Leini glanced at her friends’ serious faces. “Sure. What do I have to do?”
Next to her, Lizzie kept her eyes closed, jaws working. She chewed and chewed, but Leini didn’t see her swallow. All the other children stared at Lizzie, too.
Peter tapped Leini on the shoulder to get her attention. “You have to give me two pennies.”
“What for?”
“To play. If you can’t pay, you can’t play.” He made it into a chant, taken up by the other kids: “No pay, no play. No pay, no play.”
Leini’s throat tightened from disappointment—she blinked against tears she was determined not to show—she had no money.
Peter turned to Lizzie. “Time’s up.” He held his hand cupped under her chin. “Give.”
Lizzie opened her eyes. She stopped chewing, bent her head over Peter’s palm and spit something into it. Leini had no idea what it was, but it resembled a piece of gray putty, the kind she saw Mamma put in the window cracks to keep the wind out.
“What’s that?” Leini asked.
Before anybody could answer, the gravel crunched from Grandpa’s heavy step. He grabbed Peter’s fist in his and pried open his fingers to disclose the hidden treasure. He pinched the thing with thumb and forefinger, then gingerly lifted it to eye level.
He gazed from one child to the other. “What is this?”
Nobody answered. They were all busy looking at the ground, the sky, their hands. Anywhere but at Grandpa.
“You, Peter. Look at me.”
From under his brow, Peter scowled at Grandpa.
“This is obviously yours, so tell me what it is.”
“It’s a…a piece of chewing gum, sir.”
Grandpa studied the thing between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you do with it?”
“Chew on it, sir.”
“You chew on it, or all your friends here chew on it?”
When Peter didn’t answer, Grandpa said, “I’ve been watching your so-called game. For two pennies, you let all your friends chew on this piece of gum. Is that it?”
Red in the face, Peter wouldn’t meet Grandpa’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Hmm.” Grandpa said no more. Dropping the gum, he ground it into the sand with the toe of his boot. From the breast pocket of his coat, he pulled a snow-white linen handkerchief and wiped his fingers.
Later, Leini passed Grandma Britta and Grandpa’s room. Through the door left open a crack she heard their hearty laughter.
“The inventiveness of the boy,” Grandpa chuckled. “To let his buddies chew on the thing for two pennies!”
Grandma Britta’s laughter sounded like a bell. Leini loved it when Grandma Britta laughed. Then things didn’t seem so serious.
During lunch, Mamma learned about the chewing gum. Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowed to slits. The corners of her mouth pulled down in disgust. Mamma shivered. “Just imagine all the germs that got passed around. Where did he get chewing gum, anyway?”
Grandpa shrugged. “From relatives in Sweden, I guess.”
Mamma didn’t eat much of the mashed potatoes and dried fish cooked in a white sauce. She didn’t want any of the cranberry soup they had for dessert either. As they were leaving the table, Mamma held Leini back with a hand on her shoulder, waiting until everybody left the kitchen.
Mamma spun Leini around till they stood face to face. “This is serious. I want you to promise me never, ever to eat what somebody else has had in his or her mouth. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” Leini said.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
She grabbed Leini’s chin, bending her head so far back she was afraid her neck would break.
“Promise me you’ll never eat anything that’s been in other people’s mouths.”
“I promise, Mamma.”
“Good. Because you don’t know what illness they have. You can get very sick, make everybody else sick, too.” She released Leini.
Refusing to let on that Mamma had hurt her, Leini pressed chin against her pullover and moved her head back and forth to sooth the burning. Alone in the kitchen after Mamma left, Leini sank to the floor in a corner next to the warm stove. With legs pulled to her chest, she rested aching chin on knees. She stared into the far distance. Not a sound escaped her as hot tears rolled down her face.
Chapter 7
Veteli, June 1943
The blustery cold wind of May turned little by little to more clement weather in June. The air was pleasant, albeit not very warm. This far north, summer temperatures rarely reached higher than the low seventies, but most days were sunny, the sky a blinding blue without the trace of a cloud. Finally, the last snow disappeared, and the short Finnish summer exploded into bloom. Buds on trees burst open in shades of emerald, lime and silvery green. A patchwork of shapes and colors dotted the fields and meadows. Nature rushed against time to mature her gifts in a wealth of perfumes and hues and forms before the early frost came to wipe it all away. For now, the world was being reborn before their eyes.
Leini watched as Grandma Britta threw a cardigan over her shoulders and stuck her feet in sturdy walking shoes. Smiling, she held out a hand to Leini.
“Come, let’s go pick some flowers, you and me.”
Jumping off the chair, she rushed to her side. “Now, Grandma Britta?”
She nodded and helped Leini don a light jacket. Hand in hand they crossed the courtyard to a cluster of trees. Grandma Britta helped Leini gather armfuls of white acacia blossoms, cutting the stems with a “puukko,” a sharp Finnish knife, its tip curved, the handle made from elk antlers.
Leini buried her nose in the white flowers, inhaling the perfume, both so sweet and sharp it made her sneeze.
“There.” Grandma pointed at a patch of grass. “Put down the acacias and pick some of those lilies of the valley. I’ll get a few branches of lilacs.”
In the kitchen, Mamma filled vases and jars and pitchers, which she placed on tables and windowsills in all their rooms.
“Lovely flowers, girl.” She passed her hand over Leini’s head in a swift caress “Thank you.”
Leini’s heart beat fast with joy—she was so happy at dinner she finished her bowl of fish soup, although she didn’t like it very much.
The sun was still high in the sky when she went outside again, Maia pressed against her breast. Hearing shrill cries from above, her gaze followed a flock of swallows flying so high they were no more than tiny specks against the powdery blue sky.
“When the swallows fly so high, the weather will be sunny the next day,” Grandma Britta told her once when they were watching the birds’ graceful ascent and dizzying dives.
Leini meandered on to the cow house. With Maia tight in one hand, she climbed the steep ladder to the loft. She liked the smell of the cows below and the munching and soughing sounds they made. The hay rustled under her as she settled on her knees, squinting into a ray of sunshine slanting through a small window, specks of dust dancing in the light.
A slight movement caught her attention. As noiseless as she knew how, she crawled a short distance and saw a little dimple in the hay. A cat almost the same color as the hay lay on its side with tiny kittens drinking from its tits. They were so pretty, Leini held her breath as tears filled her eyes. For a long time she kneeled at a safe distance so as not to frighten them. How she wished she could touch her fingers to their fine fur, to feel their warm bodies in her hands. She had never seen anything so…. She sighed, wishing with all her heart she could take one of them home to be her friend.
Quiet as a shadow, Leini descended the ladder and rushed inside. Mamma, Grandpa and Grandma Britta were sitting around the kitchen table listening to the radio.
Breathless from excitement, Leini clutched Mamma’s hand. “In the hayloft, I found tiny kittens. Can I have one, please, Mamma? They’re so cute and…”
“Absolutely not.” Mamma snatched her hand from Leini’s grasp. “Animals in the house are out of the question.”
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br /> “But Mamma, they’re so sweet, and I’ll look after it. I’ll keep it clean. Please.” Her voice broke from a sob she tried to swallow.
Mamma shoved Leini from leaning against her knees. “The answer is no. Stop your whining.”
Leini hung her head, a big ache in her heart. No amount of pleading made Mamma change her mind.
“Come on, Mira,” said Grandma Britta. “It’s natural for children to have pets. Leini’s lonely. The company would be good for her.”
Mamma’s mouth was like a dried prune. “I don’t want animals in my house. You never can tell where they’ve been, what diseases they carry. They could make us all sick with God knows what horrible illnesses. And that’s final.”
The following morning, as Leini sat eating her breakfast of porridge and milk, Grandpa hurried in. He propped open the door with his behind while he wiped his boots on the doormat. The blast of cold air made Leini shiver. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, Grandpa turned on the radio to a music station.
“You all alone, my princess?”
She smiled at him, nodding in time to the beat of the music as she watched him blow on his coffee to cool it.
“Where are Mamma and Grandma Britta?”
“They went to fetch the milk at the cow house. Mamma said I can’t come because I have to finish this.” With a little grimace, she pointed at the stale porridge.
“When you’re through eating, put on your coat, and I’ll show you something in the yard.”
“What is it, Grandpa?”
“Eat first, then you’ll see.” He would say no more.
While he waited for her to finish the porridge and milk, he sipped his coffee, a playful little smile on his lips. He turned up the volume on the radio. They kept it on all day to hear news from Europe. “This is Voice of America,” the speaker announced. Leini didn’t understand everything because it was in English. Some of it was too difficult for her, but if she listened hard, she would grasp a word or two. When the grownups listened she was impatient for the news to be over so she could turn the knob to a music station. But she loved the sound of English and wanted to speak it as well as she spoke Swedish and Finnish.
Leini quickly finished her breakfast and took her plate and glass to the sink. By the kitchen door she slipped on a knitted jacket.
She stuck her hand in Grandpa’s. “Ready, Grandpa.”
“Just a minute.” He pointed at her feet in slippers. “Wear your boots; it’s pretty muddy out there after last night’s rain.”
She grinned. “I forgot.”
With her hand in his, he led her around the back of the house and into the henhouse. There he took her to a corner and pointed at a wire mesh cage, sitting on a shelf under the window.
Leini stared at the cage and at Grandpa. “What’s this?” She pointed at a small animal squatting in the hay. It had white fur and long pointed ears.
“It’s a bunny rabbit; it’s yours.”
She took a step closer. “A rabbit?” she squealed. “Mine?”
“Yes, my princess. You can come here and play with it whenever you want. Just don’t bring it into the house, okay?”
She glanced at Grandpa. “Yes, I promise.”
“The bunny is still very young. You’d better keep it in here for now. When he grows bigger, we’ll move the cage to the garden.”
“It’s a baby rabbit,” she said to show she understood.
Grandpa caressed her head. He showed her how to open the door on the side of the cage.
She stuck a tentative hand inside to touch the fine fur, her fingers stiff from excitement. The rabbit raised its head and stared at her with red eyes. The movement startled Leini. She snatched her hand away and took a step back.
“Don’t be afraid,” Grandpa whispered. He sat on his haunches in the hay, took the animal in his big hands. “Go ahead, hold him.” Gently he placed the pet in her outstretched arms.
Ever so slowly Leini moved the furry little thing to her breast, feeling its heart beat against the palms of her hands. Leini laughed at the touch of its nose, cold and damp. With Grandpa’s help, she sank onto the hay so she could hold the rabbit on her lap. Sitting next to her, a hand against her back, he watched her gently pet the furry little thing.
“Is it a girl rabbit or a boy rabbit?”
He caressed Leini’s hair. “It’s a boy.”
Holding the rabbit with both hands, she kissed the bunny’s cheek, his whiskers tickling her. She laughed about to burst from so much joy inside. “Thank you, Grandpa. I love you.”
He hugged her, rabbit and all. “Love you, too, little princess. What are you going to call him?”
The question surprised her. She wrinkled her brow and stared at the rabbit for a while. Then she smiled. “I know,” she said. “His name is Whitey.”
“Whitey? Because he’s white?”
Leini’s head bobbed up and down. Grandpa planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “It’s a nice name.”
She couldn’t stop smiling. Then it was as if a light was switched off inside and all her gladness went away. A hand flew to her head, fingers lost in a lock of hair, twining and twining.
Grandpa took her hand to untangled fingers from hair. “What is it, princess? Something’s worrying you?”
“What will Mamma say about Whitey? She said she didn’t want animals.” Tears ran along her cheeks. “She’ll take him away from me.”
“No, she won’t. As long as you don’t bring Whitey inside you’ll both be all right.”
In the afternoon, while they were having tea, Leini told Mamma about Whitey. She described his silky white fur and twitching nose.
“And he has these long ears.” She measured with her hands. “His eyes are red. He’s so cute, Mamma.”
“Fine,” Mamma said. “Just make sure you keep it outside. And wash your hands when you’re through playing with it.”
The knot of worry in Leini’s tummy relaxed a bit. After all, Mamma was going to let her keep Whitey.
* * *
The swallows knew right—the next day was glorious, sunny and balmy with hardly any wind. Next to Leini by the table Mamma sipped tea. With a finger, she poked Leini’s hand. “What do you say we go for a walk, you and me?”
“For a walk?” Leini repeated, not really believing she’d heard right. “Just you and me, Mamma?”
“Yes. Would you like that?”
Leini was so happy she could only whisper. “Oh, yes.”
With a smile in her direction, Mamma stood. “I’ll get my shawl.” She took her cup and saucer to the sink, rinsed and left them to dry on the draining rack. “Eat up,” she said over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.
When Mamma returned Leini was waiting, dressed in her light cardigan and sturdy shoes. Leaving the house together, they crossed the front yard. They took a path that led past fields colorful with ripening seed and hay ready to be harvested. Leini stuck her hand in Mamma’s, but after a few moments Mamma let it drop. Leini stole a glance at her.
Mamma smiled. “I know you’ve been wanting a little brother or sister, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yes, Mamma.” Anticipation and caution warred inside.
“Well, I think the stork will bring us a baby soon.”
“A baby? A boy or girl?” Breathless now.
Mamma smiled. “I don’t know. Wait and see.” Her dark eyes sparkled.
“When? When will the stork bring the baby? Tomorrow?”
Mamma laughed. “Not so soon. The stork has to visit many little girls and boys like you who also wait. It will be a while.” She stopped on the path and fixed an errant lock with a hairpin. “Sometime this fall.”
They resumed walking. Leini ran to keep up with her.
“Aren’t you pleased?” Mamma asked after a while.
“Oh, yes, I’m very pleased.” And it was true, Leini was happy, although fall seemed a long time to wait.
They continued on their walk. Leini hopped and skipped in front of Mamma,
joy jumping inside because they were together.
Mamma pointed to the meadow where a group of cows were grazing. “Come, let’s go look at the cows over there.”
Leini picked bluebells and daisies as they crossed the pasture.
“Don’t go too close,” said Mamma, grabbing the back of Leini’s cardigan.
“I like them. They won’t hurt me.”
The animals were behind a wooden fence. Mamma leaned against the slats, as Leini pressed close to her leg.
Leini had visited the cow house often, but this was the first time she saw the animals so near. One of them ambled up, close enough to touch. Leini looked and looked. The cow reached out a wet muzzle, cold and slimy against her hand. It lowered its head to stare at Leini, who gazed in fascination at its large eyes. They were so dark and shiny and beautiful. She stared at Mamma, at the cow, then back at Mamma again.
“Mamma!” she said, excited. “You have the same eyes as the cow.”
Eyes flashing with anger, Mamma slapped Leini’s face, a vicious forehand-backhand blow, her entire arm behind the smack.
Leini stood rooted to the spot, disbelief crowding out all thought. Something shattered inside. Everything had been so nice. She said what she thought, that Mamma’s eyes were as beautiful as the cow’s. Now Mamma was angry with her again. A stream of tears coursed down her cheeks as she wept without a sound.
“I’m sorry, Mamma, so sorry. Please forgive me. Don’t be angry.” She asked for forgiveness although she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong. “Mamma, please. I love you. Do you love me, too?”
“Leave me alone, girl.” Mamma shoved her away. “If you must know, no, I don’t love you.” Her voice was strangled, each word like a wheeze. “You’re a yoke I have to put up with.”
Leini didn’t understand about yoke, but for the first time in her short life she didn’t plead or promise to be good. The sadness left her—something hard took its place. Deep in her chest she was cold, and her tears stopped flowing. With straight back, head held high, her eyes met Mamma’s.
The Wooden Chair Page 5