“Why wouldn’t he? It’s not as though I went with the men voluntarily. I fought them as best I could.”
A frown wove its way across Tanya’s face. “Sometimes men are strange about things like that. Honor and pride aren’t always rational.”
“Filip loves me. He won’t blame me for something I couldn’t control.”
“If you say so.” Something in Tanya’s voice suggested uncertainty, but she didn’t know Filip.
That night, Nadia shivered as she tried to fall asleep. Spring and summer had brought a respite from the harsh Siberian winter, but the air had a chill in it tonight. When she’d shared a bed with Filip, he had often crawled under the covers on her side of the bed so it would be warm for her when she joined him. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t give to be snuggled up next to him again, to feel his kisses and caresses.
Tanya was wrong. Filip would still love her. Of course he would.
But doubt wiggled its way in and lodged inside her heart. She’d been used and damaged. Did that also make her unworthy?
***
Weeks passed. Midsummer turned clearings in the taiga to gorgeous arrays of feather grass and cornflower, fescue and white hollyhock. But even though the land they worked grew beautiful, their days were still full of toil, and now, for Nadia, they were also full of doubt. Even if the White Army overran the camp and she was freed, could she and Filip really return to what they’d had so briefly?
Her mother had told her that God was always there, even when it was too dark to see Him. But what if life in a work camp was so dark that
Tanya didn’t speak of escape, not anymore. Nadia had thought the legion’s proximity would tempt her, but there were still the guards to get past. And each day, the prisoners grew more and more worn down. How could they escape when they were barely hanging on to life?
Autumn changed the taiga again, painting it with shades of russet and gold. New prisoners joined them—captured tsarist officers who’d been fighting with the White Army.
“I’m surprised they didn’t shoot them,” Tanya said.
Based on the expressions the men made when they learned their work would support the Red Army, she wondered if they might have preferred that.
A few days later, Nadia was startled by a shout. “Watch out!”
Nadia looked up, but the warning hadn’t been directed at her. A crooked pine with a long stretch of bare trunk crashed away from the road. A startled cry emerged from the wreckage, and Nadia hurried over.
One of the captured officers lay on the ground, no longer moving. She knelt beside him and felt his neck. His pulse beat a steady rhythm under her fingers.
Another man scrambled closer. “Is he alive?”
“Yes. Do you see any blood?” She didn’t, but she wasn’t strong enough to move him, not after eight months on a forced labor crew.
The other man turned him over. “Nothing more serious than scrapes.”
She noticed the bump on the side of the unconscious man’s head. The tree must have hit him. The guards were keeping their distance rather than ordering her back to work. They were in a generous mood today. “He’ll probably have a concussion.” That could be dangerous in these conditions. Anything that hampered the ability to work could result in less food, which led to death. “You’re his friend?”
“Yes,” the other man said. He eyed the guard drawing closer.
“I was a nurse during the war. I don’t have any equipment, but I’ll do what I can for him when he wakes.”
The guard surveyed the three of them. “Is he dead?”
“No.” Nadia held her breath, wondering what the guard would do.
“Leave him then. The rest of you get back to work.”
***
She saw the man who’d been hit with a tree later that night.
“You were a nurse?” he asked. He was tall, probably about forty, with blue eyes and fair hair.
“Yes.”
He held out his arm. “I think this may be broken.”
Without an x-ray, she couldn’t be sure, but she examined the discolored and swollen skin. “I could splint it for you. I’d need cloth and some straight sticks. Where is the pain strongest?”
He pointed to his wrist. “I lifted my hand at the last minute to stop the tree. It didn’t work.”
“It didn’t stop the tree, but it might have saved your life. One can survive a broken wrist. A broken skull is far more serious. How is the knot on the side of your head?”
He turned, and she gently felt the bump. He winced.
“I’m sorry. I have to feel for damage.” She prodded a little further, then finished.
He sighed. “I’ll have Yuri find materials. Thank you for your help.”
The injured man and Yuri, his friend from earlier that afternoon, gathered the needed supplies. When she finished splinting his arm, they offered her half a piece of bread.