A Canadian Summer Series: "The Day the Sky Fell: A Sister’s Strength"

by Brooke Jacqueline

Saturday, December 1, 1917

Halifax, Nova Scotia

A crisp winter breeze tickles my nose, teasing my hair out of my thick blonde braid. Stretched out before me lie the rows of wooden houses, and beyond them, the harbour.

“Look, Ruthie, look!” Little Tom pulls on my coat sleeve, pointing toward the water. A ship glides into sight.

“Ooh, that’s a big one,” I say, squeezing his little hand in acknowledgment.

By my side walks Margaret, carrying baby Frances in her arms, and two-year-old Willie is waddling beside me. At twelve years old, Maggie and I are close in age. I’m two years older than she is. We’re also best friends.

Frank and Charlie tumble out of the bushes, wrestling in the dirt of the road.

“Come on, boys, the park is just up ahead,” I say as I pass by.

“Race you!” Frank exclaims, popping up from the ground. He sprints past us, Charlie on his tail. Tom takes off, so I pick up Willie and run after them. Poor Tom. I think, seeing him running as fast as his little legs can go. Skidding to a stop, I bend down, letting Tom climb onto my back. With my two youngest brothers in tow, I race after Frank. I catch up to Charlie and pass him. 

“Bye, Charlie,” Tom says, waving. Frank beats us to the biggest tree in the park, scrambling up the low branches. I come to a stop and collapse to my knees. Sure, it’s fun, but extremely tiring. Tom hops off and I set Willie beside me, then flop onto my back, breathing heavily. Charlie scrambles up the tree after Frank. I see Frances’s rosy cheeks and big smile as Maggie skips toward the boys and me as if she’s a galloping horse.

Soon the checkered picnic blanket is laid out under the tree, along with our lunch of sandwiches and cookies.

“Here, Frances,” I say, handing her half of my peanut butter cookie. She grabs it in one of her tiny, fat fists, leaning against Maggie’s chest for support. With her other hand, she finds her foot.

“Look at the bird, Ruthie,” Tom says, pointing up at the bright blue sky. There are no clouds. That means there isn’t going to be any snow anytime soon. The weather has been pretty mild lately. I just hope there’s snow for Christmas. Other than that, I’m okay without the cold weather.

“C’mon, Charlie,” Frank suddenly proclaims, leaping up from his spot beside me. He runs across the grass with Charlie and Tom. Together they climb a large oak and watch another ship come in. Maggie plays peek-a-boo with Willie and Frances.

I wonder where Pa is right now. The last letter we got from him informed us he was still stuck in the trenches. I’m so glad Robert is no longer fighting in the Great War with Pa. He has mostly recovered from his physical injuries, but not the worst wounds. Mother says he is no longer a boy, but all grown up. Now he’s working hard at the dockyards. Mother isn’t home like she used to be because she’s also working, now that Pa’s fighting in the war. She and Robert leave in the morning together before I wake, Mother to the sugar refinery and Robert to the dockyards. Grammy runs the house during the day. She prepares our meals, cleans the house, and takes care of the littles—Tom, Willie, and Frances, while we are at school. Lavender, my oldest sister, turned nineteen in August and has been teaching grade one at my school. In the morning, Lavender leaves for school early, and Maggie, Frank, Charlie, and I follow about thirty minutes later.

I miss Lavender. Yes, we still live in the same house, but I feel like I never see her. When she isn’t teaching, she’s working at the hospital as a cook. Lavender strongly believes that women can have jobs and live unmarried just fine. Many boys have gone after my pretty sister, but she never lets anything distract her from her dream of becoming a teacher.

“Ruthie, Ruthie,” Maggie’s voice breaks through my scattered thoughts and I’m back in reality.

“Mmm? What is it?” I mumble.

“We’d better get home. Frances is getting grumpy and Grammy’ll be wonderin’ where we are. And she’ll give me a good thrashing if I don’t finish my chores,” Maggie responds with a grin.

“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. I call the boys. Maggie helps me pack up the picnic while the boys meander back. I hoist Willie onto my back and take Tom’s mittened hand in my own. Maggie balances Frances atop the blanket and we ramble up the dirt path, making our way home.

Thursday, December 6, 1917

“Stop eating the cookie dough, Tom!” I say it for the third time in ten minutes. I bat away his hand with a flick of my wrist.

“I’m bored, Ruthie,” Tom whines, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

“I know,” I reply, rolling a cookie into shape and placing it on a full baking sheet.

“Can you play with me?” Tom asks after a moment. I open the oven, sliding the cookie sheet in. I bustle around the counter, cleaning up pots and pans dirty from breakfast, and dump them in the porcelain sink with a clang. Spinning around, I nearly step on Willie, who sits on the floor, a ball in his lap. I sidestep, then hear Frances begin to cry. Brushing my hands on my apron, I hurry out of the sweltering kitchen. I swing open Mother’s door and take a wailing Frances out of her crib. A loud clattering of dishes catches my attention. I hear Tom’s fast pittering steps exit the kitchen. Willie begins to cry. I sigh and return to the kitchen, balancing Frances on my hip. The tray of cookies lies on the floor and Willie sits beside it, wailing.

“That’s it!” I exclaim, whisking Willie from the floor. I set him on a kitchen chair and begin to clean up the mess.

“Tom!” I nearly scream.

“Git your coat on. We’re going outside!” I pull out another tray of molasses and ginger smelling cookies from the oven, then shut the dampers and air inlets. I bring Frances and Willie to the front door and roughly help them put on their coats and boots. Tom slinks down the stairs to meet us, but I don’t say anything. I yank open the door and practically drag Willie outside. Frances remains in my arms. Tom pulls the door closed behind him and follows me onto the dirt road.

The day is sunny and clear, but cold. I take a deep breath of the crisp air. I wish I was at school right now. This morning I was happy to stay home and look after the youngest kids. It has been an hour and a half since Lavender and the others left for school, but everything has just been a mess. Grammy caught the flu yesterday and is still not feeling well, so Mother told me I’d have to stay home from school to look after Tom, Willie, and Frances. It’s been chaotic. Ten minutes of glorious silence goes by.

“I’m sorry, Ruthie,” Tom suddenly says, stopping behind me.

“Oh, Tom—” A clanging screech of metal on metal interrupts me and Willie points toward the harbour. There are two ships, the Imo and the Mont Blanc. The Mont Blanc is on fire and drifting closer to the pier. Herds of people run down to the harbour, standing on the docks to get a better view. The flat rooftop of the Acadia Sugar Refinery where Mother works is full of people.

We stand, all four of us, mesmerized. Though the fire had just started, huge clouds of steam and black smoke spill into the sky and blue and orange flames crawl their way up through the air. I’m not sure how long we stand there, but finally I say, “Tom, Willie, we have to go.” I have a bad feeling about this.

Frances begins to cry and Tom protests, “Please, let us go and watch, Ruthie.”

Suddenly the roar of the flames stops. As I turn around, a white flash shoots up from the burning ship. A huge burst of wind picks me up as if I’m a rag doll. I’m flying through the air and all I can think about is not letting go of Frances. I land on my back, Frances on top of me. Bodies lie everywhere. No one moves. Then the screaming begins. I lie there for a long while, stunned. Oily, black-as-night rain starts to fall and I stumble to my feet. Frances! Where is she? I spin around. There she is! I scoop her up in my arms and she opens her eyes, a brilliant blue against her blackened face. I hug her close. Where are the boys? I frantically sidestep around the debris. Bodies lie everywhere.

“Tom!” I try to yell.

“Willie!” My voice cracks. I sound like I ate gravel.

“Tom! Willie!” Finally I get past the dryness in my throat and my voice rings over the barren and desolate scene.

Again, I yell my brothers’ names. I squeeze Frances tight in my arms as my eyes frantically search the rubble. It feels as if I’m watching myself. I see myself begin to throw branches, wood, glass, people—anything in my way—to the side.

“Willie!” I scream. Suddenly his wobbly frame comes into view. I dive forward and yank him into my arms, burying my sooty face into his even dirtier hair. A sob escapes my lips and I close my eyes.

But my job isn’t over. I have to find Tom. With Willie on my back and Frances in my arms, I continue to search.

There’s dirt, dust, and a layer of black rain covering everything in sight. Many people are so badly broken, I don’t dare look at them twice. I don’t feel my strained muscles. I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel anything. The confusion, hurt, and brokenness of the whole situation seem to catch up to me. A regret so great that I don’t know what to do with it wells up deep inside me. Tom’s words blare like an alarm in my head.

I'm sorry, Ruthie.

I never finished it.

Never resolved it.

Tom has died in fear, knowing his sister never forgave him.

I can’t take it anymore. The pain is too much and I fall to my knees. Tears flow and I join the choir of hurt. I wasn’t able to save him. The disappointment of Tom. The disappointment of the rest of my family. My wails fill the air, along with everyone else’s cries.

“Tom,” I sob.

“Ruthie,” Willie’s voice is vague in my mind. Far away. Distant. Just like Tom.

“Ruthie, look.” My brain slowly processes Willie’s words and I open my eyes. The best and worst sight meets my eyes.

“Tom!” I scream, and scramble over anything in my way. A giant fallen tree lies on my Tom.

When I reach him, he moans. His leg is pinned under the wide trunk and his eyes are closed. I brush the black rain off his cheek with my thumb, kneeling over his body.

“Tom,” I breathe and his eyes flutter.

“I knew you’d come, Ruthie,” he rasps with a cough. His faith in me as his older sister brings tears to my eyes.

“Hold on,” I say, and feel the weight of the trunk. I push with my shoulder, heels digging into the ground. Nothing moves. Tom’s groan makes me push harder. It’s no use. With frantic hands, I begin to dig through the blackened leaves and dirt. I vaguely feel glass stabbing my hands, but I don’t stop. I have to get Tom out. Finally, I gently pull his battered and bruised leg free and he leans into my chest, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I say, tears streaming down my cheeks. Tom just cries. Two clean lines where his tears run down his face remind me of how dirty we are.

I pull Frances, Willie, and Tom into my arms and look around. Where are we? Nothing looks like the hustling and bustling Halifax I’ve always known. How long had I crawled to find Tom? There were no people in this area, wherever we were.

“Come on,” I grunt, pulling Willie to his feet. Willie doesn’t struggle, just obeys. Carefully, I get Tom on my back, conscious of his hurt leg. Somehow I bring my siblings to a large rock in the yard of someone’s destroyed house. I lay Tom down beside it and Frances lies down beside him. Willie clings to my neck, so I let him come with me as I go out to look for someone. I don’t go far; the rock is always in view. Finally I sit down. What to do, what to do.

Suddenly a man comes walking up the road. I can tell he’s a soldier, so I run up to him. I don’t remember what I say, but he follows me back to my siblings. Two more men come too. One picks up Frances and Willie. Another takes Tom, and finally I feel strong arms wrap around me, then pick me up. I grip his neck.

“Thank you,” I mumble. Everything fades from view, but my job is done.

Everyone is safe.

December 10, 1917

Dear Diary,

It still feels unreal. Not natural. I don’t feel like writing, but today Ruthie came up to me and said, “Maggie. This is a terrible adventure, and you’re the one with the diary. You have to write this all down. All of it.” Then she marched away. But I can’t. I just can’t. Not right now, anyways. Okay. I’ll tell you the facts. Here it goes. Lavender saved every child in Grade One. Every single one of her students is alive. Ma miraculously lived. We are lucky she is even alive. Charlie lost a leg and is blind in one eye. Tom is completely blind. The house collapsed on Grammy. She is dead. Robert is dead. Frank is dead. And Frances, Ruthie, Willie, and I got out without a scrape. I can’t write any more and I don’t know the next time I will. Good bye, diary.

Maggie Miller 

Author’s Historical Note

On the morning of December 6, 1917, the French cargo ship SS Mont-Blanc was hit by the Norwegian vessel SS Imo in the harbour of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. The Mont Blanc was laden with heavy explosives, and when the collision happened, the ship caught fire and exploded, destroying the Richmond district of Halifax. An unfortunate misunderstanding between the two ships turned into a disaster. It killed about 2,000 people and injured about 9,000. This event took place against the backdrop of WWI, transforming the relatively small Halifax Harbour into a vital Allied logistics hub. Tens of thousands of troops, horses, and millions of tonnes of munitions and supplies passed through the harbour during WWI. The Halifax Explosion has often been called the largest man-made explosion before the atomic bomb and is considered the worst disaster in Canadian history.

About the Author

Brooke Jacqueline is a fiction writer from Southern Alberta. Her writing spans realistic fiction, fantasy, and thriller, with additional work in devotions and articles. When not writing, she plays hockey and soccer, makes music on the piano, or rereads Harry Potter. Connect with Brooke Jacqueline at Be the Blaze.

A Note From Olivia

Hey, Remnant! I hope you enjoyed this fiction installment of A Canadian Summer on The Remnant. Stay tuned all summer for more young Canadian writers' posts! Subscribe to The Remnant if you haven't already and follow us on Instagram so you don't miss a beat! See you in a couple weeks, and enjoy your summer! <3

Keep reading for Ruthie's recipe for the ginger molasses cookies she was baking!

Ruthie’s Ginger Molasses Cookies

Prep time: 15 minutes

Cook time: 10 minutes

Total time: 25 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups (340g) unsalted butter softened to room temperature

• 1 cup (200g) granulated white sugar

• 1 cup (213g) packed brown sugar

• 1/2 cup (170g) unsulfured molasses

• 2 large eggs

• 4 1/2 cups (639 grams*) all-purpose flour

• 4 teaspoons baking soda

• 1 tablespoon ground ginger

• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

• 1 teaspoon ground cloves

• 1 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

1. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, soda, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and salt. Set aside.

2. Using a separate mixing bowl, either with a stand mixer or a hand mixer, cream together the softened butter and sugars on medium-high speed until the mixture is light and fluffy and a pale yellow color, about 2 minutes, scraping down the sides occasionally as needed. Mix in the eggs (one at a time) and molasses, and beat on medium-low speed until each is combined. Gradually add in the dry ingredient mixture and beat until it is evenly incorporated.

3. Transfer the dough to an airtight container and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until the dough is completely chilled.

4. Preheat oven to 350°F.  Line a sheet pan with parchment paper; set aside.

5. Roll the dough into small balls, about 1-inch in diameter. Fill a separate small bowl with sugar, and roll each ball in the sugar until it is completely coated. Place dough balls on the prepared baking sheet.

6. Bake for about 8-10 minutes, until the cookies begin to slightly crack on top.  (They will crack more while cooling.)  Remove from the oven and let cool for 4-5 minutes. Then transfer the cookies to wire racks to cool completely.

7. Serve warm and enjoy, or store in a sealed container for up to 4 days, or freeze for up to 3 months.