Words on Fire

Mama began stirring the stew again. “If you want to go, then finish your chores.”

I immediately grabbed a basket to gather the eggs and went outside, lingering in the doorway long enough to hear Mama’s whispers to Papa. “I think we’re being watched. I passed a package to a woman in the market last week and felt a shiver run up my spine.”

The door closed behind me, but I froze in place there, unable to fully understand what I had just heard. Mama was not a bystander in my father’s work—she was part of it! When she spoke to Papa of the risks and the danger, she was talking about her own safety too!

And now they were speaking of sharing their secrets with me. I had spent months trying to find out for myself, but suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I wished I hadn’t even overheard my mother just now.

But I had. Which would change everything about attending the midsummer festivities tonight. I needed to tell them that I knew more than they realized. Then at least we could talk openly.

I turned to enter our home again, but instead I pressed my ear against the door in time to hear Papa say, “We’re making a difference, I can feel it!”

“The Russians can feel it too,” Mama said. “They’ve occupied our country for decades. Nothing we do will change that.”

“At least they might acknowledge that this is our country! We are not Russians. We will never be Russians. Don’t you see how important this is?”

“I know it’s important. That’s the only reason I’m coming along tonight, to help with this delivery, and to be sure we’re all safe by morning.”

“Audra can help,” Papa said. “She is quiet, but she listens and watches and she is smart.”

“She is not ready, Henri.”

“Because we haven’t prepared her. Let me teach her, let me show her all there is to know!”

“Another year,” Mama said softly. “Another year and then we will teach her. Please.”

After a brief moment, Papa agreed, “Another year,” then whispered his love to Mama, and at least for the moment, everything became right again in my world. Tonight would be better if they believed their secrets belonged only to them. I would tell them tomorrow, and we could enjoy this evening. Mama had described the festivities to me every year, but this was the first time I’d be allowed to go.

This night, the twenty-third of June, was the shortest night of the year and was said to be a night of magic. Herbs gathered from the meadows on this night would have special healing powers, and the grasses could be woven into wreaths that could predict the future husband of the girl who wore it on her head.

I knew such things were nonsense, an entirely different kind of magic from my father’s, but that didn’t matter. I was so excited to go that my parents’ secrets became pushed to the back of my mind—they were too serious for such a beautiful day. I was saving all of that for tomorrow, after the festivities.

After supper, I went to my room to change into my finest clothes, a white linen skirt and blouse with a green vest and matching plaid apron, finishing it off with a white woven sash around my waist. Then I rebraided my hair, careful to brush out the long blond strands first so they’d be neat and shiny in the moonlight. I wanted everything to go perfectly tonight.

Which was why when I emerged from the room and saw a basket of wet laundry, I offered to hang it for Mama so that she could get ready.

I walked out the rear door with the basket in my arms. The clothesline was at the back of our house but enough to the side that I had a wide view of the land around us. I began hanging the clothes, starting with a long bedsheet that took some effort to get over the strings. As I bent down for a towel, my breath caught in my throat.

At least ten soldiers on horseback were riding up the gently sloped hill toward our home. They wore blue uniforms with red bands on their caps and shoulders and two columns of gold buttons down their fronts. Each man carried a rifle and many appeared armed in other ways. They were only two or three minutes away, and I had no idea what to do.

This was what my pa

rents had warned me about for all these years.

The Cossack soldiers were here. And that could only mean trouble.

I left the basket where it was and scrambled back toward the house, crying, “Papa!”

He must have already seen them, for he and my mother were frantically moving about the kitchen, placing small wrapped packages inside Papa’s traveling sack. Why should they care about that right now? The soldiers were almost here!

“Did they see you?” Papa asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Go with your mother out the back door. You’ve got to run!”

I stared at him, barely understanding his words. “Run? Where?”

“Get to the forest. Hurry!”