Page 160 (1/2)

Not, not mine: it’s somebody else’s wound I could never have borne it So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground Whisk the laht

—ANNA AKHMATOVA, FROM POEMS OF AKHMATOVA, TRANSLATED BY STANLEY KUNITZ, WITH MAX HAYWARD

Prologue

On the banks of the hty Columbia River, in this icy season when every breath became visible, the orchard called Belye Nochi was quiet Dormant apple trees stretched as far as the eye could see, their sturdy roots coiled deep in the cold, fertile soil As temperatures plummeted and color drained from land and sky, the whitened landscape caused a kind of winter blindness, one day beca froze, turned fragile

Nowhere were the cold and quiet more noticeable than in Meredith Whitson’s own house At twelve, she had already discovered the eed for her fa looked perfect and everyone got along No one, not even her beloved father, understood how alone she often felt within these four walls, how invisible

But toe

She had come up with a brilliant plan She had written a play based on one of her mother’s fairy tales, and she would present it at the annual Christ that would happen on an episode of The Partridge Family

“How come I can’t be the star?” Nina whined It was at least the tenth time she’d asked this question since Meredith had finished the script

Meredith turned around in her chair and looked down at her nine-year-old sister, as crouched on the wooden floor of their bedrooreen castle on an old bedsheet

Meredith bit her lower lip, trying not to frown The castle was too ain, Nina?”

“But why can’t I be the peasant girl who marries the prince?”

“You knohy Jeff is playing the prince and he’s thirteen You’d look silly next to him”

Nina put her paintbrush in the empty soup can and sat back on her heels With her short black hair, bright green eyes, and pale skin, she looked like a perfect little pixie “Can I be the peasant girl next year?”

“You bet” Meredith grinned She loved the idea that shea family tradition All of her friends had traditions, but not the Whitsons, they had always been different There was no stream of relatives who ca or ham on Easter, no prayers that were always said Heck, they didn’t even know for sure how old their mom was

It was because Mom was Russian, and alone in this country Or at least that hat Dad said Mo about herself