Tides of Honour

by Genevieve Graham

  The day couldn’t have been more perfect. Sunshine burst through the leaves, dappling the water, and Audrey sighed with contentment.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful, Danny?”

  “Yeah, I have,” he told her, grinning. When she wrinkled her nose at him, he released the frog back into the water. “What?”

  “Oh, please. Just look.”

  Danny stared meaningfully at her, grinning. “I am.”

  She looked as if she wanted to argue but changed her mind. Instead, she leaned in and kissed his lips, long and slow. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him.

  He eventually let her go but felt vaguely empty in the moment they lost contact. “Shall we sit here for a bit?”

  “Can I paint you?”

  He grudgingly sat while she wove his likeness into their surroundings. He was getting more used to doing this for her lately, though it had been somewhat uncomfortable in the beginning. It gave him an opportunity to revel in the knowledge that she was studying him, concentrating on aspects of him that even he had probably never considered. She made him feel important.

  “Where’s that frog?” she teased. “We could put him on your head, and I’ll paint you both.”

  “I reckon he’s out catching flies for his wife.”

  “Which is what a good husband does. Did you bring any food?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  Danny stretched. “Worked up an appetite looking over my fine physique, did you?”

  She shook her head in mock horror. “You’re terrible. What a tease.”

  They had a light lunch then dug into an apple pie Mrs. Mitchell had brought over. When they were done, they sat quietly, watching the water, and Danny rested his head on her shoulder, as if it was the most natural thing on earth. As if it belonged there.

  “Amazing, isn’t it? The way life turns out?” he mused.

  Audrey smiled. Danny could see the subtle motion from the corner of his eye. She reached into her bag and took out one of the white squares of paper she used for painting, then held it in front of him.

  “You see that?” Audrey asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” Danny said, feeling lazy and nuzzling closer.

  She flung the paper into the water, saying nothing.

  “Hey! What you go and do that for?” He pulled his nose from the soft curve of her neck so he could watch the white square rotate with the current.

  “When I was a little girl, my mother said our lives are like that. We’re the paper, see?” She turned to see if he was watching, then gazed back at the water, satisfied. “And life is like this stream. We start out clean and white and perfect, and we float on top of the water. Some of us carry important words and thoughts, others just float. But life—the water—always wins in the end. No matter who we are, we’ll only float until the river pulls us under, or until we rot from beneath and fall apart.”

  Danny stared at the paper as it disappeared over a tiny rapid, bumping on rocks, spinning over the edge. Then he blinked at Audrey, saying nothing, thinking she was the smartest, most perfect human being in the world.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder this time. Her voice was soft. “You know, Danny, I saw you fighting.”

  He wanted to sit up straight, guard himself from the idea of war, but he didn’t, because she was so obviously comfortable. And she had brought it up, so he was curious. “What? How could you have seen that?”

  “From far away at night. Perhaps it wasn’t you, but I thought of you just the same. The whole sky lit up. It was almost pretty from far away.” Her voice drifted with memory, soft and sad, and she reached for his hand. “Sometimes the noise was deafening.”

  She exhaled, sounding resigned. He stroked the back of her knuckles with his thumb and rested his head on the soft pillow of her hair. They stared at the drifting water and its reflections, and Danny wished they could sit there forever. Somehow it was easier this way. If he could share the pain from the war with her, maybe he’d feel better about everything. And maybe it helped her as well.

  “No matter how pretty it might be, I couldn’t smile for it,” she said, then she lifted her head so they were face to face. Her eyes shone with tears. “I tried to see the beauty, but I cried every time. I prayed so hard, Danny. I prayed you were nowhere near where all that was happening. I wanted you to run away. Even if . . . even if I never saw you again, I wanted you to be safe. Far away.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you there.”

  “Oh, I know. But I did wish for it in a way.” She wrapped her hands around his arm and snuggled closer. After a moment she sniffed then spoke again. “You know, I think perhaps my mother’s story of the paper is a little wrong. The war was more like an entire box of paper thrown into the ocean during a storm. And all the paper is ruined at once.”

  “Audrey?”

  She sniffed again. “Yes?”

  “You and I, we’ve lived through hell. But you’re here now, with me, and I’m gonna take care of you. I think what we gotta do now is think about what’s ahead of us, not behind. Sounds easier than it is, but I think since we did this together, we can help each other.”

  “I know. It’s only—”

  “Come here, my love.” He pulled her to him and kissed her, and he knew she felt the electricity buzz through them just as he did. “I can’t do it without you.”

  EIGHTEEN

  They got married two weeks later under a thick green umbrella of oak leaves, and every day leading up to their wedding was spent in anticipation. When Danny wasn’t working, he was by Audrey’s side, holding her hand, listening to her stories and telling his own. He kissed her in the morning, kissed her at night, kissed her any time he could get her alone. She asked endless questions about anything at all, but never once about the war, and he knew she was only waiting for him to tell her in his own time. He would tell her one day. Not yet, though. He needed this time so he could feel better about everything. Right now she was life to him, a sun that dazzled over everything else. He didn’t want to talk about death.

  She told him about England, about the stink of the factories that hung over everything, clinging to her nose, her lungs. The way she spoke was the way she moved a paintbrush, and he clearly saw the way she and the other women had lived, stuffed into their bunks at night like salted fish in a bucket, sleeping like the dead. She raved about the suffragette women and their exciting plans, insisting on possibilities even when he shook his head and called them hopeless optimists.

  Audrey loved her new country: the quiet colours of the ocean on a peaceful day, the calm, rolling sound it made as it reached toward the shore. When storms rolled in, her eyes flashed with the lightning, and she drew closer to him with the the thrill of the wind, the crash and rumble of an angry sea. True to her promise, she was a hard worker, pitching in with anything that needed doing. Danny watched her learn, picking up new ways of doing things, and he admired Audrey’s quiet, occasional suggestions to his mother. It was obvious from the start that the two would get along well. It hadn’t really been a worry, but it was a relief.

  On the day of the ceremony, Danny’s mother flitted like a hummingbird, wanting everything perfect for her first son’s wedding. She was in her element pulling the event together. It was a beautiful July afternoon, and while great maples and birches stretched over the party, providing much-needed shade, just enough breeze kept the mosquitoes off. The sun sparkled on the still harbour, and songs rose from within the forest: birds and bugs enjoying the day. All the neighbours were invited; some brought fiddles, one even brought a set of bagpipes. Everyone brought food. The folk of the Eastern Shore were always looking for reason to celebrate, and Danny’s wedding was more than enough.

  The newly married couple weren’t hungry. They stood off to the side for most of the day, accepting congratulations a
nd best wishes, but mostly speaking quietly to each other, celebrating in their own way. When the sun set, the party continued, but no one expected the newlyweds to stay. As Danny led Audrey into the house, he laughed off an appropriate amount of teasing, especially from his brothers and friends. The younger boys were just as loud in their catcalls but had no idea what they were saying. Danny didn’t mind. As long as no one said anything derogatory about his sweet new wife, everything was good.

  The new room was small but large enough for a double bed and a dresser and enough space to move easily around the sides of the bed. Danny’s dream was to construct an entire house elsewhere on the property, but he would need to make money if he was going to be able to afford that. He’d built the dresser as a wedding gift for Audrey, even added the luxury of a large mirror on top. Audrey had sewn green striped curtains for the window, and she had drawn them closed.

  “Come to bed, Mrs. Baker?” Danny asked, stepping into the room.

  From the hallway, Audrey smiled into the dark, a soft look in her eyes that he wanted to see better. He lit an oil lamp so the room warmed with a dim, gold glow, then he stood back toward the window when she came in. She latched the door softly behind her, then leaned against it, her hands behind her back. Neither said a word, only stared at the other. Outside, the sounds of laughter continued, a fiddle started up, accompanied by a whoop as dancing began.

  “Are you scared of this, Audrey?”

  “I think so,” she said quietly. “I feel strange.”

  “Me too,” he said, then gave her a crooked smile. “Not sure how it’ll go when I only have one leg to balance on.”

  She stepped toward him, since they’d found it was easier for her to come to him than the other way around. She stopped halfway across the room and looked pointedly at the floor, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt as she’d done on that first morning after she’d arrived. He had thought she was beautiful then, but now she took his breath away. She had made her own wedding gown—a pale blue skirt that touched the ground under a modest bodice—modelling it after photographs she had seen in a catalogue. It was a practical dress, one she would wear after her wedding day as an everyday dress. For now, though, it was a special dress, and Danny could tell she was afraid to take it off.

  Danny’s mother had tied Audrey’s hair on top of her head, then decorated any stray curls with a matching blue ribbon. He was used to seeing her hair down, bouncing around her shoulders. Her neck looked soft and vulnerable like this, and he wanted to curl his fingers around the back of it.

  Danny had worn the peg through the day, using it mostly to fill in the pant leg and keep the curious neighbours’ focus off him. He ached to take it off, but he would have to remove his trousers in order to do that. Neither of them had moved yet in that regard. Obviously someone was going to have to start taking off clothing.

  He stepped closer to her, and she looked up, her eyes searching his. When they were a foot apart, he stopped and did what he’d wanted to do all day, circling the back of her neck with his fingers. She closed her eyes and leaned against his hand, and he pulled her to him.

  They kissed slowly, tasting this new person that was their spouse. For better or for worse. She felt warm against him, and a thrill ran down his body with the knowledge that she was entirely his. In sickness and in health. That he could touch her and make love to her as he had dreamed, and it would be just fine in the sight of God. For as long as we both shall live. His other hand slid down her back, travelling along the line of buttons—he counted eight—that fastened the gown from neck to waist.

  “Can I help you with your gown?” he whispered.

  “I’m scared, Danny.”

  “No need, Audrey. I won’t let nothing hurt you. Ever.”

  Her forehead creased suddenly, and just as quickly her eyes filled with tears.

  “What is it?”

  She swallowed hard and blinked. A lone tear dropped. “Promise me, Danny? Promise you will never, never, never leave me.” Her eyes moved between his, searching. “Please, Danny. I would die.”

  He took her face in his hands and felt his own eyes tickle with tears. “Never be afraid, Audrey. You’re my world. I’m nothin’ without you.”

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered again.

  Her desperation grabbed at his breath, and he shook his head slowly. He needed her to understand. She was everything. Without her, well, he couldn’t even imagine the possibility anymore.

  “I won’t. Please, Audrey. You gotta know. I’ll never, ever leave you.”

  Mrs. Audrey Baker

  August 1917

  NINETEEN

  It had never taken Audrey long to make friends in the past. Trouble was, there weren’t that many people for her to meet in such a small area. So once in a while Danny took her for a walk down what passed for a road around Jeddore, bringing her around to meet more of his relatives. It wasn’t something he did often, because the wear of the crutch under his arm was so painful. She knew he didn’t want her to see that he suffered, but late at night, when they settled into their bed, she saw the redness, the bruising and blisters, and she felt immediately sorry that she’d dragged him so far.

  But Audrey had a thirsty soul, drinking in air and colours and shapes and detail the way anyone else would need water. Fortunately, Danny seemed to understand that. As often as possible, he took her out in his boat, paddling her down the shore so she could take in the beauty of the place. And it was so beautiful. So peaceful. Back in Silvertown she’d seen the ocean beyond the factory, but this was nothing like it. The only sounds here were the gulls and the surf, rolling over the rocks, retreating back into the sea. The trees were vast, never-ending, and the ground by their roots was a carpet of moss, constantly changing colours and textures. It wasn’t deep soil, he’d told her. That’s why so many trees were uprooted during storms. Not much for them to grab on to when the autumn gales blew, and he promised her they did. The idea of those storms worried her a little, but for now she was convinced there was nowhere on earth as lovely as this. Everything begged to be painted.

  “Look at those rocks, Danny. See how they face into the water? Like they’re talking to each other. And look at that tree. The birch in the shade. See? It looks as if it’s smiling!”

  She knew he didn’t see it like she did, but he nodded and smiled anyway, enjoying her excitement. She was grateful for that—more than he could know. The only other people to have ever shared her love of art were Richard Black and her mother. Her grandmother had shoved it away, treating it as if it were poison. But not Danny. He loved her. He wanted her happy, and she couldn’t seem to convince him that she was. She truly was. Nothing made her happier than looking up and seeing his strong, lightly stubbled jaw tighten with smiles for her. And when his eyes were on hers, she felt herself drifting, losing touch with her surroundings, felt whatever stretched between them sucking her farther in, and she went with it, wanting to be so close to him she was a part of him.

  For Audrey’s first birthday in Canada, Danny bought her paper and paints. He’d even saved up to buy her the precious sable brushes she’d gushed over in a catalogue. He also built her an easel just like one he’d seen in that same catalogue. From the apprehension in his eyes and the way he opened and closed his fists, she knew he was concerned that she wouldn’t like his gifts, but what a fool he was. He hadn’t expected her tears of joy. And when she cried, his eyes shone as well. Now, whenever they returned from their voyages up and down the coast, she disappeared into their bedroom, took out the art supplies, and spent hours recreating what she’d seen.

  Sometimes he watched her paint, but mostly he left her alone, and she appreciated that as well. She liked to melt into the pictures the way she melted into his eyes, and she couldn’t do that when her attention was divided between her two loves. When she finished a painting, he always came to admire it. He said they were beautiful. Not the exact, pe
rfect renderings his grandfather had once done in charcoal, he told her. Hers were less rigid. As if she saw beyond the lines and colours. One day when he came in late from working with his brothers in the boat, she drew him while he slept. He’d had no idea until she presented it to him three days later, the muted colours on the paper as restful as his face had been, lost in dreams.

  “Gee, Audrey. This is amazing.” He stared at it. “Huh. Is that really what I look like?”

  “Yes,” she said slowly, squinting critically at the paper. “Except you’re much more handsome.”

  Their bedroom walls were soon covered by her paintings. Danny carefully cut, sanded, glazed, and assembled frames for each one.

  “You’ll have to stop soon, Audrey,” he told her, grinning. “We don’t have any more walls.”

  “I guess so,” she agreed with a shrug. “Or maybe I’ll just trade the frames around.”

  “Yeah,” he mused, distracted. He scratched his head. “Hey, you know what? Could you do a portrait of Mother?”

  “Sure.”

  When it was done, a smooth, feminine likeness of the older woman rolling out dough in the kitchen, Danny’s mother was so moved, she suggested Audrey hang her new pictures all over the house, brighten the plain walls. From the corner of Audrey’s eye she saw Danny nod smugly to himself, making her grin. So that was how he’d thought it might turn out. He set to work building more frames.

  One Sunday, a couple of weeks and many paintings later, Danny’s aunt and uncle came visiting from Oyster Pond at the head of the harbour. Their schooner lay low in the water, heavy with their load of six children, ranging in age from a few months to ten years. Johnny and their father helped the family onto the dock, then led them into the yard where Danny and Audrey stood. Danny’s mother stood at Audrey’s other side.

  “Georgina,” she said, pulling her sister into an embrace. The infant caught between them gave a squawk and clung to his mother’s neck. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long.”