Katerina's Wish (12 page)

She looked at me, her eyes round with surprise. “You have?”

I nodded. “After your wishes came true, I came here and saw the fish, so I made a wish.”

“What did you wish for?” Holena asked.

“I wished for a farm here in America, where we could all be together and happy.”

“That was Papa's wish too! And that's why you got your farm!”

“That may be why we got the garden and chickens,” I said slowly, “but I don't think that's the farm. Things are still happening. Lucky things. And we've never been lucky before. Not in America, anyway.”

“You mean we're going to get a
real
farm? And Papa won't have to work in the mine anymore?”

It sounded so big when she said it—I couldn't promise such a thing to sweet Holena. I couldn't bear to disappoint her, despite my own hope.

“I don't know, Holena. But I do know things are getting better for us. And I have a new idea, to help make a little extra money, to help even more.” I told her we might sell extra eggs or produce. “Maybe I'll make enough money to buy a rooster, and then our flock can grow. With more chickens, we could sell more eggs, too. What do you think?”

Her eyes gleamed happily. “I think your wish is coming true, Trina!”

“Don't tell anyone, please?”

“Not even Aneshka?”

“For now, not even Aneshka,” I said. I stood and brushed the dirt off my skirt. “We should get back home.”

I offered her my hand. As she took it, she glanced back at the pool. “I'm glad you believe in the wishes.”

I followed her gaze. I had come here alone to decide what I believed, but I hadn't decided. At least, I thought I hadn't. Now, as I thought about it, I couldn't explain away our luck any other way. Slowly, I nodded.

“Yes,” I said, “I suppose I do believe.”

We turned and started toward home. Behind me in the water, I heard a soft plop and, looking back, saw ripples. Holena, it seemed, was not the only one who had heard me, and I had a feeling that I had made a commitment to more than just myself.

I TENDED MY
backyard empire with extra care after that, watching eagerly for our first harvest. I fished, too, and as I'd hoped, the free fish one day a week saved a few dollars at the store. Unfortunately, the layoffs at the mine had sent many of the bachelors away. As they left, they took their laundry—and their laundry money—with them, so the money can on the shelf stayed as empty as ever. I didn't worry, though. Opportunities had come along ever since I had made my wish. All I had to do was watch for them and snatch them up when they appeared. And although I had discouraged Holena from hoping for too much, I was once again reading the advertisements for land and daydreaming of shady orchards and fields of ripening wheat to the horizon.

Right on schedule, my hens began laying eggs, enough for us each to have one with our breakfast porridge several times a week. Even Momma agreed they were a treat.

The next opportunity came one morning in mid-June as I
worked in my garden. I was searching among the broad squash leaves for the first of the bright yellow vegetables when I saw a pair of unfamiliar shoes in front of me on the edge of the vegetable patch. I looked up to see Martina holding her pocketbook before her.

“Good morning,” I said, and straightened to face her. I couldn't help a curious glance at her pocketbook as I waited for her to speak.

She shifted uncomfortably and gave me a shy smile. “It's my Charlie's birthday today.”

“That's nice.”

“And I want to bake him a cake. But I have no eggs. I was wondering if I could buy two from you.”

I knew we had eggs in the house that we were saving up to make a meal's worth, but I suspected Momma wouldn't let me sell those. But I hadn't checked my henhouse yet today. My young hens didn't lay every day anyway, so two fewer eggs could be explained away easily enough.

“Let me see what I can do.” I crossed to the chicken yard and entered through the fine new gate that Mark had made me. As luck would have it—especially the kind of luck I'd been having—there were three eggs in the nesting boxes. I removed them carefully and gave two to Martina. She gave me a nickel. I thanked her and slipped the nickel into my pocket, intending to put it in the can when Momma wasn't looking so I wouldn't have to explain what I had done. But as I continued to work in the garden, I started thinking again about a rooster. If I was going to get one, this nickel could be the first step. The n once I had a rooster, we could have more chickens, and more eggs, and even meat from time to time. And, more important, there would be more to sell—we'd be saving
and
making money.

This was the next opportunity I'd been waiting for. The money didn't have to go into the can.

Later that same day, another neighbor showed up in the yard. “I hear Mrs. Pearsonova bought eggs from you,” she said. I smiled and nodded. Martina had married an American, but in the Bohemian district, the older women couldn't resist adding the “-ova” ending to the name of a married woman, whether her married name was Bohemian or not.

“I sold her two,” I said, “but my hens don't lay many yet.”

“What else do you have? Do you have cucumbers?” she asked, sounding as if she were inquiring across Mr. Johnson's counter.

“I do,” I said. “They are small yet, though.”

She strode into my garden and bent over my plants. To my surprise, she plucked a tiny cucumber off the vine without even asking permission. She put three cents into my hand, thanked me, and marched away. I stared after her, unable to say a word.

Once again, rumor spread quickly among our neighbors. Within the week, I had more requests than I could fill. Those I could, however, brought in a few cents here, a few there, until my apron pocket jingled when I walked. By the end of the week I had enough to buy a rooster. That I could not do without my mother's permission, so I waited until the chores were done and my mother sat down for a few minutes before starting supper. Then I showed her the money and told her where it had come from.

“Forty-eight cents this week, Momma, and that's with our garden barely starting to produce. When everything is growing and if we had more chickens—”

Momma sighed heavily and held up her hand to stop me. “What is it you want, Trina?”

“I want to buy a rooster. Then we could get more chickens, more eggs. We need a rooster if we want enough for eggs every day and some to sell as well.”

“The eggs are nice to have, but it worries me that you always want more, Trina.”

“Please, Momma? A rooster will make things even better.”

She sighed again, but there was an unexpected gleam of humor in her eyes. “Roosters are trouble, Trina. Haven't you heard the story of Kuratko the Terrible?”

I looked at her in surprise. I had not heard my mother tell a story since I was a little girl in Bohemia. “Who was Kuratko the Terrible?” I asked.

“He was a rooster, of course,” she said, and began the story. “There was once an old woman who wanted a baby, but she had never been able to have one. So she got a chick from a neighbor's chicken, and she babied it and cared for it like a real child.

“‘Don't do that,' her husband warned her, but she wouldn't listen. She named that silly little rooster Kuratko, and it grew bigger and more spoiled every day. It ate and ate, and grew and grew until it was bigger than the dog.”

“A rooster bigger than a dog?” I smiled at the ridiculous thought.

“Yes. And as it grew it got greedier and greedier until it had eaten up nearly everything in the house.

“‘Put it out!' said the husband, but that silly old woman refused, saying, ‘It's my baby!'

“But when that rooster had eaten up all the food and the old woman had nothing left to feed it, Kuratko gobbled up the old woman, all in one peck. Then it ate the old man and the dog, too.”

“That's not a very happy ending,” I observed.

“That isn't the ending. After eating the old man and the dog,
the rooster was still hungry, so it went out in the yard, where it swallowed up the pig and the cat. But the cat used its sharp claw to cut the rooster's craw as it was swallowed, and when Kuratko went to crow at sunrise the next morning, his craw split open and he fell over dead. And the cat jumped out, followed by the pig, the dog, the man, and the old woman, who promised never to be so silly again. And that is the story of Kuratko the Terrible.”

I laughed. “I don't think I will let my rooster grow that big.”

“But you've let your dreams,” Momma said. “And just like the old woman's, they may swallow you up if you aren't careful.”

“But the garden hasn't, and neither have the chickens. You said yourself they are a help.”

Momma nodded. “So they are. Very well, Trina, get your rooster. But don't look to me for help if it gobbles you up.”

I climbed the ridge that afternoon, feeling light and happy. Momma's opposition had been the only thing wrong with my plans for the future, and now even that was beginning to give way. And when she saw how much money we could make— as well as save, once we had eggs to sell—it would disappear entirely!

I acquired a rooster easily enough, a cocky little red fellow who had most likely been headed for the pot at the other farm. He strutted around as king of his own kingdom in my little chicken yard. Momma christened him Kuratko, and Papa and Old Jan, who related the story to my sisters, agreed the name fit his character. And this time, we didn't have to wait for rumors of his arrival to spread. He announced it gleefully at the crack of dawn the very first morning, and every morning thereafter.