After Words
July 21st, 1941
The journey starts here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to record everything about it but I’ll try. My mother made me promise that I write in this journal as often as possible. She believes that writing your thoughts in journals keeps you sane. So I promised her, to comfort her. I’ve left home. We left today at noon from Halifax. It was difficult seeing the coast slowly shrink as we left. I hope this trip won’t be too long, I don’t want to get seasick.
The book didn’t look dangerous. It looked like a grubby, slightly damp-damaged journal, with less than half of the unlined pages covered in loopy, childlike handwriting.
Leeza Boychuk should have known better. She knew words were weapons, knew that, whether written or spoken, they could destroy happiness, batter pride, and bring the haughtiest low. But it was only much later that she came to realize the power of the book she held in her hand.
It was barely bigger than her palm. The spine was black leather, as were the curling corners. The rest of the cover was a thick, rough, red cardboard. How had it ended up jammed between a trade paperback of Robert Ludlum and a hardcover of Clive Cussler? She put it in the big tote she used as a purse to examine later and continued to fill the box at her feet with the books remaining on the shelf.
“Did Grampa-Great really read all of these?” Drew asked. Her son stood with a stack of novels clutched in his large hands, gazing with disbelief at the hundreds of books still lining the walls. He had offered to help clear out the backroom, but she didn’t think he’d anticipated quite the amount of work it would be.
Mind you, neither had she.
“I imagine so. He loved to read.” She folded the flaps of the now filled box and tucked them neatly under each other.
“What are you going to do with them? You don’t sell used books at Millar’s.” Drew handed her what he held so she could start a new box and reached to the top shelf for more. At just over six feet, he was almost twelve inches taller than her, his height inherited from his father.
She was not going to think of her ex-husband. Not when she was already emotionally drained from dismantling her grandfather’s life.
“No, we don’t. I’m donating them to the thrift store the Hospice Society runs.” In fact, most of the contents of the house were heading that direction. Her grandfather had lived alone, amazingly independent for a man who died only weeks shy of his hundredth birthday. He’d spent his last days at the local Hospice House, and supporting that organization was the best way Leeza could think of to thank them for their warm and loving care.
It took the rest of the afternoon, but they finally managed to pack all the books away. Boxes were stacked two and three high and covered much of the floor space.
“Almost ready for the new renters,” Leeza said, stretching her back. “The thrift store truck is coming tomorrow.” Drew grunted acknowledgment as he guzzled water. Otto Friberg might have read all the books at one time, but it had been a long while ago if the dust coating them was anything to go by. Leeza could feel the grit on her teeth and took a long swallow from her own bottle. “They’re taking everything that’s left. Are you sure there’s nothing else you might want?”
Drew nodded. “I have the photo of him during World War Two, with him on the tank, and the one of the two of us at my high school graduation. That’s enough. If I was staying around, I might have taken some of the furniture, but since I’m not…”
Leeza’s heart pinched, but she kept her expression open. “Yes. It will be easier to buy what you need once you get there.”
“I’m hoping to find a furnished place to rent. Or maybe share an apartment. Or flat, I suppose I should say.” He grinned, brown eyes gleaming.
“Well, when in England…” Leeza smiled, determined not to shadow Drew’s grand adventure with a melancholic mother. When he’d first told her he had quit the bank and was heading to Europe for an indeterminate amount of time, she’d assumed he meant weeks, possibly a few months. She’d known he was restless and dissatisfied, even though a job in finance should have suited the Bachelor of Commerce degree he’d completed a couple of years before. She figured he was going to take some time for himself before settling on a new career path. But then he told her he’d accepted a placement at the High Commission of Canada in the United Kingdom—specifically, London. He had been blazing with excitement then and hadn’t lost that excited glow in the weeks that had followed. She would do nothing to dim that joy.
They stepped out the front door into the chilly briskness of a darkening last day of November. Drew headed off in his soon-to-be-sold sporty sedan to have dinner and spend the evening with friends. He only had a few more days in town, and she wanted to share every second she could with him. But he had his own life and she had…well, her work, at least.
Leeza tossed her bag into her SUV and headed to her bookstore.
It wasn’t really hers, although, after ten years as manager and as many years working her way up to that position, it felt like it was. It was just one branch of a national chain, and she was growing increasingly frustrated with what she saw as ill-judged decisions and restrictive red tape. As manager, she didn’t often work an evening shift, but a flu bug was going through the staff and with Christmas less than a month away and the holiday buying frenzy ramping up, she was needed.
She parked at the back of the shopping complex and entered through a rear door. The mall was rather frantically decorated with red and gold and green and glitter, and tinkling, jingling instrumental versions of carols echoed off the tile floors. Just thinking about spending Christmas without Drew burned the back of her throat. Passing a coffee shop, she distracted herself with a deep inhale scented with peppermint and hot chocolate. Maybe she’d come back after checking in at the store. It would give her a chance to ask her partner on shift tonight if he would like something, too.
Gavin Fletcher was helping a customer at the till when she hurried into Millar’s. He nodded at her, the light glinting off his glasses, and she acknowledged him with a brief smile as she passed on her way to put her tote and jacket in her office at the back. She ran her hands through her hair and twisted her spine, trying to see if any dust from Grampa-Great’s books had transferred itself to her. She had planned to go home to freshen up, but she’d underestimated how long it would take to pack them all—she was usually unpacking books, not putting them away—and had run out of time.
Deciding she looked presentable enough, she headed out on the floor. Several customers were browsing the shelves, but no one waited at the counter. She saw Gavin was making use of the lull to straighten a display of three-for-the-price-of-two hardcovers at the front of the store.
When she’d hired Gavin five years ago, she hadn’t expected him to stick. He had been in his early forties at the time—he was a year younger than her, as she knew from his employee records—and not the typical applicant for a part-time job, given his previous career as a financial planner. He’d quietly explained he was looking for a change since the death of his wife, and she’d bet herself it would take no more than six months before he ran screaming for the door.
Thankfully, she’d been wrong. While he’d resisted her attempts to give him full-time hours, he was her most dependable employee. There was nothing wrong with the Millennials who made up the rest of her team, but it was certainly pleasant to have someone her own age around.
She joined him at the table, keeping an eye on the flow of customers while she helped reorganize the jumbled books.
“How’s it been today?” she asked.
“Steady.” Never talkative, he was a restful person to work with, going about his duties with efficiency and a casual friendliness.
“That’s good,” she said. Sales had been depressed all year, and this was the last chance they had to make up for earlier losses. Black Friday had just passed, and while in Canada it wasn’t the retail juggernaut it was in the United States it had been a decent success.
Gavin stretched an arm up to the books at the top of the display, his long, lean fingers lining up the edges with precise movements. He wore a white button-down dress shirt and sedate tie under his uniform vest. She’d never seen him less than professionally turned out, although his ties were not quite the right width for the current style, and she assumed they were holdovers from his days in finance. Of course, she’d rarely seen him away from the store. He attended few of the social events she organized for her staff. Maybe he favoured baggy jeans and over-sized hoodies when he was at home.
Riiiiiigggght. The thought made her smile.
Gavin, his eyes on the display, said, “Did you get everything packed away?”
Her smile faded. “Yes.”
“It’s hard,” he said quietly. “I know.”
“Thanks.” She appreciated his understanding, especially since losing a grandfather who had lived a full and adventurous life couldn’t be compared to losing a soulmate. Gavin never mentioned his wife directly, which Leeza interpreted to mean he had loved her too deeply to share her memory with a relative stranger. “The truck comes tomorrow to take it all away, and the new renters move in on the fifteenth. It’s the end of an era.”
A customer approached the till and Leeza went to ring the sale through. The rest of the evening was busy enough to preclude any more private conversation, which was a good sign given it was the first night the mall was open extended hours. But the cash register would have to ring as often as the mall elves jangled the bells at Santa’s Workshop if they were to get close to meeting the targets set by head office.
CHAPTER TWO
July 23rd, 1941
I’ve been playing cards with Rodney ever since we left. The boat is gigantic. There must be thousands of men on board. There’s a swimming pool (the water is freezing!), movies, bingo and really neat things. The ship is called the Orion. There’s a battleship that’s escorting us across the Atlantic in case Germans attack us. I can’t wait to get there, it’s only been two days since we’ve left and it seems I’ve been on the ship a week!
Just after nine o’clock Gavin ushered out the evening’s last customer and unfolded the clanging metal gate to close the entrance. They worked in silence as they did the duties necessary to wrap up the day, the routine well established and familiar, and then walked together through the deserted mall and out to the parking lot at the rear of the building. He stayed with her until she reached her SUV, his presence quiet and comforting in the dark night.
“Thanks,” she said, encompassing his work at the store and his chivalry in walking her to her vehicle in the single syllable. He waited patiently as she searched for her keys in the tote slung over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she muttered, “I know they’re in here somewhere.” She pulled out a small makeup bag, a plastic container of carrot sticks and the little red book she’d found at Grampa-Great’s and balanced them in one hand as she scrabbled with the other. Inevitably, the stack tilted, and the book fell to the snowy pavement. Gavin bent to retrieve it as she triumphantly freed the keys from the depths of her bag.
“Is this your grandfather’s?” Gavin asked, studying the book. “Where did he serve?”
“Where what?”
“Where did he serve as a soldier?” He shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but it was open to the inside cover when I picked it up.”
“Let me see.” He handed the book back, and in the glow from the overhead light she read William Henry Smith, A Company, the words written in faded pencil in the same sprawling, looping hand she’d seen when she first discovered the book.
“That’s not my grandfather,” she said, frowning. “His name was Otto Friberg. I found this today among his books. It didn’t seem like something the thrift store would want, so I kept it.” She turned the page and read the date of the first entry--July 21st, 1941. “He did serve in World War Two but didn’t talk about it much. He always deflected when I asked about it. And now it’s too late.” The loss of her grandfather pierced her again.
“I’m a bit of a history buff,” Gavin said diffidently, as if admitting to a shameful disease. “If you want, I could take a look at it for you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to read it myself, but I’ll let you know.”
He nodded and stepped back so she could open her door. He waited until she’d turned on the ignition and the locks automatically clicked before sketching a salute and heading to his own vehicle a few slots away.
A history nerd, Leeza thought with an amused shake of her head. Who would have thought? She’d known the man for five years and this was the first hint into his personal life he’d offered.
His headlights shone in her rear-view mirror as they left the parking lot, and she felt an odd sting of desertion when they turned onto a side street and disappeared, leaving her to make her way home alone.
The journey starts here. I don’t know if I’ll be able to record everything about it but I’ll try. My mother made me promise that I write in this journal as often as possible. She believes that writing your thoughts in journals keeps you sane. So I promised her, to comfort her. I’ve left home. We left today at noon from Halifax. It was difficult seeing the coast slowly shrink as we left. I hope this trip won’t be too long, I don’t want to get seasick.
The book didn’t look dangerous. It looked like a grubby, slightly damp-damaged journal, with less than half of the unlined pages covered in loopy, childlike handwriting.
Leeza Boychuk should have known better. She knew words were weapons, knew that, whether written or spoken, they could destroy happiness, batter pride, and bring the haughtiest low. But it was only much later that she came to realize the power of the book she held in her hand.
It was barely bigger than her palm. The spine was black leather, as were the curling corners. The rest of the cover was a thick, rough, red cardboard. How had it ended up jammed between a trade paperback of Robert Ludlum and a hardcover of Clive Cussler? She put it in the big tote she used as a purse to examine later and continued to fill the box at her feet with the books remaining on the shelf.
“Did Grampa-Great really read all of these?” Drew asked. Her son stood with a stack of novels clutched in his large hands, gazing with disbelief at the hundreds of books still lining the walls. He had offered to help clear out the backroom, but she didn’t think he’d anticipated quite the amount of work it would be.
Mind you, neither had she.
“I imagine so. He loved to read.” She folded the flaps of the now filled box and tucked them neatly under each other.
“What are you going to do with them? You don’t sell used books at Millar’s.” Drew handed her what he held so she could start a new box and reached to the top shelf for more. At just over six feet, he was almost twelve inches taller than her, his height inherited from his father.
She was not going to think of her ex-husband. Not when she was already emotionally drained from dismantling her grandfather’s life.
“No, we don’t. I’m donating them to the thrift store the Hospice Society runs.” In fact, most of the contents of the house were heading that direction. Her grandfather had lived alone, amazingly independent for a man who died only weeks shy of his hundredth birthday. He’d spent his last days at the local Hospice House, and supporting that organization was the best way Leeza could think of to thank them for their warm and loving care.
It took the rest of the afternoon, but they finally managed to pack all the books away. Boxes were stacked two and three high and covered much of the floor space.
“Almost ready for the new renters,” Leeza said, stretching her back. “The thrift store truck is coming tomorrow.” Drew grunted acknowledgment as he guzzled water. Otto Friberg might have read all the books at one time, but it had been a long while ago if the dust coating them was anything to go by. Leeza could feel the grit on her teeth and took a long swallow from her own bottle. “They’re taking everything that’s left. Are you sure there’s nothing else you might want?”
Drew nodded. “I have the photo of him during World War Two, with him on the tank, and the one of the two of us at my high school graduation. That’s enough. If I was staying around, I might have taken some of the furniture, but since I’m not…”
Leeza’s heart pinched, but she kept her expression open. “Yes. It will be easier to buy what you need once you get there.”
“I’m hoping to find a furnished place to rent. Or maybe share an apartment. Or flat, I suppose I should say.” He grinned, brown eyes gleaming.
“Well, when in England…” Leeza smiled, determined not to shadow Drew’s grand adventure with a melancholic mother. When he’d first told her he had quit the bank and was heading to Europe for an indeterminate amount of time, she’d assumed he meant weeks, possibly a few months. She’d known he was restless and dissatisfied, even though a job in finance should have suited the Bachelor of Commerce degree he’d completed a couple of years before. She figured he was going to take some time for himself before settling on a new career path. But then he told her he’d accepted a placement at the High Commission of Canada in the United Kingdom—specifically, London. He had been blazing with excitement then and hadn’t lost that excited glow in the weeks that had followed. She would do nothing to dim that joy.
They stepped out the front door into the chilly briskness of a darkening last day of November. Drew headed off in his soon-to-be-sold sporty sedan to have dinner and spend the evening with friends. He only had a few more days in town, and she wanted to share every second she could with him. But he had his own life and she had…well, her work, at least.
Leeza tossed her bag into her SUV and headed to her bookstore.
It wasn’t really hers, although, after ten years as manager and as many years working her way up to that position, it felt like it was. It was just one branch of a national chain, and she was growing increasingly frustrated with what she saw as ill-judged decisions and restrictive red tape. As manager, she didn’t often work an evening shift, but a flu bug was going through the staff and with Christmas less than a month away and the holiday buying frenzy ramping up, she was needed.
She parked at the back of the shopping complex and entered through a rear door. The mall was rather frantically decorated with red and gold and green and glitter, and tinkling, jingling instrumental versions of carols echoed off the tile floors. Just thinking about spending Christmas without Drew burned the back of her throat. Passing a coffee shop, she distracted herself with a deep inhale scented with peppermint and hot chocolate. Maybe she’d come back after checking in at the store. It would give her a chance to ask her partner on shift tonight if he would like something, too.
Gavin Fletcher was helping a customer at the till when she hurried into Millar’s. He nodded at her, the light glinting off his glasses, and she acknowledged him with a brief smile as she passed on her way to put her tote and jacket in her office at the back. She ran her hands through her hair and twisted her spine, trying to see if any dust from Grampa-Great’s books had transferred itself to her. She had planned to go home to freshen up, but she’d underestimated how long it would take to pack them all—she was usually unpacking books, not putting them away—and had run out of time.
Deciding she looked presentable enough, she headed out on the floor. Several customers were browsing the shelves, but no one waited at the counter. She saw Gavin was making use of the lull to straighten a display of three-for-the-price-of-two hardcovers at the front of the store.
When she’d hired Gavin five years ago, she hadn’t expected him to stick. He had been in his early forties at the time—he was a year younger than her, as she knew from his employee records—and not the typical applicant for a part-time job, given his previous career as a financial planner. He’d quietly explained he was looking for a change since the death of his wife, and she’d bet herself it would take no more than six months before he ran screaming for the door.
Thankfully, she’d been wrong. While he’d resisted her attempts to give him full-time hours, he was her most dependable employee. There was nothing wrong with the Millennials who made up the rest of her team, but it was certainly pleasant to have someone her own age around.
She joined him at the table, keeping an eye on the flow of customers while she helped reorganize the jumbled books.
“How’s it been today?” she asked.
“Steady.” Never talkative, he was a restful person to work with, going about his duties with efficiency and a casual friendliness.
“That’s good,” she said. Sales had been depressed all year, and this was the last chance they had to make up for earlier losses. Black Friday had just passed, and while in Canada it wasn’t the retail juggernaut it was in the United States it had been a decent success.
Gavin stretched an arm up to the books at the top of the display, his long, lean fingers lining up the edges with precise movements. He wore a white button-down dress shirt and sedate tie under his uniform vest. She’d never seen him less than professionally turned out, although his ties were not quite the right width for the current style, and she assumed they were holdovers from his days in finance. Of course, she’d rarely seen him away from the store. He attended few of the social events she organized for her staff. Maybe he favoured baggy jeans and over-sized hoodies when he was at home.
Riiiiiigggght. The thought made her smile.
Gavin, his eyes on the display, said, “Did you get everything packed away?”
Her smile faded. “Yes.”
“It’s hard,” he said quietly. “I know.”
“Thanks.” She appreciated his understanding, especially since losing a grandfather who had lived a full and adventurous life couldn’t be compared to losing a soulmate. Gavin never mentioned his wife directly, which Leeza interpreted to mean he had loved her too deeply to share her memory with a relative stranger. “The truck comes tomorrow to take it all away, and the new renters move in on the fifteenth. It’s the end of an era.”
A customer approached the till and Leeza went to ring the sale through. The rest of the evening was busy enough to preclude any more private conversation, which was a good sign given it was the first night the mall was open extended hours. But the cash register would have to ring as often as the mall elves jangled the bells at Santa’s Workshop if they were to get close to meeting the targets set by head office.
CHAPTER TWO
July 23rd, 1941
I’ve been playing cards with Rodney ever since we left. The boat is gigantic. There must be thousands of men on board. There’s a swimming pool (the water is freezing!), movies, bingo and really neat things. The ship is called the Orion. There’s a battleship that’s escorting us across the Atlantic in case Germans attack us. I can’t wait to get there, it’s only been two days since we’ve left and it seems I’ve been on the ship a week!
Just after nine o’clock Gavin ushered out the evening’s last customer and unfolded the clanging metal gate to close the entrance. They worked in silence as they did the duties necessary to wrap up the day, the routine well established and familiar, and then walked together through the deserted mall and out to the parking lot at the rear of the building. He stayed with her until she reached her SUV, his presence quiet and comforting in the dark night.
“Thanks,” she said, encompassing his work at the store and his chivalry in walking her to her vehicle in the single syllable. He waited patiently as she searched for her keys in the tote slung over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she muttered, “I know they’re in here somewhere.” She pulled out a small makeup bag, a plastic container of carrot sticks and the little red book she’d found at Grampa-Great’s and balanced them in one hand as she scrabbled with the other. Inevitably, the stack tilted, and the book fell to the snowy pavement. Gavin bent to retrieve it as she triumphantly freed the keys from the depths of her bag.
“Is this your grandfather’s?” Gavin asked, studying the book. “Where did he serve?”
“Where what?”
“Where did he serve as a soldier?” He shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but it was open to the inside cover when I picked it up.”
“Let me see.” He handed the book back, and in the glow from the overhead light she read William Henry Smith, A Company, the words written in faded pencil in the same sprawling, looping hand she’d seen when she first discovered the book.
“That’s not my grandfather,” she said, frowning. “His name was Otto Friberg. I found this today among his books. It didn’t seem like something the thrift store would want, so I kept it.” She turned the page and read the date of the first entry--July 21st, 1941. “He did serve in World War Two but didn’t talk about it much. He always deflected when I asked about it. And now it’s too late.” The loss of her grandfather pierced her again.
“I’m a bit of a history buff,” Gavin said diffidently, as if admitting to a shameful disease. “If you want, I could take a look at it for you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to read it myself, but I’ll let you know.”
He nodded and stepped back so she could open her door. He waited until she’d turned on the ignition and the locks automatically clicked before sketching a salute and heading to his own vehicle a few slots away.
A history nerd, Leeza thought with an amused shake of her head. Who would have thought? She’d known the man for five years and this was the first hint into his personal life he’d offered.
His headlights shone in her rear-view mirror as they left the parking lot, and she felt an odd sting of desertion when they turned onto a side street and disappeared, leaving her to make her way home alone.