Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

“A penny for your thoughts,” she says as she sits down. “You seem so burdened.”

  She’s quiet for a moment as if thinking about what to say to me and leans close.

  “You know, Maang-ikwe taught me a good lesson years ago.” Mom looks over at the older woman, whose head is bent close to her great niece, listening. “She said, ‘Burdens are meant to be shared or you can break under the bearing of them.’”

  I can tell Mom wants to say more, but she doesn’t. Her eyes say volumes, however. She’s worried for me.

  We sit in silence. She sips her coffee. I think and ask what’s been on my mind for weeks.

  “Why is it that just when you think you know someone, you find out you never really did at all?” I draw out the question slowly.

  “Is there a certain someone you are referring to?”

  “No one you know, Mom.”

  “Well, people will always surprise you. None of us can be known thoroughly, except . . . by our maker.”

  I imagine she studies my pensive face, looking for the cause of my troubling question, but I don’t know for sure. Her eyes look fuzzy behind her glasses, now that isn’t quite as close to me.

  “Is this someone you encountered overseas in the war?”

  I want to tell her, and I don’t want to tell her. I’m not ready to speak about Rose yet. I return her probing gaze. I lean closer to see her better.

  I love looking at my mother’s dear face. I didn’t think I would ever see it again. I’m suddenly so glad I made it home and that I can see, at least a little.

  I pick up her hand. “In a way, you were with me over there, you know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had hard decisions to make all the time, and your voice was in my head often, guiding me to choose the way I did.”

  Mom grips my hand fiercely. “I’m glad.” She pauses. “I’m sorry you had so many difficult challenges.”

  “It was . . . what it was, and, inevitably, I did what I . . . had to.”

  “And we are proud of you.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  I loosen her grip and remove my hand from hers. I get up and lean against the fireplace mantle and pick at the edge.

  “I’m not proud to have killed men who didn’t deserve to die.” I turn to her, my controlled face reflecting only a fraction of the regret I feel. “And that’s not all. You don’t know what I did, Mom, and I don’t want you to.”

  “Men do terrible things during war. That’s what war is.”

  I feel old. Older than my thirty-two years.

  “And I don’t have to know. I just wish I could help ease your burden and help you in some way.” She sniffles. I hate that I’ve made her cry.

  “It’s all right, Mom. There’s nothing much anyone can do. I’ll be okay. It’ll just take time to put those memories behind me.” God, I hope it’s possible. “I’ve dealt with some of my troubles already.”

  I had plenty of time to think in the hospital, but finding out about Rose blew it all up in my mind again.

  I can tell she senses a change in me. I feel it. A dark cloud has come, and it hangs over me.

  “How was your time in Halifax?”

  I control my features and try to relax my face. “It wasn’t all bad. Met quite a few fellas, compared battle wounds, and hoped and prayed I’d get better.”

  “The nurses well-trained?”

  “Ya, they took care of us well.” My voice sounds sad to my own ears.

  “You had a lot of time to get to know them, didn’t you?”

  She’s pushing a little too close for comfort, like she’s discovered what ails me.

  “Well, they kept pretty busy. Lots to do and all, and Matron didn’t allow slacking.”

  “I see.” She pauses, and I hear a light dawn in her voice. “What was the name of the nice nurse who wrote to us? Her name started with an ‘R’ if I remember right.”

  Great! “Yes. Her name is Rose . . . Rose Greenwood.”

  “My, what a lovely name. Is she as lovely as her name?” she asks pointedly.

  “I thought so, but I was . . . wrong.” I sit back down.

  I’ve gone this far. I might as well spit it out, I rationalize.

  “What happened?” she asks quietly.

  “Do you remember why I signed up?”

  “Let’s see, something about a feather, I believe.”

  “Well . . . Rose handed me the feather that day. She’s the reason I became who I did.” A bitter rind encases each of my words.

  “And who is that?” Her words are careful.

  “I don’t know anymore, Mom.”

  Suddenly, all the pain and bitterness bursts through and leaves me with an inner core of sadness which feels overwhelming.

  “I know.” She grabs my chin with her hand and turns me towards her. “You’re my son, and I love you and always will. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or . . . not done.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I fall into her embrace, wedge my head into her shoulder, and shake with dry, quiet sobs.

  Late March 1916

  Webaashi Bay

  One and a half years prior

  As Mauve drove into town, she thought how freeing it was to get out in the warmer air. She reflected on the quiet winter. Christmas had been celebrated in reserved fashion. The town had held their yearly Christmas party, but it had been much more subdued than the previous year. Last Christmas they all had held such hope that the war would end swiftly and their young men would be returned to them, but that hope had been in vain. The war had ground on in a stalemate. Little gain was seen by either side. The papers toted the war to be a battle of defensive entrenchment.

  It had brightened all their spirits the way Lily had prompted the women’s club to organize a winter bazaar, with different booths selling everything from cake to canned goods. Booths for various games of skill and luck were set up too. All the proceeds went to send foodstuffs and supplies to the men on the front lines, where most of the town’s men of fighting age were stationed.

  A few more families had received the dreaded news of their son, husband, or brother’s passing, and the list of missing men increased. Oshki and Jimmy were still safe, thank God, but still no news was heard of Luis. Mauve wondered how Mrs. Parsons managed not to believe the worst. As more time passed, it seemed to make sense to come to the conclusion that Luis was most likely dead, but Mauve hoped, as she was sure Mrs. Parsons did, that Luis was still alive.

  A smile lit up her face as she pulled up to The Eatery, where Jenay and the girls stood waiting for her. Mrs. Parsons and Lily were to join them too. Lily had ordained that they were all to dress in their finest to celebrate winter’s lamb-like retreat. Mauve knew they’d get more snow yet, but the below zero temps were past.

  She pulled up to the boardwalk, and Jenay assisted her with Pearl. Celeste took the horse’s reins.

  “My, how cute you look today.” Jenay spoke in a high-pitched voice to Pearl.

  Mauve had dressed her daughter in a smocked, pink, gingham dress and a white bonnet with lace. Vanessa and Lily soon came and followed them in.

  Natalie welcomed them with a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies. I have the table set for you and waiting.”

  She directed them to a table spread with scones and jelly, liver pate sandwiches with sweet pickles, and chocolate cake with cherry sauce.

  “I have two different teas. The first is a full-bodied chia Assam and the second an Earl Grey.” Natalie set one pot down and a waitress came from the back with the other. “Milk and sugar are on the table. Is there anything else I can get you ladies?”

  “It looks divine, Natalie,” Lily raved. “But can’t you sit and join us?”

  Lily realized she spoke out of turn and looked to Vanessa, who graciously nodded and smiled her consent.

  “Yes, do,” Jenay added.

  “That’s kind, but I have work to do. You ladies enjoy yourselves.”

  “Chocolate cake! However did you manage?�
� Vanessa asked before Natalie turned away.

  “I have my ways.” Natalie winked. “More of that war time frugality in the kitchen has paid off. The cake has no milk, butter, or eggs.”

  “What did you use, then?” asked Jenay.

  “Tricks of the trade.” Natalie grinned but didn’t reveal her secrets. “Sit down and enjoy.” She smiled grandly and went off to help a customer who’d ambled in.

  Elizabeth ogled the strawberry and blackberry jam pots in front of her. “Ooh, we’re not allowed to have jam with our bread at home.”

  Vanessa raised her eyebrows.

  “These are scones, not just bread,” Celeste pointed out.

  “I know.” Lizzy pouted.

  “Frances says little girls should learn to eat their tea bread without jam,” Jenay clarified. “But sometimes she relents.” Jenay turned to Mauve. “What about you, Mauve? Was it strictly bread and butter at your house?”

  “Most of the time, but sometimes Marm would make a special pastry as a treat.”

  “Oh, tell us.” Vanessa smiled at Mauve.

  “Kolaches.”

  “Oh, are those the pastries which are round and filled with preserves or custard?” Celeste asked. “I’ve seen those at the bake shop.”

  “Yes.” Mauve smiled, and her freckles lit up. “They’re my favorite treat,” she confessed.

  Pearl fussed and rubbed her eyes.

  Jenay got up to pick up the baby. “Here, why don’t you let me take her? You can start on your tea.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Jenay,” Mauve told her.

  “I’d like to.” Jenay kissed Pearl’s temple and reached out for her granddaughter. “Come here, precious. Who is such a pretty girl today?”

  Jenay scooped up the baby and jiggled her a little while the others enjoyed their tea.

  “I’ll pour you some tea. Which would you like?” Lily asked Jenay.

  “The Earl Grey sounds good.”

  “Great minds think alike.” Lily winked at Jenay and picked up the flowered, china pot that Natalie had indicated held the Earl Grey. “Anyone else?”

  “Please.” Vanessa held her cup up.

  “No, thanks, I think I’m going to have the chai with milk.” Mauve poured herself a cup from the Blue Willow teapot. “Elizabeth, Celeste, would you like some?”

  Mauve still held the pot in mid-air.

  “Yes, please,” both girls responded.

  “So, what will be the focus of our next women’s club meeting?” Mauve asked Lily when done pouring.

  “I’m not sure. Any suggestions?”

  Jenay looked over at Lily. “Did you ever get anywhere with the letter writing campaign?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked. I plan to get started on having the school children send several rounds of letters though.” Lily ducked her head and admitted, “Speaking for myself, I mostly just started writing to Jimmy.”

  “I would like to help, Lily,” offered Celeste.

  “Me too! Me too!” Elizabeth demanded.

  “Now, girls, we are at a proper tea. You should address Lily as Miss Parsons and not interject demands.” Jenay looked a bit sharply at her daughters.

  “But you called Miss Parsons Lily,” Celeste whispered.

  “Oh, Jenay, really.” Vanessa rolled her eyes and added a scone with jam to her plate. “Perhaps I should call you Angelica,” she teased.

  “Oh my, you’re right. I do sound like Tante Angelica.” Jenay sighed and turned to her daughter. “Let us all be on friendly, even footing today, as usual.”

  She smiled at Celeste, who matched her smile with a pleased flush.

  “I’d like your help, Celeste.” Lily sipped her tea, her eyes smiling at Celeste over her cup. “Let’s meet Mrs. Grey after school on Monday to talk over possibilities, shall we?”

  “Maybe the little children could draw pictures to include with their letters,” Celeste suggested.

  “Good idea, dear,” Jenay added.

  Vanessa’s eyes widened and she spoke with childlike glee. “I think it’s time to cut into the cake.”

  “Hear. Hear. I can do the honors.” Mauve picked up the knife near the green, glass cake plate and carefully took aim. “Marm has always told me I slice cakes crookedly, but crooked or not it all tastes the same.” She placed a wedge of the fudgy-looking cake on a plate for Vanessa and held up the cake server in question. “Anyone else?”

  “Me,” the girls echoed.

  Jenay and Lily nodded.

  “I think we would all like a piece.” Lily spoke for everyone.

  “Will Pearl need to eat at all?” Jenay asked.

  “I fed her some mashed-up carrots and potatoes before we left. I might give her a few crumbs of scone too, and I’ll nurse her before we leave maybe.”

  “Back to the women’s club. Any ideas?” Lily asked the group.

  “Well, we’ve done frugal tips, sewing, and baking . . . what about gardening or canning? With the warmer season coming up, it might be nice,” Mauve offered.

  “Oh, good idea.” Lily brightened.

  Pearl fussed again. Her face began to pucker as if preparing for a good cry. Jenay untied her bonnet.

  “Now, now,” she crooned. Jenay stroked Pearl’s deep pink cheek.

  A little alarm bell went off in Mauve’s head. Pearl looks flushed.

  Mauve studied her daughter as Jenay held her. She couldn’t miss the concern on Jenay’s face. Mauve thought she spotted a patch of red under Pearl’s chin when Jenay lifted it up.

  “I can take her if she’s fussy.” Mauve held out her hands for her daughter, her heart fluttering with worry.

  Jenay passed her over. “She seems warm.”

  “Hmmm, yes, she does.” Mauve touched Pearl’s cheek with the back of her hand.

  A deep concern etched itself in her thoughts. What could this rash be from?

  Mauve ran her finger over Pearl’s little neck, feeling raised bumps hidden there.

  “Is something wrong?” Lily asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” Mauve told herself as much as everyone else. “Let’s enjoy our tea. I can ask Natalie for a cool cloth.”

  “Let me ask.” Jenay pushed back her seat and got up before anyone could comment.

  They all ate in silence for a few moments. Jenay brought a cloth back to the table from the kitchen and Mauve held it against Pearl’s face. Pearl cried and fussed as Mauve tried to cool her down with the cold compress.

  Jenay leaned close and whispered to Mauve, “I wonder if you should maybe stop by before you go home. It might be best for Maang-ikwe to take a look at her great-niece.”

  “If you think so,” Mauve consented.

  She nodded but wondered just what was behind Jenay’s strained tone of voice.

  Mauve stroked her daughter’s rosy cheek and kissed her warm flesh. Pearl’s head rested against her breast, and her eyes fluttered in sleepiness.

  The ladies chatted, once again, in between bites of food and sips of tea. They finished, and Mauve felt she must cut the visiting short.

  “I hate to eat and run, but I need to get back.” Her eyes flicked to Jenay.

  “Yes. It’s time we return home as well,” Jenay agreed, sharing a knowing look with Mauve.

  It comforted Mauve—how Jenay could practically read her mind. It was more than her own mother could do.

  “But, Mother, I thought we were to stop at Trent’s?” Celeste questioned, looking somewhat mystified.

  “Another time.” Jenay’s tone requested obedience.

  “Well, it’s still early.” Vanessa glanced at the clock on the wall. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, but Mauve and I really need to get back and . . . check on something.” Jenay cleared her throat. “Isn’t that right, Mauve?”

  “Yes. I think Pearl may be ready for a nap.”

  Lily stood with the other ladies and offered her sentiments. “It was a lovely time, even if it was short.”

  J
enay hugged Vanessa, who questioned her quietly, but Mauve overheard.

  “What’s going on?” Vanessa asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Probably nothing.”

  Jenay didn’t go into detail but hugged Vanessa once more, bid goodbye to Lily, and bustled her family out the door.

  “You get in with us, Mauve,” Jenay motioned.

  “Won’t it be too tight of a fit?” Mauve asked.

  “It’ll be fine. The girls can squeeze around us.”

  Jenay got everyone settled in, and they started off.

  The trip home seemed slower than usual to Mauve. She noticed that the closer they got, the grimmer the set of Jenay’s face became.

  Jenay caught Mauve watching her and gave her a slight smile. Mauve didn’t feel reassured.

  They reached home, and Jenay handed Molly, her horse, off to Jacque, who’d come out to meet them.

  “Back so soon? I thought you girls would be jawin’ the whole afternoon away.”

  “Are Frances and Maang-ikwe back yet?” Jenay asked Jacque when she took his offered hand to help her down.

  Jenay had told Mauve the older ladies had gone off on a little foraging walk. The snow had receded enough to allow them some access to wooded paths. Apparently, Maang-ikwe had wanted to look for willow bark and had asked Frances to join her.

  “Yes, actually, they beat you back by a hair.” Jacque kept a grip on his wife’s arm. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  His brow furrowed. He looked from Jenay to Mauve.

  “Just a minute.” Jenay eyed Jacque while telling the girls to head into the house. When the girls were out of ear’s reach, Jenay spilled her fear. “I think Pearl might have the measles.”

  Mauve’s knees went weak.

  Jenay turned to her. “That’s why I wanted you to come with us. Maang-ikwe will know for sure.”

  “Measles?” Jacque puckered up his brows and his eyes wore a worried surprise. “I haven’t heard of anything going around.”

  He glanced at Mauve and reached out to stroke Pearl’s flushed cheek.

  “Nothing can happen to my Peach,” he muttered.

  “Nothing will,” Jenay said, resting her hand on his arm.

  Jacque nodded. “I’ll be in when I’ve taken care of Molly.”

  His eyes caught Jenay’s.

  To Mauve it seemed a cord of experienced pain passed between them. Oshki had told her his parents had lost children. Years ago, before the girls, Jenay had had two miscarriages. One had been close to full term.