Chapter 3: Great Aunt Agnes

Turned away by her maternal grandmother when Olivia attempted to learn about life in Poland, she meets her Great Aunt Agnes. Agnes begins the story of her maternal grandfather's family.

Chapter 3: Great Aunt Agnes

            The St. Frances Home is what they call the light brick structure situated on South Lakeshore Drive in Cudahy, a suburb of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. The cream colored brick is from clay indigenous to the banks of the Menomonee River. One of Milwaukee's nicknames is "The Cream City" because of the prevalent use of the brick in structures throughout Milwaukee.

            On a Sunday in late April, I entered the glass doors and asked to visit with Agnes Zbikowski. "How do you know Miss Zbikowski?" the nun behind the counter asked me. She wore the traditional black habit and wimple of a sister of St. Francis.

            "She's my Great Aunt. I wish to interview her for her memories of the Old Country," I explained showing the nun my notebook. "It's for a school project, " I added, knowing this to be a white lie.

            The sister smiled at me. "Miss Z, as we call her, will welcome a visitor. She doesn't have many. Let me ask Sister Margaret to take you to her."

            Sister Margaret stood up from where she had been sitting behind a desk. She was not a full sister, yet. I could tell because her dress came only to mid-calf, not to the floor. Also, she wore a simple black cloth on her head, not the full wimple and white collar.

            "Thank you," I said politely.

            Sister Margaret led me to a room at the end of the hall. It contained many plants near a wall of windows. Several patients were sleeping in wheel chairs. Two women were speaking in quiet tones, gesturing intensely, as if they were planning an escape, I thought.

            One woman, older than the others, rested on an easy chair, her feet, encased in worn felt slippers, were propped on an ottoman. A crocheted afghan laid across her lap. Sister Margaret tapped her lightly on the shoulder, as if to wake her. I noticed her head had been on her chest and that she was probably sleeping.

            "Don't disturb her. I can wait until she wakes up," I said motioning to the chair against the wall.

            Sister Margaret smiled at me and said to the woman, "Miss Z, you have a visitor."

            The woman abruptly opened her eyes and turned her head to my direction. "A visitor? Who would visit an old woman? No one ever does."

            I approached the woman, marveling at the number of wrinkles on her face. "My name is Olivia Modjeski. I'm your Great Grandniece. My Grandfather Luke Zbikowski was your brother. Do you remember your brother Luke?"

            "Lukasz, Lukasz, my brother is here?" she asked looking around frantically.

            "No, I'm sorry, you misunderstand. Your brother passed away many years ago. My sympathy for your loss." I wasn't sure how to proceed and asked, "May I sit and speak to you?"

            She looked at Sister Margaret with a question on her face. Sister Margaret said, "It's all right Miss Z. This girl is a relative and wants to visit. Please take a seat," she said as she brought the straight back chair from the wall and placed it next to my Great Aunt's chair. I sat on the chair and put my hands in my lap on top of my notebook.

            Great Aunt Agnes saw the book in my lap. "Are you a student? My Grandfather wanted my Papa to go to University. He joined the Army instead."

            "Will you tell me about your Father, Aunt Agnes? And your mother, too? What were their names in Poland?"

            Slowly, Aunt Agnes warmed to the subject. "I don't remember anything about Poland except the stories Mama and Papa told me. Papa, his name was Peter, said he was not meant to be a farmer, so he came to America. My Mama, Ursula, didn't want to leave Poland, she told me. She came because of Papa."

            As Aunt Agnes related the stories about her parents, their lives in Poland became as real to me as if I, too, had been there. For the time being, I preferred living in someone else's world, rather than in my own. Thoughts of the attack kept coming back to me in dreams. Even during the day, when I least expected it, I would start to sweat and become anxious if I saw a man approach me.

            We talked for about an hour before Aunt Agnes tired. Her head dropped to her chest and she began to doze. When she awoke, I handed her a glass of water. We spoke for a few more minutes before Sister Margaret said it was time to leave.

            "May I return again next week and continue our visit?" I asked my aunt.

            Aunt Agnes smiled and said, "Yes, dear. What was your name again? How do I know you?"

            I returned each Sunday until the middle of summer. After the third or fourth visit, Aunt Agnes remembered my name. She never understood who I was, but  I learned things about my Great Grandparents whom I'd never met. Peter died in 1918 and Ursula in 1924, many years before I was born. Yet, here was their oldest daughter telling me about their lives as if they had just happened.

            I was thankful to have taken the time to speak with Great Aunt Agnes that year. During the summer of 1965, Agnes Zbikowski died quietly in her sleep. I mourned her passing and vowed to keep the story of her family alive. I was pleased that something good might come from my experience in the park.

            In 1876, while America was celebrating its first centennial, Peter Zbyk was preparing to leave Poland.