Standing in the remnants of a street, Daniel Sr. grabbed his eldest son’s shoulders, then pulled him into an embrace. It was something Danny didn’t remember ever having experienced before. He felt his father’s hot breath against his ear, and he thought of home.
“Thank God, Danny. I thank him for saving you from all of this. Your mother, oh, she will be so relieved.”
Danny stepped back and met his father’s eyes, heart heavy as stone. The joy in the older man’s expression began to fade.
“Johnny didn’t make it, Dad.”
A silence fell between them. A breath of disbelief, then reluctant acceptance. The younger brothers stared at Danny, then their father, then each other before their postures curled in on themselves.
Daniel Sr. cleared his throat. “Where is he?”
“I knew you’d come,” Danny said, fighting the urge to blurt out his sorrow. “He’s by the docks. In a kind of storage area. It’s the best I could do for him. I knew you’d take him home to be buried right.”
“But wasn’t he with you?” Lionel asked, chin wobbling madly. “How come he—”
“There was nothing I could do, Lionel.” Danny choked on the lump in his throat and looked into his father’s agonized face. “It was quick. I don’t think he felt a thing.”
“Where’s Audrey?” Thomas asked.
The question had been looming, but it still took Danny by surprise. A hand gripped his heart and twisted. “I don’t know. Truth is I have no idea where she is.”
Thomas frowned. “You haven’t seen her? Wasn’t she with you?”
“No. I was at work. So was she. We worked in separate parts of the city.”
“But how can you not—” Thomas tried again.
“I went to the house where she worked. I slept there, waited for her. But she never came back. And the house where she and I lived is nothing but ash now.”
“But—”
Danny felt frustration rise up his throat, tasting like bile. His words lashed out. “Tommy, if I knew where she was, I’d tell you. She’d be with me right now, I promise you that. But I haven’t a clue. There are a lot of people unaccounted for around here.”
Thomas blanched then looked away. Lionel nudged him, and the boys wandered off, gawking in silent awe at the apocalyptic scene around them.
“It’s all right, son,” Daniel Sr. said. “You’ll find her.”
Danny’s chest felt tight, like his throat, as if his body just couldn’t contain another moment of agony. It would be a lie if he didn’t tell his father the truth.
“If she died, it was my fault,” he said quietly.
“No, no,” his father assured him. “There’s nothing you could have done. She wasn’t even with you.”
He nodded grimly. “But it was my fault she wasn’t with me. You see, we’d had a fight. A big one. And she left me.”
Daniel Sr. didn’t speak. He frowned at Danny, angling his head slightly.
“Moving here was a mistake, Dad. She and I, we weren’t meant to live here. We hated it. And Johnny and I, well, we started getting into the liquor pretty bad.” His father dropped his chin, but Danny kept on. “She tried to get me to stop. She—” His breath caught on an unexpected sob, and he coughed, clearing it. His gaze went out to the sea and his view was blurred by tears. “I wouldn’t listen. I got worse. I didn’t like that she was doing so well, you know? That she was making a new life here, even though that’s what we’d both wanted. She came home the night before the explosion and we had a fight and I . . . I hit her.”
He heard the sharp intake of breath beside him and knew he deserved it. That and worse.
A tear rolled down Danny’s cheek, and he rubbed it off with the back of his knuckles. “Ever since then she’s all I think about. I would give my life to have her with me, to show her how wrong I was. She put up with so much . . .” His heart squeezed again, and he forced the words through his aching throat. “She was the best thing about my life, and I threw her away. So yeah. If she died, it’s my fault. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise.”
“Nothing?” his father asked quietly.
Danny shook his head.
“What if you find her, Danny, and she forgives you? Will you let it go then?”
“She can’t forgive me.”
Daniel Sr.’s hand curved over Danny’s shoulder. “That’s true. She can’t—unless you forgive yourself first.”
“Then she never will. Because I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did to her.” He shook his head again and looked in his father’s eyes. “She was right. She said I took everything pretty and made it ugly. And I know I did. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m not worth forgiving. She can’t forgive me.”
A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his father’s mouth. “Of course she can, son. That’s what love is.”
How Danny ached to believe that. He dreamed of seeing the laughter in her eyes again, twinkling just for him. But the way he saw it, that would be like paying a man for failing at his job.
“I’ll take you to Johnny,” Danny said. “Watch your step, okay? It’s mostly the glass you have to watch out for. It’s better now than it was—much better—but it’s still not too safe.”
Daniel Sr. had his sons unload the wagon, filled with donations of blankets, pillows, and enough bread to feed an army, and they carried everything inside. Danny had the presence of mind to grab one sheet from his father’s wagon before the family climbed back on, though. He had tidied up what he could of his brother’s face, but Johnny’s coat had been whipped away by the blast, as had his hat and one boot, so Danny hadn’t been able to use anything for a shroud. Any other blankets or sheets had been required by the wounded.
Daniel Sr. clicked his tongue to the horse, and they headed down the slope to the docks, following Danny’s directions to what was left of the shed where he’d left Johnny. When they arrived, Danny bundled the sheet under his arm, then hesitated only a moment before he opened the door. Johnny lay as he’d left him, his body preserved by the December storm. Danny tucked the sheet around his brother’s body and face, and no one said a word as they loaded the cold weight onto the wagon bed.
“I’ll come back once he’s buried,” Daniel Sr. said, swallowing hard and blinking back tears. He needed to be strong for his family. “They’ll need help here.”
Danny nodded, then lowered his chin to his chest and shook his head sadly. “Folk sure could use your kind of sermon around here. Seems a lot of them are wondering exactly where God was a few days ago.”
Daniel Sr. nodded, looking out over the flattened city. “I wondered that same thing myself,” he said quietly. “I’m still waiting for the answer. But it will come, son. It will come. Should the boys stay?”
“No, sir,” Danny said. “I mean yes, but there’s no place for anyone to sleep. We’re building homes, but mostly people are living in burnt-out shops. I know of one family living in an empty meat locker. People are tucking in wherever they can find room. Once things are a little more under control out here, I’ll send for them, all right?” He gestured toward the blankets. “These are sorely needed, though. Maybe when you get home, you could tell the women along the shore there will never be enough quilts and pillows for all the people here.”
“You’re not coming, then?”
Danny shook his head. “I said a proper goodbye to Johnny. He knows I did. I can’t leave here, though. I’m in the middle of it all.”
His father regarded him quietly, his gaze sharp now that the younger boys were out of hearing. “Are you okay, son?”
“As good as can be expected, sir.”
He hesitated only a moment. “I can see you’re healthy, and I thank the Lord for that mercy. But you have lived through so much, Danny. How is your mind? Your heart?”
Danny felt his body go weak. He wished so badly he could be a little b
oy again, that he could weep and wail and admit his pain. He wanted to scream how every nerve of his being was on fire, but he was numb; he couldn’t feel anything anymore. His body felt dead. His thoughts felt empty. His heart was in mourning for his brother, for the city, and for the wife he feared he might never find. And beyond everything lurked the haunting emptiness left by the war.
“I’ll be fine, sir,” he said.
“You haven’t had time to heal, son. With everything that happened overseas and now this . . . I fear for you. For your soul.”
Danny looked past his father, stared out at the ocean, twinkling under the cold December sun. The broken hulls of ships poked through in spots, and he wondered when they’d get around to pulling them out. It’d have to be soon. The harbour had to get back to work. The world didn’t stop turning just because Halifax suffered.
“I did what I had to do,” he muttered, still not looking at his father. The weight of all that, of the misery and anguish he’d survived, seemed almost to close over him in that moment, to pull him under, but Danny shoved himself back to the surface. “People here needed me, and I guess the army needed me over there. I’m a man, and a man does what he has to do. You taught me that, sir.”
He felt his father’s gaze, watching Danny’s profile as he spoke, and he wondered what that was like, seeing the boy he’d raised become a man. What was his father thinking? Was he disappointed? Was he proud? Did he even know how he felt?
Daniel Sr. took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you were over there, Danny, and I’m sorry you had to be a part of this too. Breaks my heart every time I think of how you must have suffered. But I have to tell you something. For me—” He hesitated. “I guess it’s even worse remembering what you said to me that day back home, that day when we were working on the new boat. Do you recall what you said?”
That conversation was kind of foggy in his mind, if Danny were to be honest. He remembered being there, remembered that they’d talked, but not much else. He’d been pretty angry, he recalled. Hadn’t given his father much of his time.
“You said you wanted me to know that if you hadn’t been hurt over there, you’d still have been there. You said it like . . . like I thought you were a coward.”
Now he remembered, and he felt a little sick at the memory. He’d been awfully harsh, fresh from the muck, grovelling in self-pity, and he’d lashed out, wanting his father to suffer just as he was. Danny looked down at the snow by his shoe, ashamed. “I didn’t know what I was saying, Dad. I’m sorry about that.”
His father shook his head. “Son, that was the hardest thing I ever heard, that you thought I was thinking that way about you. Don’t you ever think I’m not proud of you, son.” He blinked quickly and cleared his throat. Danny looked at him, his throat tightening. “Don’t you ever. I’m prouder of you than I am of anything else in my life. But son,” he said. He put his hand on Danny’s shoulder and squeezed. “You need to understand something. I was proud of you even before you went. You’re a good man, Danny. Always have been.”
Danny stared, disoriented, like a wave had just broken over his head. He wanted to look away. Worse, he wanted to run away. He couldn’t stand the hurt in his father’s eyes. The hurt he figured he’d put there. He’d been so wrong. So quick to hide behind that thick wall of pride they both had built. He dared himself to be as strong and as brave as his father in that moment.
“You asked me that day if I was glad to be back. Truth is, I’m more glad to be home than you could ever know,” he admitted softly. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about what happened out there. I just couldn’t. But it . . . it still hurts, Dad.”
“Your leg?”
Danny shook his head, distracted. He wished he had a cigarette. Something to do with his hands. He shoved them in his pockets instead.
“Not just that,” Danny said. He inhaled, then let his frozen breath out in a long stream. “Everything. Everything hurts. In my head and in my leg. Do you know, I still feel my foot sometimes? I don’t even know where it is, and I feel it. Isn’t that just the peachiest?” He took another deep breath and the words came faster, like water shoving through stones, rushing to freedom. “I thought of you sometimes, when I was out there. At night it got so dark, so cold, I shook for hours. And when the night was clear the sky sparkled with a million stars. I remembered sitting with you when I was little. Do you remember that? And you’d point out the stars and constellations. I remembered your voice and your lessons. And . . .” Danny looked away and a tear spilled down his cheek. His father didn’t move. “And I missed you so bad. I wanted to come home and hide from it all. I wanted you to tell me it was all going to be okay.”
Danny looked at the ground, staring at the moving reflections of clouds in the glass shards. “When I lost my leg, I figured somehow I’d let you down. Like when I got home, I wouldn’t be the kind of man I used to be. The kind you needed me to be. I thought maybe I shouldn’t even come home. I didn’t want to be some circus show freak.”
A wagon shuddered past, its driver paying them no attention. Danny heard his brothers arguing on the other side of the dock. But Daniel Sr. said nothing.
“You know, it’s funny,” Danny went on, surprising himself. “The whole time I was out there, I kept seeing my buddies get blown up, and I thought I was safe from it all. It never occurred it could happen to me. I had a life here on the shore. I was needed here.” He shrugged. “Turns out I wasn’t safe. Truth is, Dad, when it happens, when God decides you ain’t all that special, it really hurts.”
Daniel Sr. shuffled his feet, looked out to sea. A bird floated by, way out on the horizon. So peaceful.
“I prayed to God,” Daniel Sr. said after a moment. “I asked him to—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I asked God to send you home, Danny. I was hearing about what was happening over there, seeing stories in the paper, and I told him I didn’t care how you got here. I just wanted you here.” He hesitated, and when he spoke again, it was barely louder than the water rustling against the shore. “Sometimes I think maybe that’s why you lost your leg. God taught me a lesson about asking for too much, but he did let me see you again. If that’s why this happened to you, well, I’m sorry. Maybe it was selfish of me, wanting you back so bad. But Danny, I didn’t think I could bear to watch your mother lay flowers on an empty grave. I just couldn’t.”
Their eyes locked. Blue on blue, hurt upon hurt. Neither mentioned Johnny, because they didn’t need to. His ghost was right there, watching, listening.
“I’m glad to be home, Dad.”
Daniel Sr. smiled and nodded, though the expression in his eyes was sad. Danny knew what he was thinking. Home wasn’t what it was supposed to be. Home had changed, come apart in big gaping wounds.
The older man stared at the ground. After a minute he looked up, his expression strained. “God has surprises for us all, Danny. I suppose that’s what I should say here. I should tell you that it’s meant to be, that there’s a reason for all you went through, that there’s a plan there somewhere. But I can’t say that and still be true to myself. I don’t understand what happened to you and those boys out there, and I don’t understand what happened here. I don’t understand why God would turn away from you all like that. I have been a devout Baptist these many years, preached the Word of God and never questioned how he gives colours and songs to the birds. How the water never stops. How spring always follows winter. But I don’t understand any of this. How so many good men were sent to waste their lives and their bodies for no good thing, how the people of Halifax have been blown apart. It has made me question every one of my beliefs, son, and that’s the truth of it.”
“Yeah,” Danny said, giving a humourless snort. “Mine too.”
Daniel Sr. took a few steps away, toward the port, and Danny recognized the walk: the directionless pacing of his father deep in thought. He didn’t dare say anything. Because if he did, if Danny sa
id how he felt about God and all this devastation, his father might never forgive him.
Danny was pretty sure he knew the truth about God, and he wondered if his father knew it as well but chose to ignore it. There was no God. No God could allow what Danny had survived. Or if there was a God, the Devil had taken a hold of those desolate fields of Europe while God took a nap. The Devil had followed Danny here to Halifax and slaughtered women and children, left thousands homeless and scarred. The Devil had enjoyed himself thoroughly.
Danny pressed his peg leg deeper into the ground, grinding the end of it into the glass. Forget the past. All of it, he ordered himself as a piece shattered under the weight. Leave it buried. Leave it be. I lived. I lived, goddamn it. The bastard aimed to kill me, but he missed. I shot him first. The explosion should’ve killed me, but it took Johnny instead. And Audrey too, maybe. That’s the way it is. Leave it be. Look ahead, not back.
His father turned back, jarred out of his reverie by the sound made by the peg. Then Daniel Sr. did something that he’d never done before. He asked Danny a question. Not a question like Will it rain? Will we have haddock for supper? A real question.
“Have you thought about it, Danny? Have you wondered why God would do that to you? To all those boys?”
Danny stopped hitting the ground and looked at his father. “Have I thought about it? Yeah, I did. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I wondered about a lot of things. But the only answer I could ever figure out was that it don’t matter. Nothing matters. It only happens.”
His father stared at him for a few breaths, looking shocked. Then he swallowed, regained his composure, and nodded. The air around them eased. “I am so proud of the man you are, son.” His lips trembled, then pulled tight. He glanced at the younger boys, sitting on the pavement and trying to comfort each other. “I reckon we should be going now.”
Danny walked to his brothers and gave Lionel a hug. “Good to see you boys. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. You help out all you can at home, now. You and Thomas, you’re the oldest. Hey, Thomas. Come on over here. I’m sorry I snapped at you. Things are just . . . kind of difficult for me these days.” Thomas hugged Danny for as long as he could, then turned away, hiding tears.
Tides of Honour Page 23