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  “Money? Investment?” Jouka asked.

  “Sure. You think these things start for nothing?”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  He stood up, nearly shouting the price, several times. She stood up and shouted back at him that he was acting like a child.

  He walked off to the docks without finishing his breakfast.

  When Jouka finally came home around midnight, reeking of alcohol, he flopped facedown on their bed without even taking off his boots. The next morning the previous night’s dinner of cold stew was still on the table. Aino poured a cup of coffee and set it next to the cold stew. Jouka poured the hot coffee on top of it.

  “Childish,” she said.

  “Like leaving cold stew.”

  He left.

  She cleaned up, made the bed, put on her new blouse again, and went to the county courthouse to start researching. She thought briefly of doing abortions to get the hundred dollars. Doctors weren’t doing that, at least not openly. The memory of Lempi, however, put a quick stop to that. If she had to crawl to Matti and Kyllikki, she would. She would never crawl to Jouka.

  She came back to the apartment in the early afternoon and baked bread and pulla, setting them both out with coffee cups, ready for Jouka when he came home. Then she sat down and stared at the set table. Nausea hit her again. How did the baby fit into all this? The Indians worked all day with their babies right there, strapped to their backs or cradled in front of them. Those women could do it. Could she? But they worked together and took their babies to work with them. She rushed over to the sink and threw up.

  9

  Aino and Jouka were civil with each other when they went to the Saaris’ for Sunday dinner. Matti had found work busheling for Warila Logging, an Astoria-based gyppo. Busheling meant getting paid by the tree, not the hour. A busheler could make triple what an hourly logger made, but it required skill, stamina, a good partner, and speed. Speed was dangerous. Matti was complaining that his partner was too slow.

  “There’s not a logger in the county that you wouldn’t find too slow,” Kyllikki said, holding Pilvi as she passed a plate of pot roast from where her father was carving down to where Hilda Saari sat, flanked by Suvi and Aarni. Matti had worked his way out of the basement, but only after Kyllikki had asked for, and gotten, a vow about temper and theft, which she said was as serious as their marriage vows, because their marriage depended on it.

  Hilda Saari was cutting Aarni’s meat, while Suvi watched with a slight pout.

  “Grandma, I want you to cut my meat, too,” Suvi said in English.

  “Talk to your grandmother in Finnish,” Kyllikki said quietly. She slipped another spoonful of riisipuuro into Pilvi’s mouth.

  “That’s old-country language. Mary Peterson told me.”

  “Suvi, we’re Finns. We speak Finnish here.”

  “I’m an American,” she said in Finnish.

  “Well, cut your own meat like a good American then,” Kyllikki said.

  Suvi gamely went at the meat with her table knife, only to have it slip off the plate onto the tablecloth. She looked up to see if she was in trouble. Kyllikki simply nodded at it indicating that she should put it back on her plate, which she did.

  “It wants a puukko,” Suvi said.

  “American girls don’t have puukkos,” Kyllikki said.

  Suvi’s jaw went out and she looked at her father. “She’s right,” Matti said. “Only Finn girls have puukkos.”

  Hilda Saari reached into her dress pocket, pulled out her woman’s puukko, and started to cut Suvi’s meat with it. “Maybe,” she said in Finnish, “if you decide to be a Finn girl, someday you can have this one.”

  “I can?” Suvi asked.

  “Maybe. But you have to be a good Finn girl.”

  Suvi looked at her grandmother, then stabbed her fork into one of the pieces of cut meat. “Americans don’t need puukkos,” she announced. “They get their meat cut at the store.” She looked puzzled when everyone laughed.

  When the laughter died, Matti asked Jouka, “Why not go logging with me?”

  “I haven’t been on the wooden end of an ax for years.”

  “You’re only thirty-two. You’d soon get back in shape, just like the Reder days.”

  “Not so very long ago for me.”

  Kyllikki broke in brightly. “How are the soldiers doing, Matti?”

  In October, the federal government, desperate for spruce, had sent in the army to overcome the lost production resulting from the work-like-Hoosiers tactics. It had proved a dangerous failure.

  Matti laughed. “We sent five of them back for sky hooks on Friday. They’re about one-third the speed of real loggers.”

  “One-third the speed and three times the wages,” Aino said.

  “I’d draft loggers,” Matti said. “They’d make better wages as army privates and the army would get a lot more wood.”

  “I’d happily run a locomotive for army wages and,” Jouka emphasized, “army hours.”

  “I can go one better than the army,” Matti said. “You know those two parcels of spruce by Bean Creek on the Washington side? Well, the deal worked out by Aino and Kyllikki”—he smiled at them to show his appreciation, which in turn was appreciated—“I can’t log in Washington so I sold them last week.”

  “To Reder,” Kyllikki broke in, giving a what-can-you-do gesture with her hands.

  “Oh, Matti. no,” Aino said.

  “Aino, money’s neutral.”

  “It’s not neutral. You got started because the government gave Ilmari a timber claim of thousands of board feet for free,” Aino said.

  “I got started because I took thousands of board feet of worthless wood sitting there for centuries doing no good for anyone and got it to a mill where it was turned into houses.”

  “Enough,” Emil Saari broke in.

  “I’m tired of busheling,” Matti said. “And I have enough money to get started again. I need a real partner, a logger who can do everything. What do you say, Jouka?”

  The look of gratitude and pride on Jouka’s face would have brought tears if everyone at the table weren’t a Finn. “We’ll call it Two-K Logging, Kaukonen and Koski.”

  “Too bad Aksel’s not here,” Kyllikki said. “It would really be like the old days.”

  “Yoh,” Matti said. “No one knows where he is.”

  Aino saw in her mind the open door to Aksel’s and Lempi’s empty shack.

  At that very moment, Private First Class Axle Langston of the United States Army’s First Infantry Division shivered in the dark in a trench in the Sommerville sector of the lines, ten kilometers southeast of Nancy, France. After he left Knappton, he sought solace drinking bootleg liquor in Nordland. He then sought solace with prostitutes in Seattle. Finding none, he made his way to New York City on freight cars, found the city intolerable, and so headed to Florida because he’d never seen a palm tree. Out of money and ideas by the spring of 1917, he still couldn’t face returning home and the memories it would evoke.

  The army offered a new start, guaranteed room and board, distraction, the possibility of excitement, and, most of all, a legal path to citizenship. Two months after he joined, the United States entered World War I. The first three promises had been delivered. The path to citizenship, however, was fraught with peril.

  10

  During the summer strike, General of the Army John J. Pershing brought a favorite officer, Brice P. Disque, out of retirement, made him a lieutenant colonel, and told him to solve the labor mess in the Northwest—by any means. The army needed ten million board feet of spruce every month. The disgruntled loggers were producing two million.

  After several fruitless months of negotiating with both sides, Disque realized that unless the loggers got more pay, better living conditions, and safer working conditions, they would never log fast enough to meet production requirements. He also saw that the owners would never knuckle under to the IWW. Unable to break the imp
asse, he convinced Pershing to send in the army.

  It was a disaster that had all the loggers laughing and the owners totally frustrated. Out of the disaster, however, both management and labor could see that the government was willing to throw millions of dollars and thousands of drafted men at the problem, no matter how inefficient that solution was. Both the IWW and the owners would be sidelined.

  A week after the soldiers started logging, Disque and a small group of business and AF of L leaders met in the office of University of Washington president Henry Suzzallo. They formed a new union, firmly anti-Wobbly, called the Loyal Legion of Loggers and Lumbermen. “Loyal” was the key word. All its members would be required to swear a loyalty oath stating they would “stamp out any sedition or act of hostility against the United States government.”

  Disque then convinced the War Department to form the Spruce Production Division and to draft loggers to fill its ranks. This put the entire industry under military law. Loyalty to any union attempting to slow production would be a court-martial offense.

  On November 7, the Bolsheviks seized power in Moscow. The American public welcomed the sweeping changes in government power, giving no thought to their effects on personal liberty.

  Aino knew they’d won a tactical victory; their demands were mostly met. But they had suffered a severe strategic loss. The government of the people, by the people, and for the people had ensured that workers would get fatter crumbs from the capitalists’ table but never be seated there. The sole bright spot was Russia. When the revolution spread to Finland, she was filled with hope.

  “Now we can all go back to Suomi,” she said to Kyllikki, her eyes sparkling. “We’d be part of building the new world.”

  “Aino,” Kyllikki said, pouring coffee while Suvi held her by the back of her skirt, pressing a cheek against her hip and staring at Aino. “You’re married to an American and you’re pregnant. You’re living in the new world already.” Kyllikki pulled up a chair, dragging Suvi with her. “Suvi, you go play with Aarni. If you want to stay here with us, you have to be quiet.” Kyllikki waited for Suvi’s decision, which was to run off to her brother. “People are starving in Helsinki. Only a moron would go back.”

  “Food will be distributed for free once we take full control.”

  “Russia’s headed for civil war. Finland won’t escape it.”

  “Capitalist propaganda. How can there be a civil war when ninety-five percent of the country is working people?”

  “Yes, and two-thirds of them are farmers and ninety percent are Lutherans, just like Ilmari and my father. He hates what is happening in Finland. He wants General Mannerheim to stop the disaster that you call paradise.”

  “Well, he’d better get used to it, because it’s going to happen here, too.”

  “Aino, revolutions require visionary leaders. In America, the visionary leaders go into business.”

  On December 6, Pehr Evind Svinhufvud declared Finnish independence in Helsinki. Two days later there was a celebration dance at Suomi Hall. Many of the women hung hand-sewn flags showing various sizes of light blue cross on a white background in the style flown by Finnish fishermen and other private boat owners. Others showed crosses or designs of red and yellow, the colors of Finland’s coat of arms. Still others, however, showed a yellow hammer and sickle on a red background. Suomi Hall nearly became the first battlefield of the Finnish Civil War.

  Emil Saari and Alvar Kari took the stage to try and calm things. Alvar held a small copy of the flag imposed on Finland by Russia, the hated orjalippu, the slaves’ flag. The crowd hushed. With great solemnity, Emil struck a match and set the flag on fire. The crowd roared as Alvar waved the burning flag over his head, scattering smoking pieces. The band began playing “Finlandia.” The harmony was short-lived.

  Fueled by illegal alcohol from hip flasks, unconscious rivalry over still-scarce women, growing news of atrocities in Finland perpetrated by both sides, and just plain old grudges for any number of previous slights and injustices, a fight broke out between several ASSK socialists and some loggers and fishermen who begged to differ with their politics. It started on the dance floor but quickly moved into the reception hall where two tables filled with hard-earned and diligently prepared food collapsed in a crash of crockery. The younger women and girls watched from the walls with their hands over their faces, some covering their fear and horror, others covering their excitement. The older women, who’d done most of the work and known many of the fighters since they were little boys, waded in with iron soup ladles and large wooden mixing spoons. This galvanized their husbands to restore order.

  Aino found Kyllikki holding the pieces of the beautiful porcelain serving plate she had risked taking to the hall to display her pound cake. Furious, she thrust the pieces toward Aino. “Politics,” she said.

  * * *

  On Sunday, eight days after the celebration of Finnish independence, Matti answered the door, having successfully dodged the weekly Saari trek to the Evangelical Lutheran Church. Standing before him was a rather unimposing-looking man in civilian clothes. The man put his hand out. “I’m Captain Ed Denning. I work for Colonel Brice Disque, commanding officer of the Spruce Production Division of the Aviation Section of the U.S. Signal Corps. I assume you know all about us.”

  Matti shook his hand. “Yoh,” was all he said.

  “May I come in?” Denning asked.

  “Yoh.” Matti showed him to the living room.

  “Your family, Mr. Koski?”

  “At church.”

  “Of course, it’s Sunday.”

  Matti said nothing.

  “Mr. Koski, we’re both busy men. I’ll get right to the point. People tell us you’re the best logger in two states. We want you to join the Spruce Division as a senior sergeant. We need men who know how to log and how to handle loggers.”

  “I have my own company.”

  The man took in the steady gaze. “I’ll make no bones about it,” he said. “We have the power to draft you, even if you’re not a citizen. I’d rather you volunteered to serve your country.”

  Matti said nothing.

  “If you volunteer, you’ll have a senior sergeant’s pay and be able to send every penny of it home to your family, because the army will provide for all your needs. You’ll have a clear path to citizenship.”

  Matti watched the man’s face carefully. This man, perhaps in his midthirties, had the full backing of the United States government. Not only could Matti be drafted, but he could also be deported. The government could make sure nobody would buy his logs at any price.

  Then Captain Denning coolly delivered the coup de grâce. “We can have you jailed for obstructing the war effort under the Espionage Act.”

  Matti thought about the power behind this man. He thought about his family. Then he said, “I have a partner, Jouka Kaukonen, who’s the best locomotive engineer in the Northwest. Same deal for him?”

  There was no hesitation. “Same deal.”

  Matti told Kyllikki that night. He told Jouka at work early Monday morning. Two days later, Jouka and Matti were heading east on the Spokane, Portland and Seattle train to Fort Vancouver just across the Columbia from Portland. The headline on the small article on page three of the Astorian read: FINNISH FAMILY SENDS VOLUNTEERS TO SPRUCE DIVISION, followed by, “Mr. Matti Koski and Mr. Jouka Kaukonen, of Two-K Logging, have volunteered to help bring sound logging practices to the newly formed Spruce Division. They will be stationed at one of several division camps west of Port Angeles. In an interview just before the pair boarded the train for Vancouver Barracks, Mr. Koski said he did it because he loves his newly adopted country and he loves to log. He and his brother-in-law, Jouka Kaukonen, will add much-needed skill, many years of experience in the woods, and their spirit of patriotism to the American war effort.”

  Kyllikki, with Aarni and Suvi holding her skirt on each side; and Aino, standing to Suvi’s left, holding Pilvi’s hand, stoically watched the train disappear. Neither of
them knew when they would see their men again. For Kyllikki, Matti had just returned from months of hiding, but neither of them would risk deportation or jail. Aino wanted to make the marriage work, but with Jouka in the army, that effort stopped. She also faced carrying, delivering, and parenting the baby alone. On the other hand, there would be a steady government paycheck and she could focus everything on recruiting for the co-op.

  11

  Knowing it would be gauche to try recruiting at Christmastime, Aino reluctantly left for Ilmahenki on Christmas Eve. It seemed such a backwater now. She loved being in the thick of things. She loved being the one the men came to with the myriad problems that had nothing to do with manufacturing—problems she could solve with solutions she controlled. She feared that this would be lost when the baby came.

  She smiled graciously at the congratulations from Rauha and Ilmari about her pregnancy. She basked in the bustle, the children, the food, seeing Ilmari so full of joy at Christmas. Kullervo came for a Christmas dinner of baked ham, rutabaga casserole, and beetroot salad. He entertained them with stories from the old Reder’s Camp days with Matti, Aksel, and Jouka and of logging on the Klawachuck. It felt good to hear the stories, but it also heightened the effect of their absence.

  For dessert, Rauha served her star-shaped puff pastries with plum jam and poured coffee for all, including sweetened coffee with half milk for the children.

  Then, as if she couldn’t stand the good feelings, Rauha shooed Kullervo out of the house to go tend the cattle and got on Aino about the new co-op being more competition for Sampo Manufacturing.