Nora stared at him, then closed her mouth.
“Get in touch with the producer when you’ve made your decision, and then we can save everyone a lot of time and trouble.” He wrapped the remains of his cinnamon bun in a clean napkin and walked out.
3
1945
The train slowed down with a loud hiss and a series of jerks. After one final jolt, the train came to a stop. Tuula lost her balance for a second but quickly straightened up, holding both children’s hands tightly so that they wouldn’t fall. The doors opened, and she let the other passengers get off first, even though she’d been on her feet since the previous station for fear of missing her stop. With a child’s hand in each of hers, she carefully made her way down the steep steps onto the platform, and then she went back on her own, grabbed their suitcase, and heaved it out. Even though they had packed in a hurry, the bag was heavy. It contained everything they owned. She took a deep breath, clearing her lungs after the stuffy air inside the carriage. She inhaled the smell of brakes and dust.
A dozen or so children alighted from the next carriage. A boy who couldn’t have been any older than Matias ran off down the platform. A woman with her hair in a neat bun set off after him as he shouted for his mom. She was presumably from the children’s home. Tuula felt as if her heart would break. Instinctively she clutched Matias’s and Ritva’s small hands even more tightly as the woman caught up with the child.
“Ow,” Ritva said eventually, and Tuula loosened her grip. She had lost so much. Her husband. Her home. Her homeland. But she had the children, and they had her. She consoled herself with the thoughtthat all the children now standing in a neat line on the platform would no doubt be reunited with their parents as soon as this terrible war was over.
They made their way into the arrivals hall. The smells—fried food from the railroad café next door, dust from the road outside, and years of dirt ingrained in the floor—were the same as at home. And yet everything was so different. Different signs, different words, and everyone around her was speaking a different language with a different melody.
As they walked through the small arrivals hall, the smell of food grew stronger and her tummy rumbled; they had been given a meal in the camp where they first arrived, but not this kind of food. Not the kind she was used to from home, decent food like pork and onion sauce with potatoes, fried sausages with white cabbage, or the meatballs she had made with carrots from the garden in the weeks before they fled. Rationing had been hard with the war raging, but they had managed to get by with their own produce and supplies from nearby farms.
Their footsteps echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling as they made their way outside. Aino was waiting in the sunshine, and the relief at seeing that frizzy blonde hair almost made Tuula’s knees buckle. She took a deep breath just as Aino caught sight of them. Her kind gray eyes lit up as she hurried over and gave Tuula a big hug.
“Goodness, look how you’ve grown!” Aino smiled warmly, patted the children’s cheeks, then hugged them both too. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” she said to Matias as she ruffled his hair.
Aino and Heikki never had children of their own, and they had always helped Tuula out when they were neighbors in Rovaniemi. Aino had been a tremendous support when Ritva was born, because Tuula’s mother lived far away and her sister had had her hands full with her own family. Tuula had missed her friends terribly when they moved to Sweden. It was shortly after her beloved Juhani went to war, and Tuula had been left alone with a newborn and a two-year-old. She had consoled herself with the thought that Juhani would be home soon, not knowing back then that she would end up a widow. For some reason thepossibility had never occurred to her, even though women were being widowed all the time. It had seemed too unreal to contemplate. Too sad.
Aino picked up Tuula’s suitcase.
“No, you’re not carrying it—give it to me,” Tuula protested.
“Out of the question—you’ve had a long, hard journey. You hold on to your children. So how was the trip?”
“Fine.” Tuula knew that Aino was referring to the journey from the reception camp, but memories of the tumultuous hours after they’d been told they were being evacuated flickered through her mind. She had gathered up the few possessions they were able to take before leaving her home—and her whole life—behind.
“The apartment isn’t far,” Aino said. “And I’ve got some good news—you can start at the bakery tomorrow.”
“Really?” Tuula smiled gratefully. She had hardly any money left, and she needed to start working as soon as possible. She looked at Aino. “What about the children?”
“The school is expecting Ritva tomorrow, and the nursery has a place for Matias.”
After the sheer hell of recent days, Tuula felt a spark of hope. The future hadn’t seemed so bright for a long time.
They turned onto the main road, passing low concrete buildings, red-painted terraced wooden houses, and a grocery store. They reached a café, where several people were enjoying coffee and buns at outdoor tables. Tuula could feel their eyes on her.
“Fucking Finns,” hissed a man cycling by.
Tuula gave a start, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Aino walking with a straight back and her head held high. She appeared to take no notice of the man who had left the acrid stench of sweat in his wake.
“Some people aren’t very welcoming,” Aino said as she turned onto a smaller road. “It’s best to simply ignore them.”
Tuula gave a brief nod.
A small group of children was kicking a ball against a garden wall, and Matias almost twisted his head right around watching them.
Aino stopped by a wooden fence in front of a yellow house. A white gate hung crookedly from its hinges, and a climbing rose had entwined itself over the fence. She lifted the hasp, opened the gate, and led the way into a small courtyard anchored by a fine oak tree, its branches providing shade for the house. “You’re in the lodge over there, and we’re one story below. That could be useful if you need help with the children or anything.” Once again Aino looked at the children and smiled.
They crossed the gravel yard, opened the heavy wooden door, and climbed the creaking stairs. Aino showed them where she and Heikki lived. “He works in the mine,” she said with pride in her voice. Aino and Heikki had always worked hard, as had most people Tuula knew back home. She was shocked to discover that many Swedes thought Finns did nothing but drink and fight.
Tuula’s apartment was tiny—the four of them could barely fit in the narrow hallway. Tuula followed Aino into the kitchen.
“The toilet is down in the yard—I forgot to show you. But there’s running water and electricity.” There was a decent oven on one side of the room, and a tiled stove in the corner that would keep heating costs down when the weather turned colder.
