Torch by Lyn Miller-Lachmann

Author:Lyn Miller-Lachmann [Miller-Lachmann, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction-Young Adult, Fiction, young adult fiction, historical fiction, Czechoslovakia, Soviet Union, 1960s, Prague Spring, friendship, communism, Central Europe, resistance, Asperger's, autistic author, LGBTQIA+
ISBN: 9781728468235
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2022-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15: Lída

Ondřej recovered slowly, but by the first Monday in June he was strong enough to join Lída at work. His weeks at the hospital had weaned him from drink, and while he was gone, Lída had cleared all the bottles from the house and searched the woods for any that he might have hidden. His color and appetite improved, and he seemed to sleep better. Perhaps his weakness and fatigue after surgery helped to keep his nightmares at bay. He asked about Štěpán, but she only told him that Štěpán had moved on—nothing about the spilled paint, the blood, and the message on the lamppost. In his fragile state, she didn’t want to upset him.

I’ve become the parent, and he the child. Who had become her parent, the one to whom she’d revealed her pregnancy but not the name of the father?

The State.

The kind doctor.

The clerks who processed her paperwork for maternity leave, infant daycare at the factory, extra ration coupons, and a spot on the apartment waiting list.

The Communist leaders who made the rules.

On that first Monday back, one of them waited for her and her father after work, leaning against a vaguely familiar green Škoda station wagon across the street from the shoe factory. He was a potbellied man of medium height dressed in a business suit, with gray hair and a bushy mustache. Crinkles around the corner of his eyes deepened when he called out, “Ahoj, Ondřej!”

“Franta!” The two men embraced and slapped each other’s backs.

They separated and the man patted Ondřej’s belly. Though not flat, it had shrunk a lot since his surgery. “Glad you’re feeling better, Comrade Brother!”

One of Ondřej’s war buddies? Because that was how they addressed each other—kamarád rather than soudruh.

“Nothing’s killed off this old goat yet,” Ondřej said.

“And nothing will. This your lovely daughter?”

With a shudder Lída shrank backward. War buddies had wandering hands. Too many old men did.

“Yes, that’s Lída.”

The man held out his hand. “František Kuchař. Your father and I go way back. He saved my life more than once.”

Kuchař. Tomáš’s father—who had taken credit for the magnificent train display in the children’s room of the library, which she’d finally seen during her lunch break last week. The same Party leader who’d hired Ondřej to teach Tomáš to drive and paid with the tastiest bread and butter in Rozcestí. She missed the bread’s thick, chewy crust and soft insides, the sweet butter that melted in her mouth.

He’d taken care of them. He’d also collaborated with the Soviet occupiers and spread lies about Pavol. Did he have anything to do with Štěpán’s kidnapping? Her head buzzed like a hive of disturbed bees.

“Come. I’ll give you a ride,” the man said.

Palms sweaty, Lída opened the passenger-side door, climbed over the folded-down front seat into the back, and drew her knees to her belly. The car smelled of tobacco, sweat, and leather. She pressed her hand to the worn reddish-brown seat. Underneath, the springs squeaked.

An anxious pang pierced her. The baby twitched.

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