Page 70 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

Irish Colleen exhaled. Her eyes closed. “But, I wish I could tell her she didn’t need to protect me. I’m Colleen Brady, and I have people, somewhere.”

“You could go back now.”

His mother’s eyes were heavy. “No, darling. I can’t. In the beginning, I might’ve re-forged the bonds we broke when we fled Ireland for a different life. Perhaps. Who can say? But no, not now.”

“You think I should take her.”

Her hands, gnarled from years of labor and rearing seven children, curled over his. She was so young still, but not young enough. “I think you knew what you wanted to do before you came over here.”

“Still. I need your advice, Mama. Please.”

Irish Colleen nodded slowly. “My advice is to take her. Not because I believe she’ll remember it, or it will even be good for her. She’s too young to hang on to this memory. You take her because it’s what you need, and if you don’t go, you’ll never know what could’ve been. This might be your chance to connect Anasofiya to that half of her heritage. Or? Or, I suppose, it could be the best way to close the door on it. When you meet this young man, you’ll know which way that pendulum should swing.”

Anasofiya napped in the portable cradle Augustus brought for their train cabin. As they passed through Virginia, the rolling snowy hills brought him peace, however temporary.

CHAPTER 19

New York, New York

Aleksei Aleksandrovich was the spitting image of his sister, Ekatherina. He had the same eyes, cautious and mistrustful, but possessed a glimmer of hope. Same bone structure, delicate and sharp, like what the outside world pictures when they think of a Russian ballerina. Unlike her, his hair was red, which left Augustus wondering which side of the family Ana’s coloring came from. There were redheads in his mother’s direct line as well, but very few amongst the Deschanels.

This was the first question Augustus asked, when they settled into the bar area of the Waldorf-Astoria. Aleksei had offered his apartment, and Augustus saw no reason to think there was danger in going, but choosing the location restored some of his control in the situation. He knew this hotel. Had stayed there, done business in the bar. It was as close to familiar territory as he had in a city he rarely visited.

“Do either of your parents have red hair?”

Aleksei paused for a moment and then smiled. “Ana. You want to know where Ana gets it. Yes, my mammochka has red hair, Augustus. Her mother did not, but her grandmother was a redhead. We did these exercises in science class—”

“Punnett squares.”

“Yes!” Aleksei lit up, shaking his finger. He was dressed in the neat, but bland uniformity of the Soviet Union, wearing a hammer and sickle pin at his lapel. A good son of Lenin. “Those. And my teacher said it was not common for both me and Anasofiya—our Ana—to have red hair, but it does happen. We must have strong genes for your Anasofiya to have this.”

“My mother’s mother had red hair,” Augustus said. He dangled one hand over Ana’s carrier, to let her play with it. She clasped his fingers in his, squeezing. “So maybe she got it from her.”

Aleksei nodded, considering this. “Yes. Yes. I see how that would be possible. She looks so much like our Kat. But, yes, I see you as well. I would so very much like to hold her before we depart.”

“She’s fussy around strangers.”

“Oh. I see. Well, what else can I tell you about your daughter’s family, brother?”

Augustus pulled his hand back and gave Anasofiya a teething ring in its place. He had toys in every pocket now, including the ones he didn’t even know he had. She sucked on it and stared up with her intense blue eyes. “I didn’t come all the way to New York to talk about the family. I came because you asked, and because you have something to say.”

“Oh.” Aleksei’s face fell. “I do have things to say, and I’m glad you came.” When a waiter passed by, Aleksei politely grabbed his attention. “Stolichnaya. Two cubes of ice. And you, Augustus?”

“What he’s having is fine,” Augustus said, though the last time he’d had grain alcohol he’d nearly brought up the remains of his lunch in the breakroom sink.

“Do you drink vodka, Augustus?”

“Not really.”

Aleksei said to the waiter, “Add whatever Americans enjoy with their vodka, to his.” When he was gone, he asked Augustus, “Have you been here? To New York City?”

“A few times, for work.”

Aleksei looked around in wonderment, as if the hotel bar was the city come to life. “And? Is it the magic everyone says? Will I find love? Fall in love?”

Augustus shifted in his seat. Beside him, Ana was lost to her teething bliss. “I wouldn’t know. When I come here for work, that’s what I do.”

Aleksei pointed a finger. “That is very Soviet of you.”

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