The Winter War Page 3

  “Can I help you hitch up Tuuli?” Nina asked.

  “Good idea!”

  While Nina got the bridle, Marko looked at Teppo's empty stall. He missed their young gelding. Last October, as Finland prepared for the possibility of war, the Koskis had been ordered to deliver Teppo to the army. When Marko brought Teppo to the railroad depot, the district horse officer snipped a two-number code and their family name into Teppo's coat, so the horse could be returned after the war.

  “Will you take good care of him?” Marko had asked.

  “A horseman looks out for his mount before he tends to himself,” the officer had said.

  Now they finished hitching Tuuli to the wagon as Mother walked back with their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Arvilla.

  Mother knelt and hugged Nina. “Nina, please keep an eye on Jari.” Mother kissed both children on the cheek.

  “I won't let go of him.” Nina held Jari's hand as Mother climbed onto the wagon seat beside Marko.

  “They'll be fine, Marja,”Mrs. Arvilla said.

  Mother waved as Marko clicked his tongue to start the horse.

  The Savolahti road was the only route out of Virtalinna to the east. It followed a high ridge between thirty-kilometer-long Lake Keskijarvi and the swampland to the north.

  “The army tore up the road moving their equipment to the front,” Mother said.

  Marko nodded as the wagon bumped along in the frozen ruts. Despite the blanket that covered their legs, the steel slats of his brace felt like ice.

  When the wagon hit a hole and lurched toward the ditch, Marko's left leg slipped off the footrest. He tried not to wince.

  The pain reminded Marko of the day Mother had taken off his cast and begun exercising his leg. It made no difference that he complained about the saw cut on his ankle. “We have to work hard,” she said. “Muscles wither and die if they aren't used.”

  Five times each day she wrapped strips of hot, wet wool around his leg. Then she pulled his leg straight out and held his foot against the footboard of his bed. Just when Marko was ready to cry from the scalding heat and the pain of having his cramped muscles stretched, Mother took off the prickly wool. Then she flexed his knee and rotated his ankle. “Make it move,” she said, tugging so hard on his leg that Father had to pin Marko's shoulders to the bed so he wouldn't slide off.

  “Why not just put me on a torture rack?” Marko asked.

  “One day you'll thank me,” Mother said.

  No matter how hard Mother worked, Marko's leg felt dead, like a piece of wood. His skin was pale from being under the cast, and his calf had shrunk to half its normal size.”The doctor said I might never walk again.”

  “He had no business saying such a thing,” Mother said. “Feel your muscles move.” She flexed his leg and pummeled his calf with the heels of her hands. “Believe, believe…”

  Long after Marko had given up hope, Mother kept working on his leg. Through the spring she stretched and pulled and prodded his muscles. Between exercise sessions Marko lay in bed, looking out at the other children playing. Johan was the only one who ever visited. “Still taking it easy?” he'd tease before he gave Marko a book or a treat that his mother had sent along.

  Then one day when Mother pulled on Marko's ankle, a muscle twitched deep down in his calf.

  Mother beamed at him. “You felt something, didn't you?”

  Marko's eyes filled with tears.

  “Marko moved his leg!” Mother ran to the kitchen.

  The whole family crowded into the bedroom to congratulate him. Father picked Jari up from the floor and held him level with Marko's eyes. “Look at your big brother! He'll be chasing you around this house before we know it.”

  The sight of a woman driving a hay wagon piled high with household goods brought Marko back to the present. The road was crowded with evacuees fleeing from the front. A boy and a dog trailed behind the wagon, along with a flock of sheep.

  Further on, they met an old man on foot leading a milk cow. He carried a backpack with a hunting rifle strapped across the top. And a young mother held a baby tight to her chest as her two-wheeled cart bounced over the ruts. The same look of disbelief was frozen on everyone's face.

  Late in the afternoon Marko pulled Tuuli up to rest on the hill overlooking the village of Savolahti. Mother looked on her childhood home and said, “I can't bear to think about what's going to happen.”

  The river beyond the small cluster of houses was glazed with new ice. The town held only three hundred people, but for two centuries Savolahti's famous pottery factory had been firing crocks and vases from the red clay of the valley.

  “The fighting must be getting close.”Marko eyed the smoke rising off the far ridge. The dull thud of artillery shells exploded in the distance.

  “Let's hope Grandma's safe.” Mother squeezed Marko's arm.

  Partway down the narrow road that wound into the village, Marko heard heavy equipment. Soldiers were working in the spruce forest, camouflaging machine gun emplacements. At the base of the hill the army engineer corps was finishing a line of tank traps, trenches, and barbed wire fences.

  “I'll bet they're using some of the wire you and Johan collected,” Mother said.

  In the fall the Junior Civil Guard had collected war materials. Marko and Johan had driven a wagon from farm to farm asking for donations of clothing, blankets, boots, tools, harnesses, skis, lanterns, and barbed wire. Johan was a master at talking people into contributing. “Now that it's butchering time,” he said to a farmer who had just sold his beef cattle,”you won't be needing that barbed wire fence.”

  Not only did the farmer donate the wire, but he also helped the boys pull the staples from the fence posts and coil the wire in the wagon.

  “I've got scars to prove how good Johan was at convincing people.” Marko held up his finger to show the white scar from a wire cut.

  “You were lucky to have a nurse in the house that day to bandage you up,” she laughed. Then she paused. “I know how much you miss Johan.” She patted his leg.

  The only sound Marko heard as he drove into the village was the creaking of the wagon springs. The empty streets felt eerie. For the first time in Marko's memory no smoke rose from the chimneys of the pottery factory. The shard pile was dusted with snow. As a little boy Marko had often picked up pieces of pottery imprinted with the fancy SP crest and skipped them across the river.

  Marko stopped the wagon in front of Grandmother's house, where a skinny soldier stood with his cap in his hands, talking with Grandma. She wore a white apron and kerchief and held a broom in her hands. “Ma'am,” the soldier said, speaking very slowly, “don't you know we have to burn your house down? No need to clean.”

  “I understand perfectly well,” Grandma said. “But a gift to one's country should be delivered in the best possible condition.”

  The soldier walked away shaking his head.

  “What was he talking about?” Marko asked Grandma. The house smelled of freshly baked bread.

  “If the army can't defend the town,” Grandma said, “they have to destroy everything that might aid the enemy.”

  Mother hugged Grandma.”Surely not our home!”

  “You know we burned this house once before on account of the Russians in 1918. We can rebuild.” Grandma's white kerchief framed her round face. Her blue eyes were clear and alert.

  “But all our work!” Mother said.

  “The soldiers know their business.” Grandma squeezed Mother's hand.

  “Hurry, we'll pack your things,” Mother said.

  “Those nice soldiers said we'll be safe until morning,” Grandma said. “Let's sit down and have a cup of coffee. I just baked some pulla.”

  “Tuuli comes first,” Marko said.

  He drew a bucket of water from the well and blanketed and watered Tuuli. Just as Marko started back toward the house, the thin soldier appeared and knocked on the door again.

  “Sorry to bother you again, ma'am.”A stocky soldier beside him held
up a rusty bicycle.

  “Yes?” Grandma walked to the door.

  “Is this your bike?”

  The bike made the picture of the jagged bomb crater flash through Marko's mind.

  “That old thing belongs to the neighbors,” Grandma said, “and they've already left town.”

  “We're gonna use it for a booby trap.”The thin man grinned.

  “You expect a Russian to pick up that wreck?” Marko asked.

  “It don't have to pedal. All it takes is one poor devil to test the seat. I'll rig a charge to give that Russkie the ride of his life.”

  “How perfectly horrible!”Mother said.

  Marko shivered at the thought of an exploding bicycle seat.

  “You'll have to excuse Kekko,” the short man said. “We're the demolition team, and he gets real excited when he talks about blowing things up.”

  “I'm the demo man,” Kekko said. “But some of the boys call me the undertaker.”

  “He's done some fine work over there.” The short man pointed at the house two doors down. “He booby-trapped the outhouse seat, the cellar door, and the woodpile. But his best trick was the dead chicken.”

  “You wired a chicken to explode?” Marko was amazed.

  Kekko laughed. “If a Russkie so much as tickles her tail feathers his goose will be cooked.”

  “We need to finish up the mayor's house,” the short man said.”We got a grand party planned. After we torch the village, we figure the Russkies will pick that place for their headquarters. So we wedged a dynamite surprise up the chimney.”

  “As soon as she heats up—Kablam!” Kekko grinned as they walked off.

  Marko stepped back into the house. Grandma's parlor looked clean enough to host a wedding. The floor was polished, the windows were washed, and the furniture was dusted.

  “Could you please carry that to the wagon, Marko?” Grandma pointed at a trunk that Mother had packed with dishes and silverware. “If we get everything loaded tonight, the soldiers can do their job as soon as we leave in the morning.”

  “How can you be so calm?” Marko asked.

  “A house is only a shell to keep the rain off our heads,” Grandma said. “It would be selfish to complain. My grain sacks are full. My grandson is here to watch over me. Life hasn't always been so easy in this stump-ridden land. I can remember winters when we ground up birch bark for flour and fed our horses twigs. We Finns are tough because the weak ones starved or froze. Those Russians must not know that the men we have left are the toughest bulls in the pasture.”

  “You've given the soldiers a head start on theirwork.” Marko nodded at the neat pile of kindling and the kerosene can in front of the fireplace.

  “To complete my gift to Finland,” Grandma said.

  The next morning Mother stood in the front yard and stared at the house. “If only there was some other way,” she said. Across the river ragged flames rose from roofs of homes the soldiers were already burning.

  Grandma took Mother's arm and they walked to the wagon.

  By the time Marko had clicked Tuuli to life, Kekko and his friend were walking toward Grandma's house to do their work.

  Grandma sat between Marko and Mother and never turned her head as they passed burning haystacks and soldiers shoveling manure down wells. The Finns weren't going to leave anything behind that could help the Russians. The road smelled of smoke and cold mud. Marko's eyes burned from the yellow smoke clouds. Tuuli sneezed as they passed a truck buried to its axles in the ditch. Grandma patted Marko on the arm. “It's good that you brought a strong horse.”

  The crackling of the burning houses and barns sounded like a forest fire behind them.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Marko stopped the wagon to rest Tuuli. As the horse blew hard, Marko looked back on the village one last time. Smoke billowed up over the river and drifted east, where the Red Army marched under snow-crowned pines, drawing ever nearer to the town.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE TRAIN TO SWEDEN

  “Grandmaaaa!” Nina ran up to the wagon with Jari trailing.

  “Have you been staring out the window all day?” Mother asked.

  “They've taken turns,” Mrs. Arvilla said. “They couldn't wait to see their grandmother.”

  “Who are these grown-up children?” Grandma asked.

  “Grandma!”Nina shouted.”It's me, Nina, and Jari.”

  “You can't be Nina Koski.” Grandma shook her head as she climbed down from the wagon. “My Nina is only this tall.” She held her hand level with Nina's ear.

  “That was last summer. Stop teasing!” Nina said.

  With a chuckle, Grandma knelt and hugged Nina and Jari.

  December, a dark month in Virtalinna, turned even darker. Churches and schools were closed. Not only were house lights blacked out, but people also had to paint over the headlights of their cars, leaving only slits. Everyone draped their windows with dark cloth and hung blankets over the inside of their doors. The whole town seemed to be in mourning.

  One night after supper, Mother set Nina on her lap and asked, “Would you be willing to do a good deed to help your country?”

  “Like Marko serving in the Civil Guard?” Nina asked.

  “Yes. It would mean a journey. As a Lotta, I'll be working long hours helping turn the school into a hospital, and we need to find a safe place for you and your brothers. Grandma and I were thinking of sending you to Sweden. Grandma would go along.”

  “Sweden!” Nina looked stunned. “Where our cousins live?”

  “In Gothenburg.” Mother paused to keep herself from crying.

  “I've nothing to hold me here,” Grandma said.

  “Would you do that to help the soldiers?” Mother asked.

  Marko expected Nina to wail, Why me? But she nodded. “If it will help the soldiers.”

  “I'm so proud of you.” Mother bit her lip as she looked across the table at Grandma.

  Nina asked,”Could we have a fire and a warm meal during the day in Sweden? I'm so tired of being cold.”

  “Of course, dear.” Mother stroked her hair.

  After Nina and Jari had gone to bed, Mother turned to Grandma. “Are you sure there isn't some other way?”

  “The children aren't safe this close to the front. And with Marko's help, traveling with them should be no trouble.”

  “I don't want to run away to Sweden,” Marko said.

  “It isn't safe here,” Mother said.

  “What about you?” Marko said.

  “My work in the Lotta Svärd is important to the war effort,” Mother said. “And I have to be here when Father comes home.”

  “The Junior Civil Guard is important, too.”

  “But think of what happened to Johan. I need to know you're safe!”

  “I need to help defend our homeland!”

  The morning was dark and cold when Marko drove the family to the train station. To cheer up the children, Mother sat in the back of the wagon and made up a song about a princess named Nina and a young squire named Jari, who were traveling to their winter palace in a sleigh pulled by white horses.

  “In a golden sleigh, away, away,” she sang. Though Mother tried to smile, Marko could tell she was on the verge of tears.

  When they arrived at the depot, a big Tampella steam locomotive was already idling beside the platform. Black smoke puffed out of its tapered stack, and snowflakes swirled in the bright beams of its triple headlights.

  Nina remained brave. “We're doing this for Finland,” she told Jari, repeating Mother's words as she climbed out of the wagon with her little pasteboard box in her arms. Last night Mother had packed the box with Nina's best yellow dress—the one with small red and blue flowers—along with her carefully darned stockings and her doll. Mother had told Nina, “You must be a big girl and help Grandmother take care of Jari.”

  Unlike Nina and Jari, most of the children at the station were traveling alone. Sweden had agreed to take in child refugees so that Finnish w
omen could work full-time, staffing first-aid stations and hospitals and doing volunteer work. One local woman had even signed on as an army sniper.

  Marko watched a young mother kneel in front of her son to say goodbye. She straightened the name tag that hung around his neck.”You must never take this off—no matter what.” Her eyes were filled with tears. “Promise me?” Her son's name was printed on the tag along with his family name and address. Virtalinna was written as the start of the journey, but the goes to line was blank.

  Nina tried to read the boy's name tag. “What's that spell?”

  “Ilmari.”The boy wiped his tears with his sleeve.

  “You can sit with us on the train,” Nina said.

  Grandmother smiled at the boy. “Ilmari is a fine name. Not only can you sit with us, but if your mother doesn't mind, I may have a peppermint stick for you.”

  “How kind of you,” the mother said.

  “I'm sure that Ilmari will be a good traveling companion,” Grandma said.”Let me introduce you to Jari.”

  Mother pulled Marko aside. “It's not too late for you to—”

  “We've been over this a hundred times,” Marko said. “I'm staying. To fight.” He tried to turn away, but she held both his hands.

  Mother rarely cried, but she was on the verge of sobbing.”I'd never forgive myself if—”She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.”I mustn't let the little ones see me like this.” She took a shaky breath. “But I can't bear the thought of something happening to you. I couldn't go on. You'd be safe in Sweden. And—”

  “And I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do my part here.”

  Mother closed her eyes and nodded. “Dear Marko … I've taught you too well.”

  As soon as everyone had boarded the train, the station manager waved his hand. The engineer gave two short blasts on his whistle and opened the throttle. The pistons sped up with a loud huff, huff, huff, and smoke shot from the stack. The drive wheels spun on the icy rails for a moment before they caught.

  Only when the train jerked forward did the reality hit Marko: Grandma and the children were leaving! For the first time he realized that his family might never be together again.