Never Turn Back (4 page)

Meri remembered the small piece of cheese she had from the wonderful lunch earlier that day. It remained in her coat pocket. She decided to save it. “
Kiitos
. Kaija led me to believe you had a big apartment with plenty of room for both of us to stay until we found our own home. She also said that there would be many jobs for us to pick from—like you had.”

“Kaija! Always the little girl…” Tuula shook her head.

“What do you mean?” Meri asked the question as Elina sidled up next to her, seemingly equally curious.

“Kaija always focuses on sunshine, never rain. She refuses to listen to a story with a sad ending. Once she even made up a happy ending to an old fable because the original upset her,” Tuula said as she served some kind of stew with mostly vegetables.  “My sweet cousin chooses only to notice the good things in life, not the bad. I told her life wouldn’t be easy for either of you here in Paris, but her letters back to me were filled only with plans and dreams of prosperity and good fortune. She spoke about how you both would find a beautiful apartment and handsome suitors. In no time, you would be designing clothes for famous people from around the world. Those were Kaija’s words even though I told her the French have no love of foreigners. They believe we’re good enough to wash their clothes, not design them.”

“You told Kaija this?” Meri stared at Tuula, watching her dollop stew into the three mismatched bowls.

Tuula stopped dishing up the stew and met Meri’s gray eyes, “I did. I even warned her about coming. As you can see, life for me isn’t so easy.” Tuula turned to Elina and smiled gently. “But we’ve made a fine life for ourselves here. I’m just telling you, Paris isn’t for everyone.”

“Paris is for me, Mamma!” Elina said almost as a toast before she gulped down her first spoonful of stew.

“Paris is for me, too. You will see,” Meri said, following Elina’s lead. She felt her heart quicken again with anticipation. Or was it apprehension?

Tuula shrugged. “All right, here’s to Paris being for everyone!” Tuula was nothing if she wasn’t agreeable, as long as certain lines weren’t crossed.

During the first two months Meri stayed with Tuula and Elina, she learned a number of valuable lessons.

§

Meri’s first lesson:
Tuula was right.

Parisians did not welcome foreigners, and she was a foreigner. Meri carefully packed the lace dress she had designed and made, and carried it with her to every design house and dressmaker within the garment district, though she rarely even got the opportunity to show her handiwork. Most often, her rejection came without entering the establishment. She needed no fluency in French to understand the curt wave of a hand and the pinched eyebrows silently telling her to go away.
Could these French couturiers tell by simply looking at me that I’m not one of them? Is it my face? My clothes? What is it about me that makes me so different, so inferior, to them?
Meri wondered, but never discovered.

After nearly two months of rejections, a fashion house owner spoke to her after glancing at her delicate lace dress she anxiously presented to him.

“You say this is your work?”

“
Oui,
Monsieur.” Meri had barely learned the rudiments of French, forcing her to keep her answers brief.

“It is clear you’re good with a needle and thread. How are you with other domestic work?” he asked while examining the lace.

Meri did not understand most of what he said, but she recognized “good,” “domestic,” and “work.” In the finest French accent she could muster, she delivered the phrase she had rehearsed so many times, “
Je serais honoré de travailler dans votre maison de belle façon.”
(“I would be honored to work in your fine fashion house.”)

He laughed. It was not an insulting laugh, just an amused one, Meri knew, by the crinkles around his eyes.
Papa crinkles
. She remembered them so well. “Come back if you decide you would like a job working for my wife.” As he carefully wrapped Meri’s lace dress in the packaging, he added, “Your work is beautiful, but I cannot hire a foreigner to do the job of a Parisian.” Then he looked at her and said to her soft, but confused gray eyes, “You look like a young woman who deserves a chance. What is your name?”

Meri stared at him, befuddled by all the French. No one had spoken that much French to her since she had arrived because either the Parisians ignored her or she stayed close to the Finn-French community.

The man touched her arm and asked again, “
Votre nom
?”

“Oh! Meri. Meri Vaarsara.” She hoped she correctly understood.

He picked up a piece of heavy paper with the name and the address of his shop. On the back, he wrote his name and another address. “Meri Vaarsara, if you want a job working for my wife, go here.” He spoke slowly and pointed to the address on the back of the paper. “My wife is having a baby and needs help.” He gestured as if holding and rocking an infant.

Meri nodded and smiled. She put the paper in her coat pocket.

He opened the door for her as she departed, a gesture she was unaccustomed to since her Paris job search began.

Meri waited until she was a few blocks away from the shop to reach into her pocket and read the paper the man had given to her. He had written “Monsieur
Michel
Dorval.”
If there is one kind man in Paris, there is more.

Monsieur Dorval was the first and last couturier who ever bothered to examine Meri’s lace handiwork.

§

Meri’s second lesson: Learning how to speak French would take some patience.

Elina was her most ardent teacher since her time, albeit short, in France. She had a mastery of the accent that eluded many of the Finns in their community, even though she spoke fluent Finnish. At seven years old, Elina craved to be the “expert” at anything, so she took on the role of Meri’s French instructor with enthusiasm.

Meri appreciated Elina’s help.
How else will I find the job of my dreams?
Meri reasoned.
If I speak like a Parisian, perhaps they’ll think I’m one of them.
Elina’s eagerness as a teacher, however, often crossed the line from helpful to annoying, at least in Meri’s mind.

After a lesson, which usually took place at the end of a long, discouraging day of walking from rejection to rejection, Elina would not want to give up her role as “teacher,” no matter how tired Meri was.

“I’ve had enough of French tonight, Elina.” Meri said in Finnish as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table.

“
Non, Meri. Je ne vous parle qien Français!
” With a pout on her face, Elina insisted they speak only French.

“I’m the adult, Elina. I’ll decide when the lesson is over.” Again, Meri spoke in Finnish to aggravate the girl.

“You wouldn’t talk to me that way if Mamma was here,” Elina continued pouting, speaking in Finnish this time.

“She’s not here, is she? I am. And I say we’re finished with the lesson until tomorrow.”

“
Oui, Madame
.” Elina stomped off to the bedroom she shared with her mother, who was, as usual, gone for the night.

§

Meri’s third lesson: Tuula had secrets.

On the first day they met, Tuula seemed welcoming and relaxed. Even cheerful. Meri wondered what she had to be so happy about. She lived with a little child, in a tiny apartment, without private facilities, in a poor section of Paris. To make matters worse, she was now sharing what small space she had with a complete stranger.
Had it been me, I never would have invited her to share my cramped apartment
.
If I had been so foolish as to promise my cousin such a favor, I certainly wouldn’t be so happy about the situation.

Tuula’s disposition changed Meri’s second day in the city. She became more like a businesswoman, telling Meri her duties as a “guest” in the apartment. Meri had to pay rent—one-third of the rent Tuula paid to her landlord. She also had to buy her own food, help with meal preparation and other domestic tasks, and perhaps most importantly, Meri had to agree to take care of Elina when Tuula was out.

“What do you mean, ‘when you’re out’? Do you mean when you’re working?” Meri’s hands were on her hips. She wanted to challenge this requirement. Having spent much of her life raising her brother and leaving that life for good, Meri thought her childcare days were behind her. Meri fumed to herself,
I don’t have time to babysit Elina. I have to find a job and my own apartment!

“I work almost every night, rarely getting home until morning. Elina needs someone to be with her through the night—to tuck her in and help her say her prayers, you know.”

Meri didn’t know. “What kind of job keeps you out all night?”

“That’s none of your business. I make enough money to take care of myself and Elina. I don’t have to justify how I make a living to you or anyone else.” Tuula now had her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t mean to pry. But if I’m going to be responsible for your daughter, I should know where you are in case I need you.” Meri had learned to think quickly from a lifetime of dealing with a mother who always questioned her motives.

“Oh, well, that makes sense. Sorry. I’m in the…ah, entertainment business. Dancing mostly, but in different places on different nights. I make most of my money in tips gentlemen offer to me.”

Meri’s eyes widened. Then she looked down at her shoes.

Tuula saw in Meri’s reaction the look of every “proper” person who ever saw her in her make-up and skimpy dresses, judging her for what she did—even the men enjoying her services. She narrowed her eyes and added, “I trust you’ll keep this to yourself. Elina must never know.”

“Of course, Tuula.” Meri nodded. “Tell me, does Kaija or anyone back in Finland know?”

“Mother of God! No! They all believe I work as a personal secretary for a very important businessman.” Tuula put her hand over her mouth and started giggling. “That’s why Kaija asked me if I would take you in—she thought I had a big, fancy apartment with plenty of extra rooms. How could I tell her no?”

Meri smiled. She started to laugh along with Tuula. Soon, they were bending over, tears streaming down their faces. Both women were swept away by waves of uncontrollable giddiness, evidence of their mutual need to release pent up emotions.

Meri wiped tears of merriment from her cheeks and chest. “Well…I trust you won’t tell Ka….Kaija I’m not….not a famous fashion designer.” She could barely speak through bubbles of laughter.

“I’ll let Kaija live in her dream world. Your secrets are safe with me, Meri.” Tuula grabbed Meri’s hands and held them.

“Good. Everyone in Finland must think I’m prospering.”
Especially Papa. I can’t disappoint Papa.

As time went on, Meri learned Tuula had come to Paris in 1919. She wanted to escape a dreary life in Finland, just as Meri had. Tuula’s dream was different. She planned on becoming a famous actress or entertainer. Like Meri, Paris had other plans for her. France was still reeling from the devastating effects of World War I. It was a depressing time. Work for native-born French people was hard enough to find, and a general distrust and dislike of foreigners pervaded the country.

Tuula had very few resources and knew no one. She gave up on her dream quickly, turning to the kind of work easily found for a young, pretty woman in the city. At first, she was ashamed of how she made a living. She finally realized that simply surviving was an accomplishment. Her goal was to stay in Paris and she achieved it. Failure would have been returning home to Finland to tell a false tale of her experience there—or worse, telling the truth.

Meri understood completely.

“What about Elina? She’s too old for you to have had her here. You have only lived here for four years and she’s seven years old.” Meri had grown quite comfortable with Tuula and felt she could delve into such a personal area. Meri was essentially raising her now, and they had been sharing very close quarters for two months.

“Ah, Elina…” Tuula turned to the half-open bedroom door where Elina napped, curled around a cascade of pillows. “Swear to me you’ll never tell her what I’m about to tell you.” Tuula’s lowered voice belied the force behind her words.

“I promise,” Meri answered without hesitation, anxious to hear the secret.

“When I first started working as a…a dancer, I met a few girls and became close to them. They were my only friends. I shared this apartment with one of them and her boyfriend.”

“One of the dancers had a
boyfriend
?” Meri could not believe women like that had romantic relationships.

“We’re normal girls, Meri. We have boyfriends.” Tuula’s voice got higher, defensive.

“Do these boyfriends know what you do?”

Tuula rolled her eyes. “Some do. That’s how we meet them. Some don’t. Do you want to hear about Elina or how I meet men?” Tuula knew how to deal with judgmental people.

“Sorry.” Meri blushed. She really wanted to know about both.

“Elina is
their
girl, not mine.” Tuula said this as matter-of-factly as if she had just reported on the weather.

“What?” Meri’s voice rose from their former whispered dialog to a full-fledged exclamation.

“Meri,
shush
! You’ll wake Elina.”

“Tuula, those people just left their daughter with you? Why? Where did they go? Are they coming back?” Meri’s face was full of question marks.

“Calm down, Meri. As you can see, Elina and I are doing fine. You wouldn’t know we weren’t mother and daughter, except I look rather young to have such an old daughter.” Tuula winked and continued. “So what did you ask?
Juu,
they decided to leave Elina with me. Why? Because the father got into some kind of trouble and he needed to ‘disappear.’ Elina’s mother loved him and wanted to go with him. They thought Elina would be safer with me. I’m sure she is.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Sometimes, Meri, it’s best not to know.”

“Where did they go?”

Tuula shrugged.

“Do you think they’ll ever come back to get her?”

“They’re gone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Parents who plan on coming back for their child don’t give half their money to a friend and say ‘It’s for Elina.’ They also don’t tell you never to speak of them to her. She was only three years old when they left. Sometimes she says she remembers a man and a woman living here. I just say they were tenants, like you, or others I’ve taken in over the years to make ends meet.”

“
Mon Dieu
.” Meri found some French phrases very natural, and her French improved each day.

“What?” Tuula straightened her shoulders and stared at Meri. “I’ve raised her like my own. Even when they were around, I took care of her—just as you’re doing now. She’s a good little girl.”