Sometimes I’m fine with asking for help, and sometimes it just about kills me. This is one of those times.
Whom should I ask?
Not Mom. Nor Lil.
Mauve. She’ll understand. I’ll ask Michael to take me over to her house later.
I feel like a weight has been taken off my chest. The emotion crushing my spirit of late has been guilt, I think. Guilt at not forgiving Rose, who treated me with such kindness and friendship and something more . . .
The curve of her face in the silver moonlight is etched into my memory. It’s the most perfect image I have ever seen. I’m going to paint it. I’m sure it will be nothing like the real thing, but it will feel good doing it. It will feel as if I am close to her.
July 13th, 1917
Dear Jimmy,
I hope you are well, and I pray safe. Life goes on here pretty much the same as always, but I do have a bit of news. Mrs. Grey has asked me to help in her classroom several days a week starting this fall. I talked to Pop about it. I know how busy he is at the rail company, but he seemed to think he could manage without me. I think he knows how badly I would like to do it. He is going to advertise for a secretary to take over my role.
I find I really do enjoy children. They are usually honest, sincere, enthusiastic, and endearing. Of course, there are the mischievous rascals, but I seem to recall that one certain someone turned out all right. I wonder whom I could be referring to???
Seeing the children and being around them makes me thoroughly convinced that I want one. Really, I had never thought much about being a mother, but now I find the possibility precious. I hope you think so too.
I so love being an auntie to little Pearl. I surely hope Oshki makes it home safe to his little family when this war is all said and done. May it be soon. I suppose you still haven’t yet encountered him. I find it odd that you are in different companies. If you do see him, give him a hug from all of us here.
Did you get the socks I sent you? The women’s club had a knitting day for our last meeting. We made over 100 pairs of socks! Those will keep a few feet warm and dry, although warmth may not be the issue this time of year. We’ve had some scorching days, but at least the breeze off the lake brings some relief. How is the weather where you are?
Your mother and I have ironed out our differences, I believe. I like her so very much, but I think she desired all of your attention. She has finally come to grips with her son having a fiancé. The tension between us has evaporated. Your last few letters to her have really helped smooth things over. You’re a good son, Jimmy.
One sad piece of news—Ellie Murray has cancer, of a feminine nature, I am told. She is seeing a specialist in St. Paul, Minnesota. I am unsure how bad it is. Mauve did tell me they plan a surgical removal. It’s frightening either way. Nessa and I took over a meal for the Murrays yesterday. Ellie was subdued. I don’t blame her; she’s probably scared. The children will stay with Mauve while Billy and Ellie go for the surgery. The Candy and Bake Shop will be closed. I pray all goes well, and she is able to come back to her children and home.
How I long for you to be here at home with me. One day soon . . .
Yours,
Lil
Late July
Western front
Near Ypres, Belgium
Jimmy tucked the letter from Lily back in his uniform jacket and listened with raw nerves. The sound was constant; thousands of Allied guns were burning through a massive amount of artillery shells aimed at the German’s front line. The hope of gaining Passchendaele Ridge was looking good. This would allow the Allies to push through to the German holdings all the way to the Belgian coast, which would impede enemy shipping and attacks on Allied shipping by German subs.
It must be millions, thought Jimmy as he listened.
He and a few other of his countrymen had been funneled in with the Tommies, as they called the Brits, to boost their force. This represented the tenth day of shelling, and Jimmy prepared for the fight to come. He listened for the quiet that would come seconds before the cry was given to move forward. He waited in the reserve line of trenches to move forward when those on the front went over the top.
In a flash, the signal came. Jimmy moved forward with the echo of the guns and his heart pounding in his ears. The line of men by his side slowly pushed ahead. Jimmy held his gun at the ready, waiting for the right colored uniforms to come into sight. Minutes later the shooting began. Pings, reverberating rifle hammers, and cries mingled with a steady, slow rain starting to fall.
Jimmy wiped his eyes. He aimed and fired as swift as he could. The man on his left fell with a groan. Jimmy ran a few steps and bent down to see if he could help, but the man was already gone.
He and the other men kept on as best they could, but the rain quickly turned into a deluge.
“Smith! Smith!” Pinedale, the man on Jimmy’s right, yelled at him and signaled with his arm.
Jimmy looked the way he pointed and saw men burrowing down into a portion of the trench line belonging to the enemy. He followed. He wanted to shield his eyes from the rain, but he kept his head held up, looking for any possible target or someone who might target him. He made it to the burrow and scurried in as the others had.
The sergeant shouted to them all. “We wait here till it lets up a little. Can’t see hide nor hair out there.”
Jimmy settled in. The rain pelted down on his helmet in sheets. His feet were fast getting soaked. A shiver ran through him despite it being July.
How long we gonna have ta endure this?
Jimmy wasn’t really thinking about the rain. No, it was the wait. He hated waiting. He’d rather move forward and die than wait like a rabbit in a hole. But he dug down deep and reached that quality called patience and tried not to engage it in a fight. He sat down on a rocky portion of the trench, rested his chin on his knees, breathed, and . . . waited.
Late July 1917
Webaashi Bay
Lily jumped off her bicycle and let it clatter to the ground unnoticed. She ran up the steps, yanked open the heavy front door as if it were nothing more than balsa wood, and yelled as she strode in. “Nessa! Pop! Where are you?”
Vanessa made her way to the door. “Why must you always shout, Lily?”
Lily knew she often shocked Vanessa with her boisterous actions. Vanessa stopped and took a breath. It looked to Lily as if she tried to pull calm from the colors around her.
Years ago, Vanessa and Pop had redone the décor in the house, which had given off a heavy Victorian feel. Lily remembered it as dark and brooding. Now, the entryway, seating area, and dining room hosted a calmer, coastal theme with blue tones and pops of color in yellows and reds. A printed, botanical wallpaper in sky blue and mint covered the walls, a large, nautical print hung above the fireplace, and navy-blue sofas with green, blue, and yellow cushions added a welcoming feel.
Vanessa’s collection of Red Wing art pottery in cream, mint, and canary yellow tones graced spaces in the large bookshelves. Several family photos hung on the walls: Vanessa and Lily’s father at their wedding, Luis and Lily as children, and at their graduations, and the four of them atop the cliff with their backs to the lake.
“Sorry, but you'll understand when I tell you why.” Lily focused back on Vanessa and waved an envelope in her hand. “I picked this up when I stopped to post a letter to Jimmy and get some stamps at the post office. Mr. Wallace asked if I would drop this off, as he figured you’d want it straight away. Where’s Pop? We should all be together.”
“Out in his workshop, I think,” Vanessa told her.
“I’ll run and get him.” Lily dashed out the door before Vanessa could prevent her.
She rounded up her father, urging him to head to the house, not hinting at what her prodding was about.
“Hurry!” Lily urged her father forward.
“Well, hold up. Should take these dirty boots off first.” Michael’s voice held a tad of irritation.
“Who cares about your boots, Pop
?” Lily said with exasperation.
She rounded the corner to the sitting room and pointed to the spot next to Vanessa.
“Sit down,” she commanded her father.
He did. “Really, what is this all about, Lily? I was in the middle of something.”
“Mr. Bellevue,” Lily said with a hint of conspiracy as she included him in the mysterious gathering.
When she had gone out to fetch her father, M. Bellevue must have joined Vanessa in the sitting room.
Lily held the letter out in front of herself and grinned foolishly. “It’s from Halifax.”
Pop and Vanessa looked at each other and then at her.
“So?” her father asked.
Vanessa took a gander at Mr. Bellevue. “Do you know what she’s referring to?”
He just shrugged.
“What's in Halifax?” Pop asked.
“It’s from Victoria General Hospital.” Lily waited for them to catch on.
“But . . . who do we know at . . .?” Vanessa froze. She placed her hand over her heart. “Is . . . have they . . .?” She didn’t finish.
Pop took up the slack with force. “Luis? Is it from Luis?”
“Victoria General is one of the Canadian hospitals receiving wounded soldiers,” Terrance Bellevue informed them all in his straightforward manner.
Lily handed the letter to her father. “I didn’t open it, but I’m just . . . hoping.”
Michael’s hand shook when he took it. He carefully broke the seal, drew the letter slowly out of the envelope, and cleared his throat. He unfolded it and read . . .
July 15th, 1917
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Parsons,
It is my pleasure to inform you that your son, Lt. Luis Wilson, is no longer missing. He is a patient here at Victoria General Hospital. He will most likely be with us for several months yet as his wounds are extensive.
I write in his stead, for his eyes have been injured by a grenade blast. He has some other wounds which are healing nicely. His eyes, however, we are unsure of. I will inform you when he will be able to have visitors. Until then I am certain letters will be appreciated. I will gladly read to him and write replies in return.
Kind regards,
Staff Nurse, Rose Greenwood
Vanessa sobbed and sobbed in what Lily could only imagine was a release of joy. Michael held her and cried quiet tears.
Lily, typical of her style, shouted and jumped for joy. She hugged each parent in turn and placed a near chokehold on Terrance, who managed to get out, “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you all.”
He came and placed a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder after Lily released him.
Lily asked with a giddy lilt, “Can I share our news?”
Pop looked at Vanessa, who sniffed, and nodded.
“Joy is not meant to be kept but shared.” Vanessa smiled like the silver lining of a cloud. It reflected the other side of the shadowland they had all been in for years.
“Vanessa’s right.” Michael tipped his head back and laughed. “Tell whomever you please!”
“I would say this calls for champagne,” Terrance suggested.
“Well, it’s a good thing I saved that bottle Felix sent a few years back.” Vanessa got up, and the men followed, eager to toast the good news.
“Count me out,” Lily said. “I’ve got news to deliver.”
She grinned and tore from the room.
There was a sure way to spread news the fastest in Webaashi Bay—Elmira Trent. Lily let out a laugh as she mounted her bike and started to pedal. She thought about Elmira chewing on what Lily considered to be the best news of the year.
She pedaled as fast as she could back to town. When she got to Trent’s General, she propped her bike up against the post supporting the canopy over the boardwalk. Sucking in a deep breath, she thundered into the store.
Mr. Trent and Jenay turned towards her, their faces surprised. Lily didn’t care what either of them thought. She’d shout it from the Webaashi Bay cliffs if she wanted.
Luis is alive and safe!
“Lily, what has you all fired up?” Jenay asked. She put the jar of pickled beets in her hand on the counter between her and Mr. Trent.
Lily took another breath and let it out slowly. She tried to compose herself, but it was like asking the sun not to rise in the east.
She blurted out, “Luis is alive!”
“My, what good news!” Jenay grinned and laughed with joy. “Oh, I’m so glad. Vanessa must be so relieved that her son isn’t . . .”
Jenay didn’t continue but placed her hand over her heart and appeared to be overcome with emotion.
Mrs. Trent—Elmira—stepped out from around the corner with her cane and perched on a stool behind the counter looking like a child eagerly awaiting a treat. “We was just talkin’ ‘bout yer brother, lass. Speak up now. Tell us what ‘as ‘appened.”
Lily went on to explain the letter from Halifax and the good news.
“My, what a blessing.” Jenay pronounced.
“Yes, we are all so thrilled. I can’t wait to wrap my arms around his neck and call him Lulu.” Lily grinned, probably showing the mischief she felt. “He’ll hate it, but that’s what he deserves after scaring us so.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Good news fer sure. We still ‘aven’t ‘eard ‘bout our Jesse.” Elmira’s grandson was still missing.
“Is ‘e coming home, then?” Mr. Trent leaned over the counter.
Lily noticed the dust on his spectacles. She wanted to take them off his face and wipe them, but even she wouldn’t go that far.
“Well, he . . .” Lily started to explain, but she got cut off by Lenard Tanner, the postal carrier.
“Mornin’, beg yer pardon.” He nodded at them and rummaged in his pouch. “Mr. Wallace told me to bring this over right away.”
He held a telegram out to Mr. Trent, who took it with a shaky hand. He held it like it was a poisonous snake, pinching it at the corner with his fingers.
Lenard nodded once more, offered a slight smile, and left. The bell jangled loudly as the door slammed behind him.
Mr. Trent held the paper out to Elmira. “Mira.”
She plucked it carefully from his grasp as if it would strike. She tore the seal open painstakingly slowly. They all watched as she read it to herself.
“Well?” Mr. Trent prompted.
“It’s from Lucretia.” Elmira paused and looked up with huge, sad eyes behind her spectacles. “’E’s dead. Jesse’s . . . dead.” Slow tears leaked from her eyes.
Jenay looked crushed. “Oh, no. Poor Lucretia!”
Lily didn’t know what to say or do. How could she offer sympathy for their grief when she still held joy in her heart over the news about Luis?
“Adam? Adam!” Elmira shouted.
Lily had never heard the older woman raise her voice. Though a gossip she might be, Elmira had always conducted herself with decorum.
Lily looked at Mr. Trent and froze at what she saw. He was turning purple before their eyes.
“I . . . ahh, can’t . . ..” Mr. Trent didn’t finish. He crumpled up and dropped over the counter in an awkward position.
“Adam! Oh, no!” Jenay moved forward. She reached out her hands to steady his shoulders. “Lily, please go fetch Dr. Phillips. I’ll stay here with Adam and Elmira.”
Lily stood and gaped, her feet rooted to the floorboards.
“Hurry now!” Jenay prodded.
Lily turned to do as asked. Her feet pounded down the boardwalk to Doc. Phillip’s. He happened to be stepping out of the clinic just as she made it to the door.
He looked at Lily with alarm. “Why, Miss Parsons, whatever is the matter?”
“It’s Mr. Trent. He’s . . . he’s not well,” Lily spouted out between puffs of breath. “Please come.”
“Well, surely. Lead the way.”
Doc Phillips followed Lily back to Trent’s. Lily stood off to the side and watched as the doctor did a brief examination of Mr. Tren
t. He enlisted the help of Mr. McGovern—who had stepped in, unaware of the happenings—to help get Mr. Trent to his bed.
“Can you mind the store while Elmira and I tend to Adam?” Jenay asked Lily.
Her usually bright face clouded over with a deep concern. For the first time, Lily thought Oshki’s mother looked old.
“Yes, of course,” Lily consented.
She plopped herself on a stool while Jenay helped Elmira to the back. Mr. McGovern left with a nod and a sorry smile. Doc Phillips left not long after.
Lily watched the clock, tidied some things behind the counter, and prayed. An hour went by before Jenay came back, her face ashen.
“Adam has . . . he passed away.” She reached out and gripped the counter for support as she teetered.
“I’m so sorry.” Lily didn’t understand how a body could go from living and breathing one minute to not. “What happened?”
Jenay took a heaving breath and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Apoplexy and a heart attack, Doc said.” She met Lily’s eyes. “I’m going to tend to a few more things and take Elmira home with me. I don’t want her here alone tonight.”
“Do you need any further help?” Lily offered.
“No. Go home, Lily.” Jenay reached out and clenched her hand. “You’ve been a big help.” She turned to go back into the Trents’ living quarters but stopped. “Oh, and, Lily, tell Vanessa I am happy for her—your—good news.”
“Yes. I will.” She watched sadly as Jenay scuffed with a slow step through the swinging doors.
Lily thought she might know now a tiny taste of what Jimmy experienced day after day, watching death come for people. Her jubilant attitude floated back to earth, and she biked her way home at a turtle’s pace.
Late August 1917
Somewhere along the Western Front
Jimmy was still alive. He felt for Lily’s letters again against his chest and sighed. He leaned back in his hole, trying to avoid the current deluge. The attack had not gone as planned because of the weather. They moved forward in spurts when there was a break in the rain and the mud.
Silver Moon Page 31
