Redeemed From the Ashes (Chapter 1)

I believe the greatest way an author can speak is through his writing, that the writing is an intrinsic piece of himself. That is why I've decided to post my entire book "Redeemed From the Ashes" chapter by chapter once a week. 

I've poured my heart and soul into this project. I hope it touches yours. 

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

Henry David Thoreau Walden Economy 

Chapter 1 

The creaking oak floorboards betrayed the footfalls of an intruder. Evelyn Richardson was aroused from her reverie. She swivelled her head to peer around the back of her crimson cushioned chair, a shaky breath escaped her chapped lips. Casby, the dear old butler who had been in her family’s service for the last three and a half years, was standing beneath the dark-veneered door frame. His greying eyebrows were drawn up tightly, his eyes protruded from their wrinkled sockets, and his mouth was slightly parted.      

   "Madam, are you all right? Please forgive me. I had no intention of frightening you.” He recovered well, she had to admit. His air of quiescence, momentarily disturbed by her skittish behaviour, had returned.      

   "Uh, yes —yes, I am quite well, thank you. Is it time?"      

   "Yes, it is. Shall I accompany you?"       

  "You’re very kind, Casby, but no, thank you. I’ll return shortly. Would you see to supper being ready for when we return?"      

   "Very well, Madam." Casby, with white-gloved hands at his bony sides, strode back into the darkened hallway, which consisted of a maple hall tree situated to the right of the gold-gilded mirror which her mother had given to her as a wedding present and a single entrance table upon which stood a glass vase of fresh-cut lilies.    

     Casby was the sole asset of her household that impressed her mother. The first time she had had her mother over for a visit after moving to Richmond was a serious matter. She had ordered Casby to clean the house until each surface was brightened by a sunny, dust-free luster. And he had done just so. Her mother had admired the house, of course, since she had had a hand in choosing it. She had not taken so well to Casby whose emaciated features gave him—Evelyn had to admit—a gloomy appearance, but his excellent deportment in service and manners redeemed him from further harsh criticism and anchored him within her mother’s good graces.    

     Evelyn managed to rise from her chair, shaken from the interruption. Her reverie was still fresh in her mind. Her only intention had been to sit in her favourite chair which was situated in front of the sash window overlooking Grafton Street to bask in what little sunlight tore through the dense blanket of clouds and to watch the young lads play in the street. She had also welcomed the smell of fresh bread drifting from the kitchen into the living room, no doubt a loaf which Casby had made that morning. He was not only their butler but their cook, as well. The snowflakes falling from heaven had impelled her to close her eyes and imagine the sensation she would feel were they to land upon her face and open mouth. She had heard the clomping of horses' hooves and the buzz of conversation in the street. But as she had been admiring the grim beauty of the predictability of her neighbourhood and soaking in all the bedlam, the smell of fresh bread had suddenly become the stench of smoke and fire. The snowflakes had become ashes; the clomping of horses' hooves had turned into shouting and screaming. The buzz of conversation had ceased. And instead of seeing healthy young lads, she had seen them all lying on the ground, filthy and motionless, dead. 

    She exhaled a deep breath. Everything was all right. She plodded toward the hall tree to collect her long fur coat and departed from the house. Eyeing her surroundings, she was relieved to see life had not stopped, had not died even though it was the tiring, same old play.        

    "Oh, sorry, miss! Watch out! Oh...!"     

    “What in…!” As she bent down to grab her throbbing ankle, she saw a young boy attempting to push himself from the ground and right his fallen bike. "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?”     

    “Only a little scrape, miss. See here.” He exposed his reddened palms. “I’ll be all right, miss. I’m so sorry I caused you hurt. Would you like me to retrieve some ice from my icebox?”   

      “Do you live nearby?”       

     “Uh, no, miss, but if you’ll wait a little while, I wouldn’t mind getting some.”    

     “That is very kind of you, but I think the cold air will do just as well. Try to be more careful next time... I’m sorry. I don’t know your name."    

     "Oh, Clyde. My name’s Clyde.”     

    "Clyde, it was a pleasure to meet you even under these painful circumstances.” She extended her hand.     

    “Oh no, the pleasure is all mine, miss.” He clasped her hand and shook it with vigour, unaware that his slightly incorrect use of words under the circumstances amused Evelyn greatly.    

     “Is that your friend waving to you down there?" She pointed above Clyde’s head to a young brown-haired boy who was waving both of his arms in wide arcs above his head.    

     Clyde swirled around and waved in return, grinning mischievously. "Yes, it is. That’s Tommy. I should go; he’s not a very patient fellow. Thank you, miss. Goodbye!"     

    Evelyn hailed a horse and buggy and asked to be taken to the harbour. She paid the driver his fee and bid him a good day. Gliding off the buggy, she was met with a familiar sight, a boat such as the one in front of her had come to collect her husband and his comrades in 1914 to fight the present war in Europe.     

    What a blessed place the harbour had been, and what a dismal place it had become. The people of Halifax had used to welcome distant friends, or bid a temporary goodbye to a loved one. Now it had become a shrine of despair where wives came to procure their mutilated husbands; where sons and brothers were met with weeping from broken-hearted families; and where marred soldiers came to kiss the beloved ground of their home country, many unaware that the haunts of war would soon dispel those feelings of safety. Would things ever be the same again?     

    At last, the ship’s ramp was set in place. Evelyn was eager to welcome her husband home. It had been so long since she had seen his effulgent face. Of course, she had looked at her one wedding picture almost every day. But to see him and to touch him would be transcendently real. A great flux of men began to disembark. She was scanning every woebegone face, trying to find the one dearest to her heart. She became distressed after the final person’s step withdrew from the plank. She pushed her way through the throng. “Excuse me, thank you. Carl! Carl!”     

    "Evelyn!"     

    That voice she had been aching to hear rang through the chill air. All she would have to do was follow it to the source.      

   "Carl?” 

   Where is he?

   She looked to her right. "Oh, there you are!" She moved past two men, each having had one arm amputated, and straight into Carl. She buried her face beside his stiff uniform collar and nudged her nose closer to his neck to smell his chaffed skin. "How was your journey?" She fervently kissed his gelid hands.  

    "It could have been much worse."     

    Evelyn gazed into his eyes. How she had missed those luminous blue diamonds! They had always sparkled for her, yet something wasn’t quite right anymore. The spark, the light had vanished, and now those depths were hollow. "Come. Let us get you home to a warm supper and a hot bath."    

     During the ride home, Carl remained silent, looking out into the passing streets. Evelyn couldn’t help but take in the sight of his missing leg. His leg had been cut off right below the knee. The left pant leg fully covered his limb while the right one was rolled up to the stump. He had been discharged from the army because of his impairment. She had seen many of the home boys return with a missing leg, but this was different.    

     “Here we are. It is so good to have you back home again. I’ve missed you.”      

    "Home.”     

    “That’s right. Shall I help you out? Do you need...?”    

     “No.” He edged over to the black door and leaned over to swing it open. He grabbed his crutches in one hand and held onto the handle with the other. He stepped out with some difficulty and motioned for Evelyn to take his proffered hand. 

    “Thank you.” She felt guilty taking advantage of his help even though it was perfectly adequate for him to offer it.      

   He anchored himself in front of the steps leading to home. Evelyn stood by his side, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. She pivoted her head to regard the mild expression appearing upon his handsome face. His eyes did not stray from the sight of their home. He squeezed her hand gently.    

     “Carl, tell me, what are you thinking?”    

     “It is just...I’ve not been home for a long while, and I was thinking I almost don’t know what to do.”    

     “Shall we go inside?” She held his arm as she helped him hobble up the stairs, his crutches clacking against the slabs of stone.    

     As they entered their abode, Casby appeared from within the dining room adjoining the entrance hall to the left. “Welcome home, sir.”    

     "Good old Casby. It is a pleasure to see you after so many years. Have you been taking care of Mrs. Richardson?”     

    “Yes, sir, I have. And I do quite agree. It’s been too long. Do you have any bags for me to take up to your room, sir?”     

    “Yes, Casby. Here you go. Thank you.” He handed Casby his “ditty” bag.     

    Casby took Carl's bag and began to walk up the stairs. "Madam, did your airing replenish you?"     

    “Yes, thank you.” 

    A furtive glance darted from Casby's eyes. The muscles in his neck stood out as intensely stressed chords. A little unnerved, she led Carl into the living room, situated directly across the dining room separated by the main hall. They both sat upon a light blue sofa, embellished with an oriental floral design. It had been a gift from Evelyn’s mother before the war years. A couple of feet to the left of the crimson chair which was across from them was a small wooden table, graced by a figurine of a man and a woman dancing in evening attire.     

    “Do you remember the night we met?” Carl whispered.    

     So he had glanced at the figurine, as well.    

     “Yes, I was just thinking about it.”     

    “I saw you not very far from where I was standing. You were the prettiest girl in the room. Your curls bobbed as you danced with the other men; I was quite jealous. Oh, God, you were a sight. And I will never forget.”     

    “You finally had the courage to ask me to dance when one of the last songs was playing. What you didn’t know was that I was waiting a very long time for you to whisk me away. Was not the band splendid? I can still hear it...in a past where...” She fumbled with his faded collar then slowly inched her fingertips closer to his Adam’s apple. “Where our lives were untouched by what has consumed them now.”    

     “But that was all I needed to know...it would forever be you.”     

    “Sir, supper is served,” Casby brusquely announced as he entered the living room.     

    “We’ll be there in a minute.” They both looked at each other, thinking of happier days that had once been. But such thoughts could never settle in Carl’s fragile mind; for they were always quickly overtaken by torturous images which played continuously as if a film reel had been implanted inside his brain.    

     Little did Evelyn know of her husband’s true state of mind; and yet her own thoughts could not dwell in happy places for long periods of time either. Many times, grim embitterment and hopelessness of present circumstances would upstage her parade. Both sincerely hoped that the other was truly content, not wanting the other to know the truth about themselves. 

***      

     Carl and Evelyn dined in silence, their mouths watering with every bite they took. No roast lamb was left, and each of their stomachs paid dearly for it. Both husband and wife were fatigued and looking forward to sleep. Carl settled into a bathtub filled with soothing hot water. Evelyn perched upon a nearby stool and read Charles Dickens' Little Dorrit to him. Before the war had occurred, she had customarily read to him while he bathed. After reading a chapter, she gently closed the book.     

    “Carl?”      

   “Yes, dearest.”     

    “When you wrote to me you would be coming back because of what had happened to your leg, you never wrote how it had happened.”    

     “Would you like to know?”    

     Evelyn nodded her head.

 “Ah, where to begin?” He rubbed his calloused fingers over his eyes. “We were fighting at Vimy Ridge. I was in the trenches—awful places they are—with my comrades. We were ordered to retreat from the trench; as we were retreating, shrapnel hit my leg. I was one of the last of the men to abandon our position; as a result, nobody was aware of what had happened to me. It burned badly, I could barely breathe. Pain invaded my leg, I was defenceless. For one night and one day, I wallowed in the mud while an abundant number of rats scampered around. I tell you, those little devils…we could never keep them away.     

    “Time had never moved so slowly for me then during that day and a half. I thought I was going to die. I thought...I would never see you again.” He raised his hand from beneath the water and stroked Evelyn's porcelain cheek.     

    “Thank God, our troops didn’t let the enemy snatch the trench; for if my comrades had failed, I wouldn’t be alive, or maybe I would. From what I’ve heard, the Huns’ prison camps have been relegated to a miserable breeding place of all kinds of illnesses. The Allied armies retrieved the trench early in the morning and found me.     

    “They sent me to the hospital immediately. The stationed doctor said it would be hopeless to try to save my leg because the gas gangrene infection was too widespread. The only thing they could do to save my life was amputate my leg.    

     “I wouldn’t wish any man to experience this plague. War is a terrible thing. The depravity of men...Young and old fantasize about the honour and glory that come from serving their country; yet they don’t understand the terrors that are sure to invade one’s every thought. Yes, honour and glory come; but so does pain and horrors darker than the blackest night.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the rim of the tub. “In spite of it all, I am proud to have served my country. I love my country. I love you. Protecting my country means I protect you and our livelihood. If we don’t have love for our country, then do we truly love those closest to us?"         

    She closed her eyes and rested her forehead upon her fist. “You are...very honourable in the things you say. But you should not have suffered such as you did. You didn’t deserve it.”    

     “Evelyn, there will be many times when horrible acts fall upon the most undeserving of people. What can we do? I cannot control the acts of others.”      

   The flooring near the door groaned. Evelyn jumped. The door was slightly ajar. A shadow slithered out of sight.    

     "Carl, did you see that?"     

    "See what?"     

    "There was someone at the door listening to our conversation."    

     "I didn’t hear anything. Come, you are probably very tired. Why don’t we retire to our bed now?"    

     "Yes, I...I am tired."      

   Was her imagination playing tricks? Whom could it have been? 

*** 

    Evelyn slept fitfully. The dark reverie she had seen earlier returned as a nightmare. The snow turning into ash, the crying, the flames, and the shouting were all the same; however, this time Casby, wearing an ashen mask and having a devilish glint in his eyes, promenaded through the chaos unharmed.    

     A chill glided over the hairs of her uncovered arms. In the darkness, she grappled for the sheets. Warmth immediately settled over her cold form. Wait, that was too easy. He always.... Emptiness and some untold dread covered her in a cocoon. She rolled over to watch Carl sleep, but to her surprise, he was missing. "Carl? Carl?"         Where could he be at such an early hour? She threw her cream sheer robe over her clingy nightgown and ran down the stairs. She surveyed every room until she found him dressed in a casual suit in the dining room eating some bread, cheese, and grapes while reading the previous day’s edition of the Halifax Herald.    

     "Carl?"      

   "Yes?"     

    "What are you doing?" She combed her fingers through her unkempt hair.    

     "Excuse me?"     

    "When I woke up, you weren’t beside me. So I thought perhaps something had happened and..."     

    While she rambled on, Carl just looked at her, unaffected by her anxiousness. "Evelyn." 

    She took a deep breath. “Yes?"     

    "Just because I lost my leg doesn’t mean I cannot function on my own. I appreciate your concern, my dear, but it isn’t necessary. By the way, that is a lovely robe.”     

    Having been disarmed by his suave voice, she was tranquil enough to notice his sensual gaze upon her normally over-clothed body. So ignited was the passion burning within his eyes that she crossed her arms over her chest. “Th…thank you,” she stammered. “but have you not seen this robe a hundred times before?”    

     “I have. What of it?”      

   “Well, I thought perhaps the novelty of its...design would have worn off by now.”     

    “Remember, I haven’t been here for the last two and a half years...so, no, I still find it extremely attractive draped like so upon your figure.”    

     “Really?”     

    “Evelyn, let’s not play games.” He pushed back his chair, walked toward her, and clutched her to himself, planting tender kisses along her exposed collarbone and feeling his way down her curves, his breath warming her to her toes.    

     Her body tensed, and her breath was released in irregular spurts. “Carl...I…just, what were you doing up so early?”     

    “Why?” He continued his increasingly feverish kissing.     

    “Carl. I just...want to know.”     

    He paused, his touch gone cold. “All right, I’ll desist.” 

   “Carl, please.” She frantically tried to grab his hands, but it was too late. He had already retreated to his former seat.     

    Instead of blushing from her husband’s physical assertions, she coloured in shame.     

    Why did I stop him? Did I not want this to happen? Have I not been pining for his caresses, his touch? I did expect this to happen. Of course, I did. Stupid girl! How am I to mend this?     

    "Frankly, the reason I am up so early is when I awoke I felt the best I have ever felt in a long time. The bed was like heaven, and there was no damn noise keeping me awake at all hours of the night. I felt so rejuvenated; I wanted to start my day right away." He offered her a curt smile and flapped the wings of his newspaper as if he were trying to fool himself into thinking he was all right.     

    And I have just ruined his perfectly good morning.     

    "Carl, that is...wonderful." She approached cautiously, knowing he could not have easily forgotten or forgiven her rebuttal, and gave him a kiss upon his broad forehead. "I will return with some food for myself."     

    After filling her plate with the same delicacies Carl had taken, she rejoined him at the dining table. "What are you reading in the paper?"    

     “News about the war.”     

    “Oh.”      

   Carl devoured the remnants of his food, gulped down his coffee, and hastily left her presence. Not a word could leave her lips; so stunned was she by his disquieting behaviour.    

     I am definitely in a kettle of hot water now. 

***

         As the day dragged on, Carl’s missing presence produced a state of tension within Evelyn’s mind and limbs. At one point she was writing a letter to her mother and was very tempted to disclose the very frustrating feelings she had toward herself and Carl. But no. No good would come of it. Mrs. Moore didn’t need any more ammunition against Carl.   

   Evelyn was seated alone at the table for lunch and supper. Carl had asked his plates of food to be brought to the study. Before she retired to bed, Evelyn knocked upon his study door without receiving a reply. The only sounds she could perceive were the flipping pages of a book. Only at midnight did Carl venture to the bedroom and slide into bed, careful not to touch her. She was lying next to a stranger.    

     The next morning she again found him in the dining room, his head hiding behind the newspaper.         “Good morning.”     

    “Good morning,” he replied.     

    At least, he’s not ignoring me. 

    “I'm looking at the job advertisement section. Evelyn, I’ve been thinking. I need a job to support the both of us, without your mother's continual financial contributions."     

    “Do you not have a pension? And what is wrong with her contributions?”     

    “Yes, I do have a pension. Concerning the contributions, there is nothing inherently wrong with them. What I mean to say is we are our own family, and I would like to be the sole provider for this family.”     

    “You have never slighted them before.”    

     “Well, things are different now.”      

    “How so?”     

    “You ask too many questions; I care not to answer at the moment.”     

    This is not about a job. This is about me.    

     After a few moments, Carl slapped his hand upon the table. "I’ve got it! Look here! The Halifax Herald is looking to employ another editor. It’s just in my line of work."    

     "You already found something?"    

     "Why? You don’t approve?"    

     "I do—it is just that—well, you have recently returned from war. And now you want to leave me again?"       

    “Come now, Evelyn, I’m not fighting this war anymore. You will have me for probably most evenings, Saturdays, and Sundays. I won’t be in some far-off country. The office is down the street, hardly a jog away.”   

      “It is a few blocks of a jog away.” 

      He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. The point is I would like to inquire at the office today.”   

      Her heart was aching for him to stay put. When she had known he was to return, she had dreamed of having him all to herself, stroking back the hair from his face as he would tell her how much he had missed her. And she would tell him how much she loved him. But present circumstances would not bend to her fanciful wishes. She also wanted to mend the damage she had done. "Would it be all right if I came along? I mean, of course I wouldn’t be in the way. I’ll stay put in the lobby”

       “You’ll be bored.” He jutted his chin.     

    “Please, I’d like to.” He slammed his fist upon the table. “Dammit, woman, can't you take no for an answer?!” 

    She shrunk into her seat, tremors traveling down her spine.     

    He sighed, interlacing his fingers across his forehead. “I’m so…I…Fine. Let’s."    

     They walked down the crowd-infested blocks always a few paces separating them and arrived at the office. Evelyn sat in the waiting area while Carl was being interviewed for the position of editor.    

    The waiting area was large enough to accommodate two simple wooden chairs facing the main oak desk. The bottom half of the walls had been painted a hunter green that was now blemished with scratches and grooves. The upper half was ivory. The walls were adorned with black and white photographs of the official ceremony commemorating the opening of the office, the editor-in-chief with the office manager, and a few landscapes of the Nova Scotia shore. She peered behind the front desk to see a large room separated into small, even cubicles. The air was abuzz with conversations. Tips were being whispered between writers and orders were shouted. Evelyn thought more of the grief she had caused during yesterday’s breakfast and the monstrous manifestation of Carl’s grudge. 

    What if he is only trying to get the job to stay away from me? Will he hold a grudge against me forever? He needs to rest more.     

    Carl returned to the waiting room with a smug grin on his face. “I got the job!” 

   “So fast?”

  “Yes, my reputation as an editor with The Gazette in Montreal precedes me. My previous editor-in-chief and my now present editor-in-chief are acquaintances. It seems my past editor-in-chief spoke very highly of my work.” 

  “Ah, this was before we ever met.”

  “Precisely.”     

    Carl and Evelyn walked out of the office and were greeted by a cold wind compelling them to draw their coat collars higher up their necks.        

    “Carl.”      

   “Yes?”     

    “Please forgive me for not being so enthusiastic at first when you mentioned the possibility of acquiring the job. I was being very selfish. I just wanted to spend more quality time with you. I now realize you enjoy spending time with other people and want to be employed in some kind of work. And I need to let you be free to do that, without having to cater to my whims or without having to suffer my frustration against you.”    

     “I...There’s nothing to forgive.”   

      “Carl... this is ridic—”    

     “Shall we go have some lunch?” He was too stubborn. Could he not see she was trying to right her wrong?   

      Perhaps, I’m not saying the right thing.    

     When they returned to the house, no one was home. Casby was always ready to greet them from any excursion they came from.     

    “How strange!” Evelyn untied the scarf from around her neck.     

    “What?”     

    “Casby is nowhere to be found.”     

    “Well, perhaps, the old chap went out for a stroll.”     

    “But he’s always here.”      

   “Oh, what does it matter? I’ll prepare a light lunch for the both of us.”     

    After they ate lunch, Carl rose from his seat. “I’m going to rest in the study for an hour or so.”    

     “All right.”    

     Evelyn sat upstairs in her sewing room embroidering a cushion she had started the week before. All was quiet in the house. It reminded her of the days when she had to deal with the frustrating silence that ensued after Carl had left home for the war in Europe, those days when she had cried till she had no more tears to give because of the loneliness that had sunk within her soul. She thought she could faintly hear her cries in the distance of her memories. But then she realized it was not her past cries she was hearing. It was someone else's moaning. She lay down the cushion immediately and followed the sound into the study downstairs.     

    “Carl?” Worry overtook her. She had never seen him so distressed. “Are you all right?”

    “Go away!” His sobs sounded as violent waves crashing upon the seashore. He moaned, hiding his head beneath his wracking hands.    

     “I‘m not going away whatever you say.” Evelyn put her arms around him and laid her cheek upon his bent back until he fell asleep peacefully. Evelyn watched him sleep. She was disturbed by her husband's change of disposition ever since he arrived home. His refusal to forgive her (although he always had to put a great effort in forgiving the wrongs of others), his violent outbreak, and mad swing of moods— this was absurd. The sun had set. Carl started to shift from side to side until he was finally aroused.    

     “Carl?”     

    “Mmm.”     

    She slowly helped him to a sitting position. “Carl, what happened?”   

      “Uh —oh, I’m sorry. It was nothing.”     

    “Please, Carl, tell me what happened?”    

     Carl swallowed slowly, bowed his head, and whispered, “I saw them.”     

    “Saw whom?”    

     “My comrades all around me were dying, screaming. Blood was seeping from their open wounds. Their cold dead eyes stared back at me. In the chaos, I could not close their eyelids. Cannons were setting off. Then I saw heaven break open. You were picking flowers from the back garden and smelling them, and you looked at me with longing. I tried to reach out for you with my hand but I couldn’t touch you, feel the warmth of your body. Then you vanished, and I was on the battlefield again.” He touched her face with both of his hands, feeling every plane. “Evelyn, I need you. Don't leave me.”     

    “I won’t. Neither you nor I are leaving each other, ever.” Evelyn put her arms around him. “We will always be together. I promise.”