Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  The room settled to a hush. Just the ticking of the hall clock, the fussing of a baby, and a few sniffles could be heard.

  After a minute had passed, Mayor Maddox said, “Amen.” He looked up. “Now, I believe we have a special treat. The Parsons have loaned their gramophone and records. I hope you brought your dancing shoes. If I could just ask you all to pick up your chairs and move them back against the wall, we will have room for dancing. Refreshments will be served on the back table.” The mayor pointed to a long table manned by several women from the Webaashi Bay Women’s Club. “Have an enjoyable evening.”

  He signaled to someone and the music started playing. The sound of stringed and woodwind instruments filled the air as the crowd pulled back their seats as requested.

  Oshki helped both Luis and Darrel down from the stage.

  Each man found their family units and mingled amongst the crowd.

  “Come on.” Lily grabbed Luis. “Put that cane down and dance with your sister.”

  “What? No,” he protested, but to no avail. He passed his cane off to Michael and allowed Lily to direct him to the middle of the floor. A few other couples joined them.

  Thank goodness, Luis thought. He didn’t want his two left feet to be the center of attention.

  “I’ll lead.” Lily confidently took Luis’s hand and positioned his other around her waist. “Ready? Here we go.”

  They sashayed to a waltz. After a few clumsy moments, Luis found he actually enjoyed himself. They finished the song, and Lily passed him off to another partner, much to Luis’s annoyance.

  “Luis, Roseanna Tremblay. You remember her?” Lily shifted Roseanna into Luis’s embrace.

  “Yes . . . of course.”

  He thought Roseanna a perfectly lovely woman, but he was not ready to foster any sort of attachment just yet. His heart still belonged to Rose.

  “Luis, I’m so glad you’re home,” Roseanna said with sincerity as she took up his hand, and they began to move.

  “Yes, it’s nice to be home with family and . . . well, everyone.” Luis kept his tone detached. “You must forgive my clumsiness. I . . . my eyes.”

  “Don’t worry. I know.”

  They danced but didn’t chat. Luis took pleasure in the movement despite his worry over what Roseanna might think. He tried to gauge her feelings, but her face was fuzzy. She surprised him then.

  “Mother says you lost someone in the Halifax explosion.”

  How do people know about what I lost?

  “Yes, a friend, a nurse who I . . . knew.”

  “I’m sorry. My sweetheart died in France.”

  Luis instantly felt they understood each other, and he relaxed. “France has claimed so many good men. Who was he?”

  They pivoted on the outer edge of the dance floor.

  “Paul McGovern.”

  “I remember him. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. Did you ever see him over there?”

  “No. We were in different companies probably.” He did think he remembered seeing Paul in training, but he didn’t think it would help to say so.

  They kept dancing as many others joined in.

  The dance floor was spotted with couples: the Tremblays, Cotas, Smiths, Parsons, and Mayor Maddox and Mallory joined, along with some of the schoolchildren who had paired off. Their familiar shapes blurred past Luis, but he recognized voices, scents, and outlines. Even Old Man Taylor had a dancing partner—Edith Tremblay, the mother of Scott Tremblay, who owned the chandlery, took a turn on the dance floor. The older couple smiled at one another as they slowly navigated past Luis and Roseanna.

  Someone turned the lights down for a cozier feel to the atmosphere. A slow tune cranked from the gramophone.

  A voice Luis recognized interrupted them. “Mind if I commandeer my son?”

  “Of course.” Roseanna graciously relinquished Luis to his mother.

  “It seems I’m a popular dance partner. Mom, you leading, or am I?” Luis asked Vanessa.

  “I think you know what’s what. I trust you.” Vanessa smiled.

  It’s rather like the blind leading the blind, he realized. It tickled his funny bone, and he laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Vanessa asked.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that we are rather in the same boat.”

  “Yes, I suppose. My sight isn’t much better than yours, especially in this dim light, but I think we’ll manage.” His mother sounded happy.

  Luis’s heart still ached over Rose, but at least he could take part in a little joy now and then. And he realized, it is a joy to be here with the people I love and not rotting in French soil like Paul McGovern and thousands of others.

  He slowly moved from grief into a place of gratitude. It felt so much better to him.

  A voice cut into their rhythm. “May I step in?”

  “Ah . . . certainly.” His mother sounded surprised but backed away from Luis.

  The woman took her position in Luis’s hands.

  She kept her eyes down as she spoke. “It’s a pleasant evening.”

  “Um, yes.” They were silent, and Luis felt awkward dancing with a stranger. “Do I . . . know you?”

  He moved his feet to the music, but the pounding in his ears was so loud he could barely hear it.

  Why do I feel so dizzy all of a sudden?

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Her voice sounds familiar. Luis filed through the young women of the town, but none settled on this woman’s specifications and tone.

  “You seem . . . familiar.” Luis had a hard time, even when people were close, seeing them clearly in the dim light. It didn’t help that she kept her head down.

  They went several rounds without speaking. All the while, Luis strained his eyes for more details of her form.

  “I’m so sorry. I just can’t place you. You seem to know who I am, though.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Drat the woman. She isn’t making it easy for me. “Where from?”

  “Well, I took care of you for many months. I’m sad that you don’t remember me.” Her voice teased him.

  What is the woman talking about? “Were you a nurse at Victoria General?” Maybe one of the nursing staff there has family in Webaashi Bay and they are visiting?

  “Yes. You don’t recall?” The woman’s voice took on an affronted tone.

  “I remember most of the nurses there. Let’s see. Mabel?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, Miss Fontaine or Miss Segal?”

  She laughed. “Most definitely not.”

  Luis’s spine tinkled. That laugh.

  “Miss Gerard?” Luis couldn’t recall any other names.

  “You’ve forgotten one.”

  “Won’t you tell me who?”

  She moved closer to him then as a slow tune came on. Luis smelled her lavender scent. He stiffened and almost tripped.

  “Sorry, I . . . who are you? Please, tell me your name,” he begged; his head began to pound and his heart ache.

  She stopped their motion, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered into his ear. “I’m Rose.”

  Luis did falter then and nearly fell backwards.

  “Come, let’s get some fresh air.” She led Luis towards the hall door. “Let’s get away from prying eyes.”

  He nodded, stupefied, and allowed himself to be herded away.

  She opened the door, and they stepped out into the cool spring air and the moonlight.

  “There, isn’t this better? It was getting rather stuffy in there anyway.” She went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Luis saw her face, illuminated by the light of the silver moon—the curve of her cheek unmistakable. Those moments in the hospital hall before he had left were etched in his memory, and his heart skipped a beat.

  It can’t be. It’s not possible.

  “Are . . . you real?” He reached out his other hand tentatively to her cheek, half wondering if she would vanish with his touch.

&nbs
p; She moved close to him, her chest against his stomach, and her face tilted up to his. “Yes.”

  Luis still couldn’t embrace what he was seeing and what his ears told him to be true. “How can this be? I . . . was told you were . . . dead.”

  “I heard you’d come.”

  “But why did the receptionist say . . .?”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  Luis tried to remember what he’d been told. His brain felt a jumble. “She said you were . . . gone.”

  He looked into her green eyes.

  She’s real. Rose . . .

  He sucked in a breath and tried to steady his shaking hands.

  “Yes, and I was. I was injured in the explosion. I broke my leg and had some gashes on my head. I was only gone off the duty roster because I recuperated at the Johnsons, not . . . because I died. I would have come sooner, but the ports just opened a week ago.” Rose reached her hand up to his face and caressed his cheek. “And I didn’t think a letter would suffice.”

  Luis wrapped his arms around her, gazed into her eyes, and quieted her speaking with a kiss. He hesitated at first, making sure substance was behind what he adored. Then their lips parted, and the kiss deepened until it became all he thought about. He didn’t notice the crisp evening air, for there was heat enough in his soul. Finally, Rose bent her head down and laid it on his chest.

  He had to make sure she knew. “I came to Halifax to say I was sorry, Rose. I should have listened to you. I should have understood. I should have . . .”

  Luis petted her head; he wanted to tell her so many things, but his heart was in his mouth.

  “No, it’s I who am sorry. I regret pinning that terrible feather on your coat. It was silly and stupid. I didn’t understand what the feathers would mean, until I tended the wounded men coming in from battle . . . what I’d done appalled and sickened me. What I had shamed men into doing. I . . .” Rose started to cry.

  “Let’s just put it behind us and begin afresh as if the feather never came between us.”

  Rose quieted. “Yes.”

  She gazed up at him, as Luis looked down at her, thankful that he could see her clearly enough. The arcs of her green irises looked like dark emeralds in the moonlight. The beauty brought him pain, as he thought of all he’d seen and done by the light of the silver moon.

  Does beauty belong with an injured soul like mine?

  Yes, he decided. There is beauty even in the brokenness.

  Luis forgot all his reservations in this defining moment.

  It has all been worth it— for this, for Rose.

  His heart burst with gratitude, as he placed his lips on hers once more.

  I wish you to know

  That you have been

  The last dream of my soul.

  Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

  Epilogue

  Early May 1923

  Webaashi Bay

  “Papa, ‘nother?” the little boy says impatiently.

  The little girl sits on the blanket and sucks her thumb as she watches her father and brother.

  Rose, who is now Mrs. Wilson, sits close to me. We married shortly after she came to Webaashi Bay. Her one regret is that her parents couldn’t come. Del and Alma Johnson came, though, and I think, in some ways, she’s even closer to them than her own parents. I think them wonderful people. They certainly make it clear how dear Rose is to them.

  Her friend Mabel came to be her bridesmaid, and, instead of going back to work in Halifax, she stayed and will be working at the new clinic that Doctor Philips is building. I’m glad. I like Mabel. She’s a breath of fresh air, and she always makes me laugh. She and Darrell Waters have developed a friendship. His disability does not phase her. In my book, that deems her a woman of true character.

  My wife’s lavender scent wafts on the breeze. Peace comes to me when I smell it. I drape an arm over her shoulder. The whole scene is peaceful, so far removed from my past and my occasional haunting dreams.

  “Luis, Rose, are you thirsty?” Lily stands before us with a tray, on which sits sweating glasses of lemonade. Today the twins turn four years old. Lily’s belly looks rounder by the week, for she expects another child.

  I watch my brother-in-law play with his children. He’s a good father, as I hope to be in four months’ time.

  I reach over and rest a hand on Rose’s middle. “Feeling all right?”

  My wife’s brow looks damp and her breathing a bit heavy.

  “Oh, yes. I’ll be fine. Just a bit warm.”

  It’s warm in the sun but not uncomfortable. I suppose her condition might be to blame for her pink look and perspiring forehead. Rose smiles at me, and my heart does a flop. She still has the power to render me helpless. Her green eyes twinkle at me despite her discomfort. I give her a loud smooch on her temple.

  “What was that for?” she asks.

  “For being you.”

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me. She teases me for my “smitten ways”, as she calls my attentions towards her. I don’t mind. I feel smitten every day of my life, just being next to the person I thought I would never see again, never mind have a life with. Miraculously, I do.

  I look at her belly. “What will we call her?”

  “Her?”

  “Most definitely. And she’ll be just like her mother.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of boy names.” Rose loves to tease me. I secretly love it when she does.

  “No. We must think of girl names,” I insist.

  “Well . . . how about a flower name like Iris or Violet?”

  My mind automatically goes to Mrs. Grey, the school marm, and Mrs. Taylor, old Jeremiah’s first wife. He married Scott Tremblay’s mother several years ago, and, from what I can tell, they seem as equally enamored with one another. Although these women are perfectly lovely in their own ways, I don’t relish naming my daughter after them.

  “I think not. Maybe Sage or . . . Marigold?”

  “I like Marigold. We can call her Mari for short.” Rose has a happy thrill to her voice, like the tinkering of a xylophone.

  “Marigold it is, then,” I confirm.

  Rose turns and looks sincerely at me. Her brows furrow slightly. “Really, but what if the baby is a boy?”

  “Hmm, how about William, which will still be a flower—Sweet William?”

  “Grand.” She hoists her sweating glass. “Here’s to Marigold or William.”

  “Marigold or William,” I concur and tap her glass with mine.

  Her face takes on a look of horror. “What if we have twins?”

  I laugh. “Lily fulfilled that quota. Besides, we would manage somehow, even if we did.”

  I kiss her soundly on the cheek with a loud smack.

  “Now, none of that.” Jimmy winks and reprimands us from his spot near his children, Raymond and Regan, whom they call Ray and Reg—fitting for twins.

  I leave Rose to her lemonade and go to play with my niece and nephew. They are playing blocks. Regan stacks them up and leaves them that way. Ray likes to build them and just as quickly knock them down with great mirth. He’s definitely his father’s son—mischief through and through. Once in a while, Regan gets annoyed with Ray’s playing rules and gives him a shove . . . and the not so sweet side of Lily shows up in her daughter.

  “Unca Lulu, ‘elp?” The twins have adopted Pearl’s name for me. I don’t mind.

  “Here comes another one.” I add a block to the stack.

  We construct quite the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We put the last block on top, then Ray whacks them over with a wave of his hand and a giggle, which sets Regan to crying.

  Lily swoops in and picks up her daughter and snuggles her. “Oh, now, now, my sweet, pay no attention to those men folk.”

  Regan’s tears evaporate.

  I am happy for Jimmy and Lil with their growing family. We were all surprised when Jimmy came back when the war was done. I think Lily had resigned in her heart that Jimmy had died.
She hadn’t heard from him for months. Then, sometime in July of ’19, he came walking into the rail office and made Lily just about keel over.

  I know he struggles, though. Oh, he hasn’t said much, but Lily has confided in me. He still has nightmares, and sometimes he just fades out. His attention wafts from the present moment and lands somewhere entirely different at times. He hates loud noises. The blare of a ship’s horn sets him to jittering. On his worse days, he succumbs to drink. He doesn’t get mean or argumentative when he does; he just falls asleep. Maang-ikwe has given him some herbal potion to calm his nerves some. Together, Lil and Jim manage somehow. I actually think the children help him cope quite a bit too. Being a father is good medicine.

  Jimmy works with his dad in the printing office. They started a local paper, of which Jimmy is the editor.

  We war vets from town get together once in a while. None of us really talk to our wives or families about what went on over there, but on occasion we talk to each other. Most days, I want to forget and not remember. I still haven’t told anyone about me being a spy—not even Rose, although Oshki put two and two together some time ago. Maybe someday I’ll tell him about it all.

  “I think Mom and Pop will be here soon. Nora and Timothy too. Why don’t we go in now?” Lily leads the way into the farmhouse with Betty, and we all follow.

  Jimmy walks hand in hand with Ray. Rose sways behind him, and I bring up the rear. I linger a bit and walk slowly, offering prayers of gratitude yet again for the many blessings we have as a family.

  I gaze up at the canopy above my head. I can see the green of the trees better than I used to be able to. The leaves are so green. Green like Rose’s eyes.

  Instead of a fuzzy blob, the leaves now have some definition. My sight is still not great, but it has improved. I look forward to being a father to our child; being able to see more clearly is a relief. Not that I couldn’t have been a good father sightless, but it would be more challenging caring for a child that way.