Lesia's Dream (7 page)

“I don't mean to pry.” She appealed directly to Wasyl. “But if I could go out and make some money, I'd like to know how much to ask for.”

“It depends what you do.” Wasyl glanced at her small shoulders. She could feel herself flushing as he studied her skinny arms. “I worked the fields. But as a woman …” he hesitated, “you could maybe find work plastering ovens.”

Lesia felt slighted. She wasn't as fast as Papa or Ivan, but she was just as capable. “I work our field
every day. And I killed tonight's chicken.”
Without a rifle,
she added silently.

“You're not going anywhere,” Papa said firmly.

She ignored him. “How much for working the fields?”

“Lesia!” Papa's voice climbed in warning.

Wasyl didn't seem to mind. “A few dollars a day, less by the month. But women aren't usually hired to work the fields. Try plastering. You could make fifty cents a day.”

“I can work the field as well as any man.” She kicked angrily at the ground. What she could do with two dollars a day! Pay a little to Master Stryk. Buy food. Save some for chickens. Or a cow

“It doesn't matter, Lesia, because you'll be staying here with Mama and Sonia.”

“You never minded me working in Shuparka.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

Papa's eyebrows stretched across his forehead. “This isn't Shuparka.”

True enough. Canada was nothing at all like the homeland.

By the end of the first week in June, the men were ready to leave.

“Take good care of yourself, litde one. And of Mama and Sonia.” Papa smiled down at her.

Nodding, she tugged nervously on the corner of her apron. “Of course.”

Mama helped Ivan tie his few belongings into a square of white muslin. Wasyl Goetz played with Sonia. Lesia and Papa were alone.

“The root cellar is finished. We have an oven now. The garden is starting to grow. And thanks to Wasyl, you have a little fresh meat to keep you going.”

“Yes.” She nodded. Wasyl Goetz was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he worked so hard. But a curse for the same reason. In the week he'd stayed with them, he'd helped Papa finish the root cellar, lent a hand plastering the oven and helped Ivan clear another acre of land. Then yesterday he'd killed another prairie chicken, two rabbits and a gopher. But with the work done and freshly killed meat on hand, Papa had gained a false sense of security. Now he thought it was fine to leave.

“How soon will you be back?” she asked. “We still have eight acres left to clear.”

“If I can, I'll be back in a few weeks with some food,” Papa promised. “Or I'll send money. But you heard Wasyl. Work is getting harder to find. We must make some money before winter. Be strong, Lesia. For Mama and for Sonia.”

Instead of encouraging her, Papa's words reminded her of the enormous responsibility ahead. Clearing the rest of the land. Preparing the fields. Caring for the others. Especially for Mama, who was really slowing down. If Baba were here to help her, she wouldn't feel so alone. Or so afraid.

“Let me go with Ivan and Wasyl,” she pleaded again. “Between Ivan and me, we could make enough to see us through the winter. And you could stay here with Mama and Sonia. “The thought of Papa leaving truly frightened
her. “Please,
Papa.
Please?”

“Where is that faith you're always talking about?” Papa grinned and gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You can do this, Lesia. Mama can't help with the heavy work, but there are plenty of things she can do. She can cook, she can weave baskets from willow. And you're reading Geedo's Bible now. That will bring you comfort during the lonely nights. Be strong, daughter. Strong and brave. The rewards will be sweet.”

She turned away. She didn't want Papa to see her cry. But she couldn't hide her misery from Ivan when he and Mama joined them a few minutes later.

“Everything will work out,” Ivan said softly.

She said nothing. Instead she watched as Wasyl walked slowly towards them, with Sonia perched happily on his shoulders.

The blessing and the curse.

Wasyl had promised Papa that he'd recommend him to the Icelandic farmer who needed a second hand. Surely, he'd said, the Icelandic farmer would know someone who could use Ivan's help. Those were good things. But he'd also spent many hours talking with Ivan about the injustices faced by the immigrants. Not only were some of the English-speaking Canadians calling the immigrants nasty names just because they were different, but some newspapers even referred to them as disease-ridden people with a low standard of living. It was enough to put the old spark in Ivan's eyes. The spark that had been there when he'd tried to organize the men in Shuparka.

“Don't do anything silly, Ivan,” she demanded. “Promise me!”

Ivan looked indignant. “Silly? What do you mean, silly? I'm going out to make money. To pay off our debts and buy provisions.”

Sonia and Mama were hugging Papa. All three were fighting back tears. Lesia couldn't look.

“You know what I mean,” she hissed. “Don't get involved in politics. Put your energy where we need it most. In making money”

Ivan cocked an eyebrow and gave her a mock salute. “Any other marching orders?”

“Bring home a cow.” She grinned slightly. “A fat, brown one. And don't be gone long. We have land to clear.”

June 15,1914

The Magus homestead

Wasyl Goetz was the first visitor to the Magus homestead, but not the last. After the men left, the weather warmed and the peddlers arrived. First there was a heavily bearded man carrying an overstuffed backpack. While Mama gave him a drink of water, Sonia and Lesia drooled over pocket knives, bandanas and bolts of brightly coloured cotton. When the next man came, Lesia was ready. She pulled out several of her willow baskets and bartered them for a needle and a few eggs. That gave her an idea.

“I'm going to see our English neighbour,” Lesia said one afternoon when Mama and Sonia were setding for a nap. “Maybe I can trade him for some milk
and butter.” She tucked two of her best baskets under her arm and headed for the creek, determined to follow it to the adjoining farm. Ivan had warned her that prejudice was rampant, but surely neighbours could get along.

Though Lesia had been very careful with the meat Wasyl had killed, they only had a little potted rabbit and a few strips of dried prairie chicken left. And while the seedlings were up in the garden and she was using some of them in soup, she had to let most of the plants grow so they'd have enough for winter.

In spite of the fact that Mama's belly bulged with the baby, she was painfully thin and weak. Sonia constantly complained of hunger. Lesia herself was often ravenous, no doubt because of all the heavy work she was doing. She was determined to clear another acre before Papa returned. But she needed more food to keep up her strength.

It was blessedly cool in the shade of the towering elms. A small bird flitted from one branch to the next. Dearest Baba had loved the birds … and the bees. If only Baba were here to give her a hug. Instead, she had Geedo's Bible to hug and Baba's promise to remember.
Let the effort be true, and the rewards will be sweet.

The sight of the dam drove the words from her mind.

Ivan had been right! Shocked, Lesia stared at the crudely constructed barrier of branches and planks and rocks that stretched the width of the stream. Craning her neck, she could see a couple of fish swimming lazily in the clear water on the other side. On her
neighbour's
property.

With an uneasy feeling in her stomach, she clutched the baskets to her chest, climbed the bank, gave the dam a wide berth and hurried on. A man who prevented the fish from swimming downstream to their homestead might not be all that happy to see her.

When his house was in sight, she left the protection of the trees and walked purposefully across the field, feeling hot and vulnerable in the midday sun. She was almost to his barn when a yell stopped her.

Whirling around, Lesia dropped one of her baskets. By the time she had retrieved it, he was in front of her, a barrel-chested man with a sharp, weasellike face.

He yelled and gestured angrily with his arms, practically spitting out words she had come to recognize.

Bohunk. Dirty peasant.

She pretended not to understand. Instead she ignored the flush of heat crawling up the back of her neck, held out her baskets and said, “You buy … for milk.”

His voice rose, his eyes narrowed, he took a step forward.

Heart pounding, Lesia fled.

She didn't stop running until she'd reached the protection of the trees. And she didn't stop walking until she'd reached the dam.

Angry and humiliated, she sank onto the ground beside the creek. How could people be so cruel? Where was the respect she had come to Canada to find?

She stared at the dam, wishing she could break it into a thousand pieces, destroy it and all the hate and prejudice in the world at the same time.

She didn't dare.

Did she?

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, removed her shoes and stockings and dangled her feet in the water. She didn't have to destroy it,
exactly.
She edged closer, touching one plank experimentally with her toes. It gave way, bouncing back when she eased up on the pressure.

Hiking her dress up to her waist, Lesia waded into the water, giving the bottom of the dam a sharp kick with her foot. Two branches moved. The left side of the dam slid down a few inches. There was a change in the current. The water was flowing through.

But was the opening big enough for fish to get through?

Reassuring herself that she was still alone, Lesia gave some of the lower rocks a hard kick.
Craaack!
The whole structure shifted slightly; she could feel the water flowing more strongly.

She hurried out of the water, eyeing the dam critically as she grabbed her shoes and stockings, her two baskets. It didn't look
that
different, not really, just a litde lower in the water, a little more uneven.

Hopefully, the only ones to notice would be the fish.

They ate fresh fish for several weeks. What they couldn't eat, they dried and put up for winter. Mama grew more energetic, Sonia stopped whining, and Lesia went to bed at night with a full belly.

By the beginning of July, however, the traps in the creek were suddenly empty and the fish stopped coming. The break in the dam had obviously been repaired. They were back to careful rationing and foraging, living on wild strawberries and gopher. Mama grew quiet; Sonia became fretful. Lesia worked the land by day and practised writing by night. Her bedtime came long after Mama and Sonia had fallen asleep. With her stomach cramped by hunger, she would pray for Papa to return … for
bees to settle in the skeps. Only then would she shut her eyes and fall into a restless sleep. A sleep dominated by dreams of beloved Baba, whose arms overflowed with bread and milk and butter and eggs.

“Look Lessie, wiggles!” Sonia giggled and held out a thick green worm.

Lesia turned from the empty skeps to stare at the pale insect. It was the same worm that was munching on their cabbages. Yesterday, the leaves had been sturdy and upright. Today, they were ragged and fiali of holes.

Bozhe! If the bugs destroyed the cabbages, they'd have nothing left for winter.

“Here, darling. Play with this.” She handed Sonia a stick, and as soon as her sister was occupied, she took the worm and squished it under her heel. Then she bent down and searched through the damaged cabbage. She killed three more pale green worms.

Like them, the garden was struggling to survive. Two weeks into July and there was no sign of relief from the hot summer weather. Not a cloud in the sky, not a drop of rain in sight. The water level in the creek was dangerously low. Drinking water was their
first priority; watering the garden came second. The plants were stressed, and the bugs loved that.

“Hungry,” Sonia whined.

“Yes, I know.” She pulled off the damaged leaves and set them aside for soup.

“Tummy hurts.” Sonia threw the stick on the ground and began to pout. “Want berries.”

“We'll go looking soon.”

“Berries nooooooow! “The child started to cry.

Lesia sighed. She was so used to the hunger pangs, she hardly felt them any more. Mama had stopped complaining as well. But not Sonia. Her litde sister was constantly hungry. To make matters worse, she also had a cold. And now Mama was complaining of a sore throat.

“Come here.” She pulled Sonia towards her and wiped away her tears. “How about we play a game.”

“A game?” Sonia looked suspicious.

“You help me look for those litde green worms, and if we find lots, we'll build them a litde house with sticks.”

Sonia grinned. “Okay. They my friends, Lessie.”

“You look now,” she encouraged. She wasn't sure what she'd say in the morning when Sonia found the small green worms gone; today, she just needed to get them out of the garden.

“Found one!” Sonia yelled.

She watched her sister lay the offending green bug near the rest. Just then, Mama appeared in the clearing. She seemed to be struggling under the weight of the water cans.

Lesia began to run. “I told you I would go for water,” she yelled.

Mama shook her head slightly, opened her mouth to speak and then slowly crumpled to the ground. The tin cans flew out of her hands, spraying water in all directions.

Lesia flew to her side. “Mama!”

She had landed on her back. Water plastered her dress. Her round belly jutted into the air. Her face was potato white. Sooty black circles were etched under her closed eyes.

“Mama! Mama?” Lesia touched her mother's forehead. It was cool, not warm. Her chest was rising and falling. She was breathing. Bozhe! She was breathing.