‘Do you think it’s good enough to sell at market next week?’ Viktoria said.
‘Of course it is.’ I began to fold the shawl up, pressing the corners together. ‘It is more than good enough.’
Viktoria shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Aren’t you going to test it? With the ring?’
I paused, the shawl pinned between my fingers. Viktoria tried to smile but her eyes were troubled. ‘That’s just a trick,’ I told her, trying to soothe. ‘It’s an old saying. It means nothing these days.’
‘No.’ She curled her hands into balls. Her mouth was determined. ‘I want it to be tested like the others. I need to know if it’s good enough. Truly good enough.’
I was about to argue but something held me back. Perhaps it was the memory her words sparked in me. I had said almost the same thing to my grandmother when I was eight, when I had finished my first rätik shawl. I brought out Etti’s ring again. It glinted in my palm. As I pulled the shawl through, I heard Viktoria draw in a breath.
The shawl slipped through the golden band like a cascade of foamy water.
Viktoria sighed.
‘You see?’ Refolding it quickly, I strode to the bureau and placed it with the others. ‘You have nothing to worry about. You’ve made amazing progress, Vikki.’
She beamed at me, bouncing on the soles of her feet. ‘Perhaps I could try the peacock tails next. Or even the Muhu pine. And one day, I would like to try my hand at the wolf’s paw. That is, when you think I am ready, of course.’
Laughing, I shook my head. ‘Why not? You can do anything. It’s just time and practice now, a matter of patience. Why don’t you start with the peacock sampler? When you’ve mastered it I will help you cast on and you’ll be on your own after that.’
‘Patience. Yes.’ With a last grin and a wave, Viktoria disappeared back to her chair.
‘She is like a different girl,’ Etti said, coming to stand by my shoulder.
‘I was only thinking that,’ I said. ‘The knitting has changed her. This is yours.’ I offered her the wedding ring. Etti took it but did not put it on. ‘My fingers are too swollen. Like the rest of me,’ she said, glancing down at her body. I had to admit that it did not seem possible that Etti could grow any larger. Her round belly was pulled taut against the white linen of her blouse. She pressed one hand against it as I watched, and then froze as if waiting for a response. A moment passed and her face relaxed. She patted the lump, a furtive smile transforming her face from its usual strained lines into one of pure happiness.
‘Is it painful?’ I said, not wanting to offend but unable to stem my curiosity. My cousin and I had not been close as children, although we had played together whenever our families met. A few years older than me, Etti had struggled with various childhood illnesses – fevers, colds, wheezing in the lungs – that had kept her from school most days and prevented us from developing the kind of warmth I had seen in other extended families. Then when she was eighteen, she had married a Jewish friend of my uncle’s and gone to live with him in Pärnu. Although he was Jewish, David did not observe religious practice, choosing to stay home with his young wife instead of attending synagogue and to work in the fabric shop he had set up in Pärnu’s busy market district. In turn, Etti was happy to support him, helping choose the stock and run up samples of dresses and skirts. It was a good match, it seemed. When the Soviets arrived, they had taken David away to work in the mines at Kiviõli along with ten other men from the Pärnu Jewish community, leaving the women to fend for themselves. A heartbroken Etti had returned home to Aunt Juudit’s only to receive a letter a month later informing her that David had been crushed in a mine accident along with his crew. For weeks, Etti had been inconsolable. She had rallied, spurred on by the discovery that she was carrying his child, but the sadness had never truly left her.
‘It’s strange,’ she said now, measuring each word slowly. ‘It’s not what you imagine. Sometimes it’s like I have a fish inside me, at other times I can feel hands and feet, it’s more like one of the tadpoles Jakob used to tease us with when we were children.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘He was a terror.’
Etti grinned. ‘The worst.’
‘Not much has changed. Does he come here much? He hasn’t been home for months. Mama is ready to come and drag him back if he doesn’t visit soon.’
Etti rubbed her belly with the flat of her hand. ‘I’ve not seen him for weeks,’ she admitted. ‘He used to come here almost every night just to feed himself – I think the food at the dorms is not to his liking – but he stopped.’
My thoughts shifted uneasily. Why had my brother turned his back on us? My thoughts, my worries for my brother, led me in a twisting path back to my purpose. I needed to tell the women the truth: that I had not come merely to coordinate the shawls for market day.
I cleared my throat, hoping they would all look up, at the same time dreading the horrified gasps that would accompany my news.
Before I could speak, Aunt Juudit clapped her hands.
‘Let’s have some more music, ladies,’ she said. ‘No, not more “L’Internationale”. Something better.’
‘I thought there was nothing better than “L’Internationale”, Mama!’ Etti called.
Aunt Juudit pretended to look shocked at both her daughter and at the tittering laughter. Her fingers danced across the records in their folders, flicking them back until she found what she was searching for. She slipped the disk from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable, carefully manoeuvring the needle. The speaker crackled. Then a burst of music erupted into the room.
‘That’s better!’ she said. ‘Much less Russian, don’t you agree, Kati? In fact, the opposite!’
My stomach swooped. It was a snippet of ‘The Ride’ from the opera The Valkyrie, by Wagner.
I nodded, trying to keep the smile on my face although it felt stiff and frozen now. Oskar’s words echoed in my mind. The pact will not hold.
‘Kati, are you quite well?’ Aunt Juudit crossed the room and laid a hand on my arm.
I swallowed, my chest tight. ‘I just need some air.’
Aunt Juudit nodded. ‘Come out to the balcony.’
I followed her and Etti out through the timber doors, the triumphant strains of Wagner’s opera following on my heels. The balcony was a narrow space, no more than ten paces wide, but Aunt Juudit had managed to fit two timber chairs and a large tub of bright red geraniums onto it, along with the frames on which Miri and Helve’s shawls were drying. Beyond the balcony, I saw the grand pillared buildings of the university glowing white in the sun. Far up the hill, I knew, were the red-brick ruins of the Dorpat Cathedral.
A light, warm breeze caressed my face, carrying with it the porous scent of the geraniums. It was peaceful here. If I tried, I could almost forget the importance of what Oskar had said. If I let the breeze tickle my closed eyes, I could almost pretend that it was simply another warm spring in Tartu without the ever-present shadow of the Russians watching over our shoulders, always waiting for their chance to capture the last fragments of freedom we held in our hands.
‘Kati? You looked so pale in there.’ Aunt Juudit’s face was lined with concern. ‘Tell us what’s troubling you. We’re your family. We can help.’
I bit back a sob. I could tell my aunt and my cousin about the Germans, but they would want to know how I came by the information. By talking about our meeting with Oskar, I would be drawing them into danger. Anyone found to be sympathetic to the Forest Brothers and their cause would be arrested or shot. There was only one piece of information that was safe to impart.