Buffalo Seminary - Seminaria Yearbook (Buffalo, NY)

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li. . c c .5E.M.UiA15..1-f5.,i.9iZ The Samnvar ALDSCHOOL STORY gi Marusza pulled the old black shawl Fe.-- c Q over her head. Kati was displeased when her grandmother didn't wear a hat. But N, Kati wouldn't know. Today there was so little time and she must hurry. The office I at the settlement house closed at five and Miss gi' , Snowfdear would be gone. fx ji' She glanced quickly around the kitchen, her if .. ' eyes lingering on the shining chrome and the ai gleaming porcelain of the beautiful sink. Vodi' ,g amy -water sprites. Plumbing would never cease to be a miracle to Marusza. Hurry! She must hurry. Gently she picked up the heavy bulky package, wrapped carefully in newspaper, and quickly closed the door behind her. The street was crowded. So many people all hurrying. But it was good to walk in the February dusk and to know that you were a part of Maple Street-that over there above the tinsmith's shop lived your good friend, Hannah Cohen. whose youngest son was with your grandson in the same army camp-and who could speak to you a few words of the Lett language and whom you had taught to make the good solid soup. It was comforting to pass Patti's Pharmacy on the corner. Old Patti was your friend too! How nice the new lights were in the win' dows. That girl of Patti's-how smart! To learn to make medicine and to run the store. Patti was still in the store sometimes. He liked to see his neighbors and visit. He had learned to speak English in the same night class with Ivan when they had first come to America. Ivan spoke English real good before he died and Marusza remembered with pride how he could even correct the children sometimes. Ivan had been a good husband. ' Marusza walked faster. The street lights were on now. Colin O'Brien wasn't on duty. Maybe he was sick. He was a grand officer, young Colin. Each week he gave money to his Batooska in his church for milk for the poor children, and he'd helped the Urbanski boy get a job after he'd been paroled. The Mikklas were doing nice business. The store seemed full of people. Good- good-once the Mikklas family had had to go on relief. It was because they were so kind and gave too much credit-but now they had a new store and that was good too. Thank the good God the Peteroff family had not been on relief. Dimitri had work all through the depression and Kati had kept her job-sometimes only a day each week she worked. But they had managed. She paused to cross 6th Street and waved to Tim Hurley. To think that big gas station belonged to Tim. Marusza smiled a gentle smile when she remembere

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SEMINARIA 194gWMA ig gr- IQ the many dreams she had seen born in her kitzhen when she and Ivan had lived on 6th Street and her children were young. All those bo, s-Michael and Tim Hurley, and Colin O'Brien's father-the first Colin, the Urbanski boys and the shy dark Phillip who ached so much to be a doctor. All su:h big things those boys had wanted. And Tim had his gas station and Phillip was a doctor-a fine doctor, and her own sons, Casimir whose son was in the army, and Dimitri who was a foreman at the factory-how far they had gone! Mad dreams-which she had seen come true before her wondering eyes. Marusza paused to shift her burden to the other hip, and slowly climbed the steps of the settlement house. How pretty it was. All the hallways trimmed with red paper hearts for the Valentine dance. Kati had a new dress for the party. That was good- irls-all girls-American girls or Lett girls-should have retty dresses for Iuesiias. Soon-too soon, one was too old for the gayety of hcsidas-the whirl of a mursurka and the musi: of concertina and balalacka. Now music was radio. It was keen or smooth or l.ot. Marusza walked to a door whizh stood ajar and knocked- Come in. She entered the large office where a pleasant white'haired woman sat behind a desk and a young gir worked at a typewriter. Mrs Peteroffh how nice to see you. Come in, come in and sit down here. How are you? GoodH-thank you. I stand! I stay one minute. I bring this. Will you get the much money from the man-the man please, you know?' The old woman spoke slowly and carefully. To her, English would always be a foreign tongue. She placed the package on the desk and unwrapped it. ' Mrs, Peteroff-your samovar! Why do you want to sell it-now? Your family are all well and working? Marusza nodded. But I don't understand, said the woman gently, and a perplexed frown touched her brow. Five or six years ago when you really needed the money badly you refused to part with it-and now- Miss Snow paused and looked into Marusza Peterolf's worried eyes. The man-he still buy-no? she asked quickly. Oh yes, I'm sure he still wants it. It's very beautiful-the most unusual one I've ever seen. And Russian antique brass brings a very good price. But are you sure you want to part with it? Yes, please. ' Will you tell me why? The Russian woman stood for some seconds in silence. There was a quiet dignity about the still figure in the black shawl, the dark eyes fixed on the gleaming samovar. The samovar-it is my own thing. From the old country I bring no things but the Icons and my samovar. In my village there is not one like it. The