‘Mama!’ I ran straight to the passenger side and reached up to wrench open the door. My mother was hidden in the shadows of the lorry’s cabin, but I saw her hand, tanned and speckled from the work she now did in the orchards with Papa. Leaning in, I clutched it with my own. Mama’s skin was cold. I rubbed her fingers, trying to warm them, but she did not move or react. She was still as stone.
My father appeared behind me, his face stricken.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I stared at her still form leaning back against the fabric seat of the cab. Her eyes were closed.
‘She’s fine.’ My father pushed me aside and braced himself against the open cab door. ‘Marta.’ He leaned in and gently shook her. ‘Marta. We’re home.’
My mother did not open her eyes, but jerked her head away from Papa.
I heard Jakob’s feet squelching in the mud. ‘Kati, what’s the matter?’
‘Mama’s ill.’
‘She’s not ill. She’s in shock.’ My father lowered himself from the lorry. His face was shiny with sweat.
‘Jakob?’ I heard my mother call, her voice faint.
‘He is here,’ my father shouted. Gasping, he reached forward and grabbed my brother by the shoulders, pulling him hard against his chest. ‘Thank God.’
Jakob looked over Papa’s shoulder at me, his eyes wide. ‘What’s going on?’
My father pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘They’ve commandeered the lorry. The Partorg’s men were waiting for us in Kobratu. I’m supposed to report tonight in an hour’s time at the Town Hall to hand it over. Juhan Vunder refused to give them his vehicle. They shot him and arrested his son and took it anyway.’
‘But why?’ Jakob said, his face shocked. ‘Why do they need the lorries?’
My father’s hands shook. He ran them through his hair. ‘Elvi Tamm said he saw railroad cars lined up at the station. Dozens of them.’ Railroad cars. The memory of the first deportations rose up around me like hissing steam. They take the educated ones first, that old woman had said. The government officials, the teachers. I looked at my brother, his face ghostly pale, and realised my father was staring at him.
Perhaps he was thinking of the old woman’s words, too.
‘They expect us to help them.’ Papa drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘But we’re not going to. We are going to run. The way we should have done last year. I was wrong. We’re not going to stay and be part of this crime.’
‘We should fight,’ Jakob said. He curled his fists by his sides. ‘We’re not alone in this. We should stay and show them we are not afraid.’
From inside the lorry, I heard my mother moan softly.
Papa ran a hand across his shiny forehead. ‘Jakob.’ His voice shook. ‘You aren’t thinking clearly. I’m the head of this house. Stop talking nonsense. I will decide when we fight and when we go.’
Jakob’s jaw tensed. ‘It isn’t nonsense.’ He turned. ‘Tell him, Kati! You agree with me, don’t you? We can’t leave! We must just hold out until help arrives. We are part of this family, too, Papa.’
‘Kati?’ Papa swivelled to face me. ‘What do you have to say?’
I looked between my father and my brother. I was torn. How could I leave Oskar without telling him goodbye? I could imagine his pain when he found our house empty, all of us gone. His heart would break, as my heart was breaking. I’d slept last night with Oskar’s gloves beneath my pillow and woken with them clutched in my hands, the soft wool wet with tears. What if Oskar knew I had gone without resisting? Yet how could I stay when Papa, my strong Papa who had weathered so much, was staring at me with wild, shining eyes as if he might suddenly cry? How could I cause him more worry and heartache by asking him to allow us to stay behind?
Another second passed before Papa shook his head. ‘You see?’ he said to Jakob, as if my silence was confirmation.
‘I have weapons,’ Jakob said, stubbornly. ‘A pistol. A knife. You have a shotgun. I know you do, I know where you hide it—’
Papa looked shocked. Then his face lengthened. ‘A pistol, Jakob? A shotgun? These are your weapons? Against their rifles? No. Enough.’ He held up his hand as Jakob started to answer. ‘You’re upsetting your sister. Your mother.’ He called up to Mama. ‘Marta, hurry!’ Swinging himself up, he helped her to climb down from the cabin.
Mama’s colour was better, but her legs still shook as we ran towards the house and began to gather our things. The farmhouse was dark and quiet. The only sounds were our feet scuffing the floor, and the bang of cupboard doors.
‘We will drive north,’ Papa said. Objects rattled in his knapsack as he swung it up onto his back. ‘I know a man in Tallinn with a boat. We will have to cross the Gulf and hope we can find a safe way into Finland. And from there – who knows?’
I looked down at my own knapsack, hoping I had brought the right things for a journey to an unknown destination.
‘You are a good man, Erich. We trust you to guide us.’ Mama tapped my shoulder and passed me the last of our dry food, clothes and candles. My fingers fumbled with the strings on the bag. The room was dark with shadows. There was no time to light the lamps.
‘Here.’ Mama reached across and deftly knotted the bag closed. For a moment, her fingers stayed on mine. I could smell the familiar scent of home on them; the earth on her hands, the pine tar soap on her skin. The bittersweet tang of apples.
‘We don’t have to go.’ Jakob’s voice floated out of the darkness. ‘We could stay.’ I could just make out his shadowy form. He stepped forward, drawing in a long, slow breath. ‘Papa, please. Listen. I came home to convince you to join the others in the forest. We could fight. We should fight.’ My brother’s face was shadowed but his eyes burned with purpose. He raised his chin. ‘We don’t have to run like cowards.’
‘And what,’ my father said softly, ‘do you think will happen to Kati and your mother? Do you think they will fight with us to dispatch the Partorg’s men and the hundreds of Soviet soldiers they’ve been sending into the forest this year?’
‘Hundreds?’ Jakob’s face was pale. His mouth faltered. ‘I thought… perhaps a few dozen. Oskar said—’
My father moved suddenly. I flinched, thinking he might strike my brother. Instead, he embraced him. Jakob stiffened, but after a moment he wound his arms tightly around Papa as if he were a child again.
‘I am not a fighter, Jakob,’ my father said, his voice slightly muffled by Jakob’s hair. ‘I’m a farmer. I could not hold a gun to a man’s head or shoot him in the back. I’m sorry.’
They stayed for a moment locked in the embrace. Finally, my father straightened up and shouldered his pack. The darkness blurred his edges. It was as if he were already disappearing, our presence swallowed by the night. ‘If there was another choice, I would take it. But there isn’t. This time it’s our turn to run.’
‘Did you pack them?’
In the cab of the lorry, my mother clutched my arm. She seemed to have revived a little but her hands were still cold. Outside, I could hear my father and Jakob in the yard, ushering the sheep out into the field. Although we could not take them with us, Papa could not bring himself to keep them penned indoors.
‘Yes. I brought them.’ From my pocket I drew my grandmother’s pearl earrings, passed down to her from my great-grandmama. They glimmered in the starlight, as perfect as two teardrops made of ice.
‘No. Not those,’ Mama hissed. ‘The samplers!’
I gaped at her. My mother made a clucking noise. ‘Your grandmother never cared for those earrings. It was the lace samplers she always fretted over. Did you bring them?’