Painting Home

by Jolma, Erika;

  Vera held up her hand again. "First, we'll go to the store and stock up on flour, rice, and beans. Starting today, we will be vigilant about every bite we put into our mouths."

  Tanya felt a surge of gratitude that Vera was taking charge.

  "And second, we'll go out there and help build those fortifications tomorrow."

  "Build fortifications?" Tanya hoped her voice didn't sound as terrified as she felt.

  "Yes, we're building fortifications. We'll do whatever it takes to make sure those Germans don't come into our city. I'll not see the place destroyed that I've loved since I was a little girl." Vera sat down and smiled. Then, with her most dainty voice she asked, "May I refill your tea?"

  34

  The Karelian Border, Finland

  Matti had been right about one thing—it would be a long, cold summer. Six nights of sleeping on the icy metal bed of the company's truck had left him sore, stiff and craving a warm bed and a hot cup of coffee, two luxuries he wouldn’t find out here on the front.

  Matti took a deep breath and stretched his arms above his head. He surveyed the horizon. Home sweet home was just over the tree line, a dozen or so kilometers away. Or a million when one considered the line of Russian tanks and guns that stood between him and the dusty dirt road where he’d grown up.

  At least he was here, and though there wasn’t any coffee, he was happy to be unassigned from rapid resettlement duty and assigned to the infantry again.

  Several loud thumps echoed in the distance. Had the war begun somewhere along the front or were the Russians practicing? Either way, it was only a matter of time.

  Sixteen Finnish infantry divisions plus several cavalry divisions had lined up along the Karelian side and were awaiting orders to storm across the border. With the Nazis rapidly moving in from the East, war was imminent.

  Takala rose from his sleeping bag and stepped over the other sleeping soldiers with a scowl. He hopped out of the bed truck and made his way to the makeshift mess. He joined Matti, who stood next to their company fire, stirring a pot of mush in an iron pot. "Don't burn the rations, Ranta."

  "Who, me?"

  Takala patted him on the back before propping himself onto a log next to the fire. "How are you holding up?"

  Matti clenched his jaw.

  "What is it?"

  "You are my commanding officer. Can I speak without fear of reprisal?"

  "Are we talking treason here?"

  Matti looked at him, horrified. "No, of course not!"

  "Then speak freely."

  "All right, I guess I'm almost more concerned about this so-called alliance with the Germans than I was about the Russians living in Karelia in our houses and hosting military retreats at our resorts."

  Did the dark clouds in Takala's eyes mean that he had thought the same thing? Not that he could ever say it, being a commander and all.

  "I've heard rumors that we're not stopping in Karelia. That there are plans to march into Leningrad."

  "Officially, the line is that we're preparing to march into Karelia. That's it. Which is something I thought you'd be happy about."

  "I am. But something doesn't feel right about it."

  "Beyond that, it's all speculation. And why worry about tomorrow when today is so darn miserable we have to eat burned mush for breakfast."

  Matti looked down, quickly stirring his pot and noticing black flecks seeping into his oatmeal. Great."Serves you right for putting me on kitchen duty again. We all know I'm better with a gun than a spoon."

  With a grin, he banged his spoon against the pot and called out to the guys that breakfast was served. And considering the fact that it could be their last warm meal for weeks, they'd better enjoy. Black flecks and all.

  ~*~

  The whining rumble that echoed across the camp brought Matti back to his time in the trenches during the Winter War. He knew that sound. He threw on his boots and grabbed his already-loaded rifle before most of the men in his company had even managed to lift their heads. "Air raid!" He shouted above the roar that drowned out the terrified shouts of confused men coming out of a deep sleep. He sprinted to the safe position. About four hundred meters to the southeast, he turned.

  His fellow soldiers were still frozen in place.

  “Get moving! Now!” he shouted above the thunder. He raced back and grabbed a couple of the fresh recruits’ arms. “You have to move!”

  The shadow of Russian bombers came into view over the horizon—so many of them, in formation, heading straight toward their camp.

  Leaping into the trench his company had dug earlier in the week, Matti dove to the floor and covered his head with his arms as dozens of other soldiers leapt in behind him. Matti braced himself for the first tremors of bomb blasts.

  They never came.

  The drone of plane engines still rumbled above at a fever pitch, yet no bombs fell from their undersides. Was this some crazy surveillance mission?

  Matti dared a quick glance into the sky.

  Dozens of bombers flew in formation heading in a northwesterly direction. Straight toward…No!

  "They're heading toward Helsinki!" The realization dawned as the final planes flew over their trenches. Matti stood, gesturing desperately toward the camp where radios could warn Helsinki of the coming onslaught.

  Takala leapt out of the trench and sprinted toward the radio mounted in their communications tent.

  Matti was fast on his heels, desperate to give Helsinki a few minutes warning.

  Not that it would do much good. All of Finland's troops were congregated at the border.

  Why would the Russians attack Helsinki unprovoked? Especially when the city was full of innocent women and children?

  He couldn't think about that right now. He had to help.

  He raced into the tent behind Takela. His commanding officer was screaming, "Russian bombers spotted heading north-northwest at 0-five-hundred hours. I repeat, Russian bombers are heading straight toward Helsinki."

  It was all they could do. But it wouldn’t be enough.

  ~*~

  The adrenaline from the attack drained out of his body, replaced by a hopeless desperation from knowing Helsinki was probably being bombed.

  Right then.

  He looked around him, assessing the state of the other men in his company. They were scared, but no one was injured. A bit tired from the desperate race to the trenches, but no one was hurt.

  Matti propped himself up in the back of the flat-bed truck and leaned back against his pack. Nothing to do but wait for Takala to brief them.

  Wait and pray.

  Lord, protect Helsinki right now. Blind those Russian fighters so they drop bombs on unoccupied land. Or not at all. Keep the civilians and children in Helsinki safe. Save Finland.

  Right now, with enemies on all sides, God was his only hope for a good resolution.

  "Attention!" Takala's voice startled Matti. His eyes shot open

  "They took us by surprise, soldiers. We had no clue it was coming. We're marching along following all of the orders of their crazy Peace Treaty and then… Bam! They bomb Helsinki anyway." Takala's glare made Matti glad he’d stayed on his good side.

  "We have received word that while most of our airfields and bases remain intact the Russians have managed to hit several civilian targets, including some shops in Porvoo and a school in Lahti."

  Gasps erupted around the room.

  "Fortunately, it was early in the morning and no children were at school, but the building was destroyed."

  Matti straightened, his clenched fists digging into his thighs in an effort to keep from hitting something.

  Takala continued. "We are still assessing damages and trying to figure out what sparked this attack, but in the interim, our division has been put on alert. I'm not sure what that means, but be prepared for orders to come down the chain shortly."

  Matti glanced at Takala, instinctively raising his hand to his chin. He sank back down onto the hard bed of the truck, ho
ping they would be able to launch a counter attack before more innocent civilians were hurt.

  Slamming his fist down, Matti reminded himself to breath.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  It took all that was in him not to grab his rifle and run for the border to confront the Russians who clearly didn't know a thing about honor.

  But he was fighting for a just cause. They were fighting against an enemy willing to hurt innocent people to get what they wanted.

  An enemy that connived evil instead of good and clearly didn't understand what it meant to be loyal, honest, or true.

  They were fighting this battle against pure evil.

  How could they lose?

  35

  Leningrad, Russia

  Tanya folded Vera's light blue cotton sheet in half long-ways, and then again. Propping baby Verushka on her hip, she wrapped the folded sheet around her midsection, over her shoulders and then back behind.

  Just then, Vera came out of her room, wearing trousers for the first time since they'd met. She had her hair wrapped in a kerchief, wisps of gray falling out from the front. Vera secured a tan wool sweater around her waist and tied it tightly before looking at Tanya with solemn eyes. "Are you ready?"

  She pulled on her make-do baby sling to make sure it was tight and called up the stairs. "Feorora! We're leaving."

  Feodora raced down the stairs. A whiff of vodka gave Tanya insight to the dark circles under her friend’s eyes.

  Tanya patted her on the back. "Oh, Fe…you didn't."

  Feodora scrunched up her nose. "I had to."

  They stepped out the door.

  "Good morning, Leningrad!" Feodora slurred, allowing the vodka to lighten up the somber mood that seemed to hover over the entire city. "These three women are here to help win the war!"

  "Shut up," an older woman shouted at her.

  "No one is in the mood, Fe." Tanya zipped her fingers across her lips, warning her friend against her exuberant chatter. Everyone just wanted to get the job done.

  When they arrived at the end of the block, Tanya and Feodora joined a crowd of others—mothers, teenagers, children, and grandparents—as they marched in military fashion due east toward the Moscow Gates, the closest sector of the city marked on the Civilian Response Team's map.

  It would be a long walk, but Tanya didn't mind the exercise or the time to think.

  They plodded on in silence, their footsteps echoing off gray-tinged buildings, lit only by the bright light of the morning sun. Overhead, tiny, dark clouds floated in an otherwise blue sky, setting a somber mood for the city that was seeing its first few days of nice weather all year. Regardless of the sunshine, the typical hustle and bustle of Leningrad was gone, replaced instead by a silent parade of travelers, all trudging east toward a common goal.

  Tanya patted a sleeping Verushka on her back and glared at the Moscow station they trudged past.

  "This street was my first glimpse of Leningrad." Tanya waved a hand over the square.

  "Oh, I didn't realize you got here through the Moscow line."

  "I came from Moscow, silly."

  "It looks so beautiful from here," Vera chimed in. "No wonder you stayed."

  The tall, ornately carved cream and yellow buildings stood in stark contrast to the hastily built tenements just blocks away, showing off the beauty of the city that had captured the hearts of so many. Tiny buds were just starting to peek through on flowering limes, and jasmine vines brought a fragrant life to the city. On summer days like today, Tanya could see why Vera and Feodora loved Leningrad so much.

  It really could be a magical place. It also could be a place of devastation, as Tanya well knew.

  Just blocks away from the splendor of central Leningrad, they'd find unimaginable poverty. Prostitution.Drug use. All the things Tanya had grown to detest when she was living at the Azoz Sanatoria. All the things she had experienced all too intimately.

  She reached her hand up to Verushka's downy head and stroked her soft skin. Shuddering, she felt a wave of protectiveness rise up. She had to protect her daughter from such things.

  Coming to a street corner, Tanya glanced over to see a lamppost covered with sheets of paper, hastily tacked one on top of the other. A picture of a stern-looking Russian soldier holding a gun aimed at a swastika-clad monster was juxtaposed next to a poster advertising the Prokofyev Ballet's upcoming performance of Romeo and Juliet.

  Hope, fear, and death tacked next to despair, trust, and life.

  Block after block, a city of oxymorons revealed itself to the parade of resolute travelers, each caught up in their own efforts to memorize a city that could well be destroyed in just a few weeks.

  The foursome headed toward the Moscow Sector where a command station had been set up by a rag-tag group of older men who called themselves the Citizen Army of Leningrad. These men—too old to enlist in the Red Army themselves—were already working to dig a line of trenches along the edge of the city. Later, they explained, they would fill the trenches with twisted wire, wooden fortifications and anything else they could think of to protect the city's borders.

  "How can we help?" Vera seemed to have more enthusiasm than she had capacity.

  "How about you women start wrapping this wire around the wooden frames over there?"

  Feodora headed for a spool of barbed wire and pointed to Tanya to grab the other end. Tanya reached over a sleeping Verushka and did her best to help Feodora lift the wire without jostling the baby. Slowly they wrapped the wire around the plywood frame, meter after meter of wire. One hastily constructed frame of plywood and sticks.

  Minute after minute, hour after hour.

  And while they may not have been the strongest or the most energetic workers, the three women had wrapped hundreds of meters of barricades by the end of the day.

  Tanya was exhausted. But also relieved.Because for the first time in a long time, she felt as if she had taken control of her own situation.

  And right now, control was one thing that seemed to be in short supply.

  36

  Leningrad, Russia

  June 26, 1941

  MORE THAN ONE MILLION LENINGRADERS HELP BUILD DEFENSE LINES!

  Vera walked in the door, pointing to the headline on the front page of the latest issue of the Leningradskaya Pravda. "One million people! Can you believe it?"

  Tanya looked up from feeding Verushka. "I can believe it, Vera. You saw how many citizens were out there working yesterday."

  Feodora looked up from the tiny pink blanket she’d been knitting for Verushka and scrunched up her nose.

  Vera's eyes grew dreamy. She had lived in Leningrad long enough to love the city.

  Tanya, on the other hand, had only seen the ugly side of the city—the derelict Vyborg Quarter full of clapboard houses and slummy apartments, full of hungry beggars, starving children, and women forced into prostitution to pay for bread.

  Tanya's love for Leningrad wasn't quite on par with Vera's.

  But what she lacked in love, she made up for in pure desire to save her precious daughter. And that meant she would fight alongside Leningrad to the very end.

  "Should we head down to the grocery store and try to stock up on supplies today? There wasn't much to be had last time I was there." Vera seemed to read Tanya's mind.

  "No use." Feodora's words were slurred, revealing she'd had another flask of vodka for breakfast. "The man helping me build fortifications yesterday told me nearly every gastronom in town is completely out of food."

  Tanya's gaze shot up. "Completely out?"

  "Yep, I guess the rich Leningrad housewives made a run at the stores the morning the Germans marched into Russia. They bought up everything in stock. He told me one woman bought up twenty pounds of caviar!"

  "Caviar?" Vera clucked her tongue. "Won’t exactly keep them full for long."

  "Exactly. But as of yesterday, there was nothing left in the stores."

  "What do we do now?" Tanya hated to be negative, but they would need m
ore than a few days’ supply of food.

  "The first thing we should do is go down to Kirov's and see if the rumors are true." Vera's common sense shone through in their moment of panic.

  "I'll go with you!" Tanya said, anxious to get out of the stifling house.

  They walked together down the street toward Kirov's. As they rounded the corner near the familiar store, the crowd gathered underneath the blue and white awning.

  A quick glance in the window revealed the stark truth. Every shelf was completely empty.

  A sign on the door explained that they would reopen once they were able to restock.

  Tanya and Vera exchanged a wary look. Tanya looked away toward the horizon, the despair of the moment overcoming her soul.

  Vera may feel confident trusting a higher power, but she wasn't so sure. Not that she had a better option.

  37

  Kalajoki, Finland

  "And now, Citizens of Finland, on this, the twenty-sixth of June, 1941, we interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for an emergency address by President Risto Ryti." The scratchy voice boomed from the radio in the living room.

  Hearing the words, Anna's heart thudded to a stop. Her paint-soaked brush clattered to the floor, leaving a green trail of watercolor paint across the wood's surface. Dashing to the kitchen to grab a wet towel, she raced back into the parlor. She crouched on the floor mopping up the paint without looking. Instead, she stared straight ahead at the dark mahogany wood radio that sat on the table next to the window.

  President Ryti cleared his throat, the muffled coughing sound echoing across the airwaves. "Our peace-loving people, which for more than a year have strained to rebuild their country to flourish in the aftermath of the previous war, has once again been made the target of vicious attack. It is the same enemy, which, during an excess of half a century, has ravaged, shattered, murdered, and waged wars against our small nation. They have violated our territory, slain peaceful citizens—mainly the aged, women, and children, and destroyed the property of peaceful citizens…"

  Anna sank down onto the floor next to her father's legs.