Levering myself up on my belly, I managed to stand, only wobbling a little before I gained my balance. ‘Etti.’ I reached down a hand.
She glanced away. ‘Where is Lydia?’ she said.
‘Here.’
The Partorg’s daughter melted out of the line of people waiting behind me, as pale as a spirit, her hair like a streak of dark blood spilling onto her shoulders. Hiking her skirt over her knees, she crawled up beside me. Etti stretched out her hand, and Lydia grasped it. Together, they struggled onto the log.
A pang of jealousy stabbed at my side.
Turning away from them, I shuffled forward. A breeze danced through the trees, shaking the leaves, stirring up the scent of warm pine and balsam. The day would be warm and cloudless, as beautiful as any ordinary day. But everything had changed.
I leaped lightly across the gap as Hilja showed us, my boots slapping the shelf of rock, and squeezed myself between the spruces. I heard Lydia and Etti behind me; Etti’s grunt as her feet hit the rock. I wanted to turn and ask her if she needed help, but I feared she would shun me.
I entered the camp alone, and as I stepped into the clearing, my heart sank.
Sometimes when Jakob and I were children, we had camped in the forest near our farmhouse. A tent, a bed roll. A fishing line. We had not needed much to keep ourselves happy. It was the very act of being in nature that delighted us; the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves, the sandy riverbed where silver fish darted or came to nibble at our bait. The thick perfume of musk flowers and the tang of mushrooms hiding beneath tree roots. We had found an old sauna and placed hot rocks inside and stripped naked, daring each other to see who could stay in the searing heat the longest, emerging at last to feel the night air tighten against our skin. We had declared ourselves wild spirits, refusing to return home when Mama hollered across the fields, demanding we fulfil our chores. It had never occurred to me that the appeal of it all was the possibility we could return home whenever we liked.
Now, that illusion was gone.
The Forest Brothers’ camp was a dreary place. Dozens of lean-tos dotted the landscape, roughly constructed from bark and timber logs and lashed together with coils of wire. A blackened fire pit lay half-submerged in front of them, wind skimming the ashes. People moved around, speaking softly, their gait stiff and wooden. Those not in uniform wore grey, shapeless outfits, faded and scrubbed from many washes in a tub of black, scummy water. Their limbs were thin, faces gaunt. A child emerged suddenly from one of the makeshift shacks. Her hair was a tangled bird’s nest, eyes bright with the kind of fever that comes from having too little to eat. When she saw us, a group of newcomers, she did not move but stared with her lips pressed thinly together.
I read her mind as keenly as if I had stared into her head.
More people. Less food.
I glanced away from her challenging gaze, searching for Hilja. I saw her talking to two resistance fighters, rifles slung across their backs. She caught my eye and although she did not break off her conversation, she inclined her head ever so slightly.
Suddenly, she broke away from her companions and strode towards me.
‘You’ll want to know about your brother.’
My stomach lurched. ‘Yes.’
‘The shots we heard last night.’ She lifted her chin. ‘They were partisans. Two Soviet groups were killed in the forest. Your brother is safe. He did well, it seems.’
I let out a breath, my thoughts immediately turning to Oskar.
‘He’s on his way, with Oskar and the others,’ Hilja continued. ‘They should be here before—’ She broke off as a commotion behind us interrupted her thoughts. I followed her gaze.
Etti was squatting in the dirt, with Lydia beside her. Her face was white, covered in a sheen of sweat. As I watched, she gave a long groan. Her hand tightened around Lydia’s arm, the knuckles whiter than her face. Dirt clouded up around me as I ran to her.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
Lydia looked up at me. ‘It’s her time, I think. She told me. She’s certain.’
Etti gave another groan, loud enough that the other deportees stopped and began to whisper.
‘She can’t.’ I looked around. The trees seemed to be gathering, crowding around us. ‘She can’t have her baby here.’
For the first time, the stench of the latrine hit me full in the face. It was the rank stink of rotten meat in summer, mixed with the dead scent of river water dried to muck in the sun. My mind was a sudden frenzy of churning thoughts. I had seen many sheep born, had even once watched Papa pull a lamb from its mother’s body. I remembered his arm reaching deep inside the ewe, the tautening of his shoulder muscles as he twisted the lamb this way and that, carefully guiding it through the birth canal before at last it spilled out, slippery with fluid, the birthing sac a shrivelled skein around its throat.
I swallowed. This was not like those times. A baby was not a sheep.
Hilja was frowning at us. I ran back to her.
‘My cousin’s baby,’ I said. ‘It’s coming. Are there any doctors here?’
Hilja shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. But there are plenty of women. There’s bound to be someone who can help you.’ She called out to a group of women watching us. ‘Johanna!’ An older woman with eyes like chips of ice and knotted hands came forward. A lace stole was netted around her shoulders; not a shawl, but a narrow scarf. A pattern of snowdrops swirled across the fabric.
Hilja jerked her head. ‘This is Katarina. She thinks her cousin is in labour. Johanna has a daughter here, Liisa, and three grandchildren she delivered herself,’ she told me. ‘She was a midwife in her village outside Kulli before the Russians killed her son.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said, worried that my words would sound callous. ‘But my cousin is having a baby. It’s her first time. She’s frightened. And I don’t know anyone here except the other woman we came with.’
Johanna pushed back her sleeves and turned back to the other women. ‘Liisa. We are needed.’
Her daughter Liisa was a fair-skinned girl with a sleeping toddler draped over her shoulder. She handed the child to another woman and came towards us. Her eyes were small like Johanna’s, her nose a slim stroke beneath fine pale hair; the soft Danish features of the people from northern Estonia who had mixed less with the Russians and so retained their pale fairness. I led them both to where Etti was crouched in the dirt, Lydia still holding her hand. With surprising flexibility, Johanna kneeled beside her, her hands moving across my cousin’s stomach, prodding gently. Etti let out a sob, which became a long cry. It sent the birds in a nearby bush flapping into the air. Johanna waited until Etti’s pain had passed then, with a swift look around, lifted the rim of Etti’s dress and peeked beneath. When she let it fall, she was frowning. ‘This girl has been in labour for some time. Did you never notice?’
‘She didn’t say anything,’ I said, guilt suddenly weighing on me. ‘I didn’t know.’ Etti had been running all night, pausing when the pain became too much. And I had yelled at her to hurry, pushing her along. I had not seen what was happening, too terrified of being caught and captured to notice the early signs of her labour. And Lydia had said nothing.
I glared across at the Russian woman. Johanna’s eyes followed my gaze.
‘And you?’ she said to Lydia, raising her eyebrows. ‘Did you not notice?’
Lydia shrank a little, bunching up her shoulders. ‘She asked me not to say anything. Made me promise.’ Her Russian accent was even more pronounced since we were surrounded by women speaking only Estonian. I saw Johanna and Liisa exchange a look of surprise. ‘She didn’t want to worry you,’ Lydia said, directing her words to me. I saw a flash of something in her eyes; defiance? Or guilt?