“It’s only just dark,” Captain Kharkov said. “Sit, have another drink with us.”

“The beer has already made me a little tipsy,” Adeline said. “Will? Walt?”

Will yawned as he got up. “I am tired.”

“Me, too,” Walt said. “Mama, will we get Christmas presents tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” she said, smiled at them all, nodded to Captain Kharkov. “Sleep well. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Kharkov said. He poured another drink and saluted her as they went out the door into the snow.

A half inch had fallen on the bare ground, enough to make the landscape look pretty and safe as Adeline and the boys went to the outbuilding. She got them changed, and as they had almost every night since Emil disappeared, they held hands and prayed for him before she had them climb into the bed.

“Tomorrow is Jesus’s birthday,” Will said. “He was born with donkeys.”

His mother smiled and said, “Sort of.”

“And we believe what Jesus taught,” Walt said. “That’s why we celebrate Christmas, right, Mama?”

Adeline hesitated, but then nodded. She was going to tell them good night and leave but changed her mind and picked up the Bible Frau Schmidt had given her. She flipped to the book of Luke and read them the story of the Nativity.

“See, there were donkeys,” Will said when she finished.

“Yes, there were,” Adeline said, laughed, and kissed her younger and then her older son on the head. “And sheep and other animals.”

She kept the light on long enough to put on her coat and to gather up the quilt, two blankets, and the pillow and the wool knit hat Frau Schmidt had given her. She turned to tell them good night, only to see them already sleeping. She thought of Emil again, how he would never know moments like this, and despite the wonderful food filling her belly, she felt robbed of love and time.

Adeline went out the door into the short hallway, shut it, and locked it, thinking, They robbed me; they robbed my sons; and they robbed Emil. They’re still robbing us!

Outside, the snow was still gently falling. Adeline looped around the barn to get her bearings, then set off by dead reckoning through the darkness and the snow toward the tree line that marked the village. She wandered off course twice before finding the leafless trees and following them past the backs of the village homes before coming parallel to the old church.

As was her custom, Adeline went beyond the church to pee and then went to the rear door, finding it ajar. But when she pushed open the door to listen for the sounds of other women, she heard nothing. The glass windows of the church had been boarded over for the winter, so once inside, she felt comfortable digging around in her bag for a candle and some matches with the door shut but not barred in case another woman wanted refuge for the night.

She lit the little candle, which threw enough light that she could see her breath in billowing clouds and confirm that the church was indeed empty. She shivered and understood why. Boarded up like this, the building got little or no heat during the day. In fact, it felt colder in there than it had outside in the falling snow.

Adeline went to the pew where she normally spent her Saturday nights and started preparing her bed. As she did, she thought about Walt saying, And we believe what Jesus taught, right, Mama?

She sat a moment with her hands clasped and felt torn between wanting to go down on her knees and pray and fearing to pray because she would not be heard or heard in the wrong way as she’d been that day near the Reichstag when they had no food and no shelter. In the end, she bowed her head and asked God to forgive her for not praying much of late.

“It’s been hard without Emil, Lord,” she whispered, that ball of emotion swelling in her throat again. “Taking care of the boys and working for the Schmidts . . . I’m grateful for the roof over my head and the good food we eat. I am. But please watch over Emil, wherever he is. Protect him, Lord. He’s a good man. The only man I’ve got or want. So please, bring him back to us, and keep me and the boys safe in the meantime.”

She bowed her head and sighed before unfolding the quilt and blankets. She was arranging the pillow and about to blow out the candle when the rear door pushed open and someone shone a flashlight inside. Several of the women who took refuge in the church had flashlights, so she stood there, waiting to see which one had decided to brave the cold.

Captain Kharkov stepped inside, looked around, saw her standing in the candlelight. He smiled drunkenly and held up the nearly empty bottle and waved it around at the interior of the church.

“How romantic, Adeline,” he said. “What a perfect place.”

Chapter Thirty

Six hours earlier, that same Christmas Eve

Poltava, Ukraine

Watching Nikolas die in front of him shook Emil in ways he did not expect. He had hated the man in life, and yet he felt some pity for the way Nikolas left it, terror filled and unforgiven, sure that he was about to face judgment.

I’m not facing judgment, Emil thought after covering Nikolas’s body and dragging it outside to freeze. There is nothing beyond this life. The only thing you can rely on is yourself.

Emil worked until he almost dropped that day but relied on himself to reach the concrete quota Ivanov had set. He sat by the little woodstove after pouring the last of the concrete into the block molds. He closed his eyes.

I am enough. I alone can survive . . .

The triangle began to ring, signaling the end of the workday. Emil opened his eyes in a daze, feeling in his chest and in his head the same darkness that Nikolas had described, so heavy and cold, he did not know if he could get to his feet. He did, finally, but he was dizzy and had to hold on to the wall before he could gather up his hat and gloves and go out into a full-on blizzard. Nikolas’s corpse was already almost buried in the falling snow.

“Line up!” the Soviet guards shouted. “Marching formation!”

Emil went to one of the guards he was familiar with, pointed out Nikolas’s body, and was told the burial detail was coming. He paused to watch the snow build on Nikolas’s frozen body, then took the dead man’s place in line. He’d gather wood scraps tomorrow.

Trudging through the storm to the city hall basement to eat, Emil felt like he might collapse at any moment. His mind and inner voice turned reptilian, bent on survival, and goading.

One foot in front of the other. One foot . . .

I am enough. I am Emil Martel, damn it. I am . . .

And then Nicholas’s words, We were doomed the moment we took the gun and decided to pull the trigger.

At the same time Emil was hearing the echoes of Nikolas in his mind, a prisoner several rows in front of him staggered and collapsed in the snow. A guard went to the downed man and kicked him. When he didn’t respond, the guard dragged him to one side and left him.

Barely able to stand himself, Emil gazed dully at the new corpse, hearing Nikolas again in his head, It’s just a matter of time.

The prisoners began moving. Emil tried to follow them, one foot, one step, one foot, one step. He got dizzy again, wobbled, and almost went down. Black spots appeared and swam in his vision. He thought he was going to lose consciousness and die in the snow, another frozen body on the death cart, and panicked, tried to will himself alert. Emil staggered finally and went down on his knees. He had nothing left. He surrendered.

I can’t do it. I am not enough. I’m just a man. I’m sorry, Adeline. I can’t do this alone . . . I need help. I need . . .

A hand grabbed him roughly under the armpit and jerked him to his feet. It shocked Emil back to semi-alertness, and he looked in confusion at the guard.

“You’re not dying on me today,” the guard said. “Ivanov wants you kept alive.”

Emil felt his balance return, said, “I’ll be better once I’ve eaten.”

The guard nodded, said, “The mess is just ahead there.”

The line slowed at the entrance to the city hall’s basement. The area was lit by floodlights. Emil had his head down, defeated, cut off from hope. He felt like he had nothing left to fight with beyond his ability to stand up and move with the line toward food and sleep. He knew he was so weakened, he would die if disease hit him.

Maybe it would be better. Less torture in the long run for Adeline and the boys. And if I’m going to face judgment, I’d rather do it sooner than later.

Emil got wobbly again, his despair deepening and widening before yawning bottomless with sheer desperation and fear. Feeling like he was falling away into the darkness, he did the only thing he could think of: he threw back his head, exposed his face to the driving snow, and raised both arms to the night and the storm.

“You hear me?” he croaked. “If you do, take me sooner than later.”