Tides of Honour (20 page)

TWENTY
-
NINE

The sunset happened at six-thirty,
but there was still enough light for the searchers. Bursts of orange rose through the pyres scattered around the city, turning homes and shops—and everyone inside them—to ashes. Voices were fainter now, further between. Many of the collapsed buildings held no more signs of life. Close to midnight, the exhausted searchers had to stop for the night.

And it began to snow.

It wouldn't have mattered what the outside temperature was, Danny was cold from the inside out. He had done what he could for his brother, storing his body safely until his family came to take Johnny home. God, how Danny wanted to join them. To go home and lose himself in the hard, uncomplicated life of a fisherman. He started walking to the Camp Hill Hospital, up near the Citadel, with hopes of finding a bed. Someplace out of the growing storm. But the crowds lined up outside the door were enough encouragement for him to move on. Others needed beds more urgently than he, and Danny had slept in much worse places. He went farther, over the crest of the hill where the devastation was somewhat less, though houses still burned, their walls buckled
like accordions, every window gone. Danny pulled his collar up to cover the back of his neck, as he had a hundred times that day. His stump was numb where it met the peg; it would be a fine mess when he finally sat down to inspect it. But he kept on, sure of his direction now. He headed south, trudging along the dark streets until he came upon the massive home of the Antoine family.

Compared to Richmond, the house seemed relatively untouched except all the windowpanes were gone. Danny climbed up the uneven stairs to the ornate double front door, depending on the precarious banister to keep him upright. When he reached the top, he saw one of the doors had been blown in and was blocking half the entry.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

No one answered. He tried to convince himself that, since it was after midnight, the family might just be sleeping. After a day like this, everyone needed sleep. But somehow he didn't think anyone was slumbering tonight. The real, live nightmare would keep them awake. Since he couldn't get past the broken door debris on one side, Danny tried the other door, and it eased open under light pressure, the latch barely hanging onto the frame. He poked his head inside.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Is anyone home?” Receiving no response, he stepped inside. The wind had blown snow through the window frames, forming drifts, leaving it just as cold inside as it was outside. The room should have been pitch-black, but the snowstorm lent an eerie grey light to everything in the house. It even caught on the glass crunching underfoot as he walked down the long, narrow corridor.

“Hello?” he called again, louder this time. “Is anyone here? Does anyone need help?”

He glanced around the remains of the family's living area, listening for sounds. He didn't see anyone but would have to look
closer. They could be trapped under any type of furniture. Earlier that day they had found a six-month baby girl curled up underneath her family's furnace, warm and hungry. If they hadn't had a dog sniffing around, they'd never have found her.

Danny took the steps slowly, bracing himself against the banister and wall to take some of the weight off his stump. The stairwell was lined with pictures of the family, and Danny recognized Audrey's handiwork. She was so talented, that woman he'd chased away and still loved with all his heart. Sadly, most of the canvasses had been torn by flying glass.

“Audrey?” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Audrey, are you here?”

The stairs creaked under him, and he moved more quickly in case they gave way. One by one he opened the doors along the hallway but saw no one moving within. He kept calling out, listening for a response, but all he heard was the groaning of the boards and the whistle of wind through shattered windows. He stepped up to the beds, the dressing tables, and saw no one. No children, no Audrey.

He got to the master bedroom and hesitated. The door was closed. What if the family was here, sleeping safe and sound? What kind of lout would wake up a family after a day like this? But Danny had to know. He unlatched the door and gave it a push.

“Hello?”

The door jammed, and he had to push against it, squeezing through the opening. A large armchair lay across the doorway, and he shoved the chair out of the way so he could push the door all the way open.

The Antoines had probably spent many hours staring out of their beautiful picture window, watching ships pass in and out of the port. They had a panoramic view of the entire area from this
spot, high on the hill. From what Danny could surmise, Mrs. Antoine had seen the fire, and she and three of her youngest children had gathered around the window for a closer look. Now her lifeless body sprawled over the edge of her bed beside two small ones, torn to shreds, frozen in place. In the middle of the room, and straight through a child's body, protruded a jagged metal plate from one of the ships.

No Pierre, no Audrey. Mrs. Antoine had been a large woman, and her body was cold and stiff. It took some effort for Danny to move her around so her head rested on the pillow. After that he lifted one child at a time and laid them on either side of their mother, making sure their sightless eyes were closed. He stood back a moment, staring at this little family of strangers. There was nothing more he could do.

Danny backed soundlessly out of the room. He knew from experience he would be of no use to anyone if he didn't at least try to sleep. He limped down the hall, clouds puffing into the cold air with every breath, and went into one of the other bedrooms. Once inside, he tore the blankets off the bed, then carried the bundle to a room at the back of the house. He spread them over a small child's bed he swept free of glass, then he tugged the carpet off the dark plank floor and managed to wedge it up so it blocked the window. The blizzard still raged, but he would be protected from some of it at least. The pillow dropped shards of glass on the floor when he shook it, and he patted it a few more times, just to be sure there weren't any splinters before putting it back on the bed and lowering himself onto the mattress. With a groan, he unstrapped the peg and grimaced at the bruising and blisters he hadn't had time to notice during the day. His stump pulsed now that it met the air, bringing blood back into circulation and making him aware of the injuries. Very carefully, he laid his head on
the pillow, trying to ignore everything but the softness of the mattress. The blankets were cold, but his body heat was soon trapped within, and he felt warm for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. He forced his mind to go blank. He had to sleep. Tomorrow he needed to find Audrey.

A few hours later, blinding light seeped around the edges of Danny's makeshift curtain. He squeezed his eyes against the onslaught, unwilling to leave the warm nest he had created, but these blankets were needed elsewhere. Danny shoved himself up so that he sat on the edge of the bed, and used the sheet to carefully clean what he could of his stump. At least it hadn't bled, and the bruising was worse than the blisters. That was good, because he didn't want to trouble anyone with his minor discomforts. He could deal with bruises. He hitched the peg onto his body, then stood and hobbled from room to room, folding all the blankets he could find. He tossed them over the banister along with armfuls of pillows, then he limped downstairs and wandered through the sitting room. As he had anticipated, he found no trace of Audrey or anyone else amid the wreckage of the Antoines' main room. Instead, he found an overturned dining room table, its polished mahogany legs sticking straight up as if it were a dead beast. After piling the blankets and pillows on top of it, Danny rolled one sheet into a thick rope and tied the ends to the table legs. He pushed the knots as low as they would go, then he tugged the entire makeshift sled out the front door, where he stood for a moment, transfixed.

The snow had come with a vengeance, but for now it had stopped. The sun beamed from a cloudless sky, reflecting off a perfect, glistening blanket of white. It was both a beautiful and
a horrible sight. The snow would have helped to extinguish fires. Then it would have frozen any remaining victims to death.

Would it be better to die trapped in a fire or frozen solid? Frozen, he decided. After all, he had gone to sleep often enough with his teeth chattering from the cold. Maybe those people had just fallen asleep and never woken up. That had to be better than hearing your own flesh sizzle and pop.

The outside door frame was still a bit too narrow for his sled, so Danny yanked on the damaged wood and pulled on the remaining door until it gave way, tearing open a wider hole. After all he'd seen, it still gave Danny a perverse moment of pleasure knowing he'd just ripped a hole in Antoine's beautiful house. It didn't bother him a bit that he was leaving with this valuable piece of furniture.

Still smiling, Danny angled the table through the doorway, then left the load on the front stoop and went back inside. The kitchen was typically chaotic. Glass, ceramic tile, knives—anything sharp had been hurled against the walls and ceiling, and most of it still poked out like the quills of a big, flat porcupine. Danny sorted through the pantry and the icebox, making himself a cold breakfast of ham and bread, which, ironically, had been sliced perfectly the morning before.

Afterwards, he loaded up everything he could find that might be of use and carried it to the sled. He very carefully slid the entire thing down the stairs, trudged through the mounds of snow, and stepped onto a path already cut on the road by those before him. With his makeshift wagon in tow, he headed back toward the worst-hit part of the city, grateful for Antoine's expensive tastes. The polished mahogany table slid smoothly over the snow, making the journey easier than it might have been with a lesser piece of furniture.

THIRTY

A discarded
Evening Mail
lay
in the snow, its frozen pages trembling stiffly in the breeze.

SCENES AT MORGUES AND HOSPITALS THAT BAFFLE DESCRIPTION

and lower down

TWO CHILDREN ESCAPED ORPHANAGE ALIVE

followed by lists of hundreds of names, either confirmed alive, found, missing, or dead. The paper mentioned a “List of Known Dead” at the undertakers at Snow's Mortuary. Danny tried very hard not to imagine Audrey's name on the list, but he would stop by there later to be sure.

An article lower down mentioned the stage, auditorium, galleries, and all rooms in the Academy of Music had sheltered hundreds of homeless. Camp Hill Hospital was overflowing with victims. Chebucto Road School was acting as a makeshift morgue, and bodies waited to be laid out on the floor. Help was said to be
rolling in by train from across Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Boston. A great population of relatives of the stricken were from Boston, so that city sent hundreds of doctors and nurses to relieve the exhausted workers who sagged by the cots.

Danny's next couple of days were spent uncovering survivors and helping stack the dead like cordwood beside the road. When he could stand no more, he went into the hospital and checked the name lists. Checked the living, checked the dead, but Audrey never appeared on any of the pages. So many people weren't listed. He wondered if they would ever find all the victims. He helped wherever he could. He got to know some of the slashed faces and missed them when they were gone—for whatever reason.

He was sitting by the bed of a young woman one morning, helping a doctor change bandages around her face, when his father walked in. Thomas and Lionel, Danny's next two brothers, were with him. Johnny filled Danny's mind, and he longed to rush to his father, but the doctor needed him a moment more. Danny kept his hands on his work and his eyes on his family.

Daniel Sr. and his two sons spoke to the woman at the front desk, who gestured to the wall where the lists were posted. Tension strung tight across his shoulders as he bent over the lists, which were pages and pages long. The brothers looked around with a sort of horrified curiosity, but they didn't see Danny.

Daniel Sr. was just finishing off the second page of “Known Living” when Danny came up behind them and touched his father's arm.

“Father,” he said quietly.

His father spun toward him, eyes huge. “Danny!” he cried. “Danny! Praise God! I—we—”

Thomas and Lionel were on Danny in an instant, and everyone was talking at once. All except Danny, who stood back and listened, dreading the inevitable question.

“Let's go outside,” he suggested eventually.

“Sure, sure,” his father said, lowering his voice. “This is hardly the place for a celebration, is it?”

The December air was cool and crisp, and the family had to shield their eyes from the brightness. But beneath the shimmering crystals of snow lay the frozen dead not yet discovered. Danny would never look at snow the same way again.

Standing in the remnants of a street, Daniel Sr. grabbed his eldest son's shoulders, then pulled him into an embrace. It was something Danny didn't remember ever having experienced before. He felt his father's hot breath against his ear, and he thought of home.

“Thank God, Danny. I thank him for saving you from all of this. Your mother, oh, she will be so relieved.”

Danny stepped back and met his father's eyes, heart heavy as stone. The joy in the older man's expression began to fade.

“Johnny didn't make it, Dad.”

A silence fell between them. A breath of disbelief, then reluctant acceptance. The younger brothers stared at Danny, then their father, then each other before their postures curled in on themselves.

Daniel Sr. cleared his throat. “Where is he?”

“I knew you'd come,” Danny said, fighting the urge to blurt out his sorrow. “He's by the docks. In a kind of storage area. It's the best I could do for him. I knew you'd take him home to be buried right.”

“But wasn't he with you?” Lionel asked, chin wobbling madly. “How come he—”

“There was nothing I could do, Lionel.” Danny choked on the lump in his throat and looked into his father's agonized face. “It was quick. I don't think he felt a thing.”

“Where's Audrey?” Thomas asked.

The question had been looming, but it still took Danny by surprise. A hand gripped his heart and twisted. “I don't know. Truth is I have no idea where she is.”

Thomas frowned. “You haven't seen her? Wasn't she with you?”

“No. I was at work. So was she. We worked in separate parts of the city.”

“But how can you not—” Thomas tried again.

“I went to the house where she worked. I slept there, waited for her. But she never came back. And the house where she and I lived is nothing but ash now.”

“But—”

Danny felt frustration rise up his throat, tasting like bile. His words lashed out. “Tommy, if I knew where she was, I'd tell you. She'd be with me right now, I promise you that. But I haven't a clue. There are a lot of people unaccounted for around here.”

Thomas blanched then looked away. Lionel nudged him, and the boys wandered off, gawking in silent awe at the apocalyptic scene around them.

“It's all right, son,” Daniel Sr. said. “You'll find her.”

Danny's chest felt tight, like his throat, as if his body just couldn't contain another moment of agony. It would be a lie if he didn't tell his father the truth.

“If she died, it was my fault,” he said quietly.

“No, no,” his father assured him. “There's nothing you could have done. She wasn't even with you.”

He nodded grimly. “But it was my fault she wasn't with me. You see, we'd had a fight. A big one. And she left me.”

Daniel Sr. didn't speak. He frowned at Danny, angling his head slightly.

“Moving here was a mistake, Dad. She and I, we weren't meant to live here. We hated it. And Johnny and I, well, we
started getting into the liquor pretty bad.” His father dropped his chin, but Danny kept on. “She tried to get me to stop. She—” His breath caught on an unexpected sob, and he coughed, clearing it. His gaze went out to the sea and his view was blurred by tears. “I wouldn't listen. I got worse. I didn't like that she was doing so well, you know? That she was making a new life here, even though that's what we'd both wanted. She came home the night before the explosion and we had a fight and I . . . I hit her.”

He heard the sharp intake of breath beside him and knew he deserved it. That and worse.

A tear rolled down Danny's cheek, and he rubbed it off with the back of his knuckles. “Ever since then she's all I think about. I would give my life to have her with me, to show her how wrong I was. She put up with so much . . .” His heart squeezed again, and he forced the words through his aching throat. “She was the best thing about my life, and I threw her away. So yeah. If she died, it's my fault. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise.”

“Nothing?” his father asked quietly.

Danny shook his head.

“What if you find her, Danny, and she forgives you? Will you let it go then?”

“She can't forgive me.”

Daniel Sr.'s hand curved over Danny's shoulder. “That's true. She can't—unless you forgive yourself first.”

“Then she never will. Because I can't ever forgive myself for what I did to her.” He shook his head again and looked in his father's eyes. “She was right. She said I took everything pretty and made it ugly. And I know I did. I couldn't stop myself. I'm not worth forgiving. She can't forgive me.”

A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his father's mouth. “Of course she can, son. That's what love is.”

How Danny ached to believe that. He dreamed of seeing the laughter in her eyes again, twinkling just for him. But the way he saw it, that would be like paying a man for failing at his job.

“I'll take you to Johnny,” Danny said. “Watch your step, okay? It's mostly the glass you have to watch out for. It's better now than it was—much better—but it's still not too safe.”

Daniel Sr. had his sons unload the wagon, filled with donations of blankets, pillows, and enough bread to feed an army, and they carried everything inside. Danny had the presence of mind to grab one sheet from his father's wagon before the family climbed back on, though. He had tidied up what he could of his brother's face, but Johnny's coat had been whipped away by the blast, as had his hat and one boot, so Danny hadn't been able to use anything for a shroud. Any other blankets or sheets had been required by the wounded.

Daniel Sr. clicked his tongue to the horse, and they headed down the slope to the docks, following Danny's directions to what was left of the shed where he'd left Johnny. When they arrived, Danny bundled the sheet under his arm, then hesitated only a moment before he opened the door. Johnny lay as he'd left him, his body preserved by the December storm. Danny tucked the sheet around his brother's body and face, and no one said a word as they loaded the cold weight onto the wagon bed.

“I'll come back once he's buried,” Daniel Sr. said, swallowing hard and blinking back tears. He needed to be strong for his family. “They'll need help here.”

Danny nodded, then lowered his chin to his chest and shook his head sadly. “Folk sure could use your kind of sermon around here. Seems a lot of them are wondering exactly where God was a few days ago.”

Daniel Sr. nodded, looking out over the flattened city. “I wondered that same thing myself,” he said quietly. “I'm still waiting
for the answer. But it will come, son. It will come. Should the boys stay?”

“No, sir,” Danny said. “I mean yes, but there's no place for anyone to sleep. We're building homes, but mostly people are living in burnt-out shops. I know of one family living in an empty meat locker. People are tucking in wherever they can find room. Once things are a little more under control out here, I'll send for them, all right?” He gestured toward the blankets. “These are sorely needed, though. Maybe when you get home, you could tell the women along the shore there will never be enough quilts and pillows for all the people here.”

“You're not coming, then?”

Danny shook his head. “I said a proper goodbye to Johnny. He knows I did. I can't leave here, though. I'm in the middle of it all.”

His father regarded him quietly, his gaze sharp now that the younger boys were out of hearing. “Are you okay, son?”

“As good as can be expected, sir.”

He hesitated only a moment. “I can see you're healthy, and I thank the Lord for that mercy. But you have lived through so much, Danny. How is your mind? Your heart?”

Danny felt his body go weak. He wished so badly he could be a little boy again, that he could weep and wail and admit his pain. He wanted to scream how every nerve of his being was on fire, but he was numb; he couldn't feel anything anymore. His body felt dead. His thoughts felt empty. His heart was in mourning for his brother, for the city, and for the wife he feared he might never find. And beyond everything lurked the haunting emptiness left by the war.

“I'll be fine, sir,” he said.

“You haven't had time to heal, son. With everything that happened overseas and now this . . . I fear for you. For your soul.”

Danny looked past his father, stared out at the ocean, twinkling under the cold December sun. The broken hulls of ships poked through in spots, and he wondered when they'd get around to pulling them out. It'd have to be soon. The harbour had to get back to work. The world didn't stop turning just because Halifax suffered.

“I did what I had to do,” he muttered, still not looking at his father. The weight of all that, of the misery and anguish he'd survived, seemed almost to close over him in that moment, to pull him under, but Danny shoved himself back to the surface. “People here needed me, and I guess the army needed me over there. I'm a man, and a man does what he has to do. You taught me that, sir.”

He felt his father's gaze, watching Danny's profile as he spoke, and he wondered what that was like, seeing the boy he'd raised become a man. What was his father thinking? Was he disappointed? Was he proud? Did he even know how he felt?

Daniel Sr. took a deep breath. “I'm sorry you were over there, Danny, and I'm sorry you had to be a part of this too. Breaks my heart every time I think of how you must have suffered. But I have to tell you something. For me—” He hesitated. “I guess it's even worse remembering what you said to me that day back home, that day when we were working on the new boat. Do you recall what you said?”

That conversation was kind of foggy in his mind, if Danny were to be honest. He remembered being there, remembered that they'd talked, but not much else. He'd been pretty angry, he recalled. Hadn't given his father much of his time.

“You said you wanted me to know that if you hadn't been hurt over there, you'd still have been there. You said it like . . . like I thought you were a coward.”

Now he remembered, and he felt a little sick at the memory.
He'd been awfully harsh, fresh from the muck, grovelling in self-pity, and he'd lashed out, wanting his father to suffer just as he was. Danny looked down at the snow by his shoe, ashamed. “I didn't know what I was saying, Dad. I'm sorry about that.”

His father shook his head. “Son, that was the hardest thing I ever heard, that you thought I was thinking that way about you. Don't you ever think I'm not proud of you, son.” He blinked quickly and cleared his throat. Danny looked at him, his throat tightening. “Don't you
ever
. I'm prouder of you than I am of anything else in my life. But son,” he said. He put his hand on Danny's shoulder and squeezed. “You need to understand something. I was proud of you even before you went. You're a good man, Danny. Always have been.”