Tides of Honour

by Genevieve Graham

  But Pierre hadn’t seen it like that. He had come to the hospital and sat beside her for as long as the Red Cross people would let him. He held her hand, and she let him bore her with his stories, first of Boston, then of having to clean up the mess when he got home. His face had tightened at the thought of his family, but he hadn’t dwelt on their demise. She told him how sorry she was, and he’d squeezed her hand, thanking her graciously for her condolences. When she was well enough, he brought her to his home, which was quickly being reconstructed. She wasn’t surprised to see its steady progress, since Pierre seemed to own most of the construction contracts in the city. He offered her his wife’s bedroom, but she’d slept in one of the children’s rooms instead. She said she’d prefer a smaller space, not wanting to offend him. The truth was that she never again wanted to open that door and remember what she’d seen. It was all too much.

  And then he’d come to her, his dark expression miserable, and confessed that he’d found Danny’s name on the Known Dead list. She’d told him it wasn’t true—couldn’t be true—but he’d taken her hands in his and assured her with a look of complete empathy it was. Danny was dead. Audrey was a twenty-year-old widow.

  They’d had no more than months together, she and Danny. Less than twenty-four hours in France, a few months of letters, less than a year of marriage. Did it all even add up to a year?

  She’d excused herself, she remembered, then stumbled to her room, neither eating nor speaking for two days. She just sat on her bed, staring at the flowered wallpaper or pushing her good cheek against the tear-soaked pillow. How easy it was to forget the most recent months, to excuse the strain Danny’s depression had put on their marriage. How easy it was for her to recall only the tall, handsome soldier staring at her from across the road.

  But in moments of lucidity, she felt the fire of his hand hitting her cheek, recalled the impact of her body on the floor when his fury had sent her sprawling at his feet. Oh, she’d known he hurt inside, burned with guilt and self-hate, but she had never imagined it might come to this. Never thought him capable of hurting her. Not her Danny.

  As the print of his hand on her cheek softened, fading from red on impact to a yellow bruise, she realized it was the last touch of his she would ever feel. That would be the last time he would ever touch her with any kind of emotion. With any kind of . . . anything.

  She couldn’t go back to his family, because they’d want to know what had happened. How had she survived while he hadn’t? Why weren’t the newlyweds safe and sound in their own little house, holding together when the world had come apart? If she went back now, she wouldn’t be able to lie when they asked what had happened. And that meant she would always be a reminder to them of how their son had changed, how he had shamed them all in that one weak moment. No, she couldn’t hurt them like that. She decided it would be better if they thought she’d died along with Danny on that awful morning.

  Over time Pierre persuaded her, helped her see how lonely they both were, and how they could help each other with that particular pain. He’d fed her, kept her under his reconstructed roof, given her the best brandy, dressed her in the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. He bought her new, expensive painting supplies, and when the society people started coming together for parties or dinners, Audrey became a fixture on his arm, often wearing a new trinket he’d given her.

  With one hand, Danny had slapped her so hard she’d ended up in a whole new life. She’d never consciously chosen this life, but here she was.

  Whether she was painting, attending meetings, or going to parties, Audrey was now in the middle of whatever was happening in Halifax. In the past she’d admired these wealthy, influential people from afar, both intrigued and intimidated. Now she had only to walk into a room and someone usually wanted to speak with her. Was it what she wanted? Maybe. And maybe, on some level, she’d needed it—or at least needed to experience it for a while. But for the rest of her life? Of all the life changes she’d struggled through, all the ups and downs, she still wasn’t sure where this one fit in.

  She was safe, dry, fed, appreciated, even celebrated. Would she give it all up if Danny walked through that door?

  She’d known all along that she was Pierre’s prize. After all, she was just over half his age, she was still beautiful—despite the scar—and her art made her something exotic. When he offered her the world, she accepted. And when he came to her one night, his breath heavy with whisky, she felt she couldn’t turn him away. She closed her eyes and did all she could to imagine herself somewhere else, and she never once objected to his advances.

  Because he was right. She was lonely. To the bottom of her soul. Empty. If Pierre noticed the tears on her pillow every night, he made no mention of them.

  Pascale would be proud. Audrey had done what she’d had to do to survive. She’d survived the war, the munitions factory, Danny’s violence, the explosion, and now she would survive Pierre. She had to.

  Over time she came to realize Pierre Antoine was a selfish man, one with a cold heart and little time or regard for others’ feelings. She didn’t think he’d always been that way, but it could have been that she’d just chosen not to see it. At first she’d only seen him as a kind, interested man, one always curious about her painting, her life. He’d seemed enthusiastic and genuine about helping her and Danny, insisting on sending home clothes his family no longer needed, food they didn’t eat—though there had never been any chance that Danny would accept those gifts. He’d paid attention to her as a woman, eventually threw her the party, bought her pretty things. Most importantly, he had believed in her as an artist—or so she thought. As Danny had drawn farther away from her, Antoine had welcomed her, given her hope and opportunities.

  It had been apparent from the first time they’d met that he was a hard man when it came to business, and he hardened further after the explosion. He’d barely taken time to grieve his own family before launching right back into work. In fact, he was busier now than he had been before, as far as she could tell.

  Tonight changed everything. Now she knew this man before her was much worse than she’d thought. All the time he’d been showing her off, puffing up with pride around her, making her believe he was rescuing her from a terrible, lonely life, he’d been lying.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.

  His face darkened and the lips beneath the black moustache tightened. He didn’t speak.

  “You lied to me, Pierre. He . . . he wasn’t dead.”

  How could this be happening? How could she have trusted him with the most important thing in her life? He’d said Danny was dead, and she’d swallowed the lie. She’d never even checked the lists, not wanting to see the truth of those words. Rage built in her chest and rose up her throat, though she knew it came from anger at herself as much as blame for him.

  “My . . . my husband, Pierre! My husband has been alive and searching for me all this time, and you told me he was dead! You told him I was dead! You watched me grieve for him. How . . . how could you do something like that?”

  Pierre scowled at her, then glared furiously at the dwindling onlookers. They caught his warning and shuffled away, but Audrey saw their curious backward glances. Let them look. Let them know what kind of man he is!

  He put a hand under her elbow again, tried to lead her away, but Audrey’s feet were planted. Seeing the look in her eye, he adjusted, grabbing her arm tighter and yanking her in the direction he wanted to go. She tried to pry his fingers from her arm as she stumbled down the street beside him, but his grip was like a vise. There would be bruises. When Pierre deemed they were far enough away, he pulled her again so that she whirled around to face him.

  “I saved you,” he said through his teeth. He shook her with every one of his statements, and her curls bounced. “I rescued you from a terrible life. A waste of a life.”

  “It was my life. Not yours,” she his
sed.

  He shook his head, his eyes cold. The fingers tightened, and she lifted her chin, determined not to cry. “No, not exactly. Not anymore. I sheltered you. I fed and clothed you. I introduced you to Halifax and made you famous among the well-to-do.” He nodded, his expression changing into a satisfied smugness. “You owe me.”

  The truth behind his words was unavoidable, but she turned her face away, trying to escape it. She’d known all along that he was using her, but she’d tried to ignore it. In her hopelessness, in her weak, frail attempt to move on without Danny, she’d let herself be sold into becoming a piece of his property. She’d thought she needed him. Thought she was safe and content in his home, surrounded by the best life had to offer. But she’d also thought she was a widow. Then she remembered all those long nights in bed, the quick, often rough way he had of using her body, and she met his eyes.

  “I owe you nothing,” she said, her voice low. “I gave you more than enough.”

  He sighed and lifted one corner of his mouth. He was trying to placate her, she could see. Trying to ease this new situation. He wasn’t familiar with confrontation. No one argued with Pierre Antoine and got away with it.

  “Come now, ma petite,” he said gently, releasing her arm. He dropped his hand to his side and rubbed his fingers against his thumb as if he felt something sticky. “You must understand. What I did was for the best. You came to me as little more than a gutter rat, and now you are a swan. Would you throw it all away?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would go back to a man who beat you? Who drove you into the street?”

  Another truth, and one just as difficult to acknowledge. She fought the turmoil building inside. This was no time for emotions.

  “Yes.”

  He blinked quickly, his smile tightening. “You have a lot to think about. Come back to the soiree now. Have some wine and some food, and let all this settle in your mind. I cannot see a woman as intelligent as you simply walking away without going through all the options.” His eyes went to the street, in the direction Danny had taken. “Then again,” he said with a shrug, “maybe you have nothing to think about. Your dear, devoted husband appears to have left you here with me. Maybe he no longer wants you after all.”

  And that was exactly what she feared most.

  Danny Baker

  1918

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The next morning was like any other over the past few months, except it wasn’t. Danny woke up, pulled his coveralls over a faded blue shirt, and tugged his grey slouch hat over his hair. He needed a haircut. The brown curls that flicked from under his hat were getting unruly. He poured himself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette, then headed out to the latest site, falling into a rhythm alongside the others, measuring, cutting, hammering, measuring, cutting, hammering.

  With every cut of the saw, every pounded nail, Danny thought of Audrey. Saw her there, small and shocked within the shelter of Antoine’s arm. She had looked so pretty. So comfortable in the rich materials she wore, with that sizable gem hanging from her neck, surrounded by the cream of society.

  The women who emerged from their shiny automobiles in the mornings, bringing food for the orphanage and eventually for the workers, they would know Audrey.

  The businessmen who came with contracts and fat cigars, they would know her.

  Danny wondered if he still did.

  On the other hand, he was fairly sure the children didn’t. Danny was somewhat of a hero in the orphanage these days. He brought as many treats as he could afford for the children, then sat and played cards or tiddlywinks with the older ones. With the younger ones he raced hand-carved toy horses around chairs and tables. Anything to entertain them and lighten the monotony of his days. It was impossible to be bored in a roomful of children. These little souls had lost everything. They had no families, no homes, no concept of a future, and yet they laughed and played together. They moved past their injuries, got used to each other’s scars, found a way to get along. In their eyes, no one was better or worse than any other.

  Mick came by the construction site later that morning. He tugged Danny out back and produced a bottle of ale for each of them. They hadn’t spoken the night before, after Danny’s hasty departure from the protest. Danny had gone home, gone to bed, then pretended not to hear Mick’s noisy entrance a couple of hours later. But he couldn’t avoid the questions forever, and questions there would be. Mick was king of those. If only Danny were half so good at answers.

  “You gonna explain last night?” Mick asked as they leaned back against a new wall.

  “Why?”

  Mick barked out a laugh, then coughed. “Okay. Right you are. None of my business. It’s just I turned around and all of a sudden my buddy’s gone and there’s a well-dressed lynch mob on his tail. Come on. A fella’s got a right to be curious, don’t he?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Danny said, giving him a tired smile. “I guess you do.” He took a long swallow from the bottle. “Thanks for this. It’s thirsty work.” Danny stared at his palms, then concentrated on picking a sliver from the tip of one thumb. “Saw Audrey last night.”

  Mick choked on his beer. “Audrey? Your wife Audrey?”

  “One and the same,” Danny said. “Seems she’s alive after all.”

  “Okay,” Mick said slowly, nodding with an exaggerated movement. “So why didn’t I see her in our apartment when I got home?”

  “She had a better offer.”

  Danny didn’t bother keeping anything from Mick. He figured the newspaperman would figure out the answers anyway. So he explained everything, including the wreck he’d made of his marriage, and his question of why on earth Audrey might ever want to come back to him.

  Mick listened in silence, which was strange because Danny was used to Mick’s endless peppering of questions. At the end of Danny’s story, Mick was still quiet. He sipped from his beer, and for a few minutes all they heard was the monotonous rhythm of saws and hammers.

  “Antoine’s not a great choice,” Mick finally said. “From what I’ve been hearing, the man’s not exactly clean, if you catch my meaning.”

  “No? Not a model citizen?” Danny’s voice twisted with sarcasm.

  “Word is he ain’t averse to getting his pretty hands dirty.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to think about his hands right now, Mick, thanks all the same. They were taking good care of my wife last time I saw them. Aw, hell. I don’t know what to do. If I were a good man, I’d just leave her with him. Let her live the good life. Let her forget about the mistake she made marrying me.”

  “What a bunch of hogwash,” Mick said, shaking his head. “I gotta say I’m surprised. I never would have taken you for that kind of fella, Danny.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “You know. The fella who’s always going on about how everybody else is better than him. That kind of fella. Sure, I know the war took a lot outta you. It took a lot out of most of us, and you got hit hard because of your leg and your buddies. I know all that. I know it’s been hard, finding what you’re good at, and I figure you’re still finding it. But look at what you’re doing now. Half these homes have your handiwork nailed into them. You’ve helped kids no one else had the time for. You’re always the guy people go to. Someone needs something? I tell ’em, ‘Go to Danny.’ ”

  Danny snorted, then finished his beer. “Yep, that’s me. At least I’m good for something.” He stood, ready to go back to work. “She’s better off without me. Anyhow, that’s why I took off on you last night. Sorry about that. And thanks for the beer.”

  Mick glared at him with such disgust, Danny felt the sting of Mick’s words before they hit the air.

  “You leave her with Antoine, you’re not half the man I thought you were. And you know what? You can get your own damn beer next time.”

  “Yeah, well maybe I deserve that, and maybe I do
n’t,” Danny said, starting to bristle. “I don’t need your opinion on my character, thanks. Why don’t you go stir up some trouble? When you’re ready, come get me and I’ll be your tough guy. In the meantime, don’t you worry about me.”

  Mick tossed a look of disappointment over his shoulder as he walked away, and Danny tried to ignore it. He didn’t need to see it. Truth was, he was disappointed enough for both of them.

  Danny resumed his place, nailing up a wall alongside a crew of equally silent men. What was it, he asked himself, that had made Audrey love him in the first place? Why would the girl have left everything to come to him? Well, sure. They’d started with physical attraction. He could still recall the quick look in her eyes when they’d spotted each other by the broken-down wagon. Then the letters—all those words back and forth between them, all the things he’d never say to anyone else. And she’d actually been interested in what he was talking about. That was one thing he’d always found amazing. And when she’d seen the mess of his body, she’d still loved him. Every time she touched him, he thought he might burst into flame.

  So when had it gone wrong? Danny knew why, just not when. He’d felt self-hatred building from the moment he’d woken up in the hospital missing a leg. The cloud had grown heavier every day, blocking any possibility of sun. But Audrey’d stuck with him, even when he snapped at her. She’d come willingly enough when he picked up their lives and moved them to the city. Then again, he could lie to himself and say that had been partially for her benefit. Her art was so good, he reckoned she’d outgrown East Jeddore and all those little places. But she’d never been truly content in Halifax. He guessed maybe it was because they’d gone there together but ended up spending so much time apart.

  Poor Audrey. Followed her heart and it had led to a dead end. Looked like she’d found an escape route, though.