Blood and Salt (35 page)

“I love a man named Taras. He loves me. I will find him again or he’ll find me. Some day we’ll be together.” As she speaks, her voice grows stronger. “I won’t ever forget him or my darling
baba.
I won’t forget our food or the soft linen
sorochka
or the warm
peech
or the great poems. My mother’s books. I have all these things inside me.”

Someone pounds on the wall.
One of Bella’s friends.
Halya stifles a snort of laughter.
Oh well, she can stop for now. It’s enough.

A letter comes
from Louisa Shawcross. Halya imagines her at her dining room table, sipping tea or sherry, writing. Choosing each word with care. Imagining Halya back at the ranch, once more under her gaze. Her power. Halya knows how Louisa sees her – as an experiment. She once heard Louisa say,
“It will still be such fun to see how she turns out.”

“I hear such good reports of your work as make me very proud,” the letter says. “You have succeeded beyond our hopes. In fact, I hear that you are even learning to use a typewriting machine.
That is commendable, but surely not necessary to someone who will have a superior education. Ronnie and I have been talking about you often. I must admit, he speaks of you in a way I’ve never heard him speak about any other girl. I will leave that until he can speak for himself, but I begin to think you will one day be more than just my companion. I can hardly wait until spring to see you again.” Halya stops reading, dismayed.

It’s not that she hasn’t worked it out.
“Ronnie” wants to marry her. Or at least he likes to imagine he does. Really, he just thinks it’s a bit of a challenge, so he’s determined to get her.
They’ve sent her here to learn to be an English lady.
Then she’ll be good enough to marry Ronnie. But is he good enough for her? She smiles. Decides to list his good points.

So. He sings well and sometimes he acts charming.
There must be some other good points, but she can’t think of a single one. Most of the time his own mother can’t stand him.

All right, then. Bad points.
This part’s easy. Ronnie expects his mother to give him everything he wants. He’s vain and greedy and his hands look like an English lady’s. He’d be useless at any real work. His wife would have to be a second mother.

Anyway, she’s going to marry Taras. So she can’t marry Ronnie. For a moment she feels guilty for fooling the Shawcrosses.
Letting them pay for her education when she never meant to marry Ronnie.
Yes, but what else could she do? Viktor was prepared to kick her out of the house if she didn’t. Oh well, she’ll think of what to say by the end of the school term when she goes back to Spring Creek.

But she can’t settle into sleep that night.
The end of term isn’t all that far off.
None of the Bennet girls had to deal with anything like this. Of course Lizzy refused Mr. Collins, so it can be done. Mr. Collins didn’t take it well, though.

By Christmas
Halya can read novels with ease and write very correct essays and letters. Not even Bella can find much to tease her about any more. Miss Greeley suggests she look at the novels of Charles Dickens and she reads
Oliver Twist
in a blaze of excitement, hardly able to stop for classes or meals. She thinks about all these English books and how they’ve become part of her. Is she becoming English?
Yes, some part of her is, although her Ukrainian self is always there watching, comparing, criticizing. She wishes she could also read Ukrainian novels; wonders if there are very many. She knows there’s a writer called
Yvan Franko, but she’s never seen any of his books.

Viktor thinks they’re no good.
This makes her long to read them, but she has no idea how she could get hold of them.

Halya is the only girl to stay in school over the Christmas holidays. For some reason, Louisa thinks this will be for the best. Probably so that when she gets home she’ll be so starved for the sight of people she knows that Ronnie will look good to her. Halya thinks this isn’t too likely.
As it happens, Miss Greeley stays as well; she lives in a small suite in the school.
They sometimes go for afternoon walks or talk about novels in the teachers’ Common Room.
All day Halya has access to the library and she reads everything she can, starting with the rest of Dickens. The more she reads, the more she asks herself who this English-Ukrainian Helena-Halya person is. Miss Greeley is puzzled about her too; Halya hears it in her questions. Halya has obviously shattered her notion of the not-too-bright peasant. Maybe you’re learning from me, too, Halya thinks.

She’s been living without any news of the war. Now she asks Miss Greeley for the old newspapers from the Common Room and learns about trench warfare on the Western Front. She looks for articles about what’s happening in Bukovyna, but can’t find a thing. People in Canada must not be interested in Ukrainian places. But there’s more than enough to read about mud and rats and lice in the trenches; and terrible weapons that kill people in staggering numbers.

Louisa’s letters never mention the war, let alone trenches.

On Christmas Day
Halya is all alone. She eats leftovers the school cook has set out for her.
This isn’t her Christmas, but still it feels lonely to be by herself. Natalka must be lonely too, cooped up on the farm with Viktor. Halya writes to them, but says very little. Nothing Viktor won’t like. She always throws in something in English, so Viktor can see her education is taking. She makes the wording difficult so he’ll really have to sweat.

When Miss Greeley comes back from dinner with her sister’s family, she invites Halya to her sitting room for tea and Christmas cake. There’s something touching about seeing the place her teacher emerges from and retreats to each day. Her big walnut desk and bookcases filled with books Halya’s never heard of. Miss Greeley sees her looking at them; she hesitates and then reaches up for what must be a favourite. She hands Halya a copy of George Eliot’s
Middlemarch.

Halya holds the book as though it’s a delicate child, strokes the black leather cover. Opens it to see the handwritten words, “This book is the property of Miss Letitia Greeley, M.A.” She doesn’t know if she’s trying to thank Miss Greeley, but Halya finds herself talking about her life in the old country and after a while she tells her about the Shawcrosses. Not too much, because she doesn’t want
to worry her teacher. She sees her teacher is already worried.

As if that wasn’t enough, she tells about Taras.

Just before school
starts again, she and Miss Greeley read about an event on the Western Front. Up to their knees in mud, English and German soldiers, with the consent of a few officers, arranged a truce for Christmas.
The rain that had fallen for weeks stopped, and men began singing carols across the lines. Then soldiers left the trenches and met in the battered ground between. Exchanged gifts: cigarettes; sweets; whiskey. There was singing, laughter. Somehow they found a piece of ground level enough for a soccer match. They all knew it had to end, and as daylight faded their officers ordered them back to the trenches.

As they read, the young and the older woman see each other’s tears.

The winter term
moves along too quickly. Halya’s learning more than she could ever have imagined. Her reading and writing skills are the best in her class. She knows she won’t be coming back next year and wants to store up all the knowledge she can. She lives each day in a frenzy of reading and writing that never seems enough. Bella and her friends think she’s sucking up to the teachers. Why else would anyone work so hard?

In early April, 1915, another letter comes from Louisa. Once again, she praises the reports on Halya’s work. Hints at the bright future she sees for her. Mentions Ronnie in terms of great affection, as though Halya must feel the same way.

The end of the letter makes her heart race. “My dear girl,” Louisa says, “we simply can’t wait until the summer to see you.
We plan to take the train to Edmonton on the last Friday of
April. On Saturday I plan to catch up on some shopping, and in the evening we shall take you out to dinner.
Wear your best frock, my dear, as it will be very special.”

Baba, Halya thinks, how did I let you talk me into this? Did we think this day would never come? She tries to throw the letter down, but it might as well be welded to her palm.

Lately she’s had trouble seeing their faces in her mind. Now they’re as good as standing right beside her.

They’re coming! What am I going to do?

Halya sits
in the dining room of the best hotel in Edmonton, the Macdonald, with the Shawcrosses. She knows she looks beautiful in a deep blue gown Louisa had sent to the school that afternoon. Ronnie can’t keep his eyes off her. Louisa is happy to be with her favourite again. She touches Halya’s arm, almost like a lover herself.

“Truly, it’s been so dull without you. Ronnie and I missed you every day.”

“Every day and every night,” Ronnie says with a slightly knowing look. But nothing too overt. He actually seems a bit in awe of Halya. Or of whatever story he’s made up about her. Either way, she’s clearly no longer a plum he expects to fall in his lap.

Dinner has been splendid. Ronnie says so. Oyster soup. Filet of sole with wine and mushrooms. Roast partridge and something called bread sauce.
Asparagus dressed with lemon butter. Chocolate cake, four layers tall, smothered in whipped cream.

Halya is worn out from the effort of eating all these things and behaving like a lady, and trying to ignore hints from Louisa and amorous glances from Ronnie.
Why, why, did she agree to go to school? As she thinks this, another voice in her head says, So I could read George Eliot. And all the other ones. She has finally got to read books. Nothing can make her renounce them now.

A waiter sets down a coffee service: pale rose china cups and a silver pot, sugar bowl and creamer. He pours steaming coffee and departs with a bow.

“It’ll be lovely to have you home again,” Louisa says. “You can read to us. And Ronnie’ll play for you.”

Ronnie sings softly
,
“A wandering minstrel, I...”

Halya can’t help but smile. Ronnie gives his mother a significant look. She beams and rises from the table. His eyes flash to a small royal blue velvet case on the table. The case itself has exhausted Halya during the meal.
Trying not to look at it, trying to see only the starched white tablecloth, elegant china, gleaming silverware.

“Will you excuse me a moment? I must wash my hands.” Louisa walks away from the table. Halya wishes she could go with her, but she doesn’t think of it in time, and once Louisa’s gone she doesn’t have the strength to say anything. Her hands must remain unwashed. Ronnie is suddenly nervous and tries to cover it with talk.

“Winter’s been simply dreadful. So much snow, so many men gone to war. I had to hire a bunch of foreigners at the plant.” He doesn’t notice Halya freeze when he says
foreigners.
“Jabbering away, not a word of English, except somehow they picked up the word
union.
Damned radicals should be sent back where they came from.”

He takes Halya’s silence for boredom. “But enough of misery. Spring’s almost here. Trouble and ill humour are forgotten.” He opens the velvet case to show her a pearl necklace, touches her hand gently. “Helena, this is for you.”

Halya draws her hand away. “It’s beautiful, Mr. Shawcross, but –”

“Please don’t say no. I want you to have it.” Halya can’t think what to say to stop him. “You must know I care for you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted –”

“Mr. Shawcross, don’t –”

“Please let me say it. I want you to marry me. I know you may not be ready, not yet. But just say you will...one day...not too far away. Helena?” Halya is almost touched that he really seems to care for her. But the word
foreigners
rings in her ears. She makes herself see the selfish boy behind the words.

“Halya. My name is Halya.”

Shawcross loses his thread. “What?”

“My name is Halya Dubrovsky. I’m Ukrainian. What you call a foreigner.”

Aghast, Shawcross sees his mistake. “No, you’re more than that... And I can give you even more.
Wealth, social position. I love you, Helena.”

“My name is Halya Dubrovsky.”

“What does it matter what your name is? I’d love you whatever it was.”

But she sees Ronnie’s trying to keep panic from his voice.

“It matters.” Amazingly, she is finding words to say to him.

“You speak English beautifully. You’d never have to speak Ukrainian again.”

“I need to speak it.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. It’s just words. What difference does it make? Why do you need Ukrainian?”

“I need it, that’s all.”

He takes her hand. She sees him thinking:
All I have to do is reason with her. She’ll come around.
“Surely,” he says, “you can see that English is more...well, cultivated, more –”