We walked hand in hand, neither one of us speaking. My pace slowed. "Andrius, I'm ... scared."

He stopped and turned to me. "No. Don't be scared. Don't give them anything, Lina, not even your fear."

"I can't help it. I'm not even used to this camp. I miss home, I miss my father, I miss school, I miss my cousin." My breathing quickened.

"Shh," said Andrius. He pulled me to his chest. "Be careful who you talk to. Don't let your guard down, okay?" he whispered. His arms tightened around me.

"I don't want to go," I said. We stood, quiet.

How did I get here? How did I end up in the arms of a boy I barely knew, but knew I didn't want to lose? I wondered what I would have thought of Andrius in Lithuania. Would I have liked him? Would he have liked me?

"I don't want you to go," he finally whispered, barely audible.

I closed my eyes. "Andrius, we have to get back home."

"I know," he said. "We will." He took my hand and we started back.

"I'll write to you. I'll send letters to the village," I said.

He nodded.

We arrived back at our shack. "Wait a minute," I told him. I went inside. I gathered all of my drawings, even the ones on small scraps, from underneath the lining in my suitcase. I tore papers out of my sketchbook. I walked outside and handed the stack to Andrius. The drawing of his mother, her face bruised, slipped out and wafted to the ground. Her eyes stared up at us from the dirt.

"What are you doing?" he asked, quickly picking up the drawing.

"Hide them. Keep them safe for me," I said, putting my hands on top of his. "I don't know where we're going. I don't want them to be destroyed. There's so much of me, of all of us, in these drawings. Can you find a safe place for them?"

He nodded. "There's a loose floorboard under my bunk. It's where I hid Dombey and Son. Lina," he said slowly, looking down at the drawings. "You have to keep drawing. My mother says the world has no idea what the Soviets are doing to us. No one knows what our fathers have sacrificed. If other countries knew, they might help."

"I will," I said. "And I've been writing it all down. That's why you have to keep these safe for me. Hide them."

He nodded. "Just promise me you'll be careful," he said. "Don't be stupid and go looking for files or running under any trains."

We stared at each other.

"So, don't smoke any books without me, okay?" he said.

I smiled. "I won't. How long do you think we have?"

"I don't know. It could be any day."

I stood on my toes and kissed him.

"Krasivaya," he said into my ear, his nose tracing along my cheek. "Have you learned it yet?" He kissed my neck.

"Not yet," I said, closing my eyes.

Andrius exhaled and stepped back slowly. "Tell Jonas I'll come by to see him in the morning, okay?"

I nodded, the touch of his lips still warm against my neck.

He walked away in the dark, clutching my drawings under his coat. He turned and looked over his shoulder. I waved. He waved back. His silhouette became smaller and smaller and then finally, faded into the darkness.

62.

THEY CAME BEFORE sunrise. They burst into our shack waving rifles, just as they had burst into our home ten months before. We had only minutes. This time I was ready.

Ulyushka rose from her pallet. She barked at Mother.

"Stop yelling. We're leaving," I told her.

She began handing Mother potatoes, beets, and other food she had stored. She handed Jonas a thick animal hide to put in his suitcase. She gave me a pencil. I couldn't believe it. Why was she giving us food? Mother tried to hug her. They barely embraced. Ulyushka pushed her away and stomped out.

The NKVD told us to stand and wait outside our shack. The man who wound his watch came walking toward us, suitcase in hand. He was on the list. Mrs. Rimas was behind him, followed by the girl with the dolly, her mother, and a stream of other people. We began a slow procession toward the kolkhoz office, dragging our belongings. Faces looked years older than when we had arrived ten months before. Did I look older, too? Miss Grybas ran to us, crying.

"They've sent for you. You're going to America. I just know it. Please don't forget about me," she begged. "Please don't let me waste away here. I want to go home."

Mother and Mrs. Rimas hugged Miss Grybas. They assured her they would not forget her. I would never forget her, or the beets she hid under her dress.

We trudged on. I heard Miss Grybas's crying fade behind us. The grouchy woman walked out of her shack. She held up a withered hand and nodded. Her daughters clung to her legs. I remembered her, hiding the bathroom hole on the train with her girth. She had lost so much weight. My eyes scanned for Andrius. I had Dombey and Son tucked safely in my suitcase, next to our family picture.

A large truck sat near the kolkhoz office. Kretzsky smoked with two NKVD nearby. The commander stood on the porch with an officer I didn't recognize. They began calling names alphabetically. People climbed into the back of the truck.

"Take care, Jonas," said Andrius's voice behind us. "Good-bye, Mrs. Vilkas."

"Good-bye, Andrius," said Mother, grasping his hands and kissing his cheeks. "Take care of your mother, dear."

"She wanted to come but ..."

"I understand. Give her my love," said Mother.

The NKVD continued reading names off the list.

"Write to me, okay, Jonas?" said Andrius.

"I will," said Jonas. He extended his small hand for a handshake.

"Take care of these two, okay? Your father and I are counting on you," said Andrius.

Jonas nodded.

Andrius turned. His eyes found mine. "I'll see you," he said.

My face didn't wrinkle. I didn't utter a sound. But for the first time in months, I cried. Tears popped from their dry sockets and sailed down my cheeks in one quick stream. I looked away.

The NKVD called the bald man's name.

"Look at me," whispered Andrius, moving close. "I'll see you," he said. "Just think about that. Just think about me bringing you your drawings. Picture it, because I'll be there."

I nodded.

"Vilkas," the NKVD called.

We walked toward the truck and climbed inside. I looked down at Andrius. He raked through his hair with his fingers. The engine turned and roared. I raised my hand in a wave good-bye.

His lips formed the words "I'll see you." He nodded in confirmation.

I nodded back. The back gate slammed and I sat down. The truck lurched forward. Wind began to blow against my face. I pulled my coat closed and put my hands in my pockets. That's when I felt it. The stone. Andrius had slipped it into my pocket. I stood up to let him know I had found it. He was gone.

ice and ashes.

63.

WE TRAVELED ALL morning in the truck. The road squirreled a thin line, hidden in the trees. Like Mother, I tried to think of the positive. I thought of Andrius. I could still hear his voice. At least we had left the commander and Kretzsky behind. I hoped we would be somewhere near Krasnoyarsk, closer to Papa.

The truck stopped next to a field. We were allowed to jump off and relieve ourselves in the grass. The NKVD began yelling within a matter of seconds.

"Davai!"

I knew that voice. I looked over. Kretzsky.

Late that afternoon, we reached a train station. A faded sign creaked in the wind. Biysk. Trucks littered the train yard. The scene was unlike the train station when we were deported. In Kaunas, back in June, we were frantic. Panic rose everywhere. People ran and screamed. Now, masses of tired, gray people made their way slowly toward the train cars, like a group of exhausted ants marching toward a hill.

"Everyone stand at the front of the door opening," instructed the bald man. "Look uncomfortable. Maybe they won't put more people in here and we'll have room to breathe."

I stepped up into the train car. It was different from the previous car, longer. A lamp hung from above. The carriage smelled of sour body odor and urine. I missed the fresh air and the scent of wood from the labor camp. We did as the bald man suggested and crowded near the door. It worked. Two groups of people were steered toward other cars.

"This is filthy," said Mrs. Rimas.

"What did you expect? A luxury sleeper car?" said the bald man.

They shoved a few more people into our car before slamming the door. A woman with two boys and an older man climbed in. A tall man stepped in and looked around nervously. A woman and her daughter were hoisted up. Jonas nudged my arm. The girl looked as yellow as a lemon, her eyes nothing more than swollen slits. Where had she been? The mother spoke in Lithuanian to her daughter.

"Just another short trip and we'll be home, dear," said the girl's mother. Mother helped the woman with her luggage. The girl hacked and coughed.

We were lucky. We had only thirty-three people in our car. We had room and light this time. We gave the lemon girl a plank to sleep on. Mother insisted that Jonas have one as well. I sat on the floor, next to the girl with the dolly, whose hands were now empty.

"Where's your doll?" I asked.

"Dead," said the girl, with a hollow look in her eyes.

"Oh."

"The NKVD killed her. Remember how they shot the woman with the baby? That's what they did to Liale, except they threw her in the air and shot her head off. Kind of like a pigeon."

"You must miss her a lot," I said.

"Well, I missed her at first. I kept crying and crying. A guard told me to stop crying. I tried, but I couldn't. He clobbered me in the head. See my scar?" she said, pointing to a thick red fold on her forehead.

Bastards. She was only a child.

"You couldn't stop crying either?" she asked.

"What?"

She pointed to the scar above my eyebrow.

"No, they hit me with a can of sardines," I said.

"Because you were crying?" she said.

"No, just for fun," I answered.

She curled her finger toward me, beckoning me closer. "Want to know a big secret?" she asked.

"What's that?"

She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Mama says the NKVD are going to hell." She leaned back. "But you can't tell anyone. It's a secret, okay? You see, Liale, my dolly, she's up in heaven. She talks to me. She tells me things. So that's a secret, but Liale said I could tell you."

"I won't tell anyone," I said.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Lina," I said.

"And your brother?"

"Jonas."

"My name is Janina," she said, continuing to chatter. "Your mama, she looks old now. My mama does, too. And you like the boy who was waiting near the truck."

"What?"

"The one who put something into your pocket. I saw. What did he give you?"