Lesia's Dream Read Free Page A

do I have that you’ll pay me back?”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œYou’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.”
    â€œAh 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.
    â€œHere,” 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œGive it back to her, Michal,” Master Stryk ordered.
    â€œYou 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!
    â€œI am not giving her money,” Master Stryk replied. “I am lending it to her. So she may go to Canada.”
    â€œCanada!” 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