Blood and Salt (32 page)

“Marry, sir?”

“Yes, that’s right. She has made a strong impression upon me. But first –”

Viktor is losing the thread. “What you say, sir? You don’t want marry her?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said – that she must learn to be a lady.
And I’d like her to learn the best English. Now, there’s a very fine school in Edmonton.”

“Shkola?
You want send her to
shkola?”

“Yes, I think that would be good. And then, next summer, if she agrees, we could be married. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask Mother to speak to her about the school.”

Viktor seems to be having trouble breathing and his face turns pink.
This must be beyond even his wildest hopes.
Well, maybe in the far corners of his mind...

He manages a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Let your mother speak.”

“Excellent. I’m so glad you approve. Well, good to sit down with you, Mr. Dobson.”
The
pahn
gets up and they shake hands some more.

“Goodbye, Mr. Dobson.
We’ll speak again.”

“Goodbye, sir.”
Viktor sees him to the door. “Best wishes to your mother.”

The second the fellow’s out the door, Natalka jumps up.

“All that talk in English.
What was that about?”

“Nothing,”
Viktor says airily. “He’s looking for a new horse.”

“A horse called Halya? Is that what he’s looking for?” She can see by Viktor’s face that she’s guessed right.
Well, it’s not going to happen if she can help it.

“Leave it, old woman. Eat an English biscuit. Be glad you have food.”

Natalka knocks the fancy biscuits to the floor.
Viktor picks one up and nibbles on it, just to annoy her. With a look of injured dignity, he heads outside. But Natalka sees that by the time he reaches the door, his face wears a rapturous smile. This could never have happened in the old country, he must be thinking.

Halya walks
in a garden of hardy rosebushes and perennials, as close to an English garden as Louisa could get in these dry grasslands.
This English garden is tended by one of the shepherds, who helped look after a rich man’s estate in Romania. Halya’s talked to him a few times, but she doesn’t see the shepherds often because they sleep in a separate bunkhouse and cook their own food. Cornmeal.
Mamaliga.
She’d like that.

As she comes back to the house, Halya hears the Shawcrosses arguing.

“No! I don’t want her to go away!” Louisa’s voice floats out the kitchen window.

“Come on, Mother.
You’re always at me to get married.”

“I have told you, Helena is
my
companion.”

“Don’t you want me to be happy?” Ronnie’s voice takes on his wheedling tone.

“Not if it makes me unhappy.” Louisa sounds furious.

Ronnie tries to sound reasonable. “You can’t expect a young woman to spend all her time with an old one.
Anyway, you will be happy.
You’ll have a lovely daughter-in-law.”

Halya doesn’t even consider not eavesdropping.
These people are planning her future, or think they are.

Louisa changes tactics. “She’s a Ruthenian. I thought you were concerned about our position in society.”

“I’ve thought about that.” Even outside, Halya hears triumph in Ronnie’s voice.
“Our position means we can do what we like. Mother, we’re the
Shawcrosses.
”

“Helena is mine. Find someone else.” But she seems to have nothing to threaten him with.

“You know, you’ve never approved of any of the girls I wanted to marry.”

“Ronnie, I warn you –”

“Oh poor, dear Momsie.
You’ll come round.
You always do. For your little Ronnie.”

“I cannot believe you’re so selfish,
”
Louisa says in a strangled voice.

“I can’t think why not, you’ve known me all my life. And anyway, if I am selfish, whose fault would that be?”

“Oh, do shut up.” But it’s clear Louisa’s given up, at least for the moment.

“Where is the delightful creature, by the way?” Ronnie asks, triumph in his tone.

“Out walking. She wanted some exercise.”

“Good. I’ll teach her to ride. I can see us galloping through the hills. Mr. Ronald Shawcross and his wife, the admiration of lesser mortals.
Yes, she’s a Ruthenian, they’ll say, but you wouldn’t know to talk to her that she wasn’t a born Englishwoman.”

There’s a long pause and Louisa apparently realizes she has a card left to play.

“At any rate,” she says, “this may all be quite beside the point. Helena may not want you.”

“She will want me, I’m sure. She’s starting to like me, or at least tolerate me.
And her father would marry me himself if he could.”

“Speaking of her father,” his mother says peevishly,
“perhaps I’ll send her home for a visit. Give her time to consider.”

“All right, Mommy, whatever you think best.”

Louisa gives a snort, and probably hopes she hasn’t miscalculated.

Halya and Viktor
quarrel at the parlour table. Natalka listens.

“I don’t want to go away.” Halya’s lips press together, her jaw set.

“You will. Or you can leave my house.
And take the old woman with you.”

“Batko!” Surely not even he would cast out an old grandmother he’d uprooted from her home.

“This fighting isn’t good,” Natalka says. “Let me speak with Halya alone.”

“You should call her Helena now.”
Viktor never stops hoping this will happen.

“Tsssh! How can Halya suddenly be Helena? Just let us talk.”

“Talk, then.
You women are all the same.”
Viktor stomps outside, slamming the door.

Halya starts to cry.

“Stop that,” Natalka says, a little crossly.
“It’s hard to think when you’re crying.”

“But Baba –” Halya wails.

“Halya, pay attention to me! Why not go to this school?”

“What?” Halya looks outraged. “You’re on his side?”

“Listen, sweetheart,
pampushka,
it’s easy to disagree with him, he’s such a wild boar.” Halya smiles. “But be careful. Every now and then he might have a good idea.”

“But Baba!” Halya’s wailing again.

“You’re still not listening. First, you didn’t want to go live with that
pahna,
and now you can leave.”

“She’s not so bad –”

“Bad, good, that’s not the point. It was not your choice. Or mine. Nothing new there. But now they’ll let you go, so that’s one point. Second, they want you to go to school and learn good English and how to behave around English people.”

“That’s what you
want
for me?” Halya can’t believe it.

“Sure, why not?”

Halya is too outraged to answer.

Natalka charges on. “Only don’t think of it the way they do. Don’t do it so you can marry the son.”

“But that’s why they want me to do it! I’m sure of it.”

“Darling, we aren’t going to get anywhere if you don’t pay attention.
What they want is one thing.
What
you
want is another.”

“I don’t see how going away will get me what I want.”

“Not right away, maybe. But this is our country now and we have to learn how to live in it. So maybe your father is partly right. You need to learn good English.”

“You agree with him?”

“I agree you should learn English. I do not agree you should forget Ukrainian.”

“But –”

“Then, when you finish school, do what you want. In Canada, I hear, people are free.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“I may be old,
liuba,
but once in a while I get a new thought.” Natalka looks so teasing and shrewd that Halya laughs.

“Good, laugh. It’s a big improvement on ‘But Baba.’
And better than listening to you arguing with the wild boar.
And remember, in the old country, you could be somebody’s wife and keep his house and have babies. That’s it! Here you might make some other kind of life.”

“What kind?”

“How do I know? We’ve only been here a few months. But you better find out before you make any choices.”

“How did you figure all this out?”

A sheepish look crosses Natalka’s face. “I suppose I didn’t, really. But Maryna said some things about coming to Canada. Lately I’ve been thinking she was right.”

“Seriously, though, even if going to school was a good idea, you’d be alone with him all winter.
You’d go crazy.”

“You think so? I don’t go crazy that easy. Maybe it’s the boar that’s going to go crazy. Anyway, you let me worry about that.”

Halya can’t believe the way their talk has gone. But at least she’s stopped feeling like a horse that can be bought and sold
.
“All right. I’ll do it.”

Natalka hugs her, kisses her on both cheeks. “Good. That’s my precious girl.” She grins. “But don’t sound like you want to. Or he’ll be suspicious.”

They look out the window.
Viktor is skulking around the garden, violently pulling up weeds and kicking clods of earth.
They burst out laughing.

“Dobre.
I’ll be a good girl obeying my father. But I’ll look really miserable about it.” She tries to arrange her face into a look of unhappy subjugation.

“I’ll tell him. But you go to your room. I don’t think I can keep a straight face otherwise.” Halya hugs Natalka and runs out of the room.

Shawcross gallops
up to the construction site and almost leaps from his horse. Hands shaking, face shiny with sweat, he tethers Brigadier to a rail. Shouts at the men to gather around. Will he ask them to work even more hours without pay? Taras wonders.

“I’ve come from the telegraph office! England has declared war on Germany!” His voice is hoarse with excitement. A few men cheer. Frank Elder, a cast on his left wrist, stops trying to line up a brick with his right.

“Shawcross Brickworks and Construction will be part of the fight! We make the best fire-resistant brick there is! Brick to line the boiler rooms of battleships to come!” His eyes dart around the group of men. As if he imagines himself leading them into battle, Taras thinks.

Shawcross looks puzzled.
Why aren’t the men more responsive?

“The mother country needs our help.”

What is mother country
?
Taras wonders. England is the mother of Canada?

“Now I know some of you will want to enlist.
Those who are young and single.
You have my personal assurance a job will be waiting for you when you come home again.
The rest of you are needed here. Some of you may leave the construction side and work at brickmaking. So we can increase production of genuine Spring Creek firebrick!”

A few more cheers come. The boss looks around at the faces. Some men look worried, others cynical. He imagines what they might be thinking: Shawcross is only thirty years old – is
he
planning to enlist? His face turns dark red.

“I will be here to lead this work. I would like nothing better than to see action in Europe myself. But I have a widowed mother to care for. And the plant to keep running. For the war effort. The mother country!” He splutters to a halt, more and more embarrassed.

I see, Taras thinks, you can’t go into the army because of your two mothers.

At closing time,
Taras runs to the brickyard to find Moses. The workers stand around outside the gates talking about the news of war. He sees Moses and hurries toward him.

“Hey, hunkie,” a voice calls, “gonna enlist?” Stover. Of course. Taras can’t think what to say
.
“You’re a dirty coward, then. Come to this country for an easy ride.”

Moses catches Taras’s arm and steers him away from Stover.

“Why do these men want war?”
Taras asks. He hasn’t thought much about war since he came to Canada. It never occurred to him that he might have to join the army here.

“Because they don’t know what it is.
They want to be powerful and push people around.
They don’t think they might be the ones getting pushed.”

“Or killed,”
Taras says.

Moses and Taras walk through the town, past the bank and the grocery store and the blacksmith shop. People wander down the middle of the street, yelling, setting off firecrackers, waving British flags.
Tuneless fragments of patriotic songs – “Rule Britannia” and “God Save the King” – surge through the air. A small group of men drinking from a whiskey bottle pushes past, and Taras gets separated from Moses.