Black Moon

by L. A. Weatherly

  Finally I exhaled and lay my forehead on my hands, the sheets crisp against my fingers. Ingo had gone to get fresh clothes for us; we still wore our outfits from the club. As long as things remained quiet, we’d stay here.

  “Amity?” murmured Hal.

  I sat up quickly and wiped my cheeks. I clenched his hand. “I’m here.”

  My brother’s gaze was slightly glassy from painkillers. His voice sounded thick, as if he’d been drinking.

  “They took it off, didn’t they?” he whispered. “I heard them talking…in the ambulance…”

  I stroked his damp hair back. “Yes,” I said levelly. “But you’re going to be fine. Having two legs is overrated anyway.”

  He closed his eyes tightly. His throat worked. “Percy?” he said finally.

  “Ingo’s gone back to base. He’ll tell him. He’ll probably bring him back here.”

  “No.”

  When I didn’t respond, Hal looked at me again. “I don’t want him to see.”

  “Hal, he—”

  “Please.”

  “Okay,” I soothed. I rubbed his arm. “Okay.”

  Hal stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were wet. When he spoke again I could hardly hear him. “I want to go home.”

  I wondered how cogent he was. He hadn’t really had a “home” since he’d lived in Sacrament.

  “You mean back to base?” I said.

  Hal slowly shook his head. “No. Home with Ma. I don’t want to stay here.” He looked over at his roommate then – a guy with a leg up in traction, bandages covering his face. He shuddered.

  “Please, Amity,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He looked at me. His face had the same tight look as when he was a child and struggling not to cry. “You mean it?”

  “Yes. As soon as you can travel.” I had no idea how I’d get him to Nova Scotia but I’d do it or die trying. I gripped his hand. “Try to rest now.”

  After he’d finally drifted off again, I went out into the silent hospital corridor. The only other person was the night nurse, doing paperwork at her desk. I leaned against the wall and massaged my pounding head.

  I looked up as the elevator opened. Ingo and Percy stepped out. Percy looked wide-eyed, keyed-up.

  My spirits sank. I went over and explained as tactfully as I could that Hal was asleep and that he didn’t want to see Percy. Tact has never been my strong point. I could hear myself getting it wrong, bumbling the words.

  “He’s still pretty doped up,” I finished. “Maybe later he’ll feel differently.”

  “I’ll stay,” Percy said faintly.

  I didn’t argue. Percy went over to the waiting area and sat down. He rested his head on his fingertips.

  Ingo put his arms around me. I pressed close, shutting my eyes.

  “Hal wants to go home,” I murmured against his neck.

  Ingo drew back. “Where does he mean?”

  “Nova Scotia. I promised I’d get him there. I’m not sure how I’ll manage it, but I have to.” New fighting had broken out north of Boston recently. Ships hadn’t sailed near Nova Scotia in weeks.

  Ingo nodded and squeezed my fingers. He kissed them. “We’ll do it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  I let out a breath. Ingo had never lied to me. He wasn’t starting now. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and he stroked my back. The only noise was the night nurse, shuffling her papers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  May, 1943

  I hardly left Hal’s side at the hospital, returning to flying only when the fighting was heavy and they couldn’t do without every hand.

  Three weeks after his amputation, my brother hadn’t changed his mind about going home. He hadn’t changed his mind about not seeing Percy, either. Every time I saw Percy on base he looked devastated – but it was Hal’s decision to make. I didn’t have it in me to lecture him.

  Vera’s funeral had been a sombre affair. It had been all wrong, every dignified chord of it. We should have been drinking gin and dancing the jitterbug. But Harlan had been too flattened to plan anything different – at the service he stood stiff and red-eyed in a suit – and I’d been too distracted by Hal. I’d worn a dark dress and stared bleakly at her casket, thinking, I’m so sorry, Vera. I wish I’d arranged something special for you.

  On April 16th, I’d had a birthday. I’d forgotten about it until Ingo gave me a small book of prints from the exhibition we’d especially liked.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, paging through it. I paused at the print of the painting of high, airy cirrus clouds – it had reminded us both of the first time we ever flew.

  “We’ll celebrate properly later,” Ingo said softly, and I nodded.

  Meanwhile, Ingo had gone to Tess – the straightest of straight arrows – and somehow convinced her to let us take one of the long-distance sortie planes, signing us out on an unofficial “mission”.

  “Be back in five days or it’s my ass,” Tess said gruffly when Hal was well enough to travel. Then she squeezed my shoulder. “I hope he’ll be okay.”

  So did I.

  “He’s sleeping – Lorna is going to sit with him for a while,” said Ma, coming back into the living room where Ingo and I waited. Lorna was the nurse that Ma had hired.

  “Good, he needs the rest,” I said. It had been a ten-hour flight – we’d had to take a long, curving route over the safety of international water. Even after sharing the piloting, Ingo and I were tired too.

  Ma sat down across from us in a faded armchair, carefully arranging her skirt. Through the window behind her I could see a street of slightly shabby houses, with a glittering that might have been the ocean in the distance.

  Ma was living in a boarding house in Provincetown, Nova Scotia. She no longer had any of the antique furniture or other nice things that she’d had when Hal and I were growing up; it had all been left behind when Collie rescued her and Hal from the Western Seaboard.

  I’d never cared much about our belongings – Ma’s apartment had been so crammed full of things you could hardly breathe – but it felt strange that they were gone. So much of our family history had been there.

  If it bothered Ma, she didn’t show it. I’d learned these last few years that she had a core of strength. When Hal was made Discordant, she’d had a plan in place to hide him. When I’d cabled her the news of his injury, she’d cabled back, He’s alive. All that matters. Bring him home.

  Even so, I’d worried on Hal’s behalf that she might burst into tears when she saw him – cling and sob and make things even worse. My brother’s moods had swung wildly this past month, ranging from fury to despair to grim humour. The only way to handle him, I’d found, was to go along with the humour and not give in to the rest of it.

  But to my surprise, our mother – who sometimes seemed to view herself as the centre of a great drama – had hugged Hal hard when we got his wheelchair off the plane, but stayed nearly dry-eyed.

  “Why, I guess you’ll do anything to get home, won’t you?” she’d laughed shakily, dabbing at her eyes, and Hal had snorted, looking pale and drained.

  “Yeah. Guess I must have been pretty desperate.”

  The relief had been enormous. Ma and I had hugged too, there on the airport tarmac. I’d felt tears threaten as the smell of her perfume had mixed with the fresh, salty air, my love for her sudden and unexpected in its power.

  When I’d introduced Ingo, she’d hardly flinched as they shook hands. I’d warned her of his scar in a letter that I’d prayed would reach her in time, wanting to spare him her reaction. I’d written to her already about Ingo and me, of course, though hadn’t gone into much detail – just the basics about his family, and that he used to be a Peacefighter too. She hadn’t asked for more.

  In retrospect, I should have realized this wasn’t a good sign.

  Now, with Hal settled and the excitement over, I sat in this strange living room filled with unfamiliar, rented furniture beside a man who
was very definitely not Collis Reed…and my sociable mother suddenly appeared to have nothing to say.

  “I want to thank you, Mr Manfred, for helping my daughter get Hal here,” she said finally.

  He cleared his throat. “Please, call me Ingo.” He’d confessed his slight nervousness to me. His own family was so important to him – he wanted to make a good impression.

  Suddenly I noticed a childhood photo of myself and Collie on Ma’s mantelpiece. Tucked into the side of the frame was a cut-out newspaper photo of Collie now, smiling, looking handsome in a suit.

  I stared at it. Why hadn’t she taken that down?

  “Ingo,” repeated Ma, as if tasting it. “Such a funny name.”

  “Not where he’s from, Ma,” I said automatically.

  She’d wanted me to marry Collie. She’d been overjoyed when we got together. She loved him like a son – maybe with a special protectiveness, because he’d needed a mother so badly.

  I looked sideways at the photo again. She had to know he was married to Kay Pierce, didn’t she?

  “Is that right, Ingo?” Ma said finally, her voice too formal. “Is it a common name where you’re from?”

  Ingo shook his curly head. “Not really. It’s a little old-fashioned now. It was my grandfather’s name.”

  My lips tugged upwards as I glanced at him. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Man of mystery,” he said.

  “And I believe Amity said you have two siblings?” said Ma.

  “Yes, a brother and sister. Erich and Angelina. I’m the middle one.”

  I could see Ma’s not-quite-hidden reaction to the guttural “ch” sound of “Erich”.

  “How nice,” she said.

  Silence.

  “Ma, is there any coffee, or…?” I asked at last, desperate to banish the quiet. I felt awkward, out of place. In our apartment in Sacrament, I’d have helped myself.

  Ma jumped up in a relieved flurry. “Oh, of course! I’m so sorry, I’m not thinking.”

  “Understandable,” said Ingo, propping his forearms on his knees.

  Ma had a hot plate and kettle hidden away in a cupboard. I watched her put water on to boil with a faint sadness. It was all such a far cry from what she’d once had.

  “Ingo, do you take coffee?” asked Ma, bringing out a tin canister. “Or…” She hesitated, somehow managing to hint at a myriad of guttural-sounding beverages that she’d never heard of.

  “Coffee’s fine. Thank you.”

  “You speak very good English,” said Ma, measuring coffee into the percolator, and Ingo and I exchanged a private smile, remembering when I’d once said the same to him.

  “His mother’s from New Manhattan,” I said. “He went to school there.”

  “I was sorry to hear about your father, Ingo…how did he and your mother meet?” asked Ma. I winced slightly at the mention of Ingo’s dad, but was curious – it had never occurred to me to ask.

  “She went to art school in Florence,” said Ingo.

  “But she’s a musician,” I said in surprise.

  “Yes. Her youthful rebellion, she says. Everyone expected her to be a musician, so she wanted to try something else.” Ingo looked down, fiddling briefly with a cuff. “My father says…said…that she reneged on the deal when she went back to music. He was expecting paintings all over the house. Thank you,” he added to Ma as she handed us our drinks.

  We were on the sofa, close but not touching. He wore grey trousers, a green shirt, his sports jacket. I knew he’d brought the jacket along especially to wear when he met Ma.

  “So your mother’s been happy at the vineyard?” asked Ma, settling down again with her own cup.

  “Very happy, I think.” Ingo’s tone became soft, slightly stilted. I knew he was thinking of his mother’s grief.

  I touched his thigh. Ma looked at my hand and then away again, her lips thinning. For a moment I was confused, and then it hit me. I stared at her, amazed.

  Despite everything, she’d still hoped that Collie and I would get back together.

  “And I suppose you think Amity would be happy there too?” she said to Ingo.

  “Ma!”

  Her shrug was overly casual. “You two are obviously quite serious.”

  “We haven’t discussed it,” I said, my cheeks flaming.

  “Well, I can’t imagine why not.”

  Because every day might be our last and it’s tempting fate. I didn’t say it.

  Ingo had gone still. Finally he put his coffee down and said, “No, we haven’t discussed it. But if we both live…then I very much hope that Amity will feel she could be happy there.”

  My heart skipped. I looked at him.

  Ma had winced at “if we both live”, but regained herself. “You couldn’t move here?”

  “Not easily, no.”

  “I wouldn’t want him to,” I said. “It’s his heritage, Ma. It means more to him than anything.”

  “Not quite,” said Ingo quietly. He glanced at me. “If Amity wasn’t happy…I could work something else out. But it would take time.”

  “I would never let you sell it,” I said in a fierce undertone. “Never.”

  Ingo’s expression deepened. As we studied each other, it felt as if more had been said.

  “What about your face?” Ma asked suddenly.

  My blood heated; my attention snapped back to her. “What about it?” I said before Ingo could speak.

  Her gaze travelled across his scar’s wrinkled skin; the drooping eye; the partial eyebrow. Though she didn’t then look at Collie’s photo, she might as well have.

  “It’s just such a shame, to be so terribly scarred at twenty-two,” she said stiffly. “Can’t anything be done? Surgery?”

  “Ma, this is none of your business!”

  Ingo put his hand over mine; our fingers linked together. “No, I’m afraid I’m stuck with being only half a telio star,” he said levelly. “The World United doctors I saw weren’t hopeful. Even if something could be done, I doubt I could afford it.”

  “But the vineyard,” protested Ma.

  “It’s not large. Some years are a struggle.”

  “Oh,” said Ma, managing to weigh the small word with meaning.

  “Are you finished?” I said. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Why, of course, darling.” Ma gave a forced laugh. “But honestly, I would have thought you’d had enough struggle by now.”

  With an effort, I bit back my response. I thought of how enthusiastic she’d be if this were Collie, and wondered bitterly if she knew why we were no longer together.

  Ingo still held my hand. He looked down at it, playing with my fingers. In a low voice, he said, “Mrs Vancour… I’m in love with your daughter. For some reason, she loves me, too. If we’re lucky enough to have a future, she won’t starve. If we have children someday, they won’t starve, either.”

  My throat closed. I squeezed his fingers hard.

  “You want children, then?” said Ma after a pause.

  His soft sound was almost a laugh. “At the moment, I just want us both to survive. But if the time comes, I’d prefer to discuss that with Amity before I do with you.”

  “Of course,” said Ma coolly. As if she couldn’t help herself, she did glance at Collie’s photo then. He’d always jollied her along, flirted with her. When we were kids, I’d sometimes wondered which of us he’d been coming over to see, me or my mother.

  Ingo had seen her look. In the stilted silence that followed, he checked his watch. “I…think maybe I’ll go take a shower before dinner.”

  Ma had told us that the boarding house served it at seven. He got up from the sofa and leaned down to quickly kiss my cheek. “Thank you for the coffee, Mrs Vancour,” he said to Ma.

  “I’ll be up in a minute,” I said, and Ingo nodded. The two of us were staying in a room on the top floor, which another resident had left vacant for a few weeks.

  After he left, I sat staring at my mother, who looke
d unrepentant. “How could you?” I burst out. “You made him feel…you didn’t even tell him to call you Rose!”

  “I hardly know him.”

  “But I know him! Don’t you understand, Ma? I love him.”

  She gathered up the cups and went to rinse them out at a small sink. “Come help me with these,” she said. I gritted my teeth and did so, drying them with a dishcloth. When I’d finished the last one, Ma said, “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep down here?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “You’re not married, Amity. It’s not nice.”

  “You didn’t care when I shared a room with Collie.”

  “I’ve known Collis from the time he was seven.”

  “Yes, and look how well that turned out,” I couldn’t help snapping. I leaned against the sink and pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Ma, you do realize he’s married to Kay Pierce, don’t you?”

  “Well, I’m sure that’s not what he wanted!”

  “Do you know?” I said softly. “What he did to me? Did he tell you?”

  Collie had driven Hal and Ma across the country after rescuing them – I knew that on that journey he’d told Hal, at least.

  Ma sagged a little. She sank down into the armchair. “Yes,” she said heavily. “He told me. He thinks it was his fault that you were…sent to that place.”

  “It was his fault.”

  Ma frowned, looking worried. “I had the impression that maybe he was just being very hard on himself. Maybe you misinterpreted things, Amity. You must know how much he’s always loved you.”

  My mother regularly rewrote history, but this still felt like a slap across the face. “No,” I said sharply. “I did not misinterpret anything. He told the Guns to take me away and they did.”

  Ma let out a long breath. “Poor Collis,” she murmured.

  My emotions were a frayed, trembling rope. “Poor Collis?” I cried. “Do you know what it was like in there? Didn’t you see the footage?”

  To my surprise, my mother’s eyes filled. She took my hand. “Poor you too,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean otherwise, darling. It killed me to know you were in there.”