Now, an arm draped around my shoulder. Jakob grinned down at me. He had removed his hat, and sweaty curls clung to his temples. His skin was tanned, warmed by the many hours he now spent outdoors training with the others. He looked exactly like the farm boys we had grown up with, arms corded with ropey muscle. Not the mild-mannered teacher my mother had yearned for him to be.
‘Hello, sister,’ he said, his brows knitted. ‘Why so glum? Shouldn’t you be with the adoring crowds, shouting my name?’
I shrugged his arm away. ‘Shouldn’t you be marching with the Home Guard instead of standing here, searching for compliments?’
He jammed his cap back on his head, the smile returning to his eyes. ‘They told us to go when we reached the marketplace. We’ve been ordered to return home. Oskar’s already gone. He’s out at the farmhouse. He told me to tell you to meet him there.’
I swallowed. ‘At the farmhouse? Why?’
Jakob shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. You know how he is. The Boche have commandeered Werner’s Cafe for the afternoon – you remember it, I took you there. I think they dread the competition we’ll present. Can you tell me why anyone would prefer a hot-blooded German to a scruffy Estonian?’
He rubbed at the growth on his chin. It was thin and patchy, showing the bronze skin beneath.
When I didn’t answer, my brother turned towards Lydia.
‘What about you, Lida? You’d prefer a German, I suppose; someone who knows how to hold a gun properly and can grow a proper beard.’
Lydia had been staring at the pavement, tracing the toe of her shoe over a wedge of cobblestone split apart by thistles. ‘I’m sick of guns,’ she said, her words so quiet I almost didn’t catch them.
The teasing look in Jakob’s eyes faded. He took a step towards her then hesitated, his gaze darting quickly back to me and then to the women from the knitting circle who were all watching this exchange keenly. I wondered what he would do if we weren’t there. Would he embrace her? Kiss her?
Lydia drew her shawl around her, turning her head away from us to face the crowd. The breeze teased her hair, sending tendrils of it spiralling over her face. She tugged them, winding them around her hands, tucking them into the back of her shawl to keep them from tangling. I saw Etti give Jakob a sharp look and raise her eyebrows, but my brother shrugged, uncertain of her message. Etti looked at me and rolled her eyes. Helle and Leili clucked at each other knowingly like hens.
Knots of people drifted past us, their faces wreathed in smiles. The unmistakable scent of smoked trout drifted through the air; somebody was cooking in one of the apartments nearby. The smell made my mouth water. Fishing had been illegal under the Soviet charter as all rivers were the property of the State and anything caught in them was to be shared equally among the masses. Some people had rebelled, sneaking into the woods to cast their lines in the crystal river waters. Perhaps the Germans looked more kindly on that behaviour. If our own crops were to be returned to us, it made sense the rivers would be, too.
‘We should get back,’ Lydia said, looking at Etti and the sleeping infant Helle had returned to her mother’s arms. ‘Perhaps I can rest with Leelo for a while. My throat hurts. I’m worried I’ve caught her cold. Goodbye, Jakob.’ She nodded at my brother.
Although it was only a glance, I read longing there and desire, a seed that would only need the slightest cultivation to burst into bloom. I felt a spurt of happiness for my brother which quickly mellowed. Lydia was not the kind of girl my parents would have wanted for him. They would have preferred a pure-blooded Estonian who did not mangle her words or burn the grain on the bottom of the pan when I left the kitchen. Lydia was an enigma. Perhaps that was why Jakob wanted her. Although we had spoken about her father the Partorg and some of her life in Moscow, I always felt she was holding back, unwilling to share all of her past. Etti still felt strongly about her. I often found them talking softly together as they watched Leelo stretching on the carpet and trying to kick her small legs. Despite her mystery, the three of us, Jakob, Etti and myself, had agreed to say nothing about her identity to anyone, not even to the knitting ladies. To expose her would be akin to murder. I could only hope that wherever my parents were now, they would want Jakob to be happy and would overlook any of Lydia’s faults. I hoped they would give him their blessing.
‘Why don’t you go back to the apartment?’ Etti said suddenly, breaking into my thoughts. ‘Go back and rest. Kati and I have to visit with Helle for a while. She wants us to show her how to sew some nupps on her kroonprints stitch.’
Helle’s face creased. ‘What?’
‘You remember, Helle.’ Etti hitched Leelo up on her shoulder and patted her bottom. Her eyes glittered. ‘The kroonprintsi!’
Helle lifted her chin. ‘I know how to sew a nupp. Ouch!’ She scowled, rubbing hard at the place on her elbow where Leili had pinched her, before understanding made her draw in a sharp breath. ‘Oh yes. The kroonprintsi. Of course.’
Etti was shaking her head but she was smiling.
Lydia looked at Jakob and then at me, hesitating. I knew she was asking for my approval and although I felt an old flare of dislike, it was dimmed by the greater desire for Jakob’s happiness.
‘Go on.’ I made an ushering gesture. ‘You should. I’ve heard you at all hours of the night with Leelo, singing her songs and telling her stories. No wonder you’re getting sick.’
Lydia’s mouth curved. ‘I suppose a rest might help. I muddle up the words if I’m too tired. Not that she knows.’
‘I’ll walk you back.’ My brother stepped between us. He could not hide the eagerness in his voice, but I noticed his hands trembled a little. His nervousness made me want to laugh, a rare sensation now. It reminded me of the old days, how easy it had been to find pleasure in small things, before the shadow of the purge fell over everything. Things would be set right, I promised myself. When the Germans left and Estonia was restored. But there would always be a darkness, a shadow blurring the edges of the brightest moments. My parents and aunt were gone. Nothing would bring them back.
Jakob’s boots clicked on the cobblestones. When he reached for Lydia’s arm, she tensed. Then almost imperceptibly she moved towards him, leaning her body against his as they fell into step. The low hum of their voices was just audible beneath the burble of the dispersing crowd. The ease with which they came together made my chest tight.
I watched them, Lydia’s narrow hips swaying as they reached the front doorstep of the apartment block. The corner of her shawl slipped off her shoulder, and Jakob’s hand shot out and pulled it back up, smoothing it over the fabric of her blue blouse.
When I looked at my brother now, I no longer saw the tall, lanky student but the soldier, a man who had witnessed death first-hand. A man who carried that knowledge inside him. Instead of fearing it, though, he had embraced it like a gift, turning it outwards so everything he did was imbued with a gentle humour, a respect for the fragility of life. I watched him now hold open the door and stand back as Lydia slipped through. Then they were gone, disappeared inside the shadowy stairwell.
I realised I was smiling.
Etti’s fingers prodded me. Her eyes were teasing. ‘And you, Katarina? Where is your prince?’
I shrugged but my mind went instantly to the little string tied around the fourth finger of my left hand. Oskar had given it to me the day we exchanged our vows two weeks after the Russians surrendered.
I was Katarina Mägi now.
Although we had not had any money for rings, we had gone together to the marriage registry and records office the Germans had hastily arranged while they sorted out the papers which had been lost during the bombings as the Russians left. With Jakob and Etti as our witnesses, we had made our vows in a simple timber-panelled room and Oskar had tied the scrap of white yarn on my finger with quivering hands; a promise of the ring he would one day place there. Afterwards we had gone back to the apartment and toasted our future with vodka. Helle had invited our remaining neighbours to join us and they had all drunk too much. When they finally left us alone, we shrugged off our clothes in the dark and into bed, conscious of the paper-thin walls and Etti and Lydia sleeping in the next room. At last, we began to relax and for a few moments at least, I was able to forget all about our proximity to the others. But our pleasure was short-lived. First, the baby had begun to holler, then Oskar’s Commanding Officer had sent an urgent message for him to return to the barracks. I’d been forced to hide my disappointment and assure him I understood his obligations, although I knew from the scowl on his face that the inconvenience had bothered him more than he could show. We were still at war and Oskar, as part of the Home Guard, was required to sleep at the barracks with his fellow soldiers. When we could, we snatched moments together in the apartment, always careful to keep our voices low so as not to disturb the others but there were days and nights where I wondered if I had dreamed our wedding up in my head and I longed for the day Oskar and I could finally be together and sleep under the same roof, not bound by the conditions of his leave.