Chapter 4: Going Away

Beginning in 1876, the story of Peter Zbyk begins.

Chapter 4 - Going Away, 1876

            "Da, I'm leaving."

            "Peter, you can't. I need you here to work with me."

            His response was no surprise to Peter, but he felt betrayed. Since he'd returned from the army, Da told him to dream of a better life. As the youngest son, Peter couldn't hope to inherit the land. Papa's boots were caked with dirt. Farm dirt. One day Peter hoped to remove the farm dirt from beneath his fingernails. "Never will my hands be so soiled in North America," he thought to himself.

            "I've saved enough money to book passage for Ursula and myself. We wish to leave soon."

            His father stood up straight, putting the rope he was repairing on a hook in the wall of the barn. When he turned to face Peter, his jaw was rigid. "I know you want to get away from the Prussians, from the army. They haven't been harassing you here, in Lubla, have they?"

            "No Da. That's over. You saw to it."

            Peter thought of the night he ran away from the army. He'd been in Poznan for only six months. He thought joining the Prussian Army would bring him glory; it only brought him shame. Poles were forced to serve in the Prussian army, but weren't given weapons. They performed lowly support duties, while the German recruits took target practice and learned how to operate artillery. Polish was forbidden to be spoken aloud. Peter and the other Poles picked up the German commands quickly. Soon, they could converse in German and even read it.

            One of Peter's duties was to drive a cart to the village to fill barrels with water from a common well. One day, he found a discarded newspaper lying on the ground. Nearly two weeks old, it was the Polish Gazeta. Something to occupy his time and in his native language. He was overjoyed to have come across it. Peter was homesick and wished he'd never joined the army. The incessant marching, persecution from the officers and the expense of feeding himself was becoming too much to bear.

            Returning to his tent, he laid on his cot to examine the paper. A German soldier entered and saw the newspaper. "Is that Polish? You're betraying orders," he stated angrily. Betrayal of his Prussian commanders was far from Peter's mind. But the soldier jumped to conclusions. Peter wasn't given an opportunity to explain.

            An officer bound his hands behind him and displayed Peter before a group of assembled men. "Before you stands a Polish spy, a specimen of  depravity. This man is accused of infiltrating our ranks to steal information to take to the revolutionary factions. Does he deserve to remain in our company?"

            "No," came a great shout from the men.

            "What punishment, say you?" the officer inquired.

            "Death to traitors," one men shouted.

            Peter trembled at the pronouncement. The officer laughed at the comment and said to the men, "Death? That may be a bit too severe. This man will be punished as a lesson to others. Solitary confinement; thirty days," he declared.

            Peter was devastated. He'd intended to become a soldier like his childhood hero General Dabrowski. How could things have gone so wrong? Punished for reading Polish, what sentence would be imposed for desertion? Alone for thirty days, he resolved never to submit to the Prussians again.

            At the end of his confinement, Peter was released to return to his tent. That night, he walked out of the camp and stumbled home to Lubla. Without a horse, it took many weeks. He was hesitant to hitch a ride with a passing traveler, as he was a deserter.

            When Peter arrived home, he was undernourished, his clothes were in tatters, and his boots were falling apart. Peter told his parents, "After giving the oath of loyalty which all recruits are required to speak aloud, I hoped that the officers wouldn't plague me. But, still it became worse. I was often questioned about the Polish societies. They asked me, 'Are you a Polish patriot? Declare your loyalty to the Second Reich, to Imperial Germany!' Now I know it was a mistake to join."

            Standing before his father, these years later, Peter couldn't understand why he must remain in Poland.

            "Peter, I need your strong arms in the fields. It doesn't matter that you're married. You live with us on my land. Our land. You must help me," his father told him.

            Not wanting to defy him openly, Peter merely glared at him. Slapping his cap on his head, Peter turned to leave.

            With a raised voice, his father called, "Peter! Come back. Don't walk away from me like you walked away from the army. I took care of things so the army wouldn't come after you. Now you must help me. If you leave, I declare you're not my son."

            Peter stopped. To be disowned would be a terrible disgrace exceeding even his humiliation in the army. His body stiffening at being reminded of his father's intervention in bribing the officer who followed him to Lubla. "Da, I'm sorry. Forgive me, but I think you're being stubborn." Peter tried to remain calm. He whispered, "Mama said you wouldn't understand."

            Peter took a step forward, his arms outstretched, palms up. "I'll never submit to the Prussians again. I agreed to work the farm until I married. I have a wife. It's time for Ursula and me to go to a free country where we can raise our family." Peter dropped one hand, with the other, he pointed to the outdoors, "Must I submit Ursula to the oppression of men who take away our country, our language, our religion?"

            Peter's father sighed and suddenly looked very tired. "I can't afford to let you go. There are no men who will work in the fields, since the sickness. If you go, I won't be able to harvest the wheat alone. Stay with me this season and we'll talk again in the Spring."

            Exasperated that his father was speaking of things that had occurred years in the past, Peter turned away and said, "The sickness was ten years ago. Uncle Lukasz is here to help you." As an alternative, Peter said, "You could hire other laborers."

            His father took a step and said, "I'll not take the money from the harvest to hire men. I must feed our family, not the families of others. There are many hungry mouths among the Zbyk's. Please stay with me for now. In the Spring, we'll talk again," he pleaded with Peter.

            Peter didn't think there were that many Zbyk's to feed. There was Uncle Lukasz, Mama, his sister Sofie, Ursula and himself. Peter let his breath expel slowly to calm his beating heart. "You're my Father, so I'll do as you say." He paused, then added, "I'll not remain here forever." Turning on his heel, he walked out of the barn.

            Still angry at his father's demand, Peter almost stumbled into Ursula. She was struggling with a heavy bucket to fill a tub for doing the laundry. At nineteen, Ursula was six years younger than Peter. He took the bucket from her and placed it on the ground. Touching her face, he said, "Ursa, Da won't let us leave."

            She wasn't disappointed. Peter didn't seem to notice. As he embraced her, he whispered into her hair, "Da said I must remain another season. After that, our time will come. I dream of going to North America. I must get away from this oppressive land."

            Ursula pulled away from him and bent to retrieve the bucket. She stamped her foot and said, "You dream, I work."

            Peter could see that she was angry. "Let me help you with the laundry," he said to appease her.

            She ignored his offer. Instead, she said, "Why do you refuse to have babies with me? Aren't I attractive to you?"

            Again, Peter took the bucket from her and placed it on the ground. As he hugged her once more, he said, "Hush, milosc. I want very much to make babies with you. When we get to North America, the babies will come."

            Ursula smiled at him. With a wink, she said, "I don't want to wait for North America. "

            Without thinking, he kissed her delicate mouth. As the embrace continued, he remembered they were in the courtyard. " If I must take a blanket to the field, away from my parents' eyes and ears, Ursula, tonight, we will be lovers."