“Sure it is.”
“Well, you wouldn’t look that way if it wasn’t for me,” John said, his voice strained. “You shouldn’t have been down there when it blew up, and you wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t begged for a little more sleep that day. Your face is my fault.”
Jerry stopped. They’d never spoken about that day. Now everything Jerry had tried so hard to forget came rushing back: the blast of dirt and rock, the crack and roar of the world caving in, then a sudden, terrifying paralysis as he was buried alive and suffocating under a solid blackness. How long had it taken before John realized Jerry was trapped? How long to dig him out of the devastation before carrying him to the outside world? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had.
In truth, Jerry had been glad it was he who had been injured. He couldn’t have imagined seeing John hurt.
He looked John in the eye, making sure he understood. “Listen to me. The explosion did this, not you. You dug me out. That’s what matters.”
“I couldn’t have left you there,” John said. “You’re my little brother. I’ll always watch out for you. I just wish—”
“I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself, is what I wish. What’s done is done, and it’s nobody’s fault but the Germans. At least we still have each other.” He glanced over John’s shoulder at the Edgewater’s doors. “Willoughby can’t say that.”
“He’s saying a lot of other things though.”
“Don’t pay Willoughby any mind.”
Willoughby could be a jackass. Still, as much as Jerry despised him, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Jerry could live just fine with hisbattle scars as long as he had his brother by his side. Willoughby would never have that again.
Jerry patted his own face, wanting to shift the conversation. “Look, it’s better this way. Gives you a better chance with the ladies. I won’t be overshadowing you anymore.”
John gave him a cheeky smile. “The blast must have damaged your brain, Jerry. I’ve always been the handsome one.”
“Hey!” It was Charlie, waiting across the road with Walter. “We going for a drink or what?”
For a moment, the Bailey brothers held on, absolution and understanding solidifying between them. Then they turned and crossed the street toward their cousins.
“Where to next, Walter?” Jerry asked.
“Chappell House,” he declared, and the four of them piled into the Ford.
From the back seat, Walter directed them to their next stop, then to another, and another, and with each glass of whisky that Jerry drank, the dead faces from his past faded away. With them went the image of the lone grey stone in the cemetery, painted with a little red heart in the middle. For a little while, even the memory of John’s desperate grimace as he’d carried Jerry from the mud to the ambulance was washed away by the liquor. Maybe not forever, but for a little while at least.
tenADELE
— December 1919 —
The door to Butler’s General Store swung open just as Adele’s mitten reached for the doorknob, and a familiar face peered out.
“Why, Miss Savard. How lovely to see you. Come in out of the cold before you turn into a snowman.”
“Mr. Butler. It’s very good to see you.” Adele stepped into the warm shop and stomped her snow-covered boots on the mat. The fire burning in the stove, right in the centre of his store, smelled divine, and she slipped off her mitts to appreciate the warmth. She caught the scent of something fruity, and Mr. Butler nodded with efficiency.
“I’ll get you some mulled cider, shall I? It’s piping hot. I’d say it’s just what you need.”
“That would be lovely,” Adele said, holding up a list. “I need to pick up a few things for my mother.”
Mr. Butler passed her a cup and took her list in exchange, then he disappeared into the shelves. Breathing in the spicy apple steam, Adelegazed around her fondly, remembering. She and Maman had shopped at Butler’s for as long as she could remember, and it was nice to see that at least some things had remained the same in this new, livelier version of Windsor.
This morning she’d driven Guillaume’s truck into town, urged by her mother to get out of the house. What a liberating feeling, driving by herself! One of the orderlies in Belgium had taught her to drive in a rare moment of leisure, but this felt very different from puttering around the clearance station’s grounds. As she’d rolled down Pitt Street, she’d taken in the bright store windows, the taverns with their doors swinging wide open, and the sheer number of people along the sidewalks. It was all so different from the quiet, almost staid mood of the place before, and it reminded her of Marie’s warning. Before she’d gone away, she couldn’t remember hearing much more noise than the clanging of the streetcar bell. Now everything clanged, it seemed. It made her curious about what went on after sunset, when the blind pigs and speakeasies were in full swing.
As the cider warmed her hands, she thought about the two letters in her pocket. She’d just picked them up at the Windsor Post Office, one of the oldest structures in the city. The building boasted a beautiful fountain at the front door that was dedicated to the memory of Windsor heroes who had fallen in the Boer War. Heroes like her father.
One of the letters was from Marie, who had proven to be an enthusiastic writer, perhaps in an effort to make up for staying away. Adele had repeatedly assured her that all was well in quiet Petite Côte, but she didn’t seem likely to budge anytime soon. It broke Maman’s and Guillaume’s hearts, but they were resigned to accept her decision. Their girls were of equally stubborn stock, a fact they’d realized years before.
Marie’s missives were full of stories about Fred’s busy job, her own temperance work, and little Madeleine. Adele read closely, looking for signs that Marie might be unhappy, but all seemed well. Adele did her best to reply as regularly, but she’d had her ups and downs since returning home a few months ago, and sometimes it was difficult to pen a cheeryreply. She wasn’t about to confess to Marie that she had practically locked herself in her room for the first couple of weeks she’d been home, grappling with a sense of emptiness she didn’t understand.
She wanted to be home, didn’t she? She didn’t want to be in the war, risking her life every day and night, stinking of blood and worse, up at all hours to dig inside a man’s body.
