Tides of Honour (10 page)

SIXTEEN

Danny awoke and stared at
the bottom of the bunk overhead, listening to his brothers' snoring and thinking of Audrey. She had settled into the addition, the room they would eventually share as man and wife.

His wife. What a thought. Shouldn't come as such a surprise, he knew, that time had turned him into a man, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder at that. He'd just turned twenty-four when he headed to war with his friends, all of them proud and cocky and full of spice. He'd felt invincible. Different from how he'd felt before, when his idea of fun was taking girls out on a boat, sitting out with sunsets, introducing them to rum. Girls had been an empowering kind of a thing for him, a diversion. They'd looked up to him—even the ones he'd known since he was little—and when they blinked nervously at him, he felt like a king. Helen Crockett, with her tangled blond curls, had been his first kiss, and the moment had been both terrifying and exciting all at once. She was a couple of years older, a little more experienced, and it had torn him in half when she'd batted her lashes for George Hartlin a week later. He'd found solace in the arms of Anna Mitchell, then moved on to her cousin, Mary. He and Mary had held hands on
and off for about six months when he'd been twenty-three, and he'd known she wanted more. But how could he have committed to something like marriage? The families had waited, suspecting he'd take the next step soon, but he'd surprised them all. When Mary gave him an ultimatum, he'd replied with a kiss and wished her well. Even presented her with a wedding gift when the time had come.

Now he could hardly wait to get married. He rolled over and squinted at the clock, then lay back and puffed out his breath. Four-thirty a.m. His father and brothers would be pushing the boat into the water, dropping the nets, hauling them back in again. The rest of the house was quiet. Too early for Audrey to be up yet. He could picture her tucked under the covers of what would become their bed, the blanket layered gently over her body. Was she a light sleeper? Did she lie perfectly still all night or did she roll around while she dreamed? What would it be like to lie beside her? To touch her in the dark, to close his eyes and kiss the soft curve of her neck, her breasts—oh, he had thought about that a lot.

He closed his eyes again. He should have gone fishing this morning, if only to occupy his mind. It was going to make him crazy, lying here, waiting for the rest of the house to get up.

With nothing else to think about, his mind travelled across the sea. Four o'clock meant it was about eight o'clock over there. Plenty of time for the boys in the battalion to have eaten their breakfast, popped on their helmets, and gotten blown to kingdom come. Tommy Joyce had still been there on Danny's last day; Tommy and Mick had been on that offensive, he remembered. When his captain had come to bring his personal items, as well as those of Fred and Jimmy, Danny hadn't asked how many men had survived that day, and the captain had offered nothing. But Mick had tossed a note into the box. “See you in Halifax,” it said.
Wouldn't that be something,
Danny thought.

An early-rising bird called outside his window, and Danny stared at the ceiling. He wasn't going to get any more sleep, he could tell. He sat up and swung his leg and stump to the side of the bed, pulled on some trousers and a shirt, grabbed his crutch, and headed toward the kitchen. He lit the small lamp by the sink and it bloomed to a yellow glow, casting shadows where there'd been nothing a moment before. He wasn't hungry, but he picked up the bread his mother had left out for him. She must have known he'd be restless. Danny boiled water and poured himself a cup of tea, then he leaned against the counter and sipped.

At the end of the dark hall, a door handle clicked. Danny tilted his head but couldn't see anything.

“Danny?”

Audrey. She was awake and whispering his name so as not to wake anyone else.

“There she is,” Danny said quietly, smiling and trying to sound relaxed. She edged down the hall toward him, and he could hardly wait for the lamp to bring him her features.

When it did, Danny felt warm all over. She looked a little rumpled by sleep, one cheek still lined by her pillow, and her hair tumbled lazily over her shoulders. She wore a different dress this morning, of course. Her travelling dress would be in need of a good rest. Her eyes were wide open, though, and blinking at him.

“I couldn't sleep a minute longer,” she whispered.

“Me either,” he said, keeping his voice low. He didn't want anyone else to wake up and disturb this perfect moment. “Want tea?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “And do I smell bread?”

“Help yourself. Mother makes it all the time. She knows I have a weakness for it.”

She cut a slice of bread while he poured steaming tea into a
small white cup. He had tried to find the nicest one for her, but they all had tiny cracks and chips around the edges. The china had been around a long time. Crossed the sea, even. Just like Audrey. He slipped the cup into her hands, and she sighed as her cold fingers soaked in the heat.

“That smells good,” she said, then tried a sip, but it was still too hot. Her eyes travelled around the kitchen, and she smiled, seeing her own drawings on display along the counter wall. She'd sent him beautiful depictions of trees, cats, and birds, and they'd helped tide him over when the war had threatened to obliterate his memories. He'd shown them to his mother, who had fallen in love with them. She'd ironed out the folds and pinned them along the wall.

“Hope you don't mind,” he said. “You sent them in your letters.”

“I remember.”

“And when I showed them to my mother, she kind of insisted . . .”

She bit her lip, obviously pleased. “So sweet of her. It's nice seeing them here.”

“I think it's her way of saying you're already a part of our family.”

Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight, and she reached out to touch a picture she'd done of her farmhouse. “Seems so far away,” she said quietly.

He didn't want her to dwell on the past. “Let's sit,” he said. “We could go outside, but it's still pretty cool. We'll see when the sun comes up.”

He led her into the sitting room and waited until she took a spot on one side of his mother's old sofa, a homemade, dark red monstrosity with curving oak arms. Audrey sank into it, and Danny moved in beside her so their knees touched. There was an
awkward silence at first, as if neither knew how to start. As always, it seemed the easiest way was to begin with the basics.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

She smiled, seeming relieved that he'd spoken first. She nodded. “I did, thank you. It's a lovely room.”

“Well, I guess I'll be finding that out for myself soon enough,” Danny said, then bit his lip, unsure of how she might react. Fortunately, it seemed she was good and ready for it.

“Oh, yes,” she said, and her eyes lit in a way that made him want very badly to kiss her, but he restrained himself and waited for her to say more. “I've thought about that for a long time, Danny. About getting married. I still can't believe it's true, but I'm so, so happy you chose me to be your wife.”

“I chose you? How can you say that?”

She fiddled with the folds of her skirt, pleating them between nervous fingers. “It's only, well . . . a man like you could have any woman he wanted.”

Helen Crockett's seventeen-year-old lips puckered in his memory, and an unexpected pang of guilt hit him when he recalled the trust in Mary Mitchell's dark eyes. But that was all in the past.

“Aw, Audrey. You're being silly. There's nobody but you. Never really has been. I mean, well, sure, before I met you, but never since.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and glowed pink. “Now stop it, Danny. Look at me, blushing.”

“You're even prettier when you blush.”

She shook her head, smiling, then she reached for her tea and took a sip, closing her eyes as she swallowed. He watched her move, captivated by the action of her throat, the light dusting of freckles that shifted when she moved her nose.

Still holding the cup to her lips, she rolled her eyes toward
him. “Don't stare at me. Didn't your mother ever teach you that? I'll spill my tea all over your mother's beautiful rug if you keep staring at me like that.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn't. “It's just hard to believe you're really here. Aren't you tired from that trip? It's a long one. I remember that. And uncomfortable.”

“I am, and I'm sure I'll feel it more later,” she admitted, “but I wanted to see you. I imagine the journey was worse for you. With your leg, I mean.”

He shook his head and swallowed the bitter answer that sprang to his lips. He didn't want to think about his leg. She was perfect, he was not, and thinking about the leg did nothing but make him angry.

“Let's not talk about me,” he said.

“All right,” she said easily. “But we'll have to think of something else to talk about so you won't just stare at me.” Her tone scolded, but the smile beneath it was warm and receptive. “Tell me about this place. Tell me about your brothers.”

Sometime over the next two hours, during which they barely paused to take a breath between words, Danny's mother came into the kitchen and tried to be quiet. Danny knew she was there, shuffling in the background, but didn't make any sign. From the amount of talking the couple did, it seemed the letters they had sent each other over the miles and the months hadn't quite covered everything. If Danny said something, Audrey was transfixed, staring and nodding, asking questions, and when Audrey said something, Danny understood it immediately.

He couldn't remember ever being so happy in his entire life.

A crash in the kitchen broke the spell, followed by a distressed, “Oh, no. Look at what I've done. I'm so sorry, you two! I didn't mean to interrupt, but it seems I—”

Audrey and Danny poked their heads into the kitchen and
saw his mother, pink-faced with embarrassment, taking out a broom to collect the scattered shards of a serving platter. Audrey was on her knees in an instant, picking up the larger pieces and piling them in her hands.

“Oh, just leave that, Audrey dear. You'll cut yourself.”

“No, no,” Audrey assured her. She picked up a large shard and sighed. “Oh, that's too bad. Such a lovely plate.”

“You think so? How kind of you. Yes, my mother gave it to me long ago.”

“Lovely,” Audrey repeated, examining it up close. Mrs. Baker took the piece from her, then shook her head. “What a fine way to welcome you! Get you working right away! Well, at least let's get you some breakfast.”

“I'm not afraid of hard work, Mrs. Baker. I hope you'll keep me busy.”

Danny leaned against the kitchen wall, arms folded, and watched his two favourite women in the world as they got to know each other. This was going to be just fine, he thought. Just fine.

SEVENTEEN

On Sundays no one ever
did any work other than the mandatory cooking and cleaning up afterwards. So a couple of Sundays before their wedding, Danny took Audrey for a walk, carrying the paints and paper she'd begged him to bring. He wore his peg leg so it would be easier for him to wind through roots and grass along the same forest path he could have cut through blindfolded as a boy. She followed him down to a stream near Arnold's Lane, fed by Abbiecombec Lake, and he reached back to squeeze her hand when he spotted a doe standing knee-deep in the water. Audrey stood as still as the animal, looking delighted. Further on, a frog plopped into the water nearby, and Audrey jumped, startled, then dissolved into giggles. Danny stepped into the edge of the cool water and scooped up the creature. The little claws scrabbled inside Danny's hands when he trapped it, then he held it up so she could touch its soft, smooth skin.

The day couldn't have been more perfect. Sunshine burst through the leaves, dappling the water, and Audrey sighed with contentment.

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful, Danny?”

“Yeah, I have,” he told her, grinning. When she wrinkled her nose at him, he released the frog back into the water. “What?”

“Oh, please. Just look.”

Danny stared meaningfully at her, grinning. “I am.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue but changed her mind. Instead, she leaned in and kissed his lips, long and slow. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him.

He eventually let her go but felt vaguely empty in the moment they lost contact. “Shall we sit here for a bit?”

“Can I paint you?”

He grudgingly sat while she wove his likeness into their surroundings. He was getting more used to doing this for her lately, though it had been somewhat uncomfortable in the beginning. It gave him an opportunity to revel in the knowledge that she was studying him, concentrating on aspects of him that even he had probably never considered. She made him feel important.

“Where's that frog?” she teased. “We could put him on your head, and I'll paint you both.”

“I reckon he's out catching flies for his wife.”

“Which is what a good husband does. Did you bring any food?”

“I did.”

“Good. I'm hungry.”

Danny stretched. “Worked up an appetite looking over my fine physique, did you?”

She shook her head in mock horror. “You're terrible. What a tease.”

They had a light lunch then dug into an apple pie Mrs. Mitchell had brought over. When they were done, they sat quietly, watching the water, and Danny rested his head on her
shoulder, as if it was the most natural thing on earth. As if it belonged there.

“Amazing, isn't it? The way life turns out?” he mused.

Audrey smiled. Danny could see the subtle motion from the corner of his eye. She reached into her bag and took out one of the white squares of paper she used for painting, then held it in front of him.

“You see that?” Audrey asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Danny said, feeling lazy and nuzzling closer.

She flung the paper into the water, saying nothing.

“Hey! What you go and do that for?” He pulled his nose from the soft curve of her neck so he could watch the white square rotate with the current.

“When I was a little girl, my mother said our lives are like that. We're the paper, see?” She turned to see if he was watching, then gazed back at the water, satisfied. “And life is like this stream. We start out clean and white and perfect, and we float on top of the water. Some of us carry important words and thoughts, others just float. But life—the water—always wins in the end. No matter who we are, we'll only float until the river pulls us under, or until we rot from beneath and fall apart.”

Danny stared at the paper as it disappeared over a tiny rapid, bumping on rocks, spinning over the edge. Then he blinked at Audrey, saying nothing, thinking she was the smartest, most perfect human being in the world.

She leaned her head on his shoulder this time. Her voice was soft. “You know, Danny, I saw you fighting.”

He wanted to sit up straight, guard himself from the idea of war, but he didn't, because she was so obviously comfortable. And she had brought it up, so he was curious. “What? How could you have seen that?”

“From far away at night. Perhaps it wasn't you, but I thought of you just the same. The whole sky lit up. It was almost pretty from far away.” Her voice drifted with memory, soft and sad, and she reached for his hand. “Sometimes the noise was deafening.”

She exhaled, sounding resigned. He stroked the back of her knuckles with his thumb and rested his head on the soft pillow of her hair. They stared at the drifting water and its reflections, and Danny wished they could sit there forever. Somehow it was easier this way. If he could share the pain from the war with her, maybe he'd feel better about everything. And maybe it helped her as well.

“No matter how pretty it might be, I couldn't smile for it,” she said, then she lifted her head so they were face to face. Her eyes shone with tears. “I tried to see the beauty, but I cried every time. I prayed so hard, Danny. I prayed you were nowhere near where all that was happening. I wanted you to run away. Even if . . . even if I never saw you again, I wanted you to be safe. Far away.”

“I wouldn't have left you there.”

“Oh, I know. But I did wish for it in a way.” She wrapped her hands around his arm and snuggled closer. After a moment she sniffed then spoke again. “You know, I think perhaps my mother's story of the paper is a little wrong. The war was more like an entire box of paper thrown into the ocean during a storm. And all the paper is ruined at once.”

“Audrey?”

She sniffed again. “Yes?”

“You and I, we've lived through hell. But you're here now, with me, and I'm gonna take care of you. I think what we gotta do now is think about what's ahead of us, not behind. Sounds
easier than it is, but I think since we did this together, we can help each other.”

“I know. It's only—”

“Come here, my love.” He pulled her to him and kissed her, and he knew she felt the electricity buzz through them just as he did. “I can't do it without you.”