Tides of Honour Page 5

  But as the wagon creaked along beside the marching men, she felt a surge of hope. She smiled simply because she couldn’t help herself. Now that Baker had appeared, she had a new muse.

  She wanted to talk with the soldiers—with Baker, really. And the more she thought, the more she became aware that it was something greater than a want. It was a need. She glanced quickly over and saw him talking with the man beside him, a shorter, darker fellow. They both were laughing at whatever Baker had said, but their expressions were light, happy. She stared straight ahead again, enjoying the give and take of his voice. When she looked again, Baker’s smile was for her, so she gave him one as well. All she wanted was for this damn horse to get moving, so she could find some excuse to speak with him.

  It felt like hours before they arrived at their beaten-down house. Once it had been a bright, quick building, buzzing with efficiency and prosperity. But after her grandpère had died, and all the workers had gone off to join the army, the place had fallen apart with only the two of them left. For a while some of the villagers had stopped in to help, but Céleste and her anger had worn them down. They stopped coming, stopped caring. All that was left now for Céleste and Audrey was the old horse, a couple of stupid goats who ate anything and everything they could see—including Audrey’s paper and pencils—and a healthy flock of talkative chickens. Other than that, the place felt as dead as the flat, ugly fields that stretched for miles all around.

  Clouds slid in and the wind rose, tasting of rain. Ignoring Céleste’s warning glare, Audrey stopped outside the barn and hopped off the wagon’s bench, landing lightly on her worn brown boots.

  “This way,” she said. She led the soldiers under the overhang that extended outside the barn’s door, then through the splintering door frame. Céleste never came into the barn anymore. She hadn’t spent much time there before, but now there was no cause for her to visit at all. So the barn was Audrey’s, and she shared it with the cats and birds, the horse and goats. She kept her art and her hoarded supplies in a back corner of the building, sheltering it from her grandmère’s disapproval, keeping it from being offended. Audrey’s art was a private, delicate entity, an expression of lines, shades, and colours that came from somewhere she never shared. The colours came from nature, the paper came from generous salesmen who felt they could part with scraps, the brushes she’d made herself from twigs, straw, animal hair . . . even her own fingers and hair when she needed a specific texture. Céleste had no right casting a shadow over any of it.

  “Shoo,” she said, waving away the black and white cat always prowling the entry. The tom was skittish and missing half an ear, and he was the only cat uninterested in her touch. She didn’t mind. It only made sense that, like her, the cats had their own lives to lead. They didn’t necessarily want her involved. She understood that. She understood only too well.

  The cat fled and a couple of doves panicked, flapping up to a higher rafter to better observe the battalion’s arrival. The wind pushed against the wall, making the place tremble, but when Audrey checked, the soldiers didn’t seem bothered by it. Nor did they appear to notice the somewhat stale smell. To them it must have seemed a welcome shelter. They climbed the ladder to the loft, dropped their packs, and settled in.

  “I thank you,” Captain Johnston said. “We shall be invisible to you, I promise. Now don’t let us keep you.”

  “Nonsense,” Audrey said, suddenly afraid of being dismissed. She glanced at Baker, but he was busy with the dark-haired soldier. “I shall put some food together for you.”

  “Oh, there’s no need. We have our supplies—”

  “It’s easily done, sir.” She dipped the smallest of curtsies, flushed with a new sense of purpose. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

  Baker glanced up as she left, and this time she pretended not to notice.

  The sky swirled in layers, looking impatient, and Audrey hurried to the house, determined to find something in their meagre stock. Eggs were always plentiful. Sausage, well, no. There was barely enough for Céleste and her. But she had made bread the day before, having planned to deliver a couple of loaves to the neighbouring farm, and she had made jam the week before that, so the soldiers would receive an evening breakfast.

  From her corner, a silently furious Céleste watched her work.

  “I must feed them,” Audrey explained.

  “Nous n’avons pas assez,” her grandmère objected.

  “We have enough.”

  “Non.”

  The eggs, scrambled with goat’s milk for volume, hissed as she stirred. She left them and got to work on the bread, cutting it into thin slices and spreading a hint of butter over each piece.

  “Yes.”

  Her tray stacked high, Audrey kicked open the door, then paused, ducking her head against a moist gust of wind. The cloth she’d used to cover the food flapped up, covering her face, then dropped. She held it down with her chin, then walked as quickly as she could to the barn and knocked on the door with one elbow. It creaked open, and the captain was quick to help, taking the tray and setting it on a wooden bench nearby. The soldiers used bowls from their own packs, and every one of them thanked Audrey as they turned from the ad hoc table. She smiled at each, saying they were most welcome. Baker came last, and at first she was disappointed that she’d had to wait. But when he served himself, then lingered beside her to talk, she understood. He got the least amount of food, and he’d done that on purpose, sacrificing the meal so he could spend time with her.

  “This is very kind of you, miss,” he said shyly.

  She beamed. “Not at all, sir.” He looked a little awkward, as if he weren’t sure whether to talk or eat. She flapped her hand gently toward his bowl. “Please eat before the eggs get too cold.”

  He took a bite and chewed slowly, even closed his eyes briefly. He liked it, she could see. Warmth rose in her chest. “Nothing special,” she said. “I imagine you get eggs all the time.”

  “No . . . well, yes, but these are delicious.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Baker.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Private Daniel Baker,” he said, then grinned sheepishly. He held out one tentative hand and she took it. It was warm, despite the chill in the barn. “I’m Danny.”

  “I’m Audrey.”

  “So good to meet you, Audrey.”

  She viewed him through the eyes of an artist, taking in every tiny dot in his cobalt blue eyes. Her gaze explored the splayed lines at the corners of those eyes, every one of them crusted with filth from the march. His strong chin and lean cheeks were dark with a few days’ growth of beard, and now that his cap was off she was able to admire the gentle wave in his dirty brown hair. Her hand ached to paint its lines in a deep, warm sepia.

  His gaze suddenly dropped to the floor, and she blinked, mortified. She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring. What must he think of her? But when he looked up again, he was smiling, and she saw some of her own embarrassment reflected in his handsome face.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “I guess . . . I guess I was staring. It’s just . . .” His voice faded while he searched for some kind of explanation.

  Audrey saved him the trouble. “Where do you go after this?”

  “I have no idea,” he told her. “They’ll probably send us back up front. They seem to like sticking the Canadians up front.”

  That explained the accent, she thought, regarding him with fresh eyes. This Danny wasn’t just a handsome man, he was some kind of exotic species. “Canadian? I’ve never met a Canadian before.”

  “Oh, yeah. See? See this maple leaf?” he asked, fingering a small pin on his collar. She saw the leaf, noticed that it looked well-worn, but mostly she focused on the broken nails of his strong fingers, on the angles of his knuckles and the way he handled
the pin with a kind of tenderness. Pride, she assumed. Something about that gave her a small thrill. “That’s Canada’s emblem. Our uniforms are pretty much like the Brits’, but those pins are ours. Oh, and we have our own pipers. You know, bagpipes?”

  “Really? Why? You aren’t from Scotland.”

  “Well, see,” he said, “I’m in the Twenty-fifth Battalion, which is the boys from Nova Scotia. And a lot of our folks back home are Scottish, only they live in Canada now. Anyway, the pipes are kind of a symbol of that.”

  She raised an eyebrow, fascinated, which encouraged him to go on. “Yeah, and the pipers wear kilts. They sound fantastic when the guns are going.”

  “Do you hear the guns a lot, then?”

  He nodded, then looked to the side. She understood. He didn’t want to talk about that. But now she was afraid. Had she said the wrong thing? Had she ruined this?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Did you grow up here?” he asked, saving her this time.

  “No. I’ve been here about ten years. I grew up outside London, but when my mother died, I came to live with my grandmère. I have no brothers or sisters, just my cousin Laurent, and he’s in the army. I haven’t heard from him in a long time.” She hesitated, then looked at Danny, searching. Simply because he wore a uniform, Danny was the closest she’d come to Laurent in a while. “I think about my cousin and I feel utterly helpless. I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Is it really so bad?”

  “Yeah. It is,” he told her.

  They stood in silence, but Audrey didn’t think it was awkward anymore. “Have you seen nothing good out there?” she wanted to know. “Nothing at all?”

  “Not much,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. He sighed. “I miss the sea. I miss the quiet. Once in a while there’ll be a pretty sunrise or sunset out here, but that’s just about it.” He smiled and gave a little shrug. “Of course, there sure are some pretty ladies out here.”

  “Are there?” she asked, smiling with him.

  “Well, really only one,” he admitted, and she watched all the blood rush to his face. Seeing that made her blush. Then it was slightly awkward, but it also carried a new, thrilling edge. She stepped to retrieve the tray she’d carried out, unsure of whether she wanted to flee or stay, but Danny stopped her by putting a hand on her arm. The warmth of his touch made her dizzy.

  “Let me carry that for you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, letting him take it. “I just need to take it back to the house.” Of course she didn’t need to do anything in that moment, but this gave her a perfect opportunity to lead him away from the others, and she grabbed onto that chance with both hands. “It’s starting to rain, so we may have to run.”

  “I can run,” he said, curling one corner of his mouth. “Let’s go.”

  SIX

  The rain was starting off slow, but she could sense a deluge coming. When they got to the door of the house, she stopped him with an apologetic smile and one hand in his arm. She didn’t want him going inside. She couldn’t imagine showing him where she lived. And the idea of letting her grandmère see him there, well, it just wasn’t worth the battle.

  “I’ll be just a second. Wait here, will you?”

  When she ran inside, Céleste was sitting at the kitchen table, glaring at her. “Send him back to the barn,” she hissed in French.

  “I won’t. He just helped me carry this, and he’s waiting outside. He’ll go back to the barn when he’s ready to go.”

  “You are acting like a whore.”

  Audrey slammed the tray down, shocked. “Grandmère! Have you lost your mind for good this time?”

  “Shame on you. Every Sunday the priest speaks of the sins of the flesh, and I know he is talking about you. You and your mother.”

  God, give me strength! “The priest doesn’t talk about anyone in particular, you know that. And I have not sinned!”

  “The Lord calls you a sinner!”

  “Ah!” Audrey threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “I am no sinner. Just because I want to speak with another person does not mean I am acting like a whore. How can you be so cruel? How can you speak to me that way? I am your granddaughter!”

  The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Because you are like your mother.”

  Audrey closed her eyes, prayed for patience. It would be easy to fly off the handle, and it would serve the old woman right, but right now all she wanted was to escape. To be with Danny.

  “My mother was no whore,” she said through her teeth. “She was a beautiful, happy, exciting woman who loved life. Do you know what I want, Grandmère? I want to enjoy my life. And that is precisely why I am leaving right now. So I can speak with a normal human being, not waste my time with a mean old witch.”

  The old woman spat more words meant to injure her, but Audrey didn’t stop moving. She was out the door and smiling prettily at Danny as soon as she could get there. They were walking back toward the barn when the heavens opened. Danny ducked and turned toward the barn door, but she grabbed his forearm and tugged him in the other direction.

  “This way,” she said, and he followed her as she sprinted to the firewood shelter behind the house. The stack was low; they’d have to chop more firewood before the autumn winds closed in. For now it provided room to sit and wait out the rain pelting the walls.

  “I know it’s loud,” she said, raising her voice over the din. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Danny shook his head, sitting beside her on the log pile. Not close enough to touch, but nearly. “Not at all.”

  She shrugged, searching for an explanation for why she’d led him there. “It would be even louder in the barn.”

  There wasn’t much he could say to that, and they stared at each other wearing matching masks of shyness. Had coming here been a mistake? Could she save the moment, think of something to say? Anything at all? A question. I should ask a question.

  “Tell me about Canada,” she blurted. “Is it always cold?”

  He smiled, melting something in her chest. For the next half-hour they sat and talked, slowly at first, then picking up momentum, learning to laugh together as the rain eased. When the storm dwindled to uneven beats on the roof, their words slowed as well. The day had passed with the clouds, so it was becoming almost too dark to see each other. She wished she had brought a lantern, but she’d been in too much of a hurry to plan ahead.

  With a sigh, he stood and faced her. “Thank you for letting us stay here tonight,” he said.

  She panicked. It sounded like goodbye. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “Audrey?”

  He hadn’t said her name throughout the conversation, and she loved hearing it now, hearing the simple syllables roll so easily off his tongue in his soft Canadian accent. His gaze made her nervous and brave all at once. She cocked her head to one side, waiting.

  “I didn’t mean to be forward earlier, saying you’re pretty and all, but—”

  “Oh, you were just being kind,” she said, daring him to say more.

  “I wasn’t!” Then he grinned, lifting one wry eyebrow. “Kind isn’t the right word. Honest is more like it. Truth is, you’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen. And I wish—” She bit her lip—hoping, hoping—and he went on. “I was wondering if you had a picture I might have of you. So I can see something pretty every day.”

  She had no idea why tears rushed to her eyes in that moment, but she blinked them away. “Oh, Danny. That is so sweet.” She glanced at the log beside her, then back up again, remembering. It had taken forever, but she’d drawn her own self-portrait a few months back, just needing something to occupy her mind. She’d stared in that small, broken mirror for hours, memorizing the freckles and curves she knew intrinsically, then translated everything to the paper. She rarely even looked at it now, but it had been a great accomplishment for her at the tim
e. Could she give it to this stranger? Of course she could. Besides, this was no stranger. Not really. “Yes, I have a picture. I’ll give it to you in the morning.”

  It seemed as natural as the wind for him to lean in at that moment and kiss her lips. She didn’t resist, didn’t move away.

  “Sleep well, Audrey,” he murmured.

  She couldn’t move anything but her eyes, and they blinked open slowly. As if she was just waking up. “I will,” she whispered. Her lips tingled. She wanted more, but he was stepping away. “And you too. Sleep well, Danny.”

  He walked her around to her door, then nodded a quiet good night and turned toward the barn. She watched the slender line of his back as he faded into the night, saw the burst of pale yellow light when he opened the barn door and went inside.

  Audrey unlatched the door of the house, wishing the hinges didn’t squeal so loudly, but it didn’t matter. Céleste was sound asleep in their shared room, snoring and smacking her lips as she rolled to one side. Audrey made her way through the familiar dark, skimming her fingers along the trunk and pulling out her nightgown. She hung her rain-dampened clothing over the table at the foot of her bed and slipped into the chilled white cotton, still dazed from the touch of his lips.

  In the morning, a distinct chill existed in the air between Audrey and Céleste. Her grandmère was not pleased at the prospect of serving breakfast to the battalion, but Audrey insisted despite the old woman’s angry mutterings. They set bowls of steaming oatmeal and cups of tea on the covered porch, and the men claimed their breakfast with gratitude, then withdrew to eat by the barn. Audrey, most of her hair covered by a white kerchief, stirred a spoonful of precious honey into Danny’s oatmeal when she thought no one was watching. Danny saw her do it, though. His eyes were on her, a warm, supportive touch she could feel. When she snuck a peek she could see he looked tired, yes, but not overly so. She couldn’t blame him—she wasn’t sure she’d slept a wink. But she kept her smile bright and pretty and natural, and she laughed with the men as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if she hadn’t been kissed a few hours before by this wonderful man, this hero.