Lydia Volkova glanced down. Her fingers moved across the shawl, hesitating. Then she pulled it off her neck. ‘Could you unravel this?’
I stared at her. ‘You want to undo it?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘As long as you promise you’ll teach me to knit it again the same way.’ She held it out to me.
‘It’s fine work.’ I took it, running my thumb over the lace nupps, unable to help the admiration that crept into my voice. ‘This little pattern here, this paw print, is like my grandmother’s. It was her signature. But others might have used the same motif, of course.’
Lydia watched me shake it out. ‘It belonged to my mother. She made it herself.’ She hesitated, as if deciding whether she should say more. ‘A woman taught her to knit when she was a child; they wrote to each other for years. This shawl is the last of my mother’s things . . . If I learn to knit it again, it will make me closer to her somehow.’
‘I will unpick it tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Then I can show you how to start. You’ll need to learn some basic stitches first though, before you can make a pattern as complicated as wolf’s paw.’ I folded the shawl carefully. ‘It’s my turn on food duty. When that is done, perhaps, I will have some free time this evening.’
Lydia lips curved. ‘Thank you.’
I found myself smiling back at her. Etti’s needles clicked beside us. Bees hummed through the flowers nearby, weaving on the air currents.
‘Jakob.’
I looked up. Oskar was standing a few feet away from us. The sun shimmered around him. ‘You’re needed,’ he said to my brother. ‘We are moving out again.’
He stood very straight and stiff. His gaze swivelled towards me, lingering for a fraction of a second before darting back to Jakob.
I dropped my eyes, a feeling of hope expanding in my chest. Every day, I had expected Oskar to come to me, but there had simply not been time. Each of my days in the camp had been spent caring for others, especially Leelo and Etti, but also the refugees who arrived with bruises and bleeding shins where they had fallen as they stumbled through the forest escaping the Red Army battalions. I had seen Oskar briefly with the other men, but as they took turns to patrol, he was either preparing to leave the camp or settling down in the lean-to he shared with his fellow fighters. They slept all together like dogs in a pack, their guns resting against the wall, always alert even as they dreamed, always ready to spring up if danger was near. The few times we came face to face, we greeted each other and shared a smile but it was never possible to snatch more than a moment to talk. Hilja was always waiting for Oskar nearby with something that demanded his attention, or else it was Leelo who needed to be changed, her grizzling so loud in my ear I could not hear Oskar’s words.
I kept telling myself there would eventually be a time for us to be alone, once the fighting between the Red Army and the resistance fighters died down. News had already filtered through about the number of deportees transported; at least ten thousand from Estonia, fifteen thousand from Latvia and sixteen thousand or more from Lithuania. The Red Army had been less active the past few days, since the trains filled with the exiled began to reach the prison-camps. We had heard rumours that they might have caught wind of the German invasion. As each day drew to a close with no further contact from the Germans, though, I began to fear the rumours were incorrect. The German Army certainly had their hands full already fighting the British and their allies in the Middle East and unleashing the last of their air-raids over London. I had not been able to get the image out of my mind of the night sky lit up by raining bombs. It seemed a dreadful omen of things to come, if the Russians did not give up Estonia easily. It felt as if our country was a child’s boat caught in a riptide. Whichever way the currents turned, that was where we must go.
With so much uncertainty, there seemed little time for Oskar and I to share our private thoughts. I did not expect today to be any different.
As Jakob rose to his feet, I held out my arms to take Leelo back. To my surprise, Oskar stayed my hand and turned to Lydia. ‘Lydia, can you take her? I want to speak with Kati alone.’ Lydia’s eyes widened at being addressed. I knew she was frightened of Oskar; she ducked her head each time she saw him coming or crossed to the other side of the camp if he entered. I saw her exchange a glance with Jakob, her eyes communicating a message I could not grasp. I watched as Jakob tipped Leelo’s sleeping body towards her. Leelo’s bottom lip pushed out, pouting in sleep, but she didn’t wake when Lydia’s arms slid about her, one hand cupping her small rump. Relieved of the infant, my brother stroked Leelo’s small snub of a nose with his thumb and then squeezed Lydia’s arm before marching off towards the entrance of the camp where the men were gathering. For a moment, I marvelled at how easily my brother had taken to Leelo, how natural he had looked holding her. I had never thought that one day my brother might want children. I would have laughed a few years ago, if he had spoken the desire aloud. How could a boy look after a child when he could hardly care for himself? But I realised now that without my even noticing, my brother had grown up.
Lydia’s gaze lingered on his back, and then, catching my eye, she turned away with Leelo to sit beside Etti on the grass. I drew in a breath, knowing Oskar was waiting.
When I turned to face him, he was smiling. It was so unexpected and pleasant I found myself grinning in return. Before I could speak, he took my hand and led me away from the clearing, threading through the trees near the back of the camp until we were surrounded by their tall trunks, masked a little from view.
Oskar kept my hand captured in his. ‘Kati,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t know how I’ve longed for this.’ He raised my hand and turned it over to kiss my wrist. I swallowed, not daring to raise my eyes. Oskar’s breath on my skin made me shiver.
‘You’ve been occupied,’ I said.
Oskar nodded. He released my wrist. ‘Yes. I wanted to come earlier, but there was no time. It would not have been wise. But at last, today, there is cause for celebration.’
‘Why?’
Oskar squared his shoulders, a hint of a smile flickering on his lips. ‘The Germans have marched on Russia. Moscow, Leningrad, Stalingrad. All of them will soon belong to the Wehrmacht. The Germans will be here in a day, if not hours. Stalin has already announced the war and the Russians are scrambling to defend their cities. They don’t have the resources to defend the territories.’
I gasped. ‘Then it is almost over. The Soviet occupation.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The Germans have promised Estonia her freedom. We must of course flush out the remnants of Russian battalions and any remaining Army corps. The Russians are leaving in droves, fleeing like rats from a sinking ship. Some of them are abandoning their posts and fleeing into the forest. We are going out to patrol today and kill as many of them as we can find. Clear the area of any stragglers. We have only to hold on for a little while longer. And then— ’ He squeezed my hands. ‘Then we will finally be free.’
He watched me take in this news, his lips still curved in a smile.
I tried to process what he had said, but my emotions were muddled up. If the Germans and Russians were at war, many people would die. Many innocent people who had nothing to do with the power struggles of two huge nations. But the German invasion meant the end of the Russian brutality in the Baltics. There was hope we could return to our homes and rebuild our lives. Leelo could grow up without the shadow of violence blotting her future. I would not have to sit up late every night, worrying about Oskar and Jakob, imagining their deaths and replaying the horror of my parents’ last moments.
I realised I was playing with the lace shawl around my neck, twisting it. Oskar took my hands in his own and drew me in, bringing me slowly closer until we were inches apart and I could trace the fine cupid’s bow of his upper lip with my eyes. My breath caught as he leaned forward and kissed me. As our lips moved, I could feel the earth spinning. Only Oskar’s firm grip on my body kept me from falling.
An urgent longing flutter
ed in my belly. I made a soft sound, bringing my hands around to clasp his back and press our bodies together. Oskar jumped slightly in surprise. Then I felt his breath quicken. His arm tightened around my waist and his kisses grew deeper, more urgent.
Through the warm haze of pleasure, I observed that this was not like the few other times he had kissed me in the field behind the farmhouse. Back then, the merest brush of our lips had sustained us. Our kisses had been innocent, chaste. There had not been this charge, this invisible heat as our bodies strained together, desire kindling between us.
When at last we broke apart, Oskar groaned and kissed my forehead.
We were both breathing hard. ‘You are killing me,’ he said. I caught the flicker of his smile, but his words sent a chill over my skin. How could we forget ourselves so entirely when the world was now at war?
I pretended to smooth down my skirt, hoping for a moment to master myself. As I did so, I caught sight of the gun he always wore tucked into the belt at his waist. Although I tried not to stare at it, I could not help but think about the men he had used it on. It was a submachine gun, he had told me in one of our brief exchanges; a gleaming bringer of death given to him by one of the Germans. The others called it ameeriklane: the American.
I shivered, wishing he had left it behind at the lean-to but knowing it was a part of him. Even now, when we were safely sheltered in a bower of trees, Amerikana was with us, a reminder of the danger that was still present.
Hilja’s warning rang out sharply in my head.
You don’t know what you will do. What they will make you do.
I glanced over my shoulder, almost certain I would catch her standing there watching us. She followed Oskar everywhere like a faithful hound. But we were still alone, surrounded by the arms of the trees, the camp a grey blur behind the leaves. Insects whirred in the bushes nearby.
‘Kati.’ I turned back to Oskar. His cheeks were pink, his blue eyes very bright. ‘You know what I will ask you.’ He slid his arms around me again. His kisses fluttered against my neck, as soft as moth’s wings. I wound my fingers through his hair. ‘You must promise to marry me,’ he said, his words flushing hot on my skin. ‘No matter what happens.’
No matter what happens.
A spasm of pain pulsed through me. I drew back. It was agony, but I could not banish the memory that had reared up suddenly at his words. I saw again Hilja’s face in the guttering light of the candle, her scarred skin. Her warning, branded in my mind.
With an effort, I stepped away from him. ‘I can’t promise that. Not now. When you return, we will speak of it.’
Oskar blinked. A look of confusion obscured his features. ‘I don’t understand. Is there someone else?’
‘No. Of course not. I just feel that it’s not safe,’ I began, and then stopped. Oskar’s shoulders had stiffened. I tried again. ‘It’s . . . it’s dangerous. For both of us, but more so for you. A promise like that . . . it carries risk. There is no certainty that the Germans will succeed—’
Oskar made a small scoffing sound and opened his mouth to argue.
‘Just listen.’ I drew in a deep fortifying breath. ‘Please. You can’t afford to be distracted. You can’t be thinking about marrying me while you are heading off into a fight. Can you really afford to put your life at risk? The lives of your friends?’
Oskar’s mouth pinched. ‘That’s not your choice to make, Kati.’ I could see he was clenching and unclenching his hands. ‘You can’t tell me who to love. Who not to love. If you don’t love me back, then that’s your decision. But do not try to tell me my own heart.’
‘Oskar . . .’ I shut my eyes. I willed myself to be strong, to foster arguments which could convince him that we should be patient, that we should wait. But I could not fight the powerful tide of his words. I felt tears gathering behind my eyelids.
Oskar clasped my hands. He turned them over and kissed them in turn, his lips softly caressing my palms.
‘You have been my good-luck charm,’ he said. His voice was rough, raw with emotion. ‘It wasn’t the gloves. It was the memory of you. Your stories and your history lessons. Your dreams and your knitting. It was knowing you were still there, safe in your parents’ house while I was shivering in the forest, trying to forget what I saw the day my mother and Aime were killed. Trying to forget my own cowardice at failing to save them. It was knowing you were alive that kept me going. You think that I’ll be daydreaming while I am dodging Russian bullets? No. I’ll be thinking of us. Together. Our future. If I could be sure . . . ’ his voice wavered. ‘If you could promise me that you will be mine. That you will be waiting for me. Then I promise you that I will come back.’
I opened my eyes. The light was green and hazy, the air wood-scented and full of balsam. Oskar was waiting for my answer.
I made myself smile. It was not so hard, if I imagined the cottage Oskar had once promised he would build with the heart-shaped windows; if I thought back to those days which tasted of strawberries and smelled of sweet hay and sunshine. I pushed away the image of him lying broken in a field, screaming for me as the blood drained from his body from half a dozen bullet wounds. It was not I who had to face death. All I had to endure was the pain of loss if Oskar’s promise could not be fulfilled. Surely, I could give him this, a vow which might sustain him through the next few days of horror and fear? My sacrifice was small. It was all I could offer, and I should offer it gladly, not think of myself when a greater threat loomed.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I promise. Yes.’
I heard him release a breath. ‘All right.’ In his relief, he kissed me clumsily, his mouth meeting the edge of my lips before he drew away and picked up his cap from where he had dropped it upon the pine needles. I tidied my hair with my fingers, ignoring a small voice which whispered that it was a bad omen for our last kiss to have been so weak. Oskar stood straighter with his cap on. It shadowed his eyes, but I could see he was smiling. Good. He reached out and brushed my cheek with his thumb. ‘Hüvastijätt, then, Kati.’
Farewell. The sound of his footsteps crunching away tore at the last of my resolve. Sinking to my knees, I allowed myself to cry. Finally. For my parents, for Aunt Juudit. For Etti and her husband and their child, born in the wilderness. For the fear I held in my heart for Oskar and my brother. For all the things I had lost and the things I still had left to lose.
*
When I finally stumbled back into the camp, it was to find Lydia’s sour face waiting for me. She marched towards me, her hand shielding her eyes.
‘Where have you been?’ she said, her eyes flashing. ‘You were such a long time. Etti was worried. I’ve left Leelo with her while I came to look for you.’ It was more emotion than I had seen her display in the week we had known each other. I almost wanted to crow with triumph; at last, her exterior was cracking. But I was too drained to fight.
‘The Germans are marching on Russia,’ I said wearily.
Lydia stared. ‘Truly?’
‘Yes. The Russians are retreating, Oskar said. It’s nearly over. The Germans have promised to return freedom to Estonia.’
‘And you believe them?’ Lydia said.
‘Of course.’ The cynical tone in her voice irritated me like nails scratching on glass. ‘Why would they lie?’
Lydia folded her arms. ‘They gave Stalin their word and look what happened.’
‘Stalin is a monster,’ I snapped. ‘As is anyone associated with him. An alliance with the Germans guarantees us our independence. Can you really be so stupid? The Estonian home guard will be restored to full power. A new government will be formed.’
‘And the atrocities the Germans have perpetrated in Poland? In France?’ Lydia’s face was flushed. ‘What about their stance on Jews? What about Etti? And Leelo?’
My stomach lurched. Lydia’s question was a valid one. ‘They won’t be harmed. David was Jewish but Etti never converted; Leelo is not considered Jewish. Besides, that won’t happen here. Once order is restored, t
he Germans will leave. There’s no reason to believe the Jews are in danger here. Estonia has always welcomed people of all faiths.’
Lydia continued to glare at me until at last I pushed past her, making for the wash stand where I could scrub my tear-streaked face. ‘Oskar is going out now to patrol with the others. There are battalions everywhere. The Russian army is desperate.’
‘Jakob, too?’
‘Of course.’
Lydia’s face knotted with worry. ‘Then I must find him and say goodbye properly. In case something happens.’
‘Why?’ I stopped in front of her, blocking her path. Lydia froze. Confusion and panic fought for control over her features. ‘First Etti, now Jakob,’ I said.
She opened her mouth, but then closed it again.
‘Don’t you have your own family?’ I said, clenching my fists so that I would not be tempted to shake her. ‘Don’t you have anyone you can go back to? You needn’t be here. I don’t know why you stayed. Your duty to Etti is over. Long past.’
I glared at her, my breathing ragged.
‘Your friends are leaving,’ I continued, relentless, hissing with rage. ‘You should go with them. Consider your future. What will happen when the Germans get here? You think they will pardon you?’ I lowered my voice so that the people around us could not hear. ‘Do you think I have forgotten who you are? Who your father is?’
I saw Lydia’s face crumple. I wanted to stop, but it was as if some demon possessed me. Black words and thoughts poured from my mouth, an unstoppable flood of pain.
‘You may have fooled Etti and Jakob, but not me.’ I folded my arms across my chest. ‘I see you, Lydia Volkova. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s what Volkov means, doesn’t it? Wolf? Go back where you belong. Your place is not here.’
A buzzing filled my ears as I finally faltered, the words drying up on my tongue.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the rattle of gunfire.
Lydia took a step back.
Somebody shouted, and we both turned to the sound. Some of the Forest Brothers had emerged from their lean-to, their boots slapping the ground, kicking up dust. They filed in one line towards the entrance to the camp, slipping between the narrow tree trunks. I saw Jakob among them, the familiar mop of hair sticking out beneath his cap. He caught my eye, raised his arm. Then he was gone, following the others out into the forest.
Lace Weaver Page 26
