Deep River Page 14

  When the tune was finished, everyone was clapping, many were shouting for more. Jouka turned to the other players for a brief discussion, and then they broke into a pelimanni schottische, filling the room with memories of birch trees laden with snow, quiet fields, and snug houses. Dancers who’d been intimidated by the polka returned to the floor, and it turned out the Norwegian lunkhead could at least dance the schottische. She could barely keep her eyes forward and her posture formal on the steps and hop, wanting to watch Jouka. Every time she faced the bandstand in a turn, she watched Jouka closely, trying not to make her head swiveling obvious.

  When the tune ended, Jouka bowed to warm applause. He handed back the fiddle and she watched him go outside. She felt he was leaving her.

  She watched him return from outside, slipping something into a pocket. Then, she watched him move between dancing and returning to the bandstand to play another tune or two, but he never seemed to look her way. Around midnight, however, with the band clearly getting tired and people already leaving, Jouka jumped down from the bandstand and very formally asked her to dance. Aino couldn’t help taking a breath that pushed her ribs against her corset.

  The dance was a waltz. Jouka placed his large right hand on her left shoulder blade and took her right hand in his left. He seemed to grow a full inch, coming upright and solid. Then he moved. She followed as though she was part of him, as though she had no choice. She wanted no choice. They were moving with the other dancers in a large counterclockwise circle, yet she felt the two of them were truly the center of everything, the refreshment table swinging by, the bandstand swinging by, a glimpse of Matti swinging by, the refreshments table again. The three-quarter time made the dance flow without stopping points, just the beginning of the next three beats on a different foot and the whirling and Jouka’s face above her and above him the rafters of the building and the center point of the whirling rafters.

  10

  Aino, Ilmari, and Matti slept with other tired dancers on the kitchen floor at the hotel. The late-May sun was up by four thirty. They ate the rieska and butter that Aino had packed and were on the trail back to Tapiola by six. Matti broke into an old folk song about a young girl who fell in love with a soldier. Aino threw a fir cone at him.

  When they reached Ullakko’s, the children ran out. Aino squatted to hug them, avoiding eye contact with Ullakko. His five-year-old daughter took Aino’s shoes off her neck and went twirling around, pretending to be dancing.

  When Aino went into the house with the children, Ullakko touched Ilmari’s sleeve. “Did she, you know, dance with someone?”

  “It was a dance,” Ilmari said.

  “I mean a lot with someone.”

  “A little with Jouka Kaukonen, toward the end.”

  “He’s good-looking.”

  “Yoh,” Ilmari said. “He’s kind of wild though, and he has no farm.”

  “Sure. I have a farm. Good prospects. But I’m nothing like Jouka Kaukonen. He plays the fiddle. He sings. He recites poems. Even being kind of wild attracts a girl.”

  “He drinks,” Matti put in.

  “Yoh. Like most loggers.”

  When Aino descended the stairs after putting the children down for their nap, she saw Ullakko standing by the kitchen table. It was clear that he’d been waiting for her. He motioned for her to sit at the table and she did. She focused on making her face neutral.

  Ullakko sat down and put his hands out to her, but she kept hers in her lap. He quickly withdrew his own. “Aino, you must know how I feel about you.”

  She had a sinking feeling that this was going to be her first marriage proposal. Voitto had never really proposed to her; they’d just sort of fallen into planning their lives together. She knew she should have felt excited, flattered that someone was so enamored of her he would ask her to marry him. Instead, she was horrified that she was being asked by such an old man.

  “Yoh,” she said. “And you’re a good man.” She was desperately trying to come up with how to turn him down without hurting him. At the same time, she was so angry with him that she almost wanted to hurt him.

  “Washington is a community property state. You know what that means.”

  “Of course.”

  “Whatever we build together, half will be yours, no matter what. It’s the law.”

  He walked over to the standing cupboard near the stove, opened a shallow drawer, and pulled out a velvet box, which he put on the table in front of her.

  Ullakko’s little girl, bursting with excitement, had shown it to her one day. Aino had put it on the child’s neck. The little girl went very quiet, stroking the silver chain and single pearl gently, telling Aino that it was her mother’s necklace and her grandmother’s before that and her grandmother had put it around her mother’s neck when she left for America.

  Ullakko opened the box, taking what she knew was the most precious thing he owned in his broad callused hands. He walked behind Aino. She felt panic welling up in her. She fought it while he fumbled with his thick fingers to clasp the necklace beneath the coiled bun of her hair. Putting his hand on her neck, he nuzzled his cheek up against her ear from over her shoulder. She could smell his halitosis. Her heart started hammering with fear and adrenaline. She didn’t know why. It was like being gripped by a dark shadow.

  He dropped down on one knee beside her and said what she’d been dreading, “Will you marry me?”

  She shoved the chair away from him and stood looking at the wall trying to sort through a wildly fluctuating and contradictory set of thoughts and feelings. Here was her first real marriage proposal and from a prosperous farmer who could solidly provide for her and her children. Here was a man on his knees, having offered her his most precious possession and the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. But that was the great temptation: to settle in, to become a rich farmer’s wife, a petite bourgeoise. She’d just become part of the oppressive system. It went against everything she and Voitto believed. She remembered kissing Voitto by the river. Why couldn’t this have been Voitto? At the same time, her heart ached for Ullakko. She knew he was lonely, that he tried; he was as good a father as any child could expect. Why did her first marriage proposal come from a man she didn’t love?

  She turned from Ullakko to conceal her disappointment and confusion. Ullakko jumped to his feet, alarmed that he’d done something terribly wrong.

  Seeing him so stricken, she panicked. She didn’t know what to say to him or what to do with this whole situation. The necklace suddenly felt like a collar, tethering her to the farm, to a life she didn’t want. She fumbled for the tiny clasp and couldn’t work it. Frustrated with her clumsiness, she yanked too hard on the delicate chain, breaking it. It horrified her. She held the necklace out to Ullakko, her hands shaking, tears of embarrassment in her eyes.

  “I … I’m …” She was stuttering. “I’m so, so sorry.” She could feel the wound in his heart and knew she’d put it there. “You’re a good man.” She looked at the necklace still in her hand and then put it on the table.

  Still bewildered, Ullakko said, “Aino, I would love you with all my heart, with everything I have.”

  “But I won’t love you!” she cried.

  She fled upstairs.

  * * *

  When she came back with her packed bag, he was sitting at the table, staring at the broken necklace. He looked at her. It was obvious he had been crying. She had never seen a man cry. Her heart went out to him because he was so sad and she’d refused his suit but, at the same time, it infuriated her that he was so unmanly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and left.

  Upon reaching the road, she realized she had to choose a direction and had nowhere to spend the night. She couldn’t go to Ilmahenki, given how Ilmari felt about Ullakko. She could never explain why she quit. She realized she was crying and tried to wipe back the tears.

  Then she thought maybe Reder Logging needed a woman in the mess hall or cookshack. She realized that she was now in the same
position as Jouka, whom she’d castigated at the dance for just accepting what was offered. She needed to earn money to eat and get shelter.

  She knew the logging camp was a few miles southwest of Ullakko’s farm. Like all the camps in the area, it was connected to the greater world by its own railroad. There were no roads south of Tapiola of any kind. She figured that there must be a path off the Knappton-Tapiola trail that led to the railroad or directly to the camp. Maybe she’d land a job where Matti worked—where Jouka worked. She’d no longer be a burden. She’d be independent.

  Still sniffling, she set off barefoot, wearing her best skirt and blouse from the dance, cloth suitcase in her hand, shoes around her neck, her hopes high.

  After the first mile, she began to have doubts. All she saw was dense forest. What if there were some other trail to Knappton or Tapiola from Reder’s Camp? The trees seemed to lean into the trail, squeezing it. Of course, that was silly. They didn’t lean. She heard something crackle in the underbrush and her heart started racing. Another mile of plodding and still no trail. Her bare feet were covered in mud. The day seemed darker than when she’d left, yet it wasn’t even late afternoon. She heard wind rustling the fir boughs high above her. She looked up at dark-gray clouds covering the sky above the moving treetops. She shivered, cold despite the brisk walking, and put on her coat. After about three miles she found a well-worn trail leading west and uphill. Where else would it go except Reder’s Camp?

  When she lost sight of the Knappton trail, she lost sight of anything familiar.

  A raven, startled from its roost, croaked its deep crow-like caw and flew just feet above her head, disappearing into the forest. The raven filled her with foreboding. She fought down childish superstition.

  The trail now paralleled a creek. The water was dark, filled with silt. It didn’t seem natural. She realized she hadn’t eaten since the night before and had packed no food. What if she never found Reder’s Camp? Should she turn back now to avoid getting trapped in the dark? Turn back to where? Her evaporating sweat chilled her. The slate-gray overcast weighed on her shoulders, pressing her into the forest floor. Then it started to rain.

  She was overwhelmed with what she’d done. She’d refused a proposal of marriage, rather badly, hurting the man in the process. She’d quit her job and was now hungry in a forest that seemingly had no end. She’d set off for someplace she didn’t know how to find. She had no shelter, she was getting soaked, and the day moved relentlessly toward night. She had no way to see in the dark.

  She plopped down next to the creek, not caring about the mud on her good skirt. She thought about going back to Ilmahenki or apologizing to Ullakko. She couldn’t. She thought about how she’d gotten to this lonely place where farms were so new the farmers sowed their grain around stumps and their little houses were dwarfed by enormous trees. Her thoughts went back to Finland, where the landscape was on a human scale. Would she ever see her parents again? She fought down the memories of her dead sisters and brother. Then, the horrible prison time once again intruded on her memory. A sickening feeling of guilt swept through her stomach and intestines, knowing what must have been done to Voitto because of her. She started to sob.

  Aino looked through tears at the sullen clouds above her. All around her, tree after tree for mile upon mile upon mile made her feel small, helpless, and alone. She thought of wrapping her shawl around her head, covering her face, and throwing herself into the murky creek to drown.

  Movement caught her eye and she imagined more than heard a soft flutter of wings. A northern pygmy owl, about half a foot tall, had silently emerged from a hiding place at the edge of the uncut forest. It swooped down, hitting the ground by the creek with a thud. Wings beating at the cool air, the owl climbed to the top of a snag and turned its head, staring straight at her with its fierce immovable eyes. A field mouse hung in its beak. It began to feed on the mouse, occasionally jerking up, swiveling its head to stare at her briefly, making sure she wasn’t a threat. It hooted, warning her to stay clear. She laughed. Ilmari would say the owl represented their mother’s spirit, come to scold her for forgetting her sisu.

  Around midafternoon, beneath high gray clouds from the Pacific climbing over the cooler air of the vast forest, she hit the rail line linking Reder’s Camp to Willapa Bay. The rain had stopped, but the sun stayed hidden, its presence signaled only by lighter gray in the southwest sky before her. The forest was cast in continuous shadow. She turned south on the railroad tracks, stepping on the cedar crossties, taking in their soft sweet smell. She guessed that to save money Reder had not bothered to creosote them as major railroads did. The untreated cedar would last long enough for him to cut out the timber. After following the tracks as they climbed into the hills another three or four miles, she heard women’s voices. They were speaking Finn! She hurried toward them.

  Coming around a gentle curve in the rail line, she faced a large, seemingly haphazard bridge made of log after log piled one upon another from the bottom of a small logged-off canyon with a fast-flowing creek where three girls around her age were washing clothes. The music of their voices blended with the music of the stream. Occasional laughter bubbled up to her, standing there bedraggled on the rail line in her wet and muddy Sunday best.

  One of the girls saw her and spoke beneath her breath to the other two. They looked at Aino, skirts tucked above their knees, feet in the cold water. Aino recognized two of them from the dance the night before.

  “Päivää,” the first girl shouted up to her, short for hyvää päivää, good day.

  “Päivää,” she shouted back. She looked down, took a deep breath, and began the steep slide down the hill. By the time she’d reached them, she’d snagged her blouse on a blackberry vine and strained an ankle when she caught her foot on her skirt hem and fallen.

  The girl who had shouted to her giggled, pointing at her clothes. “You’re going the wrong way for a dance, girl. Plenty of men up here, but no music.”

  “I’m looking for work.”

  “Yoh,” the girl said. “Can you cook?”

  Aino hesitated. “Sure. What Finn woman can’t cook?”

  “Yeah, well, cooking for a husband is different from cooking for a hundred loggers.”

  “And they can eat,” one of the others broke in. “You would never believe it possible how they can eat.” All three of them laughed again. Aino smiled. She hadn’t realized until just now how much she had missed girls of her own age. She remembered the dance, all the girls primping at the mirror, adjusting skirts, flattening blouses to reveal curves, knowing they were in a situation where none of them could lose. But here, they were working, doing what women did: washing clothes, talking, laughing, being right with the world and full of life.

  Aino sat down and put her tired feet and sore ankle in the water. She’d walked about ten miles barefoot, in wet clothes, the last three or four miles on splintered rail ties.

  The girls folded the clothes, bundling them with sheets and throwing them, still damp, over their backs to haul back to camp.

  “It’s about four hundred yards,” the first girl said. She used the American measure. “Around that curve,” the first girl said, nodding with her chin. She was taller than Aino, but younger, not yet fully developed. She was not beautiful but not ugly, pleasant looking. There was no fat on her, nor was there any on the other girls, but she wasn’t thin. She looked strong, in a girlish way. “You ask for Alma Wittala,” the girl continued.

  “Alma Wittala’s from my home place,” Aino said, excitement growing. “We’re shirttail relatives.”

  “Well, good. You tell her Lempi Rompinen also gave you her name.” She paused, just slightly. “That’s me,” she said softly. “Lempi.” Warmth seemed to flow from deep inside, out through her blue eyes. The two girls regarded each other, just enough for each to know that for some inexplicable reason, here was someone who could be a friend, even though you’d known her no more than a minute. Lempi’s voice came back to full volume. “
She hires and supervises the flunkies.” She used the American word. “That’s what the loggers call us girls who work in the mess hall.” Her eyes ran up and down Aino. “You can make yourself presentable here.” She looked down at Aino’s feet. “And put your shoes on so you don’t look so desperate.”

  The three girls climbed a steep well-worn path up the camp side of the creek, bent under their loads. Lempi cracked a joke that Aino couldn’t hear, and they laughed in such a way that the joke was probably at Aino’s expense.

  Aino washed and wrung out her stockings. Then she took her skirt off and brushed it with a cedar branch, getting off most of the leaves and loose dirt. She unbuttoned her blouse and, using one of the wet stockings, sponged the hair in her armpits. She adjusted her corset, put on her wet stockings, and sat by the stream to gather herself together.

  11

  She smelled Reder’s Camp before she saw it, despite the lime thrown on the feces to reduce the odor of the outhouses. Rounding the final curve, she saw a chaotic jumble of slash, snags, rusting steel cables, and mud, the single most recognizable geometric form being the line of railroad track that cut right through the middle of the camp. The ground between the structures couldn’t be seen through the mass of limbs, discarded small logs, uprooted trees, and abandoned tops, not worth sawing into logs. Pigs roamed freely, rooting out garbage, the smell of which had been masked until now by the smell of the outhouses supplemented by the smell of the pig shit. How could men live in conditions like this? She saw several rough board-and-batten structures with metal chimneys protruding from their roofs at the far end of the camp, probably the bunkhouses. Closer in, by the tracks, another larger building had been set up high on pilings with a railed porch going around it, probably the cookhouse and dining hall. Shacks, maybe twelve or fourteen feet long by ten feet wide, each set on two large parallel logs, were scattered amid the slash. Most had overlapping split-cedar shakes that formed roofs without gutters or downspouts, some had only canvas roofs. Many shacks had never been leveled but were just dropped from the railcars and left where they settled. A few had curtains on single windows set in the rough board-and-batten siding, suggesting at least some of the men had wives.