Tides of Honour

by Genevieve Graham

  She didn’t want to waste fuel at night by lighting lamps or candles. That meant she couldn’t paint, couldn’t read—though that didn’t really matter. She’d already read their meagre supply of books many times, and they were in French, anyway. She lay in the silence of her bed, envying the crickets, wishing she too had something to sing about.

  There had to be more she could do.

  In the morning she walked to town to check for mail. A letter from Danny had arrived, and she grinned while she opened the envelope.

  June 30, 1916

  My dearest Audrey,

  I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother’s passing. I suppose people say it can be a blessing, but it’s never a blessing for the folks left behind. I wish I was there to comfort you. I hope you know that I’m thinking of you, like I do all the time.

  Audrey, as tragic as it is, your loss gives me all the more reason to ask you something I’ve been thinking about for a while. Truth is I’m kind of afraid to ask. If I do, you might either be real angry at me being so forward, or you might love the idea. But the thing is, if I don’t ask, I’ll never forgive myself. Now seems like as good a time as any.

  I don’t want you to stay here. Especially not now that you’re alone. I want you to come to Canada. I’m not sure if getting to know you through letters and all is the right way, but the thing is, I’ve fallen in love with you, Audrey. I want to marry you and have a family. I wish with all my heart that I could be on one knee in front of you, asking, but I can’t. I promise to do it right when I see you again.

  Please make me the happiest man in the world, Audrey. Come to Canada and be my wife. I remain

  Yours most affectionately,

  Danny

  I’ve fallen in love with you.

  How was it possible for simple words scrawled in a messy hand, written on stained and crumpled paper, to make her feel as if she’d left her body? As if she’d sprouted wings and flitted over the old farmhouse, where she could flip and fly wherever she wanted? He loved her. He loved her. He wanted to marry her, have a family. Could it be? Could love happen like this? Through a shockingly short courtship and a box full of scribbled letters?

  Of course it could. She’d known it in the first moment she’d caught his eye. She’d seen something in that face, in the set of his shoulders, heard something in the awkward first words between them. And she’d known she would only ever love him.

  She was staring so hard at the paper, rereading his words, that she tripped on a stick lying on the road, but she righted herself and didn’t look back.

  Come to Canada.

  That was a whole other idea, one that she’d never really considered before. That would mean learning a whole new way of life, being around people with different accents, different opinions, different . . . everything. It wasn’t that she was afraid, really. She’d never been a timid girl. But this was a big step.

  She would think more on that aspect later. For now she wanted to bask in the glory of the idea of the thing. He loved her. She would see him soon, and she would wear her prettiest gown, and they would make beautiful children, and live happily ever after on the quiet shores of Nova Scotia. They would grow old together.

  She knew nothing about the sea. So much to learn!

  Would it be such a strain for her to go to Canada? Would it really be that difficult? She’d moved from the wild, unpredictable life her mother had led her through in England, then landed with a crash in this godforsaken farm in the nowhere middle of France. She’d survived that.

  The physical voyage itself would be a challenge. Audrey’s whole life had been spent either on this flat piece of farmland or wandering Sussex, and she barely remembered the wagon ride in between. She’d seen the sea while crossing the Channel, but the idea of going all the way to Canada was impossible to envision. She’d have to go on a great ship, obviously, then sleep among strangers aboard something that rocked and swayed with the tide.

  Kind of a metaphor for her own life, she mused, since she’d never had any choice but to rock and sway, move with the tide. Any anchor she might have had was thrown by someone else, not her. Did she dare draw it up and start fresh? Was she brave enough to steer toward that distant place on the horizon?

  Canada. It almost seemed like an imaginary world, it was so far away. In truth, she knew nothing about it other than what Danny had written in his brief letters. She supposed it couldn’t be all that different from here, since he fished and hunted and did what most men here did as well. What might there be for her in Canada? On one hand, she almost didn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than it was here on the farm, all alone and desperate for human contact. She would have to go somewhere. But Canada? Did she need to make such an extreme departure? What did she know of Canada? What did she know of Danny, really?

  When the soldiers had stopped there for the night, Danny had shown her his little pin, the maple leaf. The road where she walked was shadowed by vivid green, evidence of that same tree. Uneven grey bark bumped under her fingers, drawing paths, colliding, running away. Like long grey rivers without a care in the world, flowing upstream until they burst into pointed sprays of colour, celebrating the sky. Now the silver maples were green, but when October came, the world would mellow with them, head inside to warm by the fire when the leaves rustled their vivid yellow leaves.

  She imagined maple trees must be at least as glorious in Canada as they were here, since the army had pinned them so proudly to their soldiers’ chests. It was encouraging to think that if she did go to Canada, she might one day walk alongside these magnificent trees again, might paint them again. As much as she craved a new life, a tiny voice inside begged for some kind of landmark.

  Danny had mentioned bagpipes too, which made her smile. Noisy, brash things which she imagined might just be the perfect accompaniment to gunfire and bombs.

  It had been months since they’d heard anything from Laurent, and that note had been brief. What if he came back when all this was over and found the place abandoned? What then? Did she even have the right to do this? He was older than she, and it got her wondering. Even though he’d barely lived there, was this more his place than hers?

  War changed things, she reminded herself. What was right before might not be right anymore, and if she was making a mistake, she would probably have to answer for it another time. Laurent was gone. Something deep inside told her he’d never come back. And that reminder was only a quick, brief twist on her heart, since she’d resolved herself to that probability on the day he’d set his shoulders and strode from the farm, looking so strong and brave.

  All around her, people were loading up wagons and abandoning their land, unable to work it now that the war had taken over. No one was left to work the farms since the young men were all in trenches, and their remaining families were starving. Winter would come sooner than anyone was ready, and it would be a long, terrible winter, she knew.

  One of the goats spotted her as she approached the barn. He ambled over, complaining about the lateness of breakfast or something. Audrey had too many eggs now for one person, and too much milk. She should sell the animals. And if she sold the animals, what was holding her at the farm?

  “What do you think, little one?” she asked, scratching the knobbly black head. “Should I go to Canada?”

  The world was changing. It was time for Audrey to change as well.

  She had very little to pack. A few dresses, her art supplies, all Danny’s letters, and enough food to last for a few days. Just until she got to the city. She also had the little tin box her grandmère had thought secret, filled with a healthy amount of money. Not a fortune, she knew, but something to get her started at least. She wouldn’t be homeless.

  The first thing she had to do was write a reply to Danny, the man she wanted to marry more than anything else on earth.

  NINE

  She hadn’t thought Lond
on would be so big. Or so busy. The driver shifted beside her, leaning forward to ease his back, and she looked around, her eyes wide. Even though the day was ending, the pace here was overwhelming—a constant stream of black hats and coats, the clattering of wheels and engines, an all-consuming cast of grey looming over the covetous fingers of cathedral steeples. The towns in Sussex had been large, she remembered, but they had nothing on this circus. Of course, she could have gone there, to her mother’s old world, but something had driven her farther north. Maybe, she mused, she needed something big because she was destined for something big. The thought made her grin, and she was startled when a gentleman on the street lifted his top hat and smiled in return.

  “Where to, miss?” her driver asked, weaving around a pothole.

  “I need a place to stay. Is there a hotel or something nearby?”

  “O’ course.” He chirped to the pair of horses jingling ahead, who looked as tired as Audrey felt. But the days of travel had led to this, and her blood sang with excitement. London. She was on her own in London. What an adventure!

  Just over twenty years ago, Pascale Poulin had done this too. Had her nerves vibrated as Audrey’s did now? Had Pascale clung to her travel mates for balance the way Audrey gripped the bench? Had her mother ever regretted trading in the quiet, the solitude, the sweet, calm, fresh air for this madness? If she had, she’d adjusted. Somehow she’d created a life with strangers, and she’d met someone, even brought a healthy, happy baby into the world. And though their life in the streets had been unsettled and meals had been unpredictable, the days and nights had been warm with affection. Nothing like the frost which had always emanated from Audrey’s grandmère.

  Audrey wasn’t sure if she was terrified or just excited. Everything moved so quickly, a natural chaos created from unnatural fabric.

  Pascale had been strong. Audrey would be strong. And one day soon she would stand beside Danny, and he would be so proud of her for what she’d dared to do.

  Despite the rain, she set out walking in the morning, exploring the endless streets and windows. After a couple of hours the rain had settled into a relentless drizzle that worked its way into her bones until she was simply too cold to go on. She would either have to return to the hotel or figure out something else. She cast an eye toward a café, wondering. Did women go into these places and sit by themselves? Was that considered all right? A church, she knew, was different. Anyone could go there. But a social setting like a café? Everyone she’d seen going in or out of those places was either in a couple or in groups of two or three, huddled beneath combined umbrellas.

  She paused before the large window. Inside, a stove burned, pumping beautiful orange heat into the room. It looked comfortable, with probably a dozen white-clothed tables, most of them occupied. She jumped when the door burst open beside her and a couple of women stepped outside, beautiful in their tailored suits, giggling under large brimmed hats. Audrey desperately wanted a hat like that. She’d seen them everywhere, decorated by either gemstones, ribbons, feathers, or flowers, in all colours and sizes. What she wanted was a deep red velvet with a ruby-like gem on the front, with all the ribbon gathered around it like a frame. She’d already seen it in the store window a few doors down. She’d been sorely tempted but had reluctantly walked away, knowing it was too much to spend. It made sense to find her way around this city first, maybe get a job, though she had no idea what she might be hired for.

  What could she do, after all? Her schooling was practically non-existent, though she could certainly do the basics, like read and write. She supposed she could take care of children, maybe cook, possibly tutor French and art, but there wouldn’t be much call here for a girl with great talents at milking goats or shovelling out chicken coops. For ten years she’d done all that, and though she’d dreamed of escape, she’d never let the thoughts go much further. After all, that could only lead to disappointment.

  A shadow of a figure danced through her memory, attached to a laughing, skipping child. Had her mother ever held down a job? She didn’t think so. Certainly not for as long as Audrey had known her. But she’d been a wonderful mother, teaching her daughter to make do, make the best of what she had.

  She recalled one night, when Audrey had been around nine years old, her mother had wrapped her in blankets for the night, then touched her cheek gently and said she would be gone for the night. Audrey had never been left alone the entire night before.

  “Non, Maman! Restez-ici!”

  Pascale had touched her daughter’s lips with one gentle finger, saying, “Shh, Audrey. You are safe. This is not the only tent here.”

  It was true; they had many friends here, but still . . . “I want to come with you.”

  Her mother let out a slow breath, and her eyes filled with sympathetic tears. “You are a big girl now. And sometimes Maman must do things without you. I will be back in the morning.”

  “No! I cannot—”

  Pascale lifted her delicate chin and rolled her shoulders slightly back as she got to her feet. Audrey still remembered how brave her mother appeared to her in that moment. How brave, and how deeply sad.

  “Ma chérie,” she said, stepping away from Audrey. “Nous sommes des femmes. Nous faisons ce que nous devons pour survivre.” We are women. We must do what we must do. “I will see you in the morning, and we will have a lovely day tomorrow.”

  Pascale was never a prostitute. Audrey knew that. She’d seen those working women with their dead, glassy eyes, and her mother was not like that. She did not eagerly sell her body to support herself and her daughter, but as Audrey matured, she understood that certain things could be bought and sold when needed. Within their little, ever-evolving group, sex was simply part of a barter system. A practical way to survive when you had nothing else to trade.

  After Richard disappeared, Pascale and Audrey moved on, finding a fire someplace, endearing themselves to a friendly face or two. They never had much, but they had each other. At the time Audrey hadn’t known they’d needed more, hadn’t wondered how they paid for food, or where her new little coat had come from. She was a child, oblivious. And all the while, her mother had been doing what she needed to do, quietly, patiently, earning what she could.

  Audrey understood, but it didn’t take away the shame she felt when she remembered those days. She swore she would never be reduced to living that way ever again.

  The two women still walked toward her, laughing, looking sophisticated and happy. One clutched the other’s arm, keeping them close and dry under one umbrella, and Audrey stepped to the side of the walkway so they could pass. At the last minute they stopped, and one of the women handed her a piece of white paper.

  “Here, love. You might want to come see us tonight.”

  She stared, confused, and the women gave her matching smiles. “Seven-thirty. Come early for a good seat.”

  Audrey watched them walk away, and when they stopped to hand someone else a piece of paper, she looked at the one they’d given her. It was for some kind of meeting, it appeared, though she had no idea what it meant. Suffragette. What on earth?

  She shivered then made up her mind as a cab drove by, spraying water that landed far too close for Audrey’s liking. Sucking up her pride, she walked into the café and glanced around. To her relief, after a few curious looks, no one paid her any attention at all. She took the last available table, settling in quietly and keeping her eyes averted from the strangers. When the waitress appeared, Audrey ordered a tea and biscuit, then sat back and relished the warmth as it travelled through her. From here she could watch the business of London from a safe place, and while she found it exciting to be among so much, it was intimidating as well.

  “Pardon me, miss.”

  Audrey glanced up, surprised. Two women about her age stood by her table, smiling down at her. Their coats were shiny with rain. “Yes?”

  “Would it be a terrible inconven
ience if we were to share your table with you? All the others are taken, and we were hoping to enjoy a nice spot of tea. It’s frightful out there, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, eyes wide. “It is.”

  They smiled patiently, waiting, until Audrey cleared her head. “I’m so sorry. Of course you may sit with me. I’m not wonderful company, but you’re welcome to it.”

  “Lovely,” said the second woman, and the two took the seats across from her.

  “Jean Saunders,” she said. “So pleased to meet you.”

  Audrey felt unaccountably shy. She didn’t think she’d ever been shy before, but something about this woman spooked her. She supposed it was because the woman didn’t appear to have a nervous bone in her body.

  Jean cleared her throat and crinkled her nose. “And you are?”

  Flustered, Audrey took her hand, smiling weakly. She felt dangerously close to tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m new here, you see, and terribly tired. I believe you’re the first person to say hello to me in days, other than the doorman, that is.”

  Jean’s other hand closed over hers, and her brow creased with concern. “Oh my poor dear! Well, Marjory and I will just have to take care of this, won’t we, Marjory?”

  “Most certainly,” said her friend, offering her hand as well. “Marjory Buckins. Shall we just guess at your name?”

  Audrey flushed. “Audrey. I’m Audrey Poulin. I’m . . . I’ve only just arrived from France.”

  “How lovely.” Marjory’s smile was wide and warm. She was darker than her friend, with brown eyes that seemed to be moving all the time, studying the other tables, the door, everywhere she could look. “Lovely indeed.” Those dark eyes focused momentarily on Audrey. “What were you doing in France?”

  “Oh, I lived there. But I live here now. Or, at least, I hope to live here, at least for a while.”

  “What does that mean?” Jean asked. “Do you live here?”