Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  Oshki couldn’t say anything. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, which felt like a cotton ball.

  “Where?” finally came out.

  “Just above the elbow.” Felding drew a line on Oshki’s arm with his finger.

  “So, I’ll just be left with a . . . stump?”

  “Better a stump and your life, Soldier.” Felding nodded to Oshki in a sort of crisp goodbye and walked away, his shoulders slightly slumped.

  “It’ll be all right, you’ll see,” the nurse tried to reassure him.

  Oshki looked at her wide-eyed and then looked at his troublesome arm.

  How am I going to provide for my family with one arm? But then another thought hit him. I’ll get to home. I’ll be alive to go home, and I’ll finally get to see my little Pearl.

  That was worth it. He’d give up about anything to be able to see his wife and child. He’d even gladly sacrifice his arm to do so.

  Late November 1917

  Somewhere on the Western Front

  The battles had become tedious, the same God-awful drudgery for a few miles of land. And the loss had been staggering. Jimmy sighed and leaned up against the trench wall. Lily kept him going. The thought of going home to her was the driving force that had seemed to trick death so far. But how long would that continue?

  It'll be any day now, Jimmy thought.

  He had outlived his nine lives. He had lived when the man next to him had died, time after time. He felt guilty sometimes just for being the one left standing. There were only two fellas of their original company left. Dodger and Rip. Dodger, AKA Private Glendale, had been aptly dubbed Dodger for his panache at avoiding the enemy’s fire. Rip was a fighter and had arms like iron. There was a rumor that he had ripped the head clean off a squirrel with his bare teeth. No one ever challenged Rip to anything. Jimmy couldn’t remember his real name—even their commanding officer called him Rip.

  “Smithy, your watch next?” Private Benson, a young man of about twenty with homegrown features too sweet to be a soldier, stood over Jimmy and asked.

  “Benny.” Jimmy tipped his head up. “Reckon so. Just a few more minutes isn’t gonna hurt anything.”

  He didn’t need some Tommie barely wet behind the ears telling him what to do.

  “Sarg said . . .” the young man started out, but Jimmy cut him off.

  “If Sarg wants me to get at my post earlier than usual, he shoulda told me himself,” he growled out.

  “Well, don’t bite my head off. What’s your beef, anyway?”

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He just rested his chin on his knees, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Soon, he heard Benson’s shuffling feet moving away.

  Good riddance, he thought. Really, he didn’t know how to describe his feelings. Restless, he summed up. He was ready for it all to be done.

  Jimmy looked around at the approaching dusk. He tried to remember how many sunsets he’d seen in France—too many to count. He’d lost track. He’d seen enough to last a lifetime.

  He sighed again, got up, and walked to his post to be a look out for enemy activity.

  Lily, Lily, Lily, he hammered into his head.

  He was doing this for Lily, and he didn’t have much of a choice. It was either you fought or you died. And he was not going to die.

  Late November 1917

  Webaashi Bay

  “What do you think the author's main theme in the story is?”

  In front of him, Jeremiah had a list of discussion questions on a sheet of paper. It was the first night of book club, and nerves made his hand shake a little. He had never been a part of any social group on his own. When Violet had been alive, they had gone to community events together, but that was years ago. His visits with Natalie had offered him practice, but he still perspired underneath his wool sweater vest.

  Maude Montreaux gave her opinion in a smooth and easy voice. “Oh my, I think there are many: desire, loneliness (which can be a kind of insanity), and, ultimately, what it is to sacrifice for those we love.”

  “Yes. I see all of those present. I wonder what Harold would say about it?” Natalie asked Maude.

  “He did hate to miss, but his sister needed some help at home,” Maude explained. “We did discuss it some before he left. He said he found it sad and mentioned how loneliness can cause people to do selfishly strange things, even more so when one is ostracized from society by something like deformity.”

  Iris Grey pushed her reading glasses up on her nose and tapped a pencil on her knee. “Well said, but why do you think Christine is so drawn to the ghost? She can’t seem to help herself.”

  “Wasn’t there some connection to her father?” Nora Smith asked.

  “Yes. Isn’t that why he calls her his ‘angel of music’?” Terrance Bellevue pointed out.

  Althea Aimes squinted slightly and tapped her chin in a thoughtful fashion. “Maybe it’s curiosity which calls her, or vanity? She loves the praise she gets from the phantom, and maybe she relishes the power she finds she holds over him.”

  “Ooh, that’s very insightful,” Natalie added. She took a bite of apple pie.

  Jeremiah looked around at the group of people huddled around a table at The Eatery. Natalie had kindly supplied them with pie and coffee or tea while they discussed The Phantom of the Opera. He felt a smile on his lips. It was a strange sensation. He had gotten so used to a frown, but he rather liked this newfound light—the light of not being alone.

  “I think everyone can have a bit of a phantom in them,” he said. “I agree with you, Miss Herman, that loneliness can be a precursor to any number of troubles. I . . . well, my wife passed years back now, and my son as well.” Jeremiah paused and wondered if he should continue, but he gained strength from the sympathetic smiles he saw about the round table. “You see, they left me alone, which left me angry, and I am ashamed to say I directed my anger at others.” Jeremiah had the courage to look around the table and finally own up to his poor behavior. “Most of you have been the recipient of some inconsiderate word or deed by me . . . and I apologize.” Jeremiah felt a bit sheepish.

  Althea tilted her head and spoke from the kindness of her heart. “But, Mr. Taylor, perhaps it is we who need to apologize. We saw that you were alone and didn’t do anything to come alongside of you. We should have seen through your gruff exterior.”

  “Well, let me just say that a little kindness goes a long way, and I’ve been most grateful.” Jeremiah caught Natalie’s eye. He hoped she knew how grateful he was.

  Natalie smiled warmly. “My mother always says kindness is the gift that keeps on giving.”

  “And, just maybe, if the phantom had been shown more kindness when he was younger, he might have been a different man,” Terrance wisely pointed out.

  “Agreed,” Nora said.

  “Undoubtedly,” Iris added.

  Natalie stood up once Jeremiah nodded to her that he was done. He’d asked every question on his list.

  “I think we will draw our discussion to a close. Mr. Taylor and I thank you greatly for your attendance. Now, we must decide whether to rotate several books around for our reading or do readings as a group. Maybe we should have a vote.”

  Natalie scanned the room. Everyone nodded.

  “All right, then. Who’s in favor of reading together as a group?” No one raised their hand. “Well, that was easy. Rotation it will be.”

  Natalie gestured to Jeremiah, as if to ask if there might be anything he wanted to add.

  “We must pick another book. Any suggestions?” Jeremiah looked around the group.

  “We could do more of a classic,” Iris said. “I prefer classic literature, but I just love to read and am not too picky about what.”

  “I know this is not too old, but how about The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James?” Terrance suggested. “It does have a bit of a dark taste to it, however.”

  “Do you have a copy, Mr. Taylor?” Natalie asked.

  “Actually, I think I might.”

/>   “I’m in favor,” Maude confirmed.

  “Let’s try it,” Althea agreed.

  Maude and Nora looked at each other and nodded.

  “Iris?” Maude asked.

  “I’ll give it a try,” Iris graciously said.

  “Very good. Our next meeting will be in January. I’ll get it read and pass it around as soon as I can.” Jeremiah gathered up the last crumbs of pie on his plate and swallowed them down. “I’ll also check the library. They may have a copy.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll post a reminder on the board at the post office,” Natalie told everyone. “Thank you all for coming and have a pleasant evening.”

  People visited for a while before going their separate ways. Everyone seemed reluctant to leave their fledgling group.

  Jeremiah was the last one to leave. “Sure I can't help you clear up?”

  “No. I can manage.” Natalie picked up a dirty plate and added it to the stack of dishes waiting for a washing at the kitchen sink.

  “Thank you, Natalie.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad we are on a first name basis now.” Natalie smiled warmly.

  Jeremiah sensed she wanted to say more, but he gave a final nod and took his leave. A smile turned the corners of his mouth up as he walked across the street to his apartment.

  The Webaashi Bay book club is off to a good start, as are many things.

  Jeremiah thought happily about the new friends in his life. This time a few years ago, he would never have guessed that he would looking forward to Christmas and social meetings.

  Miracles really do happen, he decided.

  December 6th, 1917

  Halifax

  It was Rose’s day off, and she had plans. She had headed out early, eager for a day to do whatever she wanted. Some time had passed since she’d last seen the Johnsons, so she decided to visit them. Really, they were like family. Delano and Alma had become dear to her. Rose could think of no better way to spend her day than with the people she loved and who loved her.

  She wanted to treat them both to something special, so she stopped at the bakery and picked up some croissants and a rustic cherry pie. Rose stowed her purchase in the shopping bags at her feet as the cab she’d hailed took off.

  “Oh darn,” Rose muttered as nestled the pie in its spot on the floor of the cab.

  She’d gotten a smear of cherry on her glove. It showed bright red against the ecru leather. She settled her things and told the cabbie where to go.

  The Johnsons lived about a half mile from the heart of the city, just before the dividing line between Halifax and Richmond on Halifax’s North End. The cab neared her destination, but, on a whim, Rose decided to go past and see the sights of the harbor. She had a day to simply enjoy herself, and she wanted to make the most of it.

  “First go to the harbor, please. I’ve a fancy for a glimpse of the water this morning,” Rose called up cheerily to the cabbie.

  “Yes, miss.” The cabbie tipped his head and acknowledged the new directive.

  Suddenly, the horse started to buck. Rose reached for her things and grabbed her handbag before its contents spewed willy-nilly into the cab. Her head smacked into a panel, and she could hear the cabbie trying to calm the animal.

  “Now! ‘Ere, calm down, Nellie. Whoa . . .”

  In the next instant, an ear-splitting sound shattered through everything. A space devoid of sound resulted for a matter of seconds. Rose’s ears hummed with the strangeness of the void. She had the distinct feeling of time slowing. Everything became a blur: the black of the cab, the red cherry pie smearing on her coat, her hands flailing before her face, the acrid smell of ash, and a rolling feeling as the cab tossed around like a child’s ball on the ground. In its last turn, Rose tumbled out of the cab, but one of her legs bent at a peculiar angle. She felt the resulting snap like a whip. Then, all was still.

  Seconds ticked by in the stillness. Finally, like a reverberating cymbal, the shock waves of disaster began to register, and the pain began to kick in. Rose’s head thumped, and her leg felt like a hot iron had been branded to it. Slowly and painfully, she brought her hand up to her head to touch the sore spot.

  Instead of asking, What happened? she asked herself, Why is my hand wet?

  Her brain couldn’t register why. When she pulled her hand away, her bleary eyes saw it was soaked in blood.

  As cries and sirens began to sound around her, Rose’s head lolled back. She felt dizzy. She knew she should try to stay alert, try to help herself and the cabbie, and try to figure out what had happened, but she couldn’t. Her limbs felt heavy and her head like a hundred-pound weight. The last thing she heard was—someone calling to her. . .

  “Miss! Miss!”

  Rose felt a slap on her face, and then she floated as light as a feather.

  The music is not in the notes

  But in the silence between.

  Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

  Chapter Nineteen

  December 7th, 1917

  Webaashi Bay

  “Luis, did you see the paper?” Michael paused. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

  Michael must have realized what he said. Everyone has lapses when it comes to what I can no longer do.

  “It’s fine, Michael.”

  “Well, it’s just that there is some . . . horrific news.” Michael quiets. I hear the crinkling of paper. “It’s Halifax. I heard Edward talking about it at the post office, but I had to read it for myself.”

  “What about Halifax?” Halifax makes me think of Rose.

  “There’s been a massive explosion. A portion of the city has been . . . blasted away.”

  “What? How’s that possible?” I get up from my seat and move closer to him, hoping for answers. “Is it the Germans?”

  “No, nothing like that. It seems it was an accident. Two ships collided in the harbor. One carried a massive amount of explosives headed for the war zone.”

  My voice rises in pitch and tension, an instrumental string about to break. “Which parts of the city? Does it say anything about Victoria General? Tell me!”

  I’m shouting. I have never raised my voice at Michael. It feels strange to my own ears.

  “Luis. Calm down.” His voice is careful, but firm.

  I try to do as he says, but I feel crazed. “Oh, God. Don’t you see? I have to know if she’s hurt.”

  I yank the paper from him, trying with all my might to make the letters be still, but they swim on the page—all fat and fuzzy like caterpillars.

  “Who? Who is it you’re talking about?” Michael grabs my upper arms, in an effort to calm me down.

  How do I explain my desperation to him?

  “A nurse . . . she took care of me while I was in the hospital. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.”

  “Calm down. I’ll find out. Here . . .” He fans out the paper. “I’ll read it and maybe the paper will say exactly what sections of the city have been damaged.”

  He starts to read, and my brain can hardly take in the fantastic detail.

  “This is from the The Halifax Herald, ‘More than one thousand dead and probably five thousand injured, many of them fatally, is the result of the explosion yesterday on French steamship Mont Blanc, loaded with nitro glycerin and trinitrotoluol.’”

  Michael reads on. I am shocked at the devastation and grieved for the city and those that have lost homes, businesses, lives, and loved ones. My heart, however, beats for Rose. I strain to hear if her area of the city was wrecked and for news of the hospital.

  “It sounds like there’s a shortage of medical help. They even sent for doctors from the U.S. in the surrounding area,” Michael tells me and pauses. “Oh, here they mention Victoria General as being where the wounded are being treated, so it must not have been in the blast area. It looks like it is one of ten hospitals that are being used to treat the injured.”

  He reads more, but my pounding heart drowns out his voice.

  Rose is safe! She’s safe!<
br />
  But I can’t remember how far she said her apartment was from the hospital. Maybe she was in another part of the city on her day off. I have to find out. I have to know.

  “I want to go,” I blurt out.

  “Go? Go where?” Michael asks with genuine perplexity in his tone.

  “To Halifax, to the hospital. I have to make sure she’s there, that she’s safe.”

  “Is she really so very important to you?” he asks in a kind fashion.

  “Yes.” I love her.

  “If you really want to, but . . . the city, no doubt, is in upheaval. Perhaps we should wait a week or so.”

  “No. Michael, please.” I haven’t really asked him for anything since I got back. I am hoping he will oblige me.

  “Well, I’ll see if Lil and Geoff can manage while I’m gone. I’ll look into tickets.” He pauses. “Are you absolutely sure? It will be a long trip . . . and expensive.”

  I feel bad. I know times are tight. “If you think you can manage, I’d be very grateful.”

  I try not to plead. It’s undignified.

  “All right, then, we’ll find a way,” he confirms.

  I can see his smile, blurry though it is.

  “Thank you, Dad.” I have never really called him that, but I realize whom he has become to me.

  “You’re welcome, son,” he warmly responds.

  December 14th, 1917

  Halifax

  Luis held on to Michael’s elbow as they walked forward into the crowded hospital. Michael had made good on his promise and had brought Luis to Halifax. They had taken the journey in stages, but the travel had taken almost another week.

  Vanessa had protested their going, it being so close to Christmas and all. She’d wanted them to go after the holiday, but Luis would not be persuaded.

  “Hey, watch your step!” Michael barked at a man who had pushed into Luis, upsetting his balance.

  Michael caught Luis and tried to steady him. He lowered him down onto an empty chair in the waiting area.