Lace Weaver

by Lauren Chater

  Slowly, the women moved to obey her. A young mother led her son and daughter to Hilda and kissed their cheeks before stepping away.

  I saw Etti hesitate, her arms curved protectively around Leelo’s body.

  My throat tightened. Moving close to her, I placed my hand reassuringly on her back. ‘It’s all right,’ I told her quietly, beneath the voices of the other women instructing their children to listen, to behave and do as Hilda asked. ‘It’s only temporary. Remember? Just until . . .’

  I let my words trail off, but Etti understood my meaning anyway. As soon as Oskar sent word to us, Etti and Leelo could be together again.

  Etti nodded. ‘It’s just temporary,’ she murmured in the baby’s ear. Kissing Leelo’s pale hair, she passed her into Hilda’s waiting arms. Leelo gave Hilda an appraising look with her clear blue eyes.

  ‘She has a bottle every three hours,’ Etti told the German girl. ‘Please make sure she’s not left alone. She rolls everywhere.’

  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 ha
d 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?’

  Etti nodded. ‘Of course.’

  Lydia did not complain when I led her away from the cafeteria where the women were still talking and finishing their meals. When we reached the door, I looked back and caught the gleam of Agnese’s eye. For a second, I imagined I saw stark hatred shining out. But it was gone in an instant. Agnese dropped her eyes back to her plate. Beside me, I heard Lydia sigh.

  ‘Let’s take a walk to the lake,’ I suggested. Lydia nodded, her mouth wilting. I squeezed her arm. She looked as if she might cry at any moment.

  Taking her hand, I marched her along the corridor which led out into the grounds, praying Agnese would not follow.

  *

  ‘Why does she look at me like that? What does she want?’

  Lydia’s voice was shrill. The rush of the water and the crashing of the turbines ran beneath it, a discordant harmony. She hugged herself tightly. The wind whipped at her hair and the late afternoon sun intensified its dark red undertones so it shone like polished stone.

  I shrugged helplessly, shivering. It was cold in the wind. I wished I’d thought to bring my coat. ‘I don’t know. She must be unhinged.’

  ‘When will Oskar send for us?’ she said. ‘How long must we wait?’

  I shook my head, too afraid to voice my own fears. Two months had passed now since we had arrived. Every night, I was shaken with terrible visions of Oskar being caught and Jakob shot. It had begun to feel as if we would have to stay here forever, if we were not discovered first and hauled before the police.

  The great chimney stacks of the factory rose up behind us. Beyond them, the sun was setting, streaking the purple sky with fingers of pale rose.

  Lydia groaned, bracing against the wind that rippled the surface of the lake. ‘I’m afraid I will go mad here.’ Her head was turned to the west, her gaze sweeping across the water to settle on the bridge that separated Kreenholm from the far shore.

  I knew what she was thinking as clearly as if I heard Frau Burkhard’s voice in my head, the echo of her words.

  ‘On Kreenholm’s side: Estonia or Ostland,’ she had said. ‘On the other: Russia.’

  The enemy.

  Lydia’s forehead furrowed. She rubbed her palms against her arms.

  Frau Burkhard had warned us not to cross the bridge or even to venture near the path of dappled light that led through to the walkway where the bridge began. The Russians were too occupied with Leningrad to bother yet with Narva, but the border patrol was active; a few men had been shot at, one wounded in the leg. The Russians had not forgotten what they had lost.

  Handkerchief Weave

  Lydia

  November 1941

  I dreamed I was sitting in my mother’s boudoir, staring at her bottles of perfumes and jars of cream. Pale light streamed through the curtains. I inhaled the air, jasmine-scented. Something stirred. I leaned forward. Nestled among my mother’s perfumes was a nest with an egg inside.

  The egg’s shell was smooth, speckled. A chink appeared in the surface, growing wider. I reached out my hand. Picked away the broken piece with my thumb. The fissure deepened. The egg trembled.

  With a resounding crack, it split open. I gasped.

  There was a baby inside.

  Its eyes were closed. Brown hair swirled across its scalp, soft as feathers. Its tiny fingers flexed, its eyelids flickered as if it too was dreaming.

  And then all of a sudden, the egg was gone. The nest was empty.

  I opened my eyes.

  The dormitory was dark. I heard the soft snoring of the other women. It must be midnight, or thereabouts. My hand fluttered over my stomach. I felt the tiny space the baby had made for itself, the presence of Jakob’s child clinging to life like a bean on a vine. A sense of wonder and terror overwhelmed me as I relived the day’s events.

  I’d left the factory early, excusing myself on the pretence that I was unwell. I’d not even asked Kati or Etti to go with me. I had walked alone across the bridge to the City of Narva and asked a woman with kind eyes for directions to a good doctor. It had grown cold the past few days; the air filled with an icy chill which heralded winter.

  The doctor had confirmed what I already suspected. In the frenzy of fleeing Tartu and the anxiety of waiting each day for Oskar and Jakob to arrive, I’d lost track of the days. It wasn’t until my monthly courses had failed to appear for the second time that I began to wonder, and all the little clues – the waves of nausea, the heaviness in my breasts – seemed to conspire at last to reveal the truth. It had been two months now. Two months since we had left Tartu, and not a word from Oskar or Jakob. Where were they and why were they delayed? The constant worry tempered my joy. I wished I could find some way to tell Jakob. I wanted him to be the first to know.

  As I’d trudged back alone towards the factory, I decided not to tell Kati or Etti. I would keep my surprise a secret until I could tell Jakob. I wanted to watch his face transformed by this good news among all the fear and anxiety.

  I rolled over onto my side and closed my eyes, knowing I should rest. Something sounded a long way off, a distant hum. I stirred, aware of the heavy bedclothes, half-awake, half-asleep. Darkness. Then light. I heard a sound, a little like laughter and a shadow passed over me. I tossed my head, feeling its presence the same way I always knew when Agnese was behind me or when she had followed me down to the lake. Her eyes always searching me out as we ate our food in the cafeteria, as if she was waiting to catch me out. It had frayed my nerves to breaking-point.

  Someone ran to the window.

  ‘They’re here again.’ It was Kati. She drew the curtain back, and something bright flared beyond the glass, turning the sky the colour of rubies. Black shapes danced against the light, swooping low before being jerked up, as if controlled by marionette strings. ‘The Russians.’

  The windows shook, rattling in their panes.

  The other women were already moving, stumbling out the door. The corridor was filled with frightened voices. Kati seemed to shake herself. Her eyes were wide.

  We rushed outside, almost colliding with Etti in the corridor. Leelo was clinging to her mother’s chest, her voice raised in a high-pitched wail, her legs dangling against Etti’s thighs.

  Frau Burkhard appeared at the top of the stairs, her face lit by the glow of an oil lamp.

  She looked tired, her usually immaculate hair escaping in pale wisps. Holding the lamp high above her head, she turned. The women followed the ribbon of her light weaving down the steps. The shuffle of bare feet reverberated in the stone stairwell. Everyone was quiet, but when another bomb exploded not far away some cried out and panicked, shoving forward, almost sending those at the frontline sprawling down the steps.

  ‘Wait!’ I whirled around. I had left my mother’s shawl and her letter locked in the trunk. The bodies of the women pressed against me, a wall of flesh. I pushed forward, my eyes fixed on the door of our dormitory.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kati grabbed my elbow, trying to steer me around. ‘Are you crazy?’

  ‘I have to go back.’ I wrenched my arm free. Bodies jostled against me. A shoulder slammed into my arm. I reached the door of the dormitory and thrust my fingers into the pocket of my nightgown. I kept my key with me always, even when I slept. I could not risk anyone reading Mamochka’s letter, discovering that I was her daughter.

  Terror gripped my heart and squeezed. The key was gone. It must have fallen out as I ran or as I tossed and turned in bed, disturbed by dreams.

  I stumb
led into the room, Kati behind me. The room was dark. I fumbled to my knees, feeling about, tossing aside fallen bedclothes. Where was it? A shower of light exploded suddenly outside the window. I heard Kati cry out. I followed her gaze.

  A figure was bent over my chest, rifling through the contents.

  ‘Agnese!’ The name burst from my lips.

  She spun around, her mouth open. In her hand was my mother’s letter. Kati ran across and snatched it from her. Agnese tried to grab it back, but Kati held it away from her.

  ‘You’re a liar!’ Agnese pointed at me. Her voice was choked with emotion. She turned to fling her words at Kati. ‘She’s a spy! I know her. I know who she is!’

  She was breathing hard. An explosion shook the building.

  ‘Is that a message? A secret code?’ She pointed at Mama’s letter. I stared at her, unable to speak, unable even to defend myself. Horror mingled with relief. She had not yet read the letter. She’d not had time.

  I shook my head, terror muting my words.

  ‘I was listening at the train station, the night of the deportations.’ Agnese’s voice shook. ‘I followed him, that lieutenant of yours. I went to beg him for help. For my daughter, her husband. My grandson was sick. I heard what he called you.’ She glared at Kati again. ‘She’s the Partorg’s daughter. I know it. She could have stopped it. She could have stopped my daughter being sent away! My grandson might still be alive.’

  My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst. In an instant, I knew where I’d seen her. I was back at that station in Tartu, talking with Lieutenant Lubov before Juudit was killed. A woman stood near my elbow, trying to catch Lieutenant Lubov’s attention. A green handkerchief was tied over her head. Her eyes were full of grief and despair.

  A black space widened at my feet. My skin flared hot.

  ‘You’re mistaken.’ Kati’s voice carried over the noise of the planes. Her hands were trembling. ‘Lydia was not at the station that night. She was at our apartment. I’m sorry for what happened to your family but . . . you’re mistaken. Lydia is one of us. She’s as Estonian as you and me.’