He couldn’t come straight up the road. Not yet.

If they were alive, then in a moment he was going to have different problems from the ones he had imagined, and he thought he had imagined them all. He would deal with this one as he dealt with everything, but first—

Alexander walked through someone’s garden, apologizing hastily, opened the back gate, and was on the village back path. He wanted to come a roundabout way to the square. He wanted to see Tatiana for a moment without her seeing him. Before there was Dasha, he wanted an instant of being able to look at Tatiana the way he wanted to look at her, without hiding.

He wanted proof of God before God looked upon the man with His own eyes.

The elms were standing tall in a green canopy around the small square. A group of people sat beneath the trees at a long wooden table. Most were women; there was, in fact, only one young man. It was a sewing circle, thought Alexander, moving nearer to the table to get a better look.

He was obstructed from their view by a fence and a sprawling lilac tree. The flowers got into his face and nose. Breathing in their ripe fragrance, he peeked out. He did not see Dasha anywhere. He saw four old women seated around the table, a young boy, an older girl, and a standing Tatiana.

At first Alexander could not believe it was his Tania. He blinked and tried to refocus his eyes. She was walking around the table, gesturing, showing, leaning forward, bending over. At one point she straightened out and wiped her forehead. She was wearing a short-sleeved yellow peasant dress. She was barefoot, and her slender legs were exposed above her knee. Her bare arms were lightly tanned. Her blonde hair looked bleached by the sun and was parted into two shoulder-length braids tucked behind her ears. Even from a distance he could see the summer freckles on her nose. She was achingly beautiful.

And alive.

Alexander closed his eyes, then opened them again. She was still there, bending over the boy’s work. She said something, everyone laughed loudly, and Alexander watched as the boy’s arm touched Tatiana’s back. Tatiana smiled. Her white teeth sparkled like the rest of her. Alexander didn’t know what to do.

She was alive, that was obvious.

Then why hadn’t she written him?

And where was Dasha?

Alexander couldn’t very well continue to stand under a lilac tree.

He went back out onto the main road, took a deep breath, stubbed out his cigarette, and walked toward the square, never taking his eyes off her braids. His heart was thundering in his chest, as if he were going into battle.

Tatiana looked up, saw him, and covered her face with her hands. Alexander watched everyone get up and rush to her, the old ladies showing unexpected agility and speed. She pushed them all away, pushed the table away, pushed the bench away, and ran to him. Alexander was paralyzed by his emotion. He wanted to smile, but he thought any second he was going to fall to his knees and cry. He dropped all his gear, including his rifle. God, he thought, in a second I’m going to feel her. And that’s when he smiled.

Tatiana sprang into his open arms, and Alexander, lifting her off her feet with the force of his embrace, couldn’t hug her tight enough, couldn’t breathe in enough of her. She flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his bearded cheek. Dry sobs racked her entire body. She was heavier than the last time he felt her in all her clothes as he lifted her into the Lake Ladoga truck. She, with her boots, her clothes, coats, and coverings, had not weighed what she weighed now.

She smelled incredible. She smelled of soap and sunshine and caramelized sugar.

She felt incredible. Holding her to him, Alexander rubbed his face into her braids, murmuring a few pointless words. “Shh, shh… come on, now, shh, Tatia. Please…” His voice broke.

“Oh, Alexander,” Tatiana said softly into his neck. She was clutching the back of his head. “You’re alive. Thank God.”

“Oh, Tatiana,” Alexander said, hugging her tighter, if that were possible, his arms swaddling her summer body. “You’re alive. Thank God.” His hands ran up to her neck and down to the small of her back. Her dress was made of very thin cotton. He could almost feel her skin through it. She felt very soft.

Finally he let her feet touch the ground. Tatiana looked up at him. His hands remained around her little waist. He wasn’t letting go of her. Was she always this tiny, standing barefoot in front of him?

“I like your beard,” Tatiana said, smiling shyly and touching his face.

“I love your hair,” Alexander said, pulling on a braid and smiling back.

“You’re messy…”

He looked her over. “And you’re stunning.” He could not take his eyes off her glorious, eager, vivid lips. They were the color of July tomatoes—

He bent to her—

With a deep breath Alexander remembered Dasha. He stopped smiling, letting go of Tatiana and stepping slightly away.

She frowned, looking at him.

“Where’s Dasha, Tania?” he asked.

What Alexander saw pass through her eyes then… there was hurt and sadness and grief and guilt, and anger—at him?—all of it, and in a blink it was all gone, and then an icy veil clouded her eyes. Alexander watched something in Tatiana shut against him. She looked at him coolly, and though her hands were still trembling, her voice was steady and low. “Dasha died, Alexander. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Tania. I’m sorry.” Alexander reached out to touch her, but she backed away from him. She didn’t just back away from him. She staggered away from him.

“What?” he said, perplexed. “What?”

“Alexander, I’m really sorry about Dasha,” Tatiana said, unable to meet his eyes. “You came all this way…”

“What are you talking—”

But before he had a chance to continue or Tatiana a chance to respond, the other members of her sewing circle surrounded them. “Tanechka?” said a small, round salt-and-pepper woman with small, round eyes. “Who is this? Is this Dasha’s Alexander?”

“Yes,” said Tatiana. “This is Dasha’s Alexander.” Glancing at him, she said, “Alexander—meet Naira Mikhailovna.”

Naira started to cry. “Oh, you poor man.” She didn’t just shake Alexander’s hand, she hugged him. Poor man? He stared at Tatiana.

“Naira, please,” Tatiana said, backing farther away from him.

Sniffling, Naira whispered to Tatiana, “Did he know?”

“He didn’t know. But he does now,” replied Tatiana. That provoked a sustained wail out of Naira.

Tatiana made further introductions. “Alexander, meet Vova, Naira’s grandson, and Zoe, Vova’s sister.”

Vova was precisely the kind of strapping lad Alexander hated to think about. Round-faced, round-eyed, round-mouthed, a dark-haired version of his small and compact grandmother, Vova shook Alexander’s hand.

Zoe, a large, black-haired village girl, hugged him, shoving her big breasts into his uniform tunic. She held Alexander’s hand in hers and said, “We’re so pleased to meet you, Alexander. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Everything,” said a bright, curly-haired woman, whom Tatiana introduced as Naira’s older sister, Axinya. “We’ve heard everything about you,” Axinya said energetically and vocally. She hugged Alexander, too.

Then two more women moved front and center. They were both gray-haired and frail. One of them had a shaking disorder. Her hands shook, her head shook, her mouth shook as she spoke. Raisa was her name. Her mother’s name was Dusia, who was taller and broader than her daughter and wore a large silver cross over her dark dress. Dusia made the sign of the cross on Alexander, and said, “God will take care of you, Alexander. Don’t you worry.”

Alexander wanted to tell Dusia that having found Tatiana alive, he had nothing to worry about, but before he could say anything, Axinya asked Alexander how he was feeling, which was followed by a second round of hugs and a second round of tears.