Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  He got up from his seat behind his desk, walked over to me, leaned down, and inspected my face. “Yes. Passable. The right kind of features.” He spoke slowly, as though deep in thought. “A little too dark of hair perhaps.”

  I faltered. “Sir, if I may, what’s all this about?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, the major moved back to his seat and plied me with another question. “You love your country, son?”

  I scratched the itchy spot on my jawline hosting a bit of razor burn. “Of course. It’s why I signed up.”

  My conscience told me I lied. Shame had been the motivating factor.

  Major Lefebvre rested his large hands on the paper-covered desk and narrowed his eyes in a no-nonsense way. “I seek a few qualified men for special . . . missions.”

  He tapped his fingers. I watched them move like keys on a piano.

  “Secret missions.”

  I couldn’t fathom what he hinted at. “Missions, sir?”

  “Yes, Wilson. Missions.” His eyes bored deeper into mine. “You cannot tell anyone—and I mean anyone—if you decide to accept our proposal.”

  “What do these missions involve, sir?”

  “Covert operations. Espionage. I’m specifically looking for men to place in the enemy’s ranks. Men who will . . . fit in.” He took a deep breath and extended his right pointer finger at me. “I believe you to be one such man.”

  He stunned me with his words. “Do you mean to say I would be spying for Canada, for the Allies, as a German officer?”

  “Exactly.” He smiled wickedly.

  I back-pedaled. “But how will I know what to do, how to act? I . . .”

  “Leave it to us, Wilson. While the rest of the men leave for France, you and a few others will stay behind and be transferred to our newly developed—SECRET, I might add—training facility. Once done there, you’ll have your first assignment, but you will also serve as the other men do, so no one suspects anything.” He leaned back in his chair and continued in a more relaxed voice. “Now, you’ll have times of immersion in your persona and periods of sustainment until the information we seek has been acquired, but all under the guise of a regular serviceman. Do you understand?”

  He waited for my response. I didn’t know what to say. I looked out the window at the men lined up in rows, being taught how to march to their deaths before a sea of white, canvas tents, and noticed that it snowed—such tiny crystals, but capable of wreaking havoc under the right circumstances. I felt small in the scope of things, of the war. Maybe I could be more than just a tally mark on a page with a gun.

  “You’re needed, Wilson,” the major added. “Will you answer the call?”

  I took a deep breath and sealed my fate. “I will.”

  October 1914

  Quebec

  “They say with my schooling I’ll be made an officer.” Luis rubbed the back of his neck and tried to act casual. “They’ll have me do a bit of additional training I guess, so I’ll know how to push you grunts around.”

  The first of many lies. Well, a partial truth, I suppose, Luis justified.

  Oshki looked torn. “How long will ya be detained?”

  Luis knew Oshki had signed up in the first place because of him. It made him feel guilty.

  “We’re supposed to watch each other’s backs.” Oshki laughed. “Someone’s got ta keep ya from croaking, old man.”

  Oshki had jokingly called Luis an old man one day. It’d been years ago when Luis was a teenager, and Oshki hadn’t even made it past his first decade yet. The nickname had stuck.

  “A month or two at the most, I’m told.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you in France.”

  Luis eyed the line of trucks waiting to start the long transport of the Canadian Expeditionary Force to England: first by train, then ship, and train again. Once in England, the more than 31,000 men would receive instruction and depart for France. Those in charge had set the goal to be in France fighting by February 1915. Luis wished to go with Oshki now, but he had chosen a different path.

  Luis didn’t know how to say goodbye. He wagered Oshki didn’t either, so they kidded with each other instead.

  Luis punched his young cohort in the arm. “Better bring your training wheels.”

  “Better bring your cane.” Oshki gave it right back and grinned like a fool. Then, he touched his index and middle finger to his cap, bent his head a bit, and gave a mock salute. “See ya around, old man.”

  Luis echoed his salute. “Whipper snapper.”

  That had been Luis’s name for young Oshki. He wanted to say so much more, but his manly heart boxed in his emotion and stored it away. He must think about the task at hand now. Besides, Oshki could take care of himself.

  Their eyes spoke volumes, however, and all the shared times on the shore and in the woodlands of Webaashi Bay flashed through his mind.

  “Oshki! You comin’!” Lenny, Oshki’s new buddy from training, barked at his friend to hurry up before he missed their transport.

  “Ya, be right there.”

  Oshki hit Luis hard with his hazel eyes. They held each other’s strong gaze a moment, before Oshki turned and walked away. He picked up his feet and ran towards the waiting truck at a sprint.

  Luis watched his friend hurry away, and a piece of home went with him. Luis considered Oshki a brother and vice versa. They knew how each other felt.

  He watched until the dust settled before walking to the mess unit. He had been told he’d get instruction before they left for the Secret X training site. He wondered what the first day of training as a spy would be like.

  October 1914

  Webaashi Bay

  Winter arrived early in Webaashi Bay that October, and with it a glumness permeating the community. Lily decided to take charge. She rounded up some ranks for letter writing, organized a bandage drive, and recruited those who knitted and crocheted to make thick socks, mittens, and scarves for the men overseas.

  Lily had written her third letter to Jimmy, but she’d only received one reply back so far. It had been before they left for training in England. Lily would write again this week—and keep writing, even if she didn’t get a reply. Who knew what the conditions were like there?

  Surely, he’ll write when he can.

  She would set her mind on Jimmy, her various endeavors, work, and trying to keep her mind off worrying over her fool brother.

  She still steamed when she thought of how and why Luis had signed up. Oshki, she could understand. He was young. Young men fought wars, but Luis wasn’t young anymore.

  Well, he isn’t exactly old, but . . .

  Lily sighed, determined not to think about it. She hoped Luis was safe, warm, and alive, wherever this war had taken him.

  Her thoughts turned back to Jimmy as she sat at her desk pondering what to write. She remembered the words of his letter to her clearly . . .

  Oct. 11th, 1914

  Dear Miss Parsons—Lily,

  I can’t express how surprised I was to receive your letter. I have thought about you often through the years and supposed you thought of me only as a past tormenter.

  Training has gone well. A vast camp of us lie on the plains at the foothills of the mountains. It would be a rather lovely spot if not for the sea of tents at its base.

  Soon we will leave for England and prepare to enter the fray. Many men here are getting antsy to do so, myself included. We did not sign up to play at camping.

  Keep writing please, Lily. I’ll write when I can. Thank you for the picture. It will help me remember why we are fighting.

  Fondly,

  Jimmy

  Valcartier, Quebec

  James Smith finished his reply and tucked it in an envelope which would be headed for home. He opened the letter he’d received from Lily again. The fold lines began to tatter as he’d opened and closed it so many times. Who would have thought the girl, now woman, he had a crush on as a kid would be writing to him? After his antagonistic pranks towards her as
a stupid, pubescent boy, Jimmy hadn’t wondered why she wanted nothing more to do with him. He’d gone too far in his joking on a number of occasions and paid the price for it—her utter lack of any regard for him. She had pretended he didn’t exist.

  How strange he should be the recipient of her sentiments then, so many years later. It mystified him, and he read her letter through again.

  Oct. 6th, 1914

  Dear Mr. Smith—Jimmy,

  I am glad to hear all has gone well at the training site. Thank you for taking the time to write. Your father informed me you’re not one for correspondence.

  I think back to the times when we were children and always at odds. Those days are behind us. Let us now be friends. I suppose war helps us see who our friends really are.

  I enclosed a picture of me, in case you still remember me as an awkward girl with braids. Well, I still often do wear braids, but in not so childish a fashion now.

  Please write when you can.

  Your friend,

  Miss Lily Parsons

  “Jim? You comin’?” Jimmy’s friend Robbie Tanner poked his head in through the tent flap.

  “Ya, just finishing something up.” He hastily tucked the letter from Lily back in its envelope and concealed it in his knapsack at the end of his bed.

  “Readin’ it again?”

  “What?” Jimmy put on an innocent face.

  Robbie rolled his eyes. “The letter from ‘at girl. Surprised it’s not fallin’ apart yet.”

  Jimmy stood up, straightened his uniform, and set his cap upon his head. “You’re imagining things.”

  “Hurry up, will ya? My stomach’s ‘bout ready to eat a hole clear through to my backbone.”

  Robbie was a skinny, young man but could put away his share of food. Jimmy thought the old “having a leg like a hollow log” saying wasn’t far from the mark with Robbie.

  He wouldn’t give up on pestering him. “She a sweetheart or something, eh?”

  “Something.” Jimmy admitted nothing.

  “Got me a sweetheart back home too. Fine smile and a nice figure. She sure does know how to make a man feel good.” Robbie dragged the word “good” out, as if to signify a pocket full of experience.

  Jimmy found his lip curled up a tad in a scowl. No one could call him a snooty gentleman, but neither was he an uncouth boar. Robbie leaned towards the uncouth end of the spectrum in his conduct concerning the opposite sex. Jimmy had needs and desires like the rest of the men, but he was careful and caring. Just last night Robbie had tried to convince him to attend a brothel with a group of men who’d gotten leave for a few hours to head into Quebec City, but he had declined.

  Jimmy changed the subject. “Wonder what’s on the menu today?”

  “Whatever it is, ‘m sure it’s better than what we’ll be getting when we get out there.” Robbie flicked his thumb in the air in the direction the Canadian men would be headed soon, across the Atlantic.

  “True enough, I suppose. I heard rumors of mutton stew today.”

  “With dumplings ‘opefully. Dumplings do the job of filling me up.”

  “A hard task, indeed.”

  Jimmy grinned and gave Robbie a slight shove. He shoved back. They picked up their pace and entered the waiting line of men at the mess tent.

  December 7th, 1914

  Webaashi Bay

  Lily thought the dreary days of November had folded into December like a reader skimming ahead in a novel. All too soon, the last month of the year had rolled in. The people of Webaashi Bay had hoped for their young men back, but when they didn’t come, Lily took action.

  “A little higher I think,” she directed.

  Job Martel, who owned and operated the family smithy, now part automotive garage, sighed heavily. “Miss Lily, I’ve gone and done moved ‘at blamed thing twice already. Are ya sure, ya made up your mind ‘bout where this here wreath is supposed ta be?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lily cocked her head to one side and backed farther up. She eyed the metal arch above the town’s lakeside park. “Yes, that looks perfect, Job. Hang it right there.”

  “All right, but once I get these wires round it, that’s a where it’s staying. I got me some work ta do. The new doc needs a tire for his ‘Tin Lizzy,’ and I got shoes to get on five different horses.”

  “I know.” Lily shaded her eyes from the mid-morning sun and looked up to where Job stood on a tall ladder holding up the very large Christmas wreath decorated in shiny, glass balls, ribbon, and faux holly. “I appreciate your help, Job. It’ll make the space extra special when we stand underneath the wreath and banner to sing carols and offer up prayers for our boys.”

  “When’s the festivities gonna start?”

  “At 6:00 this evening. Everyone’s to bring a lantern, and Billy said he would make up a big bonfire. You be sure to come now, you hear. Tell Rowena about it, now.”

  “I will.” Job worked at wiring the wreath to the arch.

  “See you later, and thanks again.”

  Job just waved and continued working.

  Lily turned and tallied up all that yet needed to be done in her mind. She’d stop first at The Candy and Bake Shop. Lily tromped over to the store and swung the door open. Mrs. Murray was putting out some fresh-baked loaves of bread in baskets on shelves. Mr. Murray was arranging some candy behind the display glass.

  “Mornin’ ta ye, Lily.” Ellie plopped the last loaf in a basket and wiped her hands on the flowered apron round her waist.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Murray, Mr. Murray,” Lily greeted the couple in a loud, cheery voice.

  “Now, no need for ‘at Mr. and Mrs. jargon. Just plain Billy and Ellie ‘ill suit us just fine. Ain’t ‘at so, El?”

  “Too right,” Ellie agreed with her spouse. “What can we help you with t’is mornin’?”

  “You both know about this evening?”

  “How's ‘at?” Billy finished his arranging and moved closer, cupping his hand around his ear.

  Ellie raised her voice a bit and reminded him. “I told ye ‘bout the caroling and sich.”

  Lily notched up her voice as well. “I wondered if you might be willing to donate candy treats for the children who attend.”

  Ellie and Billy looked at each other.

  Billy had a noncommittal look on his face. “Waal, you see, with rationin’ on sugar startin’ up, our supplies are goin’ ta be thin.”

  “Oh, we got plenty yet.” Ellie playfully swatted her husband’s middle and then addressed Lily. “We could hand out some peppermints. I made a large batch recently.”

  Lily smiled. “Oh, that’d be grand. Perfect for Christmas.”

  “How’s Luis doing, then?”

  “Oh, fine.” Lily brightened. “He told me because of his schooling, they promoted him to an officer. He said he had to stay behind most of the other men when they left for England. He’ll leave on a later ship.”

  “Waal, ain’t ‘at nice. Off‘cer and all. Huh.” Billy grinned and scratched behind his deafened ear.

  “Best go. More things to finish up before this evening.” Lily wrapped her pink, wool scarf tighter around her neck. “See you both later.” Then she remembered something. “Oh, is Mauve coming?”

  Ellie walked her to the door. “I think so. She’s been feelin’ mich better o’ late.”

  “I’m glad. She told me she joined the knitting group, probably a good fellowship time.”

  “Ha, a gossip rag more like.” Ellie winked. “But I think she enjoys it an’ feels some purpose in havin’ a job ta do.”

  “That could be.” Lily shared a laugh with Ellie. “Until later.”

  Ellie bobbed her head and closed the Candy and Bake Shop door behind her.

  Mauve rubbed her growing belly. Her mother had told her she was about four months along. Her cycle had been unpredictable at times, so they couldn’t reckon on an exact date. Thank God the morning sickness had passed. She had felt baby moving, a strange yet comforting sensation. The movement of her child r
eminded Mauve she wasn’t alone.

  Mauve missed her husband. She looked mournfully around Oshki’s house—their home. She saw Oshki in every corner. His collection of rocks sat in a large bowl by the stove, his natural science books, mathematics texts, and adventure novels perched on the pine bookshelf trimmed with a row of buck sheds at the base, their texture smooth as polished ivory in parts and dark and nubby in others. One of the most interesting reminders of him was the lamp he had embellished. He had decorated an entire lampshade with feathers. Several rows encircled the shade. Each row belonged to a different bird species. Mauve remembered him telling her the different types: crow, blue jay, turkey, goose, grouse, and hawk feathers.

  She reached out and caressed the smooth, silky texture of the feathers. She missed the touch of her friend and husband. She’d been told by her grandmarm that everyone interpreted love in a number of different ways. Some people felt loved when spoken well of, showered with gifts, served in some way, or given devoted times with those they loved. But Mauve responded to, longed for, and remembered his touch and the feel of him next to her the most. The physical presence of safety, trust, and passion all spoke volumes to her. She closed her eyes and imagined she stroked Oshki’s hair and not the feathered lamp shade.

  The illusion faded, and her fingers wouldn’t lie to her anymore. She sighed and lowered herself into the chair next to the lamp and picked up her knitting. She worked on a pink layette. She’d finished the booties and cap and now knitted the body portion. Mauve felt certain she’d have a girl.

  I wonder what Oshki will think of a little girl?

  She mused on all the ways he might react.

  Mauve hadn’t heard back from him after she’d sent him news of her condition and that they were to be parents in five short months. When will he get to see her?

  Their little one might be a year old before she saw her daddy’s face. She hoped the war wouldn’t drag on too long. It would soon be Christmas and those who’d said the conflict would be through before the holiday had been proven wrong.