Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  Maang-ikwe came forward and studied his face with a tilted head.

  “Aanzinaagozi.” Maang-ikwe reached her leathery hand up to Oshki’s jaw and turned his head from side to side. “Oui, you look changed. But it mino, good.” She directed her words to Jenay then faced her great nephew. “You grow much, like tree beside a river. I can tell.” She looked at his stump. “This teach you many lessons, you see.” She affectionately slapped his cheek and smiled. “You home where you belong, ingozis, my son.”

  Jenay had told Mauve that Maang-ikwe branded a person a son or daughter if she worked to teach them wisdom. Oshki had been one such pupil. The old woman moved aside, creaking back to her seat to allow Billy and Ellie their turn with Oshki.

  Billy shook his hand and slapped him on the back. “Welcome ‘ome to ya, son.”

  Ellie hugged him and wiped a tear or two away. “We‘re so grateful yer safe.”

  Mauve’s siblings giggled and shouted in unison, “Welcome home!”

  Mauve determined it was time Oshki met his daughter. She picked Pearl out of her chair and brought her over to him.

  “Hello, my little Pearl. I can hardly believe this sweet, little angel is our daughter.” He looked with awe-filled and watery eyes at Mauve. “I am really, truly a father.” He looked incredulously at them all. “It seems too good to be true that I’m home here with you all.”

  Mauve positioned her in Oshki’s arm.

  “Dada,” she told Pearl.

  “Geepa?” Pearl asked.

  “No, Dada,” Mauve instructed.

  “Da . . . Da,” Pearl carefully said as she copied her mother’s words and looked at Oshki’s soft eyes. She smiled a shy smile and kissed Oshki on the cheek with a damp smack.

  Everyone laughed, but the act undid Oshki, and he buried his head in the crook of her little neck and uttered a few pathetic sobs.

  Mauve watched him control himself, as she was sure he didn’t want to scare her.

  Oshki nuzzled his daughter’s cheek, and she giggled. “Daddy’s home, Pearl. Now, Dada can tell you stories in person.”

  “Come, everyone, sit down to eat. Our brunch will be cold,” Mauve said.

  She had maneuvered an extra chair between her and Pearl. Jenay brought an extra set of dishes and placed them down on the table for Oshki.

  The Cota and the Murray families tucked into their meal with a healthy dose of Christmas cheer, smiles, laughter, gratitude, and love.

  After everyone had gone and the kitchen had been cleaned, Oshki sat down with sleepy Pearl and began to tell her a story. Mauve snuggled up at his side. The trio were a cozy family unit.

  “Now, this is the most important story of all. Are you ready?”

  For an answer, Pearl leaned into her father’s shoulder and rested her sleepy head on his chest.

  “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mary . . .”

  Mauve listened as Oshki told Pearl the Christmas story and how the baby Jesus was born in a manger. Soon, Pearl fell asleep and Mauve reached out to take her.

  “No, let her be. It feels wonderful just to hold her and watch her sleep.”

  “Very well, as long as you promise to hold me as tenderly later.” Mauve winked at him.

  Oshki grinned back. “That’s a promise.”

  “What did Pop’s wire say?” Lily asked Vanessa.

  The family sat before the fire after Christmas dinner, as stuffed as the turkey they had eaten. Vanessa had invited Opal’s family, since Michael and Luis were still gone. She hadn’t wanted it to be just her, Lily, and Terrance, but now just the three of them reclined by the fire. Opal, her two younger brothers, and her folks had gone after dessert and tea.

  “She died, apparently. They went to look for her at the hospital, but Luis was told she . . .” Vanessa left off.

  Lily watched a painful expression bloom on her stepmother’s face.

  Luis had lost so much. Can’t this one thing, this one person, be spared for his sake?

  “Oh, no.” Lily’s voice caught.

  Poor Luis. If only . . .

  “Yes.” Vanessa set the telegram down on the low table by her chair.

  Lily had been at her house when the message had arrived. She had heard about it that morning when she’d come.

  “I’m sorry for him. The loss of a loved one is a terrible burden to bear,” M. Bellevue commented. His face drooped.

  “I think there’s more to it than what Michael has said, but I don’t really know what.” Vanessa folded her hands in her lap, basking in the warmth of the flames.

  Terrance broke into Lily’s thoughts. “Any word from Jimmy?”

  “Not lately. He may be in closer to the battlefront. It seems his letters take longer then.” Lily stared into the flames. Her hope for Jimmy's return wore thin. She was almost ready to let it go, for it hurt too much.

  “We’ll continue to hope and pray he comes home,” Vanessa firmly said.

  “How can we?” Lily’s voice held a bitter ring.

  Vanessa leaned forward with earnest eyes. “Because it’s our job. Just as Jimmy is doing his, so must we.”

  “Your mother's right, Lily. It’s our job to place in the hands of God those whom we love and the things we don’t understand,” M. Bellevue agreed.

  “Why does it have to be so . . . blasted hard?”

  “Life is hard and learning to trust is one of the most difficult lessons life has to offer,” Vanessa quietly said.

  “What if he doesn’t come home?”

  That’s the question I’ve really been wanting to ask, Lily realized. It hung in the air, an uncomfortable, possible reality.

  “Then life will go on, and God will give you the grace to do it.” Vanessa got up and sat next to Lily on the sofa.

  “But I don’t want to,” Lily confessed.

  “Let’s not worry about that yet. We will cross that bridge, if it comes.” Vanessa smiled across the room at Terrance. “Someone very wise told me that once.”

  Lily nodded and prayed for strength for Luis and her father’s safe return.

  December 25th, 1917

  Western front

  She’ll be before the fire crocheting or reading, and I’ll be tinkering with some gears or gadgets. A child or two will be at our feet playing with toys, a set of blocks maybe, a dog will lazily lounge on a rug nearby, and we will discuss the headline article from the newspaper . . .

  Jimmy rolled the scenes around in his head of a quiet home life with the woman he dreamed of. Sometimes he dreamed of two boys and sometimes it was a boy and a girl.

  He pulled out the creased picture of her from his jacket. The crinkled texture of the photo paper had given Lily premature wrinkles. Jimmy tried his best to smooth them away, but the photograph had been through so much wear, the image had worn away in the creased areas.

  He kissed her smiling lips and tucked the photo back in his breast pocket. Lily would stay over his heart until he or the whole mess was done. He nestled himself in his hole as flakes of snow came softly down. Someone started singing Silent Night, and he joined in.

  Sleep in heavenly peace . . . if only that were possible, Jimmy thought.

  More and more, his sleep flashed, riddled with images he’d like to forget and sounds which doggedly haunted him. He curled up on the dirt in a wool blanket and prayed . . .

  “God, if ya’re still there and ya see fit to keep my body on this side of the sod, please give me the strength ta keep fighting. I dream of the opportunity to be Lily’s husband. If ya can spare me, Lord, I’d sure be grateful.”

  Jimmy felt better than he had in a long time. He felt that whatever tomorrow brought, he would be all right, and so would Lily.

  Words are easy, like wind;

  Faithful friends are hard to find.

  William Shakespeare

  Chapter Twenty

  December 27th, 1917

  Webaashi Bay

  It’s just the four of us, well, five, including Pearl. Oshki, Mauve, Lil, and I sit a
round the dining table at Lil’s farmhouse and play euchre. It’s been ages since I’ve played. Oshki has had lots of practice, I guess. It was a popular card game in the trenches.

  The cards, thankfully, have large enough numbers and shapes for me to see them. Although, I have to squint sometimes and hold them close. It makes me feel old.

  “Cordial or somethin’ stiffer?” Lily asks.

  “How ‘bout a mix a’ the two,” I suggest.

  “So, a bit of brandy, maybe?”

  “Sure.” It’ll warm me on this cold night.

  “Anyone else?” Lily waits, poised as if she’s a waitress taking our orders. She puts a tray of cracked nuts and chocolate candies on the table.

  “Actually, that sounds good.” Oshki looks at me. There’s something behind his eyes, but I’m not sure what.

  Michael and I just got back from Halifax yesterday, which was lucky; the ports closed for the winter that same day. The travel time helped me deal with my grief. I’m not great company tonight, but my sister and friends don’t seem to mind.

  “I should get Pearl ta bed.” Mauve stands up and takes Pearl from Oshki’s arms.

  I have a moment of jealousy towards him. He has a home, a wife, and a daughter. None of which I am on my way to having, nor probably ever will be.

  “Say night, night,” Mauve prompts Pearl.

  “Night, Dada. Night, Auntie Lil and . . . Nuncle Lulu.” Pearl kisses her father and waves to Lily and me. I don’t mind being called Lulu again. That must have been Lily’s suggestion, for it was what she used to call me when we were kids.

  “Nighty night.” Lily kisses Pearl’s little cheek.

  I offer a simple smile.

  “Come on, then.” Mauve walks off to lay the little girl down on Lily’s bed.

  “I’ll be back.” Lily turns and heads into the kitchen, and Oshki and I are left alone.

  He shuffles the deck and does it one more time. “Were you really a prisoner?”

  His voice bores into me. I’m too far away to see his eyes clearly.

  “Isn’t that what you were told?” I’d like nothing better than to be truthful with him, but I can’t.

  “Yes, but it’s not what you ever said.” I hear disappointment in his tone. “We never had secrets from each other before.”

  “No, we didn’t, did we?” I wish for him to stop asking, but he doesn’t.

  “Why did you really stay behind at Valcartier?”

  “To get more training.” That’s the truth.

  “Officer’s training?”

  “Of a sort,” I admit.

  “Really, Luis, let us stop chasing each other around the mulberry bush. What were you really up to?” He taps the deck on the maple table.

  Its quarter-sawn wood gleams under my clenched hands in a beautiful, striped pattern.

  “I can’t say, Oshk.” He can certainly guess, though.

  “Ah, it’s as I thought.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You were more than a soldier.”

  “Perhaps.” I smile in a knowing way back at him. He could always read my face like a book.

  “Was it . . . tough, what you did?”

  “Ya.” I thought of how different it was doing what I had to do. It was so personal, so devious, yet necessary.

  He switches topics. “Your trip to Halifax didn’t turn out as expected, I take it.”

  “No. I . . . looked for a nurse who took care of me, but it seems she was caught in the tragic explosion.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thanks. How ‘bout the arm?” My mom had told me he had lost part of it, but I wasn’t told how.

  “Ah, a German bullet and gangrene. Thankfully, they had enough stuff to put me out, at least partly, when they sawed it off.”

  I hurt just thinking about it. “You . . . managing?”

  “Sometimes I have difficulties, physical and mental, I suppose, but as Maang-ikwe would say, ‘This mino for me.’”

  “How can something like that be good for you?” I ask for myself too.

  “Life’s not so much filled with good or bad things. They are just things, but . . . if we give our ‘things’ to someone bigger than us, they become . . . what makes us a better person. So even something we might deem as bad can be good. Sounds silly, I know. I’m better at writing stuff down.” Oshki deals the cards as he talks.

  I guess I can see his point. Mom would probably say the same. Rose flashes in my mind. I remember talking with her about the very same thing when at the hospital. I didn’t know then that I had more to lose.

  Mauve sits down on my right. “So, what have you two been carrying on about?”

  “Oh, nothin’ much.” Oshki doesn’t reveal our topic. I’m glad.

  “Here we are.” Lily comes in with our drinks on a tray. She places a shiny glass filled with berry-colored liquid down in front of me. I lean over, squint, and see that it’s cut, leaded glass.

  “Fancy,” I say.

  “Nothing but the best for you,” Lil teases me. I’m glad to hear it.

  She sits on my left and picks up her glass. “A toast to friends.”

  “Friends,” the rest of us agree. We lift our glasses and take a drink.

  The girls pick up their hands, and we start our game. We joke and laugh. It’s like medicine for my soul.

  I can feel a corner of my heart heal surrounded by these dear people. It feels good.

  February 20th, 1918

  I thought I’d be done writing when I got back, but I’m not. I guess it’s ingrained in me now. I did start in a different journal. The one my mom gave me, which contains a record of my soldier days, is under lock and key, and that’s where it will stay for a very long time.

  Mauve knows better than to ask me too much about my time in France. She senses my reluctance. How can I explain the drudgery, the death, or the pain of it all? I can’t, nor do I want to.

  I am learning how to live one-handed. At least my dominant side is intact, so I can still help Dad at the office some. Chores around home present more difficulties. Dad mentioned going to see the doctor to see if there is some kind of prosthetic arm I could wear. I’m not keen on the idea of being fitted with a hook, but if it makes life easier . . . I might try it.

  Sometimes even getting dressed is a challenge. It’s hard for me to manage the fact that I need assistance with simple tasks. For Mauve’s sake, I try not to become bitter and angry, but some days I find that I am.

  I can hear in my head what Mom would say about my thoughts. “Don’t ignore your feelings. Recognize them, and then let them go. Feelings are just feelings.” I know she went through a terrible time before I was born. It was tied to the death of Luis’s father, Renault. She carried a terrible burden of guilt over her involvement in his death. I remember her telling me once that those feelings still reared their head but she had learned to manage them.

  How do I recognize my anger and my frustration but not succumb to them? Maybe she’s right; maybe they hold more power over me when I hold them closely, trying to keep them neat and tidy inside my heart. I know when they spill over that they cause me grief.

  Sometimes my dreams are still riddled with booming guns and the horror of the fighting. Mauve soothes me on those nights. I lie in her arms, thankful to be home and to be alive. To my shame, sometimes I cry. A man ought to be better than that, but I’m broken. I am thankful God knows how to repair broken things. He is a carpenter, after all.

  Pearl has become my joy. Every day she fascinates or entertains me with something she does. Today she learned a new word—family. Fitting, I think. When she says it, she drops the “I” and elongates the “A” so it comes out like “faaam-ly”. It is the cutest thing ever.

  I love our little “faaam-ly” and hope for an additional member. Although I want to make love to my wife, something holds me back at times, like I’m somehow tainted. I have seen and done too much to be unified with an innocent soul. Then, I remind myself—I had to do what I did
. It was who I was, but it’s not who I am anymore. Now I am Oshki, a husband, a father, a son, and a nephew. There are days I have to remind myself that I am a soldier no longer.

  Thank God.

  April 1918

  Webaashi Bay

  “This is an honorary plaque commemorating your service to Canada, The British Empire, and Her Majesty, The Queen. We are grateful for your sacrifice,” Mayor Maddox expounded with grace.

  Celeste Follett looked proud as she handed a wooden plaque with an engraved brass plate to her brother and another just like it to Luis and Mr. Waters. The men accepted the tokens of appreciation from her, and they each shook Mayor Maddox’s hand.

  Lily told Luis that the town council had come up with the idea of thanking those that had returned from the war wounded. They had elected the best student who had written letters to servicemen to be the one to present the commemorative plaque.

  Celeste smiled with tenderness at Oshki and rejoined her schoolmates, who were seated in the front row of the town hall.

  Oshki helped Luis, and they moved to the podium to offer a brief thank you.

  Oshki spoke. “I thank you for this honor and for recognizing our service.”

  He smiled and hoisted his plaque a little higher.

  The audience clapped.

  Oshki turned to Luis and whispered, “Got somethin’ ta say?”

  Luis nodded and stepped forward.

  “I can’t see any of you clearly at this moment.” Luis paused and the room became quiet. “However, I know that those of you who fill these seats are those who sent packages and letters and prayed for us men as we fought far away on foreign soil. We were and are grateful for your care and support.”

  Hardier clapping commenced.

  Darrell stepped forward. He leaned heavily on his crutch and the stump of his wooden leg. “I second that. Many thanks.”

  “Thank you.” Mayor Maddox stepped over to the podium and shook each man’s hand again. “Let us also remember those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice. An engraved plaque will be hung in the courthouse with the names of men from our community that have done so, and . . . those that may yet be to come.” The mayor cleared his throat. “Let us bow our heads in silent prayer for a few moments as we honor these brave men.”