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)

Major content warning moving on, this is when the story starts to dive head-first into the heavy history of WWII, Nazis, and the forced slave labor of Ukrainian people. I research heavily for this, but I do not know everything, and if I get anything wrong, please tell me. As previously mentioned, I am not writing the antisemitism or the Holocaust, but instead the slave labor.

Babusya's house was not big enough for the twelve of them, with Babusya getting her own bedroom, the four adults sharing, and the seven children shared the biggest between all of them.

Aunt Katryna had three sons — Maxim, thirteen; Petro, eleven; Sacha, six — and one daughter, Olena, who is Sacha's twin. Leonid had just turned eleven, Sonya was three, and she was eight. The girls shared one mattress, since there were only three of them, one a toddler, but the four boys had two mattresses between them, Maxim and Petro on one and Sacha and Leonid on another.

Uncle Antin claimed they were only saying for the winter, then they would go back home to Brooklyn and pray that Oleksander would return safely. But the hushed whispers between the four parents, which could be heard from the thin walls (they had to fill in a few words, but Maxim was good at that) let the kids know that it was still in question when they would really leave.

Sacha and Olena sat on the opposite side of the room, playing with Sonya, as Maxim and Petro (the eldest and therefore the ones in charge) had decided they were too young to eavesdrop.

"Germany has taken Poland," Dimitri had said only days after the train ride, "USSR is a rumored ally to Germany, Britain, and France has declared war." His voice was so quiet she could hardly hear him, and it didn't help his Ukrainian was paired with a heavy Russian accent. And it was choppy, it still wasn't his best language, even if being with Lida had helped.

"We have all been keeping up with the news," Uncle Antin had a gruff voice, but he spoke Ukrainian smoothly, like the native speaker he was. "We cannot afford to get trapped here. We will never make it home."

A long silence, then finally Aunt Katryna spoke, voice tense, "Will America not help?"

"None of us are American citizens. We may live there, but we are not their people."

"The twins were born on US soil…"

"So they take the twins and leave us to suffer," Maxim and his brother shared a look, both of their eyes (the same murky brown color) narrowing at the thought. They pressed their ear completely against the wall. Leo did the same, and feeling rather dumb for not doing so as well, Marharytka also pressed her ear against the cold plaster.

There was an even longer pause, until, softly, Aunt Katryna broke it once more, "Have you heard from Marha's father, Lida?"

Her cousins gave her an odd look, and she suspected they weren't aware she wasn't Dimitri's child, and Leonid furrowed his eyebrows together and narrowed his eyes, "He… yes."

"Lida —" It was Dimitri this time, his voice somehow both angry yet confused, "you never told me this."

"He says we have to leave. Leave Ukraine. He said he would find a way for Marha and me to go to America, that there is a… special place for her, in New York. That he has two other children in the States already."

Two other children? Marharytka frowned, she knew that her mama mentioned her having brothers on her father's side, but the confirmation that he spoke to them, helped them, caused a weird feeling to erupt in her stomach. She had only met him once.

"What about Sonya? Leo?"

"He said his daughter was his main priority."

Marharytka had never attended school before. She guess it was a good thing that she could attend school, (she knew that America had allowed girls since the 1800s, but when did Soviet Russia allow them?) but her family could only afford to send Leonid.

Lida could read and write Ukrainian, but not Russian, and Dimitri could read and write Russian, but not Ukrainian, and they had agreed to double teach her the two languages. They soon discovered that she just… couldn't read.

Any language, really. The words seemed to mix with each other, not even mistaking one letter for another. English was worse, somehow.

She had gotten her hands on one of Olena's learning to read nursery books from America, written in neat English letters, and though she recognized the alphabet from her past life, the words made little sense.

What Olena had recognized as before looked like breofe. The word alphabet was a mess of too many look-alike letters that it somehow managed to become a big blob before her eyes.

Marharytka couldn't read.

Her mother didn't know math. She was taught to read and write by her father, who was an Ukrainian college professor before his death, but she never did get to the numbers. Dimitri did know math, having attended a school himself, but found that her history as Dani, the girl who was taking algebra at a measly ten, quickly surpassed him with her post-calculus knowledge.

(She found she couldn't remember what Dani looked like… no matter how hard she tried.)

So she didn't attend Ukrainian school, even when every other child, sans Sonya, kissed their parent's cheek goodbye and walked. She sat on a low hanging branch of the oak tree, bundled up in several layers to go against the bitter wind.

"How is the view?" Marharytka looked down at her mama, blonde hair loose and just the beginning of purple under her eyes, a sleeping Sonya on her hip.

"Good," the branch was digging into her leg, she didn't move. "How long are we staying with Babusya? I miss my own room."

Mama smiled sadly, brushing a hand across Sonya's brown curls, "I don't know, baby. Sonya is big enough to share with you, isn't she?"

She frowned, "I guess," she angled her body downward, moving her legs and letting go, so she fell from the tree and onto her feet. It didn't hurt. "Are we going to America?"

Her mama hesitated, eyes glancing from her face to the snow and then back to her face. She could have been thinking what Marharytka had, when the news that her cousins were to be attending school here reached her: Why would they attend another school on their winter vacation? Were they not going back home?

"I wouldn't think so, Marha," she offered a hand, Marharytka took it, being lead until the indoors. Babusya had no heating, so a fire was kept alit to bring what little warmth was available, so everyone spent their free time in the sitting room or the connected dining room.

She took off her shaw and wool coat, but left on the long-sleeved jacket she wore on top of her dress. Her boots, now wet with snow, were placed on the drying rack, and she made a quick movement to the crackling fire to warm her frozen cheeks and hands.

She heard her mama, taking off her own layers for the cold, but not removing her boats. She made her way to the kitchen, where she was going to begin to make dinner. Aunt Katryna would typically join her, but she had walked to the small market to buy more vegetables for the borscht, and fish.

A widespread famine, which Babusya had called The Great Famine, six years ago still put the amount of food available in Ukraine on a rocky foundation. They weren't starving, but it was nowhere near the several meals a day they had in Russia. Especially not when there were twelve of them, and all of their money came from Dimitri, who somehow managed to get a job in a new country, and Uncle Antin's labor work.

Marharytka stayed in front of the fire. She had found one of her books and had it opened on her lap, using her finger to help her keep her place.

Her mama had given her the first book for her sixth birthday, then another one or two for every year. She had asked where her mama had found the book, because when she read the words, it looked to be English. British English, not the American that Olena had. She read it without trouble, no moved words or blobs where letters should be.

And they were all about Greek Myths. An odd topic, sure, to buy your Ukrainian daughter raised in Russia, especially considering these held nothing back. She was lucky there was a part of her who wasn't six years old, because… yikes.

And, to make matters worse, no one but her could read it! According to her family members, the letters were odd, never seen before (at least not by them), and were not, under any circumstance, English. Even Petro, by far the best English reader in the family, had nothing to offer when she showed it to him.

She never asked where her mama got her these books. She was afraid to ask. Especially since the God Hades… reminded her of her father.

(That had to be a conscience, she told herself, my father is not a God. Most likely, it is just a nickname… or a coincidence.)

But the thought never left her.

Even now, as she reread the story of Persephone's abduction, a weird feeling entered her body. It started in her stomach, churning like she was going to be ill, and followed up, causing her heart to pound and for sweat to appear on her brow. You are in danger. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. She was in danger.

Marharytka stopped reading.

"Marha!" Her mama called from the kitchen, shortly after she had risen up to put the book away, pale and shaky. How is she in danger? She wasn't doing anything particularly dangerous… and hadn't done anything detrimental to her health, lately. "Marha, come here, love."

She entered the kitchen, where her mama stood, staring out the window like something was troubling her. Marharytka frowned, taking a quick glance around the kitchen, as if searching for what had disturbed her. "Mama?"

"Your father called," she had forgotten Babusya had a mobile line, "I… have never gotten a phone call from him before. He says he wants to visit." Lida blinked, her eyes looking down at Marharytka, "He said your scent is getting stronger."

"What?" She sniffed herself — no smell, she had bathed that morning. "I do not… what?"

"They'll come for you, Marha, he told me. I can't keep you safe."

"Mama, I don't understand —"

Her mama was crying now, tearing wetting her cheeks, and she sobbed, a hand pressing against her chest, "He said… he said you have to go to America."

The churning of her stomach was back. She shook her head, "I'm not going."

"Marha —"

"No!" She went to saying something else, and it looked like Lida was going to interrupt her, but they were interrupted by a knocking ar the door.