Hilda smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t worry yourself.’ With the other children following behind, she trotted out, disappearing upstairs towards the East wing, which we had been told housed the nursery and the schoolroom.
‘I would now like to show you what it is you have been employed to do,’ Frau Burkhard said crisply. ‘But first you must find your correct dormitory and pack away your things. We will meet here again in twenty minutes’ time. Please be prompt. There is much to show you and we do not have the energy or resources for time-wasters. As my husband said, it is imperative that what we produce here is sent as soon as possible to the factories where they will become uniforms for our brave men fighting at the front. Once I have explained your duties, we will venture outside to view the grounds. Your employment will start officially tomorrow. Please come and find your name.’
She held up the clipboard. The women surged forward, all talking eagerly.
I felt tired from the rattling truck journey. I tried to summon the energy that seemed to buzz through the throng of other volunteers but all I wanted to do was to find my bed and sleep.
‘Etti has been placed with some other mothers,’ Lydia said, returning to my side. ‘But you and I are in a dorm together. With Agnese.’ She looked troubled. ‘I have the strangest feeling that I’ve seen her before. Do you know her? Do you remember her from Tartu?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
Lydia sighed and ran her hand across her hair. She looked as bone-weary as I felt. ‘I’m probably imagining things. I’ve not slept well at all this past week. The strangest dreams. And I’ve had a griping feeling in my belly, as if somebody is walking a tightrope from one side of my body to the other.’
I looked at her with concern. ‘Do you need the doctor?’
She blinked and shook her head. ‘No. It comes and goes. It’s not worth troubling over. It’s likely nerves. Let’s put our things away quickly. I have a feeling Frau Burkhard would not forgive us for being late.’
The next day we woke to the grinding thump of machinery and the shrill summons of Frau Burkhard’s whistle. Tying on our aprons, we marched downstairs. The sound of the machines was deafening as we entered the weaving room. It filled my ears like the thunder of waves.
Frau Burkhard was waiting for us in a starched suit dress.
‘Remember what I told you,’ she shouted as we filed past. ‘You must keep a close eye on your machine. Even a slight over- or under-correction could result in a jam. Each woman assigned to a loom will be responsible for keeping her machine running smoothly and ensuring empty yarn cylinders are replaced seamlessly!’
Etti supervised the machine on my right while Lydia took the left. I noticed Agnese step towards the machine on Lydia’s other side. My skin prickled uncomfortably. The woman had followed us about the day before. It had not been so unusual when we were led around by Frau Burkhard, but once the tour of the factory was over she had followed us to the nursery where we visited Leelo and then hung about as we watched Leelo roll around on a blanket.
At supper the night before, Agnese had settled herself opposite Lydia, although there were many empty seats in the cafeteria. Lydia herself seemed nervous, picking at the food on her plate and then at last pushing it away before excusing herself to find the bathroom. At least Agnese had not gone after her, although I noticed she hadn’t eaten much either and left her vanilla pudding untouched. Lydia had not returned but had gone up to the dormitory to rest.
I saw her glance quickly at me now as the looms spun back and forth, churning out the cloth. She made a small adjustment to the spindle with her hand as Frau Burkhard had shown us. As I looked out at the sea of machines whirring, the women scurrying about at their stations, I could not help thinking of how different it was to the comforting warmth of the knitting circle I had known. Instead of efficient machines, I imagined the squashy armchairs of Aunt Juudit’s room and Helle and Leili chattering like birds. My grandmother carding wool the way her own mother had taught her – the way she had taught me – pressing the fibres between the paddles to get rid of clumps and impurities, making silver strands of yarn as thin as cobwebs. Instead of whirring machinery, the rooms would be full of voices. Conversation would float through the air, thickening it with laughter as tales of husbands and children passed from mouth to ear. There would be a little gossip – who’d fallen asleep in the Lutheran Church during service, whose daughter had danced with whose son at the local barn dance – but no malice. During a lull, when the words had dried up, someone might begin to sing, and the song would be taken up by myriad voices, each one blending until it was more like the bubbling of water than the expression of words.
A heaviness pressed on my chest as I thought of everything that would be forgotten once the women from the circle passed on. We were all scattered now. Who knew whether that knowledge would survive?
It took us a week to master the correct method of working with our looms. It wasn’t too difficult once we got the hang of it, but the days were long and monotonous. Every morning we woke to the whistle and dragged ourselves downstairs to be greeted by the smell of oil from the machines and the rhythmic thump of the turbines. And each day, I expected Oskar’s note to arrive, perhaps delivered by one of the few men who worked at the factory and whose job it was to distribute mail over our morning break or carry the heavy bolts of cloth into the lorries which arrived regularly to take the fabric back to Germany, where it would be sewn into uniforms. I could not imagine how else his contact would reach us.
When a month had slipped past, I began to grow nervous. At night, I lay awake, unable to sleep, replaying the moments of passion we had shared in the farmhouse. I soothed myself with these images, pushing away the little voice of doubt which whispered in the dark. Where were they? When would they come? I tried to talk to Lydia about it, but we were always interrupted. There was always someone nearby, either Frau Burkhard, yelling instructions, or Agnese.
She was like a burr we could not shake.
One night, weeks later, we were eating supper in the cafeteria. The fare was plain – a cup of milk, an overcooked egg – but I always tried to eat everything and encouraged Lydia and Etti to do the same. We would need all our strength when it came time to leave.
In between sips of milk, I tried to speak to Lydia about knitting. I had not forgotten how it felt to complete a shawl, how soothing to fall into the rhythm, but there’d been limited time for shawlmaking of late. We went to bed exhausted and woke up tired. If we did manage to summon up the strength to knit, we would only manage to do a few rows before our fingers gave up and we talked instead. To compensate, I’d begun to make up my own patterns, designing them with Lydia’s help, thinking aloud of the way I would weave the shapes together. I found it calming, a way of distracting myself from the growing anxiety of Oskar’s silence. I’d already constructed one for my parents; for Aunt Juudit. Every person I had lost would have their own stitch.
In this way, I had decided, I would honour them and their sacrifices.
Tonight, though, I could tell Lydia was tired. She answered my questions with single words. Her face was haggard, her hair unwashed and greasy, tendrils spilling from beneath the headscarf we were all forced to wear. She hunched over the plate where her egg remained uneaten.
‘Etti?’ I said, and my cousin turned from where she was sitting a few places away. ‘Lydia’s not feeling well,’ I continued. ‘I think she needs some air. Can you visit Leelo without us?’