Memories from The Motherland

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin.

I hadn’t seen snow like this since fleeing Russia with my mama and sestra 13 years ago. My eyes welled up, overwhelmed by the familiarity of the scenery and of the life we left behind. Flashes from my childhood flooded into my mind. Papa kissing my forehead, my babushka tucking a scarf tightly into my coat before sending me out with Dasha, my little sister. We would walk a half mile to fetch bread and butter from the neighbors, offering them a heavy satchel in exchange.

“Well, we made it!” Kylan announced as he placed the car in park and turned off the ignition, startling me back to the present moment. “And it looks like we are the first ones here.”

Opening the door, a blast of fresh mountain air engulfed my senses. I inhaled deeply and let out an elongated sigh, watching as my breath crystalized into a fine mist and wafted away into the alpine wonderland.

The snow crunched nostalgically beneath my feet as I sauntered around to the trunk to grab my duffle. Kylan put the key in the door, and with a hearty push, it creaked open.

“Wow! Rebecca, wait until you see this!” He crossed the threshold and stomped his boots to shake off the snow.

I locked the car and made my way up the half buried front steps to the cabin. “Let’s call dibs on the loft!” I exclaimed as my eyes traveled to the peak of the A-frame. A beautiful wooden banister made from sanded tree limbs wrapped around the elevated platform and led to a narrow stairwell in the far-right side of the cabin. Centered in the main room was a large wood burning stove with beautiful, ornate rugs and floor pillows circling around it.

“I won’t argue with that!” Kylan replied as he climbed the stairs to the loft. A loud thud cushioned by a squeak resounded as he tested the comfort of the bed. “Oh yeah… now this is my kind of getaway.”

I giggled and shook my head as I took off my boots and switched into woolen socks and house slippers. I sat down in front of the wood burning stove and swung open the sturdy iron door by the sculpted golden handle. I began building the fire, starting with some light kindling, gradually adding twigs and small branches, until I was able to place in a couple of logs that would keep the house warm for several hours.

“Whoa! How’d you do that so fast?” Kylan inquired.

“I was the fire tender in my home growing up.” I replied, getting pulled into memory. As my eyes transfixed on the flames, I remembered mama boiling water for pine needle tea atop the wood stove, and we would sing songs and listen to stories for an hour or so before bed, long after the sun had gone down during our long and dark winters. Melodies of Slavic lullabies floated in my ears when I realized Kylan was talking.

“Rebecca… did you hear me?” he asked, glancing at me sideways.

“Oh, no- what did you say?” I replied sheepishly, swinging my braided thick, black hair to drape over my shoulder.

“I just asked if you are okay. You seem quieter than usual.”

“Oh, I’m fine, just tired from the drive.” I replied flatly.

“Okay, well you probably have time for a rest before Tara and Logan get here.” Kylan looked at me tenderly, and it made me want to tell him about my life before- about what I’ve been through, and about why I have a hard time getting close to people. But instead, I just said, “That’s probably a good idea,” and I retired to the loft.

I awoke to the sound of a car honking outside the window. Swiveling my legs off the quilted bed, I pressed my bare feet lightly onto the glossy oak floor. I met my gaze in an antique mirror positioned above the dresser across from me. At first, I nearly didn’t recognize myself. My gray blue eyes stared back at me piercingly, taunting me to reconnect with the person I once was- but I buried her long ago. Even still, I could see her, behind the polished mask, hair like golden threads, braided in two, one cascading over each shoulder. As she faded back into the recesses of my mind, I was again faced with my current reflection, and the woman I had become, the new name I had taken, hair jet black, and eyes that carried a deep loss.

The door clambered open and jovial voices exclaiming greetings resounding through the cabin snapped me quickly to attention. Forcing a smile, I stood up with resolve and darted over the railing. “Well, hello down there!” I chanted with a friendly wave.

A mop of blazing red curls that shone like embers, sprung out wildly from beneath a beanie cap. Tara quickly twisted to look up at me and I was greeted by her shining eyes and a beaming smile so bright that I forgot my former melancholy. “Rebecca! It’s so good to see you! That balcony setting suits you, your highness!”

I blushed, and politely waved off her compliment saying, “Oh you just know how to flatter a girl, don’t you!”

Just then, Logan slid across the shiny wooden floor in his wool socks, nearly tackling Tara. Towering over her, he wrapped his arm across her shoulder and looked up to greet me. “You ready to get this party started?!” he shouted up to me playfully. I shook my head with a sideways grin and started down the stairs.

After catching up for hours over a warm dinner and a bottle of wine, we all decided to go outside to look at the stars. The night was clear, and the moon was but a sliver.

We huddled together, staring up into the navy sky, watching our exhales intermingle and float up into the heavens. It reminded of something my babushka used to say. “God’s fingernail” I nearly whispered.

“Did you say something, Becca?” Kylan had me tucked inside his coat, and his arms wrapped around me as my back pressed into his chest.

“God’s fingernail.” I repeated. “The moon – That’s what my grandmother would say whenever the moon was waning like this. She said it was one of the ways He let us know He was still holding us in his hands, but that he was so big, we could only see one of his fingernails.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.” Kylan squeezed me tightly and I could feel both the warmth of his love, and the warmth of the alcohol pumping through my body.

Just then Tara blurted out “Oh nooooo...” and then she burst out in laughter. She had dropped her wine glass and the snow was stained with deep red. “Should I lick it up?” she laughed. “Like wine ice cream!”

I jerked reactively at the sight. I felt my body get tight, and I started to feel dizzy.

“I think I need to sit down” I gasped. I broke free from Kylan and tripped up the stairs ferally, resembling someone running from a bear in the woods.

I collapsed to all fours in front of the fire and tried to catch my breath. My vision went hazy, and I could hear my papa’s voice echoing in the deep recesses of my mind. So far away at first, but it grew louder and louder until it was as though he was right there in the room with me.

“Stasia” he said, clasping my cheeks in his hand and staring into my eyes intently, trying to mask the panic. “Go hide with your sister – to the place in the woods – where we found those mushrooms on your 12th birthday last spring. Do you remember?”

“I remember papa, but why?”

“There is no time to explain. I love you, my little fox, and I always will. Now go.”

Do you remember? Do you remember? Do you remember? My fathers voice echoing over and over like a record player skipping.

“Rebecca! Rebecca!” My vision started to come back, and Kylan was holding my shoulders shaking me gently. Rebecca, oh my God are you okay? What happened?” he said with a bewildered and fearful expression.

The concerned faces of Tara and Logan were looking down at me. As Kylan helped me to sit up, Tara handed me a glass of water. I took the glass into my hands and began to weep.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore. I can’t keep forgetting.” I said while gasping through sobs.

“Pretending- Rebecca, what are trying to say?” Kylan asked with loving curiosity.

My eyes darted back and forth between the faces of my friends staring back at me. These were my closest friends, and I wanted to trust them.

Still, an urgent voice tugged at me not to speak about the past – that it was better left behind, buried as it had been for many years, nearly forgotten. Something about this place, tucked deep in the woods, the wood burning crackling, the snow stained with crimson- everything came flooding back like just waking from a nightmare.

Though the urge to suppress was strong, my desire for freedom, connection and authenticity was stronger still.

“That’s not my name.” I said weakly.

“Rebecca?” Kylan repeated as he glanced to Tara and Logan, grasping for footing in someone else’s mind. They had none to give.

“Yes. That’s not my name.” I said with more conviction. “My name is Stasia, well Anastasia, named after my grandmother on my father’s side.”

“Anastasia…?” queried Tara, followed with a long silence.

Placing the cup of water down, I turned to the wood stove and opened the door, feeling the heat radiate onto my face, and watched as the coals flickered and glowed, like a dance with the elements. I signed in surrender and poked them around as I began to tell my story.

“I grew up in Russia, not far from Belarus. My family were farmers. We lived down a long, dirt road, with plenty of space between us and the neighbors. We had a happy life. A simple life. I lived with my mama, papa, little sister and babushka. One day, when I was 12, everything changed.”

I was encouraged to continue by a nod from Tara.

“We were all sitting down at the wooden table, preparing to eat when I saw headlights glimmering through the falling snow way down the road. It was rare to ever have company by car, especially at this hour.

Papa spun fast in his chair to look out the window. Quickly afterwards, he shot a look to mama who ran into the other room. I heard some shuffling of drawers and the sound of furniture being moved. She came out of the room with a handful a papers and threw them into the fire.

My sister Dasha, who was 9 at the time, cried out with worry, “What’s going on mama? Who is it?”

“It’s no one sweetie” she said as she placed a knitted hat onto Dasha’s head so just her big blue eyes stared wildly from beneath the brim.

Bushka picked up her knitting and went to sit in the rocking chair by the wood stove.

Mama told me to grab my coat and I did as she asked. She was zipping up Dasha’s when my papa called to me.

“Come here, Stasia,” he said to me calmly. Taking my face in his hands he told me to take Dasha and go hide in the woods. To take her to this special place we had found on my birthday. He asked me if I remembered it.

I said yes but asked him why? Why did we need to go hide?

He told me there was no time to explain. He said he loved me, and then told me to go.

I looked at him long and gave him a hug, then looked to mama who nodded at me. She was pouring tea into a couple of mugs, and I think I saw a tear on her cheek. Bushka smiled at me warmly and told us to hurry along and that everything would be alright.

I took Dasha by the hand and we headed out the back door across the fields that were frozen over from the heavy snow. We made it to the edge of the wood just as the car was arriving at the house.

I turned to look back when I heard the car doors slam shut in unison.

I couldn’t make it out all that well with the snow and dimming light, but it looked like at least three men walking up towards the house, and they appeared to have rifle barrels protruding above their right shoulders.

Turning back towards the forest, we stepped onto the narrow deer trail that headed towards the stream a hundred yards further. From there we would make a left and follow the stream until we reached a grove of Fir trees with a large stump within them.

The light was much dimmer in the thick cover of the trees, so we kept stumbling over fallen branches buried by the snow. Dasha let out a whimper when she fell to all fours. I picked her up and made sure she was alright, brushing the snow off her hands.

Just as we got to the grove of Firs, a thunderous cracking sound ricocheted through the forest. The birds perched among the branches cawed wildly and took flight, and then everything went silent.

Neither Dasha nor I moved a muscle for what felt like a small eternity. I just remember the sickening feeling that my life had changed forever. “

I looked up from the fire and saw the faces of my friends staring at me with complete shock. I was afraid they would never see me the same – and that everything would change for the worse once again.

As I felt the sting of tears welling in my eyes, a hand squeezed my shoulder, and then I was being embraced from behind with a strong hug.

“Wow Rebecca, I mean… Stasia?” Tara said, reaching for my hand and giving it a tender squeeze. “That must have been so scary… I’m afraid to ask. What happened next?”

I smiled at my friends for offering their love and compassion.

“Well, after we heard the car drive off, we ran back to the house. Mama and Bushka’s eyes were swollen with tears. Papa was gone. I asked where he was, and they both shook their heads at me, heads hung low. I ran out the front door and I called for him frantically. “Papa!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. That’s when I saw it. The snow stained with blood. There was a trail of it leading to where the car had parked. I started sobbing fearing the worse.”

“Oh, Becca… what happened?” Kylan asked with concern.

“He had been shot and arrested on suspicion of conspiring against the government. Momma swore it wasn’t true.

He made mama promise she would leave Russia with us and start new lives in America where we could be free. Bushka couldn’t bear to leave, so she stayed, praying every day for his release. I don’t know if he is alive or dead. Mama said to believe he is dead. She said I should forget about it all.

Within 3 days, we had left Russia, crossing the border to Belarus in the night. Within 2 months, we were living in America, with new names. I’ve tried to ask mama questions, but she won’t answer any of them. I just wish I knew what really happened.

And Dasha, I rarely speak to. She goes by Brittney now, and she lives halfway across the country. She seems to be happy. “

I paused looking down.

“I’m happy too, though. I fought it for a while, until I was 14 or so. But one day, I just decided I had to move on, as mama did, and pretend it was something that happened to someone else. Since then, I have been fully committed to being Rebecca, a girl who grew up on a farm in Kansas. Sometimes I will have dreams about my papa. I will see his face, and I will hear babushkas voice singing us lullabies as she knits. But mostly, they are just a dream, like a story someone told me as a girl…”

“Thank you so much for telling us.” Logan said. “I feel like I know you so much better now.” Tara nodded in agreement as she nuzzled in under Logan’s arm.

Kylan brushed my hair away from my face and gave me a kiss upon my forehead. “You are remarkable, you know that? As Rebecca, or Stasia… what should I call you?”

“Anastasia is so pretty” chimed in Tara.

“It means Resurrection…” I replied wistfully.

“Pretty fitting…” Tara exclaimed “But I love Rebecca too!”

Now that I’d spoke the truth about my past, I wasn’t sure who I wanted to be. The action was so compulsive, I hadn’t fully considered the consequences of being faced with a crossroads such as this.

Were we still in hiding after all these years? Would it even be safe to reclaim my identity? Is that even what I wanted?

I decided right then and there that I was done hiding and burying the past. I was ready to step into life on my terms, come what may.

“Anastasia.” I declared. “My name is Anastasia.”

Just hearing my voice say it aloud, I could feel lost pieces of myself scattered to years past, flying back to me. I felt whole again for the first time since leaving the motherland.