18
1945
Nils was sitting opposite his father, and between them, on Father’s enormous desk, lay a warm, fresh loaf of Tuula’s rye bread. The crown of one of the tall willows outside the window cast flickering shadows across the surface every time the wind took hold of the lush green foliage. The branches scraped the glass, and the sunlight filtered down through the leaves, brightening the dark decor of the office. The rich aroma of Tuula’s bread filled the air. His father picked up the slice Nils had cut for him. Tuula had baked the loaf only a little while ago, and Nils had wrapped it in a kitchen towel so that it would be as fresh as possible when he served it to his father. He had cycled to the family firm’s head office with it tucked beneath his arm, steering with one hand. The office was on the village’s main street, not far from the bakery. The butter melted as he spread it on the slice.
His father took a bite, then closed his eyes. Took another bite, swallowed, looked up at Nils. “I’ve always thought that Finnish rye bread tastes like it’s been made from tree bark, but this ...” He paused for another bite. “This is delicious. It would go perfectly with herring, or a mature cheese.” He shook his head, taken aback by how good it was. “And you said it was baked by the Finnish woman who’s just started in packing?”
Nils nodded. “If we decide to sell the bread, I thought I could promote her to baker. Back home she worked in a small hotel, where she baked a lot.”
His father frowned, clasped his hands together, and leaned back in his chair. “I definitely think we should add it to our offering, but can we really promote someone at this point? A woman? And a Finn?”
“It doesn’t feel right to take her recipe and bake the bread if she’s not involved. Plus she’s the one who has the skill.”
His father cleared his throat. Cut another slice and buttered it. “I don’t believe women belong in bakeries, and as for Finns ...” He shook his head slowly. “You know what they say about the Finns here in the village. Malmsten down at the sawmill, he’s had all kinds of trouble with them. They drink and fight, and the police have been called out several times to the places where they live. They show up drunk to work; it’s a serious issue.”
Nils straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I do know what people say about the Finns here, but I’ve heard plenty of other stories, too, so I think there might have been a certain amount of exaggeration.”
“Oh? So you’re saying I’m exaggerating?” His father looked indignant—he wasn’t used to Nils contradicting him.
“No, not that you’re exaggerating, but the people you’ve spoken to. This woman is incredibly conscientious, just like the friend who recommended her. And I know the foreman at the mine—they’ve got some very hardworking Finnish men there, so some of what you’ve heard is clearly not true. Anyway, I can’t sell this bread if I don’t promote her. That would mean stealing the recipe from her.”
“My son.” His father leaned across the desk. “In business it is sometimes necessary to steal. And a Finnish woman isn’t in a position to fight back, so you’re risking nothing.”
His father was wrong there—Nils was risking a great deal. He had no intention of treating Tuula that way. He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to bake that bread, and I’m not going to ask her for the recipe unless she becomes a baker with us.”
His father gazed at him in silence for a few seconds. “So there will be no Finnish rye bread unless she’s promoted. Have I understood you correctly?”
Nils took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to setting himself against his father. They often discussed his suggestions, but Father always had the final word. “You have.”
Father sighed. “Well ... People have started to talk about the end of the war. Demand will rise, and we’ll have to increase our production, which means we’ll need a couple more bakers. I still don’t think women belong in a bakery in that capacity, but ... okay.”
“Thank you, Father. I really appreciate it.” Nils got to his feet. “I’d better get back to the bakery.”
“I’m keeping this.” Father grabbed hold of the loaf.
“You do that.” Nils smiled and headed for the door, feeling excited. He couldn’t wait to give Tuula the good news.
“Before you go . . .”
Nils stopped, then turned around.
“This idea of frozen food looks as if it might become a reality. I’ve heard from my contacts that there are plans to start selling frozen berries and vegetables. And I’m all for it—so I’m going to need that permission from the local council. Just imagine, a huge freezer room!”
Nils shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other while his father was talking, and then came the inevitable question. “Have you asked Birgit out?”
He shook his head.
Father sighed again. “I don’t want to force you into anything, but can you please explain why not? She’s a nice girl from a good family. And she’s ... very attractive, as far as I can see. Can’t you just invite her out for dinner?”
Nils had already tried his father’s patience sufficiently, and didn’t want to discuss the matter any further, but he couldn’t simply give in. “I ... I’ll think about it.”
Father nodded slowly, but as Nils closed the door behind him, he saw that his father was shaking his head.
He didn’t want to have dinner with Birgit; he didn’t want to spend any time with her. They had nothing in common. And someone else was filling his thoughts. He wanted to be with her right now, tell her the big news.
He got on his bike and pedaled through the village as fast as he could. He heard a cry of delight from an open window, and wobbled alarmingly. Another whoop of joy, then a cheer, and within seconds everyone seemed to be laughing and shouting. Someone ran out into the street, quickly followed by others.
“The war is over!” Wilhelmsson yelled, hurtling out of his grocery store, hands in the air. “It’s peace!”
Nils jumped off his bike. “Seriously? Peace?”
“Yes—the Germans have surrendered!”
Nils laughed and gave Wilhelmsson a hug. Soon the street was full of people celebrating; he greeted those he knew and smiled at everyone. Dizzy with joy, he got back on his bike and set off for the bakery. Suddenly everything seemed easy. Only now did he understand how much the ever-present dark shadow of the war had affected him. He had tried his best to live a normal life, but it was suddenly so much easier to breathe, as if a deep-seated mortal fear had finally released him from its grip.
The news had already reached the bakery; he heard the cheers as he rounded the corner and saw everyone out on the loading dock. He dropped his bike and ran to join them. He hugged Fritiofsson, the baker who had been with him the longest. One of the drivers was dancing around in circles. Lydia was weeping with joy, and Nils caught Tuula’s eye before they all cheered in unison.
“Take the rest of the day off,” Nils yelled when the cheers subsided.
“But I’ve got loaves in the oven,” said Wing?rd, one of the bakers.
“Okay—as soon as they’re ready, you can go. Any customers waiting for bread can wait until tomorrow.” He looked at the drivers. “You too—we’ll deliver tomorrow. In you go, get changed, go home, and celebrate with your families.”
Another burst of cheering ensued. The staff began to head inside.
“Tuula, do you have a second?” he asked. Tuula stopped and nodded. They found themselves alone.
“Peace—can you believe it?” he said with a smile.
Tuula shook her head and returned his smile, but then her eyes filled with tears. She smoothed down her cap, and he could see that she was making a huge effort not to cry. Was she thinking about everything that the war had destroyed? Old memories brought to life? Maybe she was remembering her late husband and her ruined hometown. She laughed, but the tears began to flow. He took a step toward her, reached out, and gently wiped her cheeks. He didn’t know what came over him, but a second later he was kissing her, tasting the salt of her tears. And coffee. Salt and coffee, along with the sweetness that was Tuula. She tasted divine.
“Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He stepped back, looked up at her in surprise, and said, “But the war is over.” Then he realized what had just happened. Oh God, was this even permissible? He was her boss, after all.
“I ... I apologize. I ... Sorry, I didn’t mean to kiss you.” He backed away, keen to make sure she didn’t feel pressured.
She smiled. “It’s fine.”
Nils cleared his throat, tried to pull himself together. “The reason I asked you to stay behind is that I have something to tell you. My father wants to sell your bread, and you’re going to be the one to bake it. You’re going to be a baker.”
“Seriously?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Do you mean it?”
He nodded. “You’re going to be a baker, and your pay will go up accordingly.” She threw her arms around his neck, and now she was the one kissing him. He held her close, wanted her kisses to go on forever. The scent of her filled his nostrils—the Danish pastries she had just been packing, butter and cardamom and something else he couldn’t put his finger on, but something fresh, like the aroma in the kitchen when his mother was making an elderflower cordial.
Someone coughed discreetly behind them. They quickly let go of each other, and Tuula looked anxiously over her shoulder. Lydia was coming toward them, carrying a box of bread. “I thought I might take this to the grocery store so they can sell it, as it’s not going to be delivered—is that okay with you, herr Eklund?”
“Of course—good idea.”
Lydia’s smile broadened and she winked. “I haven’t seen a thing.” She walked past, then turned and waved goodbye.
Tuula looked at Nils, and after a second they both started to laugh.
“I play soccer,” he said.
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“Would you like to come and watch? There’s a match tonight. Bring the children.”
“Lovely—why not?”
“Fantastic.” He was filled with excitement. “Down on Bred?sen—seven o’clock.”
Tuula walked through the village in the spring evening. The atmosphere was relaxed, and the celebrations were still going on. People were sitting outside the café, and there was dancing and singing in front of the hotel. The hawthorn had just blossomed, and its intoxicating perfume filled the air.
She was holding Ritva’s and Matias’s hands. Matias had his soccer ball tucked under his arm, and occasionally let go of his mother’s hand so that he could kick the ball and run after it.
No one was giving them dirty looks or calling them names tonight—everyone was too busy rejoicing.
Tuula wore a thin spring dress, pale gray with narrow blue stripes, which she had bought with her first paycheck. She was pleased with the dress and the jacket she had borrowed from Aino since she couldn’t afford a spring coat just yet. With her raise, she would soon be in a position to expand her spring wardrobe—soon she was dreaming of the clothing she would be able to buy.
Then she thought back to what had happened earlier. What on earth had come over her? She had kissed her boss. The owner’s son! It was crazy. But he had kissed her first, and invited her to the soccer match. Lydia had seen the whole thing ... But Lydia was one of the kindest people she had ever met. She wouldn’t make life difficult for them.
The match had already begun. Twenty or so spectators were sitting on the narrow wooden benches, shouting encouragement and clapping. Tuula and the children sat at the far end at the back. No one seemed to notice them. She wondered if things would change now that the war was over. There had been so much tension over the past few years. Perhaps attitudes toward the refugees would change. She could only hope.
Her heart sank when she saw one of Nils’s teammates. It was the man who had cycled past them on the very first day. She had seen him in the village several times since then, and he had always hissed at her: fucking Finnish bitch . He glanced up at them, and she turned her head away, not wanting to provoke a reaction.
A moment later Nils spotted them. His face lit up and he waved, and then he raced across the pitch and fired a shot at the goal, but missed.
“Nooo!” Matias howled. Tuula smiled and put her arm around his shoulders.
Nils came over to them at halftime. As usual Ritva suddenly became shy, shuffling closer to her mother and saying hello to Nils with her head down, while Matias immediately began chattering about the game in broken Swedish.
“So you like soccer?” Nils asked.
Matias nodded eagerly.
“Would you like to come down to kick the ball?”
Matias leaped to his feet and followed Nils onto the field.
The two of them passed the ball back and forth, and Nils let Matias dribble past him and try to score. When the referee blew his whistle, indicating that the second half was about to begin, Matias hurried back to Tuula. He was panting and his face was red from the exertion, but his eyes were shining and he was beaming from ear to ear.
The match ended in a tie, but both teams acted as if they had won. Today everyone felt as if they had won, and maybe they had—the end of the war was a victory for them all.
Matias ran down onto the pitch again, and this time Tuula and Ritva followed him. Nils and Matias resumed their game, and some of the other team members joined in, including the man who always swore at Tuula. He passed the ball to Matias a few times, even if he wasn’t smiling and joking with him like the others were. Tuula kept a wary eye on him. She couldn’t relax, but he kept quiet.
Maybe, just maybe they could be accepted here? Maybe they could build a normal life here after all? That little spark of hope spread a warm, liberating glow through her chest.
She realized how late it was. The children needed their sleep, and she had to be up early. She stepped onto the field and waved to Matias. “Matias! We have to go now!”
The boy didn’t hear at first, so she raised her voice and called to him again. He came running over, rosy-faced and sweaty. There was a chill in the air, and when she patted his cheek, she could feel how cold he was.
Nils followed him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for inviting us.”
“Mm.” Nils swallowed hard and looked down at the ground, then looked up at Tuula again. Those sparkling brown eyes made her head spin. Or was it the scent of the hawthorn? Or the day’s joyous news? More likely it was just charismatic Nils Eklund’s presence. “I was wondering what you’re doing on Saturday evening.”
“What I’m doing on Saturday evening?”
“Yes—do you have plans?”
Tuula shook her head. “No plans. I’ll be at home with the children as usual.”
“Maybe Aino could watch them? I’d like to invite you to dinner at the Stadshotell.”
“I’d love to come,” she replied, much too quickly, before she even had time to think. The evening sun, turning the sky a warm shade of peach, the scents, the atmosphere in the air—it was all so intoxicating. And being so close to Nils, of course. His dark hair, damp after all his exertions, the smell of him. He smelled like the air around them, but stronger. And of sweat, but it wasn’t unpleasant, a mixture of salt and something that made her think of a forest at dawn. He smelled like a man.
She hadn’t been near a man since Juhani went to war. She hadn’t been near anyone except her children for such a long time. And now Nils was standing before her, making her feel as if she had drunk the neighbors’ schnapps. She wanted nothing more than to have dinner with him.
Nils smiled. “Fantastic. I’ll book a table for seven thirty. I’ll pick you up at seven fifteen.”
She nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
He laughed. “See you tomorrow—at work.” He looked at the children. “Good to meet you again.” He patted Matias on the shoulder. “Well played!”