The Wooden Chair

by Rayne E. Golay

  The dream woke her. Grandma Britta leaned over her and crooned soft words to calm her. While she slept she lost Maia. Grandma Britta held the doll close to her. Leini folded her arms around its soothing softness. It smelled of home, of milk and beeswax Mamma used to polish furniture.

  Outside the train window the spring night was light, almost like day. Rays of sunlight kissed the treetops, bathing them in an orange glow. Secure in her grandmother’s arms, Leini calmed.

  Grandpa took her hand. “Before you fall asleep, princess, remember to ask God to keep you safe. In the morning, thank God for the blessings of the day.”

  “Yes, Grandpa.” And Leini knelt on the seat, lowered her head and said a silent prayer. She was glad Grandpa reminded her; she always felt good after she prayed.

  Chapter 5

  Veteli, May 1943

  Mid-morning the following day, the train pulled into the station closest to Veteli, some miles from the village proper. Leini and her family were the only travelers to get off. The trees were barren, the plowed fields dotted by carpets of gray-white snow where the sun hadn’t reached to melt it. Like anxious sentinels, the little group surrounded their load of belongings. Most all their worldly goods were in the boxes and crates.

  Leini drew a deep breath of the cool, bracing air, pungent with smells of fir needles, damp earth and fresh dung. Looking around, she took in the small wooden hut that was the station building, brown paint flaking, its windows sooty. The day was sunny, the sky so high and so blue her breath caught. A brisk wind bit her cheeks. From a distance, the repetitious call of a bird reached her.

  Grandpa smiled into her upturned face as she pointed in the direction of the bird’s call. “Who’s saying cuckoo all the time?”

  “It’s a bird called the cuckoo.”

  To imitate the bird, she repeated, “Cuckoo, cuckoo.”

  Leini watched a young man walk toward them. He wore a lambskin coat and hat, its flaps covering his ears. He now removed it and bowed his head in greeting. “Good day to you. I’m Kalevi Alamaa.” He eyed them, one after the other. “Seeing as nobody else got off the train, you must be the Bauman family.”

  Grandpa’s hand disappeared in Kalevi Alamaa’s paw as they shook hands. “I’m Benjamin Bauman. Nice to meet you, Mr. Alamaa.”

  “Kalevi to you. We’ll be living in the same house, so no point being formal.”

  He’d come to fetch them with a horse-drawn wagon, a layer of straw covering the bottom. Leini kept her eyes trained on him as he started loading their luggage on board.

  “Grandpa, why isn’t he in the war?” she whispered. “He isn’t old like you.”

  “I think there’s something wrong with his leg. Look, he walks with a limp.”

  Grandpa was right. Kalevi threw his left leg at a funny angle, bending low when he stepped on it.

  After Kalevi loaded their luggage, he gave each a hand up, urging them to use the fur rugs as cover.

  “It’s cold and will get colder during the ride, so bundle up. Once we’re in the woods, the wind won’t be so biting.” He sat on a raised, backless wooden plank, right behind the horse’s rump.

  “Is it far?” Grandpa asked as they left the station.

  “Yes,” Kalevi said.

  “Taciturn son of a…”

  He bit his lip as Leini gazed at him. With a grin, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer for warmth. With a gloved finger he poked Kalevi in the back. “How far is it? An hour, two hours? What?”

  “An hour, give or take.”

  For the rest of the ride, Kalevi didn’t utter another word. Snow covered the ground. Here and there the wind had swept it into high drifts. Spots of bare earth peeked through the blanket of white where the sun shone through the spruces and a sprinkling of birches.

  Leaving the woods, they followed a narrow path. The snow had melted on either side; the dark soil bore evidence of recent plowing. In the open space the wind reached gale force. Grandpa tucked the fur around him and Leini, her view of things nearly blocked by its folds. The wagon came to a standstill with a jolt that shook her. It was very quiet when the wheels stopped turning. Grandpa helped her off the wagon, the snow crunching under her feet, a sound she liked.

  The farm, their new home, consisted of a cluster of buildings on the fringes of Veteli. The main house was a two-story wooden villa. Another building, long with small windows, housed the farm hands and their families. There was also a henhouse, Leini learned later. Scattered without any apparent design were the wooden cow house and the feed barn. All houses were painted red, with white corners, window and door frames, just like some of the buildings along the way she’d spotted from the train window.

  From the farm, Leini could see a grouping of wooden houses, all painted red—a splotch of color against the rich brown earth, dotted here and there by patches of snow. She would later learn that was the village of Veteli.

  Leading the way, Kalevi climbed the steps to the front porch and sat on a low three-legged stool. With some grunting and puffing, he pulled off his knee-high leather boots and slid his feet into a pair of gray felt slippers.

  Kalevi glanced at their city slick shoes. “Wear slippers in the house. No tracking mud on wooden floors.” He nodded toward a door off the porch. “I live here. We’re under the same roof, but separate.” He pulled a blue and brown checkered handkerchief from the back pocket of his pants and blew his nose.

  Leini giggled at the trumpet-like sound. She caught Mamma’s stern look and choked down the laughter that tickled in her throat.

  “You’ll not see much of me,” Kalevi said. “Mealtimes, is all.”

  Kalevi opened the door from the porch into the kitchen, a spacious room with a wood-burning stove, a rough counter and a long table with a bench on each side. The one window sat smack in the middle of the long side wall. At the other end of the kitchen a door led into a narrow corridor, which opened on the living room.

  Kalevi stepped aside to allow them a look inside. Peeking, Leini glimpsed a couch and armchairs in dark wood and red fabric, and—she smiled and her heart jumped from joy—a radio.

  “This room is only for company. Usually, the kitchen’s good enough.”

  Leini lost her smile.

  Another door in the kitchen led to a spacious bedroom, bright with sunshine, the beds narrow and high. A winding staircase took them to the second floor with another four bedrooms. The floors were made of wide wooden planks, scrubbed off-white, shiny from wear. The furniture was sparse but functional. Hand-woven rag-rugs ran the length of each room, and others were scattered about, their bright colors cheerful.

  Grandma Britta and Grandpa occupied the bedroom downstairs. Leini shared the room on top of the staircase with Mamma. Standing in the middle of their room, Leini looked about her. Their suitcases and cartons were piled against a wall.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” Leini asked.

  “There’s no bathroom,” Mamma said.

  This was strange. “Don’t I have to wash? And I need to pee.”

  Mamma stood by a cabinet, its top made of polished red granite.

  “Come here, girl.” Mamma pointed. “There’s water in this pitcher. We have to fetch it from the well in the courtyard, so no wasting. You pour some into this basin. There’s soap in this dish and here’s a washrag.” Again she pointed. “The towels are there.” She showed where they hung on a rod on the side of the toilet table. “Once a week, we’ll have a real sauna. Then there’s lots of hot and cold water for washing.”

  Mamma bent to open a door at the front of the cabinet, motioning for Leini to look inside. “At night you use this potty.”

  Leini tried to understand, but everything was different from where they used to live. Why’s there no tap to make the water come out or a toilet? She stared at the potty, at Mamma, then at the potty again. With quick fingers she lifted her skirt and made to pull down her panties.

  “What are you doing?” Mamma asked.

  “I…I nee
d….”

  “No, don’t do that!” Mamma’s voice was like a lash. She turned on her heel and walked to the door, speaking over her shoulder. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  Leini pulled up her panties, smoothed her dress and ran to keep pace with Mamma. They went downstairs and through the kitchen. Crossing the courtyard, Mamma stopped at a gray, unpainted wooden hut, almost totally hidden by bushes. The thatched roof slanted, and she saw no windows, only one narrow door, which faced away from the main house.

  As Mamma opened the door, a sharp stench made Leini crinkle her nose. She recoiled and covered her nose with her hand.

  “Don’t be so prissy. When I grew up, we didn’t have water toilets, only an outhouse like this.”

  From the doorway, Leini saw a raised bench with two round holes, one next to the other. On a rusty nail by each hole hung a bunch of square pieces of newspaper. Something like powder was in a square box on the floor. Mamma said it was lime and not to touch it.

  “This is where you pee and do your other business, too.”

  “But the potty…?”

  “It’s only for the night.” Mamma pulled down Leini’s panties and lifted her to sit on the hole.

  Leini shivered from the cold updraft against her bare skin. When she was done Mamma used a piece of newspaper, scratching Leini’s tender flesh. Smoothing her dress, she leaned to stare down the hole. Mamma yanked her by the shoulder so hard Leini stumbled and would have landed on her knees if Mamma hadn’t grabbed her by her upper arm.

  “Don’t look in the hole.” Mamma’s warning finger poked the air. “It’s dangerous—you can go blind.”

  For the rest of their stay in Veteli, Leini was terrified of using the privy. The smell took her breath away, and she was scared to look into the hole. The bench was too high for her to manage on her own, but Mamma seldom agreed to accompany her.

  “Your grandma will go with you,” she said when Leini asked her to help.

  Grandma Britta came with her, placed her on the bench and held her. Still, Leini was scared to fall down the hole. She learned to hold back so long she got a tummy ache. Mamma gave her a pill, but it didn’t make the pain go away. Instead, she grew sleepy and she heard everybody talk as if they were far away. Her stomach was big and hard so Mamma made her swallow some nasty-tasting castor oil. And then she had to spend more time in the outhouse with Grandma Britta to hold her while she sat over the hole, a swarm of green-black flies buzzing around.

  Chapter 6

  Veteli, May 1943

  Laughter and gleeful shouts woke Leini. Her eyes flew open. Without glasses everything, whether near or far, was fuzzy. Groping, she found her glasses on the night stand. Slipping them on, she rushed to the window. Children! Excitement tickled in her tummy. In Helsinki she didn’t have any playmates. She was too young for real school, and all the nursery schools were closed because of the war, Mamma said.

  Glancing at Mamma’s bed, Leini saw only her dark hair on the pillow. She’d pulled the comforter up to her ears and was fast asleep.

  As quickly as she could, Leini dressed in the clothes Mamma had left for her the night before—underwear, the itchy-scratchy stockings, long-sleeved brown flannel dress and the yellow cardigan Grandma Britta had knitted. At the door, she held her breath, opening it as softly as she could, not to wake Mamma. In her stocking feet, she crept downstairs as quiet as a shadow. On the porch, she found her boots, pulled them on, and slipped out the door. In the yard, she stopped, not knowing what to do. She watched the children as they ran and jumped and shouted words she didn’t quite grasp.

  “Hey, you new here?”

  Leini whirled around to see a girl with short blond hair. She stared—she’d never seen this before—the girl wore pants! Like a boy.

  “I asked if you’re new here.”

  “Yes.” Then she remembered her manners. “My name is Leini.”

  “I’m Lizzie. Are you also from Helsinki?

  Leini nodded. “Yes. You too?”

  “Uh-huh. We came here, my mama and me, because there were so many bombs falling all over the place. We’re all,” she made a sweeping motion with her hand to include the other three children, “running away from the Russian bombs. You want to play?”

  Too pleased to speak, Leini bobbed her head, curls dancing.

  Lizzie took her hand and pulled her into the crowd. “Come, I’ll show you.”

  They played hide-and-go-seek and hopscotch and tag. Leini knew nothing of these games, but she learned fast. She couldn’t remember ever having this much fun. In Helsinki, Mamma didn’t let her play with the other children on the block. She said she might soil her clothes and give her more work. And maybe they had an illness Leini could catch, she’d said.

  Before long, Mamma called her to come inside. Leini’s heart was beating fast from the game, and she was warm all over from a feeling she didn’t understand, but she liked her new friends and hoped they liked her.

  As she mounted the stairs to the front door, her eyes played a trick with her again. She couldn’t tell which was the right step, which was a double that her eyes made her see. She landed on her knees, scraping the skin. She sat in the stair to examine her burning knee through a hole in the stocking. Dark red blood seeped through sand and a few pine needles.

  “Leini!” Mamma’s voice was hard. “Come in right this minute.”

  Everything was fuzzy through her tear-streaked glasses, askew on her nose from the fall. As she stood and limped to the door, she sniveled, pointing at her knee and the blood that stained the stocking. Grandma pushed aside the book she was reading and rose from the bench. Mamma turned from peeling potatoes at the sink to glare at Leini.

  “What happened to you, girl?” Mamma grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen.

  “It hurts.” She meant both the scraped knee and Mamma’s nails that dug into her skin through the sleeve of the cardigan.

  Grandma Britta placed a basin and towels on the table. “Leave this to me, Mira.” She took Leini on her lap as she sat on the bench against the wall. “Let’s see what we have here.” She peeled off the stocking and very gently dabbed at the scrapes with gauze fabric dipped in the warm water. After she was through cleaning the wound, she patted it dry with a towel before she smeared on a thin layer of some brown salve and swathed Leini’s knee in layers of gauze bandage. “There, how’s that?”

  Still sobbing, Leini wrapped her arms around Grandma Britta’s neck. “Hurts.”

  “The salve will soon take away the sting.” Grandma Britta removed Leini’s glasses and polished them on a corner of the towel. Setting them back on, she peered at Leini. “How did this happen, my dove?”

  “The step…I saw many steps.”

  “Oh, dear. We need to see about getting you to an eye doctor as soon as this war is over and we’re in Helsinki again.”

  Grandma Britta held her tighter and glanced at Mamma peeling potatoes by the sink.

  “You’re right, Britta,” Mamma said. “The sooner, the better, before she hurts herself seriously.”

  “I have something for you here that will stop your knee from hurting,” Grandpa said.

  Leini raised her head from Grandma Britta’s warm bosom to gaze at him. She slid off Grandma Britta’s knee and took a few tentative steps toward him. She stopped, stared. Then she took a few more steps toward the kitchen counter and pointed, eyes intent on him.

  “Is it…is this a radio?” Breathless with excitement.

  Grandpa’s smile was so big it crinkled his whole face. “Indeed, it is. I saw it sit in the living room doing nothing, so I convinced Kalevi to let us move it into the kitchen. Now we can listen to the news.”

  Leini leaned against Grandpa’s leg. “Can we listen to music, too?”

  “Sure we can, princess.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you. I love the radio.” She was thinking of all the wonderful times they would have with the radio playing.

  * * *

&nb
sp; A few days later, Leini watched Mamma toy with a piece of bread at breakfast. She broke it into tiny pieces, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger to fine crumbs. With the side of her hand she brushed the crumbs into a heap on the checkered oilcloth.

  Why is Mamma always playing with food? She doesn’t eat much.

  Grandma Britta, creases on her brow, put her hand on Mamma’s. “Are you all right?”

  Mamma jerked her hand away and glanced in Grandma’s direction, but not at her. “Yes. Why?” She crossed arms under her breast.

  “You look pale. Were you sick in the outhouse this morning?”

  Leini looked from Grandma Britta to Mamma. Like a fist, fear grabbed her tummy and twisted. Is Mamma sick?

  Mamma nodded in Leini’s direction. “I’m better now.”

  Grandma Britta glanced at Leini. “Eat your breakfast, my dove.” She ran a hand over Leini’s head then nodded at Mamma. “You’re in the familiar way. You’re beginning to show.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Happened at Christmas when Robert was on furlough.”

  At the mention of Papi’s name Leini’s head jerked up from contemplating her glass of milk. Her gaze moved from Mamma to Grandma Britta, but she didn’t understand what they were saying.

  Taking a bite, Leini chewed. She had difficulty swallowing the homemade bread with fresh butter and strawberry jam, mouthwatering only a few minutes ago. She took a sip of milk, now cold, covered by a thin skin that made her want to gag. Please don’t let Mamma be sick. Her throat tightened so, making it difficult to breathe, but she didn’t dare cry. Mamma didn’t like it when she cried.

  * * *

  Leini put on a warm cardigan over a yellow blouse and joined the other children already at play in the yard. Today they were playing another game she didn’t know, one they hadn’t shown her yet. They were quiet as they stood in a closed circle. Peter, the tallest and oldest of them was in the center, dark hair falling across his left eye. As she ran to join them, Leini grew light as the breeze from excitement. She squeezed between Mark and Lizzie.

  “What are you playing?”

  Peter was serious. With a swagger, he came to Leini and stopped so close his chest almost touched hers. A toss of his head moved hair from his eyes. “Do you want to play?”