Never Turn Back (19 page)

Meri finally calmed down and put the house back in order. She returned to her room to have a chat with her alert and content daughter. Picking up Jeannine from her bassinette, she sat down and laid the five-week old baby on her lap.

“Jeannine Vivi. What have we done? What have
I
done? You’re innocent in all of this, but you’ll feel the consequences as much as I will. My duty as a mother is to protect you. Part of protecting you is providing shelter and food. How will I do that without the good job I have here?” Meri paused to look at the ceiling, imagining the main floors where Monsieur and Madame resided. “At least one of my employers is good to me. He watches over both of us, like Papa—your Pépé—would if he were here. Madame? Well, forget about her.

“To keep my job, I have to let someone else take care of you. How can I do my chores to Madame’s satisfaction and tend to your constant needs? I have to choose. I don’t choose against you. I chose
for us
—for a time in the future when we’ll be together as Mamma and daughter. That time isn’t now.

“You’re so little, you won’t know who’s caring for you. I’ll visit you every weekend. I promise. Maybe Siri or I can find a woman closer to this house who can take you in. Then I’ll visit you in the evenings, too. The woman Siri found lives over ten kilometers away. Ten kilometers! Do you know how long a walk that is?” Meri rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. I have to walk...one way and then back. You don’t. So I’ll walk to see you on my day off and we’ll be Mamma and daughter for a few hours each week. All right?”

Jeannine had long since fallen asleep. Meri interpreted her daughter’s complete calmness as a positive sign.
She’s a good baby who will adapt well to her new situation.
Meri placed her sleeping baby in the bassinette. Her breasts ached from the fullness of the milk she no longer used to feed her baby. For the last several days, Meri switched Jeannine to a bottle and evaporated milk formula mixed with water, knowing she would soon not have a baby to suckle at her breasts. “She’ll be fine,” Meri said aloud. “Independence is a good lesson to learn early.” She had to find a way of justifying her circumstances.

§

Meri walked carefully, carrying Jeannine’s bassinette and the few infant items remaining at the Dorval residence. Only the silver rattle remained safely hidden in Meri’s old leather valise. She didn’t mind carrying Jeannine’s few possessions; she looked forward to seeing her little girl who she missed so deeply and worried about every waking minute. Remembering the first time she met her baby’s caretaker made Meri shiver even though the morning was already warm. Her recollection was keen; it had only been last week.

Probably in her mid-thirties, Hulta Ovaska looked much older than Meri. She resembled every Finnish country woman Meri remembered: as drab and cheerless as the winter skies. The four children standing behind, ranging in age from about three to perhaps fifteen, were standing like statues. They did not smile. Their dull eyes matched their rag-tag clothes.
I can’t leave my little girl with these poor and miserable people
, Meri thought.
It would be like leaving them with Mamma and my brothers and sisters during the war.

Siri saw the skepticism and judgment in Meri’s eyes. She knew her friend well and had seen that look many times. “Hulta is a very good caretaker, Meri. She’s cared for many children of Finns who’ve worked at the Embassy. That’s how I found out about her.” Siri spoke Finnish, which Meri found odd.

Hulta nodded.

Meri turned to Siri, her grip on Jeannine’s baby carriage very tight. “Perhaps one more baby is too much for her. Jeannine is only five weeks old.” Meri spoke in French and as if these refugee-looking people were not only two feet away from her.

Siri shook her head, glancing toward Hulta. “A family of three children that Hulta had been caring for recently moved away. The timing is perfect for her to take in Jeannine.”

Again, Hulta nodded.

Meri sighed.
This arrangement is all I have…at least for now.
Meri turned to the Finnish woman. “Have you ever taken care of infants?” She continued to speak in French.

Hulta grunted more than laughed. She responded first by gesturing to her four children. When she finally spoke, her voice was deep and she responded in Finnish, not French. “I’ve raised many babes other than my own.” All except for the youngest nodded as if providing non-verbal, professional references.

“Clearly you understand French. Can you speak it?” Meri’s eyes narrowed. She did not like this woman.

“
Oui. Un peu.
” The little French Hulta said she knew was muddied with her thick Finnish accent.

Forgetting that she once had a thick Finnish accent, Meri spoke with condensation. “You will only speak French to my daughter. No Finnish words. Is that clear?”

Both Siri and Hulta looked at each other with wide eyes. Meri noticed their reaction. She did not feel compelled to explain anything to Hulta. Siri was another matter.

“I’m not ashamed to be Finnish. But Jeannine is French. I want her to have the advantages of a French citizen—advantages I didn’t have. You both know how immigrants are treated here.” Meri looked at Siri, then at Hulta.

Siri spoke first. “I suppose you have a good point, Meri. I’m proud to be a Finn, however. What harm could it do for little Jeannine to know where her Mamma comes from?”

Hulta shrugged. “I do good I can. Children no speak French.” Her French left much to be desired.

“
Mon Dieu!
” Meri rocked the carriage back and forth with quick jerks. Jeannine started to fuss.

“Let me rock Jeannine, Meri,” Siri said as she noticed the infant’s body being jarred to and fro from her mother’s agitation.

Hulta stepped forward. “No. Me.” She stared directly into Meri’s darkening gray eyes while she gently laid her hands on Meri’s tense knuckles—claws gripping a prized possession. Meri loosened her grip and allowed Hulta to take control of the carriage and the baby in it. Hulta began humming a familiar Finnish folk song while she smoothed the motion. Back and forth…back and forth. Jeannine’s cries became coos of contentment.

Siri smiled.

Meri sighed.

Hulta continued to hum.

The four children leaned over as far as they could, their shoes seemingly glued to the pavement, to sneak a peek at their new housemate. Hulta glanced at Meri. Meri begrudgingly nodded her approval. Then Hulta told her children to come over quietly to meet Jeannine. “Just look. Don’t even think about touching this babe…for now.” Meri understood every word of the Finnish she spoke.

They all went to Hulta’s home so Meri knew where to visit her daughter each week. Meri wasn’t surprised Jeannine’s new home was sparse but tidy and clean. Finns were frugal and it appeared to Meri that Hulta had to be wise with what little money she had. Meri knew the feeling all too well. Jeannine’s carriage would be her crib until the following week when Meri would carry the bassinette and whatever else she had left behind.

They settled the arrangements. Each week, Meri would bring money to pay in advance for the next week. She paid Hulta for the first week.

“How many other children will be here each day?” Meri asked as she scanned the cramped apartment. Meri spoke Finnish so that there would be no misunderstanding.

“Besides my four, seven others. Different ages. With your baby, I have three babies, but yours is the youngest. The older ones look after the younger ones. It works.” Hulta spoke Finnish because explaining was so much easier in her native language. “No worry. French with only Jeannine.” She added in hard-to-recognize French.

“Do you have a husband?” Meri spoke to Jeannine in her carriage when she asked this sensitive question.

“Do you?” Hulta was Finn through and through.

Meri stopped asking personal questions.

Meri and Siri had to leave. Meri picked up her daughter, held her close, and kissed both of her chubby cheeks. Jeannine squirmed, and then a little bubble came from her mouth. Meri smiled a sad smile while she wiped the bubble away. “In one week I’ll see you. Until then, remember God watches over you.” Meri handed her daughter over to another woman reminding her too much of her Mamma.

Siri walked with Meri for part of the way back to the Dorval residence.

At first Siri cried. “Why am I crying and you aren’t?” Siri sniffed and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“What good are tears, Siri? I had no choice. Jeannine is safe enough and I can work. I’ll try to save money. One day, hopefully soon, I’ll find a better—closer—place for her to stay.”

“I admire your positive outlook, Meri.”

“Positive outlook? Positive outlook?” Meri stopped walking and grabbed Siri’s arm. “I just left my baby—my responsibility—with a woman who could be my Mamma. Do you know how much I hate my mother and how cruel she was to me? By doing what I just did, Siri, I just
became
my Mamma. I’m a traitor to my innocent little girl. My outlook isn’t positive; it’s a fairy tale I must tell myself so I don’t go crazy. I hate myself for what I just did. I fear for Jeannine’s safety. Working as a maid gives me barely enough money to pay for this Hulta woman to care for her. How will I save any money now? How will I ever get out of this mess?”

Siri’s eyes welled up in tears again.

Meri shook her head. “Don’t cry for me, Siri. I can’t allow myself to cry or to think about what I’ve done to my baby. To myself. I must cling to the dream. The lie. At least it’s a hopeful lie. Crying washes away the hope and then I’ll have nothing to save me from drowning in this life full of troubles.”

Siri hugged her friend. Meri stood there, arms at her sides. To passersby, they could have been one stranger consoling another. Perhaps they were.

“Meri!” Madame’s voice rang sharp and urgent. Meri dropped the carrot she had started to peel, wiped her hands on her apron, and asked to be excused. She had recently been assigned to help Philippe full time.
My time in the kitchen at the Hôtel Raphael served me well.
It was Philippe’s request. Madame reluctantly agreed upon her husband’s encouragement, as long as she remained caretaker to the unwieldy white hound.

Meri hurried to Madame’s study. She knocked on the closed door.

“Enter.”

“Madame.” Meri curtsied. She never dared to meet Madame’s eyes upon entering her presence, so she adopted her habit developed first when dealing with her mother, then with Monsieur Nurmi: staring downward. She noticed the food stains on her apron. Glancing up at her employer, Meri realized Madame noticed them too.
Merde! I should’ve taken off my apron
, Meri scolded herself silently.

“Meri, I’m pleased you have slimmed down. Fat servants and lazy servants have no place in my home. Pay closer attention to how you present yourself in the future. Your uniform is now too loose and your apron…” She grimaced. “Take it off. Now.”

Meri quickly untied the apron, slipped it over her head and held it behind her.
This only makes my uniform look baggier
, Meri thought.
I haven’t had time to take it in. My time is spent visiting Jeannine and sleeping!

Madame sighed loudly. “Why Monsieur has such fondness for you, I’ll never know.”

Meri stifled a grin.
I’m happy Monsieur likes me and that Madame knows.
Meri savored the moment.
How long has it been since I’ve truly felt satisfaction?

“Things are going to be changing. These changes affect you.”

Meri nodded.
What now? Has Monsieur been consulted?

“My sister and her two children are coming to live with us indefinitely. You are going to make them feel like part of the family.” Madame’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll do my best, as always, Madame.”
What’s she really telling me?

“Your duties will change while they are here. She has a son who is four years old and a baby girl. You will take care of them.” Madame watched Meri closely for her reaction.

Meri stood cadaver still. Except for a slight widening of her eyes, she remained expressionless. She knew better than to show any emotion around Madame. Although she thought a response of some kind would be appropriate, something inside Meri shut down.
She made me give up my baby girl to a stranger and now she’s telling me I must care for her sister’s daughter? Is this some cruel joke?

“Meri. Did you hear me?” Madame’s tone was a scalpel slicing through Meri’s thoughts.

“
Oui
, Madame. Very well. May I ask how these, ah, new duties will affect my regular work?” Meri kept her voice calm. Inside a hurricane of unwelcomed emotions arose: confusion, frustration, anger, resentment. Unlike the time when she was able to express her feelings by slamming doors and throwing pillows, Meri had to keep this storm locked inside. For now.

“Staff changes must be made before I assign all duties. We are accustomed to your presence in the kitchen. You will continue helping Philippe with meal preparation and serving. Of course, Soldat is still your responsibility.” She paused. “I will talk to my sister and Monsieur about your day off each week.”

Meri’s stomach lurched. Two months ago she had given Jeannine to Hulta.
My little girl has only seen me eight of the past sixty days. She’ll think that wretched, cold woman is her mother—a woman just like my Mamma. I swore I wouldn’t let the same fate befall my daughter. Madame can’t make me work every day, can she? Monsieur will not allow it.
Meri’s mind immediately flashed to the last time she held Jeannine. Her baby, feather light in her arms, had a terrible rash where her dingy cloth diapers covered her. Jeannine squirmed when Meri held her, as if unaccustomed to being held—
or perhaps she’s afraid of her own mother.
Meri became more determined than ever to find another caregiver.
Someone closer. Someone kinder.
Now this witch of a boss makes me deal with this? All French employers take advantage and treat me like garbage.

Meri wobbled despite her resolve to remain stoic. Like a hawk spotting vulnerable prey, Madame swooped on this momentary show of weakness. “You are welcome to find other work if these conditions don’t suit you, Meri.”

What does Madame have against me? Is it because Monsieur has a place in his heart for me? Is it because I’m not German? I’ve worked hard and given up so much for her.
“No Madame. I’m fine. I look forward to caring for your sister’s children.” Each word seemed to have a will of its own, and its preference was to remain unspoken.

“Good. Dismissed.” Madame busied herself shuffling papers on her desk. Meri curtsied and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Before, during, and after dinner, Meri heard bits and pieces of heated exchanges between the Dorvals. Monsieur seemed as surprised about his new house guests as Meri.

“They are moving in with us? You never thought to ask me?
Mon Dieu!
For how long?”

“Michel, keep your voice down. The help does not need to hear our discussions.”

“Greta,
I
would like to hear our discussions before you made our decisions!” He had not lowered his voice.

“What could I say? She is my sister, and she is all alone with her two children now that Ernst has joined the
Sturmabteilung.
It is part of the Nazi Party, the one they talked about the last time they visited.”

“I can understand Ilsa wanting a little vacation away from Germany and the political fever I hear so much about—but to stay here…indefinitely? We have our own lives to live. Our own expenses, too.”

“Michel, I will not turn away my sister. We have plenty of room. We have a summer house in the country. You have always been so generous…” Meri could only hear indiscernible whispering now.

The next day, Madame must have told her husband about the need for different staffing arrangements. Meri had never heard Monsieur speak so loudly or sharply to his wife.
Perhaps he’s the man of this house after all
, Meri thought as she fed Soldat his morning meal.

“You cannot be serious, Greta. Hire more staff? In these unstable economic times? I create fashions, not money!” He laughed or choked when he replied; Meri could not tell.

Meri moved closer to Madame’s closed study door.
Soldat, you’re such a noisy eater! I want to hear what Madame is going to say to calm her husband down. Their arguments are quite entertaining, and I need to know the outcome because it probably involves me.

“I have a good plan, Michel. We keep Philippe because we need him in the kitchen. We also keep Meri. You should be pleased with that. We need her to help Philippe, serve our meals, care for the crazy dog, and tend to Ilsa’s children. As for—”

“Did you say Meri becomes responsible your sister’s children, one of whom is an infant girl?”

“
Oui
.”

Monsieur’s voice changed pitch to something more menacing than before. Meri could tell he was pacing around the room by the way the volume of his voice got louder and softer. “The woman just gave up her own daughter at your insistence because you said you were too distraught to have an infant in this house. Now you are welcoming an infant and a young child under this roof and making Meri responsible for them. Have you no heart, woman?”

“Michel. I warn you. Do not speak to me with such disrespect. I am your wife and in charge of this household. Our roles have always been clear. You make the money and I keep the household running for you to come home to. I do not question you and you do not question me.”

Silence. Soldat nudged Meri with his dog-food-smothered snout. He wanted his walk. Meri would have to wait to find out the outcome of this battle. She put his collar around his big neck and told him in Finnish, “It’s a fine job I have. The dog’s needs are more important than my destiny.”

§

For several days, Meri heard nothing more about the new house guests or the change in household staffing. She began to think Monsieur had won the battle. Madame’s sister and her children, she hoped, would stay in Germany where they belonged.

The silence fooled her.

Meri sat in her room one evening, wondering about her future and Jeannine’s present situation when she heard an unusual commotion in Zara’s room. Meri became concerned. Generally so quiet, Meri often forgot she wasn’t alone at night in the servant’s quarters; banging and muttering across the hall was uncharacteristic.

Meri got up and went to Zara’s door.
I know the sound of crying. But what is all the banging around about?
Meri knocked. Nothing. She knocked louder.

“Yust a little minoote.” Zara finally opened the door.

Meri gasped. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Your room is a mess. Pardon me for saying, Zara, but so are you.”

“Dey say I must go.” Zara sat, plopping herself on her bed strewn with the few clothes she owned. She put her hands over her face and sobbed.

Meri sat down next to her, putting her arm around the woman’s heaving, boney shoulders. “Why? Did they or
she
give you a reason?”
Madame is behind this.

Zara said something but it was muffled by her hands, her sobs, and her Slavic-infused French.

“Madame said what?” Meri prompted her.

“Dat I’m Czechoslovakian. Not goot enough for beink around goot peoples.” Gentle, hard-working Zara stomped the floor.

“She said you’re not suitable to be around good people? Because you’re an immigrant?”
How are Czechoslovakians different from Finns?
“What does she mean by ‘good’ people?”

“Yermans.” Zara almost spat the word.

“I thought the Germans just hated Jews. They hate Czechoslovakians, too? Who else do they hate?” Meri pondered out loud. Zara, she conjectured, had no more of an answer to these questions than she did.

“Efferyboody but demselfs. You shood leaf, too. No ting but bad vill come from deese peoples.”

Meri nodded her head slowly. She had a feeling that Zara was right about Madame and her sister. But she trusted Monsieur, and she needed the job.
Where else will I find a job in this poor economy? This job lets me live comfortably without having to sell my body? Jeannine will be fine. Monsieur will help us. He has so far.

§

Two young French women moved into the servants’ quarters the day after Zara left. Elise and Claire, the Dorval’s newest employees, bonded to each other. Meri, being older by at least a decade and less enthusiastic about life, did not fit in with the two effervescent maids. They minded their manners in front of Madame but gossiped and joked indiscreetly when they thought they were alone.
There are spies in Madame’s walls. They will soon learn.
Meri did not feel obligated to tell them more than once.
I’m not their mother
.

Meri did not spend much time with Elise and Claire. When they moved into the basement servants’ quarters, Meri moved upstairs to the second floor of the main residence

“You need to be near the children in case they require you in the evening and early morning.” Madame was matter-of-fact about Meri’s new accommodations. “There is a small room adjacent to the guest suite. You know the one. This is your room while my sister and her children are here.”

Meri nodded.

“Go on! Move your things. Your old room will be used for one of the new girls.”

Silently Meri packed up what little she owned and moved into the small, but bright and cheerful, room. She had no idea it would be hers for so many years.

§

Ilsa Freels, her four year-old son, Kurt, and her four month old daughter, Karla, arrived in the middle of September, 1933. Monsieur had sent a car to pick the family up at the train station. Meri heard he had to tip the driver handsomely because she came with one trunk, several smaller cases, and a fancy wicker basket for Karla. Meri, along with the groundskeeper, the chauffeur, and the two young maids helped to move their belongings into the suite of bedrooms they would claim as their own for as long as they wished. Greta and her sister relaxed in the parlor, waiting impatiently for coffee and for Meri to take the children. Ilsa had kept one small package with her.
A gift for her hosts, perhaps?

The luggage finally moved upstairs, Monsieur and Meri found the women in the parlor.

Greta smiled at her husband. “Come see, Michel. Ilsa brought us a marvelous gift. She’s been telling me all about it.” Monsieur walked over to take a closer look at the thick book resting upon his wife’s lap amid unfolded wrapping paper. A close-up photograph of a man hard not to recognize, Adolph Hitler, covered the book. His eyes looked directly into the camera and were as intense as the red title emblazoned across his chest like a General’s sash.
Mein Kampf
.