Mama was welcomed back, as promised, at Mrs. Haggarty’s. She received a small raise, and every once in a while Mrs. Haggarty would drive Mama home in her automobile! The first time this happened, Mama clutched the door handle with white-knuckled fear, but after a while, she began to enjoy it. She especially enjoyed the astonished looks on the faces of the people on the street as they passed by.
Anya’s father would often come home from the factory exhausted and wet with sweat, but with a smile on his face. Once, his supervisor called him into the office and suggested that he change his name. “If you were George Sloan instead of Yurij Soloniuk, I could make you a manager,” the man said. “But I’m not George Sloan,” replied Anya’s father. He related this story over dinner one evening as if it were funny, but no one else saw the joke. “That’s not fair,” said Anya, anger flashing in her eyes. “Life is not fair,” said her father, gently squeezing her hand. “It will work out in the end.”
It didn’t. Howard Smythe was made manager. A year or so later the factory workers went on strike and Mr. Soloniuk was elected union steward. Howard Smythe handled the whole situation so poorly that the factory almost had a riot on their hands, and he was fired. Anya’s father resolved the strike with tact and patience, ensuring that the workers got a modest raise, but most importantly, job security. He also was able to convince management that this security was the factory’s security too. The supervisor was so impressed that he offered Mr. Soloniuk Howard Smythe’s job. Anya’s father took it, reasoning that it was better to have a union man in management than anyone else. So in the end it did work out — and he didn’t have to change his name.
Mykola was the least hurt by the internment camp experience. He learned his schoolwork quickly and graduated from high school with top marks in mathematics and science — and a full scholarship to the University of Toronto. After four years Mykola obtained a degree in Engineering, making him the first person in his family to get a university degree.
Anya wouldn’t admit even to herself that she was jealous of her brother. She was determined to revel in his achievement and she planned the perfect graduation present. Two weeks before his graduation, she asked him to accompany her on an errand, and then she steered him through the doors of a fine men’s shop. “My brother needs a suit,” she said to the salesman. Mykola nudged her in the ribs and whispered, “I can’t afford a suit here, Anya.” She whispered back, “This is my gift.” And then she watched, swallowing back tears of pride, as her little brother was measured up for a fine black suit that even the prime minister would be proud to wear. It cost her four months’ wages, but it was worth it. Mykola was hired after his very first job interview — with the Canadian National Railway as an intermediate mechanical engineer.
Mary did not stay at the garment factory like Anya. After being there only a month, she was offered a teaching position at Notre Dame des Anges school. In addition to teaching full-time, she volunteered at night, teaching English to new immigrants. One of her students was a serious young man with a brown curly beard and wire-rimmed glasses. Roman Krawchuk picked up English quickly and Mary was impressed by the fact that he put so much effort into his assignments. After the last class of the year, Roman stayed seated until all of the other students had left and then he got up and approached her desk. “Miss Mary,” he said, in his careful English, “would you allow me to buy you a cup of tea?” She smiled and nodded. They later married and headed west to begin a new life.
Like Mary, Slava stayed at the factory only a short time. But unlike Mary, she had become moody and silent. Less than a year after leaving the internment camp, she simply quit working. She stayed at home and helped Baba with her laundry business, but one day she went out to do errands and never came back. The Soloniuks had no idea where she had gone, but they suspected that she was in search of her father.
Anya did get her high school diploma, but she never achieved her dream of going to university. She kept up with her art, though, and her father built her an easel and set it up in front of the biggest window in their flat. One of his union colleagues spotted a poignant sketch that Anya had done. In this sketch, a youthful Slava sat at an industrial sewing machine, her head cradled in her arms and her body limp with exhaustion. The man purchased the sketch from Anya for five dollars and asked if he could use it in one of the union’s publicity campaigns. Anya readily agreed. That sketch ended up on posters in a national campaign to fight child exploitation. Anya hoped that Slava might see the poster somewhere and get word back to her, but if Slava ever saw it and recognized herself, she never made contact.
Anya and Stefan were both determined to achieve the things they had set out to do, but even when they were the most busy, their love for each other continued to grow. After one particularly big sale went through in 1921, Stefan went to a fine jewellery store and purchased a white gold ring with a turquoise stone set in the centre. On bended knee, he proposed to Anya. She got down on her knees and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I shall be your wife, and your friend and companion forever and a day.” They were married in 1923.
Anya continued working at the factory until she was pregnant with their first child. Halyna was born in 1924. In 1925, Irena was born, and then in 1929, they were all delighted with the birth of Bohdan — who insisted on being called Robert as soon as he went to school.
Anya and Stefan would often tell their children stories of their internment, but Halyna, Irena and Robert would look at each other with bewildered amusement. It didn’t seem possible that Canada had imprisoned their parents. They had assumed it was just a story. When the children were in their teens, Anya and Stefan took them on a car trip up to Spirit Lake. The buildings were still there, but it was now a government experimental farm. The cemetery was overgrown, but Anya and Stefan led their children to it and, despite the weeds and mud, they all got down on their knees to pray for Lyalya, Ivan Gregoraszczuk, and all the other internees buried there. Anya and Stefan also tried to locate their Pikogan friends, but could not find them.
Anya continued to exchange letters with Irena in Alberta. She had married Max, a neighbouring farmer, in 1924. In the early 1930s the Depression devastated many farms in the area, including Irena and Max’s. It took many years for them to recoup their losses.
One letter from Bohdan Onyshevsky found its way to Anya a few years after the end of World War I:
Dear Anya,
You are now the closest thing I have to a relative. Little did I realize when we were young that I would ever think upon you so fondly. I am glad that you are in Canada and safe. I only wish I had the foresight to send my poor Halyna there before the war began. But how could I have guessed how devastating the war would be? My dear wife and son both died in the war. I loved Halyna with my heart and soul and I despair that I was never given the chance to kiss my dear sweet child, Ivanko. Halyna and Ivanko are buried with your grandfather and brother. I put pebbles on their graves every week. I have also learned to play your brother’s tsymbaly. I don’t know if I will ever get married again. The hole in my heart is too huge. Pray for Horoshova and our homeland, dear Anya. It is a grim time for us.