Tides of Honour (12 page)

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

“Hello, Danny.” She turned toward him, and he leaned in for a kiss. He smelled like cigarettes, which she didn't really like, but she didn't say anything. The kiss was all she needed.

“What you working on?” he asked. “You've been busy most of the day with that.”

“Your mother asked me to paint this for the McWhiddens. It's a surprise. What do you think?”

He leaned over her shoulder, his eyes scanning the characters on the paper. He let his attention dwell on each individual separately, then he shook his head. Her heart sank.

“What?” she asked, concerned. “It's only just starting out, but I think—”

“I just don't know how you do that,” he said, and just like that she was happy again. “I could tell it was the McWhiddens from miles away. You're so good at that. I'm the luckiest man in the world to have such a talented wife.”

She set her forehead against his. “I was just thinking how lucky I was to have you.”

“Nah. You could have been much luckier. Found yourself a rich man with two legs, for starters.”

“I suppose,” she said, squinting at the picture and dabbing a smudge of peridot in one corner. She reached for a rag and cleaned the brush before touching another colour on the palette. “But then I wouldn't have been happy.”

He snorted and kissed her neck. “You're crazy. Comin' for supper?”

“Yes. I think—” Another swipe of olive, a flourish in a background tree. “I'm done for now. We can leave it here to dry in the breeze.”

The painting was presented exactly six weeks later when the McWhiddens returned for Georgina's birthday celebration. Danny
had set it inside a strong oak frame, and he presented it with great ceremony after supper while Audrey sat back, beside herself with nerves. The children made sounds of interest, then came in close to figure out who was who. Mr. McWhidden leaned over their heads, nodding and saying what fine likenesses they were.

Georgina McWhidden, was—as Mrs. Baker had hoped—entirely moved by the gift. Her hand fluttered weakly at her face, and Audrey saw tears shine in the woman's eyes.

“Oh, Audrey,” she said, her voice a little ragged. “This is the most beautiful gift. I can't accept such a wonderful thing, can I? It seems . . . too much. I've never seen anything like it.” She turned to Mrs. Baker, who beamed with pride. “You know, we took the family to a photographer in Halifax last year. That was really quite an ordeal, having to sit so still for a very long time. Think of that, with all these children! But the photograph is, obviously, in black and white. This is a thousand times prettier. And we didn't have to sit still, even. Oh, it's so artistic! How ever did you manage it?”

Audrey smiled, relieved to the soles of her feet. This had been, beyond any doubt, the most labour-intensive thing she'd ever done, but she'd enjoyed the process immensely. “You have a beautiful family, Mrs. McWhidden. It was easy to paint them so.”

Georgina McWhidden pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Her husband, having stepped away until he stood behind her, laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “There, there,” he said.

The McWhiddens said they planned to hang the picture in their front hall, so anyone coming to visit would see it there. Mrs. Baker had told Audrey what a well-to-do house they had, with their velvet wallpaper and dark oak banisters leading up to a second storey, and they even had one of those newfangled iceboxes—inside the house! Audrey loved to imagine her picture there, at home among those beautiful things.

TWENTY

A note came the next
week, delivered by a boy Audrey didn't recognize. Incredibly, the missive was from Madame Eleanor Hartlin of the nearby Hartlin Settlement. Eleanor was the grande dame of the area, descended from some of the original settlers from England, and she reportedly lived her life as if she lived in an English castle, surrounded by doting family and only the finest of things. She must have been closing in on a hundred years, Audrey had been told. She had given birth to sixteen children, fourteen of which had survived. And those fourteen had gone on to multiply like rabbits, prompting houses to pop up all around the area.

Danny's mother was wide-eyed when the note arrived. “What could it be? A note from Mrs. Hartlin? Why, that's unheard of! Open it quickly, Audrey. I'm fading away with curiosity.”

Audrey pulled out a piece of white paper on which neat—though a little shaky—black letters were inked.

My dear Mrs. Daniel Baker Jr.,

I am in acquaintance with the portrait you recently painted of Mrs. Georgina McWhidden and her family. It is an exceptionally
handsome painting and you are to be commended on your considerable talent.

I should like to commission you to come to my home and paint my likeness. I shall not reside on this earth forever, and I enjoy the idea of my portrait hanging over the family hearth as a reminder after I am gone.

I shall pay you three dollars and fifty cents if I am satisfied with your work.

Please respond by sending a note through this messenger, my great-grandson, Nolan Hartlin.

With sincere thoughts,

Madame Eleanor Hartlin

Audrey and Mrs. Baker exchanged a look of absolute shock.

“Three dollars and fifty cents?” they exclaimed together. Both women snapped their jaws shut, but their eyes were round with amazement.

“She must not mean that,” Audrey said, shaking her head and reading over the note again. “That much for one painting? I can't—”

“You sure can, love!” Mrs. Baker practically jumped up and down with excitement. “This is wonderful! Soon people from all over are going to be asking for their portraits to be done. You and Danny will be set for life if people keep hiring you! Go tell Danny. He'll be thrilled. Congratulations, Audrey!”

Audrey found Danny in the shed with Johnny, sharpening saw blades. The two didn't seem to talk much—or if they did, Audrey rarely heard their conversations—but they seemed content just to be together.

“Danny?” she called into the shed.

“Oh, hey, Audrey,” Danny said, smiling out of the shadows.

“Could I speak with you?”

“Of course. Here, Johnny. You finish this one, and I'll be back to help with the other one.” He grabbed his crutch and hopped toward her. “You are looking even lovelier than usual, wife of mine. What has you lit up like a Christmas tree?”

“Oh, Danny. The most exciting thing has happened.”

She told him about Mrs. Hartlin and her proposal, and of his mother's dreams for future commissions. Danny frowned while she talked, nodding but not interrupting.

“So? What do you think?” she asked.

“What do I think? Well, what else can I think? I'm proud of you.”

His smile lacked enthusiasm, and some of the wind escaped her sails. That wasn't the reaction for which she'd been hoping. “What is it?” she asked.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

He sat on a stump beside her and stared out at the water. Audrey watched his profile, wondering—as she so often did—what he was thinking. More and more lately he seemed to drift from her, his thoughts going to a private place where she wasn't invited. It hurt. She couldn't deny that. But she had to give him room, she knew. He had a lot of recovering to do, a lot of memories to get past. She'd heard of that, of soldiers falling apart, unable to handle the postwar world. Some of them even ended up in insane asylums, she'd heard. Not that Danny was anywhere near that bad. It's just that, well, lately she had started to miss the warmth of his eyes more and more.

“I don't need to say yes if you think—”

He turned his head quickly. “I never said that,” he snapped. She blinked at his unexpected tone, then Danny clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, his voice back to normal. “No, no, Audrey. I think it's fantastic, you painting and all. Folks
should
pay you. You're great at it.”

“Then . . .” She looked away from him, letting her gaze go toward the sea as he had. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head, then dropped his stare to the grass. “No, really. It's great. It's only . . . the thing is, I'd feel better if you didn't have to work.”

It was worse than she'd thought. When their eyes met, she saw hurt swimming in the depths of his that she hadn't seen before, and she suddenly understood why. It had been hard enough on his ego that she'd paid for her own passage to Canada. She knew he, as a man, wanted to be the valiant knight and whisk her across the sea all on his own, but reality had stepped in. The tragedy of his loss was one part of that reality, but the other was her job. She was aware some people were uncomfortable at the idea that she'd even had a job, but because of it, she'd been able to afford coming to Canada. She'd wanted to help—but the truth was a man like Danny didn't want help. Especially with money. He'd been forced to swallow his pride once already, and she knew it had carried a bitter taste.

Danny went out fishing sometimes, hauling lobster traps when the sea was calm enough that his precarious state of balance wasn't constantly threatened. He could manage some fur trapping if he didn't have to stray too far into the dense bush. He could hunt, but not much. He'd mostly given up on his wooden leg, finding it cumbersome and uncomfortable, since its edges chafed the tender pink skin of his scars. And when he walked in the woods, his crutch caught on protruding roots, catching him off guard so he stumbled. He was frustrated and embarrassed and becoming more bitter by the day.

Working with wood seemed to help. Danny had perfected the technique of making picture frames, then gone on to build a new boat, with Johnny and the other boys as assistants. He often spent all day by the dock, sanding, painting, hammering. He even sold a small boat to a neighbour. When his hands were busy, Danny
was happy. Sometimes Audrey sat with him, talking or painting or saying nothing at all. But occasionally he went out by himself and she left him alone, seeing the shadows loom behind his eyes. In those times she knew his mind had travelled back and landed in France. She tried comforting him during those dark hours, but he became someone she almost didn't know. He turned from her, abrupt and cruel, his handsome face twisted with bitterness. If he spoke a word during those times, it was cold and impersonal.

Since she'd arrived, they'd looked after each other, making do as equals. The possibility of her making money tipped the scale.

Audrey wasn't sure what to do. The truth was they could use the income.

“Danny?”

He looked up at her, and she saw the wound tearing through his spirit. She bled for him, wishing she could take his pain. The one thing she absolutely could not do was show him even a blink of pity. He would hate her for that.

“I'm going to go and help your mother with the washing-up. Would you like something to drink?”

He shook his head but offered the semblance of a smile. She took it and walked away. Mrs. Baker was waiting for her inside the house, and together the two women composed a letter of acceptance to Mrs. Hartlin.

A candle lit their room, flickering as the wind cut through tiny holes in the wall. Audrey had never known such gales in her entire life. This land seemed ruled by the wind. Some nights it shrieked against the wall so their bed shook, and she buried her face in her pillow, trying to prepare herself for the moment when the place blew down on their heads. Danny assured her they were safe, that
the house had stood for decades through much worse than this. But that wind sometimes screamed in the worst way, sounding like a cross between the gulls that circled overhead most days and the terrified screams of children.

It howled again tonight, and she huddled under the blankets, waiting for Danny. The tone of the voices in the kitchen was subdued now that the children had gone to bed. She heard Mrs. Baker laugh once, but it was brief. Daniel Sr.'s voice rumbled, but she couldn't make out what he said. Then she heard Danny say good night and shuffle down the hall toward her.
Thump step thump step.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Danny stepped in. She had cut his hair the day before, and now one side stuck straight up. He had evidently been out in the wind. She watched him get ready, brushing his teeth, then sitting on the bed so he could peel off his shirt and trousers, pulling on the wool pyjamas she had sewn him for his birthday.

Sometimes, watching the lean lines of him lit by the hope of one candle, she remembered how strong he had been. She remembered him as a soldier, young and unharmed and crazy about her. Even after he lost his leg he had been a beautiful man, one she loved to touch and paint. Lately, though, sadness drained his body. It made him much older than he really was.

She didn't say anything as he slid under the blankets. They lay in bed, and she felt all alone, staring up in the dark.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

She turned her head on the pillow, surprised. His eyes still gazed at the ceiling. “What for?”

“For being rotten to you. I'm not myself these days. You know what? We sure do need the money. I'd be a fool to ask you not to do this. It's more money than I could ever make. It's just that, well . . .” He took a deep breath and set his chin as emotions surfaced. Audrey held back, knowing he needed to do this on his
own. If she touched him he might stop. “I had such big dreams, you know? Before all this happened I could have—”

He stopped talking, and she felt his shoulder press against hers when he swallowed.

“You mustn't give up, Danny. I love you, and I'll do whatever you ask of me, but I can't stand seeing you like this. Where is the light in your eyes? Where's the smile that made me want to kiss you from the first moment I saw you?”

He didn't say anything.

“We'll think of something you can do, Danny. You just need to feel proud of yourself again.”

He rolled onto his side and cupped his fingers under her chin so she couldn't look away. Not that she would have. She craved these kinds of conversations. She needed his voice, his words.

“You know, you are the best thing in my life, Audrey. You make me see things the way I should see them. I just have so many things in my head lately about how I'm letting you down. How I let everyone down. Everything has changed. Everything is so much harder than it was supposed to be.”

“I'll always be here to help you,” she promised. “Always.”

He leaned toward her, and she met him halfway, kissing him gently until she felt the strength build between them. His hands slid the length of her body, his fingers strong on the places he'd come to know. He was hungry, and she fed him. She leaned into him, the trusting curl of her body showing him he was all the man he ever needed to be.

In the morning, Audrey got up to visit the outhouse then returned quietly to their room, not letting the door squeak. He was awake though, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling's wooden beams.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, sounding groggy. He stretched his arms over his head. “Sleep well?”

She wrinkled her nose and blushed. “You know I did.”

Audrey crossed the room and drew open the curtains, letting the sun stream into the room. He'd taken out her braid the night before, and now her curls tickled down her back, reaching for her waist. She wore a cotton nightdress, and she knew he could see the line of her body through its thin material, but it didn't matter. It gave him pleasure to see her body, and all she wanted was for him to be happy. He smiled when she turned toward him, but when he stretched out a hand, she shook her head.