Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  “All this noise . . . all these people.” Luis shook his head slightly, trying to straighten out his vision from the garbled mess it was becoming.

  The extra bustle added too much stimuli for Luis’s overtaxed eyes. His head started to throb.

  “It’s a week after the accident. You’d think it would have settled down by now,” Michael said as he looked around at the crowded reception area of Victoria General Hospital. “The receptionist said she’d relay a message.”

  “You’ve asked her? About Rose, Rose Greenwood?” Luis looked at Michael’s face. It was a focused spot in the blur of the throng.

  “Yes. Just as you told me,” Michael reassured him.

  He leaned up against the wall by Luis’s seat, which had been the last available spot open.

  “Is it snowing?” Luis asked. He squinted in the direction of the windows.

  “Yes. Large, lazy flakes apparently undisturbed by the ruckus in here.”

  “Well, guess we’ll just wait, then.” Luis sighed and sunk down for the long haul. He knew what it was to be patient.

  Minutes ticked by and then hours.

  “I see a new woman at the front desk. I think I’ll go check again.” Michael started to get up.

  “Wait. I’ll go. My feet are falling asleep sitting here, anyway. I need to get up and move around.” Luis stood and stretched.

  “Need an elbow?” Michael asked.

  “Na, I think I’ll be all right. Why don’t you sit for a bit?” Luis moved forward and Michael took his place.

  Luis tapped his cane on the floor for guidance.

  “Excuse me, miss.” He waited for the woman at the desk to look up.

  “Yes, how can I help you?” she asked tartly, clearly annoyed at being bothered.

  “I’m looking for someone. Someone I fear may have been hurt in the blast.” Luis looked at her large, brown eyes behind her spectacles.

  The woman had the gall to snigger. “Are you serious?” Her eyes widened as her arm gestured to the crowded room. “You and half of the city.”

  She stacked another file on top of the pile on her desk. It leaned to the right and threatened to spill, but she fenced it in with her hands, straightening it out.

  “Please. She works here.”

  The woman eyed him with a straight face and sighed.

  “All right. Name,” she demanded.

  “Rose Greenwood. She’s a nurse. I’ve . . . come to talk to her. She usually works the afternoon shift.”

  Luis felt the woman’s eyes on him again, her silent disapproval evident.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m . . .” What am I? “I’m her . . . friend.” Luis sighed and pleaded again. “Please, miss.”

  “Let me see,” the receptionist said in a putout kind of voice.

  Luis watched her tab through a list in a file on her desk. He leaned over, hoping to be able to see, but it was just a blur of black and white.

  “Oh, yes . . . it says she’s . . . gone. I’m sorry.” She frowned up at him, then picked up the ringing telephone on her right.

  Luis backed away and the room reeled.

  Gone.

  He couldn’t believe it. He would never get to tell her he loved her. He would never get to tell her he was sorry. So sorry.

  Luis was glad Michael came to his aid, for he felt suddenly dizzy.

  “Here, come sit again,” Michael directed.

  “No. Let’s get out of here.” Luis pulled away from Michael. “I want to leave.”

  He tapped ahead, but Michael caught up and grabbed his elbow, steering him through the crowded entryway to the door.

  Once they were out in the air, Michael asked him, “What did she tell you?”

  “What I feared the most. It’s . . . too late.” Luis hung his head for a moment and ordered himself not to cry.

  “I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Luis.” Michael grabbed his arm in a kind of embrace.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “Why don’t we get some lunch? There’s a little cafe up ahead. Maybe they have sandwiches,” Michael urged Luis.

  Luis said nothing but allowed himself to be led into the cafe. He ate by rote, swallowing the food as if it were a duty to be done. When they were through, Michael hailed a cab back to their hotel.

  “I’ll just let you rest. I’m going to the foyer to read the paper and ask some questions about how to line up our journey back. You’ll . . . you’ll be . . .?”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” Luis told him with a weariness present in his tone.

  “Won’t be long,” Michael promised and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Luis threw his cane down, flung his hat across the room, and ripped off his overcoat in frustration. He ought to be used to loss by now, but he wasn’t. He fell down on the bed, breathing hard, and stared at the ceiling. He allowed himself the luxury of a few tears, then got up and went to the washroom to rinse his face in cold water. It shocked him and the pain of it felt good.

  His dark blue eyes stared back at him from the mirror over the sink. His image appeared wavy and slightly distorted in the old, silver, spotted glass. The pain in his heart wounded him. He challenged himself and on impulse reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, carving knife that he carried everywhere with him. He flicked it open and stared at the sharp, metal point.

  Luis hungered for a different kind of pain.

  I need to feel it, he told himself and held the knife point to his inner arm. He pressed and dragged until a long, red stripe appeared. Luis looked at his handiwork, but only felt sick.

  It didn’t even hurt. Not compared to the pain on the inside. He threw the knife down in the sink with a clatter and held a clean, white cloth to his self-inflicted wound. He knew that no matter how much he wounded his body, it would never surpass the wound he felt in his heart.

  Luis rinsed his arm and watched the blood flow down the drain.

  If only the pain could leave me as swiftly.

  But it could not. He deserved it. Luis turned from his guilty conscience, wrapped his arm as best he could, and got in one of the beds with his back to the door.

  When Michael came back, he would think he was asleep. Luis didn’t want to talk, for there was really nothing to say. There were no words that could bring her back.

  December 25th, 1917

  Webaashi Bay

  Jacque held his granddaughter on his knee. “Open another one, Peach.”

  Mauve thought the picture of them together sweet. She watched her daughter pick up a wrapped present and slowly rip at the paper.

  “Geepa, ‘elp?” Little Pearl tilted her head and looked at Jacque.

  “Yes, I’ll help you. See, this is how it’s done. He held her hand underneath his as he ripped back a large section of the paper.

  “Dolly!” Pearl squealed, yanking out a fabric doll with red, yarn hair, button eyes, and an embroidered grin. The doll’s pink, gingham dress was overlaid by a white pinafore, and her black, fabric boots were trimmed with tiny, black buttons. Pearl immediately hugged her, smiled and laughed, and yelled, “Dolly!” again.

  Angelica sat in her rocker and watched the proceedings. “I think she likes it.”

  An unusually wide smile graced her usually prim face.

  “I think so,” agreed Mauve. “Thank you, Angelica.”

  “Here, Pearl, give this to your great, great auntie.” Mauve handed Pearl a small package tied with red-and-white-striped baker’s string.

  Jacque set her down, and she dutifully transferred the package to Angelica’s slightly quaking, worn hands.

  “Auntie Annie.” Pearl smiled up at the older woman.

  “Thank you, Pearl.” Angelica’s crinkled hands held Pearl’s smooth, young ones for a few seconds before carefully unwrapping her gift. She revealed a small, stuffed cushion with a rose, flannel, embroidered cover.

  “It’s a warm neck pack with lavender buds,” Mauve said. “We filled it with flax
seed and scented it with lavender oil. Warm it atop the stove and apply it to your neck and shoulders at night to help relax your muscles and induce rest.”

  “Well, my dear, how thoughtful and handy. I feel like a little bird told you what was on my wish list. These aching bones of mine are getting old.” Angelica eyed Jenay.

  Jenay smiled slyly back. “I may have suggested a thing or two.”

  Lizzy spoke up. “I helped her stuff the bag.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Open ours next, Tante.” Celeste held a dainty, pretty box before Angelica.

  “Well, another. My, my.” Angelica carefully opened the gilded box and drew out an agate pin.

  “It’s from all of us,” Jenay announced. “I found the stone years ago by the shore. I had Adam send it to the jewelers to cut, polish, and get it set for you. Do you like it?”

  Angelica held the pin up. The light made the gradient bands of reddish color flowing throughout come alive. Its silver, scalloped, fringed edge shone.

  “Oh, Jenay, it’s . . . beautiful.” Angelica’s voice warbled a bit. “Oh, Adam.”

  Angelica’s fingertip slid over the polished agate.

  Maang-ikwe leaned closer to Angelica. “I know this one. This a good stone. Many pathways in this stone.”

  Her beady eyes gave Angelica a knowing look. Mauve knew the aunts’ tolerance of each other had tempered with age.

  “Rather like me, then.” Angelica smiled wryly at Maang-ikwe.

  “I miss him. Adam, I mean.” Jenay brought the talk back to Adam Trent. “I still walk through the doors of the mercantile and expect him to be there.”

  “The town certainly isn’t the same without the Trents,” Jacque agreed. “But I’m glad the Tremblays bought it. It looks like lock, stock, and barrel. You women just helped Elmira and Lucretia pack up personal belongings, right?”

  “Mostly. Elmira wanted to keep a couple of items in the store. Lucretia brought a shipping crate, and we filled it up with things they wanted to keep.” Jenay spoke warmly. “The Webaashi Bay Women’s Club ministrations to the Trents were so welcome.”

  “When will your folks get here, Mauve?” Angelica said as she tried out her new pillow behind her neck.

  “They said 10:30. Marm wanted a wee bit of time for the children to open their gifts.” Mauve looked at the wall clock in the Cotas’ living room. “Should be here soon.”

  “Well, then, let’s get this cleared away. Girls, help your old pa?” Jacque got up and made a game of the cleanup with Celeste and Lizzy.

  Even Pearl joined in with giggles and screeches of, “Geepa!”

  Jenay, Mauve, and Angelica went into the kitchen to finish their brunch preparations. The Murrays were to bring a sweet coffee bread. Jenay and Angelica had made an egg and potato casserole with shredded cheese on top, and Mauve had brought some canned, spiced fruit. Maang-ikwe had produced a side of pork bacon that she had smoked and cured, and which she now fried up in a skillet.

  The aroma beguiled and tempted Mauve’s tummy to rumble. She hoped her parents would come soon.

  Her wish was granted and soon the Murrays arrived in a bobsled pulled by a team of horses, outfitted with a strap of bells, which jingled crisply.

  “Come in, come in. Happy Christmas!” Jenay held the door open and gave Ellie a brief hug and a kiss in the cheek.

  “’Appy Christmas!” Ellie countered with enthusiasm.

  Mauve felt like since her marm’s surgery she bubbled chipper and cheerier than ever, as if her marm’s old self was reborn and given a second chance at life.

  Patrice, Barbara, and Alex shouted a “Happy Christmas!” back and slid past the women and into the house, looking eager to play.

  The ladies moved to the kitchen to help finish preparations. When all was ready, the families sat down. They paused over the meal for a prayer, which Jacque pronounced over them, of thanks to God for his gift of Emmanuel.

  Suddenly, Silvy started yapping and wouldn’t shush up. Mauve had brought her for she couldn’t bear to leave her dog alone on Christmas Day. The pup had become her family too.

  “Silvy! Mind your manners. Why are you barking?”

  The more Mauve protested, however, the more the little dog barked. Finally, Mauve threw up her arms in frustration. “Well, you’ll have to go out in the barn if you keep this up.”

  Mauve moved to catch her, but Silvy raced to the door, her toenails clicking as she went. She recommenced barking and growling with renewed strength.

  “What has gotten into you?” Mauve raised her voice in annoyance.

  Her usually good-natured dog had turned ill-mannered all of a sudden, and she hadn’t a clue why.

  “Maybe it has something to do with me.”

  Mauve froze. Silvy’s yapping was drowned out by a realization.

  I know that voice. But, no, it can’t be.

  Mauve turned slowly towards the back kitchen door and nearly fainted, for before her stood her husband.

  Oshki!

  It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t an apparition.

  “But how . . .? When?” Her mouth hung open like a loosened hinge. She was too stunned to cry.

  “Quit asking me things and get over here.” Oshki stepped forward and pulled Mauve to him with one arm. He gazed into her eyes and scrolled over her face. “I want to take in every detail.”

  His eyes locked on hers before focusing on her lips. Carefully, slowly, he met them with his. They hesitantly exchanged kisses at first and then with more ardor. Mauve’s heart beat in her ears, and her knees felt wobbly.

  She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be so close to the man she loved. She felt whole again. Her eyes were closed, but her hands roved over his body. The empty space she found made her pull back and question him.

  “What . . . what happened?” She placed her palm on his stump of an arm.

  “Shot in the arm.” Oshki gave her a sideways smile. “I’ll spare you the gory details.”

  She touched the end of his stump. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not too much anymore. I sometimes still feel it there.” Oshki lowered his head but then looked her in the eye. “I wasn’t sure what you’d think, or if you . . .”

  “You’re home safe and back with us. That’s what matters.”

  Mauve clung to him again. I can’t believe he’s really here!

  The thought held possession of her mind. She half expected someone to yell, “Gotcha!” and for Oshki to disappear. But, no. He was very much present.

  “My folks are here too. Everyone’s going to be so surprised,” Mauve said with a breathless joy. “And . . . Pearl, you’ll get to meet Pearl.”

  It was then, at the mention of their daughter’s name, that Mauve started to cry.

  Oshki didn’t tell her to shush. He just wrapped his arm around her and nestled his head on top of hers.

  “Thought I better come check and see what happened to you . . .” Jacque rounded the corner where the couple stood and stopped in his tracks.

  “Dad.” Oshki slowly let go of Mauve and moved closer to his father.

  “Son? We . . . hadn’t heard from you. We didn’t know. How . . . did you get here?” Jacque’s face paled and tears threatened the corners of his eyes.

  “I walked from the train. A soldier is used to a good, long walk, you know.”

  Jacque finally moved and embraced Oshki. “We thought we might never . . .”

  His words were cut off by quiet sobs.

  Mauve watched as her husband momentarily melted into his father’s arms like a boy, and she cried afresh.

  Jacque let go of Oshki and dabbed at his eyes. “Your mother is going to . . .”

  “Don’t tell her. Let me see if I can surprise her.”

  “Come,” Mauve said to Jacque. “Let’s go back in. Jenay’s back will be to you.”

  She sent a conspiratorial grin to her husband, and she and Jacque hurried to sit back down.

  Somehow, in the middle of it all, S
ilvy had decided that Oshki wasn’t a threat and had quit yapping. Mauve noticed he’d bent down to pet her.

  Mauve and Jacque settled in their spots. Mauve watched Lizzy and Celeste’s eyes grow huge when they saw him, but Oshki put his finger up to his mouth to quiet them. Slowly he bent down behind Jenay and placed a kiss on her cheek.

  “What . . . who . . .?” Jenay turned. When she saw Oshki stood behind her, she jumped up and threw herself into his embrace. “Oh, Oshki . . . oh, my son.”

  He wrapped his arm around her and allowed himself to be smothered.

  Finally, Jenay backed up. “Let me look at you.”

  Her dark eyes held his for a moment, an evident, unspoken bond between them. She touched the end of his stump hesitantly but didn’t question him. Instead, she smiled up at him.

  “Well, I’ve hogged you long enough. Come, everyone,” Jenay proclaimed.

  The girls needed no encouragement. They rushed to their brother and wrapped their thin arms around his sturdy middle. They paid no heed to his missing arm. Mauve’s heart swelled to bursting.

  “Oof, a fella’s got to breathe.” He patted Lizzy's head and stroked Celeste’s cheek. He marveled at the older sister. “You are a little woman now.”

  Now that Mauve thought about it, Oshki’s sister surely had grown up over the last few years.

  Oshki pulled a chain from around his neck. On it dangled two wooden figurines.

  “I promised to bring you both back a charm I carved.” He placed one in Celeste’s palm. “A star for my celestial sister.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Your star hung over my heart, wherever I was.”

  “Oh, Oshki, we were so worried. I’m so glad you’re home.” Celeste’s large, brown eyes looked liquid and glossy with tears.

  “Now, for this one.” He rubbed the top of Lizzy’s head, mussing up her braids. “A lioness, for though she be small, she is mighty.”

  “I can even see her whiskers.” Lizzy took her charm and admired it with awe. Then she jumped up and grabbed Oshki around the middle. Her legs and arms clung to him like glue. A mumbled, “I love you, Oshki,” came from the depths of his midriff.

  “Now, let your brother breathe,” Angelica insisted and detangled Lizzy. “Welcome home, Nephew.” She greeted him with a kiss.