Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  He opened the door for her as she departed, a gesture she was unaccustomed to since her Paris job search began.

  Meri waited until she was a few blocks away from the shop to reach into her pocket and read the paper the man had given to her. He had written “Monsieur Michel Dorval.” If there is one kind man in Paris, there is more.

  Monsieur Dorval was the first and last couturier who ever bothered to examine Meri’s lace handiwork.

  §

  Meri’s second lesson: Learning how to speak French would take some patience.

  Elina was her most ardent teacher since her time, albeit short, in France. She had a mastery of the accent that eluded many of the Finns in their community, even though she spoke fluent Finnish. At seven years old, Elina craved to be the “expert” at anything, so she took on the role of Meri’s French instructor with enthusiasm.

  Meri appreciated Elina’s help. How else will I find the job of my dreams? Meri reasoned. If I speak like a Parisian, perhaps they’ll think I’m one of them. Elina’s eagerness as a teacher, however, often crossed the line from helpful to annoying, at least in Meri’s mind.

  After a lesson, which usually took place at the end of a long, discouraging day of walking from rejection to rejection, Elina would not want to give up her role as “teacher,” no matter how tired Meri was.

  “I’ve had enough of French tonight, Elina.” Meri said in Finnish as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table.

  “Non, Meri. Je ne vous parle qien Français!” With a pout on her face, Elina insisted they speak only French.

  “I’m the adult, Elina. I’ll decide when the lesson is over.” Again, Meri spoke in Finnish to aggravate the girl.

  “You wouldn’t talk to me that way if Mamma was here,” Elina continued pouting, speaking in Finnish this time.

  “She’s not here, is she? I am. And I say we’re finished with the lesson until tomorrow.”

  “Oui, Madame.” Elina stomped off to the bedroom she shared with her mother, who was, as usual, gone for the night.

  §

  Meri’s third lesson: Tuula had secrets.

  On the first day they met, Tuula seemed welcoming and relaxed. Even cheerful. Meri wondered what she had to be so happy about. She lived with a little child, in a tiny apartment, without private facilities, in a poor section of Paris. To make matters worse, she was now sharing what small space she had with a complete stranger. Had it been me, I never would have invited her to share my cramped apartment. If I had been so foolish as to promise my cousin such a favor, I certainly wouldn’t be so happy about the situation.

  Tuula’s disposition changed Meri’s second day in the city. She became more like a businesswoman, telling Meri her duties as a “guest” in the apartment. Meri had to pay rent—one-third of the rent Tuula paid to her landlord. She also had to buy her own food, help with meal preparation and other domestic tasks, and perhaps most importantly, Meri had to agree to take care of Elina when Tuula was out.

  “What do you mean, ‘when you’re out’? Do you mean when you’re working?” Meri’s hands were on her hips. She wanted to challenge this requirement. Having spent much of her life raising her brother and leaving that life for good, Meri thought her childcare days were behind her. Meri fumed to herself, I don’t have time to babysit Elina. I have to find a job and my own apartment!

  “I work almost every night, rarely getting home until morning. Elina needs someone to be with her through the night—to tuck her in and help her say her prayers, you know.”

  Meri didn’t know. “What kind of job keeps you out all night?”

  “That’s none of your business. I make enough money to take care of myself and Elina. I don’t have to justify how I make a living to you or anyone else.” Tuula now had her hands on her hips.

  “I didn’t mean to pry. But if I’m going to be responsible for your daughter, I should know where you are in case I need you.” Meri had learned to think quickly from a lifetime of dealing with a mother who always questioned her motives.

  “Oh, well, that makes sense. Sorry. I’m in the…ah, entertainment business. Dancing mostly, but in different places on different nights. I make most of my money in tips gentlemen offer to me.”

  Meri’s eyes widened. Then she looked down at her shoes.

  Tuula saw in Meri’s reaction the look of every “proper” person who ever saw her in her make-up and skimpy dresses, judging her for what she did—even the men enjoying her services. She narrowed her eyes and added, “I trust you’ll keep this to yourself. Elina must never know.”

  “Of course, Tuula.” Meri nodded. “Tell me, does Kaija or anyone back in Finland know?”

  “Mother of God! No! They all believe I work as a personal secretary for a very important businessman.” Tuula put her hand over her mouth and started giggling. “That’s why Kaija asked me if I would take you in—she thought I had a big, fancy apartment with plenty of extra rooms. How could I tell her no?”

  Meri smiled. She started to laugh along with Tuula. Soon, they were bending over, tears streaming down their faces. Both women were swept away by waves of uncontrollable giddiness, evidence of their mutual need to release pent up emotions.

  Meri wiped tears of merriment from her cheeks and chest. “Well…I trust you won’t tell Ka….Kaija I’m not….not a famous fashion designer.” She could barely speak through bubbles of laughter.

  “I’ll let Kaija live in her dream world. Your secrets are safe with me, Meri.” Tuula grabbed Meri’s hands and held them.

  “Good. Everyone in Finland must think I’m prospering.” Especially Papa. I can’t disappoint Papa.

  As time went on, Meri learned Tuula had come to Paris in 1919. She wanted to escape a dreary life in Finland, just as Meri had. Tuula’s dream was different. She planned on becoming a famous actress or entertainer. Like Meri, Paris had other plans for her. France was still reeling from the devastating effects of World War I. It was a depressing time. Work for native-born French people was hard enough to find, and a general distrust and dislike of foreigners pervaded the country.

  Tuula had very few resources and knew no one. She gave up on her dream quickly, turning to the kind of work easily found for a young, pretty woman in the city. At first, she was ashamed of how she made a living. She finally realized that simply surviving was an accomplishment. Her goal was to stay in Paris and she achieved it. Failure would have been returning home to Finland to tell a false tale of her experience there—or worse, telling the truth.

  Meri understood completely.

  “What about Elina? She’s too old for you to have had her here. You have only lived here for four years and she’s seven years old.” Meri had grown quite comfortable with Tuula and felt she could delve into such a personal area. Meri was essentially raising her now, and they had been sharing very close quarters for two months.

  “Ah, Elina…” Tuula turned to the half-open bedroom door where Elina napped, curled around a cascade of pillows. “Swear to me you’ll never tell her what I’m about to tell you.” Tuula’s lowered voice belied the force behind her words.

  “I promise,” Meri answered without hesitation, anxious to hear the secret.

  “When I first started working as a…a dancer, I met a few girls and became close to them. They were my only friends. I shared this apartment with one of them and her boyfriend.”

  “One of the dancers had a boyfriend?” Meri could not believe women like that had romantic relationships.

  “We’re normal girls, Meri. We have boyfriends.” Tuula’s voice got higher, defensive.

  “Do these boyfriends know what you do?”

  Tuula rolled her eyes. “Some do. That’s how we meet them. Some don’t. Do you want to hear about Elina or how I meet men?” Tuula knew how to deal with judgmental people.

  “Sorry.” Meri blushed. She really wanted to know about both.

  “Elina is their girl, not mine.” Tuula said this as matter-of-factly as if she had just reported on the w
eather.

  “What?” Meri’s voice rose from their former whispered dialog to a full-fledged exclamation.

  “Meri, shush! You’ll wake Elina.”

  “Tuula, those people just left their daughter with you? Why? Where did they go? Are they coming back?” Meri’s face was full of question marks.

  “Calm down, Meri. As you can see, Elina and I are doing fine. You wouldn’t know we weren’t mother and daughter, except I look rather young to have such an old daughter.” Tuula winked and continued. “So what did you ask? Juu, they decided to leave Elina with me. Why? Because the father got into some kind of trouble and he needed to ‘disappear.’ Elina’s mother loved him and wanted to go with him. They thought Elina would be safer with me. I’m sure she is.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Sometimes, Meri, it’s best not to know.”

  “Where did they go?”

  Tuula shrugged.

  “Do you think they’ll ever come back to get her?”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Parents who plan on coming back for their child don’t give half their money to a friend and say ‘It’s for Elina.’ They also don’t tell you never to speak of them to her. She was only three years old when they left. Sometimes she says she remembers a man and a woman living here. I just say they were tenants, like you, or others I’ve taken in over the years to make ends meet.”

  “Mon Dieu.” Meri found some French phrases very natural, and her French improved each day.

  “What?” Tuula straightened her shoulders and stared at Meri. “I’ve raised her like my own. Even when they were around, I took care of her—just as you’re doing now. She’s a good little girl.”

  “Still, parents leaving their baby girl…”

  “Meri, I told you, life here is hard.”

  “I didn’t think it was that hard.”

  §

  Meri’s fourth lesson: Dreams and cheese spoil.

  Meri held on to the small chunk of Camembert cheese wrapped neatly in her coat pocket. I never know when I might get hungry and the cheese will come in handy, she justified to herself every time she thought about eating it or sharing it with Elina or Tuula. Before long her coat took on a strange, pungent odor.

  Back at the apartment, she wrapped the cheese in more layers of paper, hoping to quell the now unpleasant aroma. Meri never considered that something she purchased so long ago might be inedible. Everything is salvageable and wasting anything is unthinkable. The Vaarsaras prided themselves on their thriftiness.

  On a day when Meri decided not to venture out and again be rejected for fashion design work, she and her coat remained in Apartment 3C. Elina came in from her “school” at the neighborhood Catholic church where nuns instructed young children in both sacred and secular studies.

  “Whew! Something smells stinky in here.” Elina squeezed her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She checked the chamber pot and trash bin to see if they needed to be emptied. “Hmmm? Both are clean.”

  Meri quickly glanced at her coat on the row of hooks near the door. She knew the source of the smell. She casually walked to the coat rack while Elina looked under the settee. Grabbing her coat, she said, “Elina, I’ll be right back. I must pick something up at the grocer’s.”

  “Oh. Fine.”

  Meri went down the stairs and into an alley close by. She finally unwrapped the several-weeks-old cheese. Hard and multi-colored, it did not resemble the delicious Camembert she remembered from her first day in Paris. “What was I thinking?” Meri said to the moldy, noxious, cement-like thing in her hand. “I’m so greedy and selfish. Tuula and Elina have shown me nothing but kindness.” She threw the rancid mess on the ground. Birds flocked to it, then, just as promptly, flew away without touching a morsel. Even the scavengers wanted nothing to do with the rotten cheese.

  Meri did not have much money left from what she brought with her from Finland and the little bit of money Kaija had given to her. Paris is an expensive place to start a new life—especially without a new job in a fancy fashion design house. She had rent to pay and food to buy. Every day she stopped at a café for lunch. Her shoes had worn out from all the walking she had done, so she paid to have them resoled. Her slight frame wasn’t quite so slight, due to the wonderful French bread and other foods she simply had to sample—foods so fine, delicious, and delicate; food she never would have found in Finland. So she had to buy a new dress when her old dress no longer fit, and she couldn’t let it out anymore.

  Every Franc was precious to her now. But that did not stop her from entering the local grocer’s shop and buying a wedge of fresh Camembert cheese, enough to share with her friends.

  Meri plodded up the stairs to Apartment 3C, feeling the weightiness of the decision she had just made. I have to let go of more than moldy old cheese. My dream of working as a dress designer and maker in the Paris fashion district is foolish. Her need for independence and her dwindling savings woke her up to the fact that the time had come to find another way to build a respectable life in Paris.

  But it had to be on her terms.

  Chapter 5: Changes in the Prevailing Winds

  “The dreamer can know no truth, not even about his dream, except by awaking out of it.”

  George Santayana

  “I’ll give you a lot of credit, Meri. I didn’t last four months, getting rejected for acting and singing jobs. How can you bear going out to those fashion businesses every day?” Tuula savored the Camembert, a rare treat in their household.

  Elina too, enjoyed the cheese and day-old bread.

  “The lace work alone on my dress is masterful. I thought at least one fashion designer or astute couture in all of Paris would eventually recognize my talents.” Meri made sure she ate her fair share of the precious cheese.

  “You’re a skilled seamstress, Meri, but your Finnish accent and looks work against you. These Parisians will never let you work among them no matter how talented you are.”

  Meri nodded her head. “It’s true.” At Meri’s request, the three spoke mostly French to minimize Meri’s Finnish accent. I wish I knew how to look more Parisian, Meri thought.

  “Why, Mamma? I’m a Parisian and I like Meri.” Elina stuffed another piece of bread and cheese in her mouth waiting for an answer. She crossed her arms over her chest as she chewed.

  “Elina, not every Parisian is so…so,” Tuula searched for a word other than “judgmental” or “prejudiced,” thinking Elina would not understand their meanings.

  “Pigheaded?” Elina offered.

  Meri smiled.

  Tuula frowned. “I suppose so. Blind is more what I had in mind.”

  Elina nodded. “I’m not blind, Mamma. I’m not pigheaded, either. I think Meri is the best seamstress in the world. Did you see the dresses she made for my dolls? She made them all by hand from bits and pieces of old clothes. She turns old rags into new dresses!”

  “Oui, I’ve seen your dolls’ new clothes. They’re beautiful. I hope you thanked Meri for making them.” Tuula sliced the remaining cheese in three equal portions. They each took one last piece of the velvety rich cheese.

  Elina was about to respond to her mother, but Meri preempted her. “Elina showed much appreciation. You’ve raised a polite little girl.”

  Elina beamed.

  Tuula nodded in silent thanks.

  Meri continued. “I was happy to practice my sewing skills, which, I fear, won’t be needed for anything here but doll dresses or my mending my clothes.” Meri’s voice was flat; not angry or disappointed, just matter-of-fact.

  “What do you mean?” Elina and Tuula spoke at the same time, their eyes as big as their open mouths. Tuula spoke. “Meri, I’ve never seen anyone so determined as you to make a dream come true. Are you giving up?”

  “At least for now. I’ve been to every fashion house and dressmaker in Paris. Each one rejected me. The one time I had a chance to show my lace dress to a fashion house ow
ner, he wanted me to work for his wife as a nanny. He even gave me his personal information.” Meri got up and pulled the paper from her coat pocket, where she kept it at all times. She had folded it and took to fondling it as she rested on park benches between rejections, so it had grown soft and worn.

  Tuula looked at the paper in awe. “Have you contacted Monsieur Dorval or his wife?”

  Meri bowed her head and then shook it once. “He gave this to me two months ago. He wouldn’t remember me.”

  “He might!”

  “Non. But he gave me an idea. I took care of my baby brother, Jani. Maybe the Parisians trust Finns with their homes and children more than they do with their clothes.”

  §

  Meri’s job search thus far had been easy. She just went to the Fashion District and knocked on doors. Finding work as an au pair or a housemaid was a different story. She had Monsieur Dorval’s information, but pride prevented her from contacting him. He’s already found someone by now, anyway.

  Tuula offered to ask her nightly clientele about possible openings for domestic work. Meri declined the offer. “You’re very kind, but I don’t want to bother you.” She didn’t finish her thought, And I don’t want to work for men who are morally corrupt.

  Meri began asking Finns in the neighborhood about possible work. Some said they would keep their ears open. Others shook their heads and turned her away. Meri suspected they knew about jobs, but wanted to save them for their family or friends.

  Sitting at a local café one morning, enjoying the one thing she could afford: a cup of coffee, Meri encountered the woman who would become her best friend and savior.

  The café was crowded. A young woman approached Meri’s table and asked, “May I sit with you?” Meri looked around and nodded.

  The woman smiled as she sat down. “This is a busy morning.”

  “Oui.” Meri was polite but not engaging.

  “It’s very kind of you to let me join you. May I buy you a croissant to go with your coffee?”

  “Non, Merci.” Meri blushed, feeling her poverty next to this woman’s generosity.

  “S’il vous plaît. I insist. We Finns must stick together!” The woman gently touched Meri’s forearm and smiled.