them several months of cash, so she felt guilty every time she wouldn’t wear them. Like now.
She smiled and looked down at her apron. He was very good-looking.
He politely asked if he could sit next to her. She nodded yes, then wished she’d said something instead of just nodding like an imbecile. He sat silent, intent on the empty podium. The intensity of his eyes drew her attention. She tried not to look at him.
He leaned over and whispered, “This is going to be interesting.”
She nodded, then resolving to say something, she whispered, “He’s really not a socialist. He’s a Finnish nationalist.” She glanced quickly to see how that went over.
Then the boy leaned back toward her and whispered, “He’s really not a Finnish nationalist. He’s a revolutionary.”
The way he said it excited her, the implication of the righting of all wrongs—of revolution. Then, both tried to sneak a look at the same time and their eyes met again. “I’m Oskar Penttilä,” he whispered. He looked around. “I’m called Voitto.”
That thrilled her. He had a revolutionary name. Voitto meant victory.
“I’m Aino Koski.”
“Are you a socialist?” he whispered.
“Oh, yes. A socialist. But my father, he’s a nationalist.” She hesitated and looked around. “He goes along with most people saying he just wants to return to autonomy, like what we had under the Swedes. It’s safer, but he really wants the Russians gone.”
“And the man next to him? Your brother?”
“No, the district teacher. He’s from Helsinki. He’s staying with us.” She looked around, then leaned in and whispered, “He gave me a copy of The Communist Manifesto.” She watched for a reaction. He nodded his head and craned around her and her father to look at Mr. Järvinen. Then Aino asked, “Have you read it?”
“Of course,” he said quietly now, no longer whispering. “I’ve read everything he wrote, Engels, too.” There was a pause. “I can read German.”
She was thrilled; he was trying to impress her.
“I read it in a Russian translation,” she replied.
“Did you really read The Communist Manifesto in Russian?”
“My father is fluent.” She hastened to explain. “He’s educated. So is my mother,” she added. Then she felt bad. She was trying to say that her family weren’t just peasant farmers, but a socialist shouldn’t care. “Worked for the government, before he got into political trouble. Then he built churches in Russia before he met my mother.” She smiled. “It was a game with us, but the Russian lessons stopped when it became mandatory for government workers.” She laughed. “The pastor lets me read his Russian novels.”
He blinked. “I’ve never met a girl who’s even read the Manifesto, much less in Russian.”
“Girls aren’t socialists?”
“No, no. Lots of girls are socialists: Beatrice Webb who started the Fabians in England and Rosa Luxemburg in Germany. In America, Mary Jones, Mother Jones, who—” He came to a stop, coloring suddenly, which she liked. “I mean, here in Kokkola, I never met a girl socialist.”
“Well, you have now,” she said proudly, surprising herself to realize that yes, indeed, yes, she was a socialist. She would do something instead of just sitting on her hands talking about independence like her father. What good would independence do if Finland was still run by the same oppressor class?
Three weeks later when Aino came down to breakfast, her copy of The Communist Manifesto was at her place at the table. She immediately glared at Matti, who vigorously shook his head no. Sternly silent, Maíjaliisa plunked down Aino’s bowl of oatmeal mush right on top of the book. How stupid to hide it under the mattress. Of course, her mother would clean there. Aino turned calmly to Matti. “Pass the sugar, please.”
Tapio came from their bedroom and sat at the head of the table. When Maíjaliisa put his mush in front of him, she gave Tapio the you’re-the-father look and nodded her head toward Aino.
“Where did you get this pamphlet?” Tapio asked.
Maíjaliisa could no longer contain herself. “Do you realize what could happen to you, to us, if the wrong people found out you have this? The czar’s secret police, the Okhrana, would arrest—”
Tapio gestured for her to be quiet and she bit back her fear.
Aino was thinking that if she told the truth, Mr. Järvinen would be in deep trouble. But if she lied? But which lie? She blurted out, “Voitto gave it to me.”