Redeemed From the Ashes—Chapter 4—The Death of Yesterday
Determination had settled within every fibre of Evelyn’s will although her frail mettle insistently persuaded her to lie down and drift into a state of unconscious debilitation. She took a few small steps forward and wandered into the rolling smoke about her. Her eyes burned from the fumes intoxicating the area. She looked down to see her skirt ripped to shreds and her top outerwear missing from her person. She placed her unscathed arm over her thinly covered chest for modesty’s sake.
Soldiers, servicemen, and medical personnel entered the area in a trickle aiding those who were trapped within the rubble of unrecognizable homes. They helped drive the greatly injured to the nearest hospitals in whatever civilian or army automobiles they could find. All the streets looked the same. Evelyn tried to find her bearings but could not distinguish anything.
“Dear me, what are you doing up and about?” Nurse Randall’s face came into view.
“I…I need to find my husband.”
“I’m sorry, dear. You can’t in this condition. How are you going to help him when you need help yourself?” Evelyn’s head drooped; she felt a deep pressure throbbing in her forehead. She lifted her grimy hand to the side of her temple, feeling splotches of dry and wet blood.
“You’ve been cut in some areas by shards of glass. Come now. I’m sending you to the hospital. Don’t you go running off right now. We’re going to get you some help.” She bustled off.
Evelyn, weak and hurting, could not stand any longer. She lowered herself to the ground. Nurse Randall came back in several minutes, with two men and a stretcher.
“There’s space for you on an automobile. They’ll take you to Camp Hill Hospital.”
The men lowered the stretcher onto the ground and offered her their hands. Weakly, she settled her body into the tarp, a bloodied canvas, worn from being painted upon. The two men grunted as they picked her up and started walking...God knew where. The rhythm of their shuffling feet and the strokes of their encumbered breathing guided her mind into oblivion. And even in her rest, peace was not to be found.
She woke up a minute later not being able to sleep properly because of the automobile’s stop-go rhythm. She lifted her head an inch to see the destruction had uniformly blanketed the entire area. She wondered how widespread the damage really was. People were everywhere, walking around in confusion. Some were sifting through the corpses that had been laid on the side of the road to see if they could find their deceased loved ones. She could not tell one person from the next, for all their faces were covered in oily soot.
My face looks the same, as well.
Suddenly she felt a crinkling of paper beneath her aching fingers.
Ah, I still have it.
She pried open the petite slit in her dress which was the opening to a secret pocket, within which she always kept a photograph of Carl on their wedding day. Gingerly, she placed it upon her bosom.
The whole grimy scene faded once again into nothing
Groans, hushed voices, a child’s whimper—Evelyn’s eyes wearily opened to view a dark mesh of movements. Throbbing pain grasped her right arm. The images started to clear. She was surrounded by other victims wearing masks of misery and stalwartness. The doctors and nurses crammed as many beds as they could into one room to fit the astounding number of people who had come for medical attention, yet even so many lay in between the beds on the floor. Halifax’s hospitals were not ready for such an influx of damaged people. One nurse was administering painkillers. Another was soothing a hurting child.
Evelyn’s head lolled to the left. A gentleman of approximately seventy years of age stared at her with drooping eyes. A smile curved at the corner of her lips. Her small amount of emanating compassion was enough to bring some light back into his eyes. He then turned his eyes upward and shut them, his breathing calm and light.
Time was of no consequence when all one could do was lie in bed and share the sad fate of so many others. Eventually, the little air coming through the boarded windows became considerably cooler. Night had fallen. Evelyn hoped the relief workers had rescued all the survivors. She could hardly imagine still being alive to suffer yet another bad element, Winter’s freeze.
She was starting to fall asleep when Nurse Randall came into the room to ascertain all the patients’ conditions and administer any necessary medicine. After passing four beds, Nurse Randall sat on the side of Evelyn’s bed and held her hand. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“I’m very tired. And I’m still in pain though it is much more bearable then before. Tell me, what happened?”
“Well, Doctor MacCrae spent hours performing a very risky operation on you. You had a third-degree burn on your right forearm. The subcutaneous layer suffered some damage. He had to graft in its place skin from your thigh onto your arm. You were monitored for a day to see if any complications would arise. But you’re a fighter. You seem to be recovering very well. And the pain you’re feeling, it’s normal. I don’t know if you remember this or not, but you also suffered from some cuts on your face and other arm. However, those were much less critical than the burn you had.”
“Well, I’m glad the worst is over. Please thank Doctor MacCrae for his care.”
“I’ll be sure to do so.”
“What really happened...out in the harbour?” Evelyn gazed upon the sea of bodies filling the room. “Was it the Germans?”
“No, goodness, the Imo collided with the Mont-Blanc, a munitions ship, in the Narrows. The whole harbour face has been demolished. Homes are now ashes. A lot of people died in horrible ways from the force of the explosion. The factories have been laid flat. So much devastation...one mistake...so many victims. They were still searching for the living the night of the explosion. But there was a ghastly snowstorm; I don’t believe they found many more survivors...after that.”
“The Imo...the ship my husband read about in the Halifax Herald...Nurse Randall, I need to find him. Do you know what happened to the newspaper office?”
“Is that where your husband was working?”
“Yes, he’s an editor.”
“Where was this building located?”
“A few blocks down from our home on Grafton Street.”
“I believe most of the buildings near the harbour have been laid flat. I’m sure you’ll find each other if...I’m sorry.”
“There isn’t much hope he has survived?” Evelyn’s lips trembled.
“No.”
Evelyn folded her hands in her lap, breathing deeply. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“It’s what you deserve. By the way, call me Betsie.”
“Betsie.”
“I’m sure you’re eager to determine if your husband is all right. If your recovery goes well, you may leave in approximately four weeks.”
“Four weeks?”
“Now, now, if you do not rest properly, you will be staying longer; but if you do exactly what I tell you, then you may leave sooner. It all depends upon you.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, before I leave...I believe this belongs to you.” She produced from her pocket a folded photograph.
“Oh, thank you. I don’t think I can go on without it.”
“When the soldiers carried you in from the car, one of them noticed you had dropped it. I’ll see you later.” Betsie rose from the rumpled bed and left.
Evelyn quickly glanced at the older gentleman who was fast asleep, hoping nightmares would not invade his seemingly sweet sleep that night.
The next morning, Evelyn awoke, aching all over her back and limbs. The little cold air continuing to seep through the cracks of the boarded window saved her from being stifled amongst all the patients. Two nurses were on duty bringing in trays of food to everyone. She received hers. Her heart drooped as she saw what little food there really was for her to ingest. This food would not fill her stomach compared to the portions she usually gave herself at home. But that was all gone now. No turning back. And that last breakfast together—it had been the setting where the healing of her relationship with Carl had taken place. But that had been ripped from her as well. He...was lost.
The old gentleman laying beside her turned toward her when he heard her sniffling. He studied her face, painted by several tears. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
Evelyn’s head snapped to her left, surprised the gentleman had uttered a sound. She thought she had been alone in her misery and no one would care to pay any attention to her weeping. “My name is Mrs. Richardson, sir.”
“And your Christian name?”
“Evelyn.”
“Evelyn, that is a beautiful name. May I call you by your first name?”
“Yes, you may.” She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.
“Evelyn, why the shedding of tears?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Oh, sir, forgive me. I...I was thinking of how little my portion is, how I would like a lot more on my plate. But I chide myself, knowing I am not the only one whose stomach will be suffering from this small meal.”
“Don’t continue to bruise yourself unnecessarily. You are human; and because of this very fact, you are bound to do wrong. What is important is that you find this error and correct it. Endeavor to expel it. Think of others.” He reached out his hand, beckoning hers to join.
Grateful for his friendship, she returned the gesture. “And what is your name, sir?”
“My name is Matthew Cox.”
She noticed a scarlet leather-bound book in his hand.
Mr. Cox followed her questioning gaze. “It is the one book that offers me true hope, it is my constant guide throughout life’s trials and happy times. It is my family’s Bible. And did you know, this was the only object I had on my person when these good people found me? Not even my clothes could be found.”
How could God have let this...devastation happen to me, to Carl, to Mr. Cox? So many good people have lost loved ones, their livelihoods. And yet he still turns to Him for comfort.
When she was younger, she had attended church with her mother. Yes, she had believed in God, in His miracles. But the older she had grown, the more insightful she had become. Through the good morning’s and I hope you feel better’s she saw the undeniable hypocrisy stemmed in many of the hearts occupying the pews. It had especially poisoned her mother. Her mother—so many people looked up to her tasteful decor, her overwrought courteous manners, and righteous living; but they had never seen the transition from brief godly living to stuffy hypocrisy once the door shut out the world’s prying eyes. They never saw the mask she drew upon her face when she went out into the public eye. No, there was not a single shred of truth to her faith. And Evelyn didn’t want any part of it. She wouldn’t be naive and let her mind be comforted in...in what? A lie? A crutch? A truth? No, she didn’t care to think of it.
“Mr. Cox, I believe I’ll finish my breakfast if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Evelyn regained her complete bodily strength as well as some of the strength in her recovering arm through some effective exercises Betsie had shown her throughout the following weeks. Every night of the week, she looked upon Mr. Cox with confusion as he ritually read his Bible and prayed. She couldn’t understand his devotion to Someone who was unfair in his dealings with men. Despite his obvious faith, she and Mr. Cox became fast friends; she even volunteered to help him with his leg and foot exercises.
“Mr. Cox, what happened to you during the explosion?”
“Some older woman found me completely naked two streets up from where I was watching the cloud of smoke. The force of the explosion must have carried me over. She quickly threw the coat she wore on her back over my lower body. She asked if I was able to walk. I tried, but I just couldn’t. She went to find some help for me, later returning with two soldiers driving an automobile. Ah!”
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“No, no, don’t be. That particular movement was painful.”
“I will try to be more careful.”
“Thank you. As I was saying, the men picked me up and drove me to this hospital. When I arrived, a nurse took a look at my legs. She said my right ankle was broken and my left thigh had sustained some lacerations.”
So much did her heart form an attachment to him and his predicament that she stayed more than her mandatory weeks of recovery until he was able to take a few steps on his own. When she wasn’t occupied with him, she would help Betsie nurse the other patients still filling many of the hospital’s rooms. Because there was an overload of people receiving treatments at the hospital, Evelyn had to give up her cot for another patient. For the next little while, she settled with sleeping upon the floor in the corner of Mr. Cox’s room, where no one would think of her being in the way of traffic. She had no other place to go. And Carl…he was most likely dead. She could hardly give herself any hope of his existence when it might be dashed to pieces when she would find out he truly was dead.
One day, she and Betsie were changing a patient’s bandages when Betsie exclaimed, “Oh, dear me. I forgot to get some new ones to replace these. Evelyn, would you mind putting these old ones out and bringing me some new ones?”
“Of course. I won’t be more than five minutes.” She left the room and glided into the corridor, trying to remember in which room they could be found. Once she found the correct room, she drifted toward the closet where some of the clean bandages were stored. She picked up five and walked out.
“Doctor MacCrae, your services are needed immediately,” a voice called out nearby.
Evelyn swivelled her head to the left to see Doctor MacCrae and a nurse standing side by side.
“Yes, I’ll be there directly,” he answered. “Thank you.”
With a nod of his head, the nurse left.
As he was walking her way, he espied Evelyn a few feet from his side.
So this is Doctor MacCrae.
His face sported lines of fatigue across his brow and mouth. He centred his gaze upon her recovered arm and hardly peeked a glance at her. A step in the hallway curtly drew his attention away, and he ambled into a room. She stayed still for a moment trying to draw a conclusion from their strange encounter. It was of no use. This conundrum was to stay within her mind, not to be unraveled.
This is such a great read. Thank you Leah. Keep them coming