Lesia's Dream is the story of fifteen-year-old Lesia Magus who, along with her family, leaves Ukraine in 1914 and flees to Canada. Dreaming of fields of wheat and wealth and security, Lesia's family look forward to life free from hunger and poverty and rumors of war. But the 160 acres of uncleared prairie they buy in Manitoba look nothing like the wheat fields of their dreams. Not only that, life in her adopted country holds unspeakable horrors. But, as Lesia fights to survive, she discovers that even in hardscrabble land, flowers do open and dreams can come true.





      "This is it!" With a sweep of his hand Ivan showed them the cancelled homestead they'd laid claim to. Papa stood proudly beside him.
     Shifting Sonia from one hip to the other, Lesia stared at the scrubby poplars and aspens, the thickets of shrubs blooming with dainty flowers, the prairie grass that grew almost to her knees, and rock, so much rock!
     It was unbroken and wild. But it was theirs. All theirs.
     "The house is near the clearing," Ivan said, leading the way.
     While the sun hinted at warmth, a light dusting of frost still clung to the ground. Lesia walked carefully, crunching over rocks and twigs, brushing against the prairie grass with her skirt. She thought of Paul's farm with its rolling fields of wheat, its immaculate thatched roof cottage, and its garden overflowing with spring greens and strawberries and small beet seedlings.
     But the Korals had been in Canada thirteen years.
     "That's it," Ivan pointed. "The house."
     Mama gasped. Lesia's eyes widened in shock. It was nothing more than a burdei, a log and sod-brick dugout.
     It had a sloping, lopsided roof, a hole in one wall where a window was supposed to be, and another larger hole just waiting for a door. One side had been roughly plastered with clay, but tufts of grass poked out the other side like hair standing on end.
     Lesia felt light-headed, faint. Nothing had prepared her for this.
     "It's not much yet." Papa added quickly. "But with such a thick layer of soil, it will be cool in summer and warm in winter. And it's ours," he finished proudly.
     "It's bigger than it looks," Ivan said.
     Mama began to cry. "I want to go home." She sank to her knees. "Back to Ukraine."
     "We won't be in it for long," Papa murmured as he comforted her. "A year at most."
     "That . . . thing," Mama's hand shook as she pointed to the little dugout. "Isn't fit for . . . for chickens."
     Papa wrapped an arm around Mama's shoulder. "Once we clear the land and plant wheat, we'll build a proper house. With lots of windows." Lesia could hear the desperation in Papa's voice.
     Clutching Sonia's head to her breast, Lesia looked around the clearing. There was a small clump of logs on one side, and a clump of willows on the other.
     "The creek's down there." Ivan gestured to his left.
     Nodding, Lesia gazed beyond the clearing, looking for something, anything, to reassure her. But there was more scrub, more tree roots, more rock. Certainly not the great riches she had imagined.
     What had they done?