42
1945
When Nils opened the door, ready to set off for the bakery, he saw a small bundle outside. Something wrapped in a white kitchen towel with a red border, which he recognized from Tuula’s place. He immediately knew what it was. He untied the string, hoping he was wrong, praying to a higher power—if it existed—that he was wrong.
But there it was, a jar and a note, a recipe with a few lines on the back in neat handwriting.
The words pierced his heart. He went back inside. Stood there for a few seconds before he pulled himself together and put down the jar. He had to get to the train station. If she was going somewhere, then that’s where she’d be.
He raced down the stairs. He didn’t know what time she was leaving, or where she was heading, but it was his only option. He jumped on his bike and pedaled down the main street as fast as he could, hoping he wasn’t too late.
But he still had a chance—it was early, not many trains would have left yet.
When he reached the station, Nils leaped off his bike, dropped it on the ground, and raced out onto the platform. A train was just leaving, and he knew she was on it—he could feel it in his heart. The train was bound for V?ster?s. He ran after it, ran and ran, tried to look in through the windows, but he couldn’t see her. Perhaps she was sitting nearer the front? He kept on running, shouted after the train. But it just kept going. And going.
When Nils had reached the end of the platform, he stood there, breathless and empty.
A man came over to him. “Did you miss the train? There’s another one at lunchtime.”
Nils shook his head, doubling over and gasping for breath. “I didn’t miss the train. I missed the love of my life.”
He walked slowly back along the platform, looking around. His gut feeling might have been wrong. She might still be here. He scrutinized every face on the way back to the station building. He stopped in the doorway between the waiting room and the platform so that he could see everyone who came and went. There was no sign of the children, or Aino or Heikki.
Something told him she’d already left the village. He knew she’d gone. She’d left him—she’d been on that train.
And yet he stayed where he was—until the last trains of the day had come and gone, and the platform and the station were deserted, and the sky slowly turned bloodred with the setting sun. Only then did he cycle home. Slowly, drained of strength and energy. His lust for life, the thing that had given him his spark, had disappeared.
When he got home, he went straight to the dining table where the sketches for advertising posters were laid out. Tuula’s Tasty Bread. It had been meant as a surprise for her. He had employed a professional artist to produce them, but then all that business with his father had gotten in the way. Nils gathered them up, put them in a box, and carried it up to the loft.
He wanted to be mad at her, but he couldn’t be. He could never be mad at Tuula.
His beloved Tuula.
Yours always.