“He pulled me out of a flooded trench.”
I look up at Mauve. She is in the rocking chair, leaning over, holding a rattle out towards Pearl, who reaches for it and giggles.
“He saved my life, I think.
I realize that, for the first time, I’m telling someone besides Rose about the war. In a way, I feel I was given another chance at life when Oshki reached down and pulled me from the freezing water.
Mauve is quiet. I sense her studying me. I must seem a different person to her to the artsy, free spirit who left. I probably reflect the image of a tortured man now.
“Tell me about it,” she carefully says as she rattles the toy gingerly for Pearl.
“I . . .” I can’t tell her much of what actually put me there in the trench underneath the grimy water, so I go with my cover story. “I had escaped and was hiding from the Germans. I thought it was my captors who pulled me out, but it was Oshki. I could hardly believe it.”
That part is true, at least, I realize. I was genuinely surprised to see my friend.
How strange. We had signed up together, trained together some, but then fate had taken its course. I had gone one way, while Oshki had gone another.
“How did he look to you?” Mauve’s voice sounds hungry.
“Older. Thinner, but fine,” I answer honestly.
Mauve nods slowly. I watch her hand go up to her face. I imagine the tear she wipes away.
“How was your time in . . . well, in the prison camp?”
“I . . . don't really want to talk about it.”
I turn my gaze towards the low flames. I see their smudged image dance and glow. Pearl appears like a peachy lump before me, and I can see the form of Mauve, with her flaming locks. My eyes, though, see only a bleary image of what I know to be there. If an object is within a foot or so, I can discern it a little clearer.
“How is your vision?”
“Minimal. We went to see a specialist not long ago. He didn’t have much to offer in the way of hope.”
“There will be no further healing?” I can hear the pity in Mauve’s voice.
“He didn’t rule it out.”
“How are you doing with that? And what about your . . . art?”
“You learn to take what comes. I’m finding a way. I took out my carving tools the other day. I’m working on a deer scene.”
“But how?” Mauve sounds astonished. “Is it . . . safe? Sorry, I don’t mean to impede what you’ve always loved to do. I just want what’s best for you.”
I hear the care in her words. I try to explain my determination.
“You see, while I was in the hospital, I learned just how well my hands can see. Another injured soldier challenged me to try creating something and to do what I can. “Ro . . . ah, another person helped as well.” I almost let Rose’s name out of my heart and into Mauve’s ears. No one else needs to know about her besides Mom and me.
“I’m glad, Luis. I’m proud to see your . . . bravery.”
Just then, Pearl starts to fuss.
“I best get something warmed up for her. Can you watch her for several minutes? She’s not crawling yet, so she won’t take off on you or anything.”
“Umm, sure.”
“Won’t take me long.” Mauve rises to get some baby food ready.
I inch closer to the baby until she is sheltered by my trunk. I spread a leg on either side of her to hedge her in. She whines a little, but then she finds my thumb and sucks on it, which seems to soothe her for the moment.
I think about how Rose helped me, encouraged me to do what I could. I recall the afternoon I painted for the first time since my injury. . .
“Here’s the blue,” Rose moved her fingers to the next spot, “the red, and . . .” she positioned his finger by the last glob, “the yellow. They are alphabetically ordered, B,R,Y.”
“That makes sense. But I can’t use my eyes to see the shade; how will I know what to mix?” I shook my bandaged head. “This is futile.”
“Nothing is impossible with God. A dear lady told me that recently.”
“She sounds like a couple of ladies I know.” I thought of my brave mother and aunt and picked up the paint brush Rose offered me.
I’ll try for you, Mom, and for you, Aunt Val, my heart echoed. I moved to the first blob.
“Good. Now, a little of the red. Move the brush a little. Yes. Now you have purple—the color of pansies, amethysts, and sunsets.”
I could feel Rose smile through her description.
“I don’t know what to paint.” I felt frustrated at not being able to use my eyes. An anger burned in the depths of my frustration, like a furnace heating a house.
“Maybe don’t think so much of exactly replicating something. Think of Renoir and Monet, who are more impressionistic with their style. Paint how you . . . feel.”
“Someone knows their painters.”
“I’ve always liked art, but I was never much good at it. I’ve dabbled a bit with painting.”
“Aha, l’artiste in the making.”
“Hardly. Come, just paint. It doesn’t have to look a certain way or be a certain thing. Just do it and see what comes forth.”
“All right.” I mixed and dabbed and slid the brush along the canvas.
It does feel good, I thought.
“I have others to tend to. I’ll stop by in a half hour to see what you’ve done.” She paused. I waited. “I’m proud of you for trying, Lt. Wilson. You are a brave man.”
Then I heard her bustle away. I tried to concentrate as I painted with my feelings and my hand. It felt foreign but good.
“Luis? Luis?” Mauve taps me on the shoulder.
“Sorry, lost in thought, I guess.”
“Here, let me take Pearl.” Mauve stoops down, picks up the baby, and transfers her to her highchair by the kitchen table.
“I think I’ll stay here by the fire if you don’t mind,” I call.
“Not at all.” Mauve walks back to me. “Make yourself at home, Luis. I am . . . so glad you’re back.” She bends down, kisses me quickly on the temple, and goes back to Pearl.
Her kiss warms me.
It’s good to be home, I decide. I am starting to remember who I was in this place called home. It feels good to be loved.
I lounge in the warmth of the fire and think of family, and friends, and . . . Rose. Always Rose. She never seems far from my thoughts.
March 1917
Near Vimy Ridge
“Gut. Gut, Hahn.” Luis mentally filed away the information Rufus had acquired for him.
Rooster thought he fed Luis tidbits from Ostermann’s headquarters for the purpose of speeding the war along. It had taken some time for Rooster to trust Luis, but eventually he had jumped into the plan with both feet.
Luis hoped Rooster still thought him a German Lieutenant who passed along information to the British, but there were moments when Rooster looked at him just so that Luis was sure he knew the truth. He counted on the fact that Rooster didn’t much care. He was game for whatever shortened the war. Luis had convinced him that what they were doing would help.
“Ja. If the British concentrate on breaking through at this point,” Rooster whispered, pointing to an area on the tunnel map he’d pilfered from the general’s HQ, “that would be best. It’s the least watched and the closest to their own.”
Hahn had proven himself invaluable. Luis prayed they wouldn’t get caught. Rooster would be labeled a traitor, while he would just be caught as a spy.
Being a traitor is ten times worse, Luis determined.
He would wait for just the right time to pass on what he knew. The map would have to be delivered in person; until then, he had to hide it.
Where do I conceal it? He thought of the possibilities . . .
In my quarters? On my person? Any place was risky. Then an idea popped into his head. My shoe. Yes.
“If I find anything else, I will inform you, Lieutenant.” Rooster looked nervously over his shoulder.
“I have to go. The general sent me out to fetch some vodka.” Rooster pulled a bottle out of his pocket. “I must not disappoint, huh?” He grinned.
“Ja. The general must have his liquor. You are dismissed, Hahn.”
Luis gave a short, crisp salute. Their eyes met for a few seconds. Luis felt a strength about Rooster he’d not noticed before. He hoped he was doing the right thing, banking his trust on Rooster’s information.
“Oberstleutnant Von Wolff.” Rooster clipped a salute out and left Luis alone in the dugout.
Luis quickly took his boot off and pried out the insole. He folded the map up, placed it in his shoe, and layered the leather foot-bed on top. Then he stuck his foot back in, laced up his boot, and tramped off to do his soldierly duty of checking on his men.
He had tried to remain as detached as possible from them. He didn’t want to get too close. He hated the thought that he worked towards their deaths.
But, no, I’m working towards their capture, not their death.
He agreed with Lefebvre. He had a war to win, not Germans to kill.
March 18th, 1917
Dear Lily,
They cleared me, and I am back to the front. Just as well. I was getting ready for a change of scenery, and if the change can’t be home, then it might as well be here. Besides, I have some payback to hand out.
I am relatively in the same area as before, but I can’t really say where that is. I hardly remember anyone here. I fight with strangers. Sometimes I ask myself how I survive and so many others don’t. It is like a strange kind of lottery. Pray my number doesn’t come up.
How has everyone taken the news? I hope your father doesn’t think I’m too much of a rogue. I am sorry I didn’t ask his permission. When I get home, I will.
My darling, you are the first thing on my mind in the morning and the last thought I have before I drift off at night. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.
Yours,
Jimmy
Late March 1917
Webaashi Bay
Lily touched the pocket on her skirt where she kept Jimmy’s last letter. Her heart had almost burst when she had read his words. Gratitude for his escaping death flooded her.
In that spirit, she started the day off. “Welcome, ladies.”
Lily smiled warmly at the women of the community, those she knew and those she was getting to know.
Even terrible circumstances like war can bring about something good, she thought.
If it hadn’t been for the war, she would never have gotten up the gumption to create and lead a community women’s group. She thought of their past meetings and how much closer they’d all grown with each passing one. Together they made a difference by conserving their resources and supporting their men at war.
“Now, we don’t have a speaker today, as I posted. You were told to bring your knitting, so I hope you came prepared. We’ll be making socks to send to our men. If you don’t have a pattern, there are a number of them laid out on the table here for you to borrow, compliments of Mrs. Trent.” Lily pointed to the low table in the center of the room.
“Also, I want to take a moment to thank my . . . mom, Mrs. Vanessa Parsons, for hosting today.” Lily nodded and smiled at Vanessa, who smiled back. Many of the ladies clapped. “And the treats for this afternoon were provided by the very capable hands of Miss Angelica Follett and Miss Natalie Herman.”
A few Oh’s and Ah’s could be heard around the room.
“One more thing.” Lily raised her voice and held her pointer finger up. “Most likely, you won’t finish your socks today, so we’ll have a collection basket at The Candy and Bake Shop. Right, Mrs. Murray?” Lily looked for Ellie Murray in the group of women.
Ellie spoke up. “Sure and certain. It’ll be by t’ front counter.”
“Grand. Thanks.” Lily smiled winningly. “Well, let’s begin.”
The women took no time at all to delve into their bags of yarn. The click-clicking of knitting needles could soon be heard along with much chitter chatter of female voices.
Lily helped Opal, her Mom and Pop’s housemaid, set the dining table with scones and jam, canned cherries, almond and liver pate sandwiches, and Angelica’s special creme cake. Jenay had brought some herbal teas for their beverages.
Opal turned questioning eyes to Lily. “How many pots should I set out?”
“I’d say four, but wait just a bit to brew the tea. I’m sure the ladies will want to knit for a while. I’ll let you know,” Lily clarified.
“Yes, miss.” Opal smiled sweetly and went back to the kitchen. Lily found a spot next to Mauve to sit.
“Blue?” Lily asked as she looked at Mauve’s choice of yarn.
“What’s wrong with blue? Oshki’s favorite color is blue.”
“It’s just so . . . bright.”
“Needs a bit of brightness, I’ll wager.” Mauve kept her eyes to her work as she picked up stitches on her needle. She had several alternating rows previously completed of knit stitches and purl stitches—a classic stocking stitch.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Mauve’s eyes flicked to Lily then back to her knitting. “Aren’t you going to make any?”
“I never was much of a knitter. I always preferred crochet,” Lily confessed. “I just planned to supervise today.”
“Wall, ya can make socks using crochet. Although, you might need a pattern.” Mauve yanked out more yarn from her skein and started on another round.
“Oh, I didn’t really think about it. They don’t turn out as nice.”
“No, I guess not.”
“I think I’ll snoop around and see what everyone is doing.”
Lily got up and let Mauve concentrate on her knitting. She moved her needles as if in a race. Lily looked for someone who had a bit of a slower pace. She eyed Nora Smith, Jimmy’s mom, across the room. She sat on the fringe of the group. There was a vacant spot next to her, so Lily decided to saunter over and join her.
“May I sit?” Lily asked Nora, pointing to the chair on her left.
“Of course.” Nora looked up but didn’t smile. “Get a letter from Jimmy recently?” she asked, but it seemed like more of an accusation to Lily.
“Yes.” Lily felt awkward. She needed to clear the air between them. “Nora, I . . .”
Nora cut her off. “Jimmy told us. About the two of you, that is.”
“And . . .?” Lily felt Nora desired to say something more.
Nora let her knitting droop to her lap. “We like you, Lily, don’t get me wrong, but you haven’t seen Jimmy in years. Really, how are you two supposed to . . .?”
She looked up at Lily with unasked questions in her eyes. Then she picked her yarn back up and knitted with a speedier hand.
“Well, we’ve gotten reacquainted.”
Lily was a practical person; she knew about facing reality. She tried not to take offense. She could understand Nora’s concern. Her own parents had been happy for her but reserved in their joy.
“Is it not possible to . . . fall in love with someone because of their words? Jimmy’s letters tell me who he is and who he’s become—a person I love.”
Nora’s clicking stilled. “Yes. You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. I . . .” She reached down into her bag and pulled out a hankie, with which she dabbed her nose. “I’m just worried about him. His last letter said they sent him back to fight. I fear the next time he’s injured, it will be fatally.”
Lily tried to reassure her. “Let us hope and pray such isn’t the case.”
“Yes.” Nora reached out and clasped Lily’s hand for a few moments before she went back to her knitting.
They didn’t talk further on the subject. Lily visited a bit more with Nora about the print shop and got up to peruse her way through the group.
“Yoo, hoo,” a voice called, and a hand waved.
Lily saw Mrs. Grey looking up from her wool sock in the making and gladly went to talk with her. “Mrs. Grey, how are you faring?”
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“Oh, good.” Mrs. Grey held up her sock of natural-colored wool. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
Mrs. Grey glanced at Jenay, who was seated next to her.
“Oh, I can get up and get some refreshment and let you two ladies talk,” Jenay kindly said.
“Thank you, Mme. Cota.” Lily sat in her vacated seat. “Oh, could you tell Opal to get the tea ready?”
“Certainly.” Jenay smiled and walked to the kitchen.
“Well,” Mrs. Grey continued. “Would you consider a change in your working environment? The children love you, and I need a teacher’s aide. I believe you have some schooling which would qualify you to help in that respect. Of course, it would be a paid position.” She turned hopeful eyes towards Lily.
“Gosh, I don’t know what to say.” Lily was genuinely caught off guard.
I do enjoy the children so much.
“I would have to see if my father could do without me. I’m not certain.”
“Take your time to think about it.” Mrs. Grey clacked her needles again. “There’s no rush.”
“Fine. Thank you.” Lily saw Opal coming out with the tea and thought she’d better help. “I should go and assist.”
She gestured towards the spread of refreshments.
“Of course.” Mrs. Grey’s smile lit up her face, lending a soft look to her serious features.
Lily made her way over to the dining table and announced, “Ladies, our refreshment is ready. Please help yourselves. Opal will pour tea, as she knows what’s what.”
Most of the ladies made their way to the table to fill a plate and receive a cup of tea. Jenay and Rowena, however, appeared too wrapped up in their conversation to bother. Lily thought it sad how Job had gone off to fight. She’d heard Rowena mention that he dug trenches. She moved closer to the two ladies. Lily told herself it was to pick up a few odds and ends, but in actuality she wanted to hear what they said about Job.
Lily busied herself with winding some loose yarn up while she listened and watched.
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