Elena

Ontario 1916 Elena Husak travels east from Toronto to meet her husband Nicolas, an escapee from an interment camp.

   

The last thing John Foley wanted was to see Tom Campbell in his waiting room. He had buried Kilmarnock. He had no wish to disinter it. Since moving to Toronto he had ended any contact with his family He had not written to Margaret Foley since leaving Kilmarnock and had not attended her funeral three years ago. He had even considered changing his name but in the end had kept it reasoning that no one in Toronto had ever heard of either Kilmarnock or of the Foleys. He had concentrated upon building up a real estate practice spending his days and most of his evenings in his Bloor Street office. In estate law he had found a haven from the ugliness and filth of human life. Every night he would retreat upstairs to his rooms where he would read in bed until sleep overcame him. A reasonable life he called it, safe and orderly. During rare moments late at night he sometimes considered the possibility of marriage and children. A young secretary in his firm's office, Helen MacTaggert had taken his fancy. Then he would dismiss the thought.  He would remind himself that he was a Foley.  The last thing the world needed would be more Foleys

Tom Campbell had arrived with a letter from Doctor MacTavish. Both the letter and Campbell had concerned one Nicholas Husak and his family.  John’s first impulse had been to send Campbell on his way. Why should he become involved with assisting an enemy alien? There was no profit in it and a considerable risk if caught harbouring a fugitive.  He had pointed these facts out to Campbell. The old man had scratched his head and noted that MacTavish would pay all expenses.  He had also reminded him of the fact that MacTavish had spoken up for Foley when no one else would. Debts should be repaid.

***

                Elena looked up from her sewing.  The light was too low but she did not want a stronger bulb.  It would have cost more money.  She rubbed her eyes and looked at the closed door where her three children slept.  The room was too small for them now but she could not afford a larger place.  She could not afford this place.  Towards the end of every month she would scrape cooking oil onto bread cutting back on meals, putting the extra penny towards the rent. Sometimes they would go without food for two or three days. But the rent was paid and the children went to school in clean clothes. Even when they came home with clothes torn and pelted with mud, in the morning the clothes would be repaired and cleaned.

She rubbed her eyes again.  Elena feared that soon she would have to wear glasses.  What would Nicolas think when he came home to find a wife with spectacles?  Anyway she could not afford them. Elena looked at her   reflection in the window.  She had never been a great beauty but now she had become so drab.  She looked at her hair hanging down, unkempt.  Why would Nicolas want to love someone like that?  She thought of brushing it back but she had to finish the sewing for Mrs. Davenport.  She could use that for new winter coats.  Tomorrow she would clean Mrs. Davenport’s house.  Ten hours a day she worked, six days a week for twenty dollars a week to cover food, clothes and trolly fare. She was about to finish when she heard the knocking.  It was too late for visitors.  Perhaps it was the police.  Something had happened to Nicolas.  She hurried towards the door.   “Yes,” she asked.

“Mrs. Elena Husak” a man asked.  A Canadian voice. 

“Police” she asked.

“No ma’am, not police, “said the voice. “Excuse me but it would be easier to talk without the door in the way.”

The argument did not impress Elena.  If not police it could be a thief, or worse.  “Who are you?  I call for help. You go.”

“My name is Foley, John Foley.  I’m a lawyer.  I have a letter from your husband.”

“Nicolas?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you lie?”

“I’ll slide it under the door.”

A white envelope appeared under the door. As soon as Elena looked at it she recognised the writing.

Foley removed his hat and wiped his forehead.  It was a warm night and he disliked having to wear a hat and coat on such a night. Still one did have to keep up appearances even on such an odd errand as this.  He had received the letter by courier from Kingston in the afternoon but had waited until the night to come to the small apartment house.  East of Parliament Street was a working class area stinking of cheap tobacco, boiled pork, cabbage and wet laundry.  The Husak family occupied the smallest apartment on the third floor.  As he had climbed the narrow stairs and walked through the low passageways the thin walls resonated with the sounds of family life, couples quarrelling, couples laughing, children crying.   

Perhaps it was the dimness of the light, perhaps his own imagination but to John the door seemed somewhat shabbier than its neighbours.  He knocked and as he waited thought back to the phone conversation he had two days before with Doctor MacTavish.  From the other side of the door he could hear the tearing open of paper.  Then a few minutes later the door opened.

She was not what John would have called an attractive woman. Unkempt yellow hair; shabby dress; She seemed faded and worn from too much work and too little food.  

“You see Nicolas?” she asked.

“No.  The letter was sent to me from Kilmarnock.”

“Kil . . .?”

“It’s a small place about two hundred miles north east of here.  Excuse me but do you mind if we discuss this inside?”

She seemed lost.  He gestured towards the interior of the room.  Then she understood.  “Excuse.  English not good.”

“I understand.”  

She reached for his hat he held between his hands.

“Thank you.  I’ve come to take you and your children to Kilmarnock.  How long would you take to get ready?”

Elena almost dropped the hat.

“We must leave as soon as possible,” said Foley. “If we leave now no one will see us.  I have my automobile downstairs.  By morning we will be halfway there.”

“But . . . but why do this thing? You do not know us.”

“As a favour to someone. Will you come?”

Elena thought of all the reasons she should not.   She did not know this man.  Anyone could have obtained a letter from Nicolas.  He could be a thief, or worse.    The children had school.  She had her work.  What about her things?  She looked around at the small room.  On the wall she saw the wedding picture of herself and her Nicolas.   A plain couple both of peasant stock, they stared in solemn, shabby finery at the camera lens.  Next to it she had hung a picture taken of the five of them standing outside Nicolas’s new shoe repair shop.  It had been such a fine day.  The next day Archduke Ferdinand had been shot in far-off  Sarajevo.  The new shop had been closed a few months after it had been opened and then they had taken away her Nicolas.

“We will come.”

“Bring your clothes and valuables and whatever foodstuffs you can pack.  I only have so much room.”

“Yes.”

She went into the children’s bedroom to waken her three daughters.  As she helped them dress, John began stuffing clothing into pillowcases and sheets.  It did not take long.  There was little to pack.  He was shoving a loaf of bread into a pillowcase when he found himself being stared at by three, sleepy, miniature Elenas.  The eldest seemed to be about eight.  He wished that Doctor MacTavish had told him their names.  The youngest, about six years old, Elena carried in her right arm.  She held a battered suitcase in her left hand.

“Hello,” said John.

“Our daughters,” said Elena.  “Margareta, Maria and the youngest, Christina.  Say hello to the gentleman children.  He takes us to papa.”

Two small voices piped, “Hello.” Christina buried her face in Elena's right shoulder.

“Yes, well I’ll start putting things in the car. “

“Margareta and Maria help.”

John had parked his Ford across the street far enough away from the building not to arouse any suspicion once the family was found to be missing. He apologized but explained that it was necessary.  Elena busy hushing the children, said nothing. She placed the children in the back amidst bundles and bags and then seated herself next to John. 

The engine chugged but he kept his foot pressed on the brake waiting in case she had realized she had forgotten something or if she wanted to take a last look at her home.  Elena turned to him. Her brown eyes narrowed.  “Well?”

He nodded and released the brake.

She slept as the car motored east out of the city.  Having placed the lives of herself and her children in this man’s hands there was nothing else to do but sleep and wait for the dawn.

The stopping of the car wakened her.   Around her, instead of buildings she saw fields and forest. She looked behind to see her girls still asleep. Mister Foley had opened the door and was stretching himself. He seemed tired and was in need of a shave.  “Where are we?” she asked.

“Just outside Stirling in Hastings County. We stopped for petrol a few miles back but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“How long until there?”

“A few more hours. I’m trying to stay away from the main roads.”

Elena placed her right hand into her coat and brought out a brown leather change purse. She unclasped it. Gloved fingers pinched a folded wad of paper.  She handed to Foley. “For milk and sandwiches.”

Frayed with age, the paper was a two-dollar bill.

John was tempted to refuse. He was not short of money but the way that she held it out to him caused him to change his mind. Her pride demanded that she pay her way. To deny her that would be to insult her. He thanked her and pocketed it.  He could always sneak it back into her purse when she slept.

As they passed into Eastern Ontario Elena studied the trees. They thickened as the car moved north away from the rich farmlands bordering the lake. “It is like home,” she said.

“Home?”

“Moravia.”

“That’s where you’re from?”

“Near Olmutz.  My mama and papa there. Not good to leave family.”

“That would depend on the family.”

Elena stared at him as of he had said something heretical. “You not like family?”

John shrugged. “There are good families. There are bad.”

“Family is  . . . everything. Without family is nothing.”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You have no wife?”

“No.”

“A man should marry.”

“I would rather not discuss this,” John repeated, his voice a tight murmur.

Elena did not speak again until a half-hour had passed.  “The letter. Nicolas spoke of a doctor.”

“Doctor MacTavish.”

“No. Benes. Josef Benes.  There is a story about him. Many years ago he came from Nicolas's village, Jablunka. He kept pigs for a man, Krivanek. Very bad man.  A great nobleman took Josef away to America. There he became rich, Like fairy tale.Yes?”

                “Yes.”  Despite himself he could resist wanting to hear more.

                “Many years later he comes back to Jablunka. Very rich.  Nicolas's father, he saw him in a coach.  He tell me and Nicolas. Nicolas go to Canada to become rich like the doctor. This MacTavish, he Josef.”

“Really?” John thought for a moment. “Then, if not for him, you would not be here.”

Elena turned back towards the window. “I hate him.”

“Why? You've never met him.”

“We would not have come if not of him.”

“But if you had stayed in Austria, excuse me, but wouldn’t they have put your Nicolas in the army?  He might even be dead by now.”

Elena refused to look at him, seeing only the trees. “Is bad, take him away.”

“Yes. That was wrong.”

“What happen to us?”

“Well, the doctor from what I understand, is arranging to have Nicolas work in a tannery. Until then you will be regarded as enemy aliens.”

“So we hide?”

“Yes but you will be together and it won't be for long. I wish there were a better way. After the war is over you can go back home or anyway else you wish.”

She turned to face him. “Why you do this? You Canadian? We the enemy.”

John then did a very odd thing. He placed his hand on hers. “I have seen the enemy, Elena. You’re not it.”

Elelna pulled the hand away and placed it on her purse. “You have been in the war?”

"Not this one. No."

Elena granted him a tentative smile. She then turned towards the window. “If we found,” she asked, looking at the passing hills, “what happen to you?”

“Me? Prison I suppose. Best not be found then.”

“You do that for us?”

“No. Not for you.  For me.”

Elena considered what he had said. “You are being paid?”

 

“No.”

  Elena frowned. It did not seem to be a sensible attitude for an educated man. How would helping her and Nicolas benefit Mister Foley?  For the thirteenth time that day she reminded him, “a man should be married.” Saying it comforted her.

His thoughts wandered back to the map. The use of the constable’s old farmstead seemed logical.  No one had ever gone there since then Thomas had moved into Kilmarnock six years before. Thomas used it for a bit of hunting but nothing more. The land stood empty for a good reason. To most people in the township it was still the old Sam Foley place. The ghost of Bridget Foley still haunted it. John’s father could not burn out the memory of old Sam Foley. More than seventy years had passed and that old man still clung to the land. 

The problem facing John was a simple one. He had never actually been to the old Sam Foley place.  The information that Thomas had sketched for him and memories of its description given by his aunts and uncles did not fill him with a great deal of confidence. He surmised that he could find their way to within a dozen miles of the place without too much difficulty but beyond that lay a maze of swamps and bush roads. He tried not to imagine himself, his passengers and his new Buick sinking into a morass. Thomas had promised to leave a strip of red cloth tied around the trunk of a large tamarack to mark the turnoff.  All he had to do was to look for it.

“We lost,” said Elena as the car bounced over a track that John optimistically referred to as a road.

“We’re not lost,” said John as they bounced in their seats.

“Men never lost.”                Elena frowned and turned back to soothing Christina whom she held in her lap.

“I’ve been on this road before,” he lied. “We should be coming to the turnoff soon.”

Much to his surprise, he did.  He untied the scarf and walked back to the car trying not to look too confident. “Shouldn’t be more than half an hour or so.  Three times he had to stop to cool the radiator. Once he had to change a flat tire. He was tired and caked with dust. He would drop off the Husaks and spend the night in Kilmarnock.  He would be glad when it was all over.  Yet part of him admitted that he had enjoyed himself. Most unFoleylike he thought

As John filled the radiator, Elena remained in her seat, her face down. For hours she had seen little except trees, swamp and rock. Peeking out among the trees would appear an occasional farmhouse. The size of the land frightened her. She shivered. This wilderness was to be her home? Only one thought comforted her. Nicolas was here. But would he still want her? Yes he had read the letter but so much time had passed. She looked at her hand mirror and saw truth, an ugly little woman worm down by too much work and too little food. Why would Nicolas still want her?

As John placed his hand on the stick shift, Elena stopped her.  “No, please.”

Puzzled he looked at her. 

Embarrassed she mumbled, “I am ugly. He will not like me."

John thought of pointing out that as man who had not seen his wife for three years would not mind a bit of dust. Then he paused.  It had been two years, he thought. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to wash up a bit. We can wait until you’re ready.”

As he watched Elena dabbing at her face he thought it might not be such a bad thing if he were to have a word or two with Miss MacTaggert.

***

The two bedroom clapboard house rested on the site of the old Foley cabin.  Peter sat near the window of the front room reading Treasure Island. He must have read the book a hundred times since discovering it back in 1890. Yet he still enjoyed it. In the tropical island of Jim Hawkins he finally found his retreat. That afternoon, however, he found slipping away rather difficult.  Nicolas would not be still.

The two of them accompanied by Rose and Tom Campbell had left Still Waters in the late evening of the day on which Peter had persuaded them not to turn Nicolas in. Constable Thomas knew of only one place where Nicolas would be safe from prying eyes.  The following day a small piece of news was dropped by the Constable and by Doctor Campbell. Doctor MacTavish and Rose had gone to take a holiday in the states. The news aroused only a tiny flutter of interest. The citizens of Kilmarnock were more concerning with where the German spy might have gotten off to. Popular opinion held that he was trying to slip over the American border. .

Right now, Peter thought, he would not mind being in the states. Anything would be better then listening to Nicolas fretting. He had the man chopping wood in the morning, but had told him to rest for the afternoon. Nicolas’s concept of rest seemed to involve jumping up every five minutes to look out the window.

“They will come,” Peter said in Czech. “Your worrying will not hurry them.” His Czech had been halting at first but he had now recaptured the flow of it.

“You think they will like it here?” Nicolas asked once more peering out the window. “It is hard for a woman being far away from other women. With a man it is different.”

“Rose will come to visit.  It will not be for long. Once you are working the government will leave you alone."

Nicolas sat down again. “How long until the war is over?”

Peter shrugged. “Another year; perhaps two. No one knows.”

“I liked it up north. If a man is free he could make a good life there. Perhaps . . . “

Whatever the perhaps was, Peter never learned.  Nicolas’s words were broken by the sound of an approaching motor car.

Rose, pinning up curtains was almost knocked off her chair by Nicolas rushing past.

Elena and the children tumbled out of the car.

Ignored by the milling family Peter walked over to John still seated behind the wheel. They watched the Husaks embracing and weeping. Family, thought John shaking his head. He turned to the doctor. “What will happen to them?”

“War has to end sometime. Then they’ll become part of this country, like everyone else.”

“It's an awful risk we’re taking.”

“Yes, well some things are worth taking a risk for, aren’t they?”

John placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“You did all right, doctor.”

Peter looked back at the Husak family. “Not bad,” he said. Nicolas had told of how his father had as a small boy tending pigs, had watched a coach go by carrying a wealthy man from a mysterious land called Canada.  Peter smiled. “All things considered.”