“Nothing is about right. Since when do we sit around doing nothing?”
I shoved the book I’d been reading beneath the wooden bench and hoped he hadn’t seen it. “We don’t.”
“Too damned right. We have a delivery in less than twenty-four hours. We can’t afford for any of us to be sitting around.”
I wanted to argue that I hadn’t been doing nothing—I’d been reading—but that wouldn’t hold any sway with him. In my father’s view, it simply wasn’t practical to be filling one’s head with daydreams.
My father was all about practicality. He cut wood, chopped down trees, built things with his hands, and hunted for meat. It was all bullshit, of course. To anyone passing by, they’d have seen a man connected to the earth, someone content in his own company, happy with his lot. They’d think the low hum that filled the air between the tweets and twitters of birds and the shush of wind in the trees was most likely attributed to a wood saw or an electric sander. They’d be wrong. The noise was that of a printing machine hidden within the woodworks, spouting out sheaf after sheaf of forged British bank notes.
We had money, I knew that, but I was made to feel poor. My clothes were practical—just like everything else in my life—thick jeans and cords, boots, long-sleeved t-shirts and jumpers. Nothing had been bought to make me feel pretty. They were old, too, with the idea of mending before buying something I’d always been taught.
I should leave this place. I was nineteen now and old enough to make my own way in the world. My father had taught me his business, and he had no qualms in making sure I understood that I’d be taking over the family business when the time came. The thought of spending the rest of my life hidden between this oppressive expanse of trees made it hard to breathe. I hated these forests. Though the capital city of Tallinn was just over an hour’s drive away, they felt endless. At night, I lay on the forest floor and stared up between the branches and soaked in the view of the stars. That those same stars were seen by everyone, somehow gave me the feeling that I wasn’t separated from the rest of the world.
But my father was powerful and got what he wanted. If I left, he’d take that as an insult, a slur to our family name, and he would track me down and drag me back here by my hair. If I dared try again, he’d probably kill me.
“You need to go through the most recent print,” he said.
“Yes, Isa.”
Each bank note needed to be checked for accuracy. My father would never have admitted it, but his eyesight had been failing him recently. I observed the way he needed to hold things closer to his face when he tried to read them, and wrinkled up his nose, squinting, as though that would help. He should go to the city and get his eyes tested, but he’d argue the eye doctors would only be trying to get his money out of him. A weight had appeared on my shoulders at the realisation his eyesight was going. Detail was of the utmost importance in our business, and if my father couldn’t see, it meant he’d need my young eyes more than ever.
“We’re even more shorthanded now your uncle is dead,” he continued to complain.
I dared to make a suggestion. “We could employ someone else, you know. It would be good for us to have some fresh blood around.”
He snorted. “People we can’t trust, you mean? How would that be a good idea?”
“There must be someone you can trust. You have Timus and Endrik here. Can’t they be taught to do it?”
“They’re here for protection, that’s all. I wouldn’t give them the ins and outs of our business. What do you think would happen then? They’d take what I’d taught them and set up a rival company.” He let out a breath and raised his eyes skyward. “You don’t understand men, Kaja. Men aren’t like women. We’re more ambitious. It’s just a part of our genetic makeup. Women are happy with a comfortable home and a man who takes care of them.”
What happened to Ema—my mother—then? I wanted to ask. If she’d been so content with her life, why had she left? Of course, that was assuming my father’s story about where my mother had been all these years was true. When I’d been younger, I’d never thought to question it, but in the last couple of years, I’d started to doubt him. I’d begun to understand the violence my father held within him, his capacity to harm if it got him what he wanted. His need to control everything and everyone in his world made me wonder how my mother had put up with it, and then, later, it had occurred to me that maybe she hadn’t. Perhaps she’d tried to leave, just as I wanted to, and he’d found out and had taken extreme measures to stop her.
“I’m ambitious, Isa,” I insisted. “I have hopes and dreams just like any man.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Your ambitions mean this business will continue to run long after I’m gone.”
I’m not talking about the business.
How could he think I’d want to stay here? I really didn’t understand. The cabin that had been my home for as long as I could remember was comfortable enough. It was a work of love by my father, who’d been adding new parts to the building since I’d been a child. There always seemed to be something that needed to be repaired or improved, and when he wasn’t out on a job, he’d have a saw or hammer or sander in hand. He’d encouraged me to join him, teaching me all the practical things needed to live a life out here, but only got frustrated at my lack of interest. I feigned what I could to make him happy, but the whole time my head would be in whatever book I was currently reading.
At least now that I was able to drive, I could take myself into the city. I’d joined the library, and I delighted in being able to check out different titles each week.
My father made sure he let me know that he didn’t approve, however, commenting on how I was wasting my time or finding jobs for me to do on the days when I wanted to go into the city. He’d bought me my first car, though I felt I’d earned it, considering the amount I worked for him. But even though it was supposed to be mine, he’d lend it out to one of his men for a job if he got wind of any plans I might have.
Plus, I knew my trips into the city were only an illusion of freedom. He made sure one of his men was following me the whole time. If I’d questioned it, he would have either said I was imagining things, or, if I had proof, he’d have told me it was for my own safety. I knew it wasn’t. It was just another way of controlling me.
“Now come along,” he said. “I can’t wait around for you forever.”
“I’m coming, Isa.”
I glanced back at the book I’d left under the bench and hoped it wouldn’t rain.