Milda put a hand on my shoulder. “At least they’ll be together, to take care of each other. And if you want to stay with me, we can take care of each other too.” I must have nodded at that, because after a brief pause, she added, “If you’d like to stay, then I have an errand for you.”

  I groaned, already suspecting what it must be.

  Milda led us back into her room full of books and plucked one from the shelf. “Your father promised that the next time he passed this way, he would deliver this book for me. It’s a simple delivery, and I wonder if you might be interested in finishing the job he would have done.”

  I shook my head. If she knew what I’d gone through to carry the book here, she never would ask such a question. I said, “He can still deliver it, when he returns. Until then, let me stay until my ankle is healed, and then I’ll find somewhere else to stay. Somewhere … with fewer secrets.”

  Milda’s face fell. “Very well. I should not have asked.”

  She looked so disappointed, and so did Lukas, that I felt I ought to apologize to them. But for what? Wanting to stay alive, to stay out of Siberia? Wanting to go back to the life I’d known with my family, one that was simple and slow and sheltered? It wasn’t much, but at least what I’d had before was familiar.

  And I’d hardly get back to it if I agreed to do what Milda wanted. And for that, I would not apologize.

  I slept at Milda’s that night, and for another week while my ankle healed. Every day, people came to the small shop attached to her home to buy butter or honey or whatever excuse they might have invented to visit Milda. Who, by the way, never attended her shop unless she wore a disguise of some sort. Today she wore a head scarf and darkened spectacles, and felt her way around the shop like a blind woman, doing a terrible job at it. She found whatever she needed far too easily and addressed people by name as they passed through her door. I was hardly an expert in disguises, but I was sure I could do better than that.

  Nor were the people who entered her shop particularly good at hiding their true purposes for coming. The first time I suspected they made excuses was when a woman had slapped some money onto Milda’s counter with an order for “anything you’re selling today.”

  Milda had smiled back. “Can you be more specific?”

  More meaningfully, the woman had replied, “Something for my children perhaps. They’re growing up so fast.” Then they’d laughed together. I’d rolled my eyes and groaned. Why didn’t the woman just say, “Sell me an illegal book!”

  And that woman wasn’t the only one. Nearly everyone who walked into Milda’s shop came with a hushed request for something from Milda’s book collection. She’d tell the customer to wait, then go into her bedroom and close the door, returning minutes later with a wrapped package that she’d help the customer slide into a sack covered with fabric or bread loaves or whatever might keep the package out of sight.

  After one particularly busy day, a rainy day when people should have been better occupied at home than coming out onto the muddy road, Milda poked her head into the kitchen where I was cutting potatoes for a pan of kugelis, one of my favorite foods. “Audra, I’ve gone up and down the ladder so often today, my legs are worn out.”

  I had no doubt that she was. It was a new day and a new disguise, so naturally she was experimenting with faking illness. She had applied powder to her face and a little grease beneath her eyes to seem pale and hollow. She’d done a fine job at least—much better than the blindness. Up close, the powder appeared to be an attempt to improve her complexion and the shine of the grease looked like sweat. However, I wondered if all of her trips up and down the ladder were adding to her look of exhaustion too.

  Milda added, “Do you mind going downstairs for me?”

  My eyes darted. “To get a book?” I hadn’t been down into the secret room since Milda had first shown it to me, and that wasn’t an accident. That room was a reminder of all that I’d lost, and all that I still might lose.

  Milda shook her head. “Not a book. This time it’s a newspaper, Varpas. The latest edition.”

  “I won’t know where to find it.”

  “I keep them in a bin right by the door. Make sure it’s Varpas, though, and not one of the others.”

  I sighed but set down the potato and walked to the back of the home, opening the stairs and descending the ladder. I’d never minded being in small, dark places before, but this room felt haunted to me, as if hundreds of spirits lingered here, hoping to find an open book so that they might peruse its pages, for whatever good it might do them. The book I’d carried all the way from home was in here now, lying on its side high on a shelf, mixed in with so many others but somehow still alone, as if it didn’t truly belong in here.

  As I truly didn’t belong in here. Not among row after row of books, some of them stacked in front of another row of books, and for all I knew, another row behind that, endlessly burrowed inside this secret cavern of words and pictures. I didn’t know how Milda kept track of them all.

  I turned to find the bin with the newspaper she had wanted, but the problem was, she had two bins with different writing on each. I didn’t know which to grab, and I figured since this was supposed to be a secret place, the last thing I ought to do was bring up both newspapers and let the customer pick from them.

  Besides, I’d feel stupid doing such a thing. Or more stupid than I already felt.

  Varpas. The titles in the bold lettering on the top had about the same number of letters in each bin. I recognized the A’s in both titles since I knew I had A’s in my name, but that didn’t help, either, since I didn’t know the letters that would be in Varpas, nor did I know any of my letters other than the A.

  This was humiliating.

  While I stared between the two, I heard a quick hiss that might’ve been Milda saying my name, then the opening above me slammed shut and I was left alone with nothing but the single flame in the oil lamp I’d taken down with me.

  I started up the ladder, certain that it must have been some sort of mistake and ready to call out to Milda about why she had closed the opening. Then I heard men’s voices speaking almost directly above me. Speaking in Russian.

  I froze in place on the ladder, worried that even moving my foot might cause a creak in the wood. Here, I was so close to the stairs. Could they hear me breathing, or the pounding of my heart? It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t have heard Milda slamming the lid shut for this little room, and then they’d realize she was in disguise and as healthy as ever. Surely they would search the home until they figured out what had made that slamming sound.

  Until they found me.

  Maybe that was why they had come, to arrest me, or to take the book I’d given Milda. If I dared to move, I would’ve slid that book behind the others. My parents were in prison or on their way to Siberia because of that book. I wouldn’t let them take Milda for it too.

  If I listened carefully, I could barely make out the conversation happening almost directly above me. In her false voice of sickness, Milda was trying to list off her many ailments for the men, but they told her to stop or her ills would hardly be the worst of her problems. Their tones were sharp, sounding impatient. In Russian, they demanded to search the home, and Milda laughed, telling them they were welcome to look anywhere they’d like.

  It was a lucky thing I’d come to Milda’s home without any possessions, only the clothes I was now wearing and my father’s shoulder bag. It was always at my side, except for when I slept. Milda had offered to find me a change of clothing when she had more time, but I was glad she hadn’t done so yet.

  If only there were something in my father’s bag powerful enough to help Milda, who I knew was in grave danger upstairs. I knew how hard the Cossacks had looked for me, and that was for a single book. Milda had hundreds down here. What if it wasn’t simply my father’s book they wanted? What if they wanted all these books?

  As the Cossacks moved into another room for their search, I crept down the ladder and used the oil lamp to look over the different volumes, wondering what their titles said. All these books had somehow come to Milda. Some of them must have been carried by my father. She said she’d been expecting him.

  This was my parents’ work, these books. I was surrounded by their secrets, their risks. How many times had I wished that my father would just tell me the truth of where he went at night? How often had I wished to be as brave as him, as determined as my mother?

  And when Milda had asked for my help, I’d refused her. I wasn’t brave like Papa, and my only determination had been to refuse the very work my parents had literally dedicated their lives to doing. I’d failed my parents.

  I wandered into the secret school room and picked up a square piece of chalkboard, then used the chalk to scrawl the letter A onto the black surface. It wasn’t as elegant and straight as the A’s I’d seen on the books in the other rooms, but it was recognizable.

  I didn’t know how to write the letter for my mother’s name—I’d never seen her do it. I assumed she could because I knew she could read. I’d asked her once if she would teach me, but she’d told me it would bring trouble into my life. Obviously she was right.

  My father could write too. He used to record the secrets of his tricks into a brown leather notebook, but I didn’t know where it was. Certainly not in my shoulder bag.

  His shoulder bag.

  My father’s name, Henri, started with two straight lines standing beside each other like twin trees in the forest, then connected by a shorter line. I didn’t know the name of the letter, but my A was almost the same as his, only the tops of the trees in my A touched, like the branches had decided to grow together and become one.

  I drew his letter next to mine, then made a small forest of the letters. Papa would say to avoid the forest, that it was full of thieves like Lukas, and villains like the Cossack policemen who hunted them. But I thought it was a nice picture anyway.

  Then a loud sound clattered overhead. Glass shattered with it and I froze, wondering what had happened. Was Milda all right? Was she hurt or arrested? Would they do to her what they had done to my parents and then light this place on fire? I’d be trapped!

  As quietly as possible, I looked around the room. A curtain hung against one wall, likely concealing some storage, but at least I could hide in there. I pulled it aside and was surprised to see a small passageway leading away from Milda’s home. More secret places?

  I started down that way, then jumped when I rounded a bend and saw a girl a year or two younger than myself crouched in the corner. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and tears streamed down her face. As frightened as I was, she looked so much worse that I immediately forgot my own worries and knelt beside her.

  “It’s all right,” I whispered. “What’s your name?”

  “Roze.”

  “Like the flower?” I forced a smile to my face, hoping to calm her. “My father used to call me rue, another flower, but my name is Audra. What are you doing here?”

  “I forgot something earlier today.”

  “You were here at the school earlier?” When had Milda found time today to teach down here?

  Roze added, “We’re not supposed to come if we see soldiers, but they weren’t here when I came.”

  My heart pulsed with anticipation. Roze hadn’t come through Milda’s house … which meant there was another entrance. An escape for us!

  “Can you show me how you came in?” I asked.

  “They’ll see me,” Roze said. “They’ll see this.” She lifted a book, then tucked it beneath her legs, as if to hide it.

  “They won’t see us,” I said, lifting her to her feet. “I’ll protect you, but you must show me the way out of here.”

  Roze sniffed, then stuffed the book inside the sack she was carrying, carefully covering it with a shawl. Then she took my hand and led me through the corridor and up another ladder. I went first and came through a door on a hinge attached to a floor. When I passed through it, I was in a tiny room surrounded by garden tools.

  A shed! Milda’s shed in the back of her home. This was how her students came and went from her secret school.

  I pushed the door open but couldn’t tell if the Cossacks were still in Milda’s house, so I closed it again and crouched on the floor, my back against the door should they try to come search in here. At least if they burned Milda’s home, we wouldn’t be trapped beneath it.

  “How long will we be here?” Roze asked.

  I shrugged. We’d stay here until I was certain it was safe to leave, and the way my heart was still pounding, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  Roze folded her legs up to her chest. “I’m scared, Audra.”

  She looked so near to crying that I began to worry she would make noise and call attention to our presence here. I was about to cry myself, but that would make things worse. For both our sakes, we needed something else to think about.

  I dug into my father’s bag and pulled out a Russian coin that Milda had given me that morning, holding it flat on my open palm. “See this?”

  Roze nodded, looking slightly confused.

  “Watch it carefully.” I closed my fist around the coin, then moved it around in a circle. At one point, as she was distracted, I secretly transferred the coin to my left hand and held it safe. I stopped rotating my right hand and said, “Do you believe in magic, Roze?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes!”

  According to my father, it was the answer that children always gave. He once said he felt bad about asking that question because he knew they were only tricks. I understood that now. But I had to keep up the ruse.

  So with a smile, I opened my fist, and she saw the coin had disappeared.

  “Where did it go?” she asked, her smile beaming with surprise.

  I reached for her ear with my left hand, letting the coin rub for just a moment against her skin, then pulled it to where she could see it. “It was hiding in your ear!”

  Roze touched her ear, likely checking for other coins, but delighted by such a simple trick. “It is magic!” she said.

  I put the coin in her hands. “It is. Because this is a special coin, full of powers. Whoever holds it gets extra courage.”

  “To be quiet while the Cossacks are outside,” Roze whispered.

  I nodded, watching Roze close her own fist around the coin and bring it to her chest.

  Several minutes later, Milda knocked on the door of the shed in the same patterned knock Lukas had used when we first came to her home. I stood and opened the door and Roze rushed past me to give Milda a hug.

  Milda’s dress had a tear in the sleeve, but she seemed all right otherwise. I decided to ask her about it later, when it was just the two of us.

  “Audra kept me safe,” Roze said, then whispered, “and she has magic that kept your books safe.”

  Milda eyed me, but I glanced away, embarrassed and hoping she wouldn’t ask me to explain myself.

  “Magic?” she asked. “Same as your father, I assume.”

  I took a deep breath and spoke as quickly as possible to ensure I got through the sentence.

  “That book my father promised to deliver. I think he would’ve wanted me to say yes, that I’d carry it for him.”

  Milda tilted her head. “What changed your mind?”

  My heart began pounding at what I’d just agreed to do, but I’d made the offer and wasn’t about to back down from it. “If I cannot trade a book for my parents’ return, then I’ll deliver a book in their honor. Just this once.”

  While Milda smiled at me, Roze touched my arm, then gave me back the coin. “Here,” she whispered. “It gives a person extra courage. I think you’re going to need it.”

  I’d expected Milda would send me out with the book right away, but she didn’t. Instead, after my ankle was fully healed, she set a spurgos in my hands. Freshly baked, it smelled of fruit and was covered in powdered sugar. I lifted it to my nose and the warm scent made my mouth water. Then she folded her arms, waiting to see what I’d do with it.

  What was I supposed to do? I wanted to eat it, but when I started to, she clicked her tongue and said, “I’ve got to be sure you’re ready to transport a book for me.”

  I showed her the pastry, wondering if this was another of Milda’s false acts of insanity, or if she really was a bit unbalanced. “Milda, this isn’t a book. You can’t eat a book and I definitely want to eat this.”

  She smiled. “This spurgos is not for eating. It’s a test, to see how you will do in getting past the Cossacks.”

  “Why do they want the books?” I asked. “What do the books say?”

  Milda frowned. “Don’t you know?”

  I blinked back at her. Papa used to say that whenever I did that, he knew I was finished with a conversation, and the same was true now. Rather than answer Milda’s question, I held out the spurgos. “What should I do with this?”

  “Go to the end of this village and back again. If anyone asks what you are carrying, you must give them the pastry. Come back and tell me how far you got.”

  I didn’t see why it mattered, but I did as Milda asked, folding my hands over the dessert and walking onto the street. It was market day so the streets were full. I’d no sooner reached the road in front of Milda’s home before I happened to see Roze, the same girl who’d been hiding in Milda’s secret school. Recognizing me, she ran forward, sniffed the air, then said, “Something smells so good. What is it?”

  I sighed and opened my hands to show her what I had. “You can have it.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

  “I suppose.” Once she’d accepted the spurgos, I turned back to Milda’s home, where she was already waiting at the door with another one.

  “Try again.”

  “Milda, these smell wonderful. Too wonderful!”

  “Don’t they? To the end of the village and back again. Now go.”