Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  “I’m so glad you’re . . .”

  He doesn’t continue. I can tell he’s choked up.

  “Takes a lot to kill me, I guess.” I try to make light of the situation.

  We visit for a while about local happenings. Felix catches me up on all the news. I hear the doctor’s footsteps before he comes into focus.

  “Mr. Wilson. Lt. Wilson. I’ve gone over all your charts and can’t see a reason why you cannot go home.”

  “That’s good news,” Felix says.

  “However, you must be careful not to strain your eyes. I will give you the name of an ophthalmologist near you. I recommend you see him every six months. If your eyes improve or get worse, the lenses in your glasses will have to be changed to prevent eye strain and headaches.”

  Felix asks what I’ve asked over and over again. “Do you expect his eyesight to improve?”

  “We hope that will be the case, but I can’t say with certainty. The body is an intricate organism and capable of healing itself in many ways. It will just . . . remain to be seen.” Doctor Hansen pauses. “Ah, I didn’t mean that to be a play on words.”

  “Funny, Doc.” I grin and laugh a little.

  The doctor has no sense of humor, but he’s a good man.

  “He can check out tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I’ll have Nurse Greenwood get all the paperwork together. We’ll send a packet of medicines, as you might yet need something for the pain on occasion. Let’s set checkout for 9:00 in the morning.”

  “Thanks again, Doc.”

  I’m both relieved and apprehensive to leave. This has been my home for months, and I’ll miss Rose.

  I still can’t place why she’s familiar to me. Her features still appear blurry, though some memory plays along the lines and planes I can see of her face. We have resumed our conversations, but she hesitates. She lingers just out of my clear field of vision, like she is trying to hide from me for some strange reason.

  I have one more evening with her. I must be frank. I must ask her if we’ve met before. I must tell her how I feel. I’m determined to get the truth from her tonight.

  “Well, we’ll see you in the morning, then.” Doctor Hansen shakes hands with us both, turns, and walks back. I hear him visiting here and there with men as he goes.

  “Best go find a place to rest for the night,” Felix says. “I thought we’d go to Tamarack Grove first so Valerie can see you and then we'll head to Webaashi Bay. See you in the morning.”

  Felix stands. I do as well.

  “Tomorrow,” I say.

  He grabs me in another hug. “It’s good to have you back, Luis.”

  “It’ll be good to be home.”

  I try to convince myself of the truth in that as I watch him walk away, but I don’t really know where or what home is anymore.

  The hours tick by and finally evening arrives.

  It’s dark. All the men sleep, but I wait. Wait for Rose. She said she’d see me before her shift is done at midnight.

  Here she comes. I see her white head covering shine under the one dim, overhead light in the ward. She appears angelic. That is just what she’s been to me—an angel. She tended my wounds as much as she tended my heart. She comforted me when I relived the terrible things I’d done and seen in my dreams.

  “Lt. Wilson.” She says my name like a question.

  “Rose.” I don’t know how to tell her how I feel, what she means to me. Perhaps I need to show her. But not here. We need somewhere a little more private. “Fancy one last stroll for the road?”

  “It’ll be so strange not to have you here.”

  We walk side by side. Our hands brush.

  “Yes, it’ll be odd for me too.”

  We turn out of the ward and head down the sparsely lit hallway. I stop by the window and peer at the moon hanging in the night sky like an opalescent gem.

  “It’s a beautiful night, clear and bright.” She puts her hand on the windowpane. “I feel like the moon can see right through me.” Her voice rings with a quiet sorrow.

  “Tell me what troubles you. Something has changed this last month.”

  I watch her outline. She lowers her hand and comes closer to me, close enough that I can truly see her. Her full head of hair surrounds her face like a frame. Soft angles define her heart-shaped face and perfectly petite mouth, but her eyes hold me. They pull me to her. Her face turns towards the moonlight, and I see her catlike, green eyes glitter like gems.

  Those eyes. I’ve seen them before. I know it for certain now.

  “Rose, I know we have met before I came here.”

  I reach up and slowly turn her face to mine. I stroke the delicate skin of her cheek with my fingertips. Her skin feels like a rose petal under my touch. I draw my arm around her and bring her close enough to feel the beating of her heart. I do what I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. I kiss her, and she kisses me back. It starts a fire in me, but she pulls back and breathlessly confirms my suspicions.

  “Yes . . . we have.”

  Her breath tickles softly on my face. She doesn’t elaborate. Her sad eyes plead with me, but I don’t know why.

  “Well, tell me where then,” I gently command as I pull her closer.

  She doesn’t answer.

  “You must know how I care, how I . . .” I can’t tell her I love her yet. “It was you, Rose. You helped me get better.”

  My lips hover close to hers again, but she turns her head and the collision course we were on is diverted.

  “Ha,” she laughs lightly with a taint of bitterness. “I’m why you’re here in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?” My grip on her loosens.

  “Oh, Luis.” This is the first time she’s called me by my first name. She reaches up and stills my hand on her face. “We met in your hometown.” She searches my eyes for the dawn of remembrance, but I cannot recall what she means. “I came on a steamship with a group of women.”

  Suddenly, the key of truth turns in the lock, and I know who she is.

  She’s the green-eyed witch.

  The little flip of a thing who handed me a white feather. Her hand feels like fire against my skin. I back up from her, stunned.

  “You!” I say as if pronouncing her an enemy.

  “Me.” She steps closer. Her hand over her heart. “I didn’t really know what I was doing. I thought it was the right thing. My boyfriend had just enlisted, and I wanted to ensure he’d come home. I thought the only way to do that was to make sure he had enough men going with him.”

  She pours out her excuse quickly, but, to me, she pours out her words like water on an oil fire. Her poor explanation fuels a rage in me.

  “You have no idea what you did . . . what you made me do.”

  I thought I loved this woman, this angel, but she has become the angel of death to me now. I turn and walk away from her, tired to my core. I want to go home.

  She tries calling me back. “Luis! Luis, let me explain . . . Luis . . . I’m so sorry.”

  I hear her quiet crying, but I do not turn back. I shuffle as fast as I dare along the hallway. She’s not the person I thought.

  December 24th, 1915

  Webaashi Bay

  Almost two year prior

  “All right, huddle together,” Mrs. Grey, the school mistress, told the group of twenty-five youngsters who made up the fourth through the eighth grade of the Webaashi Bay School. “Now, we all must sing our best, yes?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Grey,” the children dutifully replied.

  The first through the third-grade students waited, a bit restlessly, in reserve at the side of the makeshift stage. Matilda Winchester, a new teacher at the school, kept the group in order. They had just practiced their song, Silent Night.

  Strains of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen came forth from the children’s mouths in a rather pleasing tone. They stood at the front of the town hall, which was to host a Christmas concert and town gift exchange. Also, just like the party in the park last year, e
ach person in attendance was to bring something to stash in a box for the men overseas. In addition, this year, each family would bring something to share for refreshments afterward and an individual gift if they wished to participate in a gift exchange.

  Lily and her Aunt Mallory bustled about at the forefront of festivities.

  “One more on the table over there, I think,” Mallory Maddox pointed out to Lily. They set the town hall tables with greenery, bows, and candles.

  “Oh, I guess another one hid in here. I thought I’d run out.” Lily tilted the box and a red bow, which had been tucked up in the corner, slid down.

  “There, I think we’re all set now.” Mallory smiled and stood next to Lily.

  Lily marveled at how alike she and her aunt were. They shared a similar build and height, had the same blonde hair (although Mallory’s was streaked with gray), and the same bright blue eyes.

  Lily knew she had inherited more of her mother’s character than her looks, which she’d gotten from her father’s family.

  Mallory looked at the watch pinned on her bodice. “People should start trickling in soon. We’ll let them seat themselves and, precisely at 6:00, Matthew will greet everyone and start off the evening.”

  “I’ll introduce the different classes at the right time, and when they are done, I’ll explain how our gift exchange will work.”

  “Fabulous. I’ll go start getting some things ready for the drinks in the kitchen.”

  Mallory smoothed back her hair and picked off a few evergreen needles which had become embedded in the crocheted lace on her sleeves.

  Soon, families and townsfolk arrived and everything and everyone were in their place. The youngsters were on stage ready to begin their chorus. Mayor Maddox blessed the evening, and the program began. The children sang beautifully without much mishap, except for little Tommy Adams, who slipped going down the steps of the stage and fell, but he was brave and didn’t cry. Elizabeth Cota shone when she sang her solo refrain.

  Mrs. Grey then directed a few of the children in the reading of some scripture pertaining to the Christmas story.

  “Unto us a child is born . . .” began Alexander Murray.

  When the children had completed their program, Lily took her spot in the front.

  “Thank you, children, Mrs. Grey, and Miss Winchester for that fine presentation. Now, all who wanted to participate in the gift exchange were to bring a homemade present pertaining to the gender of the giver. Remember to take a gift from under the tree, and don’t choose the one you brought.” A spattering of laughter floated around the room. “Gifts for men are on the left, women on the right, and boys and girls in the respectively marked baskets. Oh, and the gifts for service men can go in the large box by the door. Reverend Hubbard, if you’ll come forward and pronounce a blessing on our men overseas and on our refreshment and fellowship.”

  Lily smiled and felt herself more regal than usual as she graciously extended her arm, gesturing for the reverend to come forward.

  Her well-fitting, deep sea-green dress, edged with white lace, was trim at the waist and hung in an A-line skirt, topped with a flounced blouse top. It had been a gift from her father and Vanessa last year. She hadn’t had anything new in ages, but she did feel extravagant in wartime dressing so.

  At least I’m able to wear it again year too, Lily rationalized, as she smoothed down the fabric and walked back to her seat.

  Reverend Hubbard took his place.

  “Let us pray,” he began. “Heavenly Father, we offer our thanks for the gift of your son Jesus, who is Immanuel. We thank you for all our blessings and joys and ask that you would comfort us in our times of grief. May your guiding care and angels watch over our loved ones and friends in this time of war. Let us pause briefly and pray in our hearts for those far away.” Reverend Hubbard paused for reflection, and a few sniffles could be heard around the room as Webaashi Bay’s community silently prayed. “We ask a blessing on our food and fellowship. We ask these things in the name of Jesus our Savior, Amen.”

  After, people milled around, finding a gift, visiting, and relishing in community. Mallory managed the refreshment table, and Lily oversaw the gift exchange.

  Natalie Herman helped herself to a cup of coffee and a cookie and seated herself at a nearby table.

  “Is this seat taken?” Jeremiah Taylor asked, looking rather spiffy in his dark navy suit and tie.

  “Oh, why . . . no.” Natalie smiled at him. “Please, join me.”

  She pulled out a chair for him, and he nodded in appreciation.

  Jeremiah balanced a slice of fruitcake and a napkin in one hand as he sat in the available chair next to Natalie.

  She noticed his lack of beverage. “Can I get you a drink? There’s cordial and coffee, I believe.”

  “Thank you kindly, but no.” He put his cake and napkin down on the table and looked at her. “Sorry to hear about your pa.”

  A look of guilt etched the lines deeper on his wrinkled face.

  “Yes, thank you,” Natalie said with a little stiffness in her tone of voice. “Mother went with him. I’ll visit them tomorrow and bring a Christmas feast if I’m allowed.”

  She had hoped her parents would not be treated like prisoners in the land they had lived in for years, but they had been. In late fall, the authorities had made them move to the camp.

  “I hope that can be arranged.” Jeremiah sat quietly in his seat. He looked at her and swallowed. “I am so sorry the way these things have happened. You know, I remember your father.” He paused and picked at a crumb on his napkin. “He could read English . . . and he liked Kipling, if I remember right.”

  “Yes,” Natalie said and gave a quick laugh. “He’s rather a child at heart, I’m afraid.”

  Jeremiah pulled a wrapped gift out of his suit coat pocket. “Give this to Wilhelm tomorrow. No need to say who it’s from.”

  “But what is it?” Natalie asked.

  “The Jungle Book.”

  Natalie smiled widely. “He’ll enjoy that.”

  “Merry Christmas, Miss Herman.” Jeremiah raised his fruitcake to his lips and took a big bite.

  Natalie raised her cookie likewise. “Merry Christmas.”

  December 25th, 1915

  Halifax

  “Go ahead and open it up,” Alma urged Rose.

  “You really shouldn’t have.”

  It had gladdened Rose’s heart when Alma and Delano had invited her out for Christmas. Her folks had written her and told her not to come, as her niece and nephew, her sister Rosemary’s children, had the chicken pox. Rose had never had them as a child, so her mother advised her not to visit.

  The children often stayed with her mother while Rosemary taught piano lessons. Rosemary had gotten the gift of music, and Rose had gotten the gift of nurturing. Rosemary wasn’t what you would call a natural mother.

  “Oh, it’s nothin’ much.” Alma flipped her hand down in the air as if shooing away a fly.

  The atmosphere of the Johnsons’ drawing room was homey. A fire crackled in the hearth, and two chairs and a sofa were pulled up to enjoy the warmth. Several embroidered pillows enhanced the seating, and a cross-stitched picture saying “Home Sweet Home” hung on the wall, edged with a border of little, gold and blue flowers. The smell of pipe tobacco and anise candy hung in the air.

  Rose tore the wrapping off her gift slowly. It revealed a beautiful, soft, pink shawl. “Oh, Alma, did you make this?”

  “I like to crochet in the evening by the fire. I thought you might like this pink wool. I found it in the department store downtown. It suits your coloring.”

  “Thank you.” Rose smiled and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. It nestled soft and warm against her and made her feel as if she were wrapped in a hug.

  Rose hadn’t known what to get the Johnsons for Christmas. She’d settled on a fruitcake from the bakery in town.

  “Well, what say we go eat the ham that’s been a roastin’? My insides are rubbin’ together,” Dela
no complained good-heartedly as he rubbed his belly.

  “Delano Johnson, quit complaining.” Alma swatted her husband’s arm affectionately. “Ya did ‘ave breakfast, and more than yer fair share, if I remember right.”

  Delano looked a bit sheepishly at his wife. “Well, ‘at was hours ago.”

  “One would think I never feed the man.” Alma winked at Rose. She got up. “Well, best go set out the vittles. Come along, Rose, you can lend a hand, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Of course.” Rose laid her shawl aside and followed Alma into the little kitchen.

  The ladies set the table with ham, potatoes, carrots, peas, dinner rolls, and, for dessert, ginger cookies and Rose’s fruitcake. Alma called Delano, and the three of them sat themselves at the table.

  “Give the blessing, dear,” Alma directed Delano, who nodded, removed his cap, bowed his head, and began.

  “’Eavenly Father, we thank you on this ‘ere most joyous day, when you sent your son to be Immanuel, God with us. As a man, you experienced all that is common to man. You know what it is to sorrow and suffer, an’ you know what the darkness of the ‘uman ‘eart is like. You know ‘ow weak we are, but we praise you, Jesus, that you came, perfect God into imperfection, so ‘at we might not live in darkness, but ‘ave the light of life, which is you. Amen.”

  “Amen,” echoed Alma. “Now, let us eat.”

  Rose had never heard anything like Delano’s blessing. She had heard prayers before, of course, but not uttered in such a way—so personal, so real. Her heart warmed to the Johnsons even more.

  “Now, Rose, tell us about your work,” Delano requested. “You’re a fair angel of mercy there, I’m sure.” He buttered a roll as he talked.

  “It can be a difficult job, but I find it rewarding, nursing people back to health.”

  “Is it true you’ll be getting some wounded men from the war?” Alma plopped a wad of potatoes on her plate and passed the dish to Rose.

  “Yes, we have had a few come already, but a larger hospital ship is headed this way, and Victoria General is to be the recipient of most of the wounded soldiers coming to the Halifax region.”