Tides of Honour

by Genevieve Graham

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  The woman, who he assumed was a nurse, turned toward him, eyes wide with alarm. She quickly inspected Danny and Esther, and her expression said she didn’t see anything wrong.

  “Are you here to help?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, I am,” Danny said. “But my friend here, well, she needs a doctor.”

  “Really? What is—”

  Danny gently turned Esther so the nurse could see her profile. The nurse blanched, then nodded. “Come with me, please,” she said, then patted Danny’s arm. “We’ll take care of her from here. Have you signed your name to the list? Over there, you see? The ladies with the black hats? Please do, would you? We’re trying to find out who is . . . still alive, you know.” And she was gone, leading Esther away. Danny watched their backs, marvelling at Esther’s ability to exist while blood seeped slowly around the blade of glass, leaving a dark, spotted trail behind her.

  He turned toward the desk where she’d indicated, then limped toward the women managing the list. He gave his name, and they wrote it down. They asked if he knew the names of any of the deceased, and he cleared his throat before giving them Johnny’s name. They wrote it on another list, and Danny didn’t like seeing that. He wanted Johnny’s name to be right there beside his. He wanted Johnny to be with him, helping rescue people. He wanted his little brother very badly. How was he ever going to tell his family?

  “Excuse me,” he said.

  The woman smiled sadly at him, waiting.

  “How do I get word to my family that I’m okay? And about . . . my brother?”

  “These lists will be published in the newspaper daily,” she assured him. “It’s the best we can do.”

  Danny’s eyes blurred, and he turned back toward the rows of cots. His parents didn’t get the newspaper regularly, but he guessed they’d do their best to get their hands on one after this. He also bet they’d be driving the wagon into Halifax as soon as the roads were clear enough for them to pass.

  A group of ladies stood to the side, all in black, one of them with her hand to her face. The others gathered around her, and Danny squinted hard. She looked a bit like Audrey, but it was hard to tell for sure. People kept walking in front, blocking his view. Could it be her? He started to limp toward the group but stopped when he heard a young boy call. It was one of the twins, and his brother sat beside him, almost completely wrapped in bandages. There was no real pattern to the bandages across the little boy’s face, and Danny knew the scarring would be bad. He hoped the years would be kind.

  He crouched beside their cot and smiled. “How are you, boys? Did you get something to eat?”

  “They gave us bread,” the first boy said.

  Some of the black had been rubbed off the boys, and Danny saw their bright orange hair and blue eyes over cheeks sprinkled with freckles. Black swipes of pain under the second twin’s eyes almost hid the freckles, and his lips were pale.

  “And how are you feeling? Did they take good care of you?”

  The bandaged boy nodded carefully, and his brother spoke for him. “It hurts him to talk, so I do it. I know what he’s thinking anyway.”

  Danny looked at the quiet twin, who nodded again. “What are your names?” Danny asked.

  “Well, I’m Eugene Josiah White,” said the first. “My brother is Harry Donald White, and our baby brother is Norman Jefferson White. We have three sisters too. They are big girls, so they go to school.”

  Danny had seen the school and the mangled bodies within, dismembered and decapitated, stabbed, crushed beneath walls. He wondered if the White sisters had made it out alive, and doubted it.

  “Those are fine names, and you’re a very smart boy to remember them all,” Danny said, trying to look impressed. “Those are names for boys who are going to be big and strong one day. Tell me, where’s your father?”

  “He died at the war. Do you have a brother?” Eugene replied, matter-of-fact.

  “I do,” Danny said. “I have a few.”

  “Do they live in Halifax?”

  “No, no, they don’t. One of them did, but he’s not . . . here anymore.”

  “What was his name?”

  Danny stood and gently ruffled the boys’ spiky orange hair. He couldn’t talk about Johnny. The pain was still a fresh, open wound, not yet ready for exposure to air. “I’m going to go see about a friend now, all right? You two stay together, and you’ll be just fine.”

  They smiled, though Danny was painfully aware that their smiles were no longer identical and never would be again. He glanced toward where he had last seen the group of women but could see no sign of them. His eyes raked over the cots as he walked between the rows, searching for Audrey, but she wasn’t there. Please God, he prayed. Please let her be alive.

  The day was endless. Danny went back out to the devastated city, looking, finding, carrying, comforting. He didn’t see even one person he knew. He had only really known the dockworkers, and he didn’t expect to see any of them ever again. But he went to the docks anyway. There was one thing he had to do there. He couldn’t just leave Johnny like that.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The sunset happened at six-thirty, but there was still enough light for the searchers. Bursts of orange rose through the pyres scattered around the city, turning homes and shops—and everyone inside them—to ashes. Voices were fainter now, further between. Many of the collapsed buildings held no more signs of life. Close to midnight, the exhausted searchers had to stop for the night.

  And it began to snow.

  It wouldn’t have mattered what the outside temperature was, Danny was cold from the inside out. He had done what he could for his brother, storing his body safely until his family came to take Johnny home. God, how Danny wanted to join them. To go home and lose himself in the hard, uncomplicated life of a fisherman. He started walking to the Camp Hill Hospital, up near the Citadel, with hopes of finding a bed. Someplace out of the growing storm. But the crowds lined up outside the door were enough encouragement for him to move on. Others needed beds more urgently than he, and Danny had slept in much worse places. He went farther, over the crest of the hill where the devastation was somewhat less, though houses still burned, their walls buckled like accordions, every window gone. Danny pulled his collar up to cover the back of his neck, as he had a hundred times that day. His stump was numb where it met the peg; it would be a fine mess when he finally sat down to inspect it. But he kept on, sure of his direction now. He headed south, trudging along the dark streets until he came upon the massive home of the Antoine family.

  Compared to Richmond, the house seemed relatively untouched except all the windowpanes were gone. Danny climbed up the uneven stairs to the ornate double front door, depending on the precarious banister to keep him upright. When he reached the top, he saw one of the doors had been blown in and was blocking half the entry.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  No one answered. He tried to convince himself that, since it was after midnight, the family might just be sleeping. After a day like this, everyone needed sleep. But somehow he didn’t think anyone was slumbering tonight. The real, live nightmare would keep them awake. Since he couldn’t get past the broken door debris on one side, Danny tried the other door, and it eased open under light pressure, the latch barely hanging onto the frame. He poked his head inside.

  “Hello?” he tried again. “Is anyone home?” Receiving no response, he stepped inside. The wind had blown snow through the window frames, forming drifts, leaving it just as cold inside as it was outside. The room should have been pitch-black, but the snowstorm lent an eerie grey light to everything in the house. It even caught on the glass crunching underfoot as he walked down the long, narrow corridor.

  “Hello?” he called again, louder this time. “Is anyone here? Does anyone need help?”

  He glanced around the remains of the
family’s living area, listening for sounds. He didn’t see anyone but would have to look closer. They could be trapped under any type of furniture. Earlier that day they had found a six-month baby girl curled up underneath her family’s furnace, warm and hungry. If they hadn’t had a dog sniffing around, they’d never have found her.

  Danny took the steps slowly, bracing himself against the banister and wall to take some of the weight off his stump. The stairwell was lined with pictures of the family, and Danny recognized Audrey’s handiwork. She was so talented, that woman he’d chased away and still loved with all his heart. Sadly, most of the canvasses had been torn by flying glass.

  “Audrey?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Audrey, are you here?”

  The stairs creaked under him, and he moved more quickly in case they gave way. One by one he opened the doors along the hallway but saw no one moving within. He kept calling out, listening for a response, but all he heard was the groaning of the boards and the whistle of wind through shattered windows. He stepped up to the beds, the dressing tables, and saw no one. No children, no Audrey.

  He got to the master bedroom and hesitated. The door was closed. What if the family was here, sleeping safe and sound? What kind of lout would wake up a family after a day like this? But Danny had to know. He unlatched the door and gave it a push.

  “Hello?”

  The door jammed, and he had to push against it, squeezing through the opening. A large armchair lay across the doorway, and he shoved the chair out of the way so he could push the door all the way open.

  The Antoines had probably spent many hours staring out of their beautiful picture window, watching ships pass in and out of the port. They had a panoramic view of the entire area from this spot, high on the hill. From what Danny could surmise, Mrs. Antoine had seen the fire, and she and three of her youngest children had gathered around the window for a closer look. Now her lifeless body sprawled over the edge of her bed beside two small ones, torn to shreds, frozen in place. In the middle of the room, and straight through a child’s body, protruded a jagged metal plate from one of the ships.

  No Pierre, no Audrey. Mrs. Antoine had been a large woman, and her body was cold and stiff. It took some effort for Danny to move her around so her head rested on the pillow. After that he lifted one child at a time and laid them on either side of their mother, making sure their sightless eyes were closed. He stood back a moment, staring at this little family of strangers. There was nothing more he could do.

  Danny backed soundlessly out of the room. He knew from experience he would be of no use to anyone if he didn’t at least try to sleep. He limped down the hall, clouds puffing into the cold air with every breath, and went into one of the other bedrooms. Once inside, he tore the blankets off the bed, then carried the bundle to a room at the back of the house. He spread them over a small child’s bed he swept free of glass, then he tugged the carpet off the dark plank floor and managed to wedge it up so it blocked the window. The blizzard still raged, but he would be protected from some of it at least. The pillow dropped shards of glass on the floor when he shook it, and he patted it a few more times, just to be sure there weren’t any splinters before putting it back on the bed and lowering himself onto the mattress. With a groan, he unstrapped the peg and grimaced at the bruising and blisters he hadn’t had time to notice during the day. His stump pulsed now that it met the air, bringing blood back into circulation and making him aware of the injuries. Very carefully, he laid his head on the pillow, trying to ignore everything but the softness of the mattress. The blankets were cold, but his body heat was soon trapped within, and he felt warm for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. He forced his mind to go blank. He had to sleep. Tomorrow he needed to find Audrey.

  A few hours later, blinding light seeped around the edges of Danny’s makeshift curtain. He squeezed his eyes against the onslaught, unwilling to leave the warm nest he had created, but these blankets were needed elsewhere. Danny shoved himself up so that he sat on the edge of the bed, and used the sheet to carefully clean what he could of his stump. At least it hadn’t bled, and the bruising was worse than the blisters. That was good, because he didn’t want to trouble anyone with his minor discomforts. He could deal with bruises. He hitched the peg onto his body, then stood and hobbled from room to room, folding all the blankets he could find. He tossed them over the banister along with armfuls of pillows, then he limped downstairs and wandered through the sitting room. As he had anticipated, he found no trace of Audrey or anyone else amid the wreckage of the Antoines’ main room. Instead, he found an overturned dining room table, its polished mahogany legs sticking straight up as if it were a dead beast. After piling the blankets and pillows on top of it, Danny rolled one sheet into a thick rope and tied the ends to the table legs. He pushed the knots as low as they would go, then he tugged the entire makeshift sled out the front door, where he stood for a moment, transfixed.

  The snow had come with a vengeance, but for now it had stopped. The sun beamed from a cloudless sky, reflecting off a perfect, glistening blanket of white. It was both a beautiful and a horrible sight. The snow would have helped to extinguish fires. Then it would have frozen any remaining victims to death.

  Would it be better to die trapped in a fire or frozen solid? Frozen, he decided. After all, he had gone to sleep often enough with his teeth chattering from the cold. Maybe those people had just fallen asleep and never woken up. That had to be better than hearing your own flesh sizzle and pop.

  The outside door frame was still a bit too narrow for his sled, so Danny yanked on the damaged wood and pulled on the remaining door until it gave way, tearing open a wider hole. After all he’d seen, it still gave Danny a perverse moment of pleasure knowing he’d just ripped a hole in Antoine’s beautiful house. It didn’t bother him a bit that he was leaving with this valuable piece of furniture.

  Still smiling, Danny angled the table through the doorway, then left the load on the front stoop and went back inside. The kitchen was typically chaotic. Glass, ceramic tile, knives—anything sharp had been hurled against the walls and ceiling, and most of it still poked out like the quills of a big, flat porcupine. Danny sorted through the pantry and the icebox, making himself a cold breakfast of ham and bread, which, ironically, had been sliced perfectly the morning before.

  Afterwards, he loaded up everything he could find that might be of use and carried it to the sled. He very carefully slid the entire thing down the stairs, trudged through the mounds of snow, and stepped onto a path already cut on the road by those before him. With his makeshift wagon in tow, he headed back toward the worst-hit part of the city, grateful for Antoine’s expensive tastes. The polished mahogany table slid smoothly over the snow, making the journey easier than it might have been with a lesser piece of furniture.

  THIRTY

  A discarded Evening Mail lay in the snow, its frozen pages trembling stiffly in the breeze.

  SCENES AT MORGUES AND HOSPITALS THAT BAFFLE DESCRIPTION

  and lower down

  TWO CHILDREN ESCAPED ORPHANAGE ALIVE

  followed by lists of hundreds of names, either confirmed alive, found, missing, or dead. The paper mentioned a “List of Known Dead” at the undertakers at Snow’s Mortuary. Danny tried very hard not to imagine Audrey’s name on the list, but he would stop by there later to be sure.

  An article lower down mentioned the stage, auditorium, galleries, and all rooms in the Academy of Music had sheltered hundreds of homeless. Camp Hill Hospital was overflowing with victims. Chebucto Road School was acting as a makeshift morgue, and bodies waited to be laid out on the floor. Help was said to be rolling in by train from across Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Boston. A great population of relatives of the stricken were from Boston, so that city sent hundreds of doctors and nurses to relieve the exhausted workers who sagged by the cots.

  Danny’s next couple of days were spent uncovering survivors and h
elping stack the dead like cordwood beside the road. When he could stand no more, he went into the hospital and checked the name lists. Checked the living, checked the dead, but Audrey never appeared on any of the pages. So many people weren’t listed. He wondered if they would ever find all the victims. He helped wherever he could. He got to know some of the slashed faces and missed them when they were gone—for whatever reason.

  He was sitting by the bed of a young woman one morning, helping a doctor change bandages around her face, when his father walked in. Thomas and Lionel, Danny’s next two brothers, were with him. Johnny filled Danny’s mind, and he longed to rush to his father, but the doctor needed him a moment more. Danny kept his hands on his work and his eyes on his family.

  Daniel Sr. and his two sons spoke to the woman at the front desk, who gestured to the wall where the lists were posted. Tension strung tight across his shoulders as he bent over the lists, which were pages and pages long. The brothers looked around with a sort of horrified curiosity, but they didn’t see Danny.

  Daniel Sr. was just finishing off the second page of “Known Living” when Danny came up behind them and touched his father’s arm.

  “Father,” he said quietly.

  His father spun toward him, eyes huge. “Danny!” he cried. “Danny! Praise God! I—we—”

  Thomas and Lionel were on Danny in an instant, and everyone was talking at once. All except Danny, who stood back and listened, dreading the inevitable question.

  “Let’s go outside,” he suggested eventually.

  “Sure, sure,” his father said, lowering his voice. “This is hardly the place for a celebration, is it?”

  The December air was cool and crisp, and the family had to shield their eyes from the brightness. But beneath the shimmering crystals of snow lay the frozen dead not yet discovered. Danny would never look at snow the same way again.