Painting Home

by Jolma, Erika;

  “Oh, and look, it has your family crest above the barn door.” Mrs. Ranta pointed.

  Anna had carefully painted the wooden sign that hung above the front door of the barn, using oil paints to inscribe the Ojala name before embellishing it with rows of leaves and flowers. She had given it to her parents as a parting gift of sorts. Back when she thought she would be leaving for America this summer. “Thank you. I made it myself.”

  “Anna is an artist,” Matti chimed in with a crooked smile.

  Anna looked away. If she was to survive the coming days with her heart intact, she’d have to stay as far away from Matti Ranta as possible. She stared at her shoes before looking up and pointing to the tiny, dilapidated building in front of them. “Over there is the outhouse and next to the barn is the sauna. It looks as if my mother lit the stove so you can have a sauna after supper if you'd like.”

  “That would be nice.” Mrs. Ranta stared off into the windblown fields.

  Anna averted her gaze toward her parents’ tiny farmhouse. “I think it's about time for supper. Shall we head inside?” She shuddered, wrapped her coat tighter around her waist to fend off the chill in the air, and started to make her way inside. If she allowed herself to think of what she had hoped this summer would bring, she would melt into a pool of despair. She had no choice but to put on a smile, do her chores, and smile at her guests. And make sure Matti never found out about Henrick.

  3

  Moscow, Russia

  He wouldn’t make it.

  Dr. Alexandrov’s words were optimistic, but Tanya could see the trepidation in his expression even as he reassured her that there was still a glimmer of hope.

  Nicolai—her wonderful Nicolai—would not survive. The impact of the hard truth had wiggled its way down into her gut the instant their friend Alek had run into the house screaming there had been an accident.

  She had raced out onto the street in front of their Moscow tenement to find her husband lying on the hard-packed dirt road. Blood gushed out of his mouth and pooled underneath his pale face, which had twisted into a grimace of pain. She vomited violently right there on the road, choking on her own tears as she screamed for someone to fetch the doctor.

  The neighbors helped carry Nicolai up to their tenement. She laid him out on their cot before using her favorite purple wool sweater to try to ward off the bleeding, as if by giving up something that was precious to her, God would return the favor by allowing her to keep Nicolai.

  Even then that was futile.

  Tanya looked from Nicolai's grey-tinged lips to Dr. Alexandrov’s pale face. Disbelief washed through her soul.

  A crowd of friends and neighbors, now squeezed into her apartment, gaped as Dr. Alexandrov dug through his black leather satchel. He pulled out a pair of blunt scissors and carefully cut away Nicolai's shirt, exposing the focal point of his injuries.

  Alek, Nicolai's best friend, gasped before vomiting onto the floor next to the bed. He steadied himself against Tanya’s kitchen table.

  “Go!” Tanya shouted to the nervous onlookers, waving them out the door. She wanted to be alone with Nicolai.

  Her friends filed out, one by one, glancing back with pity-filled looks and tear-stained cheeks. Kneeling at the end of the cot, she ran her fingers over Nicolai’s rough, unshaven face, tracing a line from his shaggy brown hair down to his quivering lips. Still beautiful to her.Dirty, bloodstained, but handsome as a man could ever be. And he was hers. He had been for eleven nearly perfect months.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat and wiping desperate tears from her face, Tanya leaned down and kissed Nicolai's lips. She smoothed his hair out of his eyes, wishing he would open them, if only for a minute. But he didn't. She lay her head next to his, holding her breath to hear each and every heartbeat.

  She kissed him on the temple, on the cheek, on his hands, and her salty tears dripped onto his skin before she gently wiped them away. Finally, she lay back on their shared pillow, closed her eyes, and hummed to drown out the sounds of Dr. Alexandrov working. She soaked up the scent of him, the feel of him next to her.

  “I've…I've done all I can do.” Dr. Alexandrov’s words broke her silent vigil.

  Tanya turned away, willing herself not to look into the doctor’s eyes. She couldn't bear to see the dark shadows of concern. Of knowing.

  “Will…he be all right?” Tanya looked at the floor. Please God. Make the doctor’s answer different than what I expect.

  Dr. Alexandrov pressed his lips together. “I don't think so, Mrs. Egerov. Can I call someone to come be with you?”

  “There's no one to call.”

  “What about Mr. Pederov?”

  Tanya shook her head slowly. “I just want to be alone with him.”

  “OK. I'll be back first thing in the morning to check on you. If he wakes up or there is any change, send someone to get me right away.”

  Tanya stayed where she was, stroking Nicolai's hair.

  He slept, his breaths coming out as wheezy gasps. She stayed as his skin turned from pink to white to a death-tinged grey and his breaths grew further and further apart. Then one last desperate shudder echoed into silence. His body turned from warm to stiff to cold and lifeless.

  Her tears pooled onto his still chest, and every fragment of her hope floated away on those blood-soaked sheets.

  ~*~

  What did a woman do when her husband died in her bed? What she was supposed to do now? “Why, Nicolai?” she yelled.

  As if he could hear her.

  Last night she had managed to be calm, steady even. But now that it was all over, she wavered between utter despair and relentless anger.

  She was angry at the driver of the car that struck him. Angry at Dr. Alexandrov for not saving Nicolai.Angry at Nicolai for leaving her in a country where a poor, lonely widow had little hope for any kind of future.

  She wasn't sure where to go or who to call. Should she fetch the doctor? He had said he’d come by first thing this morning to check on them, so he would probably be here any minute. Or maybe she should call the police? The morgue? She had no idea how to handle this sort of thing. But she couldn’t bear to stay in that tiny apartment with Nicolai’s body for much longer.

  Tanya choked back a sob and flopped into one of the rickety chairs. She needed to get hold of someone to help with the body, obviously. And her neighbors—she wasn't really close to any of them, but they had all seen the accident and would most likely come knocking soon to check. She needed to plan a funeral. And clean up the sheets. And figure out how to pay the rent.

  But she couldn't do any of that.

  She wanted to run away and pretend none of this had happened. Surely his death was all one horrible nightmare and she would soon wake. The only man she’d ever love wasn't lying dead in the bed they had so happily shared.

  4

  Kalajoki, Finland

  Anna just wanted to escape to her room with a good book. Forced conversation over forced smiles with the occasional helping of forced throat clearing was not how she wanted to spend her evening. Or any evening, for that matter.

  Cringing, she wondered for the tenth time that night how her life had come to this. Why, God? Everything I have worked so hard for has been postponed. And a blue-eyed boy in a Finnish Army Corps uniform is sitting across my table to remind me of…everything. Her argument with God was interrupted by yet another long and awkward silence.

  It would be a long summer.

  Anna spread the butter onto her dark brown limpua bread as if it took careful concentration. Keeping her gaze away from Matti's blue ones took an immense amount of willpower. She would have to get a handle on her emotions if she was to live in the same place as him.

  “How are you settling in?” Anna's mother broke the silence.

  “We…we are fine. We appreciate your kind hospitality,” Mrs. Ranta said.

  “And is everything to your liking?”

  “It is just lovely.” Mrs. Ranta sat up straight in her chair and lo
oked around the room. "We're doing quite well, all things considered."

  Matti spoke up, his words full of fire."Quite well? They stole everything from us! Everything."

  "Matti, not now." Mr. Ranta looked at his son with pleading eyes.

  "But we can't just sit back and pretend everything is all right…" His voice trailed off. He straightened in his chair, pushed his food away, and looked around the table, his fiery gaze eventually landing on Anna.

  What did he want her to do? Smile as if he wasn't ranting about war and politics at their dinner table? No, he wouldn’t find an ally in her.

  "I'm sorry, but I'm not feeling well. Please excuse me." And with that, he slammed back from the table and stalked out the front door.

  Anna stared at the still trembling door. That was…rude. Her soldier boy needed to learn some manners. She shook her head. No, that soldier boy needed to learn some manners.

  He wasn't her soldier boy. And he never would be.

  ~*~

  Matti swung through the rickety front door and headed down the porch steps, glancing back just long enough to see a table full of angry looks.

  Angry, pitying looks.

  He made his way out of the Ojala farmhouse and into the icy-cold night air. Walking down the narrow gravel road, he glanced back, hoping to catch of glimpse of Anna in one of the lighted farmhouse windows. No one in sight.

  She was probably laughing, chatting about knitting socks, and eating pie as if nothing had happened.

  As if his family hadn't just lost everything.

  Watching his parents eat a strange supper around a strange table with strangers was just too much for him. He had not fought in the war—had not lost Johan—for this.

  Matti let out a shudder. Looking around in the moonlight, he found a smooth stone and chucked a rock into the distance, grunting his displeasure as he leaned against the fence. He picked up another rock, this time letting out a sob as he slammed the rock into the road. His shoulders trembling, he sank to the ground, and for the first time all week, allowed himself to cry.

  How had his life come to this? Homeless, purposeless…friendless? He still couldn't believe that Johan was dead. Or that his parents’ house and fish packing plant was in Russian hands. Or that he was up here in the middle-of-nowhere Kalajoki making small talk with a bunch of farmers when all he wanted to do was hop on the next train down to Lake Lodoga and show those Russians what he thought of their peace treaty.

  Either that or grab Anna Ojala and kiss her breathless.

  He exhaled deeply and whispered a prayer. Lord, let me get back there and fight. I can't handle more of this…nothingness…up here.

  Matti scrunched up his face as he remembered the look on Anna's face as he’d raced out of the house. It reminded him of the look his fourth grade teacher gave him when he'd brought one of the family's newborn piglets to school. Shock that quickly turned to disgust.

  He picked up another rock and threw it into the road, watching it bounce and tumble, leaving a trail of bumps and scratches in the mud. He clearly had a lot to learn when it came to girls. Especially girls like Anna Ojala.

  He closed his eyes and pictured her at the train station yesterday, so soft and sweet and totally enticing that he’d felt the need to restrain himself from pulling her closer into his arms, from inhaling the scent of those golden waves. He’d known right away that she was just about perfect for…well, that was enough of that.

  With his little outburst at dinner tonight, he had ruined any chance of Anna ever being more to him than a kind benefactor's daughter. Which was probably better anyway.

  He wouldn’t be here for long, and he needed to focus on fighting, winning, and retrieving Karelia from those blasted Russians. He didn't need to be thinking about a green-eyed girl with rosebud lips and the potential to make his heart hammer as it did right now.

  5

  Moscow, Russia

  Had Nicolai only been gone for three days?

  His face was already starting to fade in Tanya’s mind, washed away by the dark images that had filled her last hours. First the funeral, then the reception, then having to endure the pity of a thousand shaky smiles.

  And now Nicolai's great Aunt Katya insisted that Tanya couldn't be left alone, that she must have constant supervision lest she…what? Melt into a puddle of tears on the floor? She'd already done that several times. And even with people around to pull her off the floor, desperation and loneliness filled her.

  Tanya looked around her apartment, squinting in the early morning light, willing her eyes to stay away from the neatly made bed, the place where Nicolai had breathed his last breath. No, she would never be able to sleep there again. She’d spent the last three nights in a hard, wooden chair, crying more than sleeping, moaning more than thinking.

  "Tanya, why don't you come over here and I'll make you some tea." Aunt Katya's soft voice startled her.

  "No, thank you." Tanya sounded distant, even to herself.

  "All right, well, I need to talk to you. I need to run to my house to grab a few of my belongings, since it seems I will be staying a bit longer than expected. I would like for you to come with me."

  Tanya stared at her, unblinking.

  "Tanya? Are you all right?"

  "I think…I will stay here."

  "All right." Aunt Katya seemed lost for a moment. "I suppose I'll go quickly and be back in about an hour. Nicolai's Uncle Boris will be returning with me. We would like to talk to you about your plans." She waved around the tiny apartment Tanya had shared with Nicolai.

  Uncle Boris? Why would Uncle Boris care what she did next? It wasn't really his business, was it?

  "Tanya?" Katya grabbed her by the shoulders and looked sternly into her eyes. "Tanya, we have to make some decisions. Your rent is due soon and you can't stay here without Nicolai."

  The words echoed through Tanya's head, reminding her of all she had lost.

  "Are you all right, dear?" Katya's voice was soft, but hurried.

  "I…yes. I understand." Tanya sank into a chair and tipped her head to her chest. Of course she wasn't all right. She would never be again.

  "That’s good, dear. You just sit right there and take a little rest, and I'll be back soon." Katya was kind and gentle, but seemed relieved to have a break.

  Who wouldn't want to leave this place of desperation, of hopelessness?

  Katya quietly shut the door and panic rose in Tanya’s throat. She would have to move away from her apartment and live with someone else. But who? Her parents were gone and Aunt Katya and Uncle Boris must be a thousand years old. Her friends were all either moving away or moving in with family because of the war.

  Tanya stared at the door and closed her eyes. She had to think. Pressing her fingertips into her temples, she did her best to focus. She couldn't wait here for Aunt Katya to make decisions for her. Living with Uncle Boris and Aunt Katya simply wasn't an option.

  What about…Tanya concentrated on the possibilities. There was Alek. He would take her in. But he lived in a one-room studio with his wife and newborn son. And her cousin Ida would maybe allow it for a short stint, but her husband was off at the war and she had six kids to feed. No. No. No. Tanya swallowed the panic that welled up in her throat.

  Was there anyone left for her?

  "What if?" An idea planted itself in her mind and wouldn't let go. Did she dare? She certainly couldn't live on her own in Moscow. Aunt Katya wouldn't allow it, but what if?

  In a flurry of desperate tears, she grabbed Nicolai's old leather satchel and started filling it with the few things that mattered to her—the quilt she had carefully stitched together in the months before their wedding as a gift for Nicolai and the photograph they’d splurged to have taken on their honeymoon just eleven months ago. Stuffing her treasures into the satchel, she laced on her only pair of decent boots and dumped every ruble they owned into the pocket of her threadbare wool coat.

  She knelt next to the bed where Nicolai had died and grabbed his we
ll-worn Bible. She clutched it to her chest. She didn't believe in God anymore, but Nicolai had loved this book. "Goodbye, my love. I will treasure these months for always," she whispered.

  Her heart squeezed. She had to do this. She had to go before Katya got back. Before rational thought could change her mind, she kissed her palm and blew her last hope of love into the air, grabbed Nicolai's treasured violin from its spot next to the hearth, and headed out the door into the still-chilly morning air.

  ~*~

  Tanya navigated the misty streets toward Komsomolskaya Square. If anyone saw her walking down the street making loud hiccupping sobs and doing nothing to wipe the tears streaming down her face, they'd probably put her into the insane asylum.

  Hanging her head low, she kept walking, driven by a pain she would never truly escape. She clung white-knuckled to her satchel and hardly noticed the sun as it peeked over the tops of the buildings, signifying a new day.

  Her first day on her own.

  Tanya spotted the yellow spires of the Leningradsky Station and reminded herself to hold her emotions in check. She made a beeline for the front doors, not glimpsing backward at the sights and sounds of the city where she grew up. The city she had loved deeply and now, lost fully. She was done with Moscow. There was nobody and nothing left for her here.

  Studying the board above the ticket counter, she read the list of cities, rolling them around on her tongue. Which one would hold opportunity and hope for a lonely young widow? Leningrad. Pscov. Murmansk. She had never been to any of them, had never even considered leaving home. Until home left her.

  She willed herself to make a choice before she changed her mind and went back to her apartment. Taking a deep breath, she asked the ticket clerk which train left the soonest and paid her fare.

  Leningrad, it was.

  6

  Leningrad, Russia

  Tanya eyed the intricately carved fresco that stood above the main doors of the Moscovsky Rail Station in Leningrad. The men and women carved into the images looked so strong and happy. Maybe that was a sign that she, too, would find strength and happiness on the streets of Leningrad?