Tides of Honour

by Genevieve Graham

Some of his own kind were drifting in now, men on stretchers and crutches, bandaged like mummies. They were marched or carried up to the top floor, where a small hospital had been set up for those who couldn’t go another step without help. Danny felt sick, watching them. His eyes found their injuries first, then scanned their faces, wondering if he might recognize one of the thousands he’d seen at the front. He never did.

  Some of the boys looked very young, he thought. Young, but with the spirit twisted right out of them. Danny knew that pain as well.

  He looked back toward where he’d last seen Audrey and realized she’d moved right up to the front of the line. He limped closer, trying to avoid squishing anyone’s feet with his crutch.

  “Audrey!” he called, and her head spun, curls bouncing as she searched for him. He waved. “Over here, Audrey!”

  “Danny!” Her smile was beautiful. Radiant. She looked as if she wanted to run to him, but the woman behind the desk was taking her time. “I’m coming!”

  She bent over the desk and signed whatever needed signing, grabbed her bag, and ran toward Danny.

  At first he just stared at her, paralyzed. It felt unreal, seeing her right there in front of him, in his own country, his own place. She stopped two feet away, smiling and waiting for her welcome. Her smile faded when he didn’t speak or move.

  One small hand nervously tugged the curls hanging onto her neck. “Please don’t stare at me like that, Danny,” she said after a moment. “Say something.”

  “I—” Danny wanted to oblige, but he just kept staring. He wanted to say something, quit looking like such an idiot, but he was tongue-tied. Instead, he grinned at her, his eyebrows angling up in a comical slant.

  “Danny?” She frowned, but a curious smile started to emerge. “Is it all right that I’m here?”

  “God, Audrey,” he managed at last. He thrust the flowers toward her, then started forward, leaning on the crutch, wanting so badly not to look awkward. She was there first, her arms around his neck, her lips on his as if they’d always belonged there.

  “What?” he said, leaning away from her. “Are those tears, Audrey? Are you cryin’?”

  She snuffled and backed away, scrambling in her handbag for a handkerchief. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I have a cloth somewhere but I—”

  “Forget that. I’m only teasing. Come here, will you? I’ve wanted to touch you for so long!”

  Her arms went back around him, and he grabbed her waist. The crutch snugged under his arm, but he didn’t need it. She was holding him, he was holding her, and he felt as if he could run and jump again, fly through the forest paths as he’d done for twenty-five years before this. Her brown dress was rough, like the calluses on his fingers, a lighter wool than his uniform had been. It carried with it the smell of the sea, of travel, and of the grime she’d picked up along the way. He liked everything about it. It made her more real to him. And less fragile. He kissed her for so long he thought he might run out of breath.

  “I can hardly wait to introduce you to my folks and my brothers. You’ll be stayin’ in the new bedroom until we—” Words bubbled up his throat, nervous, excited, unstoppable. Champagne behind a cork. “But I already told you that in my letters, didn’t I? I can’t believe I wrote so many letters. I never used to write. Anyway, it’s a nice room. My father and I just finished it. I hope you’ll be comfortable in it. It’s just down the hall from the room that I share with some of my brothers. And my mother is planning a big supper for tonight, so I hope you’re hungry. She’s a pretty good cook. I think we’re having cod and potatoes. We’ve got a ways to go to get home, so she sent some scones. Are you hungry? Maybe you’re thirsty? Do you want to walk around town a bit before we head home?”

  Audrey’s eyes were dancing. “You are amazing, Danny.”

  He hesitated. That was unexpected. “I’m amazing? Well, shucks.”

  She giggled. “I am very, very happy to be here.”

  “I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

  “No,” she said. “Never enough. Tell me more.” She flapped a hand at the crowds behind her. “I’ve listened to these people and their problems all the way here. Now I only want to hear you.”

  “You’re pretty easy to talk to, Audrey. Maybe that’s why they came to you.”

  “Maybe. But it was a long trip, and the whole time I was feeling so sorry for people, I hardly had time to get excited about coming here.” Her smile flashed. “But I’m here now. Would you take me home, Danny?”

  Danny closed his eyes for a moment, savouring her request, then opened them and stared deep into hers. “Would I take you home? Well, you tell me: is the ocean wet?”

  She frowned and tilted her head, then tossed it back and laughed. “Oh, Danny. I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t once drop her eyes to stare at his missing leg. Not once. He wondered if she’d even noticed. He decided to say something. Make it easier.

  “I’m not gonna be like those folks on the boat. I’m not gonna tell you any sad stories,” he said, holding both her hands, the flowers between them. “I want you to be happy.”

  She didn’t look down but said, “Danny, I know about your leg. If you want to talk about it, I want to talk about it. If you don’t, that’s fine. It’s just that all those strangers, well, I didn’t care about their stories. They weren’t important. Yours are important.”

  She was so pretty. For months he’d held on to the portrait she’d given him that morning so long ago, and he’d been determined not to forget her features, but the cool black and white lines couldn’t bring him the blue of her eyes or the way they’d captured him on that very first day. Now those eyes looked tired, and he couldn’t blame her. He swung her bag onto his shoulder, the one without the crutch. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn’t want help. Not with that, damn it. He was still a man. He was glad she didn’t ask.

  “Let’s get you home and settled, okay? I bet it’ll feel good to sleep in a real bed.”

  SIXTEEN

  Danny awoke and stared at the bottom of the bunk overhead, listening to his brothers’ snoring and thinking of Audrey. She had settled into the addition, the room they would eventually share as man and wife.

  His wife. What a thought. Shouldn’t come as such a surprise, he knew, that time had turned him into a man, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder at that. He’d just turned twenty-four when he headed to war with his friends, all of them proud and cocky and full of spice. He’d felt invincible. Different from how he’d felt before, when his idea of fun was taking girls out on a boat, sitting out with sunsets, introducing them to rum. Girls had been an empowering kind of a thing for him, a diversion. They’d looked up to him—even the ones he’d known since he was little—and when they blinked nervously at him, he felt like a king. Helen Crockett, with her tangled blond curls, had been his first kiss, and the moment had been both terrifying and exciting all at once. She was a couple of years older, a little more experienced, and it had torn him in half when she’d batted her lashes for George Hartlin a week later. He’d found solace in the arms of Anna Mitchell, then moved on to her cousin, Mary. He and Mary had held hands on and off for about six months when he’d been twenty-three, and he’d known she wanted more. But how could he have committed to something like marriage? The families had waited, suspecting he’d take the next step soon, but he’d surprised them all. When Mary gave him an ultimatum, he’d replied with a kiss and wished her well. Even presented her with a wedding gift when the time had come.

  Now he could hardly wait to get married. He rolled over and squinted at the clock, then lay back and puffed out his breath. Four-thirty a.m. His father and brothers would be pushing the boat into the water, dropping the nets, hauling them back in again. The rest of the house was quiet. Too early for Audrey to be up yet. He could picture her tucked under the covers of what would bec
ome their bed, the blanket layered gently over her body. Was she a light sleeper? Did she lie perfectly still all night or did she roll around while she dreamed? What would it be like to lie beside her? To touch her in the dark, to close his eyes and kiss the soft curve of her neck, her breasts—oh, he had thought about that a lot.

  He closed his eyes again. He should have gone fishing this morning, if only to occupy his mind. It was going to make him crazy, lying here, waiting for the rest of the house to get up.

  With nothing else to think about, his mind travelled across the sea. Four o’clock meant it was about eight o’clock over there. Plenty of time for the boys in the battalion to have eaten their breakfast, popped on their helmets, and gotten blown to kingdom come. Tommy Joyce had still been there on Danny’s last day; Tommy and Mick had been on that offensive, he remembered. When his captain had come to bring his personal items, as well as those of Fred and Jimmy, Danny hadn’t asked how many men had survived that day, and the captain had offered nothing. But Mick had tossed a note into the box. “See you in Halifax,” it said. Wouldn’t that be something, Danny thought.

  An early-rising bird called outside his window, and Danny stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to get any more sleep, he could tell. He sat up and swung his leg and stump to the side of the bed, pulled on some trousers and a shirt, grabbed his crutch, and headed toward the kitchen. He lit the small lamp by the sink and it bloomed to a yellow glow, casting shadows where there’d been nothing a moment before. He wasn’t hungry, but he picked up the bread his mother had left out for him. She must have known he’d be restless. Danny boiled water and poured himself a cup of tea, then he leaned against the counter and sipped.

  At the end of the dark hall, a door handle clicked. Danny tilted his head but couldn’t see anything.

  “Danny?”

  Audrey. She was awake and whispering his name so as not to wake anyone else.

  “There she is,” Danny said quietly, smiling and trying to sound relaxed. She edged down the hall toward him, and he could hardly wait for the lamp to bring him her features.

  When it did, Danny felt warm all over. She looked a little rumpled by sleep, one cheek still lined by her pillow, and her hair tumbled lazily over her shoulders. She wore a different dress this morning, of course. Her travelling dress would be in need of a good rest. Her eyes were wide open, though, and blinking at him.

  “I couldn’t sleep a minute longer,” she whispered.

  “Me either,” he said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want anyone else to wake up and disturb this perfect moment. “Want tea?”

  “Yes, please,” she said. “And do I smell bread?”

  “Help yourself. Mother makes it all the time. She knows I have a weakness for it.”

  She cut a slice of bread while he poured steaming tea into a small white cup. He had tried to find the nicest one for her, but they all had tiny cracks and chips around the edges. The china had been around a long time. Crossed the sea, even. Just like Audrey. He slipped the cup into her hands, and she sighed as her cold fingers soaked in the heat.

  “That smells good,” she said, then tried a sip, but it was still too hot. Her eyes travelled around the kitchen, and she smiled, seeing her own drawings on display along the counter wall. She’d sent him beautiful depictions of trees, cats, and birds, and they’d helped tide him over when the war had threatened to obliterate his memories. He’d shown them to his mother, who had fallen in love with them. She’d ironed out the folds and pinned them along the wall.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he said. “You sent them in your letters.”

  “I remember.”

  “And when I showed them to my mother, she kind of insisted . . .”

  She bit her lip, obviously pleased. “So sweet of her. It’s nice seeing them here.”

  “I think it’s her way of saying you’re already a part of our family.”

  Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight, and she reached out to touch a picture she’d done of her farmhouse. “Seems so far away,” she said quietly.

  He didn’t want her to dwell on the past. “Let’s sit,” he said. “We could go outside, but it’s still pretty cool. We’ll see when the sun comes up.”

  He led her into the sitting room and waited until she took a spot on one side of his mother’s old sofa, a homemade, dark red monstrosity with curving oak arms. Audrey sank into it, and Danny moved in beside her so their knees touched. There was an awkward silence at first, as if neither knew how to start. As always, it seemed the easiest way was to begin with the basics.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

  She smiled, seeming relieved that he’d spoken first. She nodded. “I did, thank you. It’s a lovely room.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll be finding that out for myself soon enough,” Danny said, then bit his lip, unsure of how she might react. Fortunately, it seemed she was good and ready for it.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, and her eyes lit in a way that made him want very badly to kiss her, but he restrained himself and waited for her to say more. “I’ve thought about that for a long time, Danny. About getting married. I still can’t believe it’s true, but I’m so, so happy you chose me to be your wife.”

  “I chose you? How can you say that?”

  She fiddled with the folds of her skirt, pleating them between nervous fingers. “It’s only, well . . . a man like you could have any woman he wanted.”

  Helen Crockett’s seventeen-year-old lips puckered in his memory, and an unexpected pang of guilt hit him when he recalled the trust in Mary Mitchell’s dark eyes. But that was all in the past.

  “Aw, Audrey. You’re being silly. There’s nobody but you. Never really has been. I mean, well, sure, before I met you, but never since.”

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks and glowed pink. “Now stop it, Danny. Look at me, blushing.”

  “You’re even prettier when you blush.”

  She shook her head, smiling, then she reached for her tea and took a sip, closing her eyes as she swallowed. He watched her move, captivated by the action of her throat, the light dusting of freckles that shifted when she moved her nose.

  Still holding the cup to her lips, she rolled her eyes toward him. “Don’t stare at me. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that? I’ll spill my tea all over your mother’s beautiful rug if you keep staring at me like that.”

  “Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t. “It’s just hard to believe you’re really here. Aren’t you tired from that trip? It’s a long one. I remember that. And uncomfortable.”

  “I am, and I’m sure I’ll feel it more later,” she admitted, “but I wanted to see you. I imagine the journey was worse for you. With your leg, I mean.”

  He shook his head and swallowed the bitter answer that sprang to his lips. He didn’t want to think about his leg. She was perfect, he was not, and thinking about the leg did nothing but make him angry.

  “Let’s not talk about me,” he said.

  “All right,” she said easily. “But we’ll have to think of something else to talk about so you won’t just stare at me.” Her tone scolded, but the smile beneath it was warm and receptive. “Tell me about this place. Tell me about your brothers.”

  Sometime over the next two hours, during which they barely paused to take a breath between words, Danny’s mother came into the kitchen and tried to be quiet. Danny knew she was there, shuffling in the background, but didn’t make any sign. From the amount of talking the couple did, it seemed the letters they had sent each other over the miles and the months hadn’t quite covered everything. If Danny said something, Audrey was transfixed, staring and nodding, asking questions, and when Audrey said something, Danny understood it immediately.

  He couldn’t remember ever being so happy in his entire life.

  A crash in the kitchen broke the spell, followed by a distressed, “Oh, no. Look at
what I’ve done. I’m so sorry, you two! I didn’t mean to interrupt, but it seems I—”

  Audrey and Danny poked their heads into the kitchen and saw his mother, pink-faced with embarrassment, taking out a broom to collect the scattered shards of a serving platter. Audrey was on her knees in an instant, picking up the larger pieces and piling them in her hands.

  “Oh, just leave that, Audrey dear. You’ll cut yourself.”

  “No, no,” Audrey assured her. She picked up a large shard and sighed. “Oh, that’s too bad. Such a lovely plate.”

  “You think so? How kind of you. Yes, my mother gave it to me long ago.”

  “Lovely,” Audrey repeated, examining it up close. Mrs. Baker took the piece from her, then shook her head. “What a fine way to welcome you! Get you working right away! Well, at least let’s get you some breakfast.”

  “I’m not afraid of hard work, Mrs. Baker. I hope you’ll keep me busy.”

  Danny leaned against the kitchen wall, arms folded, and watched his two favourite women in the world as they got to know each other. This was going to be just fine, he thought. Just fine.

  SEVENTEEN

  On Sundays no one ever did any work other than the mandatory cooking and cleaning up afterwards. So a couple of Sundays before their wedding, Danny took Audrey for a walk, carrying the paints and paper she’d begged him to bring. He wore his peg leg so it would be easier for him to wind through roots and grass along the same forest path he could have cut through blindfolded as a boy. She followed him down to a stream near Arnold’s Lane, fed by Abbiecombec Lake, and he reached back to squeeze her hand when he spotted a doe standing knee-deep in the water. Audrey stood as still as the animal, looking delighted. Further on, a frog plopped into the water nearby, and Audrey jumped, startled, then dissolved into giggles. Danny stepped into the edge of the cool water and scooped up the creature. The little claws scrabbled inside Danny’s hands when he trapped it, then he held it up so she could touch its soft, smooth skin.