My mother bore much in the Sakiai for my brother and I. Her darkest times were like an ogre-tale we all lived through. But on New Year’s morning when Pranciskis woke us to check the branches we had placed in the snow to tell our fortunes, there was worse to come.
All the branches stood upright, except for one – my mother’s. She took in the scene, but said nothing.
“Do not fear,” said Pranciskis, “it is my branch more than yours.”
Mother grabbed my brother. I stood close to her, staring into her face. It was like staring deep into her, gazing at the soul of my mother, at the one piece of her that she still possessed.
Mother gathered the fold-creases of her shawl. “But, it was my branch.”
“Did I not plant it in the snow for you?” Pranciskis placed a bony finger on her forearm. “It was m
