‘I’m here,’ she said.
‘We need to move.’ I touched her arm. ‘Can you walk?’
Leelo shifted restlessly against Etti’s chest, her bawling now one long series of hiccupping sobs. Etti looked down at her and then nodded. With my help, she struggled to her feet and we stumbled down a steep embankment until the stink of smoke lessened.
Propping Etti against the trunk of an oak tree, I sank down beside her, succumbing to the dank rich scent of earth and rotting foliage. I wrapped my arms around my cousin and her child. Etti’s body was trembling. Drifts of smoke still wafted overhead. The sounds of screams and gunfire had ceased. The fire had burned itself out, bloated on the trees and timber constructions in the camp.
Above us, the trees stretched upwards, fingers pointing accusations at the stars.
Leelo’s crying lessened. Eventually, her breathing changed, and she slept.
I closed my eyes.
‘Kati. Kati.’
Hands shook me. I tried to stir, but my limbs were too heavy. My head was full of smoke and singed flesh and the rattle of guns.
I inhaled the musky scent of fur, along with other night smells. Ash. Pine. Beneath my eyelids I saw glowing eyes. A flash of teeth.
‘Kati, it will be all right.’ Soft feet padded past.
Grandmother, wolf, a girl in a white lace shawl.
A fairy tale woven from the blackened threads of history.
Sunlight pierced my eyes. I jolted awake, and panic spread through me when I realised my arms were empty.
‘Leelo!’
‘She’s here.’
Lydia held her out. I snatched her up, squeezing too hard, pressing her against my thudding heart. I nuzzled her neck, drawing a soft sound of complaint from her as relief rushed through me.
Lydia was sitting opposite me in the leaves, Etti’s head was in her lap. Sunshine filtered down around them as Lydia stroked Etti’s hair. My cousin’s eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell.
‘She’s sleeping,’ Lydia said.
Birds trilled in the branches overhead.
Lydia raised her eyes to mine. Her dark hair was twisted into tangled ropes. Smoke streaked her face. Her skirt was torn, the lace collar of her blouse half-ripped away.
‘Where did you go?’ It was not what I had planned to ask. But it was all I could manage.
‘Not far. I thought I should be alone. Perhaps I could live in the forest by myself for a while.’ She shot me a sad smile. ‘I was asleep when it started, out here under the stars.’ She paused. ‘It was a group of Russians. Soldiers, not agents. I think they stumbled on us by accident. They had rifles and petrol bombs.’ Her voice shook. Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘I heard them. I couldn’t do… anything. I wanted to cry out, but I was frozen. All I could do was lie here like a coward. Some of them died in the big blast. I heard others running away, cursing.’ She faltered, looking down suddenly at Etti, pressing her lips together.
‘It’s not your fault.’ I drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Have you been back?’
She shook her head. Her face tightened, a muscle flickering in her cheek. ‘I… I don’t think I can.’
Silence pressed around us. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ I said, at last.
Lydia lifted a shoulder, but the muscles in her face relaxed. ‘You were right, to be protective. But I would never hurt your brother. You must believe me. I would not hurt any of you. My father,’ her face darkened, ‘he is a villain. But I am not like him. I am trying to make amends. That’s why I try to help as much as possible. Why I tried to help with Etti and with Leelo.’
She fingered the tattered lace collar on her blouse. ‘I have lost people too,’ she said softly.
I did not ask her. I thought I already knew. The woman she called to in her sleep. Olga.
‘I should go.’ I slid Leelo off my shoulder. Her body was so small and warm. Lydia shifted Etti gently aside and held out her arms.
‘You don’t have to.’ The freckles stood out on her pale skin like a smattering of stars. She reached out her hand, grasping mine.
I bit the inside of my mouth. How I longed to sink back down and drink in the sunshine, cuddling Leelo and pretending that we had slipped outside the camp for the morning. That everything would be the same when we returned, the chatter of the other exiles, the stench of the latrine. The occasional shout of laughter from one of the Forest Brothers as a joke was shared in Oskar’s lean-to.
My thoughts lurched suddenly to Oskar. What if he’d come back to fight the Russians and protect us? He could be lying hurt and injured. The stench of the fire still lingered in the back of my throat. A rush of fear went through me. I did not want to go back. But I needed to see for myself.
I pulled away gently and started up the slope.
Sharp stones scratched at my feet as I edged through the rocks and into the camp.
The smell hit me first and a minute later, the sound.
Burned meat. Buzzing flies.
Smoke rose from the blackened ground. A crater the size of a sheep’s pen gouged the earth near the ruined wreck that had been our food tent. Oskar’s lean-to was gone, the soil dark and moist as if newly turned.
Bodies lay scattered among the ruins. Some were unrecognisable, just blackened skeletons. Others bore the familiar marks of their former hosts. Hilja I knew from her brown uniform, with the sleeves rolled up. Her body lay near the churned pocket of earth. Half her face was gone, blown away by the grenade she must have detonated to kill the Russian attackers.
My stomach roiled and I lurched, stumbling away and nearly tripped over a small suitcase. Through the blur of my tears, I realised it was not a suitcase but the small body of Hanna, Johanna’s granddaughter, her tiny childish limbs curled up in death.
I sank to my knees beside it, all semblance of hope lost, and began to sob.
There was nothing left but blackened soil and tarnished memories. Even with their last gasp, the Soviets had destroyed any possible shred of happiness, not content to allow us to live as exiles.
My fingers dug into the still-warm ground. I rubbed the ashes on the skin at my wrists and the back of my hands. I will not forget you, I promised them. Hilja. Hanna. Johanna. Liisa. All the people who had shown us kindness this past week and shared our meals and our stories. The women who did not have a voice, whose lives and heritage had been ripped away.
The black ashes coated the back of my hands, mottled grey and white. They looked like lace, the same fineness; like a pasqueflower weave, or a simple pattern of vine leaves.
I was still staring at them when I heard somebody call my name. Distantly, then growing closer.
I climbed unsteadily to my feet as Oskar appeared between the scarred skeletons of the trees. He ran towards me, his feet stirring up the ashes. When he reached me, he crushed me to his chest. Stubble pricked my forehead and his fingers stroked my hair as he said my name, over and over.
Eventually, he drew back. Grief lined his features. ‘If we’d known…’ He squeezed my hands, his face hardening. ‘If we’d come back earlier.’
I shook my head, unable to speak.
‘The Germans are here. They arrived this morning from Tallinn. They’re executing any remaining Soviets. Anyone who has links to the Soviet regime.’ My hand disappeared as he folded it within his own. ‘You’re safe,’ he said. ‘Safe, Kati.’
Safe. There was no meaning in that word. It was an empty promise. All we could hope for was to help each other to survive. Our new alliance with the Germans held no guarantee.
‘Kati?’ He frowned. ‘Did you hear me?’
I wanted to shake my head at him. Instead, I opened my arms.
Spider Stitch