Lesia's Dream (13 page)

“You're not a Canadian.” Minnie kept one eye on the approaching men. “And you're not Ukrainian either. People from Galicia are Austrians.” She spat
out the word as if it were a piece of food gone bad. “I told you before, you're not one of us. Not with rags for clothes and scraps for boots. Not with your little hut on that piece of wilderness you call a farm.”

“So,” Paul boomed as he approached them, “did Pearl bring out the basket of food?”

“Yes, Papa,” Minnie said sweetly as she tucked her hand through her father's arm. “I helped Mama pack it myself.”

How
dare
she pretend nothing was wrong? Cold revulsion gave Lesia strength. She'd had enough of this!

Andrew climbed in beside Lesia. “Ready?” he asked.

“Almost.” She leaned forward and looked Paul straight in the eye. “I'm surprised your daughter would help a Galician,” she said bluntly. “Especially since she told the Mountie where to find us.”

Minnie giggled nervously and waved her free hand airily about. “Oh, that! I'm sure you misunderstood me when—”

“No.” Lesia spoke with barely controlled fury. “I didn't misunderstand you at all.” She took a deep breath.
Stay calm.

“After you were kind enough not to mention our name,” Lesia continued, “your daughter told him all about us. Once he registers, my father will be confined
to the farm. And he must report to the police once a month. The only misunderstanding is that someone told him we're Austrian citizens.” There. She'd said it.

Paul's eyes widened. He looked down at his daughter.

The colour drained from Minnie's face. Her mouth formed a small O before she pressed her lips shut. She did it a second time. Open, shut; open, shut.

She looked just like a fish, Lesia thought. A nasty, disagreeable, smelly fish. She turned to Andrew. “Can we go now?”

Andrew was studying his niece with an expression of pain and disgust. He nodded and raised a hand to Paul. “I'll see you when I get back.” He grabbed the reins, flicked them, and then they were off.

Lesia didn't even smile.

Driving through the gate at the Boychuk farm, Lesia could see at least a dozen people ahead of them in line. Some of them had wagons loaded with sacks of seeds.

“We're going to be here forever,” she murmured. It was already noon. It would be hours before they headed home.

“There was bound to be a wait.” Andrew waved to someone who called a greeting. “Everyone's rushing to get their chores finished. It won't be as long as you think.” He took his place in line and secured the oxen. “I'll have you home by dark,” he said before wandering off to greet some old friends.

The Boychuk farm reminded Lesia of Paul's homestead. The vegetable garden was huge; the whitewashed house was clean and surrounded by bright yellow and red flowers. Two cows chewed placidly on a small patch of grass. Haifa dozen chickens scratched in the dirt nearby, and the branches of two young apple trees sagged with fruit. At the end of the line was the shack where Mr. Boychuk had built his wooden press. It was almost as large as their burdei!

She smiled at a young mother who was struggling to control her children. She greeted an older woman with a nod. The older woman nodded back and nudged her two sacks forward when the line moved. At least she wasn't the only one with a small amount of seeds, Lesia thought gratefully, as she stood in the midst of the crowd and let the talk swell around her. These people were all immigrants, just like her. With her eyes shut, she could almost believe she was back in Shuparka on market day. Back with Baba.

But as the words registered, a cold chill tickled the back of her neck. This wasn't Shuparka at all.

Bishop Budka's letter. So much trouble. Sympathetic to Austria. Enemy aliens. No understanding. Seizing land. Nothing we can do. Rounding them up. Imprisoned.

At the word
imprisoned,
Lesia's stomach turned. The thought of being thrown in jail and losing their land was enough to make her physically ill. In fact, when Andrew came by later with Pearl's basket of food, she couldn't force one bite past her lips.

Canada was the land of milk and honey. The land of opportunities. Surely all this ugliness couldn't be happening. Surely someone had made a mistake.

Lesia questioned Andrew later, when they were driving home. She'd been right—they had spent the whole day and much of the evening at the Boychuk farm. Dawn wasn't far away now, though the sky was still dark and the moon hung in front of them like a curl of yellow butter.

“What did Bishop Budka say to cause all this trouble?” Everyone had been talking about the bishop who was the head of the Greek Catholic church in Canada.

“When war was first declared, he urged all Austrian subjects to defend the homeland. He told people to go home and report for military duty. Then,
when Britain became involved, he urged Ukrainians to fight for Canada and the British Empire. But,” Andrew shrugged, “by then, the damage had been done.”

The feet of the oxen clomped rhythmically along the dirt path.
Buboom, buboom, buboom.
Just like the pounding of her heart. “What damage?”

He gave her a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. “The Canadian government is convinced we're on the side of Austria. Since Canada is against Austria, we're the enemy. That's why the Mountie visited you.”

“But we've been repressed by the Austrians for years,” she said indignantly. “Why would Canada think we're on the same side?”

“Galicia, where you come from, and Bukovyna, where I come from, are Austro-Hungarian Crown lands. Never mind that our nationality is Ukrainian, our citizenship is—or in my case was—Austrian.”

Silently, Lesia pondered his words. Then she said, “People are saying that land is being seized. One man even said something about prison.”

“War sends people into a panic.” Andrew dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “This isn't the homeland. Canadians are basically good people. You've got to remember, many of them have strong ties to Britain. Eastern Europeans are strange
to them, Lesia. They need time to get used to us.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “But if we do what we're told and stay out of trouble, everything will be fine.”

Out of trouble. Out of politics. Where did that leave Ivan? And Paul? Obviously Minnie's father had taken a risk not telling the Mountie about them. “What if the Mountie marches right back and arrests Paul for trying to keep us secret?”

Andrew fumbled with the reins. “Paul can take care of himself. Besides, your Papa is registering. That's all they care about.”

“Papa thought you might enlist,” she admitted.

One of the oxen was trying to wander off the path, and it took Andrew a minute to coax the animal back into place. “How can I fight the country and people who gave me life for so many years?” he asked. “How can I take a chance that I'd be fighting my cousin? Or old friends?” He shook his head. “I will, if I have to. God knows, I have no dependants to worry about.”

The rest of the trip passed in quiet companionship as Andrew and Lesia each pondered their own thoughts. No dependants. She knew Andrew was thinking of his wife. But her thoughts were of war. Of losing land. Of being imprisoned. It was all too much to absorb.

The sky had turned from navy to grey as they
neared the Magus homestead. It was warmer than yesterday, she thought as a small bird hovered in front of the wagon before flying into the bushes. No frost today. She glanced at the two tins of oil nestled at her feet. Pray to God it was enough. Pray to God Papa returned with enough to last them through the winter.

“Nice fence.” Andrew complimented as the oxen ploughed through the scrub, the tiny bells around their necks tinkling as they went.

Flushing with pleasure, Lesia stared ahead to the clearing. The light there had an eerie, grey-flushed-with-pink glow. But it wasn't dawn that gave the sky its unusual colour. It was the burning embers of a fire. And sitting beside it, with their backs to the burdei, were two figures.

“Whoa!” Andrew brought the animals to a standstill.

One of the figures turned. “Mama!” Lesia said happily. Her eyes flew to the man who was just starting to turn towards them. “Ivan!” she cried, her heart thumping in a crazy offbeat rhythm of delight. “You're home!”

“Not Ivan,” the man said. “Just me.”

“I'm sorry. You looked like my brother from behind.” Lesia attempted a smile.

She should have known! Wasyl Goetz and Ivan didn't look at all alike. Still, there was something in the set of his shoulders, the way he turned. How disappointing!

Mama reached for Andrew's hand. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

There was a hush in the air. Frowning, Lesia glanced around the clearing. She sniffed. There was no bread baking. The only smell came from the dying embers of the sorry litde fire. Instinctively, she knew something was wrong.

“What's happened?” she asked in a whisper.

Mama dropped Andrew's hand and stood just as the sun crested the horizon, surrounding her in a halo of peach and pink and gold. Her face, already pale, appeared paler.” Oh, Lesia.” Her voice broke.

The sun inched into view. Its cheery brightness sliced sharply through the air, mocking the fear that clutched her stomach. “What's happened?” Lesia demanded again.

“It's Ivan.” Tears glistened in the corners of Mama's eyes. “He's been taken into custody. In Winnipeg.”

The words roared in Lesia's ears. Her knees buckled. Andrew put an arm around her shoulder and settled her on a stump. Her legs felt like potatoes that had been boiled to mush. She shut her eyes and tried to think.

Into custody. Ivan, what have you done?

The sun caressed her face. The dying fire warmed her legs. For a minute she focused on that and shut out all the ugliness. “Why?” she finally whispered.

“He tried to enlist,” Wasyl explained. “He was caught lying about his nationality.”

Lesia's eyes popped open.

“If he told them he was from Galicia, he knew he'd be classed as an Austrian and disqualified, so he called himself a Russian instead.” Mama sank onto a stump beside her and filled in the details. “There were several young men and they were all taken off to jail.”

“When?” Lesia asked.

“Two days ago,” Wasyl told her. “Three of us escaped, but most are still there.”

She didn't care about most. She only cared about Ivan. And Papa! “Papa is in Winnipeg. He can talk to them. He can make them understand.”

Mama's shoulders began to shake. She was crying.

“Hush, Mama.” Lesia pulled her close and rocked her back and forth. “Everything will be all right. Papa will get Ivan released.” With each rock, Lesia's stomach rose and fell, like she was going to be sick.

“Papa …”Mama sobbed. “Papa's there too.”

Lesia felt light-headed. Dizzy. Confused. “What are you talking about?”

“They brought your Papa in last night, just before I escaped.” Wasyl's eyes were dark with pity. “They accused him of supporting the Austrians by sending a large sum of money home.”

Lesia gasped. “But that was for Master Stryk. I sent money too.”
What if they come after me?

Beside her, Mama's frail body shook with sobs. Andrew dropped his head into his hands. “Bozhe, “he whispered. “Some fine mess this is.”

Lesia exploded. “If Ivan had had the common sense not to enlist—to stay out of politics for once in his life—this never would have happened.” She turned accusing eyes towards Wasyl Goetz.

Wasyl stuck his chin into the air. “We've been persecuted for years! This was our chance to right wrongs, to fight with Canada. To support our new country. Who wouldn't do it?”

“I'll have to go to Winnipeg and see what I can do,” Andrew said.

“He's probably not there any more.” Wasyl's anger dissolved into weary resignation. He stood up and began to pace. “The jails are so full of enemy aliens, they're taking men to Brandon.”

The internment camp! So what she'd heard at the Boychuk farm
was
true. Dear Lord! Lesia blinked back tears. What were they going to do? Surely Papa and Ivan would be back soon. But if not …? And what if they came for her?

Seizing land. Nothing they can do.

The remembered words turned her hot, then cold, then hot again. If one rumour was true, then perhaps the other one was too. She couldn't risk losing their land. She had to do everything she could to hold on to it.

“We'll need your help.” Lesia looked from Andrew to Wasyl. “Both of you.”

Wasyl stopped moving and eyed Lesia with suspicion. Andrew nodded and stood.

Mama looked confused. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“We'll have to borrow Andrew's oxen to clear more of our land. It'll go much faster with the animals. Wasyl can help,” Lesia added. “No sense in him going back to Winnipeg. They'll be only too happy to throw him into jail.”

“Lesia!” Mama looked horrified. “We can't ask Andrew to spare his oxen … to spend his time here. What are you thinking?”

“We have six acres left to clear, Mama. If it's not done … She hesitated, unable to voice the horror she was imagining. “We just can't give the Canadians any other reason to hound us.”
Any other reason to imprison us.

“But we have until next May,” Mama reminded her. “That's lots of time.”

Yes, if Papa and Ivan return, Lesia thought.

Andrew brushed Mama's comment aside. “No time like now,” he said. “I could be back with the walking plough tomorrow afternoon. We might not get all six acres cleared, but we'll do the best we can. With hard work and a little luck, we'll make a good dent in them.”