Lesia's Dream Read Online Free PDF Page A

Continentals.”
    â€œBut why?” Lesia asked.
    Ivan shrugged. “Why do people hate? Some questions have no answers.”
    Papa overheard them. “Things will be different when we’re with our own people in the Interlake,” he said.
    The official behind the long granite counter took one look at them and waved another man over. The man greeted them in familiar Ukrainian.
    I hope this one doesn’t demand money, like the one at the station in Quebec,
Lesia thought. But this interpreter had a friendly, honest face. The Canadian official, on the other hand, had narrow lips, impatient eyes and seemed to dislike the Magus family on sight. In fact, Lesia realized as he barked orders at the interpreter, he seemed to dislike the Galician man too.
    â€œHe wants to know how much money you have.” An embarrassed flush rose on the interpreter’s face.
    â€œEnough for our section of land,” Papa said. In spite of being swindled four times during their trip, Papa still had the ten Canadian dollars he’d hidden in his sock.
    â€œYou need more,” the interpreter replied swiftly, softly.
    Papa’s answer came just as quickly. “Then tell him we have more.”
    Beside her, Mama stiffened. Lesia gasped. Ivan gave her a sharp kick in the ankle. It was the first time in her life she could remember Papa lying! But what else could he do? They didn’t have enough money to go back.
    The Canadian official had more questions. “Where are you going?”
    â€œThe Interlake,” Papa replied. “A place called Fraserwood.”
    The Canadian fastened a pair of small goldrimmed glasses over the bridge of his nose, then picked up a piece of paper and studied it. Lesia held her breath.
    â€œThere is no land left there. “The interpreter translated after the Canadian spoke.
    â€œNo!” She was light-headed, grateful for Ivan’s hand on her arm.
    It was Mama’s turn to gasp.
    â€œMost of our village is there.” Papa spoke slowly, as though he were speaking to a young child. “They will make room for us.”
    The interpreter translated again. The Canadian official shook his head. His response was clipped and harsh. His eyes flicked briefly over Ivan and Lesia before settling on Papa. It was that look! The same one that Michal Stryk had given her. Contempt mixed with scorn.
    â€œThere is no land left there,” the interpreter told them again. He lowered his voice. “He speaks the truth, my friend.Trust me, you do not want—”
    The Canadian official interrupted them.The Galician flushed again. “He says to tell you all the good land is gone. The land that’s left is marginal. He says you should not have come. But that’s not true,” the interpreter rushed on. “You can claim a cancelled homestead in another area. There are still some left. Most are marginal, yes, but—”
    â€œMarginal?” Mama interrupted him. “But how can we …?” Her mouth moved but no words came. The colour drained from her. Her eyelids fluttered. She fell to the floor.
    Sonia began to cry. Lesia grabbed her. People rushed forward. A grey-haired man with big, brown eyes and a thick, droopy moustache called out inUkrainian for a doctor. Mama was lifted to an out-of-the-way corner and several people, including Papa, hovered around her.
    Once she was propped up with a jacket and being tended to, the brown-eyed man who had called for help introduced himself. “Paid Karol,” he said, extending a large, calloused hand to Papa. “Here to meet someone but they never arrived.” Paul told them that he came from Bukovyna and had been in Canada thirteen years.
    When Ivan asked him about marginal land, Paul said, “There’s no way to know until you have a look. It might be marshy or rocky, or it might be fine.You need to see it. There are a few cancelled homesteads in my area, one south of us and two more north of