Free Tides of Honour by Genevieve Graham Page A

shadowing his brow. She’d wanted to knock it back off, see if he’d laugh or get angry, but the pride in his expression held her back from causing mischief.
    He was a noble man, her Danny. Noble and proud and handsome, and such a hero. She knew it deep in her soul, though she knew none of it at all. They’d spoken of nothing of consequence, mostly. And yet her spirit sang with a new certainty. Her charcoal floated over the curve of one dark brow and her memory brought back its width and particular angle. Slightly different from the right side, she recalled, because of that little scar cutting through.

SEVEN
    Letters arrived stained, creased, sometimes in a bunch, sometimes straggling in after an excruciating lapse of weeks. But he wrote. She’d feared at first that he wouldn’t, knowing his mind and body would be busy with far more important things than her. But he kept his word. The first letter arrived and she squealed like a child, running all the way home with it clutched in her fingers. As he’d said, his printed words were messy, sometimes short and distracted. She didn’t care.
    May 2, 1916
    Dear Audrey,
    I hardly know how to start this letter. I don’t write much. I suppose I should tell you a bit about me. I live in Nova Scotia. I’m a fisherman, like my dad and his dad before. I’m saving up for my own boat, but it’ll be a while before that happens. Fishing’s pretty much all I know, other than hunting and logging, and I guess that’s what I’ll be going home to when this is all over. It’s hard work, but what isn’t? We usually get up at around fourin the morning, and sometimes it’s so awful cold you wonder how you can even move your hands, but it’s all worth it. My family and I live right on the sea, and when it gets stormy it’s pretty much the most beautiful place in the world, to my way of thinking.
    It was a bit strange, coming way out here and having everything be different, but I thought it would be the right thing to do. You know, fighting for the good guys and all that. I thought it’d be exciting too. Well, I was right about that part, but I could do without most of the excitement now, to be honest.
    I just had my twenty-fifth birthday the other night. The fellas found a candle and stuck it in my supper. I have seven younger brothers and a dog named Cecil, but he’s real old, so I don’t know if he’ll still be there when I get home. I hope so.
    The boys here are pretty jealous, now that I’ve been telling them about you. They all wish they’d met a beautiful woman, but I told them that even if they did, she wouldn’t be as beautiful as you.
    Anyway, like I said, I’m not real good at letter writing, but if you write to me, maybe I can answer some of your questions. I apologize for the poor writing, but it’s been raining, so my hands are cold and it’s hard to hold the pen proper. My hands are always cold out here. I remember that yours were warm. Until I hear from you, I am
    Yours affectionately,
    Danny
    His hands had been solid and warm too. She remembered that, how hers had felt immediately safe once they touched his. Now all she wanted was to keep him safe. And to feel that warmth again.
    Spring moved into summer, and his letters became her reason for rising in the morning. Sometimes they didn’t arrive for a couple of weeks, sometimes she came from town with a thin stack in her hand. She answered faithfully, sending out note after note, trading eggs for paper and stamps. She told Danny about her life before the farm, and when she couldn’t hold it in any longer she gently complained about the awful things her grandmère said on a daily basis. Some days she sat outside, far from the house and barn, and just let the sweet summer days flow through her pencil.
    Before Danny’s letters came, no one had ever asked Audrey what she wanted. Danny did. So she asked herself the