Her Mother's Garden

Second lives aren't always the safest, Marha learned that the hard way. A war is coming. A Great War, the second one, fought by both demigods and men. Now comes the big question: what do you do when your world is falling apart around you, and it's all your Godly father's fault? She isn't so sure, yet. (SI/OC)

October eighth, 1939, brought Dimitri hurrying into the family home, Marharytka sat at the dining room table, spoon-feeding Sonya applesauce. Her mama told her she wasn't supposed to anymore, but she was tired of cleaning up her mess, so she figured one spoon-feeding won't completely ruin her ability to feed herself.

"Marha," she turned her attention to her father, "is your mama home? Is Leo?"

"Leo is at his friend's house," she placed the spoon on the table, "mama's in the garden. Is there something wrong?"

Instead of responding, he kissed Sonya's forehead and places a calloused hand on Marharytka's shoulder, "Go pack your things, Margaritka." He picked the toddler up from her seat at the table and placed her on his hip.

Her stomach flipped. She hadn't heard that pet name, Daisy in Russian, since the day Sonya was born. Dimitri and her didn't always get along, but he loved her like she was one of his own, and Margaritka was his way of saying so.

So why did he feel the need to call her it now?

Frowning in confusion, she put the spoon in the sink and the applesauce in the refrigerator, and made her way to her room.

There were only three bedrooms in the house — her parent's room, her room, and Leonid's room. Sonya slept in her parent's closet, which was just big enough to make for a makeshift toddler's room. She was relishing in her little sister free room until Sonya got too big for the closet.

Marhaytka grabbed a suitcase she used when the family visited her Babusya Olena in Ukraine last year. Both Russia and Ukraine were run by the Soviets, which Babusya Olena hated. She spoke of them like a disease, which she supposed was deserved. Uncle Oleksander was taken by Soviet soldiers in the middle of the night, and her mama believed him to be dead.

Dead. That was such a big word. Sure, she had died before, but by now she hardly remembered it. Just pain and the metallic scent, like a handful of wet pennies. No, this dead was real. Uncle Oleksander's death was real. He wasn't coming back.

Pushing her thoughts away, she packed what she did last year — two dresses, three shirts, three skirts, two nightgowns, an extra pair of shoes, several pairs of stockings, and a few books she planned on reading. (She didn't pack any underthings, her mama always kept hers in her own suitcase, because they had to be 'treated with care'.)

Her mama peeked her head in, looked at what she had packed, pressed her lips together, and sighed, "You need more clothes."

Marhaytka blinked at her mama, "What?"

"We're going to be gone for a while, Marha." She then left, leaving her alone with her questions.

Where were they going? Why were they're leaving?

Eyebrows pinched together, she added two more dresses, one more shirt, and another skirt. She grabbed her book bag from her desk and emptied it, placing her books, extra pair of shoes, and a few stockings then she ran out of room. Then, fearing that she would get mind-numbingly bored on the trip, she included a blank book, a fountain pen, and a pencil.

It was then Dimitri who entered her room, eyeing her two bags, then nodded. "We're going to your Babuysa's."

"I thought that was a summer vacation only?"

He sighed, running a hand down his face in pure exhaustion, "Marha, what do you know of Germany?"

An odd question, but she still answered, "They are in Europe, like us. They were the ones who caused the Great War."

She knew they didn't single-handedly cause it, but this was Russia, and their education was biased.

"Yes, Marha. And they have caused another one."

Marhaytka's mind whirled with that information. Another one? Another war? Another —

Oh. Oh. How could she have forgotten? It was 1939, World War II was happening! She lived in Europe, which was heavily affected by the —

Hitler was alive! He was alive when she was alive. The Holocaust was happening at this very second. Somehow, in her years of molding herself to Marhaytka and not Dani, the fact that there was a second war brewing passed her mind.

Were they safe? She knew little about European affairs, only what America did and Pearl Harbour and stuff. What happened to Russia? What happened to Ukraine? Were they safer in Russia or would that get taken over by Nazis? Was Ukraine their salvation or demise?

"Marha, calm down," she could feel her breaths come out in short pants, like her lungs weren't functioning. She couldn't think straight. How could she have been so stupid? So naive? "Lida!"

She could smell her mama's perfume, a floral scent, probably rose, and feel her nimble fingers rubbing up and down her back. She focused on the feeling. The feeling of the harsh air entering her lungs. Anything to get her heart to stop hammering, and for her mind to calm down.

It took five minutes of hyperventilating for her breathing to finally become normal. Her eyes focused on Mama's face, the blue of her eyes, the light color of her hair. She sniffed, "Sorry." Her voice was croaky.

"You have no reason to be," a kiss was pressed into her forehead. "Now, why don't you go play with Sonya, hm? Dimitri is going to get your brother."

"Why are we going to Ukraine?"

The adults shared a look, "It's safer there, and we need to watch out for Babusya."

"What about Babushka?"

His face crumbled at the mention of his mother, "She still has my father and sisters with her, your Babusya is all alone."

"Oh," her voice came out bland, she shook herself out of it. She was supposed to be a six-year-old, unaware of the horrors happening a few countries away, unaware of the implications of another war. "Do I need to pack for Sonya?"

"No, baby," her mama smiled, "I'll do it for her. Just go play, okay?"

She did. She picked Sonya up, making a very dramatic umph noise, since the three-year-old was getting very heavy, and carried her off to her bedroom, where she sat her sister down and grabbed a few dolls.

"No, Sonya," she pulled the yellow wool (supposed to be blonde hair) from the girl's mouth, making a face at the slobber on it, "you're so gross."

"You did the same," Leonid was standing at her doorway, "you'd put anything in your mouth."

"That's so gross, too."

Marharytka hated the train rides. Sure, it was worth it when she got to see Babusya and climb the big European oak tree in her backyard, but sitting for hours on the uncomfortable seat and having to deal with a wailing Sonya for half the ride wasn't fun.

Plus, with much sadness, they had to leave the kitties at home. Their neighbor, Igor, said he would take good care of them until they returned.

It took somewhere between fourteen and fifteen hours on several trains to get to Ukraine, then another ten minutes or so to get from the train station to her mother's childhood home. Sonya took turns sitting on each of their laps, and when Marharytka's butt hurt too much, she would sometimes sit on her mama's lap.

She hadn't really thought of what she'd become since that first month of waking up. She acted her age — her body's age — and hid the mature part of her mind away in order to blend in.

She adapted. She had to, how else was she supposed to survive being a child in the 30s? And it's gotten to the point where she can't even remember what acting her mental age felt like.

The memories of her past life are blurry, at best. She remembers the name Dani, but not what it was short for, and not what her last name was. Her first life's family blurred away into nothing, and she had the faint remembrance of red coating her hands.

"You're thinking hard," Marharytka's head turned towards her mother, who held a sleeping Sonya in her lap, "just like your father. He always thought harder than needed, such a wise man."

Her eyes widened, facing towards her mama, "My father?" She hadn't heard a word of him since the meeting, "The man?"

Lida nodded, running a finger over the brown curls adorning Sonya's head, "Your father. I… was enchanted by him. I was naive, only reaching twenty when I had you." Marharytka must have had a weird look on her face, for her mama quickly back-peddled. "Not that I regret you, love, I will never regret having you —"

"I know, Mama."

She gave a nod, blue eyes focusing on the quickly passing scenery out the window. "He warned me. This war… it is not as everyone thinks. I just… I just only hope he is wrong."

Marharytka curled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. She knew her mama was not all here, because she didn't scold her for putting her shoes on the seat. "What did you tell you?"

Lida did not answer for such a long time, she was afraid she would not answer, "Your brothers —" Marharytka's eyes went straight to a snoring Leonid "— your father's sons. They are fighting against your cousins. Your father thinks it will end in tragedy for you."

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. She was having trouble, her butt sore against the seat, and her mother's word swirled around her head like a blizzard.

She dreamt again for the first time since Sonya's birth. This dream was a lot less cold, but instead, it smelt of flowers and the pleasant scent of cookies baking.

"Nico! Where are you?" A girl spoke, in what seemed to be… Portuguese? Italian, maybe? "Nico! Nico!"

The world around her spun, until she found herself standing in what seemed to be a living room. An olive-skinned girl with silky dark hair. She looked to be no older than five or six, freckled cheeks checking under a rather lavish sofa or behind a bookshelf, "Nico, come out, come out wherever you are…"

Marharytka was not aware she understood what language they spoke, but she did, or maybe it was just the dream. Nonetheless, she watched the girl check over the sitting room, until she found the small form of a boy, looking to be a few years younger, hiding behind the curtain.

"I found you!" The boy, Nico, giggled, a grin overtaking his face. The two looked alike, the same skin color, eyes, and hair, but Nico lacked the freckles dotting his face. But still, it was obvious the two were related. "You are getting good at hiding."

"I know!" Nico's voice was tinted with pure excitement, "Do you wanna hide now, Bianca?"

Bianca nodded, but before she could, a woman entered the room. She looked just like Bianca, without the freckles, but to the point, she was sure that if you glanced at Bianca at that age, they would be near-identical. "Not now, my loves," the woman spoke, "the cookies are ready. and I have a feeling your father will be here soon."

Marharytka was shaken awake, finding her head pressed against the window and Leonid stood before her. "We're here," he helped her up, allowing her to brush herself off before continuing, "Papa said we will not go by train again, Uncle Antin borrowed an automobile to drive us."

She frowned, her mind foggy from sleep and the dream to figure out what she meant, until her eyes widened and she looked outside the window, as if she was going to see him right there. "Aunt Katryna? I thought she lived in America?"

"Mama —" He had started to call Lida mama too, shortly after Sonya's birth, "— said she has come back, after hearing of Uncle Oleksander. Her, her husband, and their children."

Marharytka had never met her cousins before. Her Aunt Katryna had left for America before she was controlling this body, during those three years when she watched as a second-party. She knew they had four children, with a set of twins as the youngest, because one of the twins was named Olena, which was her middle name, both after Babusya.

And she felt bad. She knew it was safer for them in America. Brooklyn, New York, where the war hardly touched. No one would take the words of a child seriously, but she wanted to tell them. Ukraine was unknown, she knew Germany invaded a majority of Europe, like Poland, but not Ukraine.

She should have paid better attention to history.