8
1945
Tuula had made it to the weekend, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. She loved going to work, and although she looked forward to spending time with the children, her first free day brought a sense of emptiness. There had been something invigorating about going back to work. Back home in Rovaniemi she had worked hard in a small hotel before the children came along: serving meals, cleaning the rooms, and sometimes baking. She had loved baking the most of all—kneading dough and spending time alone in the peaceful kitchen, with the warm oven and the smell of the bread. Working hadn’t just been about earning a living, it had given her a sense of community, of belonging, of normality. And now she had a job in a bakery! She could hardly believe her good fortune. It didn’t even matter that she wasn’t baking herself; it was simply a lovely place to spend her days. There was the almost mushroomy smell of the yeast and the flour when the bakers opened a new sack and tipped it out onto the benches. And finally the aroma of freshly baked bread. There was nothing better.
After breakfast, she and the children strolled along the river before going to the café. Would Nils be there? She knew that he spent a lot of time there, pitching in and checking on things. He seemed to love his work. When he wasn’t busy in his office, he came out and helped the bakers. She liked seeing him knead the dough, and sometimes allowed herself to watch him for a moment when she went into the bakery to collect the loaves for packing.
She hadn’t felt attracted to any man since Juhani, but she wasn’t the only one sighing over Nils. According to Aino he was seen as a real catch. Her little crush felt perfectly innocent; Nils Eklund, the golden boy of the village, would never notice a war widow with two children. Especially not a Finn. She knew what some people around her said about the Finns, the same thing she had heard ever since she arrived in Sweden. There were nice people, too, of course, in fact most of those she had met were friendly and helpful. But prejudice existed—the assertion that the Finns did nothing but drink and fight, that they were different, not like the Swedes, even though the two countries lay side by side and couldn’t have been more alike. However, some Swedes seemed to regard the Finns as a completely different race. She’d heard rumors that some men had visited the camp she was in, measured skulls and noses and closely examined bodies.
The idea that Nils Eklund would want anything to do with her was ridiculous, so she didn’t think it mattered if she let herself swoon a bit over his chocolate-brown eyes, his broad shoulders, his olive-colored skin, and the dark hair curling at the nape of his neck.
The mild March weather that had met them on their arrival at the railroad station had lasted. Spring was in the air as they walked through the village down to the river. She gazed at the large, colorfully painted houses. Tuula had left behind a decent house that she loved, but it hadn’t been as beautiful as these, with their decorative carving. At home her life had focused on the practical. Neither she nor Juhani came from an affluent background, but they had managed fine on Juhani’s salary as a farm foreman. They had never been able to afford anything luxurious or frivolous, though—no gold-rimmed china for them.
The rich, round aroma of coffee reached her nostrils from some distance away, along with the smell of bread. Sweetened bread. Something she hadn’t experienced much in the past few years.
The café had round metal tables outside, with floral-patterned chairs. They looked new, which suggested that Eklunds was doing well. All the tables were full, so they went inside. Tuula took in the checked tile flooring, square tables, well-upholstered chairs, and bare white walls.
She was headed toward an empty table in the far corner when she spotted Nils standing behind the counter. His face lit up when he saw her. He raised his hand to greet her, but then one of the staff asked him a question and he turned away. She headed for the empty table.
Two couples were seated at the next table, but were using the empty one for their coats and the women’s purses. One of the women smiled apologetically and was about to move her purse when Matias inhaled sharply. He had noticed the display shelves, and pointed to them.
“Look, Ritva, they’ve got buns!” he said excitedly in Finnish. The woman stopped, her expression darkened, and she left her purse where it was. She looked Tuula up and down, then turned away, nose in the air.
“Excuse me, is this table free?” Tuula asked anyway, thinking they couldn’t deny her if she asked them directly.
The group didn’t even glance up at her. She stood there at a loss, feeling the eyes of other customers on her. Some of them looked uncomfortable, and she wanted the checked floor to open up and swallow her.
“ Fru Anttila, may I take your order?” Nils was suddenly right behind her. “Please sit down.” As he gestured toward the table, the others obediently moved their things. Nils demonstratively pushed the table farther away and adjusted the chairs. “There you go. Everyone is welcome here, and if anyone has a problem with that, they can go elsewhere.” He spoke loudly, staring at the group seated at the other table. None of them met his gaze, but Tuula looked at him gratefully. She wanted to hug him and cry at the same time. It was extraordinary after all this time—after the flight from Finland, after living in the camp in Sweden—to have someone stand up for her and her children.
Nils went back to the counter, beckoning Tuula and the children to follow him. The hum of conversation in the café resumed, and from the corner of her eye Tuula saw the group at the neighboring table preparing to leave.
“So who do we have here?” Nils crouched down so that he was the same height as the children.
“Matias.” The boy straightened his shoulders and held out his hand, while Ritva clutched Tuula’s hand tightly and seemed to want to disappear behind her.
“And this is Ritva,” Tuula said. “Children, this is herr Eklund, the owner of the bakery where I work,” she went on in Finnish. “Their Swedish isn’t very good yet,” she explained to Nils.
“I can understand that—you haven’t been here long, have you?”
“We’ve been in Sweden since the beginning of the year, but we started practicing our Swedish during the journey, so they know a little bit.”
“And how come you speak Swedish so well?” His warm gaze was as soft as a pat of butter melting in the sunshine.
“My mother spoke Swedish with me when I was a child.”
Nils smiled. “Like I said, you’re very impressive.” He went behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I thought I’d let the children try your cinnamon buns—two of those, please. A bottle of soda with two glasses, and a coffee for me.”
“You don’t want a cinnamon bun?”
“No thank you—I’ll finish off theirs.” Tuula knew that the children would eat up every crumb, but the fact was that she couldn’t afford any more. She had spent her first week’s wages on food, and one or two other things they needed for the apartment.
“You have to try one as well,” Nils insisted, putting three buns on three plates. “My treat, of course.”
“There’s really no need . . . ,” Tuula protested.
“I disagree—there have to be some perks to working at the bakery. And I noticed a young gentleman looking at the cookies.” He smiled at Matias. “Which ones do you want to try? Choose whatever you like.”
Tuula looked down at the children. “Two each,” she said quickly in Finnish. They obediently went over to the glass display case and pointed at what they wanted. Nils added a chocolate slice and a jitterbug. They’ll have a stomachache at this rate, Tuula thought, but she couldn’t help smiling.
“If you go and sit down, Anna will bring your coffee,” Nils said, nodding to a tall, dark-haired woman who smiled at Tuula.
They sat down at their table, and Tuula watched the children tuck in to their treats. A moment later Anna came over with a pot of coffee and a cup. Tuula nodded her thanks. She added a drop of milk, then tasted the hot coffee. It was rich and mellow, without a trace of bitterness. And then she took a bite of the cinnamon bun. She closed her eyes. It was heavenly. Crisp and sweet, but also soft and buttery, with the perfect touch of cinnamon.
“Do you like it?”
She looked straight up into Nils’s brown eyes. “It’s fantastic.”
He pulled out the chair opposite. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.”
“So how are you settling into the village?”
She knew she shouldn’t be completely honest on this occasion. “Really well. We’ve got everything we need, and I’m so grateful for the job—it’s saved us all.” Though that was all true, she left out the hostility she felt from some locals. Could a place where you weren’t welcome ever feel like home?
“You’re a very conscientious worker, I’m very pleased to have you with us.” Tuula thought she detected a warm undertone, as if he was hinting at something more, but no doubt it was her imagination. The idea that he might mean something else was out of the question.
“Thanks.” She smiled.
“And those people who treated you so badly—don’t worry about them.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“I will never allow anyone to treat you or your children that way.” His tone was serious, and those lovely eyes were fixed on her; she believed him. She mustn’t let her imagination run away with her, but she couldn’t help dreaming.