Lesia's Dream (2 page)

It was true. Ivan did take risks. And Master Stryk had been livid when he'd learned of Ivan's activities. But then Slavko had died, and everything had changed. After that, Ivan had become more careful, secretive almost. And he and Lesia had made a vow. They would do whatever it took to get out of Ukraine.

“You know the law,” Lesia said. “Ivan will be eighteen soon.They force all Ukrainian males to join the army. He'll never be able to leave then. We must get out while we can!”

Mama and Papa were silent.

“You are right about one thing, Papa. This is our soil.” Ivan stomped his foot against the earth and a small puff of dirt rose into the air. “And I would lay down my life for it. But there is going to be a war. I won't be able to fight for Ukraine. I'll be caught between two enemies, fighting for the Austrians or the Poles. Maybe even the Russians, if they invade.” His eyes darkened. “No matter whose side we're on,
they'll take what little land we have left. Our only hope is Canada.Their door is wide open. If we don't go now, we'll never have another chance.”

Sonia was toddling between Lesia's legs. She lurched back and forth and then, with a thump, she fell backwards onto the ground, letting out a wail. Lesia picked her up.

“War?” Mama looked at Papa.

Papa stared into the distance, beyond the house on the rise, to where the sun was setting in streaks of golden pink.

Lesia waited. Ivan told the truth.

“War is possible,” Papa finally admitted. “I've thought about that too. Leaving is a risk. But with another child coming and only three morgens of land to split among all of you, staying is also risky.Yet Master Stryk is a kind man.”

“He may be kind,” Ivan agreed, “but if there is a war, he will be helpless.”

Lesia wasn't interested in Master Stryk. “Another baby?” She jiggled Sonia on her hip. It seemed like only yesterday her younger sister had arrived!

Mama patted her stomach. “By fall,” she said softly.

No wonder Mama hadn't made it up the hill to work the last few days. Lesia remembered how tired Mama was carrying Sonia.

“We have just three morgens of land here.” Ivan
was still talking to Papa. “Remember what the land agents said. In Canada, the government provides immigrants with 113 morgens, 160 acres!” He shook his head from side to side in awe.”And it's almost free for the taking.”

“Not free,” Papa said cautiously. “And travel is expensive.”

“We'll need close to eight hundred rynskys, which is about three hundred Canadian dollars,” Ivan said in a rush, “but we're almost there, Papa.”

Papa was silent. Then he said, “Someone told me Canada expects immigrants to bring in a little extra money. Insurance money almost, so they aren't a burden while they get established.”

Mama looked stunned. Lesia couldn't contain her grin. Papa was changing his mind!

“We'll have to sell our holdings to Master Stryk.” Ivan looked triumphant. “Raise more money. Perhaps borrow some.”

Papa frowned. “I will not go into debt.”

“I cannot believe you would give up on Ukraine.” Mama's eyes shimmered with tears. She turned to stare at the small white cross that marked Slavko's grave.”My heart tells me to stay. And decisions of the heart are never wrong.”

Lesia swallowed the lump in her throat. Her younger brother had died two years ago at the age of
eleven. He'd been too hungry and too weak to resist the virus that had swept through the village. Geedo had died the year before. Baba still grieved for her husband.”We cannot live in the past, Mama.We must go forward. It's the only way we'll survive.”

“Lesia and Ivan are going to Canada,” Papa said firmly. “We belong together. And Lesia's right. We must go forward. It's time for change.”

Finally, what she and Ivan had dreamed was coming true! “We aren't giving up, Mama,” Lesia said. “We'll make a new home for ourselves in Canada. We'll live rich We'll live free!”

Mama looked doubtful. Gently, Papa reassured her. “There will be time to get used to the idea, Ahafia. It will be many months before we have enough money to travel.”

Lesia and Ivan exchanged glances. Papa was wrong.

It was dark when Lesia rose from the narrow bed she shared with Sonia. Tiptoeing past Ivan and Baba, she let herself outside and raced up the hill. She and Ivan had talked late into the night, and they had both reached the same uneasy conclusion. If Lesia didn't succeed at their plan, Canada would be lost forever.

Though it was early, the older villagers were already trickling into the landowner's manor. As one of the younger servants, Lesia was supposed to wait outside in the cold for her list of chores. But today she moved swiftly through the kitchen, making sure to hide from Kasia, the kitchen boss, who liked to lord it over the poor peasants. Lucky for her, the heavy-set woman was barking out orders and didn't see Lesia slip past.

Down the hall she went, stopping at the landowner's ornate wooden door. It was closed. Jan Stryk was an early riser, and he often put in several hours of work before breakfast. She hoped he was at his desk today.

She raised her fist and knocked.

“Yes?”

Answering would have been the proper thing to do, but there was nothing proper about any of this. Instead she turned the handle, pushed the door open and walked bravely into his study.

Master Stryk was bent over his red ledger book. A small lamp with a white shade cast thin shadows onto the wall behind him. “Yes?” he repeated impatiently, continuing to write.

Lesia's heart raced. Papa would be furious if he knew what she was about to ask. But if Master Stryk said yes, there would be little Papa could do.

Jan Stryk looked up. His rheumy old eyes softened. “Lesia Magus.” A smile crept across his wrinkled face. “Come in.”

She bowed low in front of him. “Glory to God.” Her voice trembled as she said the familiar, comforting words. She reached for his leathery hand and kissed it.

“What can I do for you, child?” Jan Stryk's chair squeaked as he leaned back and studied her. Other
members of the Polish nobility ruled through harshness and intimidation. Not Master Stryk. His very kindness was one of the reasons her father had insisted they stay behind in Shuparka. And the landowner's generosity was legend.

“Sir, I… we … my family… we have decided to follow the others and go to Canada.” She licked her dry lips.

“You're tired of working my land?”

She started to shake her head but stopped. She
was
tired of working his land. She wanted to work her own. “In Canada, there's plenty of land to go around,” she said. “There's wood … and plenty of food.”

“So I've heard.”

He wasn't making this easy for her. “I… we—”

“Let me guess,” Master Stryk said dryly, “you want me to buy your three morgens of land.”

“No. I mean, yes. But that's something Papa will have to discuss with you.”

Master Stryk looked confused. “Then why are you here?”

She took a deep breath. “Selling our land won't give us enough money to go.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across the old man's face. “Why hasn't your father approached me about this?”

“My father is a cautious man. He doesn't like loans.”

“Does he know you're here?”

“No.” Heat prickled her cheeks. “This isn't something I ask easily or lightly,” she said in a rush. “We have some money. But not enough for all of us.”

“How much more do you need?”

“One hundred rynskys.” Her voice trembled.

“Ah,” Master Stryk said again. He leaned forward. “What guarantee do I have that you'll pay me back?”

“You have my word. My honour! And my father's honour,” Lesia vowed. “We will send money each month. We will work hard to pay you back.”

“You're a hard worker. So is your father.” He tapped two fingers thoughtfully against his blotter as he studied Lesia. “I hear he has returned, and Ivan too.” He raised an eyebrow. “I certainly would like to see your brother take his politics and leave this village for good.” He opened a drawer and began shuffling through papers. “Where would you settle?”

Hope flared. Master Stryk wasn't just making polite conversation! Was he? Perhaps. Hope died again. “The Interlake, sir. That's where the Czumers settled.”

“Ah yes. Your young friend Mary Czumers. I miss her wonderful laugh. “The old man's head was bent. He was still searching. “Here we are.” He removed a small black book and reached for a pen. Slowly he began to write.

What was he doing? Lesia wondered. According to village gossip, Master Stryk had a small tin money box hidden in his desk. She had prayed he would reach in, remove one hundred rynskys and give them to her. Instead he was giving her a piece of paper. A piece of paper was worthless. She couldn't even read it.

“Here,” he said, “take this paper to the—”

There were two impatient raps on the door. Michal Stryk strode into the room.”Father, breakfast is ready. I've come to collect you.” He stared down his long nose at Lesia. “What are you doing here?” He planted a hand on either side of his large belly and rocked back onto his heels. “Shouldn't you have your head in a beehive somewhere?” His hps thinned into a smirk.

“I'll be with you in a moment, Michal.”The older man ignored his son's rudeness and handed Lesia a small square of cream-coloured paper. “Take this to the bank and they will give you one hundred rynskys. I expect you to pay me back, of course. As time permits.”

Bozhe! He had said yes. “Thank you, sir. We
will
pay you back. Quickly too.” She leaned forward and took the small shp of paper from his gnarled fingers.

Michal snatched it away from her. “Father!” Horrified, he waved the paper in the air. “How much more of our money are you going to give away?”
Her heart thudded. She stared from son to father.

“Give it back to her, Michal,” Master Stryk ordered.

“You can't be serious!” Michal's face flushed with anger, a stain that rose from under the collar of his shirt. “Look at her. She is a dirty, uneducated peasant. Why are you giving her money?”

A dirty peasant?
She was proud of her peasant ancestry!

“I am not giving her money,” Master Stryk replied. “I am lending it to her. So she may go to Canada.”

“Canada!” Michal Stryk snorted. “Her? She is so thin and frail, she won't make it to Canada. She is all eyes and elbows. She has no substance. She is a weakling, just like the rest ofthat Magus family. She can barely cultivate the flax and tend the bees.” His face went redder and redder until it was the colour of a bowl of borsch. “She and that brother of hers would wipe us Poles off the face of the map if they could. All for some pathetic Ukraine.” He spat the last word out through narrowed lips.

Pathetic Ukraine? No substance? How dare he?

Master Stryk looked at Lesia. “You must excuse my son. His manners are less than exemplary.” He turned back to Michal. “Give her back the paper,” he ordered a second time.

Michal stared at his father. “All right,” he said slowly. “I will give it to her. If she can read it, she can keep it.” He handed the small piece of paper to Lesia. “Well?” he challenged with a sneer.

The prickling in her cheeks spread to her forehead, her ears, the back of her neck. She didn't look at the paper. There was no point. Instead she stared defiantly at Michal Stryk.”I don't read.”

He hooted.”You see, Father? She is useless. Stupid. Brainless. It's shameful giving a worthless servant like this your money. Giving her
my
inheritance!”

Useless. Stupid. Brainless.
She stared at a narrow crack between the floorboards. She wanted to shrink until she could hide there. Never in her entire life had she felt so humiliated.

Master Stryk glared at his son. “When I am dead and gone, you will make the decisions. While I am alive, I make them. I am still in charge here, Michal. I pay the bills and I issue the pay. Including, it seems to me, yours.”

“But she is a peasant,” Michal argued hotly. “You cannot trust her to pay you back. We will never see that money again!”

Lesia opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. How dare he even suggest such a thing? She was trustworthy!

The old man's eyebrows stretched into one long frown. “I will take my chances.”

“You are foolish, Father. Giving away our money. Allowing the peasants to emigrate.” Michal flung open the door. “Soon the rynskys will be gone. And there will be no one left to work the land.” He slammed the door behind him.

The sound made her jump. Her heart thumped nervously. She pressed a hand to her chest.

“He is young and foolish,” Master Stryk said with an embarrassed smile. “He does not mean what he says.”

The master was simply trying to make her feel better. Michal Stryk meant exactly what he said. Lesia had lived with cruelty and disdain from the aristocracy all her life. She had shivered through many cold nights and gone hungry for many winters because of it. Papa said it was all a political misunderstanding that would eventually straighten itself out. Ivan said they needed to fight for their rights. Suddenly, Lesia realized that Papa and Ivan were both wrong.

The truth was simple but shattering. She was not valued as a human being. As a Ukrainian peasant, she was considered worthless, brainless, useless. Michal's words scorched her soul. Praise to God
that she was getting out while she could! And going to a place where she would be respected, where her skills as a steward of the land, a fledgling beekeeper, would be valued.

“I'm sorry,” Master Stryk said softly.

“Your son is wrong about one thing.” She was amazed that her voice was so
normal! “We
shall repay you. I give you my word of honour. We will send you money from Canada. A little each month, until our debt is cleared.”