Mauve stepped behind the screen and did as bid, but her ears perked up to the low conversation between Mme. Montreaux and her mother.
“I’m sure it’s hard to see your eldest so grown up,” Mme. Montreaux’s cheery voice stated.
“Yes. Thank ye,” came her mother’s weak reply.
“Oshki is such a nice, young man. Where will they be living once they’re married?”
“You must not ‘ave ‘eard.” Ellie said. “’E’s shipping out t’ day after t’ wedding.”
Mauve imagined her mother with a sour expression upon her face.
“I see.” Mme. Montreaux drew the words out. “That will be a difficult start to married life, being so far apart and all . . .”
A lull came and Mauve found she had completed her task. She draped the dress in her arms, waiting for Maude to come and claim it.
She peeked out from behind the screen. “Mme. Montreaux?”
“Oh, on my way.” Mme. Montreaux scurried towards the screen and whisked the garment away.
When Mauve had dressed back in her own clothes, she met her mother and Mme. Montreaux at the sales counter. Her dress waited in a large, white box with golden ribbon running up each side and tied around the middle.
Mauve’s mother didn’t bat an eye at the charge, but neither did she respond with affection.
“Thank you again, and blessings on your day to come,” Mme. Montreaux offered as Mauve picked up the box.
“Thank you.” Mauve smiled warmly at Mme. Montreaux and moved towards the door.
Ellie spoke behind Mauve. “Yes. ‘Preciate all yer hard work and skill.”
“Not at all,” Mme. Montreaux called out and waved goodbye.
A sigh escaped Mauve’s mouth as they stepped out of the shop. They walked in silence to the waiting buggy anchored across the street. Mauve secured the box while Ellie settled herself on the seat.
“Thank you, Marm, for paying.” Mauve turned hopeful eyes towards her mother. She wanted to be done with their feud, with their silence.
Ellie looked down at her lap. “It’s what yer father wanted.”
Of course, it was Da’s idea.
Mauve sighed again, jumped in the seat, grabbed the reins, and drove them home in silence. She conjured up her intended’s image in her mind instead of dwelling on her spat with her mother.
Oshki held a bit of the Ojibwe darker skin and hair from his mother’s side. The rest of him contained a good mix of both of his parents’ best features, which amounted to high cheekbones, a solid, triangular face, evenly spaced, hazel eyes, a dimple in his cheek when he smiled, and lips which fit him but might be considered too full for a man.
Mauve dreamed about kissing Oshki’s lips and let the tension between her and her mother go.
Days later
Oshki wanted to make his way over to his parents. He needed to thank them for helping make the day so special for him and Mauve.
He let go of his bride’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Mauve nodded and gave him an alluring, attractive smile which made his heart skip a beat.
Oh, how I love her.
My wife—now the two most important words to him. He tried to remember how it had all come about, their love story, but he couldn’t put a finger on an exact memory. It seemed they’d always loved each other in a familiar way.
They had spent so much time together as children, traipsing about, involved in one adventure or another, but the feeling of love had only just transformed into something more, into romantic love, these last months. He thought of what had sparked it while he moved across the room toward his parents . . .
May 1914
“I told you to back up.” Oshki snickered at her mud-splattered face. The flecks of water and soil added to the bright spattering of freckles bridging Mauve’s nose. Clods of mud clung to her skirt as well.
“You’re infuriating! You did that on purpose.” Mauve’s jaw was clenched tight with determination; Oshki knew she didn’t tolerate being bested.
Oshki had turned his bicycle around. It had gotten stuck and Mauve had volunteered to push from the back. He had insisted he didn’t need the help, but being Mauve, she did what she wanted anyway. The tire spun, the mud flew, and her temper flared. He thought it all rather hilarious.
“You wouldn’t laugh so if you were the one with mud on their face.”
Oshki saw an idea forming on her face. With a determined stance and, he assumed, a goal in mind, Mauve reached down and scooped up a sizable portion of the spring mud into her palm. Before he could react, she threw the clump at him. It landed in the middle of his chest with a “thwack” and covered his beige shirt in muck.
Too stunned to say anything for a second or two, he simply stared at her. A smirk rested on her muddy face. Oshki thought her mischievous, and, God help him, beautiful. It was like he had been hit with more than mud. His eyes seemed completely open to the woman before him, dirt and all.
“Well, what are you staring at?” Mauve put her hand on her hip and advanced. Oshki stood his ground and let her come to him. She stopped inches from his chest. She poked a finger in the center of the mud clod. “It serves you right.”
He looked down at her. His fingers moved of their own volition, and he wiped some of the mud from her face.
She wrinkled her nose under his touch but then looked up into his eyes. Neither of them breathed. His eyes searched hers. He looked into their depths and tried to reach the secret place of her heart—not far off according to what he saw reflected in her eyes. But then they had never had any secrets from one another. They were the best of pals.
But now what are we? Oshki knew what he wanted them to be.
He wiped his hand on his pant leg and let the cycle fall into the mud without a second thought as he brought his other arm up to capture the waist of the muddy, flaming-haired Boudicca before him. He traced the curve of her now softened jaw and hoped that what he was about to do would be received well.
I only have one life to live, and I might as well take the risk, he decided.
He bent down to place his lips on hers, but she beat him to it.
Mauve reached out her hands, cradled his head just behind his ears, and pulled him swiftly to her.
Her lips fit to Oshki’s as if dovetailed. He let his actions speak louder than words, and he hoped she heard the same whispered tale of love in her heart that he did.
“Son?” Jacque Cota questioned Oshki.
Oshki shook off his daze. “Oh, sorry. Just remembering.”
He grasped his father’s hand firmly.
“Of course, son.” Jacque gripped back. “God go with you.”
His sturdy countenance wavered. Oshki saw his father’s lip tremble a mite.
“Thank you both for . . . everything.”
Oshki didn’t know how to articulate his appreciation to his parents for their understanding: blessing him in his marriage to Mauve, leaving Follett Shipping, and his enlistment. His sisters had cried and carried on when he had told the family, but his parents had taken his decision in stride. They’d been sad, of course, but understood that, as a man, he had his own life to live.
“We love you, Oshki. Never forget that, my magical moon child,” his mother, Jenay Cota, whispered into his ear. She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve brought so much goodness to our lives.” She sniffled. “We’ll miss you so.”
“I know, Mom, but think—you’ll be gaining a daughter,” Oshki pointed out. He desired to leave his mother with something in exchange for the hole he would saddle her with when he left to go fight.
“Well, I do relish the thought of a daughter-in-law.” Jenay smiled through the tears pooling up at the corners of her amber eyes.
Oshki echoed her expression before turning back to his bride. Mauve smiled at him again as she took his arm and stood by his side. They visited with family and friends, ate wedding cake, and partook of the late morning luncheon spread his Great Aunt Angelica had whipped together. Os
hki put his all into enjoying the last hours with those he loved. Soon enough, tomorrow would sail in and change their lives irrevocably.
The end of the day came. Oshki and Mauve went home to Oshki’s to spend their first and last evening together before he fulfilled his obligation to the army.
Mauve had never had intimate relations with anyone before. She guessed Oshki hadn’t either. They’d be each other’s first, as it should be, but Mauve wasn’t a shy bride. She knew what a groom expected, indeed, what she wanted.
He carried her across the threshold, and her feet barely hit the floor before they fumbled with her veil to remove the pins. He shed his jacket where they stood and let it fall to the floor. These actions were interspersed with kisses, each hungrier than the next.
“You’ll have to help me.” Mauve, a bit breathless, grinned, winked, and turned around. “I can’t manage the buttons on my own.”
“Gladly.” Oshki accompanied each button undone with a kiss on her neck and spine. When he’d completed his task, she spun around, grabbed his hand, and led him to the bedchamber.
They didn’t wait for the shedding of all their clothes to consummate their marriage, but in a savage state of half-dress gave into their passion. When spent, they finished undressing and prepared to rest, but rest did not come. They were both too enamored with each other’s flesh to give in to sleep. A slower, more careful love-making ensued. Finally exhausted with the busy day and the evening’s activities, man and wife fell asleep in each other’s arms.
What lies behind us
And what lies before us
Are tiny matters . . .
Compared to what lies
Within us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Chapter Three
April 9th, 1917
Near Vimy Ridge
Hospital Clearing Station
Voices . . . a man stressed . . . a woman too. I’m blinded by something, so I cannot tell for certain. I feel suspended between what is real and the shadowy images of a nightmare of sorts.
Sounds come close and then fade. I feel like I’m on a giant pendulum swinging side to side, just out of reach of consciousness and then plunging back into oblivion.
The stink of singed hair pinches at my nose.
Perhaps I’m back in training?
Back in mock torture.
Back where they molded me into a spy.
I fall into the depths of the memory . . .
Early spring 1915
Secret X training site
Canada
“Tell me who you are! Vat government are you vorking for!” a man screamed next to my ear.
His stale breath stank. A smarting slap to my face accompanied his strained voice.
My eyes were blindfolded and my hands tied behind my back with rope that rubbed my wrists raw. I sat on a flimsy chair; my ankles were shackled to its front legs.
“Sprechen!” A thick hand grabbed my neck and squeezed.
I said nothing and remained silent as taught, except for the gasping of my breath as I inhaled despite my attacker’s clenched hand. I started to feel faint, but the acrid smell of burnt hair accosted my senses. I tried to move my head away.
“Smell dat pig!” the man shouted in my ear with a thick German accent. His voice lowered to a growl. “I vill roast you alive unless you spill your guts!”
I could feel flecks of his saliva hit my cheek as he spat out the words.
“Maybe ve try a different vay.” A woman’s voice, smooth and sultry, soothed my ears as I felt a small finger trail down my cheek and neck. Her long nail dug in at the point of my jugular. Next, I felt her wet lips on my ear—the sense foreign and disgusting. I yelped as she bit down. A drop of something wet and sticky hit my bare shoulder.
“Next time, it vill be something more important than your ear.” She purred so close I could smell the last cigarette she smoked upon her breath. She touched her tongue to my lips and drew it slowly back across my cheek as she grabbed my manhood in her dagger-studded claw. I winced in pain and my stomach turned at this erotic torture.
“Come, ve let him stew in his fear,” the man said.
“I’ll be back, my little liebling,” the Sphinx told me.
A woman.
I hadn’t expected that. Could women really be so cruel? I thought of the green-eyed witch. Yes, they could, for what that petite, young woman did to me far surpassed this spy playing at being a German. She stabbed me in my soul with the quill of a white feather.
I heard their retreating steps and the slam of a door. The cold, the damp, and the darkness became my offenders. It all seemed so real, but in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t. I remember thinking: How would I react if it were?
I prayed to God I’d never have to find out.
Autumn 1914
Almost three years earlier
Webaashi Bay
The town seemed so empty. Just last month most of the town’s young men had shipped out to Valcartier. Lily spied a number of ladies about their business, but the only men she saw were middle-aged and older. The war seemed to have deprived Webaashi Bay of young men.
“Mrs. Murray.”
Ellie looked up from the sidewalk planking. “Oh, Miss Parsons, I hadn’t seen ye there.”
She held a hand to her chest, startled from her thoughts.
Lily fleetingly gazed at Ellie’s face. She noticed a heaviness about the usually chipper woman. Something seemed to have pressed permanent creases in her brow, but everyone shared the same worry lines these days.
“Not to worry.” Lilly spread a smile on her face, hoping to pass along some semblance of happiness. She turned her head heavenward. “’Tis a lovely day today. Nary a cloud in the sky. Blue and serene.”
She faced Ellie.
Ellie’s head and lips turned up of their own accord. “Yes. ‘Tis.”
“There’s something about happiness; it’s contagious. Regardless of our fears for our loved ones, we can choose for the moment—joy.”
Lily considered her own sage advice. She surprised herself with her own wisdom.
Turning, she walked with Ellie. She looped one arm through hers; her other hand clutched an empty basket.
“Brings a mite of happiness ta me just lookin’ at yer crown of golden, plaited hair an’ sapphire eyes.” Ellie grinned sideways at Lily. “Anyone ever tell ye, yer a breath o’ fresh air, Miss Lily?”
“Ha, more like a raging lion. ‘Under all your yellow hair lies a lioness,’ that’s what Luis used to say.” Lily smiled and offered her bit of news. “I heard from him.”
“Oh, good news I ‘ope.”
“He’s still in training, as Oshki is.” Lily turned to her. “Did you know they are in the same company?”
“Well, I ‘spect so. I think they try ta keep t’ men grouped geographically.”
“He seems to be doing well. He regaled me with stories of his and Oshki’s mischief. Apparently, the military isn’t keeping them busy enough.” Lily gave a little chuckle. “Those two are like little boys in need of a good spanking whenever they’re together.” She gulped and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
If only they played at some innocent adventure instead of war, she thought.
“I didn’t realize they were such good friends. Luis is quite a mite older ‘an Oshki.”
“Yes, but Luis never minded letting us younger kids tag along with him. He was always good that way.” Lily thought about what a thoughtful and kind brother he had always been to her, even though she had probably just been a little pest most of the time.
“Seems ta me Mauve got a letter too. She didn’t tell me too many details, though. Just some snippets.”
The women found themselves at the front door of The Candy and Bake Shop.
“Well, ‘ow nice to visit with you, Lily. I best get ‘bout my work. Billy’ll be wonderin’ where I got off to.”
Lily thought Ellie’s Irish accent had tempered greatly over the years, but she still had a
little Gaelic drawl in and amongst her more structured phraseology.
She tipped her head and brightened her smile. “Have a good day, Mistress Murray.”
Ellie returned the sentiment and tucked into the door of the shop.
Lily turned on her heel to head back the way she had come. She had been on a mission to pick a few things up at Trent’s, but first she remembered she needed some stationery at Smith’s. She walked down the boardwalk several yards to her right and entered the shop.
The clean, orderly scent of paper welcomed her. Different designs of stationery and envelopes lay displayed on slanted shelves attached to one wall by pegs. The opposite wall held narrow book shelving supporting an assortment of ledgers, leather, paper, cloth-bound journals, and notepads of all sizes and shapes. A central table held writing utensils, erasers, seals, waxes, and different colors of ink.
“Mornin’ to you, Miss Parsons.”
Timothy Smith was past his prime, but still a handsome man at fifty-one. Eyes the color of roasted coffee beans twinkled at Lily behind the counter. His neat, gray mustache turned up ever so slightly at the corners, and his closely cropped, salt and pepper hair gave him a gentlemanly look. A vest of gray twill, adorned with buttons of mother of pearl, encased his midsection. The white dress shirt was girded by dark arm bands on his forearms to protect the fabric from ink stains. A black apron was tied snug around his waist and attached to the topmost button of his vest.
“Mr. Smith.” Lily looked across at him and smiled sincerely. “I need two notepads of paper. Also, is the letterhead stationery we ordered ready?”
“Perfect timing.” He reached for a stack of papers in a cubby hole behind the counter. “I was just going to get these boxed up for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll wait while you do so.” Lily smiled and moved to admire some foil embossed envelopes.
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