Lesia's Dream

by Laura Langston

  “Under these trees and rocks is black soil for growing. And over there is the creek, so we won’t need to dig a well. Not yet,” Papa added.

  Lesia swallowed the lump in her throat. It would take them years to clear and plough and till and harvest. She had expected hard work, but they needed to grow food quickly, for nourishment as well as money. Beside her, Mama was stiff and still. She didn’t dare look at her.

  “The house is near the clearing,” Ivan said, leading the way.

  While the sun hinted at warmth, a light dusting of frost still clung to the ground. Lesia walked carefully, crunching over rocks and twigs, brushing against the prairie grass with her skirt. She thought of Paul’s farm with its rolling fields of wheat, its immaculate thatched-roof cottage and its garden overflowing with spring greens and strawberries and small beet seedlings.

  But the Korols had been in Canada thirteen years.

  “That’s it,” Ivan pointed. “The house.”

  Mama gasped. Lesia’s eyes widened in shock. It was nothing more than a burdei, a log and sod-brick dugout. It had a sloping, lopsided roof, a hole in one wall where a window was supposed to be and another larger hole waiting for a door. One side had been roughly plastered with clay, but tufts of grass poked out the other side like hair standing on end.

  Lesia felt light-headed, faint. Nothing had prepared her for this.

  “It’s not much yet,” Papa added quickly “But with such a thick layer of soil, it will be cool in summer and warm in winter. And it’s ours,” he finished proudly.

  “It’s bigger than it looks,” Ivan said.

  Mama began to cry.”I want to go home.” She sank to her knees. “Back to Ukraine.”

  “We won’t be in it for long,” Papa murmured as he comforted her. “A year at most.”

  “That … thing,” Mama’s hand shook as she pointed to the little dugout, “isn’t fit for … for chickens.”

  Papa wrapped an arm around Mama’s shoulder. “Once we clear the land and plant wheat, we’ll build a proper house. With lots of windows.” Lesia could hear the desperation in Papa’s voice.

  Clutching Sonia’s head to her breast, Lesia looked around the clearing. There was a small clump of logs on one side and a clump of willows on the other.

  “The creek’s down there.” Ivan gestured to his left.

  Nodding, Lesia gazed beyond the clearing, looking for something, anything, to reassure her. But there was more scrub, more tree roots, more rock. Certainly not the great riches she had imagined.

  What had they done?

  Homesickness rolled through her. If only she could see the sun setting behind the church in Shuparka one last time. Smell the plum blossoms. Hug Baba. They’d had no respect in Ukraine, and life there was hard, but at least it was predictable. In Canada, nothing was predictable. And something told her respect would be a long time coming.

  In the far distance was the neighbouring farm, which, according to Andrew, belonged to an Englishman. Ribbons of rich, black soil stretched to the blue horizon. That land had been rock and trees and scrubby bush once too, Lesia thought. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad after all.

  Lesia followed Ivan inside. The burdei was dark and dreary, even with the small sliver of sun shining through the tiny window onto the dirt floor. A limp mound of hay and a tattered piece of a blanket were shoved into the corner, a visible reminder of those who had lived here before. Lived here and left.

  Ivan ran a trembling hand through his hair. Hope seemed to fade from his face. “We’ve come halfway around the world in search of a dream that has all the makings of a nightmare,” he said gloomily.

  “Don’t say that,” Lesia said sharply. Since they’d left Shuparka, Ivan had been the strongest of them all. Not once had he given in to second thoughts, to fear, or to pity. And his strength was her strength. “There’s hope in Canada, Ivan. We will earn respect. We will be valued. In Ukraine, we were worthless peasants. They took away our land. We were starving.”

  Ivan shook his head. “This all looked fine last week. But when I see it through your eyes … through Mama’s eyes …” He peered out the small window and sighed.”I don’t know.”

  She would not let Ivan have regrets. “Paul’s farm was virgin soil once, too. And look what he did with it.” Lesia was filled with a renewed sense of purpose. A sense of adventure.”Look at this. We have 160 acres. It’s ours! We can turn it into something, I know we can.”

  Ivan turned to face her. “It’s going to be much harder than I thought. And it’s going to take longer.”

  Sonia squirmed in her arms and Lesia put her down.”I know,” she agreed softly.”But every hour of every day is going to be worth it! Every sore muscle.Remember Slavko and Geedo? Remember our Vow?”

  “That no one in our family would suffer from hunger again.” Ivan repeated the words slowly. “That we would not allow ourselves to be treated badly.That we would not lose any more land.” His voice took on renewed strength. “That we would live rich, live free.” The look of despair slowly faded from his face.

  “Canada is giving us a chance, Ivan.”Lesia remembered Michal Stryk sneering down his nose at her. And those nasty people outside the immigration hall. But surely not everyone was like that? “There’s no aristocracy in Canada. People are equal here. We can follow our dreams.” She walked over to the thick window ledge where Sonia was peering outside. “Like Baba said, the bees work long and hard, and they don’t complain. We shouldn’t either. We have land. A place to sleep. I’m learning to read. Life is already good,” she told him with a smile. “And it’s only going to get better.”

  Lesia sliced forcefully through the soil with the spade. One hundred and sixty acres was a good thing. But why did a good thing have to take so much work? In Shuparka, digging and cultivating had been as simple as folding pyrohy dough. Years of cultivation had left that soil light and easy to turn. Canadian soil, on the other hand, was thick and dark and heavy—not used to human hands.

  But it was beautiful, Lesia thought, as she brought the spade down on a large clump of earth. It crumbled, and a blister on her palm popped. She could feel the pus ooze and slide against the spade handle. Fleetingly she remembered the words she had said to Ivan not long ago. Every hour of every day and every sore muscle. Worth it. As stiff and sore and blistered as she was, it had been worth it already.

  Straightening, she smiled at Sonia, who was picking up small rocks and piling them near the dugout, where they’d be sorted later. Mama was plastering the burdei with the clay they’d found in a pit on the east side of their land.

  She wasn’t well, Lesia thought as she watched her slow, laborious movements. Their diet didn’t agree with her. She was having trouble keeping food down. Especially gopher.

  Robins twittered the last of their daylight song. The setting sun threw a shadowy haze of pink over the burdei and the white muslin that hung in the doorway. Inside, Baba’s kylym had been hung.The window ledge held the picture of the Blessed Virgin, Geedo’s cross and their small botde of holy water. Fresh hay had been laid for bedding; tree stumps gave them a place to sit.

  Turning, Lesia caught sight of the two bee skeps she’d woven out of willow twigs. The bees hadn’t arrived yet, but she was hopeful they’d come. There was a path to the creek now, they had made a good start at clearing their first acre of land, and the garden—if she could finish the digging tonight—would be planted tomorrow.

  Amazing, Lesia thought as she went back to work, how much they had accomplished in just a few weeks.

  “Heave hooooo!” Ivan yelled as another tree fell. Sonia dropped the small rock she was carrying and clapped. Papa and Ivan dragged a large aspen to the woodpile. A woodpile! She shook her head in wonder. Anyone having so much wood in Shuparka would be rich indeed. Here, wood was pushed aside in favour of cleared land.

  One more thing to get used to in this strange place.

  “Hungry, Lessie.”

  “Soon, Sonia.” Taking advantage of every bit of natural
light meant they didn’t eat dinner until it was dark.

  Reminding Sonia to stand back, Lesia lifted her arms and smashed the spade against the soil, visualizing with each stroke how it would look planted with food—nourishing food Mama was familiar with. It was a good spot for a garden, near enough to the creek that they wouldn’t have far to haul water.

  “She’s sick again,” Ivan muttered as he joined Lesia.

  She looked up in time to see Papa attending to Mama. “We have to do something.” She bit her hp.

  “I’m going to leave soon. Find work. Buy flour and supplies.”

  “You can’t,” she said sharply.

  Sonia looked up and pouted. “Lessie okay?”

  After reassuring the child, Lesia turned back to her brother. “We need.to build a root cellar.And an oven. And we have to clear more land.” She watched Papa settle Mama by the fire near the burdei.

  “We’re almost out of food.”

  “We have a few potatoes left. We’ve got wild greens for soup. And the creek—”

  “I haven’t trapped one fish in that creek,” Ivan interrupted.”I’m sure that neighbour has dammed it and is taking the spoils for himself.”

  “Well, there’s rabbit and gopher. Even if Mama can’t eat it, the rest of us can. I’m seeding tomorrow. There will be vegetables from the garden soon and wild strawberries too. Andrew says they’re sweeter than candy.”

  Ivan scowled. “Andrew! If only he’d given us a sack of flour instead of those silly gifts!”

  “Ivan!” She was shocked at his lack of gratitude. “Don’t say that. It’s enough that Pearl and Paul gave us eggs to eat and hay to sleep on. And Andrew gave us those potatoes and milk and soap and candle supplies.”

  “As well as paper and a pencil,” he said with a grimace. “They won’t keep us from starving.”

  She stuck her chin into the air. “You do not question the generosity of a gift. You accept it with gratitude.”

  “There are more important things than reading,” he muttered.

  Learn to read and write, Andrew had said when he’d handed her the paper and pencil. Then, when your farm is productive, you’ll be rich and educated. Exactly, Lesia had retorted with a grin.

  Ivan smacked his hand against his knee and leaned close. “I know you’re staying positive, just like Baba said. But Mama can’t eat gopher. She needs bread and potatoes to nourish the baby. It’s going to take time for the garden to grow. We have to buy a sack of flour, a bushel of potatoes.” Ivan’s voice dropped even lower. “And we need horses or oxen. Maybe a plough. Paul was right.This land is hard to break. We need money, Lesia.”

  She stared at him.”I know.”

  The colour was fading from the sky. Soon it would be dark. They were silent then, lost in their own thoughts. Lesia was the first to speak.

  “Perhaps we should borrow money for a team of oxen, like Andrew suggested,” she said slowly. “We could get a cow or some chickens, too. Sell the eggs or the cream. We could start paying off our debts and produce food at the same time.”

  “Papa will never go for it,” Ivan said.

  With a jolt of alarm, Lesia noticed how thin her brother was getting. His cheekbones were sticking out from his face like wings sticking out from a bird. If Ivan got too skinny, he’d be too weak to work the land. She had to do something. “I’ll convince him,” Lesia promised as her brother shook his head and walked away.

  They had only a few minutes of light left. Lesia quickly resumed her digging. Behind her, Sonia babbled in her high-pitched, singsong voice. “Gopher,” she said happily.

  “Yes, yes.” Lesia didn’t bother turning around. If she stopped to watch every gopher that came along, she’d never get anything done. “Take that last rock to the pile now. It’s almost time for soup.”

  “Gopher, Lessie. Gopher.”

  “I see.” She gave a cursory glance over her shoulder, just enough to satisfy her little sister.

  “Pretty!” Sonia babbled, pointing to a black-and-white creature a few feet away.

  Lesia looked back. Fleshier than either a rabbit or a gopher, the animal had tiny black eyes, glossy black fur and a thick white stripe running down its back and curling up the length of a long, fluffy tail. “That’s not a gopher, Sonia.” Gophers, or prairie dogs, as Andrew had called them, were a dull grey-brown.

  “Yes!” Sonia stomped her foot against the ground. “Gopher.”

  Lesia watched the small animal walk daintily around the pile of rocks. “But if it’s not a gopher, maybe Mama could eat it for dinner,” she murmured softly.

  “Pretty gopher,” Sonia chirped again. She picked up a stick and tapped the ground in front of her. The creature turned. Its tail straightened. A low hissing sound travelled through the air.

  Sonia’s bottom hp quivered. “Not nice gopher,” she pouted.

  “The gopher is tired now. He doesn’t want to play. Go talk to Mama.” She pushed the litde girl towards the fire.

  The animal ambled over the rocks and headed slowly towards the scrub close to the creek, its white stripe making it clearly visible in the twilight.

  It would be easy to catch! And meaty. More than enough for five.

  She’d have to use her spade, Lesia thought, following it. Creep up behind it and smash it on the head.

  A picture of those innocent black eyes flashed through her mind. Could she do it?

  She had to. Their very survival depended on food.

  Closer and closer Lesia crept. If it knew it was being followed, it paid no attention. She watched in fascination as its black-and-white tail grew straighter and straighter, until it was pointing directly into the air, like the flag on the ship they’d taken in Hamburg.

  Just a few more steps. Clutching the spade in both hands, she raised it over her head.

  The creature hissed. Its back arched in warning.

  It had to be now! Taking a deep breath, Lesia struck hard. And missed.

  Suddenly her eyes began to sting and burn. Her nose and mouth filled with an odour so foul it made tears run down her cheeks. Bozhe, Bozhe, she was choking!

  A piercing scream sliced through the air. Rubbing furiously at her face and gasping for breath, Lesia realized the scream had come from an outraged Sonia. Her sister had followed her.

  Chapter Five

  Ivan and Papa were still laughing the next morning.

  “Imagine eating that!” Ivan said. They rocked back and forth with laughter over their bowls of soup. Paul had told the two men about the black-and-white creatures that could turn the air foul with a single spray, but Papa and Ivan had neglected to tell the women to watch for them. And, in spite of Lesia’s efforts to wash their clothes and scrub their skin, the putrid smell clung to them like an unwelcome guest.

  Chuckling, Papa headed out to the garden. Lesia grabbed the seeds she’d brought from Shuparka and quickly followed him. Perhaps his good mood would make him more agreeable.

  “No. Absolutely not.” He’d crossed his arms and frowned before she’d even finished asking the question.

  “But we’re down to the last few potatoes. Mama was sick again this morning.” She set the seeds on the ground. “We need to buy flour. And Sonia needs fresh milk.”

  “No more debt, Lesia. Absolutely not.” His jaw was set in that all too familiar look.

  “But this debt will pay for itself.” She repeated the argument she’d given Ivan. “We’ll have food to eat, and eggs or cream to sell. We can buy supplies. We can pay Andrew the five dollars we owe him. And start paying back Master Stryk.”

  “No more debt,” Papa said again.

  “We have to do something.”

  “Ivan and I are going to see if we can find work on the railroad.” He wouldn’t look at her.

  “But you know the promise we made to the Canadian government,” Lesia said. “We have to show improvements on the land. We have to break ten acres this summer. Or build a house. Mama’s in no condition to work. And I can’t do it all by myself.�
�� A lone bee droned near her ear. Lesia brushed it in the direction of her bee skep.

  “Do the best you can. I won’t be gone for long. I’ll help you when I get back.”

  “Why don’t I go out to work?” she asked. “I’ll dig seneca roots and sell them, or work as a hired hand. You can stay here.”

  Papa shook his head. “Ivan and I can make more money.” This time he did look at her.”I’m sorry.”

  “If you’d let me buy a cow, I could make money too,” Lesia said impatiently. The bee was back. She cupped her hand around it and nudged it towards the skep again. “Or bees. I’m waiting for a swarm to settle, but Andrew said there are people who sell entire colonies.”

  “No more debt!” Papa glared at her. “You borrowed from Master Stryk against my wishes. You borrowed from Andrew and the Korols against my wishes.”

  “I didn’t borrow from Andrew or the Korols,” she retorted. “That food and those … those … extra things were gifts!”

  “We must pay them back.” Papa’s jaw was set. “And no more borrowing. That’s my final word, Lesia.”

  Defiantly, she stared back at him. “Then at least clear one more acre before you go. And dig a root cellar. Please!”

  Her father nodded. “Very well,” he said slowly. “But then we leave.”

  After days of rain, Lesia should have been cheered to wake up and see the morning sun glowing through the white muslin in the doorway. It was warm and bright—the last day of May and the first dry day in a week. But all she could think about was the hollow pit in her stomach. The few potatoes that were left had been set aside for Mama and Sonia. Papa, Ivan and Lesia were living on soup—a thin, watery blend of gopher and rabbit bones, potato peelings and greens—or whatever they could hunt.

  And with the rain, hunting had been meagre.

  “Ivan and I are going to start digging the root cellar today,” Papa told her. “You check the traps and then work the land south of the vegetable garden.”

  Lesia picked up her tools and headed outside. The air was early-morning fresh. She lifted her face and let the sun’s warmth wash over her.