Here concludes Evelyn Richardson's story which began in Redeemed From the Ashes.
The scrunched sheets in Evelyn’s fists weren’t enough of a deterrent to stop her nails digging into her palms. A brush of skin—Carl was awakening. That had not been her intention. It never was.
Carl swept aside a lock of hair from her brow just as she turned her face toward her pillow. “Again?” he murmured.
Evelyn nodded. Her face and pillow were damp from the tears she had wept as she had watched the nightmarish scene play before her. She was unable to cry out, to stop what she might have been able to stop eleven years ago. “I’m sorry...”
He shook his head with his eyes closed. He never asked why she had kept reliving the same nightmare over the past decade. His silence, his unquestioning eyes delayed her guilt. Yet, she always felt the need to explain herself.“
Clyde told you what happened?” She held back the tears.
He nodded, his eyes now open.
She and Carl, along with their children, had been on an innocent family outing to the Commons earlier the prior day. The jarring memento from the past had shaken her happy countenance. On a bench, she had found the bouquet, sitting patiently for her to find it. Only one person could have known how much she loved them. He was no longer alive.
“I haven’t had the nightmare in a while. It must have come.... I saw the flowers, and the memories flooded back. I don’t understand why he haunts me still. You would think that after all this time the past would be put to rest.”
Carl’s thumb lazily rubbed her cheek. “One would think. Go to sleep, Evelyn.” He pressed his chest against her back and held her tight.
Aching, she cried fresh tears knowing this could only affect Carl in the worst way. She wondered where his thoughts wandered when he knew she dreamt of Gerald and his sudden death from this life ten years ago.
Just as the sun began to peep over the horizon, Evelyn heard the padding of little feet nearing her bed. She was barely cognizant of her youngest cherub Clara crawling into bed. Only the contact of Clara’s small hands upon her cheeks made her aware of the routine intruder.
Clara planted a wet kiss on the tip of Evelyn’s nose before turning over and snuggling into her mother’s soft form.
Evelyn slurred, “Couldn’t sleep?”
Clara chirped, “Mummy, it’s nearly morning. Are you all right? I heard you crying.”
Evelyn’s heart sank. “Mummy had a bad dream, that’s all. Don’t you worry about it. All right?”
Clara drew her mother’s hand toward her lips to give a kiss of reassurance. “Yes, Mummy.”
About an hour later, Evelyn was duty-bound to rise from her bed and make breakfast for the children she still raised at home. Only Clyde, the orphan she had adopted soon after the Halifax Explosion had devastated the whole city, had flown from the nest. He was studying medicine at the Dalhousie Medical Faculty.
Evelyn flipped the eggs one last time before she hollered at the base of the stairs, “Children, Father, come eat your breakfast.” Seconds later, she heard the scrambling of feet heading toward the stairs and thumping down them two at a time. Carl’s heavier footsteps followed.
As soon as they were all settled in their seats, Carl prayed, “For this food we are grateful. May we be a blessing to those around us. Amen.”
Gerry and Robert, only a year apart, dug their forks into their breakfast and gulped down their eggs with little restraint.
Evelyn’s brows lowered, and her eyes were slits as she watched them devour their breakfasts. Gerry caught her reprimanding gaze and, immediately, elbowed his younger brother Robert.
Clara finished her plate before asking, “What are we doing today?”
Evelyn smirked, “Other than school?”
Ever the teacher’s pet, Clara smiled angelically, “Why, of course!”
“Once you all return home from school, we’re to visit Mr. Cox this evening. He’s making a delicious chowder.”
“Ah! Uncle Brian?! Yay! May I be excused? I must get ready for school.”
Evelyn barely nodded before Clara flounced out of her chair with plate and cup in hand to put upon the kitchen counter before getting ready.
Robert muttered, “She’s just excited because Uncle Brian said he had a special surprise just for her.”
“Now boys...” Evelyn interjected.
Gerry flapped his lips before adding, “It’s true, Mother. He likes her better than he likes us.”
Evelyn shrugged, “Believe what you like. Uncle Brian told me he had gifts for you, as well. See, he only told Clara beforehand because she doesn’t like surprises. You know that.”
Both boys looked at each other before Gerry mumbled, “We’ll see.” However, their eyes betrayed their stiff upper lips.
After she and Carl finished eating, she cleared off the table. The bouquet caught her eye as she passed it. She put down the dishes and fingered the dainty petals.
Where did you come from?
As the children played catch outside, Brian Cox, Carl, and Evelyn sat outside on the porch. Each of them held mugs of tea.
After Evelyn took a sip of tea, she coughed, causing her to spill some on her dress.
Carl rubbed her back, “Are you all right?”
She nodded. Once she caught her breath, she hoarsely whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’ve had a lingering cough these last couple of weeks. Usually, it comes out of nowhere.”
Brian nodded, “Aye, I’ve had the same in the past. It’s like a nasty bur that sticks until it’s yanked off. Even when you do yank, it leaves behind little prickles to finish its dirty work.
Carl responded, “That’s a colourful way of putting it.”
Brian asked the couple, “Did you know there’s a luncheon being thrown for the public at Pier 21 this week?”
Evelyn asked, “Is that the new pier they opened this year for immigrants?”
Brian replied, “The one and only.”
Carl nodded, “When is it?”
Brian answered, “Ah, soon. I’ll get back to you.”
Carl’s hand found Evelyn’s. “Dearest, would you like to go?”
“I would. I should see if Betsie knows anything about it. She has a knack for knowing what goes on in every part of the city.”
Brian slurped the last of his tea. “Pier 21 is the Ellis Island of Canada.”
After Carl and Evelyn put the children to bed (the routine including a song, an original story told by Carl, who was an editor by trade yet a writer at heart, and a prayer over each child’s head), both husband and wife sat outside on their porch swing. The air was warm with lilac scent floating in with the settling dew. Carl’s arm was slung around Evelyn’s shoulders as she rested her head upon his shoulder. The rhythmic swinging with the cadence of its creak made the rest of the world fade away as Evelyn just was.
Evelyn’s gaze was drawn to the continual drumming of Carl’s fingers upon his leg. She gave his agitated hand a squeeze. “The outing wasn’t too taxing, was it?”
He squeezed her hand back. “No, it was a good day.”
Eleven years ago, when Carl had returned to the home front after having his leg amputated, it became very apparent to Evelyn that he had returned broken, seemingly shattered. His changed demeanour had become the thorn in her side, a trying remembrance that all good things were lost forever.
When the explosion happened, she thought she had lost him forever. For a time, she had believed him dead until she, by chance, stumbled upon him, a ghost of his former self. Because of his already wasting spirit, the explosion was the catalyst which had thrown him off the edge. So much so that during their separation, he cringed from all human contact. He even hid from the light of the sun. It was a miracle she had ever found him.
Evelyn murmured, “You’ve done so well over the years.”
“It’s all because of you. If you hadn’t been so diligent in making me feel safe, if you hadn’t been so patient, I would be with the others. It doesn’t seem right, does it? How does electric shock therapy cure what is clearly a fragile state of mind? The stories we’ve heard...this is the way it should be.”
“How will you be when we visit Pier 21?”
“It’s hard to tell. Every day is different. However, I don’t know if I can handle the magnitude of such a gathering.” His fingers folded into a fist. His eyes closed as if a heavy yoke had been placed upon his shoulders.
Evelyn gently massaged his now stiff shoulder. “Don’t think of it. One day at a time.”
“That’s a lovely bouquet you brought home. Where did you say you picked it up?” At the word bouquet, she started, frightened he would know the significance. He must not have remembered her mentioning the flowers the night before.
“I, uh, found it at the Commons when we visited last. It was sitting upon a bench we came across. I saw no reason to leave it without a home.”
He freed his arm from around her shoulders and leaned upon his thighs. He touched his forehead with his clasped hands and stood up. “Will you come to bed with me?”
Evelyn gave a small smile, “In a few minutes.”
In response, he touched her cheek and left her to her tangled thoughts.
How could it be that after all this time the bouquet had found its way to her unless this whole thing was a misunderstanding, a fabrication of her mind?
Eleven years ago, when she had thought her husband was gone, dead from the blast that had levelled most of Halifax, she fell in love with Doctor Gerald MacCrae. She truly never meant to fall so hard, so quickly. She and Carl’s marriage had died long before Carl returned from the war and gone missing due to the explosion. Perhaps that was why she had been able to move on so quickly.
Only Gerald had known her secret love for wax flowers. Even to this day, Carl believed they were lilies. This bouquet of wax flowers she picked up at the bench, it couldn’t be from Gerald; for he had been executed ten years ago. Could it be that he had asked a fellow prisoner to place them there for her? Why so many years later? Whichever way she thought of it, her thoughts were tangled as if they were a deer thrashing in a bramble bush.