Instead, the hives were empty, there were acres left to clear and the respect she had come to Canada to find had eluded her.
Zzzzzzzz. She dropped her axe and swatted her ear. Another mosquito fell to the ground. Wearily, she surveyed the land. Three acres clear, seven more to go. She hadn’t gotten far tonight, but at least it was something.
If only they had land without tree stumps and scrub! If only they had soil that crumbled like breadcrumbs. If only they had wheat already planted.
A mosquito flew into her eye. Another attacked her nose. With a cry of disgust, Lesia grabbed her axe and headed for the smoky fire burning outside the burdei. Twilight was fading; soon it would be dark.
The sight of tall poppies laden with full, ripening pods lifted her spirits as she walked past the garden. The sunflowers had blossomed and set seed too. Soon it would be time to harvest both and turn them into oil.
A mosquito bit her hand. Several more were stinging her ears. Enough! She started to run.
A thin, stooped man was standing in front of the burdei, a shotgun resting over one shoulder and a flat brown package on the other.
“Papa!” The axe went flying. The mosquitoes and all her worries were forgotten. She ran forward and flung herself into his arms.
He wrapped her in a bear hug. “For a minute, I thought I was in the wrong place. There is the start of a fence near the road. Curtains on the window. I even thought I heard chickens.”
Lesia laughed and pulled back. “You did, Papa. We have chickens now. I bought them with the money you sent. And the garden is growing, and I’ve cleared another acre.”
Papa lowered the shotgun and the package to the ground. The corners of his moustache curved into a half smile. “Well done, moye sonechko.” He was smaller than she remembered. And he looked tired; his face was deeply lined.
“Gregory?” Mama pushed aside the fabric that covered the door. Stunned surprise replaced the uncertainty on her face. “Oh, Gregory. It really is you! And I thought I was dreaming.” She disappeared from sight, reappearing a few seconds later with a blanketed bundle in her arms.
“Meet your son,” she said with a brilliant smile. “Adam.”
“A son!” The news energized Papa. He threw his shoulders back and raised his hands to the sky in gratitude. “Thanks be to God,” he shouted. “A boy.”
“Hush, you’ll wake him! And Sonia.” Mama giggled and handed Adam over. “Besides, you should thank Lesia, she’s the one who helped him into the world.”
Gently, Papa peeled back the blanket to get a closer look. Lesia peered over his shoulder, still amazed at the lovely creases of fat that were starting to appear on the baby’s tiny legs.
“Plump,” Papa murmured in disbelief. “Fat almost. How old?”
“Almost a month,” Mama whispered back.
He and Mama stared at each other. “My son,” Papa said in awe.
“Yes,” Mama replied.
Lesia knew they were both thinking of Slavko.
They settled on log stumps by the fire, where Lesia broke the news about Baba. Papa raised his eyes to the now-dark sky and said, “God gave with one hand and took with the other.” Grief-stricken, he hugged Adam to his chest and rocked back and forth. “Will the trouble never end?” he murmured. His shoulders shook in mute testimony to his grief.
Lesia and Mama exchanged nervous glances. “What trouble?” Lesia asked.
But Papa didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to rock, continued to mutter about Adam and Baba and the ironies of the world. Finally calm, he handed Adam back to Mama, wiped the tears from his eyes and leaned forward onto his knees. “War has been declared in the homeland,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff. “And Canada is involved.”
Mama gasped.
Lesia stiffened. Her first thought was of Baba. But Baba was in God’s hands and out of harm’s way. “Ivan and I were right, then. We left just in time.”
“Perhaps yes. Perhaps no.” Papa shrugged. “You see, litde one, Galicia belongs to Austria. We are Austrian in the eyes of the world. And Canada is at war with Austria.”
Sap from a piece of wood hit the fire with a crack. Lesia jumped. “But we’re Ukrainian,” she said uneasily.
“The Canadian government doesn’t see the difference,” Papa told her.
“What does that mean?”
The frown between Papa’s eyes deepened into a slash of worry. “At best, nothing. At worst, they will watch us carefully and make sure we aren’t politically involved.”
“What about Ivan?” Mama looked stricken.
Lesia cringed. Keeping her brother out of politics was like trying to keep Sonia still—almost impossible.
“He’s still in Winnipeg. Somewhere. Pray for him,” Papa added quietly.
After a long minute of silence, Marna spoke. “I see you bought a gun.” She gestured to the brown package beside it. “But what’s that?”
Brightening, Papa jumped up and retrieved his purchases. “I bought a window to keep out the winter cold. The gun so we can hunt through the winter. And new boots.” He pointed to his feet, clearly proud of his practicality. “They say in winter the snow is so deep and cold it can freeze your toes in minutes. These will keep us warm when we hunt. We can share them.”
What good were new boots when they had no food?! Their old boots might be falling apart, but they could mend them like they mended their clothes.
“Papa, bugs are overtaking the garden. Some of our potatoes are growing stunted because the soil is so poor. We have eggs now, but the chickens won’t lay in winter. We need more food. An indoor stove. Oxen to help clear the land. A cow for cream and butter.” Lesia took a breath. Respect from the townspeople. “We made a vow, Papa, that no one in the Magus family would go hungry again, remember?”
“We’ll manage,” Papa reassured her. “But debts must be cleared, Lesia. I just mailed fifty rynskys to Master Stryk and—
“But I sent him fifty rynskys too.”
“Good!” Papa said proudly. “Then that debt is clear.” He paused and stroked his moustache. “You managed very well on just five dollars, Lesia.”
She flushed. Papa had done some quick addition in his head. If Andrew had kept the money they owed him, Lesia would have had just five dollars left from the thirty Papa had earned. “Andrew wouldn’t take the money,” she admitted.” Not all of it. He wanted to take only a dollar, but I insisted he take two. I still have two dollars set aside for Baba’s passage.”
“That can go to Andrew. We must pay him back. The Magus family will not be indebted to anyone.” Though his body looked beaten and his face was weathered and tired, Papa’s eyes still burned with the strength of his convictions.
Frustration made Lesia rash. “We must take care of ourselves first, Papa. We must feed ourselves and make some money. We want to hold our head up high in this new land. We want—”
“I did what I thought was best,” Papa interrupted angrily. “You bought flour and oil and chickens. And I bought a rifle and a window and boots. Together, we paid down our debt. Now it’s time to get back to clearing the land. And we must work fast, Lesia. There’s no telling what the coming months will bring.”
Chapter Twelve
September 20,1914
The Magus homestead
At first, the war didn’t affect Lesia and her family. Their life quickly slipped into a productive routine.
Mama gathered eggs, wove the fence, tended the garden and the children and cooked meals. Lesia and Papa dug and pulled and cleared. Though Papa had lost weight, he was still strong. Between them, they accomplished the work of three powerful men. Lesia’s muscles screamed with fatigue, but the sight of the fourth acre being cleared fuelled her. It also helped that the intense heat of summer had been replaced by cooler, shorter days.
As she worked on Baba’s belt by candlelight, Lesia wondered about Ivan. From the whispers between Mama and Papa, she knew they were wondering too. But the work kept her mind and hands occupied, and whe
n the first belt was finished, she started a second one.
The weather grew colder and still there was no sign of Ivan. In the morning, Lesia’s skin was covered in gooseflesh and her words came out in puffs of white. The distant fields were golden brown and if she stared hard she could see small moving figures bringing in the harvest. On their own homestead, she and Mama had pulled sixty heads of garlic and gathered two sacks of poppy seeds and sunflower seeds.
Andrew had promised to take her to the Boychuk farm in Oakbank, where there was an oil press, but, like Ivan, he was nowhere to be found. He’d visited twice the week after Adam was born, but then his visits had stopped.
“It’s harvest time,” Papa reminded her. “Not only that, he’s a Canadian citizen. He may have enlisted.”
Enlisted? How strange to think that if they’d stayed in Shuparka, Andrew might have been fighting against them. The whole idea of war frightened her.
Instead of Ivan or Andrew, Lesia was surprised to see an official on horseback ride into the clearing one cloudy morning. In spite of Mama’s warning that she could smell rain in the air, Lesia was outside hanging Adam’s blanket, while Sonia played on the ground nearby.
“Are you the lady of the house? “The man wore a scarlet jacket, black trousers and a wide-brimmed beige hat. A Mountie! Lesia had heard all about the men who kept law and order in Canada. Why was he here?
“The lady of the house?” He said it a second time, and when Lesia didn’t answer, he tried “Lady or man of the house?” in halting Ukrainian and stared down his nose like she was a speck of dirt on his shiny black boots.
“Mama,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Come quick.”
When Mama caught sight of the Mountie, she thrust Adam into Lesia’s arms and mumbled, “I’ll get Papa.” Scooping Sonia up, she hurried off to the field where Papa worked.
The man dismounted, grabbed the reins and tethered his horse to a nearby tree. Lesia turned back to her washing. It was impossible to do anything while she held Adam, but she wasn’t going to just stand there staring.
“Yes?” Papa’s voice thundered confidently through the clearing.
The Mountie strode forward. He was more than a head taller than Papa. Heavier too. But Lesia was proud to see that Papa didn’t flinch.
“I’m travelling through the district checking citizenship papers,” the man said in English.” A matter of procedure.”
“They are inside.” Papa turned to the burdei. “I will get them.”
Lesia smothered a gasp. When had Papa learned English? She couldn’t understand the words, but she had recognized English since that trip to the store. Adam squirmed in her arms and she handed him back to Mama, who was staring after Papa with a curious look on her face. Obviously she was just as surprised.
“Here.” Papa returned and thrust their documents at the Mountie.
The man studied them for several minutes before looking up. “There are four papers here, but there are five of you.”
Papa looked proud as he pointed to the baby. “My son Adam is a Canadian citizen. He was born here six weeks ago.”
At the mention of Adam’s name, Mama looked terrified. She clutched the baby with one hand and held Sonia against her leg with the other. Lesia gave her a reassuring smile. Papa was calm. Surely there was nothing wrong.
“Are there others?”
“My older son, Ivan,” Papa said. “He’s in Winnipeg.”
Lesia held her breath. She studied the Mountie carefully. She’d become skilled at understanding body language and facial expressions. He didn’t seem interested in Ivan.
“You are Austrian, are you not?” he asked.
Lesia’s heart thumped. She expelled her breath and shot Mama a worried glance. Austrian was a word they both recognized. It was a word they had come to fear.
“We are Ukrainians,” Papa said proudly. “From Shuparka.”
“Shuparka?” The man frowned. “Where is Shuparka?”
“In Galicia, Ukraine,” Papa replied.
“Ah.” A self-righteous smile touched the Mountie’s lips. “You are Austrian then.” He waved the papers in the air.
“We are Ukrainians,” Papa said quietly. “From Ukraine.”
The Mountie ignored him. “On orders from the Canadian government and under the War Measures Act, you must register as an enemy alien. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Papa nodded.
“You must also report to a government official every month.”
Papa seemed to shrink before Lesia’s very eyes. “Yes.”
“Once you register, you must stay on this farm. You cannot leave for any reason. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Adam began to cry. Mama shushed him. Lesia’s heart hammered against her chest. Her earlier confidence wavered. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew something wasn’t right.
“Furthermore,” the Mountie continued, “you are reminded of your agreement with my government. You must cultivate thirty acres in the next three years or the land will be taken away. You must pay your taxes yearly or also face losing the land.”
Papa was silent. Lesia and Mama exchanged glances.
The Mountie waited for an answer. “Do you understand?”
Papa was still silent.
“Sir?”
Speak, Papa, speak, Lesia wanted to scream. But her lips refused to move.
“I understand,” Papa finally said.
Satisfied, the Mountie handed the papers to Papa and turned towards his horse.
The sight of the man’s back seemed to infuriate Papa. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded angrily.” Why? We have done nothing to hurt you. To hurt Canada. Why bother us?”
The Mountie turned back. Lesia was surprised to see traces of compassion in the man’s blue eyes. “Just carrying out orders, sir. All enemy aliens must register. I’ve been ordered to find them, that’s all.” The Mountie untethered his horse and tipped his hat. “Good day.”
Silently they watched him disappear from view.
“What did he say?” Lesia demanded. “Why are you upset?”
It didn’t take Papa long to recap the conversation.
“Register as enemy aliens?” Lesia was shocked. “And report to the government? But why?”
“I told you when I came home. They think we’re Austrians,” Papa said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Lesia said flatly.
“Of course it is. I’m no enemy alien. But they’ll think what they want to think.” Papa stared into space, considering.
“We aren’t enemies of Canada and we shouldn’t be forced to call ourselves that.” There was a proud, patriotic tilt to Mama’s chin. “For years, we let the government dictate to us at home. And look what happened. We lost our land, our livelihood, our son.” Her voice trembled at the mention of Slavko. “We cannot let it happen again.”
“This isn’t Galicia,” Lesia reminded Mama. “This is Canada. Remember what Ivan said. It’s a democracy here.”
Papa sighed. “But there are laws, and we have to follow them. I’ll go to Winnipeg and register. I’ll find Ivan and bring him home. I’ll sell the eggs, too. We need shells for the shotgun and more potatoes. If need be, I’ll use Lesia’s two dollars. Andrew will have to wait. The war may be over tomorrow, but the winter will be long and cold. We have to be prepared.”
“I’ll take the seeds and walk with you as far as Cooks Creek,” Lesia said. “Then I’ll turn off to Andrew’s farm.”
“Paul’s farm is miles before Andrew’s,” Mama reminded her. “Go straight to the Korols. They’ll know where to get the seeds pressed.”
Mama was right. Lesia nodded.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” Papa told her.
“God be with you,” Mama murmured softly. “Both of you.”
When they reached Cooks Creek, where Papa would head west for Winnipeg and she would go east, Lesia was suddenly overcome with emotion.
“I love you, Papa,” s
he whispered in his ear, fiercely blinking back tears. All this talk of war and enemy aliens had sickened her. Saying goodbye to Papa now left her breathless with fear. “Hurry back to Mama.”
With one final hug, Papa handed her the second sack of seeds and was gone.
Lesia couldn’t walk very fast. She had two seed bundles on her shoulders and her boots were falling apart. In spite of her best efforts to mend them, they were litde more than scraps of leather held together by bits of twine.
Papa may have been foolish to insist on paying Master Stryk back so quickly, Lesia thought with a wince as she caught a pebble between her toes, but perhaps buying new boots wasn’t such a bad idea. Papa had wanted her to wear them, but she had insisted he keep them. It was only fair. He had thirty miles to cover. She had only nineteen.
By the time Lesia caught sight of the Korols’ farm, it was early evening. Her feet were bloodied and her eyes were swollen with exhaustion. Adam’s fussing had prevented her from getting a good night’s sleep and they had started their journey before dawn.
Turning into the gate, she saw wagons. Lots of them.The Korols had company.
She stared at her feet. Everyone would see her like this. There would be questions about her, about Papa. She couldn’t tell them about the Mountie. She was too ashamed.
A burst of laughter floated into the air, followed by the pungent smell of roasted meat. Bozhe, she was hungry.
So what if everyone stared? So what if they asked questions? She just wouldn’t answer. She knocked on the front door and waited.
Andrew answered.
Lesia’s knees trembled. A relieved smile flitted over her face. “You’re here.”
“Everybody’s here.” He took the sacks from her aching arms. “The harvest is finished. Finally.”
“I brought my seeds to be pressed.”
He grinned and ushered her inside. “I was hoping you didn’t walk all this way for nothing.”
Maybe it was hunger or maybe it was fatigue, but everything passed in a blur after that. Smiling strangers touched her arms and stroked her hair. Pearl pressed a plate of food into her hand while Paul removed her boots and carefully bathed her feet. The only questions came from Andrew, but Pearl shushed him, and, after a second helping of food, Lesia was given a bed in the back room, where she promptly fell into a deep sleep.
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