yana also didn’t want Leonid to think she was a coward and afraid of the dark. ‘I can run fast. Watch me.’ With that she was off without looking back. Her feet thudding and clomping along in the too-big boots, not taking the shortcut but going the long way around and keeping it up until she could see the cottage. Only then did she slow.

She glanced up at the sky and saw the curve of the moon rising in the darkening sky.

She breathed in deep and smelt the dry hay, the land and the forest.

Then remembering Leonid Kostenko, she smiled secretly to herself. He was good and nice. She had felt it in her heart. One day she would marry him. She was sure of it.

As sure as Fadey Bodnar was a bully and tormenter.

Chapter Two

Yana sat outside on the wooden stool at the back door of the cottage. Earlier she had filled a bowl with cold water and placed it on the table beside her, together with a drying cloth. Now she watched her father washing his face and arms. Beads of water flew into the air before falling onto the thirsty ground.

She loved her papa the best of anyone in the family. But she kept this secret to herself. Her mama and Baba she loved next in equal measure. The same with her brothers, Aleksander and Petro, although if Yana was really honest she preferred Aleksander. Petro was always teasing her, being smart and thinking he was funny. She had complained to Baba, her mother and papa but no one took a bit of notice. Instead they just laughed. Her father told her it would make her all the stronger.

Once Yana tried to get her own back on Petro by hiding his boots. It didn’t work though because he needed them for the fields. She had to hand them over. He grinned and tousled her hair, telling her she’d have to do better than that.

Aleksander was seventeen and Petro fifteen. In looks they were a mix of both their parents. Lean and lanky with eyes as dark as their unkempt hair. Their spirits were restless and full of fire.

Yana followed her father inside when he’d finished, leaving the dirtied water for Aleksander and Petro. Because of the drought water was scarce and not a drop was allowed to be wasted. The well was almost spent. It was one of Yana’s jobs to fetch the water needed. Every day she gave her mother a report on how far the bucket needed to drop before hitting the water.

Papa settled himself in his chair and with a teasing groan moaned about how old he was getting.

Yana frowned. She didn’t like it when he spoke like he was nearing the end of his days.

‘So, my little Babushka, tell me what terrible trouble you got up to today?’

Yana paused in putting the bowls on the table for the meal. ‘Babushka is an old woman,’ she said with a scowl.

Papa laughed. ‘You are exactly right.’

As much as Yana wanted to remain cross at her father for likening her to an old woman, in the end she weakened. She told him she how she had fed the hens and counted them as they pecked at the grain on the dirt, then told Mama none had been taken in the night by a fox. After that she had fetched the water, she had milked Arina and filled half a bucket with her warm milk.

Arina was Yana’s goat. She had been sickly when Papa had first bought her home, instead of allowing her to be slaughtered for meat. When Yana went to look at the goat it had been nothing but sticking out bones and could hardly walk. Yana had looked the goat in the eye and promised ‘with all her heart’ to make her better. Every day, several times, Yana fed the animal with some of their precious milk given by their cow. It had taken a long time, but now Arina was well and in good health, giving lots of milk for cheese.

Then, went on Yana, she had helped her mother cut up lots of cabbage for pickling. Finally, she ended up telling Papa about her visit to their new neighbours. Although she left out the bit about Fadey. ‘Mama made some bread so I went and gave it to a boy called Leonid Kostenko.’

‘Did you now.’ Her papa nodded. ‘And what did you think of him?’

Yana shrugged. ‘After he thanked me he told me he was the last born. And that he was spoilt.’

Her father laughed. ‘I would think there would be little time for that with seven children.’

‘A lot of mouths to feed,’ commented Baba from her rocking chair.

‘But good hands in the fields today. Daughters and sons.’

Yana thought about this then asked, ‘Why was Leonid not with them?’

‘He’s not been well.’

‘He looked good,’ said Yana. ‘As good as us.’

Her father frowned. ‘Yana, it is not for us to judge another. You know as well as I do sometimes there are circumstances beyond what we can see or are told.’

Yana hung her head. She didn’t like being told off by her papa, especially in front of her brothers. Without looking at them she felt their mocking expressions. ‘Tell me about them?’

‘Later,’ said her mother. ‘Come, Yana. Time to serve.’

After blessing the food and their good fortune to have able bodies to work, not another word was spoken. All were too intent on eating before the meal went cold.

‘How soon before I can go and work in the fields?’

‘You know well enough. On your twelfth birthday,’ said papa with a smile.

Yana frowned. ‘But that’s the middle of winter.’

‘Oh my, so it is.’

‘It’s only fair I get to go earlier because then the fields will be sleeping.’

‘You think so, do you?’

With a furious nod Yana said it was.

‘You want to help clean all the heavy tools?’

Again, Yana nodded.

‘You think it’s going to be easy,’ said Petro. ‘Working out there in all the weathers. You think Olek Bodnar won’t work you as hard as us. Ha!’ His eyes glimmered and there was revulsion in his voice.

‘That’s enough, Petro.’

‘I hate him and his kind. Lording it over the likes of us.’

A chill fell over the room.

Papa spoke quietly. ‘We are the Petrenko’s. We are not ‘the likes of us.’ If you let your pride be taken, that is your affair. If you let your sense of worth be trodden, then again it is your affair. For myself being a Petrenko means being strong in face of all and any hardship.’

Yana felt a shiver of excitement at the words. She watched as her mama folded her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. ‘This is why I love this man.’

When the dishes had been washed and dried and tided away Papa pulled Yana onto his knee, and whispered into her ear, ‘I have a surprise for you.’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘What is it?’

‘How would you like to learn to read?’

Yana pulled a face. ‘I do that at school.’

‘When you go,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I have arranged for Klara Kostenko to come twice a week to teach you.’

‘I would rather learn to whittle,’ she said. ‘Please, Papa.’ Yana eyes darted to Baba who had fallen into a doze and was snoring softly.

‘Plenty of time for that. First comes the reading. Then you can read to me when I am old and sick.’

She looked at her father. At his kind face. The long tracks that lined his cheeks. His leathery skin, shaggy eyebrows and his too big nose. She loved them all. He was perfect. She did not like the thought of him getting old and sick. She jumped down from his lap.

‘Klara will come to us tomorrow straight from the field.’

‘We don’t have any books.’ Yana could feel a sulk coming on. She didn’t want to learn to read. She wanted to work in the fields like all the other grown people did. And learn to whittle the wood. Why was she never allowed to do what she wanted? Why did she always have to do what other people wanted?

‘Listen to me, Yana. Inside books are worlds you have never known and never will unless you can read. Not just one or two words but whole pages. You will treat Klara with the consideration she deserves. Do you understand?’

Yana half nodded.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Papa. I understand.’ Even though she liked Leonid she was now wishing the family had not come to live in the valley. She sighed. ‘How did Klara learn to read?’

A small silence settled around the room.

In the end her father said, ‘It’s a long story and it is time for bed.’

‘Tell me, please.’ Yana sat at his feet and gave her father the most employing of looks.

‘Go on father.’ Aleksander paused in massaging the soles of his feet.

‘It’d be good to know,’ agreed Petro.

Their mother sighed. ‘I agree with Petro. It’s best they know, so they will respect them.’

Yana wondered what was coming.

The lamp on the table flickered, as if taking a breath.

‘The Kostenko family came from a world of plenty. They lived in a big city called Kherson. The children went to the best schools. They wore the finest of clothes. They had the most sparkling of jewellry and kept company with the grandest of people.’

In Yana’s mind her father’s words drew pictures in her head.

‘Four years ago, it all changed.’ Papa nodded grimly. ‘For it was then that Dmytro Kostenko’s brother, Vasyl came to them begging to be taken in. Now Dmytro had never been close to his brother, although not for the want of trying, but because Vasyl had cast him aside long ago, determined to live without the ties of his only sibling. Only after he had squandered the money left to him by his grandfather, did he come to his brother seeking his help. Dmytro forgave his brother with open arms and welcomed him into his house and family, when Vasyl promised he had given up his foolish ways, telling him: ‘What was theirs was his.’

Petro cracked his knuckles. ‘He hadn’t changed, had he?’

‘Not a scrap. Without the family realising Vasyl took their money, bit by bit and played the cards and kept on losing until he owned a great deal to a barbarian of a man, who first threatened Vasyl and then Dmytro saying if one of them didn’t pay up he didn’t like to say what would happen to the children.’

A gasp escaped Yana. She wrapped her arms around her knees as if she was about to be dragged away by an unseen force.

‘Dmytro paid the debt, but in doing so he had to sell his house, and all else of value, leaving them with virtually nothing.’

‘What happened to the brother?’ asked Aleksander.

‘He disappeared good and well.’

‘You mean the barbarian killed him?’

Papa shrugged. ‘No one seems to know. One night he went out and never returned. By then they were living in squalor in the poorest part of the town.’

‘But that’s not fair,’ exploded Yana. ‘It wasn’t their fault.’

Her father nodded. ‘True, but you’ll find, many times over, not all is fair in life.’

‘How did they get to come here?’

‘Through a good friend who heard about the family leaving Bodnar’s cottage free and needing workers. The mother, Elita wrote without delay and the family were accepted.’

‘Wouldn’t there have been other families, living here already needing the work.’

‘Of course. But Olek owed a favour to the Kostenko’s good friend.’ Here their father shrugged.

‘Seems Olek has a heart after all.’ Aleksander grinned. ‘Though sometimes you wonder.’ He stood up from the table and stretched.

‘He’s done it for a reason,’ said Petro. ‘You wait and see.’

Aleksander shrugged. ‘Maybe not so much this time.’

‘Ha!’

‘Now they work in the fields,’ said Papa, taking no notice of the small spat between the boys. ‘Gone is their easy and luxurious live. It is much harder for them than us. They have known a different way, we have not. It is best you don’t mention any of this to them. Instead respect and honour would go a long way to helping them adjust to their new way of life. It will not and cannot be easy.’

Petro shrugged. ‘At least they had another life. While we…’ He stopped when Papa glared in his direction.

‘You would all do well to remember their story. Life can change in an instant. Remember that. Just because it is fine one day, it doesn’t mean it will be the next morning. Treat each day kindly.’

Yana let out a loud yawn.

‘Off you go,’ said her mother. ‘Time for bed. Tomorrow we are pickling the rest of the cabbage.’

Petro grinned. ‘See how lucky you are,’ he teased.

Yana kissed her parents and then wandered off to the tiny room at the rear of the cottage, where both her and Baba slept. Sometimes she wished she had her own room so she didn’t have to listen to Baba’s snoring and snuffling all night. Many a time she had pleaded to be allowed to join her brothers in the barn. A barn which took on all the weathers. In the rain it leaked. In the frost it froze and in the heat of the summer it had the breath of a fire.

But to Yana to sleep in the loft, sink down into the sweet-smelling straw was the best of places. Not a hard cot crammed against the wall.

Tonight, though she barely gave either or brothers or Baba a thought, her head being too full pictures of the tragic story about the Kostenko family.

As she pictured the tale over and over, she heard the wind rising, wailing and moaning as if in pain around the cottage, and Yana imagined it to be the weeping cries of the Kostenko family when they were forced to leave their beautiful house.

She rolled over, her knees banging against the wall.

Now in her imagination a tall man reached in and changed her thoughts. He was wearing a long silver cloak. It was swirling and twirling. She reached out and caught it, pulled it to her. The cloak flew away as if a large bird and the tall man laughed and laughed. Then she felt someone take her hand. It was warm and comforting and she saw it was Leonid and he was smiling at her.

Chapter Three

Yana’s first lesson in reading took place the next day.

The warm wind which had risen during the night was still with them. Stirring up the dust and spitting in their eyes and mouths.

‘We need rain,’ said her mother, setting the last vat of pickled cabbage in the cupboard. ‘Otherwise who knows what will happen.’

Yana thought about Mama’s words for a moment. ‘If there is no rain, there will be no crops and no work.’

With a sigh it was agreed. ‘We will not be needed here.’

‘Nor will the Kostenko’s and they have only just come.’ Here Yana was thinking especially of Leonid.

‘Indeed. Now enough yabbering. Come, let’s clear up before the men arrive.’

‘How am I going to learn to read and eat at the same time?’

Her mother laughed. ‘Klara will share our meal. She will teach you afterwards.’

‘It will be dark for her to walk home.’

‘I expect Aleksander or Petro will be only too happy to accompany her.’

The first thing Yana noticed about Klara was her gaiety, in spite of having worked all day in the fields in the tormenting wind. Her smile was bright and wide as she was introduced to Yana.

Papa gave her the privilege of washing her hands and face first. Yana tried not to stare but found it impossible not to be drawn to Klara and her exquisiteness. Bent over the bowl with her dark hair pinned back with little bits escaping she looked like a woman in a picture. Her fingers were long and slim and gentle looking and Yana wondered how she got along working with such heavy tools, while turning the soil.

When Klara had finished she went inside, directly to Yana’s mother and asked if she could help in any way.

‘That is kind, but I have Yana here.’

‘What’s it like?’ asked Yana, trailing inside after Klara.

‘Do you mean reading or working the land?’

‘Working with papa and my brothers.’

She gave a wide smile. ‘It is as I expected. They keep their minds on the task and let nothing disturb them. That way the day goes by fast. The same with the task.’

Yana wanted to know why she wasn’t married. Most girls at her seventeen years were already carrying their first child in their arms. But she held her tongue knowing she would get reprimanded if she asked. She expected it had something to do with what had happened. Maybe she had been promised to a rich and handsome gentleman, but when her family became poor he turned his back on her.

‘Does your mother have no help in the house?’ The question was asked by Yana’s mother.

‘She does not.’

‘What about food for the winter?’ Then Yana caught the slightest blush sneaking up Mama’s neck. ‘I’m sorry. I have no wish to intrude.’

‘It is obvious we need to learn new ways of living.’ Klara gave a merry laugh.

‘I could send Yana for a day or two to help with some of the preserving.’

What was this? Would there ever come a time when she wasn’t bounced around filling everyone’s wishes except her own? Yana frowned.

‘That is most kind. I will ask Mama and let you know. As long as Yana is happy with the agreement.’

At that Yana overturned her thoughts and decided to like Klara immensely. It was the first time she had ever been consulted in any arrangements made for her. ‘I would be glad to help.’ She also realised it was one way of seeing Leonid again. Unless he was well enough to go to work.

‘We could go to the market together…’ Her mother left the sentence to trail away to nothing, realising they probably wouldn’t have any coins to spend. She turned back to the meal and stirred the pot vigorously to hide her embarrassment.

‘I’m sure my mother would be grateful. It is hard for her.’

Yana watched Mama nod in agreement, while pretending not to know a thing.

After the meal had been eaten and the dishes cleared Yana took Klara through to where she and Baba slept. It had been decided it would be the best place for peace and quiet, although voices and laughter could still be heard.

Klara pulled out a slim book from the pocket of her long skirt, which was grubby with dust and dirt. Yet she did not seem to mind in the least, which made Yana wonder how this could be when she had been used to wearing the finest of clothes.

‘I want you to read as much as you can of the first page. There is no rush. Just take your time.’

Yana sighed inwardly. This was going to be horrible, she knew it. She stumbled along, stopping every now and then. She wished with all her heart she had paid more attention to their teacher instead of staring out the window longing to be outside. Anyway, the teacher wasn’t good at her job. Miss Gura was a thin, sickly woman, who in Yana’s opinion should have been in hospital instead of trying to teach a classroom of boisterous children.

When Yana had finished Klara smiled. ‘It is good your father asked for my help.’

‘I don’t like reading. I’d rather be outside in my garden or learning to whittle.’

Klara laughed. ‘I’m sure you do. But there may come a time in your life when you need to be able to read. For instance, how can you fill in a form if you don’t know what the words are saying. You might be putting your name to something which might see you end up in prison.’ She drew in a breath. ‘Tell me, Yana, what is it you want to be doing in ten years from now, besides working alongside your brothers and father?’

‘I’ll be twenty,’ she said working it out on her fingers. Yana remember her wild dreams of living in Moscow in a big house. All of a sudden it didn’t seem possible. ‘I expect I will have some children and be married.’

‘That was not what I asked. I asked what you would like to be doing?’

‘Live in a grand house with servants.’

Klara chuckled. ‘At least you have thoughts beyond the fields.’

Yana wasn’t sure what Klara meant. Whether it was a good thing or not, so she said nothing.

‘Whatever you find yourself doing, wherever you find yourself at twenty and beyond that age, if you can read it might well be the opening which gets you into the grand house with servants.’

‘Really.’ Yana wasn’t sure how that would happen, but she wanted to believe Klara.

‘For this lesson we are going to go over the first page only. I will read it slowly and you will follow my finger. Then I want you to read with me. You know the basic words which is good, but they aren’t enough, believe me.’

For the next hour Yana concentrated so hard by the time her lesson finished she had a throbbing head.

‘You have done well. I am going to leave the book here with you so you can practise before my next lesson.’

‘When is that?’

‘Two days from now.’

Plenty of time to learn the words, Yana thought. Immediately planning to dismiss the agreement for as long as she could.

‘The sooner you can read the first page the sooner we will move on.’

Yana sighed. She was already bored with the story about a silly rabbit.

‘Now, I must be returning home.’

The two of them rose and went back to the main area.

‘How was she?’ The eager question came Papa.

‘She has a good grasp of basic words, but other than that…’ Klara smiled. ‘I’m sure Yana will be a fast learner.’

‘If she causes you any trouble please let me know. Or if you think she hasn’t been paying attention, or doing what you have requested, it would be wise to tell me,’ said Pa.

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Will it? Yana.’

Yana felt trapped between her father and Klara. She stuck out her chin. ‘I will read a whole book to all of you before winter ends.’

Both her brothers groaned and let out loud protests.

‘If you do,’ her father said, his expression thoughtful, ‘I might see about you coming to the fields for a day every now and then.’

Yana grin was so wide she thought it might split her mouth and was rendered speechless.

‘Is it wise to promise the child such a thing?’

Yana flew to her father and hugged him and kissed him. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes,’ she said much to everyone’s delight.

‘A whole book you said.’

Yana nodded. ‘I will. I will. You will see.’

‘I take pity on you Klara,’ said Aleksander. ‘Great pity.’

The family laughed again.

‘Thank you,’ said Klara. ‘Now I really must leave otherwise my mother will become distressed at my whereabouts.’

‘I would be happy to escort you.’ Aleksander took her arm.

‘I’m sure it is not necessary.’

‘I insist.’

Klara bowed her head and allowed herself to be taken outside and into the dark, wild, and windy night.

As Yana made to go and kiss her parents before going to bed she noticed Petro with a grumble on his face. Don’t say he wanted to take Klara home? He had never shown any interest in a girl before. Perhaps having the Kostenko family living nearby was going to be interesting.

Not just because of Leonid, but also because of Klara. Yana was now intrigued to meet the rest of the family.

Chapter Four

Yana’s longing came sooner than she had thought possible.

The following morning her mother had declared once the pickling was finished they would bake a cake, and prepare a cool drink. Then take it to the fields and the Kostenko family as a welcome.

Excitement stirred in Yana as she sped through her duties. Even Arina the goat was milked at double the usual speed. As much as Yana loved Arina, especially since the cow that had given her the life-saving milk had died and they could not afford to replace it, the goat had been treated with great respect and reverence. But today there was no time for pampering.

The cake was a plain one. For a treat there were small seeds scattered on the top. As they never had cake Yana wondered why it was happening. Even though her mother had told her it was for the Kostenko’s, she wondered if there wasn’t another reason. Zlata had been at their place yesterday. Did that have something to do with it?

She wanted to ask, but left the question in her mouth. Baba said she would keep charge while they were away. In her hand she had her whittling knife and the beginnings of a bird. She sold the occasional one at the market, mostly she gave them away to children who had nothing.

The walk was long as the workers were in a field far from the two cottages. With every step the ruts in the dry ground threatened to trip Yana, catching the tips of her boots. It wouldn’t do to topple, especially as she was carrying the basket with the cake. Her mother had the berry water in a cask slung over her shoulder. It was too much to bring cups. They would have to take turns in sipping.

‘Do you think the Kostenko’s will drink like that?’

‘If that prefer not to, that is their choice. If they are thirsty enough they will.’

‘Wouldn’t they be used to having gold cups?’

‘I should think their cups would have been quite ordinary.’

‘But they were rich.’

‘Not all the rich lower themselves to the vulgarities of their