‘A mass deportation.’ I cleared my throat. ‘That’s what Papa told us.’
Oskar’s eyes flashed. ‘How many?’
‘We’re not sure.’ Jakob prised Oskar’s fingers off his arm. ‘Perhaps thousands. Papa said he heard about railroad cars lined up at Tartu station.’
‘He was supposed to help them but he couldn’t.’ A lump burned in my throat. ‘He tried to run but they caught us in the yard. They shot him. And then they shot Mama.’ I stared hard at the ground, my vision swimming with unshed tears.
Silence filled the room.
Then everybody began to talk at once. German. Estonian. A little Russian thrown in.
A cacophony of voices clamouring to be heard.
Oskar moved towards me. Beneath the hubbub of noise, I heard the pain in his voice. ‘Kati, I’m so sorry.’
I squeezed my hands tightly. ‘You didn’t kill them. You tried to warn us.’
He grasped my shoulder. ‘It doesn’t mean I don’t care. Your mother was dear to me. As for your father—’
He closed his mouth suddenly, as if afraid to say more. I could feel the pressure of his fingers squeezing in sympathy. I sniffed back my sobs. I wanted to hold him, but I was afraid that if I did, the last barrier of my composure would collapse. Mama and Papa’s faces rose up in my mind. Speaking about their deaths had made the pain of their loss seem suddenly raw and real. Oskar’s hand slid up to cup the back of my head. His eyes were wide, dark with grief, a reflection of my pain. He began to speak again, but the voices around us lifted and he released his hold on me, as if remembering where he was, his purpose.
I heard Jakob saying, ‘… but we must do something!’
‘We’ll speak later, Kati,’ Oskar said softly, touching my arm. ‘This is not the place. Not the time. You understand?’
I nodded. I could feel Hilja watching us. When I turned to look at her, she glanced quickly away.
‘Quiet!’ Oskar banged his fist on the makeshift table. The Forest Brothers partisans fell silent, though the Germans continued to speak in low voices to each other. Oskar ran a hand across his cropped hair. He moistened his lips with his tongue. His broad shoulders lifted and fell. ‘We need to find out if the information about the deportations is accurate.’
Jakob took an angry step forward. ‘I just told you—’
‘I know, Jakob.’ Oskar frowned. ‘But they might have fed your father a lie. Perhaps they suspected he would run, or that he wasn’t loyal and they wanted to prove it.’ Jakob opened his mouth but stayed silent. ‘I’m not saying he was wrong. Only misinformed.’ Oskar jerked his head. ‘This is Officer Weber and Officer Geyer from the SS Cavalry Brigade. They were brought in across the border a few weeks ago. Gentlemen, this is Jakob Rebane and his sister, Katarina.’ His eyes lingered on me before darting away. ‘Kati has not yet taken the oath but I think we can trust that they are telling the truth. As they see it.’
The older German tugged at his collar. ‘It sounds as if the Russians are mobilising.’
‘If it’s true, they will take aim at the farmers. The people we rely on to help us,’ Oskar said. ‘They will deport anyone who is sympathetic to our cause. Soviet patrols will begin combing the forest before morning. Those who run will be shot.’ He glanced at me. ‘Like Kati’s father. This is how it goes.’
‘What would you advise?’ Weber mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘We don’t want to die like trapped rabbits down here.’
‘So, tell them.’ Oskar placed his hands on his hips. He nodded at the transistor radio on the table. ‘Tell your colleagues at the border.’
The Germans exchanged looks.
‘There will never be a time like this again.’ The lamplight glowed on Oskar’s face. The soft expression he had worn earlier when he’d spoken about my parents was gone, replaced by a hard look of determination. I had seen him like this before, during our school days when some of the boys had waited behind the trees to pelt him with acorns as we walked home, calling out insults about his mother’s poverty, asking if he even remembered his papa. Oskar had ignored them all, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
‘One day,’ he had told me between gritted teeth, ‘when I’m a carpenter, they will be begging me to build their houses and fill them with fine furniture and I will refuse.’
The boys’ taunting laughter had followed us, but Oskar would not look back. He’d taken my gloved hand, wrapping it in the crook of his arm to keep me warm. But the fierce intensity in his face had made me shiver. How much of that boy was left in him now? Perhaps more than I had guessed. Perhaps that fierceness had kept him alive this past year.
‘Right now, the Russians will be distracted,’ he said. ‘Every Russian guard and soldier will be involved in some way. Once the dust settles, there’ll be nobody left to fight here when Hitler finally makes his move. We know these forests. So do the other partisan groups. We know there are people ready to fight in Latvia and Lithuania, too. Do you want your men stumbling around, circling each other, uncertain of which direction to shoot in?’
I saw the Germans weighing up his words. The younger man threw a long, agonised look at the radio. ‘But if we are wrong…’
‘If we are wrong, I will take full responsibility.’ Oskar turned away, moving towards the back of the room where long wooden crates rested against the packed-earth wall. ‘If we are wrong, I will personally hand myself over to the Sturmbannführer for whatever punishment he decides I deserve.’
The other partisans groaned. ‘No, Oskar,’ said one. Oskar silenced him with a glance, then turned back to the crates. He lifted the lid of one with his foot. It creaked open to reveal gleaming rifles. The partisans glanced at each other, their young faces brightening at the prospect of a fight.
‘So, we stay here and make contact while you enjoy your hunt.’ The German officer sounded resigned.
Oskar lifted a rifle from the crate. Weighing it in his hands, he ran his thumb gently over its ridged curves. My breath shortened. The sight of him holding the gun made the blood pound in my head. ‘We cannot hope to get to town to warn others,’ he said. ‘Besides, the Russians are paranoid and would kill everyone – the trains would be chock full of bodies, not people.’ My stomach tightened as I thought of Etti, Aunt Juudit. The others from our knitting circle. Oskar and Jakob, lying dead in the forest.
Oskar hefted the gun onto his shoulder. ‘But we can give them a chance if they make it this far. We will fan out towards the edge of the forest.’
‘We have to find our cousin, Etti,’ Jakob said. ‘She’s expecting a child. And her mother is an older woman. She’ll find it hard to run.’
Oskar shook his head. ‘If they make it to the forest, we’ll help them. But they are two among many hundreds, Jakob. I’m sorry.’
Although his words were aimed at my brother, Oskar looked at me. His eyes were full of sympathy but the words were an ice shard through my heart.
He turned towards the young men who were already lining up and began to hand out the rifles. ‘Jaak. Joosep.’
One by one, the boys took the weapons and began to rummage in another crate for ammunition. The Germans were already turning the dials on the radio, chattering in German, and I caught only snatches of what they said; my German was limited to the little we had been taught at school. All I could think about was the sound of Mama’s body hitting the earth. I could not bear the thought of Aunt Juudit or Etti, or my unborn cousin, suffering the same fate.
‘Jakob.’ Oskar held out the rifle. A hesitant look passed over Jakob’s face and he glanced at me, his shoulders hunching guiltily. But a moment later he was reaching out a hand to grip the metal tightly.
Oskar nodded. ‘We were right to trust you,’ he said. The ghost of a smile flitted over his features.