Etti nodded. ‘Of course.’
Lydia did not complain when I led her away from the cafeteria where the women were still talking and finishing their meals. When we reached the door, I looked back and caught the gleam of Agnese’s eye. For a second, I imagined I saw stark hatred shining out. But it was gone in an instant. Agnese dropped her eyes back to her plate. Beside me, I heard Lydia sigh.
‘Let’s take a walk to the lake,’ I suggested. Lydia nodded, her mouth wilting. I squeezed her arm. She looked as if she might cry at any moment.
Taking her hand, I marched her along the corridor which led out into the grounds, praying Agnese would not follow.
‘Why does she look at me like that? What does she want?’
Lydia’s voice was shrill. The rush of the water and the crashing of the turbines ran beneath it, a discordant harmony. She hugged herself tightly. The wind whipped at her hair and the late afternoon sun intensified its dark red undertones so it shone like polished stone.
I shrugged helplessly, shivering. It was cold in the wind. I wished I’d thought to bring my coat. ‘I don’t know. She must be unhinged.’
‘When will Oskar send for us?’ she said. ‘How long must we wait?’
I shook my head, too afraid to voice my own fears. Two months had passed now since we had arrived. Every night, I was shaken with terrible visions of Oskar being caught and Jakob shot. It had begun to feel as if we would have to stay here forever, if we were not discovered first and hauled before the police.
The great chimney stacks of the factory rose up behind us. Beyond them, the sun was setting, streaking the purple sky with fingers of pale rose.
Lydia groaned, bracing against the wind that rippled the surface of the lake. ‘I’m afraid I will go mad here.’ Her head was turned to the west, her gaze sweeping across the water to settle on the bridge that separated Kreenholm from the far shore.
I knew what she was thinking as clearly as if I heard Frau Burkhard’s voice in my head, the echo of her words.
‘On Kreenholm’s side: Estonia or Ostland,’ she had said. ‘On the other: Russia.’
The enemy.
Lydia’s forehead furrowed. She rubbed her palms against her arms.
Frau Burkhard had warned us not to cross the bridge or even to venture near the path of dappled light that led through to the walkway where the bridge began. The Russians were too occupied with Leningrad to bother yet with Narva, but the border patrol was active; a few men had been shot at, one wounded in the leg. The Russians had not forgotten what they had lost.
Handkerchief Weave
Lydia
November 1941
I dreamed I was sitting in my mother’s boudoir, staring at her bottles of perfumes and jars of cream. Pale light streamed through the curtains. I inhaled the air, jasmine-scented. Something stirred. I leaned forward. Nestled among my mother’s perfumes was a nest with an egg inside.
The egg’s shell was smooth, speckled. A chink appeared in the surface, growing wider. I reached out my hand. Picked away the broken piece with my thumb. The fissure deepened. The egg trembled.
With a resounding crack, it split open. I gasped.
There was a baby inside.
Its eyes were closed. Brown hair swirled across its scalp, soft as feathers. Its tiny fingers flexed, its eyelids flickered as if it too was dreaming.
And then all of a sudden, the egg was gone. The nest was empty.
I opened my eyes.
The dormitory was dark. I heard the soft snoring of the other women. It must be midnight, or thereabouts. My hand fluttered over my stomach. I felt the tiny space the baby had made for itself, the presence of Jakob’s child clinging to life like a bean on a vine. A sense of wonder and terror overwhelmed me as I relived the day’s events.
I’d left the factory early, excusing myself on the pretence that I was unwell. I’d not even asked Kati or Etti to go with me. I had walked alone across the bridge to the City of Narva and asked a woman with kind eyes for directions to a good doctor. It had grown cold the past few days; the air filled with an icy chill which heralded winter.
The doctor had confirmed what I already suspected. In the frenzy of fleeing Tartu and the anxiety of waiting each day for Oskar and Jakob to arrive, I’d lost track of the days. It wasn’t until my monthly courses had failed to appear for the second time that I began to wonder, and all the little clues – the waves of nausea, the heaviness in my breasts – seemed to conspire at last to reveal the truth. It had been two months now. Two months since we had left Tartu, and not a word from Oskar or Jakob. Where were they and why were they delayed? The constant worry tempered my joy. I wished I could find some way to tell Jakob. I wanted him to be the first to know.
As I’d trudged back alone towards the factory, I decided not to tell Kati or Etti. I would keep my surprise a secret until I could tell Jakob. I wanted to watch his face transformed by this good news among all the fear and anxiety.
I rolled over onto my side and closed my eyes, knowing I should rest. Something sounded a long way off, a distant hum. I stirred, aware of the heavy bedclothes, half-awake, half-asleep. Darkness. Then light. I heard a sound, a little like laughter and a shadow passed over me. I tossed my head, feeling its presence the same way I always knew when Agnese was behind me or when she had followed me down to the lake. Her eyes always searching me out as we ate our food in the cafeteria, as if she was waiting to catch me out. It had frayed my nerves to breaking-point.
Someone ran to the window.
‘They’re here again.’ It was Kati. She drew the curtain back, and something bright flared beyond the glass, turning the sky the colour of rubies. Black shapes danced against the light, swooping low before being jerked up, as if controlled by marionette strings. ‘The Russians.’
The windows shook, rattling in their panes.
The other women were already moving, stumbling out the door. The corridor was filled with frightened voices. Kati seemed to shake herself. Her eyes were wide.
We rushed outside, almost colliding with Etti in the corridor. Leelo was clinging to her mother’s chest, her voice raised in a high-pitched wail, her legs dangling against Etti’s thighs.
Frau Burkhard appeared at the top of the stairs, her face lit by the glow of an oil lamp.
She looked tired, her usually immaculate hair escaping in pale wisps. Holding the lamp high above her head, she turned. The women followed the ribbon of her light weaving down the steps. The shuffle of bare feet reverberated in the stone stairwell. Everyone was quiet, but when another bomb exploded not far away some cried out and panicked, shoving forward, almost sending those at the frontline sprawling down the steps.
‘Wait!’ I whirled around. I had left my mother’s shawl and her letter locked in the trunk. The bodies of the women pressed against me, a wall of flesh. I pushed forward, my eyes fixed on the door of our dormitory.
‘What are you doing?’ Kati grabbed my elbow, trying to steer me around. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘I have to go back.’ I wrenched my arm free. Bodies jostled against me. A shoulder slammed into my arm. I reached the door of the dormitory and thrust my fingers into the pocket of my nightgown. I kept my key with me always, even when I slept. I could not risk anyone reading Mamochka’s letter, discovering that I was her daughter.
Terror gripped my heart and squeezed. The key was gone. It must have fallen out as I ran or as I tossed and turned in bed, disturbed by dreams.
I stumbled into the room, Kati behind me. The room was dark. I fumbled to my knees, feeling about, tossing aside fallen bedclothes. Where was it? A shower of light exploded suddenly outside the window. I heard Kati cry out. I followed her gaze.