Lesia's Dream (19 page)

Holding her breath, she watched the man glance casually from his watch to Lesia's hand. His eyes lingered on the cherrywood box. They narrowed. The pocket watch slipped to the counter. He reached out with calloused, dirty hands. Bozhe! She couldn't bear the thought of him touching the box, never mind keeping it in his store.

“Nice,” he said approvingly.

“This too.” Lesia pressed the Bible towards him. He thumbed through it just long enough to note the Ukrainian characters. “Not English.” He handed it back.

“Ukrainian.” She shoved it back at him.

He paid no attention. Both hands were on the box now. He held it up to the dim light, looked at the bottom, checked the hinges, fingered the worn lining. His eyes gleamed with interest. “Five bucks,” he said with a smack of his lips.

“What?” Lesia was horrified. She must have misunderstood.

“I'll buy it. No pawn. Five bucks.” He held up five fingers. “This is a bohunk box. Nice work, but still bohunk. Some farmer might want it to keep records and things in.” He still had his hands on it, as though it already belonged to him.

“Not enough.” Lesia shook her head. “I need more.” Twenty times more, at least.

“Five bucks is all. Buy lots of potatoes with five bucks. Make lots of pyrohy. Feed all those mouths.” He laughed cruelly.

Five dollars. A pittance.
Foolish woman, putting a price on priceless family heirlooms.
Andrew had been right. Hot tears gathered behind her eyes. But if he took both …

She pushed Geedo's Bible forward. “This too.” Together, they would fetch more money.

He didn't look at the Bible, didn't even touch it. “No.” He was still holding the box with a proprietary air, still tracing the pattern with his grimy fingers.

Only five dollars? It wouldn't cover train fare to Brandon, and it certainly wasn't enough to buy Papa's and Ivan's release. Tears pushed relentlessly behind her eyes. Five dollars was hardly even a start on their passage home.

Furiously, Lesia blinked away her tears. She wouldn't give up Baba's box for five dollars! She
couldn't. Quickly, before she had time to think, she snatched the box from his fingers. “No.”

“Hey.” He lunged over the counter and tried to grab it back. When Lesia held it out of reach, he let loose with a stream of words she had heard before. Nasty, insulting words about Ukrainians and Poles and Germans. The usual shame overwhelmed her.
After today,
she vowed,
I will stay on our land and have nothing more to do with the English until lean buy our passage home.
She wouldn't even go to the internment camp. She wouldn't have enough money to justify the risk, and she couldn't take any more shame.

But then she was struck by a thought that chased some of her shame away. The man wanted the box. Really, really wanted it. Suddenly, Lesia felt powerful, courageous. “You take this.” She held up the Bible. “And this.” She pulled the biggest belt from her pocket. “You give me twenty dollars. And then you can have the box.”

“Twenty dollars?” The man's face turned even redder. His nose stuck out like a scorched plum. “You are a thief. How dare you come into my store and try to rob me! You bohunks don't belong here. Why don't you go back to where you came from?”

He cursed, he insulted, he waved his fist. Lesia just stood there and waited. She would leave with nothing before she took five dollars for Baba's box. It had
cost them almost three hundred Canadian dollars to come to Canada. It was going to cost them that to go back. Saving would take a long time. And they had to eat in the meantime.

If the man's yelling was any indication, he wanted the box. Very badly.

“Fifteen dollars,” he finally said with a sneer.

Lesia pressed her lips together. “Twenty.” She held the Bible and the belt in one hand. “For this and this.” She waved the box with the other. “And this.”

He let loose with another stream of curses. His face got even redder. Lesia could see a vein pulsing in his temple. What if he died right in front of her? She'd rush for the door, pretend she'd never seen him before.

“Eighteen,” he roared. “That's all!”

The box alone was worth far more. But Lesia knew he wouldn't give her twenty. That would be letting her win. And he wasn't about to let a Ukrainian win. It was eighteen or nothing.

Reluctantly she nodded. “Eighteen,” she repeated.

He reached into his pocket, quickly counted out some bills and slapped them onto the counter. “Now give me the box,” he snapped. “And that Ukrainian holy book.”

She laid the belt on the counter first.

“Ugly trash.” He pushed it back to her. “Couldn't give it away. Keep it.”

Just another insult, Lesia thought dully, shoving the belt back into her pocket.

He eyed the box greedily, hungrily. “Come on. Haven't got all day.”

Baba held these. Loved these. Geedo, too.
Lesia hugged them close for one last minute. Then slowly, reluctantly, she unfurled her arms and relinquished her last physical ties to her grandparents. Sadly, she walked back through the door of the pawnshop to the street.

She was eighteen dollars richer. But Geedo's precious Bible and Baba's beloved box were gone. Her dream of being worthy and respected and rich in the land of milk and honey was over. And Lesia's heart was broken.

“There's mail for you.” Andrew threw a bale of hay into the back of the wagon and then reached into his pocket and handed her a letter. “Are you sure you don't want to come into the store and look around?”

Lesia shook her head.

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Wordlessly, he turned and headed back inside for the last of her supplies.

All the fight seemed to have drained out of Andrew in Winnipeg. Just as he had accepted Lesia's silence on the train leaving Winnipeg, he had accepted the nine dollars she'd handed him when they'd arrived back in Hazelridge. She had asked him to stop at the store, and, when she had rattled off the
list of things they would need for the next six months, he hadn't even blinked.

She didn't want to set foot in another store. She didn't want to deal with the English until it was time to buy their passage home. She didn't even want to spend the night at Paul's farm, as Andrew had suggested. She just wanted to be alone.

She opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper.

Dear Lesia, Ivan had written. Things are changing rapidly in this place. Men are being released on parole to factories that are short of labour because of the war. They are paying almost nothing and the men are still slaves, but they are paid slaves. Perhaps that is the best we can wish for at this time. Paul is here, as you may know. He is convinced it is all a mistake and he will be released soon. We all think that when we first come in. We had news of the homeland last week. Master Stryk is dead. No doubt his son, Michal, is in charge now. Your loving brother, Ivan.

After tucking the letter away, Lesia stared into the late-afternoon sky. Thick, grey snow clouds rolled together, like a crowd of angry people. The wind pushed relentlessly against her shoulders; she pulled her tattered shawl tight and slid low on the seat. Hard to believe it was almost April.

Hard to believe she had gone halfway around the world chasing a dream, only to fail.

Another pair of chickens scratched in the box behind her, and Lesia sighed. They would have eggs soon … and full bellies for a little while. In another month or so, she would put in the garden. It was going to take them a long time to save for the passage home, a year, maybe longer.

A low, deep rumble came from the side of the wagon. It sounded like a cross between a bleat and a moo. Startled, Lesia's eyes flew open. “What is
that?”

Andrew held a brown parcel in his left hand and a piece of frayed old rope in his right. At the end of it was a spotted brown-and-white animal. He grinned proudly. “A cow.”

A young cow with the biggest, saddest brown eyes she had ever seen, three sorry-looking teats hanging from its belly, a mashed-up ear and a crooked nose.

“I didn't know you needed another cow,” Lesia said.

“I don't. Take this, would you? It's the last of your stuff.” After Lesia took the package and stored it away, Andrew swatted the cow on the behind. “Git.” When the animal wouldn't budge, he crouched down, scooped it into his arms and hoisted it into the wagon with a grunt.

Lesia yelped as the animal immediately clambered onto the seat and practically into her lap.

“Grab it and hold on!” Andrew ordered. “It's going to try and get out the other side.”

Gasping in pain as the cow's hoof stood on her stomach, Lesia clutched the rope and shoved the animal off. Not only was it heavy, it smelled terrible. The cow gave her an indignant stare before making its strange moo-bleat sound. It tottered on the seat beside them and then, seeing an opening, it bolted for the back of the wagon.

Andrew was too fast. With one large hand, he pulled the animal back before climbing into his seat. “Lie down,” he ordered.

In spite of her glum mood, Lesia giggled. “It's not a dog. I don't think it takes orders. Besides, it
should
go into the back.”

“It sits up here with us, otherwise it'll escape.”

The animal nuzzled Lesia's ear with its cold nose. She giggled again. It made its strange moo sound once more and this time Lesia laughed. Poor, gangly thing.

“Hold on to the rope,” Andrew ordered as the wagon began to move. Snow was starting to fall. “We're in for a storm, and I want to be home before it starts. Don't want to stop and chase a cow.”

After a litde while, the cow settled between them. Lesia waited for Andrew to speak, but he was silent. Lesia knew he was waiting for her to say something.

“I made eighteen dollars. “The snow was starting
to cling to her skirt. She brushed it away. “I have nine dollars for the Shuparka fund. It's a start.”

“Uh huh.”

Well. She was hoping for a bit more of a reaction. “In Winnipeg, you called me a crazy woman. Now all you can say is ‘Uh huh'?”

“You can save all the money you want,” Andrew said, “but you can't go back. Not now.”

“Of course I can,” Lesia countered with a flash of annoyance. “I can do anything I put my mind to.”

“And what about Adam?”

She frowned. “What about Adam? He goes too, of course.”

Andrew gave her a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road. “He was born here. Adam's a Canadian. He won't be accepted in the homeland. Even after the war, people will remember Canada was against them. What are you going to do?” he asked softly. “Leave little Adam behind?”

Adam's a Canadian. The
words hung in the space between them. He couldn't go to Ukraine. Not now. Not later. And they couldn't leave him behind. It was unthinkable.

What were they going to do?

“I never would have taken you for a quitter,” Andrew added.

“I'm no quitter!” Lesia retorted indignantly. “Ivan and I came to Canada because we thought we would be welcome. Like Pearl said, we have watered this land with our own blood, sweat and tears. All I want in return is respect and acceptance. A peaceful life. Some warmth and some food. I just want to belong,” she admitted. “Even in Shuparka I'm not an enemy alien.” Adam was a Canadian. They couldn't go home.

The snow was getting heavier. It was harder to see the road ahead. A thin white dusting covered the oxen. “Belonging takes time,” Andrew said. “I've been here thirteen years and I still don't belong. Not like the Irish and the Scottish do. But remember, we've been outsiders in our own land for centuries. We still are. Give Canada a chance.”

How could Andrew be so accepting? “Don't you hear what people call us?” Lesia demanded hotly. “The things they say about us?”

“Canadians aren't all bad. They don't all say those things.”

“Most do,” she retorted quickly.

Mutely, Andrew nodded.

“How do you stand it?”

“It's ignorance, Lesia. And I won't let ignorance make me bitter. There are worse things in life than being hated, believe me.” He paused and Lesia knew that he was thinking of his dead wife. “Besides,” he
added, “Canada offers hope. We have to hold on to that.”

“How can you say that when they've imprisoned innocent men? And now taken Paul into the camp?”

One of the oxen chose that moment to wander left. Andrew struggled for control. It still amazed Lesia that he had taught the animals to pull the wagon like a team of horses; most people walked beside their oxen.

Once the animal was in line, Andrew said, “I'm not happy about it, but what can I do? Paul shouldn't have been travelling without his papers. He knows the law.”

“What will happen to his farm? To Pearl and the children?”

Even in profile, Lesia could see Andrew's lips pressed thin. “I'll do what I can. Wasyl is still around too. He's moving from farm to farm, staying two steps ahead of the authorities. He'll help. So will the others.” He paused and shot Lesia a quick glance. “But Paul will be released. So will your Papa and Ivan.” His blue eyes gleamed with conviction. “We have to get through the war. We have to trust the Canadians to do the right thing.”

“I'm fresh out of trust,” Lesia muttered. She thought of the sneering pawnshop owner, the greedy neighbour who had dammed up the creek,
the unfriendliness of the storekeeper. Was that what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life? Not if she could help it. “I'll stay on our land,” she vowed. “I'll give my heart to the prairie. But I'll have nothing more to do with the English.”

“Huh.” Andrew flicked the reins. The oxen picked up speed. “It's going to be hard to sell your butter with that attitude.”