The Wooden Chair

by Rayne E. Golay

  The crowd at the station was silent, barely a whisper reached Leini.

  The severity of the situation muted people. They were leaving their homes; some left loved ones behind, unable or unwilling to travel. They didn’t know if they would have a home to return to. In fact, nobody knew if they would have a home country in the future.

  Standing on the wagon, Mamma put both hands to her mouth like a trumpet. “Grandpa Benjamin! Hallo! Grandpa Benjamin!” she shouted several times.

  “Mira. Over here.”

  Leini grabbed the hem of Mamma’s dress and pulled. “I saw Grandpa’s cane.”

  “Good. I didn’t see him, but I saw the cane, too.” Mamma climbed from the wagon. “He isn’t far. Stay right here and don’t let anybody steal our things.”

  When Leini didn’t answer, Mira shook her shoulder. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes. Mamma…?” Leini wanted to ask if she would return to fetch her.

  “Stay here.” Mamma turned and disappeared into the masses.

  Leini put one foot on the wheel hub, grabbed hold of the twine on a carton and climbed onto the wagon. She sat on the edge and swung her feet, bumping the heels of her shoes against the wheel, hands tucked under her thighs, Maia safe under one arm. Mamma’s warning rang in her ears to be careful about the shoes, because new ones would be impossible to find. She stopped swinging her legs, stretched them to look at her sad-brown ribbed stockings, lips pursed as she saw them creased like sausages at the ankles and knees. “They never stay up,” she muttered and reached both hands under her coat and dress to pull them up.

  It seemed a long time since Mamma left to find Grandpa. Leini was becoming impatient and scared. She moved restlessly on the hard seat. Maybe Mamma won’t come back. Maybe she’s decided this is a good place to lose me. Tears rolled from her eyes, again smudging her glasses. She removed them to wipe them with the hem of her dress. Without the glasses everything was hazy, and she didn’t see Grandpa until she heard him. With the glasses on again, she saw Grandma Britta was with him.

  He lifted her in his arms and hugged her close to his chest. “There’s my little princess.” He perched her on his arm. “Whose favorite little girl are you?”

  “Grandpa’s.” She hugged him around his neck and pressed her face to his cheek that was cool and perfumed from sweet lavender. “And Grandma Britta’s, too.” A hiccup got away from her as she bent low to exchange kisses and rub noses with her grandma, the way they always did whenever they met. Leini’s heart beat fast and happiness purred inside. Grandma Britta pulled a hankie from her coat pocket and wiped Leini’s cheeks.

  She held the hankie to Leini’s nose. “Blow! No need to cry, my little dove.”

  Leini swallowed a sob and smiled, feeling light from relief.

  “I’m going to set you down,” said Grandpa. “We need to see about getting all this luggage on board. The train leaves soon.” From the pocket of his vest he took out a watch, held it close to Leini’s nose and pushed a small button to spring open the lid, which snapped against her nose. As always, the game amused her. She threw her head back and laughed.

  It was a peal of laughter—like silver bells—so joyous and free, those who heard it smiled in spite of the serious moment they were all caught in.

  Leini tugged at Grandpa’s coat. “What about Papi?” Determined not to cry, she swallowed. “Will Papi find us?”

  Grandpa smiled into her upturned face and gently touched his fingers to the corners of her mouth that threatened to pull down. “Of course he will, my princess.”

  With a suitcase in each hand he grunted as he swung them on board the train. Cartons followed. He lifted Leini by the waist. “Your turn now. Hold on to the rail once you’re on board so you don’t fall if the train should lurch.”

  “Benjamin. Wait, Benjamin, Leini!”

  Over Grandpa’s shoulder Leini saw a tall man, the gray uniform coat flapping below his knees as he ran to catch up with them, each footfall of the black boots a loud slap against the cobblestones.

  Grandpa stood Leini on her feet on the platform. “Karl. Glad you made it.” The two men embraced and slapped each other’s backs. “And not a minute too soon. The train is about to leave.”

  Karl leaned over Leini to caress her cheek with the back of his hand. “My little girl. I’m so happy I got here in time; I couldn’t let you go away without saying good-bye. And I wanted to give you a present. Here.” He handed her a square packet wrapped in white paper, tied with a string. “It’s something to help you pass the time on the train.” His coal-black eyes, so like Mamma’s, searched the crowd. “Where’s Mamma?”

  “I’m here, Karl.” Mamma took the steps from the train so fast she stumbled.

  Karl caught her around the waist and hugged her to him.

  “Oh, Karl, this war is a terrible thing. Everybody’s gone. First my husband, now you.” She sniffled and pressed a white hankie to her eyes.

  “Take it easy, Mira. You’re no exception. The war is tough on everybody. You’re lucky to have your daughter.” He stroked a hand over Leini’s hair, fondling her neck with the tips of his fingers, sending pleasure tickling down her spine. “Grandpa and Grandma Britta are with you, too. That’s more than a lot of folks have these days.”

  Leini peered at her. Did she forget I told her she has me?

  Grandpa touched Karl’s arm. “I wish you could come with us. Helsinki isn’t a safe place now.”

  “I know, but I have my job at the military hospital, and the antique business is brisk. People need money for food, so they’re forced to sell family heirlooms. I don’t like taking advantage of their difficulties, but…” He spread his hands. “By buying their goods I’m helping them and I pay a good price.” He glanced at Leini, who stood hugging one of his legs.

  “If that isn’t Karl Ziegler come to see us off!” Grandma Britta stood on top of the stairs in the sooty gray doorframe of the wagon. “I’m so glad we got to say good-bye. God only knows when we’ll be together again. At least you’re not in the trenches, like our Robert.”

  Karl rushed up the steps to enfold her in his arms. “God bless, Grandma Britta.” He half turned to nod at Leini. “Look after her for me, will you?”

  “You know I will. Be safe. Come see us when you can.”

  The engine sounded sharp whistles.

  Karl pressed his cheek against Grandma Britta’s and stepped onto the platform.

  Grandpa patted him on the shoulder. “Time for us to go.” His face was serious, eyes shiny. “Take care, you hear.”

  “Be safe, all of you.” From the pocket of his pants Karl pulled a big white handkerchief to wipe his face as if it was wet. “I’ll come visit as soon as I can. I’ll miss you all. Have a safe trip.” With an arm around Mira’s waist he helped her mount the steps. “See you soon.”

  In Grandpa’s arms, Leini boarded. Another sharp whistle. With a jolt the train started rolling out of the station. Karl walked along, waving his white handkerchief. He mouthed words, but the wind carried them away, so she didn’t hear what he said. He became a little dot. The train rounded a curve, and she could no longer see him.

  Chapter 4

  Helsinki, May 1943

  The long train settled into a monotonous, slow rhythm.

  “Grandpa, why isn’t Karl in the war like my papi?”

  “Not everybody can fight on the front, my princess. Karl has an illness that makes him bleed too fast if he’s injured. He serves the country by doing office work at the military hospital in Helsinki.”

  Leini nodded, not sure she understood. But she liked it that Karl helped Finland.

  Before the trip, Grandpa made sure they had a compartment all to themselves, Mamma told Leini. She kneeled on her seat next to Mamma, forehead pressed to the window for as long as she could see a glimpse of the station, the last familiar landmark. Long after it disappeared from view, Leini kept her eyes on the scenery. The train rolled past farms with red houses, the corners and window frames
painted white. Cows grazed in the meadows, although there wasn’t much grass yet. The trees wore the sheerest dusting of green. She tugged at Grandma Britta’s sleeve, pointing at the landscape rushing by.

  “What is it, my pet?”

  Leini kept pointing. “The trees are baby green.”

  Grandma Britta leaned forward to glance through the window. “You’re right. It’s the promise of summer.” She planted a kiss on Leini’s head.

  Hugging her doll, Leini whispered reassuring words to cheer Maia. “You’ll see, Maia, Veteli is nice. We’ll be in the countryside with lots of flowers and fresh bread, Mamma says so.” She sighed as she creased her brow in worry. “Maybe Grandpa and Grandma Britta will do something so Papi finds me.”

  Leini held Maia pressed to her breast and moved one of the doll’s braids back and forth under her nose. The tickling touch was comforting. It made her sleepy. She hummed a monotonous tune. Often she heard songs in her head, like the lullaby she liked so much, the one Papi used to sing to her. When he was home, he sat on the side of her bed and sang about a rainbow, his warm voice lulling her to sleep. He kept the radio on all day long, and music filled the home. Leini sang along with the tunes. Mamma said it got on her nerves and often she switched off the radio. After a while, Papi turned it on again.

  They also had a record player, which Papi wound up. He put on a record, and the music came out a little scratchy through the tall horn. Leini was sad that nobody sang to her now; she missed the music. Mamma never sang; she never even hummed.

  “When I was a boy,” Papi told Leini, “we didn’t have a record player, but my mom, that’s your Grandma Britta, played the piano.”

  Leini hadn’t quite understood this. “Is my Grandma Britta your mamma?”

  Papi smiled. “Yes, Leini. And your grandpa is my dad, my papi.”

  She nodded. “That’s good.” She thought for a minute, feeling something swell in her throat. “Mamma doesn’t have a…a mamma and papi.”

  He had caressed her hair. “That’s true. Her mamma and papi died—they went to heaven.”

  Sad, Leini almost sobbed. “Mamma is all alone.”

  “No, Leini girl, there you’re wrong. She has you and me. And there’s Karl, her brother. We all love her very much.”

  With a short intake of breath, she now remembered Karl’s gift. She tore open the paper. “Look, Grandma Britta, a book.”

  Grandma Britta leafed through the pages. “It’s a coloring book.” She searched through the wrapping paper. “And here are color pencils, too.” She handed Leini a longish metal box.

  Opening the lid, Leini touched a finger to the tips of the pencils, but a yawn escaped her. She closed the box to save coloring for later and wiggled against the back of the settee. She was startled when Mamma put an arm around her waist and lifted her to sit on her lap.

  “How are you, my baby?”

  With snap of her head Leini glanced at Mamma. Joy, like a butterfly’s wing, fluttered inside. Had she heard right? Had Mamma really said “My baby”? Surprised at the unexpected endearment, she had to make sure. “What did you say?”

  “I asked how you are.” Although Mamma didn’t repeat the kind words, her voice was softer than usual.

  Leini pressed her body closer. “I’m good.” She wrapped her arms around Mamma’s neck and held tight, cheek pressed against Mamma’s breast.

  Mamma sat still, back very straight, legs crossed, holding Leini in the slack circle of her arms. Leini wished Mamma would hug her back, but she was stiff and hard, her lap not so nice. Like the wooden chair in the kitchen in Helsinki.

  After a while, Mamma poked Leini in the ribs with her fingers, hurting her.

  “Stop clinging to me,” she said. “And you’re crushing my dress.”

  Leini slipped off her lap. With her back against the window, she stood on one leg, the other curled under her on the seat. Looking at Mamma, her lips trembled, eyes growing misty. “You didn’t lose me like you said.”

  “What!” Grandpa’s voice was like a lash. He gave Mamma a piercing look. “Did you lose Leini?”

  Mamma whipped her head around and fastened her eyes on him. “No, Grandpa.” She spoke in a firm tone. Without wavering she stared at him. She called him “Grandpa” to be polite, but Leini once heard her tell Papi she was afraid of Grandpa and that she didn’t like him. Leini couldn’t understand why. She loved Grandpa.

  “Of course she didn’t get lost. How can you think I’d be so careless? My only child? I like her.” She turned to Leini. “Isn’t it true, baby? You know Mamma likes you?”

  Leini was confused. Her fingers twirled a strand of hair, pulling it so tight her scalp burned. Looking first at Grandpa, then at Mamma, she caught Grandma Britta smiling at her. She shrugged, didn’t dare look at Mamma again. “Don’t know.” Her fingers twirled and twirled the strand of hair.

  Mamma sat cross-legged, the upper foot kicking up and down with jerky movements, her lips pursed as she stared fixedly past Leini’s ear.

  Now Mamma will be angry with me again. I should have said I know she likes me. It’s a lie, but Mamma always says a white lie isn’t a real lie.

  * * *

  Slowly, Mira looked away from Leini. She fished a cigarette from her handbag, lit it, took a deep drag.

  Grandpa harrumphed. He fixed Mira with a cold stare. “You keep smoking. Where do those cigarettes come from?”

  Mira twitched in her seat from the unexpected question and his piercing eyes. What business does the old man have to question what I do? I don’t ask him for anything. Staring through the window, she muttered something indistinct.

  Forearms on knees, Grandpa leaned forward. “What’s that you said? I didn’t hear you.”

  Mira turned her head toward him, wishing she could bore holes in him with her eyes. Her lips trembled. She made a supreme effort to tamp down the rage grumbling inside like a volcano ready to erupt.

  “When Robert was on leave, he brought a few cartons. I only smoke a couple a day, so they last me.” She took a deep puff of the cigarette, the smoke raspy in her throat, stuffy from the churning anger she didn’t dare express, not to provoke the old man, which she didn’t want to do as she and the girl depended on his money.

  “Hmm. Robert doesn’t smoke. How come he had cigarettes?”

  Mira shifted on the settee. “He told me he writes letters for some of the men who can’t write. They pay him in cigarettes.” She crushed the stub in a small ashtray in the armrest. “The men on the front get a ration of cigarettes, as I’m sure you know.” She stood. With the door to the compartment half-open, she turned to stare at Grandpa. “When this supply is gone, I’ll stop smoking. I won’t use precious money to buy them on the black market, if that’s what you’re worried about.” There, that should put an end to the “inquisition.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door all the way and left the suffocating compartment before her rage exploded.

  * * *

  Leini sat on Grandpa’s lap and played with his pocket watch. He read her a story from Scheherazade. Mamma said she was too young for the stories, but Leini thought they were nice, and the pictures were pretty. She liked “Aladdin and the Slave of the Lamp” the best. Some of them she knew by heart. She wished Mamma would read to her sometimes, but she had more important things to do, she said.

  After a while Grandpa yawned and lifted her to sit with Grandma Britta. “I’m tired, my princess. I’ll have a little shut-eye, then we’ll have a bite to eat. What do you say?”

  Leini nodded. Warm and secure, she leaned her back against Grandma Britta’s soft bosom. She inhaled her scent. Grandma once told her it was called L’Air du Temps. It smelled good, like lots of flowers. Leini only half-listened to her tell the story of Heidi. Worry made her stomach hurt. She touched Grandma’s cheek with her fingertips, soft, like Mamma’s silky dressing gown. “Will my papi know where to find me?”

  “What do you mean, my little dove?”

  “I’m
not at home, so will he find me in Vete…?”

  “But of course he will. Does this worry you?”

  Leini buried her face against Grandma Britta’s breast and squeezed her eyes shut to make the tears go away. “Yes, if he can’t find me, I’ll never see him again.”

  “Oh, my baby. Don’t worry. Grandma and Grandpa wrote to him. I’m sure Mamma did, too.” Grandma Britta wrapped her arms around her, holding her close. “Here’s what we’ll do.” Grandma’s voice was gentle. “As soon as we’re settled in Veteli, we’ll write to him, you and me. I’ll help you.” Grandma Britta kissed her cheek. “How about it?”

  “That’s good, Grandma.” Leini hugged her around the neck. “I know how to write ‘My Papi.’” Content, she sighed, her mind at rest. Papi would know where she was. He would come for her when the war was over.

  A chilly air from the door made Leini shiver. She pulled her lips to a smile as Mamma entered, but she sat in her seat as before, didn’t look at Leini at all.

  She turned in Grandma Britta’s lap and watched Grandpa sleep. He breathed evenly through half-open lips, the thumb of each hand stuck inside the breast pockets of his vest. Apart from a ring of soft downy hair, which grew around the base of his head, he had no hair at all.

  As if he sensed Leini’s look, Grandpa opened his eyes and gently pinched her cheek.

  Leini settled in Grandma’s comfy lap. Within minutes she fell asleep. She dreamt Papi was looking for her in all the wrong places. Calling to him, her voice was so small he couldn’t hear. In the train compartment with its unfamiliar smells and sounds she cried out.

  “Papi. Papi. Here. I’m here.”