Free Stolen Child by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch Page B

She smiled at Mychailo, then tilted her head so shecould read the spines of the books he was holding. “I didn’t know you were a Freddy fan, Mychailo.”
    “You know each other?” I asked.
    “Grace and I are in the same class.”
    Grace noticed the copy of
Freddy the Detective
in my hand. “How can
you
read
that
?”
    I looked at her in surprise. What had Linda said about me to her sister? I knew my English wasn’t perfect, but did she think I was stupid? “Slowly,” I said, forcing my lips into a smile.
    We stood chatting for a few minutes longer. “I’ve got to get home and turn on the potatoes before Marusia gets home,” I said.
    We walked up the half-flight of stairs together and out of the children’s entrance. Linda and Grace walked with us as far as Sheridan Street, where Mychailo and I turned and they continued. Mychailo dropped his library books off at home and then we both went back to my place.
    Once inside, I turned on the potatoes. Then we went out to the backyard and sat on the cinder blocks.
    “You have to remember to call Marusia and Ivan your mother and father when you’re talking to non-Ukrainians,” said Mychailo.
    My heart skipped a beat. “I always call them that.”
    Mychailo rolled his eyes. “You’re so stupid you don’t even know what you’re saying.”
    I was about to yell at him, but I stopped. He was right. Didn’t I just use Marusia’s name with Linda and Grace? I would have to watch myself.
    “Not everyone is perfect like you, Mr. Smarty-Pants,” I replied.
    “This is serious,” said Mychailo. “I don’t know where you really came from, but if you want to stay in Canada, you had better get used to calling Marusia and Ivan your mother and father.”
    I didn’t say anything to that. I knew he was right and I was surprised at myself for slipping up. At the DP camp, I never let my guard down, but now that we were safely in Canada, my past was forcing itself to be remembered and my thoughts seemed to get all jumbled.
    Just then we heard a truck stop in front of the house and Marusia’s voice calling out a goodbye to the other farm workers.
    “I should be heading home,” said Mychailo. “Don’t say hi to me at school, okay?”
    I shrugged instead of answering. Maybe I would say hi to him just to get him angry.
    A few seconds later Marusia came around to the back. She was carrying a heavy paper bag so I scooted over and grabbed it from her and we both walked inside.
    She took the bag from my arms when we got inside and tipped it over onto the table, spilling out a few giant tomatoes, then onions, a small cabbage and some green peppers. At the bottom were half a dozen beautiful big apples. “I’ll make apple squares for dessert,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
    She seemed to notice what I was wearing for the first time. “You’ve changed,” she said.
    Then she looked at my unbraided hair. “And you took your hair down.”
    We put the vegetables and some of the apples away in silence, and Marusia prodded the boiling potatoes with afork to see how done they were. “How was your first day at school?” she asked.
    I took a deep breath and held it. I needed to tell her right now what had happened. To clear the air and not hurt her feelings, but I couldn’t get the words out.
    Marusia’s forehead crinkled in a frown, then she took a paring knife from the drawer and began to peel one of the apples. I watched the peel of apple skin grow. I had seen her skin an entire apple by paring off a single long tendril. Ivan couldn’t do that. Neither could I.
    The silence between us grew. I got the dishrag and wiped off the counter. I got out the broom and swept the floor even though it was already clean.
    Marusia broke the silence. “I was telling the girls at the farm today about the outfit I made for you.”
    I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I caught her eye and tried to smile.
    “They told me that students don’t dress like that in Canada,” she said. The