Painting Home

by Jolma, Erika;

  Probably not. Not when her heart ached so heavily for the only man she would ever love.

  Tanya leaned back into the leather seat in the waiting room, frozen and unsure. She scowled at the smiling faces on the fresco. What did a stone statue know about life anyway? Turning back to the train platform, she watched the shifting shadows of bustling passengers dance across the pink-tinged tiles.

  Were any of them like her? Alone.Unsure.Lost. Everyone else seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going, as evidenced by the almost frantic rush on the platform. No one took time to glance backward at the lonely figure sitting in the waiting room with tears streaming down her face.

  Her impulsive nature had always been her greatest weakness. Even as a child, her mother had constantly reminded her to think before she jumped in headfirst. Which hadn't stopped her from trading her mother's entire supply of red currant jelly for a copy of The Romance of an Empress when she was in the seventh grade.

  Who cared about eating when there was a romantic novel to read? At least, Tanya felt that at the time. Two weeks of nonstop chores later, she had realized that perhaps the library was a better place to find books.

  Nicolai had tempered her impulsiveness a little bit.

  All right, a lot.

  Nicolai had been her rock when the rest of her world fell apart. First her fathercarried away by navy-clad police officers claiming he was a Bolshevik sympathizer. Then her poor mother, dead from pneumonia weeks before Tanya had received word that her father had died in a prison camp. Tanya had been devastated. But through it all, Nicolai, her Nicolai, stood by her, held her, and loved her. Yes, without Nicolai, she would've been lost.

  As she was right now.

  Now, he was gone too. And Tanya was entirely alone in the world, sitting in a train station with the anguish of indecision and loss covering her heart with a black blanket of regret. If only Nicolai had been around this morning to talk her out of hopping on a crazy train to nowhere.

  Impulsivity mixed with grief do not a great decision make. She should stitch that on a sampler someday to remind herself to never do something this stupid again.

  She pushed out of the chair, grabbed her satchel and Nic's violin, and walked over to the ticket counter. How much was a ticket back to Moscow? Maybe she should go home and chalk this crazy adventure up to blind grief. No one would blame her.

  Bile rose from her stomach as she gagged down a torrent of tears. No, she couldn't go back to Moscow. Not to an empty apartment and a life without Nicolai.

  But could she survive here? Did she have the strength to start over?

  Pinching her lips between her teeth, she turned toward the smiling stone figures over the door and started walking.

  "I don't have a choice but to find out," she whispered under her breath as she used the hem of her coat to wipe her tear-soaked cheeks.

  One foot after another, the echoes of each step resounding across the cavernous room, she made her way to the front doors of the station. Pausing underneath the golden beams that framed the doorways, Tanya turned back toward the intricately carved walls of the station.

  Stepping into the road in front of the station, she shivered. The air was cold as the sun set behind the buildings in Vostanniya Square. She looked to both sides to get her bearings, clutching her stomach as it growled loudly.

  "Here we go."

  She started down the street, not sure of what to do. Maybe she should find herself something to eat? Her stomach turned to acid at the mere thought of food, just as it had every time she’d tried to eat since Nicolai died. But she must survive. And the first step was sustenance. Stepping into a tiny café at the edge of the square, she found a small table by the window and scooted into her seat.

  "Privet! Do you want bread?"

  The cheery waitress grated against Tanya's dark mood.

  "Yes." Tanya inhaled the rich aroma of cooking kolbasa and potatoes as her stomach clenched. "And a helping of whatever you have on special."

  It smelled just like home. Cringing, Tanya reminded herself that if she kept thinking about Nicolai, she'd never make it through this meal. Much less, the rest of her life.

  "I'll put the order in." The waitress's smile disappeared as she jotted down the order.

  Tanya turned toward the window, somberly studying the crowds of people as they hurried by. At least she had something to distract her from thoughts of Nicolai. A group of women made their way down the street, hauling baskets of produce on their shoulders. Their children ignored their grim faces as they scrambled between their legs playing a game of hide and seek as they followed their mothers down the street.

  A regiment of soldiers strolled by in uniform, grim-faced and focused as they marched in rows down the street, their rifles strapped to their backs.

  Tanya scrunched up her face and tried to remember the maps she had studied in school. Was Leningrad closer to Germany than Moscow? She thought so. Why hadn't she taken a train to Siberia and gotten far, far away from the threat of war? Siberia would've been safer.

  And less civilized. In Siberia, they probably slept in tents and ate raw meat from tigers. At least in Leningrad she could find herself a quaint café that served human food like kolbasa and potatoes.

  Glancing at the ticking clock on the wall, she realized it was already too late to find permanent housing tonight. She'd have to stay in a hotel and look for something more long-term tomorrow.

  She waved at the waitress and beckoned her over.

  "Do you need something, Miss?" The waitress's eyes twitched toward two men sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant.

  "Yes. Do you happen to know of an inexpensive hotel where I can find a room around here?"

  The waitress harrumphed. "Not around here. The hotels around the square cater to travelers. You won't find a place for less than 150 rubles."

  Tanya winced. One hundred and fifty rubles. That was a lot. But where else would she sleep? She quelled a wave of longing for her tiny apartment back in Moscow and reminded herself that this was her life now. "All right. Where's the closest one?"

  The waitress pointed down the road, gave her quick directions, and then explained that lower-rent boardinghouses could be found down by the Neva River. She just had to head east and walk two or three miles.

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." The waitress glanced at the men at the other table before turning back to her, her mouth opening and closing as if she seemed to be contemplating telling her something. "Around the square, people are more friendly toward outsiders. Once you get out of this area, you might want to keep your words to a minimum."

  "Outsiders?"

  But the waitress had already walked away to help another customer.

  Five minutes later, she returned with a gray metal tray balanced on her left shoulder. "One order of kolbasa stew." She set the tray down, unloading a large yellow glass of lukewarm water, a small loaf of simple white bread, and a heaping bowl of kolbasa stew, laden with onions, garlic, and potatoes.

  Tanya's stomach clenched as the aroma hit her nostrils, and she impulsively covered her nose. Tanya looked up at the waitress who now stared at her with empty eyes. "What did you mean about me being an outsider? I'm from Moscow."

  The waitress glanced into the back of the restaurant. "Just be careful. People around Leningrad aren't exactly open to people from elsewhere."

  Tanya forced herself to smile and once again thanked the waitress as she hurried off. She took a bite and swallowed before her stomach could revolt. She was no outsider. She couldn’t worry about the words of a silly waitress who didn't know anything about her situation. Tanya forced another bite and another until her stomach was full, her resolve growing with each bite. She could do this. She would make it here in Leningrad.

  Nicolai had always said she was strong. She just had to trust herself. And take one tiny step after another.

  7

  Leningrad, Russia

  It had to
be before five in the morning.

  Tanya flung herself onto her stomach and sank into the soft sheets, willing herself to get back to sleep. She needed to rest.

  Dear Lord, help me to…

  She stopped her prayer abruptly. She didn't do that anymore. She had given up on God after losing her parents.

  Nicolai had begged her to reconsider her stance.

  "My mom spent half her life on her knees and a lot of good that did her."

  "It did do her a lot of good, Tawnie. She's in heaven, rejoicing with Him now."

  Tanya had frowned, making it all too clear that it was a closed subject between them.

  After that, Nicolai had taken to praying for her—out loud and seemingly all the time—that she would find her Savior again.

  Tanya stifled another sob. Would the pain of losing Nicolai—her parents—ever dull? If loving felt like this, she would never love again. Not a man, not a friend, and not the God who had allowed all of this to happen. Tanya didn't need anyone but herself anymore. She would make it on her own.

  Rolling out of bed, she slipped on yesterday's clothes and splashed cold water on her face, hoping her red-rimmed eyes weren't too noticeable. She headed downstairs, hardly noticing the ornate lobby of the famed Hotel Astoria in her quest for coffee and breakfast. Finding a small café in the lobby, she purchased a small folding map of the city along with a cup of coffee and a carrot Piroshky. She found a spot on a soft leather chair in the lobby and forced down her food while she mapped out her plan for the day.

  First up on the agenda: Push everything from the last few days out of her mind so she'd be able to function like a normal adult. There was time for grieving later. Today, she had to start her new life and she couldn't afford to spend the day wallowing.

  The waitress said that there were lower-rent boarding houses a few miles down the road along the Nava River. She traced her finger east on the map and carefully circled the places where boardinghouses were marked. Maybe she'd find a nice place with a private room that included breakfast.

  Tanya took a big bite of piroshky and allowed herself to daydream. What if the proprietor needed help in the kitchen? Or with the office administration? At the right place, she could get a job and a place to stay in one fell swoop.

  Suddenly anxious to get going, Tanya brushed the crumbs from her dress and headed back up to her room to clean up. All she had to do was put one foot in front of the other and she'd make it through the next few hours.

  Scrubbing her face with water from the basin by the sink, Tanya straightened out the wrinkles on her skirt before packing her satchel. She laced her boots, using the tiny cloth that the hotelier had laid by the sink to scrape off yesterday's travel grime from her soles.

  Once presentable, she stepped out onto the road, careful to avoid the muddy sidewalk with her shiny, clean boots and headed in the general direction that the waitress had pointed out. She kept her head down and walked in a straight line, not daring to make eye contact with anyone on the streets.

  A few miles later, she came across her first boardinghouse. It was a large, cream-painted house situated off the road on a patch of carefully groomed grass. Planters filled with green plants that looked ready to burst into bloom hung from each window, giving the house a homey feel. The sign on the road proclaimed "Sanatoria Belyakov, established 1913."

  She marched up the walk and knocked loudly on the door. A plump woman wearing a patchwork apron answered with a tentative smile, holding a steaming wooden spoon dripping with gravy.

  "May I help you?"

  "Yes Madám, I'm Tanya Egerov." The woman's smile disappeared and was instantly replaced by a stern frown. Had she said something wrong? "I'm looking for a place to stay."

  "We don’t have any rooms available." The woman's voice was clipped, angry.

  "May I inquire how much a room would cost were there one available?"

  "950 rubles a month."

  Tanya winced. 950 rubles a month was out of her price range. She was hoping for more like 450. “Thank you.” She smiled shakily and willed herself not to cry until she was out of view.

  Tanya blew out a deep breath and drew a giant X on her map over the tiny scrawled letters that said Sanatoria Belyakov. One down, thousands to go. Tanya tried to cheer herself up by dreaming of the room she would soon have to herself. A place where she could refresh, rejuvenate, grieve. There had to be hundreds of other boardinghouses in Leningrad. She checked her map and headed toward Sanatoria Chzov, which according to her map was around the next bend.

  Another tentative knock and another rejection followed. This pattern continued for most of the day, until Tanya's map held eleven giant X's over her circles of hope.

  What was wrong with this city? Or, maybe she should be wondering what was wrong with her?

  Tanya glanced up at the sun, which was already sinking behind the buildings on Ulica Ryleeva. Her heart felt heavy. What now? Should she head back toward the Hotel Astoria? It was pricey, but one more night couldn't hurt.

  Yes. She would head back and sink into clean cotton sheets and give herself some time to rest. And think. And cry. And maybe sleep away the shame of the day.

  Because tomorrow was a new day. And she was certain to have better luck then.

  8

  Kalajoki, Finland

  Anna stacked every blanket she could find into her arms and braced herself as she stepped into the cool night air. A cold front was coming in and the boys sleeping in the barn would need all the warmth they could get.

  Shivering in the cold, Anna considered the last few days.

  Matti had been able to rein in his anger a little, but he certainly hadn't been a cheerful guest. Instead, he had been stoic through meals and had all but avoided the evenings around the card table with the rest of the boys. He had made it clear he couldn't wait to get away. Away from both Kalajoki and her.

  That was fine with her. It wasn't as though they were best friends or anything. They hardly knew each other and had yet to have a real conversation. The fact that her heart seemed to dance into her throat every time he walked into the room—well, that was just a girlish crush.

  "Hello?" She rapped on the barn door, hoping that one of the younger boys would answer the door and relieve her of her load. She didn't need a run-in with Mr. Tall, Handsome, and Brooding tonight.

  No one answered.

  "Hello?" She carefully balanced the blankets on her hip as she nudged the door open with her shoulder, her ears tuning in to angry voices echoing from the hayloft.

  "We have to fight. For our country. It's only right." That voice belonged to her very own knight-in-shining-army uniform.

  "But I'm not old enough to be conscripted, Matti. I'm only fifteen." Was that her brother Arvo talking? Anna groaned at the thought.

  "We all have to do our part, Arvo. If you're not old enough for conscription, I know a place to get false papers. I'm taking Patri down before I head out next week."

  Anna hovered behind the rafters, afraid to move forward into the light and even more terrified of what she was hearing. What were they talking about? The Ranta boys had just escaped a hostile takeover of their home by a horrible enemy. And now Matti was trying to convince them to join the army? Risk their lives in battle?

  Anna slinked back against the wall, anger welling up in her chest. At least now she knew the truth. Sure, Matti Ranta was handsome and charming and made her stomach flip flop, but he was also crazy. So crazy that he seemed to think it was a good idea to drag innocent, fifteen-year-old boys into a war. Her brother, of all people! She had heard enough.

  She slammed into the room, glaring up into the loft at Matti as she threw down the pile of blankets on a table next to the ladder. She crossed her arms and stared at her brothers as if imploring them to speak first.

  "Hello Anna." Fifteen-year-old Arvo looked as guilty as he had the day he’d crashed Daddy's sleigh into the snow bank while trying to race the Korkonen brothers home.

  "Hello, Arvo. What ar
e you guys doing?"

  "Just talking," Matti chimed in, as smooth as ever. That man must have icy water from the Kalajoki River running through his veins.

  "About?"

  Matti's facial muscles tensed.

  "Anna. We were talking about the war. I was just explaining we all have to do our part to take back our homeland. There are ways for strong, fighting men to help our country regardless of their age."

  Anna nearly choked on her spite. How dare he bring her brothers, her innocent and much-too-young brothers, into this war? "I'd appreciate it if you kept your sentiments to yourself, especially when it comes to breaking the law and encouraging my brothers to do the same. We took your family into our home and I cannot stand for you to repay us with…this!" She stormed out, her final words clipped, as if she said them through a locked jaw.

  She raced out of the barn, wishing with every step there was some way for her to grab her brothers and fold them into the warmth of her parents’ farmhouse where they would be safe. Even if it took every bit of her strength, she would make sure her brothers never had to face what Henrick had.

  She raced into the house, flung herself onto her bed, and buried her head into her pillow, wishing she could forget all about terrible peace treaties and violent wars.

  That and the fact that the coldest man in all of Finland was living right there in her barn.

  ~*~

  So much for getting on Anna's good side.

  What was wrong with him? Strike that. What was wrong with Anna? She was beautiful and charming and witty and fun, but the girl sure didn't understand war. Or him.

  He shuddered, wrapping the worn wool blanket Anna had practically thrown at him around his shoulders. He settled into the hayloft to sleep and thought about the nights he had spent huddled in snowdrifts with shells exploding all around him. Horrible nights he’d spent praying in fear, wondering whether he would die from a Russian bullet or freeze to death. He thought of the friends he had lost—of Johan who had been shot down on the front less than two days after the war started. He hated war as much as Anna did. But he understood it so much better.