Lesia's Dream (15 page)

Soon enough, Lesia had her answer.

No debt, Ivan wrote. Winter is long in this place but they are still allowing visitors one Friday a month. Men are being moved almost daily. Some to Kapuskasing, some to a place called Banff. Please come and see us while you still can. Ivan.

“If you go, perhaps they will let Ivan and Papa come home with you,” Mama whispered later that night as they sat wrapped in blankets in front of the oven.

“I don't think so,” Lesia whispered back. Adam slept, but Sonia peered over her blanket as the two women talked. In spite of her worry, Lesia had to smile at those large blue eyes taking it all in. “Go to sleep, little one,” she told the child.

She turned back to Mama. “I'm going to borrow money from Andrew,” she said. “To buy shells for the shotgun.”

“Papa forbids it.”

“Papa isn't here. He doesn't have to know.”

“Lesia!”

Why had she told Mama the truth when she'd read the last letter? Why hadn't she lied and pretended Papa had given his permission? She knew it was for the same reason she'd finally told her things were not wonderful at the internment camps: she had to share her pain. “We have to, Mama. It's our only hope.”

“No. I forbid it on Papa's behalf.”

“Mama, you're not being reasonable! We need fresh meat. What other choice do we have?”

“Go to the camp and see the men,” Mama insisted. “We'll be staying at the Korols' over Christmas, you can go then. You'll convince the authorities to let them out, Lesia, I know you will.”

“They aren't going to listen to me. I'm a nobody. Besides, Brandon's hundreds of miles away, Mama. It's impossible to walk there in this cold.”

“You'll have to take the train. Andrew offered to pay your fare. I accepted.”

“You won't let me borrow money for shells but you'll take money for train fare?” The words burst out of her. Sonia giggled and popped her head over the blanket. After settling her sister a second time, Lesia turned disbelieving eyes to Mama. “A small package of shells is less than a dollar. The train to Brandon has to cost ten or twelve dollars.”

“It's eight dollars return.”

All this charity was getting to be too much. “Oh, Mama, how could you?”

“How could I not?” Mama met her gaze unflinchingly. “Andrew offered it as a gift and I accepted. It's easy to lock a man away, but not so easy to turn your back on his daughter when she stands there begging for his release.”

Mama expected her to beg?

“Andrew will drop you at the train in Hazelridge. You'll make the connection in Winnipeg and be in Brandon just after noon on Friday, the sixth,” Mama said. “That leaves you several hours to get to the camp and still make the train back in time for the celebration.”

Lesia gasped. “You'd have me go there on the Holy Eve?”

“If that's what it takes.”

“You go, Mama.” The thought of seeing beloved Papa and Ivan behind bars was enough to make her sick with shame and full of loathing. Loathing for herself. Why had she thought coming to Canada would make life better?

“I can't leave Adam and Sonia for that long,” Mama explained. “And Andrew offered money for only one fare. You must go, Lesia. If they are moved to another camp, we might never see them again.”

Bozhe! Couldn't Mama understand? “What if…” Her lower hp quivered. “What if they keep me there?” she whispered thickly.

“They can't do that. You've done nothing wrong.”

“Neither have Papa and Ivan.”

Mama stared at Lesia a long time before dropping her eyes. “I don't understand this mess.”

“Neither do I.” But there was one thing Lesia did understand. She
had
to go to Brandon. She had to go and talk some sense into Papa. She also had to go because, Lord God forbid, if they were moved and she never saw them again, she'd have more pain, more guilt and more reasons to loathe herself.

January 6,1915
Brandon, Manitoba

The cold air stung Lesia's eyes and made her chest ache with each breath. The bitter wind swirled the snow into whirling dervishes at her feet. Clutching the basket of goodies Pearl had assembled that morning, she stared at the grey wooden building.

The Brandon Winter Fair Arena. Papa's and Ivan's jail.

It was low to the ground, only a storey and a half, but it was huge, five or six times the size of Master Stryk's mansion. Unlike the landowner's mansion, however, two armed guards stood watch on either side of large double doors.

Lesia had been worried about getting lost when
she got off the train. Andrew had told her to simply ask for directions, but in the end she hadn't needed to. There had been a number of other Ukrainians on the train from Winnipeg to Brandon, and, by the bits of conversation she had overheard, Lesia knew they were heading for the same place.

Many of these people carried baskets or packages wrapped with string. Their clothes were worn, their shoulders were hunched, their faces were filled with fear. Just like her. And just like her, they were taking advantage of the last visiting day before Holy Eve.

Lesia reached the bottom of the stairs and joined the line of people waiting to be cleared by the guards.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” a voice from behind grumbled in Ukrainian.

She resisted the urge to turn around and flee. Instead, she inched her way towards the top of the stairs, wishing she could see what the guards were doing. Her view was blocked by the broad shoulders of a woman who was struggling to control two active, red-haired sons.

Finally, it was Lesia's turn.

A barrel-chested man with a huge curled moustache put out his hand. Shifting the basket, she fumbled for her citizenship papers. He rolled his eyes and made a snickering comment to the other guard. Both men laughed. She studied the shiny gold
buttons on his blue coat, the starched collar that hugged his neck. How embarrassing to be treated this way.

He spoke gruffly. In English. She looked at his mouth and tried to understand what he was saying. She couldn't.

He spoke again, and she wanted to sink into the ground.

“Open the parcel and show him.” It was the same Ukrainian voice that had grumbled at her to hurry up. “They check everything.”

She pulled the cloth back and held up the basket for inspection. The guard pawed through the pyrohy, the cookies and the crock of honey before resting his hand on the bread. With a nasty wink at Lesia, he picked it up, turned it upside down and shoved his fist through the crust to the soft dough inside. Withdrawing his hand, he dropped the bread into the basket, shook the crumbs away and spoke to the man beside him. They both laughed again.

How could he do such a horrible thing? Trembling, Lesia covered the basket and fought back tears.

“Tell him who you are visiting,” the voice from behind hissed.

“Gregory and Ivan Magus,” she said, hugging the basket tight.

The other guard studied a large brown clipboard.
Lesia held her breath. When he took his thick black pen and scratched off two names, she let it out. He returned her papers and motioned her forward.

She was inside. And the sudden warmth after the wind and cold made her nose tingle. She loosened the knot in her scarf, pulled it away from her face and joined the line that snaked its way down the hall. It was lovely and warm. Strange that a place so full of evil could feel so wonderful. And be so bright.

The woman with the two young boys smiled over her shoulder. Hesitantly, Lesia smiled back. “What do we do now?” she murmured.

“When you get in, say what you have to say quickly,” she answered softly. The two boys giggled and jostled each other and the taller of the two fell laughing to the floor. “They only give us a few minutes, and they are angry with us for bringing gifts when their Christmas is already over.” With a grimace of disapproval, the woman grabbed the boy by his collar and yanked him off the floor.

Lesia was shocked until she saw a guard in a stiff green uniform glaring at the young child. He spoke harshly and gestured with his bayonet. The woman nodded, dropped her eyes, pulled her young son close and began to scold him.

He was only a child. But he was a
Ukrainian
child. Lesia's face filled with heat. To be so hated, and all
because they were Ukrainian. At first she was mortified, ashamed. They were not good enough for Canada, for this land of milk and honey. They were not worthy of the great gifts the prairie soil could provide. But then anger replaced shame.
They
were ploughing and cultivating virgin land.
Their men
were building the rail line. Enemies of the Canadian people? Hardly that.

Yet the guards seemed to think so. Some patrolled the hall; others stood under tremendously large electric lights and stared fiercely at the line. If people moved even slightly or spoke too loudly, they were prodded with long, black bayonets.

How dare they treat people this way?
She challenged the blue-eyed guard with a defiant stare. His eyes flickered ominously, but then he looked away. Lesia began to breathe again.

Turning a corner, she caught sight of rows and rows of narrow cots, each one covered with a blanket. Not only did they have heat and light, she thought with a tug of envy, they had beds and blankets too!

How could she think such things? No doubt Papa and Ivan would give anything to go home and sleep on the cold floor with the rest of them.

Lesia followed the crowd through a maze of hallways, up one flight of stairs and down another. And
then, before she had time to worry about finding her way out again, she was being pushed forward by the others into a large, open room.

Into a crowd of babbling people.

And Papa's arms.

“I've missed you, moye sonechko.” He grabbed her close before she had time to get a good look at him.

Her arms flew around his neck; she clung tightly. “Oh, Papa, I've missed you too!” Loosening her grip, she stepped back. Her smile slipped. The noise in the room receded.
Papa?

His eyes were bleak, defeated. His shoulders slumped, his hands trembled. His salt-and-pepper hair had turned completely white. He was a mere shell of the man she'd hugged at the end of September.

“Lesia!” Ivan called. She turned, prepared for the worst. But aside from the cynical smile, which was a little more sullen than usual, her brother looked the same as always.

“I'm glad you came.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.” Lesia swallowed her tears. Ivan never thanked her for anything.

People were breaking into smaller groups, spreading out through the large room. Voices were dropping. Confidences were being exchanged.

Ivan led them to a far wall. Guards eyed them carefully but did not stop them.

“How is everyone?” Papa demanded.

Hungry. Scared. Worried.
“We're all fine,” Lesia lied. She couldn't add to the pain in his eyes. “Mama sends her love.” That much was true. “And how are you? Are they treating you well?”

Papa was silent. Ivan spoke for him. “I suppose.” He gestured to one of the passing guards. “We're warm, we're dry, we're fed. We have a bed and a blanket. Our biggest problem is boredom.” His eyebrows linked in a fierce frown. “Too much time to think about the injustice of it all.”

An awkward silence fell. Lesia shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
Just a few minutes.
“Papa, I must borrow money. You see, we—”

Ivan cut her off. “That's good, Lesia, good!” His voice was loud and false. His eyes were fastened on something over her shoulder.

Her neck prickled. She whirled around. The blueeyed guard smirked cruelly down at her. He was close enough to touch. Contemptuously, his gaze travelled from the top of her head to the bottom of her burlap-covered feet. Then he sauntered away.

She turned back. “I
must
borrow money, Papa. We need shells for the shotgun. We have some flour but the sack is getting low. Pearl and Paul give us bread
and sometimes potatoes. Andrew was selling our eggs but the chickens have stopped laying for the winter. He was the one who paid for the trip today. He insisted on it being a gift. You've always said that relying on charity is worse than borrowing money and paying it back.”

“No more debt, Lesia!” A flash of Papa's old spirit returned. “We're through with it. Andrew has been paid. So has Master Stryk.”

Lesia bit her tongue. And what good did that do? she wanted to ask. If you hadn't mailed that money, they wouldn't have arrested you and charged you with supporting the enemy. You wouldn't be here right now!

But she couldn't blame Papa. She had mailed money to Master Stryk too. Only she hadn't got caught doing it. Not yet, at least. “Papa, you must understand, we—”

“So Mama is well,” Ivan's voice boomed out again. “I'm glad to hear it.”

There was another guard near. “Yes!” Lesia spoke with forced cheerfulness. “And Adam too,” she noted.

“Adam!” Grief settled in the creases of Papa's face like a dusting of snow settling on land. “Will I ever see my Adam again?” His eyes filled with tears.

“Shhh.” Ivan frowned. “Do you want to call attention?”

But the guard was gone.

Just a few more minutes.
“Papa,” Lesia said gendy, “we are not fine. Sonia cries all the time from hunger. There's no milk for Adam, he's losing weight. And Mama is coughing again. Borrowing money is the only answer, Papa.”

Wordlessly he shook his head. He looked away.

“Ivan.” Lesia appealed to her brother. “Talk to him.”

But her brother shook his head too. “No debt, Lesia. It's too risky.”

Not Ivan too? Lesia's anger spilled out like flax seeds falling from a sack. “What do you know of risk?” Her voice trembled with frustration. “You have food and warmth and a dry place to sleep at night. We are freezing in the burdei, and starving.”