Lesia's Dream (11 page)

Mama was so quiet at first Lesia thought she'd fallen asleep. But then she felt it. Mama's body tensing. Her belly shaking. A deep groan rumbled into the darkness. Lesia tightened her arms while Mama pushed.

Nothing.

Three times that happened. Mama tensed and groaned and pushed. And nothing happened.

The fourth time was different.

This time, the noise came first. And this noise was like no other. It was a loud, powerful howl that sent shivers down Lesia's spine.

“Noooooooowwwwwwwww!” Mama leaned forward. Her face contorted as she struggled to release the baby she had carried to this new land.

“Noooooooowwwwwww,” she moaned again. Her body tightened and she pushed. Lesia could feel a shift in energy. Movement.

Mama fell back.

Lesia's eyes widened. “The baby!” she breathed. “Mama, the baby is half out.”

Mama's eyes were closed but her body was tensing again. Another guttural moan was coming.

“Push, Mama,” Lesia urged. “Push!”

And Mama did.

The baby slipped into Lesia's hands. Shocked, she could only stare. It was a baby. Fresh and newborn. Covered in bits of blood and white slop and still attached by its silvery blue cord to Mama. And it was a boy! Just like Sonia wanted.

Upside down! Lesia could hear Baba's voice. Turn him upside down.

Lesia turned him. He sputtered and coughed. And then he began to wail softly.

His mouth. She could hear Baba again. Clear his mouth.

“Baby?” Mama said weakly. “See …the …baby.”

His mouth!
She wasn't sure if she was imagining the words or really hearing them, but she turned her little brother over. He was as slippery as a fresh fish. With her index finger, she reached as far into his mouth as she dared. Mucus was clogging his throat. As soon as she removed it, the baby's wail grew stronger, more forceful.
Ach, yes
… And Baba's voice gently faded away.

“Baby,” Mama reached for him.

Lesia put her brother into Mama's arms. “It's a boy,” she said softly.

Mama stared down at her newest child. “A blanket,” she whispered. “We must cover him.”

Wordlessly, Lesia tucked it around the baby, being careful not to touch the cord. She would not look at that. It seemed to be pulsating and moving. Instead, she stared at her little brother. His eyes were open, watchful, unblinking. She grinned. He was so peaceful, so accepting.

Did he look like Slavko? Lesia wondered. She didn't remember Slavko as a baby. She'd been young herself when he was born. But she had been old enough to remember everything when he died.

Mama glowed with happiness as she examined his tiny fingers, traced the dark lines of his brows. “Your
Papa will be so proud,” she whispered. “Of him and of you.”

“But Mama, I did nothing.” Now that it was all over, Lesia felt her part
was
nothing.

“Ah!” Mama smiled. “But there's more to do. Remember the thread? And the oil? And the flour?”

Lesia nodded.

“The thread is to tie off the cord. You'll have to do that and cut it, too. Then we'll clean him and dust him and swaddle him.”

“But—”

Mama reached out and touched Lesia's lips with her finger. “Hush. You can do it, moye sonechko. There's nothing to be frightened of now. The worst is over.” She turned back to the baby.

Pushing is the most dangerous part of all.

The voice was so clear and so strong that Lesia whirled around, expecting to see Baba standing behind her.
Dearest Baba,
Lesia thought,
I learn of your death on the day God gives me the gift of a baby brother!

Following Mama's instructions, Lesia sterilized Baba's scissors and pulled the thread around and around the cord. After it was cut, she cleaned the infant and gently rubbed oil into the creases of his arms and legs while Mama delivered the afterbirth. Carefully Lesia took some flour and dusted the bit of
cord that was still attached to his stomach. Soon, Mama told her, it would turn black and fall off. Finally it was time to wrap the baby and put him in the cradle.

“Not a blanket, Mama. This.” Lesia reached for Baba's shawl.

“Yes.” Mama's smile was tinged with sadness.

Lovingly, Lesia wrapped her litde brother in the warmth of the colourful shawl and then placed him in the cradle. She tucked another blanket securely around him.

“We will call him Adam,” Mama said. Her eyes were shut. She looked peaceful.

Adam had been Geedo's name. Awestruck, Lesia studied his perfectly shaped eyebrows, his thick lashes, his small, pink hands. For a long while, he studied her back, silent yet alert. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

Soon she would have to help Mama and Adam back to the burdei. But for a minute, she just wanted to enjoy the peacefulness of the night.

The dark sky was huge, like an upturned bowl of velvet, glittering and shimmering with stars. As she watched, a star shot in a silver arc over her head before disappearing over the edge of the horizon.

Lesia smiled. She felt blessed.

Ah, my darling Laisha, I never forgot Baba. My grief for her was like a shirt that I wore until it crumbled into dust and became part of my skin.

Adam helped. He cried on and on in those early weeks. Then, he grew into such a happy, loving baby. He was a joy to care for. When we had eggs to trade for milk and butter, and when we still had flour and potatoes, Adam grew plump on the richness of Mama's milk.

I would stare in awe. Adam was a promise fulfilled. A rich reward from the land of milk and honey. A blessing from God. For the first time ever, Mama was able to nurse a baby quiet. Fill a belly. I was so proud. So hopeful.

I worked hard, always so hard, but especially those weeks after Adam's birth. There was Sonia to care for and meals to cook and still the land to clear and the fence to weave.
Mama could not help. She was too weak to do more than nurse Adam, so it was all left to me. Some nights I fell asleep in my chair. But it was worth it. All of it.

God took Baba, yes, but He gave us Adam to ease our pain. In His infinite wisdom, God knew what was best. So Baba had always said. I had my grief, but this I accepted.

When the horror came, I was able to see that Baba's passing was a blessing too. She was old already. She had known misery. She did not need to live with more.

Ah, my darling Laisha, the shame of that time. Bozhe! Bozhe! The fear and the anger and the styd. How you say that in English? The disgrace. Baba would have died a thousand deaths to learn of it.

It was better that she was gone. I could take comfort at night when the stars winked down at us. She was there, sending us light in all the darkness.

For some things that happened under that prairie sky are so horrible they are without words. Unspeakable. Unacceptable. Then and now.

September 5,1914

The Magus homestead

The evening was still and warm and the mosquitoes loved it. They swarmed at Lesia, biting whatever skin was exposed—her hands, her feet, her face. With a
cry of anger, she slapped her neck, flicked another dead insect to the ground and rubbed her blood-smeared hand down the side of her apron. If she could resist the urge to scratch, the bites would stop itching soon enough.

Raising the axe above her head, she let her anger and frustration propel it down onto another tree stump. She wanted honey in the hives, wheat in the fields and respect in the eyes of the townspeople.

Instead, the hives were empty, there were acres left to clear and the respect she had come to Canada to find had eluded her.

Zzzzzzzz.
She dropped her axe and swatted her ear. Another mosquito fell to the ground. Wearily, she surveyed the land. Three acres clear, seven more to go. She hadn't gotten far tonight, but at least it was something.

If only they had land without tree stumps and scrub! If only they had soil that crumbled like breadcrumbs. If only they had wheat already planted.

A mosquito flew into her eye. Another attacked her nose. With a cry of disgust, Lesia grabbed her axe and headed for the smoky fire burning outside the burdei. Twilight was fading; soon it would be dark.

The sight of tall poppies laden with full, ripening pods lifted her spirits as she walked past the garden. The sunflowers had blossomed and set seed too.
Soon it would be time to harvest both and turn them into oil.

A mosquito bit her hand. Several more were stinging her ears. Enough! She started to run.

A thin, stooped man was standing in front of the burdei, a shotgun resting over one shoulder and a flat brown package on the other.

“Papa!” The axe went flying. The mosquitoes and all her worries were forgotten. She ran forward and flung herself into his arms.

He wrapped her in a bear hug. “For a minute, I thought I was in the wrong place. There is the start of a fence near the road. Curtains on the window. I even thought I heard chickens.”

Lesia laughed and pulled back. “You did, Papa. We have chickens now. I bought them with the money you sent. And the garden is growing, and I've cleared another acre.”

Papa lowered the shotgun and the package to the ground. The corners of his moustache curved into a half smile. “Well done, moye sonechko.” He was smaller than she remembered. And he looked tired; his face was deeply lined.

“Gregory?” Mama pushed aside the fabric that covered the door. Stunned surprise replaced the uncertainty on her face. “Oh, Gregory. It really is you! And I thought I was dreaming.” She disappeared
from sight, reappearing a few seconds later with a blanketed bundle in her arms.

“Meet your son,” she said with a brilliant smile. “Adam.”

“A son!” The news energized Papa. He threw his shoulders back and raised his hands to the sky in gratitude. “Thanks be to God,” he shouted. “A boy.”

“Hush, you'll wake him! And Sonia.” Mama giggled and handed Adam over. “Besides, you should thank Lesia, she's the one who helped him into the world.”

Gently, Papa peeled back the blanket to get a closer look. Lesia peered over his shoulder, still amazed at the lovely creases of fat that were starting to appear on the baby's tiny legs.

“Plump,” Papa murmured in disbelief. “Fat almost. How old?”

“Almost a month,” Mama whispered back.

He and Mama stared at each other. “My son,” Papa said in awe.

“Yes,” Mama replied.

Lesia knew they were both thinking of Slavko.

They settled on log stumps by the fire, where Lesia broke the news about Baba. Papa raised his eyes to the now-dark sky and said, “God gave with one hand and took with the other.” Grief-stricken, he hugged Adam to his chest and rocked back and forth. “Will
the trouble never end?” he murmured. His shoulders shook in mute testimony to his grief.

Lesia and Mama exchanged nervous glances. “What trouble?” Lesia asked.

But Papa didn't answer. Instead, he continued to rock, continued to mutter about Adam and Baba and the ironies of the world. Finally calm, he handed Adam back to Mama, wiped the tears from his eyes and leaned forward onto his knees. “War has been declared in the homeland,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff. “And Canada is involved.”

Mama gasped.

Lesia stiffened. Her first thought was of Baba. But Baba was in God's hands and out of harm's way. “Ivan and I were right, then. We left just in time.”

“Perhaps yes. Perhaps no.” Papa shrugged. “You see, litde one, Galicia belongs to Austria. We are Austrian in the eyes of the world. And Canada is at war with Austria.”

Sap from a piece of wood hit the fire with a crack. Lesia jumped. “But we're Ukrainian,” she said uneasily.

“The Canadian government doesn't see the difference,” Papa told her.

“What does that mean?”

The frown between Papa's eyes deepened into a
slash of worry. “At best, nothing. At worst, they will watch us carefully and make sure we aren't politically involved.”

“What about Ivan?” Mama looked stricken.

Lesia cringed. Keeping her brother out of politics was like trying to keep Sonia still—almost impossible.

“He's still in Winnipeg. Somewhere. Pray for him,” Papa added quietly.

After a long minute of silence, Marna spoke. “I see you bought a gun.” She gestured to the brown package beside it. “But what's that?”

Brightening, Papa jumped up and retrieved his purchases. “I bought a window to keep out the winter cold. The gun so we can hunt through the winter. And new boots.” He pointed to his feet, clearly proud of his practicality. “They say in winter the snow is so deep and cold it can freeze your toes in minutes. These will keep us warm when we hunt. We can share them.”

What good were new boots when they had no food?! Their old boots might be falling apart, but they could mend them like they mended their clothes.

“Papa, bugs are overtaking the garden. Some of our potatoes are growing stunted because the soil is so poor. We have eggs now, but the chickens won't lay in winter. We need more food. An indoor stove.
Oxen to help clear the land. A cow for cream and butter.” Lesia took a breath.
Respect from the townspeople.
“We made a vow, Papa, that no one in the Magus family would go hungry again, remember?”

“We'll manage,” Papa reassured her. “But debts must be cleared, Lesia. I just mailed fifty rynskys to Master Stryk and—

“But I sent him fifty rynskys too.”

“Good!” Papa said proudly. “Then that debt is clear.” He paused and stroked his moustache. “You managed very well on just five dollars, Lesia.”

She flushed. Papa had done some quick addition in his head. If Andrew had kept the money they owed him, Lesia would have had just five dollars left from the thirty Papa had earned. “Andrew wouldn't take the money,” she admitted.” Not all of it. He wanted to take only a dollar, but I insisted he take two. I still have two dollars set aside for Baba's passage.”