Lesia's Dream (17 page)

Lesia glanced at Paul, who was dishing up the borsch. A tiny shiver wormed its way down her back. Bozhe, she hoped Wasyl wouldn't lead Paul astray too! But he wouldn't. Paul was too smart for that.

The nuttiness of the steaming kutia filled her nostrils. Her mouth began to water; she was so hungry she must be careful not to overeat. Papa's face floated before her eyes. And Ivan's. Guilt tightened her throat.
How can I eat and enjoy this when they are locked away?

Well, Ivan and Papa had a bed and a blanket and food to eat every night. Which was a lot more than she and Mama and the young ones had.

Her teeth sank into the sweet softness of the boiled wheat, the slight crunch of the poppy seeds and nuts. Ah, kutia! Baba's favourite dish of all time.

“Where did you get them?” Minnie asked. “The glasses, I mean.” Without looking down the table, Lesia just knew the girl was batting her eyes in Wasyl's direction. She could hear it in her voice.

“At the pawnshop in Winnipeg,” Wasyl said
importantly. “There are lots of good buys. With the war and all, people need money.”

They
needed money. Wary but curious, Lesia asked, “What's a pawnshop?”

“When you need money, you take your valuables there. Things that are worth a lot of money.”

Papa hadn't said a thing about pawnshops. Too bad she had no valuables to pawn.

“They give you cash in exchange.” A few poppy seeds flew from his mouth as he spoke. “Everyone does it.”

Lesia leaned away. Not only were his manners crude, he wasn't trustworthy. Just look at the trouble Ivan had gotten into hanging around him. How could she believe what he said?

Minnie giggled. “Maybe you could take me one day.”

“What did you pawn?” Lesia asked him.

“Nothing. You can buy things too. After a while, if people don't buy their valuables back, they're sold off for a song. There are mouth organs and fur coats and jewels. Dishes and silver and crystal. I even saw a piano.”

Across the table, Mama finished helping Sonia and looked up. “A piano? Really?”

Wasyl nodded. “Really.”

There was silence as the borsch was passed down, followed by pyrohy and fish and holubtsi.

If only she had something valuable to take to the pawnshop. But Lesia had nothing at all. She was going to have to learn to hunt, and pray she could catch enough to feed the family through the winter.

When the dishes were finally cleared and the carols were sung, Lesia shyly handed Andrew and Pearl the colourful belts she'd woven from the wool she'd found in Baba's trunk.

Andrew proclaimed it the nicest gift he'd ever received. Pearl said she hadn't seen anything as nice since leaving the homeland.

“When the other women see these,” Pearl continued, her fingers tracing the design,” they are going to want them too.”

Lesia's heart jumped. Perhaps she could take belts to the pawnshop! They were valuable enough. But as valuable as silver or furs? No.

“Could you make me three more?” the older woman asked.” For Minnie, Anastasia and Victoria?”

Minnie peered over her mother's shoulder. Her mouth curled in disgust.

“I'll pay you, of course,” Pearl added.

“You don't need to pay,” Lesia murmured. “I'd be happy to make them for you.”

She looked appalled. “If not money, then you must take food. I insist.”

“Well,” Lesia said shyly, “I would like to buy some shells for the shotgun.”

“We'll save you a trip to the store and give you those, along with some flour, some potatoes and a small jar of cooking oil,” Pearl said. “How does that sound?”

“That's far too much.”

The older woman shook her head. “Not for something this elaborate.”

Mama shot Lesia a silencing look. “We would be very grateful,” she said firmly.

The next morning at church, several other women expressed interest when Pearl showed off Lesia's belt. They had no time to make their own and theirs
never
turned out as nice. Would Lesia make one for them? By the time the church service was over, Pearl had taken orders for five belts at twenty cents apiece.

One dollar to weave five belts. It was enough to buy a piglet in spring. And more food!

Leaving church, Minnie sidled up to Lesia. “They feel sorry for you,” she whispered. “That's why they're buying them.”

In spite of the bitter cold, a wave of heat passed through Lesia. It wasn't true! The women had liked them. She couldn't wait to get away from Minnie's nastiness. Though Pearl had wanted them to stay much longer, Mama hadn't wanted to impose. She had insisted on leaving today. Thank goodness!

“They're ugly,” Minnie continued. “Real bohunk stuff. I'm going to lose mine down the well as soon as I get it.”

It was bad enough to hear Canadians call them bohunks, but to hear a Ukrainian say it was more than Lesia could stand.

“I can think of a better use for it.” She forced a smile. Anyone looking would think they were having a pleasant conversation. “You could stuff it inside your mouth.”

Minnie gasped. Lesia's smile turned genuine. “It would save everyone the pain of listening to you!” she concluded sweetly before hurrying towards Andrew's wagon.

For once she had gotten the best of Minnie Korol!

February 2,1915

The Magus homestead

The sky was just beginning to brighten as Lesia crunched over the frozen ground towards the creek. The wind stung her cheeks, whipped her hair into fine strings around her face and sent tiny flecks of crystal snow onto her eyelids. Bozhe, it was cold! She couldn't wait for spring. For warmth. And birdsong.

Christmas and its festivities were a distant memory. Letters from the men were sporadic now, as though Papa and Ivan had given up and accepted their fate. Last night, when Lesia had dipped her hand into the sack of potatoes, she had touched bottom. The next time Andrew came by, she would give him the belt money for food.

In the meantime, they needed fresh meat. She had put it off as long as she could. It was time to hunt.

There was a rustle in a clump of bushes. Her heart thumped. Fumbling, she reached for the shotgun, hoisted it to her shoulder and pointed. Was it a rabbit? Or a partridge? She stood still, breath held, eyes glued on softly swaying branches. Waiting.

Instead, the bush rustled and stopped.

It was moving with the wind!

She unclenched her hand and slowly lowered the shotgun. How foolish! Everything was moving in the wind. Her hair, the trees, the light dusting of snow that had fallen overnight.

Chagrined, she continued on her way. The water left in the creek at the end of summer had hardened into a thin slick of shiny ice. The only opening was the hole at the edge where Lesia had broken through to wash their clothes. It was here, Andrew had told her, that the animals would come, instinctively drawn to the creek for a drink.

She hoped he was right.

Leaning against a thin poplar, she thought over his instructions. Pull the hammer. Brace yourself. Line up the notches with your prey. And shoot.

How hard could it be?

She practised by picking out a twig in the distance and lining up the notches at each end of the barrel.
As Andrew had explained, one shot would fire off a blast of small pellets. If she could hold the gun steady and keep her prey in sight, her chances were good. Excellent, in fact.

They'd better be. She had two shells with her. She was counting on getting something with each of them.

Steadying herself against the trunk of the tree, she pulled the hammer back and waited.

There! Near the base of that bush. A brown rabbit. Poised, still.

She hoisted the shotgun, lined up the notches, leaned forward and pulled the trigger.

BAAAAAAAAM.
The kick sent her staggering backwards. She yelped in pain as her shoulder caught the edge of the tree and pellets rained through the air, peppering her skin.

Relieved that there was no one to witness her first embarrassing attempt, Lesia scrambled to her feet. She held the shotgun gingerly, not wanting to lose her last shell. The rabbit, of course, was long gone.

Both Andrew and Paul had told her to expect the painful kickback, but she hadn't expected it to be quite that strong.

Hunting was a lot harder than it looked.

She walked along the creek, past the site of the summer garden to the field that Andrew and the
others had cleared. The sun was completely up now and the snow sparkled with tiny rainbow prisms as it rolled to the edge of the horizon. It was so blinding in its brightness that it made her eyes water.

Bozhe, the prairie was beautiful! Wide and open and free. And to think she had once found it ugly.

Moving quickly generated heat, something her shivering body craved. Lesia kept walking, eventually taking up another position in sight of the creek. She wished she could stamp some warmth into her feet, but sound or movement might scare away animals.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon one rabbit appeared, then another. She had to try!

Raising the shotgun, she lined up the notches, braced herself and pulled back the hammer with a stiff, frozen finger.

The rabbits bolted.

Lesia lowered the gun.

Two more rabbits quickly came into view. Then a third. She had to shoot. She couldn't take the cold much longer. This might be her last chance.

Taking a wide stance, she planted both feet firmly in the snow, raised the shotgun and lined up the biggest rabbit. Squeezing one eye shut, she reached for the trigger. She stiffened her arms and forced her frozen finger to move.
BAAAAAAAAAAAM!

Lesia's feet were steady, but her upper body still
couldn't handle the force of the kickback. When her right arm faltered, the gun shpped back and ploughed into her hp. She was going to have a bruise there tomorrow. Slowly she lowered the gun to her waist.

Two rabbits lay limp on the ground. Their blood oozed out of them, a crimson mat against the pure white snow.

Knees trembling, she hurried forward. Wide eyes stared up at her, sharp, black, innocent. But dead. She bent down to pick them up by their haunches. Thoughts of the prairie chicken filled her head. For a minute, Lesia was dizzy.

It didn't get any easier, this killing to eat.

Holding the two rabbits at arm's length, Lesia hurried back to the burdei. Blood stained the snow behind her like petals falling from a poppy.

Just as she emerged from the bushes, she saw the flash of Mama's skirt. One look at her mother's face and she knew something was wrong.

Mama pointed.

Lesia followed her finger.

There was a coyote. Standing near the hole where the chickens were kept, with feathers at its feet, blood around its muzzle and a look of satisfaction in its eyes.

“Nooooooooooo!” Lesia lunged forward, flinging the gun over her shoulders with a strength she hadn't known she possessed.

The coyote turned and ran.

The woven cover to the chicken hole was feet away from where it was supposed to be. Girlie and Noisy were gone. Tears sprang to Lesia's eyes. “Oh, Mama, no! Those poor creatures … what will we tell Sonia … and Adam?”
What will we do without eggs this spring?

“Hush now.” Mama's eyes were soft, her voice gentle. “We'll figure something out.”

“I shouldn't have put the chickens out this morning!” Her arms trembled and the rabbits jerked from side to side, their blood spraying. “It's cold and there are coyotes everywhere. I should have kept them inside.” Bozhe, Bozhe! What had she done?

Mama took the rabbits with one hand and gave Lesia a hug with the other. “Where they could peck at Adam? I think not. As God ordains, so it shall be. The chickens are gone. There is nothing we can do. Now come. We have two rabbits to skin.” Frowning, she reached out and gently touched the corner of Lesia's mouth. “And your hp to fix. It is badly cut.”

The cold had frozen her mouth almost immediately after the gun had hit it. She reached up and wiped, only mildly surprised to find a smear of blood on her hand.

Life on the prairie, she decided bleakly as she followed Mama inside, was a bloody, unkind business.
The days blurred together, a kaleidoscope of blowing snow and freezing cold, of hunger that came and went, depending on Lesia's success with the shotgun. When the wind wasn't too fierce and the cold not so biting, she would go outside and hunt. Over the next three weeks, she caught four more rabbits and a halffrozen-to-death prairie chicken. Mama pounced on the meat with a frenzy bordering on madness. Nothing was wasted. The skin was dried and set aside. The meat was stretched into two meals, sometimes three. The carcass was boiled for soup.

Adam turned seven months old on March 10, and he was a living reminder of Slavko, the little brother they had buried in the homeland. Perhaps that's why Lesia's thoughts turned to Shuparka more and more during those long winter days when they were stuck inside. She and Ivan had been so sure leaving was the right thing to do. But if they'd stayed in Shuparka, they would all be together now. And they could go outside to visit the graves of their loved ones.

Eventually, Lesia saw signs that spring was coming. Daylight lasted a little longer each afternoon. The snow began to recede from the top of the burdei. The buds on the trees plumped out; the wild animals
became more active. The skeps were hung out again and Lesia prayed nightly for bees.

One morning, when she returned to the burdei with a rabbit under her arm, she saw a horse and wagon in the clearing. The tall, black horse had a thick red blanket over its back. The fancy brown wagon had gold and red lettering on its side.

Her heart began to pound. Dear Lord, the Mounties had found out about the money she had sent to Master Stryk!

She hurried into the burdei and saw Mama standing beside a man wearing a dark fur coat and beaver hat. Sonia sat clutching Adam, her blue eyes wide with fear.