Silver Moon

by Jenny Knipfer

  “Yes, Mama.” Celeste got up from her seat on the rug.

  Lizzy jumped up too. “Can we have tea too? The plum?”

  “Yes, of course.” Jenay smiled, tweaking her youngest on the ear.

  “I like the ginger plum tea as well,” Mauve told Jenay. “You craft something new every time we visit.”

  “I enjoy it,” Jenay replied.

  “What’s in this blend, exactly?” Mauve asked.

  “Dried, wild plums, rose hips, bilberry leaves, and ginger. I blended the fruity mix with cinnamon and cardamom spices,” Jenay informed them all.

  Mauve smiled at Jenay. “It’s a pleasing mix and particularly nice with a dollop of honey.”

  Jenay and the girls went into the kitchen to set out the tea things. Mauve followed so she could get Pearl some applesauce.

  After the ladies left, Natalie turned to Lily in confidence. “Have you told anyone yet?”

  “Yes. I told Mr. Bellevue, of all people. It just slipped out one day.”

  “Your parents and Jimmy’s don’t know?”

  “Not that I know of. I’d like to tell them, but I still haven’t heard from Jimmy.” Lily looked down at her lap and picked at the lead in her pencil. “It’s never been this long. I’m worried, Natalie.”

  “I know, but maybe the mail is just delayed. I would think Jimmy would be fine with you telling your folks.”

  “Probably.” Lily looked up at her friend. “What if he’s hurt or . . . dead?”

  “You can cross that bridge when you come to it, IF you come to it.” Natalie came and stood by Lily’s chair. She touched her shoulder reassuringly. “Try not to worry. It won’t change anything. My mother always said to pray about everything.”

  “I have been, a little.” Lily tucked her chin down and swiped at her nose.

  “Let’s go see what treat Jenay and the girls are setting out. Food always takes my mind off my worries.”

  Natalie let Lily go first. She had little faith in a dessert’s ability to take away Lily’s worry over Jimmy, but maybe it would distract her. Lily had been carrying a heavy load with Luis missing, but now . . . Natalie took her mother’s advice and prayed for Lily and Jimmy.

  Please God, let him be alive . . . please. Give Lily courage. Help her to trust you. And if Jimmy doesn’t come back . . . help her live on.

  As they huddled around the Cotas’ kitchen table drinking tea and crunching tea biscuits, Natalie recognized the pain in Lily’s eyes. She vowed to do all she could to help bolster her friend up.

  That’s what friends are for.

  Later that month

  Natalie remembered the last time she’d climbed the steps up the side of the bookshop. She felt she would have a better reception this time. Jeremiah seemed friendlier and friendlier towards her. She hoped it was from a true change of heart and not just a guilty conscience.

  She held her wicker basket on one arm and rapped on the door with the other. “Mr. Taylor.”

  She heard a tapping from within and a fumbled sound coming from the lock. The door before her opened carefully.

  “Ah, Miss Herman.” Jeremiah blinked a few times with evident surprise.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Taylor. I’ve brought some gingerbread with a lemon sauce for you. It’s an early Christmas gift. I made some for the cafe and thought you might like some as well.”

  Natalie smiled genuinely. She truly had forgiven the man for bearing false witness against her and her family. Ever since she had brought food to him last year, determined to move forward with forgiveness, he’d seemed changed.

  “Well, in’t that kind of you.” Jeremiah looked back at his apartment and the crackling fire within. “I was just about to settle in with my afternoon cocoa. Would you like to join me?” He looked at her with sincere eyes.

  Natalie really saw the man in front of her: old, rough around the edges in appearance, and hardened by the losses he’d suffered, but she looked past the exterior. She felt his loneliness and couldn’t blame him for his fear of staying that way. She sometimes felt trapped in loneliness herself. Oh, she had family and friends, but once in a while she longed for something more.

  “Yes, I would like that very much.” Natalie stepped in as he let her pass. She removed her coat and muffler and handed them off to his extended hands.

  “I’ll just check the milk. Ya sit yerself down.” With a shaky arm, he pointed to the chairs before the fire. “The flowered one was my wife’s. That un’s mine.” He indicated the heavier, padded chair.

  Natalie smiled, nodded, and went to sit while Jeremiah turned to his small kitchen to ready their drink. She heard some clinks and clanks but focused on the books, trinkets, and photos on the shelf on the wall.

  A little, china lady sat upon the shelf. She had blonde hair and a lavender dress and bent in a half curtsy, with one hand holding her skirts while the other was poised in the air. A bone pipe lay next to her, alongside a little, wooden box. Two photos perched side by side. One was of Jeremiah and his wife, years ago, in front of their bookstore.

  They look happy, Natalie thought.

  Mr. Taylor’s face looked relaxed and smooth. Instead of looking at the camera, his wife looked at him with a gaze Natalie recognized as adoration. A man in military uniform was captured in the other photograph.

  A son perhaps, Natalie supposed. He looked rather like both Jeremiah and his wife.

  “All set, then.” Jeremiah tottered in with a tray on which sat steaming cups of cocoa. He set it down on a little, round tea table between the two chairs.

  “Lovely.” Natalie smiled up at him. “I have the gingerbread sliced. We may need some napkins or small plates and forks. Should I fetch those things for you?” She wanted to help.

  “Oh, no. Just take me a minute.” He shuffled back into the kitchen and came back shortly with two china plates with roses scattered on them, a pair of forks, and two napkins.

  Natalie served them each a slice and poured a generous helping of lemon sauce over the top. She handed a plate to Jeremiah, who lowered himself into his chair with a quiet sigh.

  They looked at the fire and ate in silence for several moments.

  “Right good, this.”

  “Thank you. My mother’s recipe.”

  Jeremiah’s fork stilled in mid-air.

  “How’s . . . yer folks?” he asked quietly.

  “Fine. Father uses his carpentry skills and Mother her cookery craft.” Natalie set her fork down on her plate and swallowed the bite in her mouth. “I miss them.”

  “Hard to do without family.” Jeremiah’s eyes roved to the photos on the shelf.

  “When was that one taken?”

  “Oh, a traveling photo man came ta town, and Violet persuaded me ta get a snapshot in front of the bookshop. Must be thirty years ago now.” Jeremiah took another bite and a sip of cocoa.

  “The other your son?”

  “Yes. Died in the war, in South Africa, you see.” Jeremiah’s eyes drooped. “He was a good lad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Years ago now, but I still miss him . . . and Vi . . . so much.”

  “I’m sure you do.

  “Gets p’rful lonely at times. Don’t want ta complain and all, and I’ve gotten used ta living on my own, but . . .”

  “I have some wonderful friends who help when I need more than my own company,” Natalie revealed.

  “Niver had much need fer friends.” Jeremiah stowed away his last bit of gingerbread in his waiting mouth. A swallow of cocoa swiftly followed to wash it down.

  “You and your wife must have been very close.”

  “That we were. We loved our shop and loved doing it all together.”

  “How long were you in business after she passed?”

  I hope I’m not getting too personal, Natalie thought.

  “A good five years. It’s been ‘bout that many since I sold the shop too.” Jeremiah set his plate on the tea table and cradled his cup in his wrinkled hands.

&nbs
p; “Ever think about getting a pet?” Natalie did hate to see people so alone. She felt it was one of the great needs of life—to belong, to be a part of a group. “Animals can be very good companions.”

  “Niver been around animals all that much.” Jeremiah shrugged and took a swig of his cocoa.

  “Mauve Cota has the cutest, little dog. I think her father got it for her from someone he knows. I could ask Mr. Murray if you’re interested.”

  “I will think on that.” He nodded.

  “There’s always a chair open for you at The Eatery.” Natalie finished her food and swallowed the last of her cocoa.

  “That’s mighty nice.”

  I better get back to the cafe, Natalie realized.

  She must have been there at least an hour and a half. She had planned for only a few minutes. She hoped Emily wasn’t too busy waiting on tables, but, then, the afternoons were usually pretty quiet.

  Natalie stood. “I should go. I’ve enjoyed our visit. Can I . . . stop by again?”

  “O’ course.” Jeremiah looked a bit surprised, but welcomed her nonetheless. “Any time, any time.” He stood as well and shuffled off. “Let me get your things.”

  “Thank you.” Natalie stuck her arms in the coat when he held it up for her and wrapped her muffler around her neck. She strung her basket on her arm and faced him. “Are you partaking of Christmas dinner with anyone?”

  “Well, the Trents sometimes invite me, but I’ve niver accepted.”

  “That’s too bad. Adam and Elmira are lovely people.” She paused, looked down at her feet, took a deep breath, and asked what she felt she must. “Would you care to join me and maybe a few others Christmas day?”

  Jeremiah nodded. His face softened even more than it had, and he surprised her. “Right kind. Be ‘appy ta.”

  “Good. Wonderful. Thank you again.” Natalie turned to go. Jeremiah held the door open for her. She stopped in the threshold and turned back on impulse. “Perhaps . . . we could consider each other friends, Mr. Taylor.”

  His wizened face cracked into a grin. “That sounds mighty fine. Good day to ya, Miss Herman, and thank you again for the food, the visit, and . . . your invitation.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Taylor. See you soon.”

  Natalie walked back to The Eatery. She grinned like a Cheshire cat as she thought of the friend she’d gained. What an unexpected and excellent Christmas present.

  January 10th, 1917

  This is my last day at the rest camp. The weather is cold but not bitterly so. I like to spend as much time out of doors as I can. The open space frees me. There is so little in the trenches. I must enjoy it while I can.

  I’ve made a friend while I’m here, not the human kind. He is a bird. A meadow pipit. He has olive-brown coloring with darker, barred wings edged in white and a creamy white breast. I saw him on top of a thistle digging for seeds. I roam the outskirts of the camp every day. One spot in the northern corner hosts a few dried, wild plants spreading from the grassy meadow beyond.

  I’ve made a spot there to write in the afternoon. It is a small corner of relative quiet away from it all. Every time I am in my spot writing, Frank (that’s what I call my bird friend) comes and lands on the thistle closest to me. I hold as still as possible and watch him.

  Today he actually landed on my arm. Well, I lured him a bit by placing a few seeds on my left forearm in hopes that he would risk the contact. He did. Frank chirps and chirps. His thin orange/brown beak opens and closes as if calling to someone. Perhaps he calls to his lover. Off he flies now. I’m jealous.

  I wish the call of my heart would reach Mauve over the miles. I finger Pearl’s downy scrap of hair, which I keep over my heart. It’s soft, and I imagine it feels like the fluffy feathers of my little friend. I’m way past being tired of this war. I hate soldering, but it has become what I do . . . what I am.

  I sicken with longing for my family and my land. I know I have a family here of sorts, and I’m grateful for the men who fight beside me, but it is not home.

  As much as I detest the trenches, I am ready to go back. I am antsy to keep plugging away in the hopes that doing my job will eventually bring about the end of this conflict. God, please let it be so.

  I watch as a few flakes of snow start to fall. My friend spreads his wings and flits away. I will put away my pen and journal and do likewise.

  January 1917

  Canadian base hospitals

  Etaples, France

  “Nurse! Nurse!” Jimmy stood up from the chair he’d been waiting in for the last half hour and waved his hand.

  “You will just have to wait, Private Smith. You are not the only one needing attention.” A nurse in blue and white slipped by Jimmy. He recognized her and remembered her very efficient hands and curt tone of voice.

  Nurse Peland, he recalled. She looked frazzled and balanced bedding, a bedpan, and a cup with liquid in it in her outstretched arms. Jimmy leaned against the wall and watched her pass.

  I want to get this over with.

  It had been six months since his injury, and this was his last checkup before he’d be cleared for active duty. He’d been doing lighter duties away from the front lines, but now the army pushed him forward again.

  How many more times will I trick death? Got several more to go, I guess. He tried to put a humorous spin on it.

  “What you here for?” a soldier next to Jimmy with an eye patch asked.

  Jimmy didn’t recognize the younger man. “I’s injured last summer. Checking in one more time before they send me out again.”

  The young man swallowed. His rather pointy Adam’s apple bobbed twice. “I was hoping to go home.”

  He looked at Jimmy with his exposed eye, trepidation in its depth.

  “When were you injured?”

  “Last month. Gas.”

  “Ah . . . healing well, then?”

  “So they say, but I haven’t gotten the patch off yet. Today’ll be the first. Don’t know how well I can see.” The young soldier fiddled with his fingers and cleared his throat. “If I can’t see, won’t they send me home?”

  “Can’t tell you that.”

  Jimmy felt sorry for the kid. Even if his eye didn’t recover, but he could still see out of the other, they most likely would use him for some other task. There was more work than there were men to do it. Jimmy didn’t want to spoil his hopes, so he didn’t tell him.

  “All right, you’re next.” Nurse Peland stood by the young man with a chart in hand. “Follow me.”

  “Good luck,” Jimmy offered.

  The kid nodded. “Thanks, you too.”

  Jimmy did an easy salute with two fingers. He watched the kid walk away. He had wished to go home too, but he’d thought of those he had seen die. A deep-rooted anger forced him to heal and want to return and fight.

  He thought of all he’d gone through to get Holbrook to safety. The man hadn’t made it. Jimmy had learned Holbrook had died of infection a few weeks later. He remembered pulling him through the rubble but not much else.

  Recovery at the hospital had been slow. He’d had a head wound with a concussion, a ripped-open shoulder with imbedded debris, and gashes on his legs from forging through the wreckage.

  On impulse, he patted his chest. The tin in his top pocked responded to his touch with dull ting.

  Lily’s letters. Amazingly, they’d survived along with him.

  Several of Lily’s letters had been rerouted to him at the hospital, but it sounded like she wasn’t getting his. He’d written her many times since the end of September, but she made no mention of his injury. She kept asking why he hadn’t written. Finally, she must have gotten them, for she’d filled her last letter with sympathy and wishes for a speedy recovery. He’d read it so many times, he had it practically memorized. It was dated the 28th of December, 1918 . . .

  Dear Jimmy,

  It made me terribly happy to hear from you! I have been so worried, but, of course, I’m sorry you are injured. I pray for a
full recovery from your wounds. I am sure the wounds of seeing your friends perish before your eyes are more devastating than the physical damage. Those may take much longer to heal. I wish I could be there taking care of you, my love.

  Will you be coming home? From your last letter, it sounded like you were on the mend. I am glad, but how I wish you could come home to us. Your parents miss you dreadfully. Your mother has been looking thinner and thinner. She smiled for the first time in months yesterday when I went into the shop to pick up something for Pop. She read me some of the letter you wrote her. She is so thankful you are safe, as am I.

  Life here keeps on despite the challenges. Still no word from Luis. Vanessa told me that she and Pop have lost much of their investments, but they don’t seem worried. They still have the company and the house. Mr. Bellevue assured her they would be fine.

  Even her sister Valerie and her husband Felix in Toronto are feeling the bite of war. Prohibition has closed down their wine import business, most likely until the end of the war.

  I’m sure you’ve heard a number of people of Germanic heritage from town and the surrounding area have been transferred to internment camps. Natalie Herman’s folks had to go, but they are doing well enough. She visits them as often as she’s allowed.

  I keep on with the children’s letter writing campaign and the women’s club. It is the small way in which I can help.

  I love you, Jimmy dear. Be safe.

  Lily

  Fairy tales are more than true;

  Not because they tell us that dragons exist,

  But because they tell us that

  Dragons can be beaten.

  G.K. Chesterton

  Chapter Fifteen

  Late November 1917

  Webaashi Bay

  “You know I saw him, right?”

  “No. What do you mean?”

  I sit on the floor on a blanket with Pearl before a fire in the hearth at Oshki and Mauve’s home. I know I should have visited privately with her much earlier, but I had dragged my feet. Now I am here, in Oshki’s home with his wife. It feels wrong with him being so far away.