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  It felt safe here. They were fortunate to find such a home to live in. She wondered what had happened to the family who had built this house. Did they go to America, like Papa?

  Ziporah patted the cow. The cow had no name because to give a name to a farm animal is to have heartache as you would for a pet. It’s easier if the cow is the cow and the goat is the goat. She rubbed the cow’s head and said thank you to her before she picked up the pail.

  Ziporah stepped carefully around the muddy puddles of water on the path and brought the pail into the kitchen. With Mama busy with baby Mendel and Baba and the boys out in the garden, the room was empty. She regarded the fullness of the pail and calculated whether she could boost it up high enough to reach the table to not spill a drop. Her mother would be surprised with how much she had grown.

  “Ziporah! What are you doing?” Mama burst into the room, just in time to rescue her daughter from a calamity.

  “I just wanted to help you, Mama. You seemed so tired this morning.”

  “Oy, precious child.” Hannah reached out and hugged her daughter, then sat down and pulled her onto her knee. Ziporah hugged her arms around her mother’s neck. Mama stroked her hair, arranging it neatly behind Ziporah’s ears.

  “Ziporah, you are a good girl. You are my special help, but it should not be for you, one so young, to have to do the work of a grown woman. I appreciate that you have taken the responsibility for the milking to help your brother with his chores, but let us always have time to also be a child. Yes?”

  “But I am big and strong, Mama.”

  “Yes, and you are a child.” Hannah pulled her daughter up into her arms and held her for the pure joy of it. “Tchotchkelah, my treasure, you will have many years for hard work ahead of you. Don’t make it a rush. I will not have you live every moment like the czar is over your shoulder with a whip. Do you understand?”

  Ziporah understood very well. Her life would forever be marked by her family’s roots in Russia. These roots defined her. They defined all of them.

  Here in Galicia, a large county in Austria, they were no longer called Russian Jews. Of course, they were called Jews, but here they were also known as Galitzianers, a name that felt lighter and made Ziporah feel less threatened. There was no czar here. When they first arrived, Papa had said it was not so bad as it was in Russia, but times were changing. Papa had been very strict in his instructions that it was necessary to live quietly and invisibly, as much as possible. Mama, and even sometimes Baba, started to wear headscarves like the Ukrainian women, a dark babushka, sometimes with flowers on it. They should look like everyone else, and live with little notice among their neighbors. Papa had insisted on it.

  It had been hard on Mama since Papa was gone. Mama was very smart at learning new things and very hard working, just like Baba. “Born to work,” she would always say when someone told her it was time to rest. She rarely rested. She wanted Papa to be proud of her ability to look after the family and it seemed there was always work waiting for her hands. In this way, she was even able to put a little money aside to help save for the tickets, she told Ziporah. Mama and Baba worked in the garden and grew vegetables to take to the market. They also had beehives. This was like gold, Mama told her. The honey was both food and medicine and the wax was used for making candles.

  Mama was also very good with the chickens, so there was food to eat, and there were extra eggs to sell along with milk, butter, cream and honey that Isaac carried on his little cart to sell to the neighbors. Nothing was wasted. They got by on the bare minimum to meet their needs, and everything else was sold at the market or from Isaac’s cart. Mama and Baba made pillows from the chicken and goose feathers and even bought feathers from neighbors to make thick feather-stuffed quilts during the long winter months. The Ukrainian word for this special bed covering was pirena. The ones made by Mama had become prized items at the Zalischyky market. People came all the way from Tovste and Horodenka for the quilts. There was no end to the work that needed to be done, winter or summer. Even small hands had work.

  “Ziporah, we have a lot to do to prepare for Passover. This morning you will help me with the cooking, and then this afternoon, we are going to clean the floor, so everything will be ready for the holiday,” said Mama as Ziporah’s eyes flew open. She loved the Jewish holiday in spring, the delicious food, and the many songs and prayers that celebrated the exodus of the Jews from Egypt. But as with every major holiday, Mama had high standards for cleaning the house. Cleaning an earthen floor the way the Ukrainians did it here in Galicia was hugely unpleasant, in Ziporah’s view. Mama however, had told her she thought the old method was very clever and effective. Such a cleaning was best in spring. The quality of the manure was highest with the fresh green grass in the meadow.

  “Mama, it’s Isaac’s turn to help,” Ziporah stated. “Can’t I scrub the walls instead?”

  “Oh, Ziporah, you make such a fuss about nothing,” Mama said. “Isaac is busy with selling the eggs and butter. The scrubbing is already done. I need you to help with the floor.”

  The morning passed quickly and just as Ziporah finished tidying up after their mid-day meal, her mother called her outside.

  “Here’s the pail I want you to use. Make sure it’s fresh. It’s best if it is still warm.”

  Ziporah went into the pasture with the pail and a small flat piece of wood and set to work looking for a fresh manure piles. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to smear it on the floor. Mama was very particular about how that was done and would do it herself with an old broom. It always surprised Ziporah to see how nice and shiny the mud floor was when the manure dried. It never smelled. She wondered if Papa had to smear manure on a dirt floor in Canada.

  In a short time the bucket was full and heavy and Ziporah dropped the stick and began making her way back to the house. Just as she set it down in the yard she could hear Isaac off in the distance, yelling with excitement.

  “A letter! A letter from America!” He held the letter high as he ran through the village, past the old synagogue and then down dirt the path through the orchard toward their little thatched-roof home. Seeing Ziporah in the yard, he couldn’t suppress the urge to show off. Leaping high to clear the fence, he almost landed in the manure bucket.

  “It’s a letter from Papa!” He waved it in her face and darted through the garden, leaving Ziporah whooping with delight and taking up the shout, “A letter from America!” as she ran after him to the house.

  “Are there tickets for the steamship in it?” she yelled after him.

  Isaac burst through the kitchen door almost knocking his mother into his grandmother’s lap. “Mama, Mama! It’s a letter from Papa,” he gasped, gulping for air. “Look, Baba, it’s from Winnipeg!”

  “Thanks be to God!” Hannah shouted for joy.

  “What does it say?” Baba Bayla clasped her hands together as both women cried with happiness.

  “Mama, we can’t read it through the envelope! Quickly now, Isaac, open it and read to us what he says,” urged Hannah. Immediately she changed her mind and grabbed for the letter. “No, let me first touch it.” She blinked her tears away and looked closely at the writing, then kissed the letter and held it to her face, marveling at how many thousands of miles the letter had come. Tears sprang anew in her eyes and she threw her head back and let out a joyous hoot, hugging Isaac hard.

  “It’s a miracle!” Hannah exclaimed. “Isaac, call everyone so we can read it together.”

  Hannah and her mother-in-law prayed their thanks for the safety of their husbands as they took turns handling the envelope, relishing the thought of hearing long-awaited news from afar.

  “Hello, hello, what is this Isaac is telling us? A letter from America is coming to your house?” shouted Mr. Melnikovsky from next door.

  The kitchen doorway was suddenly filled with a collection of neighbors and friends, everyone piled in one on top of another to hear the news from the golden land. Little Aaron held onto Baba’s hand tightly
and squealed with excitement.

  “Now, please, now read the letter. Slowly, Isaac, so I can enjoy it more,” instructed Hannah. “Please, dear God help us so there should be no sad news in the letter.” With another hasty prayer, she surrendered the envelope and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “All right, I am now ready.”

  Everyone hushed and shushed the little ones, as they strained for a better look. Isaac began to read the letter that would mark the beginning of their saying good-bye to the shtetl of Zalischyky.

  “My dear wife, Hannah, my loving mother, and my children Isaac, Ziporah, Aaron and our special new blessing, Mendel. Hello to all of you. I am writing this letter on January 14, 1897. I hope this letter does not take many months to get to you. As you will see, I am sending the tickets for your travel.”

  Pandemonium broke out in the little house, as everyone started shouting and crying with excitement. Isaac handed the tickets to Mama and she held them like precious diamonds, then quickly excused herself to put them away for safe keeping while a discussion about the upcoming voyage took hold of the little crowd. Finally Hannah took her seat again and urged Isaac to continue reading.

  “First, I must tell you that Zaida Baruch is well and strong. Me, also, I am all right. We are making it fine enough in the new country. It is every day, though, that my heart aches for all of you to be with us. But do not be worried. You will come to Canada in the summer. You will leave on a ship in July from Hamburg.”

  Applause erupted amid shouts of happiness for their good fortune.

  “The voyage is long but it is all right, as you will see. Hannah, bring your food with you, as you will not approve of the little food available to the steerage passengers.

  Zaida Baruch is waiting to be with Baba and misses her very badly,” Isaac continued. “And he is anxious to meet all of his grandchildren and to have a life with a big family around him.”

  At this, Baba began quietly weeping. So many years apart. So much suffering. Isaac stopped to comfort her before going on. “It will be fine, Baba, you will see.”

  “Should we pack our things? Let me see!” Ziporah interjected. She was losing her patience with her brother. Were she to be entrusted with the reading of the letter, she would have had all the news by now and would have finished her packing. Isaac is such a thorn in the side, having always to be the center of attention.

  “No. Let me read, Ziporah,” Isaac cleared his throat. He enjoyed having everyone’s attention on him just a bit too long, which earned him a solid shove from his mother.

  “I’m reading, I’m reading, Mama!”

  “Well, don’t be making us wait,” she scolded.

  The crowd burbled with comments on the news. Isaac shushed them and again went on. “Zaida Baruch is well known here in Winnipeg where there are now many Jewish families. You must know how important he is! He is well-respected as a founding member of the Shaarey Zedek Synagogue, and is highly regarded for his knowledge of Talmud and his work as a teacher. He is teaching seven boys who are now preparing for Bar Mitzvah.” Mutterings of approval rippled through the audience, followed by more shushing.

  “We want you all to know how well we are.” Isaac read. “Do you see us together in the picture?”

  “The picture?” yelled Baba. “Where is the picture?” This prompted a frantic search through the envelope and between the pages, and finally under the feet of the assembled crowd.

  “It’s here! It’s under the chair.” Aaron, just shy of his fourth birthday, reached and found the prize, setting off a series of oohs and ahhs and other expressions of approval as each person looked carefully into the photo to see how well Zev and Baruch were doing in the new country. They stood proudly, wearing fine clothes and looking straight into the camera. Finally the picture came to Baba’s hands. The room went quiet as she looked at the image of her husband with devotion in her eyes. Embarrassed that she was so emotional, she quickly made a joke.

  “Oy, my Baruch. You should eat more. Too thin, he is. But handsome, no? Don’t be worrying, I will soon be there with the chicken soup and matzo balls to fatten you up!”

  Everyone laughed and as the picture was handed from person to person, Isaac continued.

  “I must tell you with honesty that the clothes we wear in the photograph are not our own but borrowed from the studio of the photographer. So hungry was he that he accepted a few potatoes as payment for the picture. I don’t want you to worry we are spending money on ourselves instead of saving for our life together. As you know, Zaida is very disappointed that the three years of farming he worked in the Moosamin colony did not have the success that was hoped. He still talks about it and blames himself for his hard luck. We are lucky he made enough money to keep himself from starving,” Isaac read.

  “See, I told you he was thin,” Baba shook her head.

  Isaac flipped to the next page of the letter and continued reading:

  Winnipeg is an important city with many jobs and many Jewish families and now two synagogues with talk of even more to come. It will be an important center for Jews in Canada, this is very apparent. For me, and I know for you too, Hannah, it is important that our sons will study and have their Hebrew education with other children.

  It is not always easy to get work that allows the time for the Sabbath, but some people understand that we cannot work on Saturday. I am working in construction to build new homes and now I have an extra job working to bring the lumber from the train for the new buildings. There is a lot of work here. The pay is not so good, but with time we will build a good life here. I will hope to be in business as a peddler as soon as I can save enough money to buy a wagon.

  Many large stone and brick buildings are here, and even a streetcar that is pulled by horses right down the Main Street. We have enough food to eat. This is a blessing, even if the dishes are not so well prepared as we are used to from your good cooking at home. It’s not so bad. We are fine in the place we are staying. We are boarders with a family. The lady keeps kosher although not everything is as it is in the old country. We have a very simple life that does not cost very much. We will have all the riches we need when the day comes when the family is all together in one place again. It is the greatest gift we could have and we wait for you with terrible impatience to see you in the summer.

  “We will be leaving in a few months!” Mama said. “There is so much to do!” Her hands flew to her face.

  “We have time to be ready and when we go, we say good-bye and we don’t come back. We will be making a life for the family in Canada.” Baba said the name of the new country with care, as if tasting the future.

  “Mama, will Uncle Leib and Aunt Esther and my cousin Malka come to Canada, also?” Ziporah tugged on her mother’s apron as she asked her question.

  “We will pray for it to be so,” Mama answered.

  “Why can’t they come at the same time as us?” asked Isaac.

  “It is the money,” she said. “We don’t have it. But in time, with hard work, maybe soon there will be enough for tickets for them to come to Canada also.”

  This started a new discussion about the family in London. At this, it seemed everyone had a story about family who had moved away to Europe and America and chatter broke through the crowd rising to a crescendo. Nearly everyone had shed tears over the long absences and hard circumstances in their families. Baba Bayla took a spoon and started banging on a pot to get the attention of the crowd.

  “May I remind you we have not yet heard all of the news of the letter!” she said loudly and the crowd quieted. She nodded to Isaac to continue reading.

  Isaac found his place in the letter and raised his voice over the whispered conversations.

  “He says there is news about our Ukrainian neighbors from Zalischyky who went to the province of Manitoba last summer,” Isaac said, setting off another round of chatter in the room. “Papa says he was in the farmers’ market in Winnipeg and happened to see Mr. Peter Strumbicky and spoke to him about their new colony,
” said Isaac.

  “My brother! My brother Peter!” Hearing the name, Wasyl Strumbicky from a nearby farm in Bedrikivci crowded in closer to hear the news. “Please, what does he say?” he asked politely.

  As Isaac read in Yiddish, Mama translated the words into Ukrainian so Wasyl could better understand the news in the letter:

  He shook my hand with happiness when he recognized me and asked me to write his family news in this letter to you. Peter says they have good land and many trees on their farms. All of the families that traveled to Manitoba last summer have settled together in the same area in the Stuartburn district.

  There is a small town called Vita close by. The government promise was good and they all have one-hundred-sixty acres of free land for their own. Peter says they would like a church and that in time they will build one. The winter is hard for them but they are fine with the bush country giving them wood for heat and rabbits to trap for food. Peter invites all the Zalischyky neighbors who think of Canada to come and know they will have a life and a future, farming on their own land in the New Country.

  Isaac finished reading and looked at Mr. Strumbicky, who beamed and thanked him. He shook Isaac’s hand with his strong grip and thumped him on the shoulder before running out to tell his family of the news. While the voices rose with commentary on the news in the letter, Isaac leaned in to his mother and said, “Mama, there is more to read, but there is also a special page that Papa says is just for you. Will you read it to us?”

  The family watched as Mama took the folded page from Isaac’s hand. She opened it and smiled as she read it. With tears falling down her cheeks, she pressed the page to her chest.

  “This I can tell you. He says he is well. The rest is from a husband to a wife,” she said shyly, tucking the paper away between her breasts, and reaching for her handkerchief. “Read the rest of what you have from your Papa, Isaac.”