Echoes Of Halifax

PROLOGUE

Dear Abe,

It's been two weeks since I arrived in Halifax. The city feels like a fortress, especially in these times. Ships come and go, packed with loud naval soldiers, but I don't mind the noise—it fills the silence. I suppose that’s part of why I moved here. The quiet was becoming unbearable.

I’m still waiting for your ship to come into the harbor. Don’t forget, it’s the pub with the green brick façade and the large red sign outside that reads "Johnson's Pints"—right by the main docks.

I can’t wait to see you. It’s been nearly six months since we last met, and I’m eager to meet the friends you’ve written so much about. I hope the gloves your mother, Mrs. Burgess, sent have kept you warm. I tucked in some snickerdoodles before I left—just to sweeten the deal.

Please come soon, Abe.

Your dear friend,
Lucy Caswell

I glanced down at the letter, reading it once more as I took a sip of my cold water. Abe and I had known each other since we were twelve, but since the war started, letters were our only connection.

"Hey, miss! Two more rums over here!" a soldier called out from one of the booths, his voice thick with drunken cheer.

Folding the letter, I slipped it into my skirt pocket and grabbed a bottle of rum. Smiling, I poured two generous measures for the rowdy boys.

"Here you go," I said, before retreating to the bar to wipe down the counter with a rag, the old wood dull beneath my hand.

It was only 3 PM, far from the usual rush, but the regulars had already drifted in. There was Mr. Gregory, a gruff old man who came by once a week—sometimes twice if his wife was on his case. Andy, the lawyer, was a Thursday and Friday fixture, his tie always slightly askew by the second drink. And then there was Nellie. She’d married rich years ago, her husband a casualty of the Great War. Now she spent her afternoons drowning her fortune in booze.

Nellie’s familiar raspy laugh cut through the smoky haze as the radio blared the news. I lit my own cigarette and scanned the empty booths. In less than an hour, we’d have to draw the blackout curtains—4 PM sharp, in case of bombings.

"Girl, come pour me another," Nellie croaked, waving her glass in the air.

I grabbed her drink, the sharp scent of beer filling my nose as I poured.

"Is that a love note?" she asked, eyeing the edge of my letter poking from my pocket.

"It's a letter to my friend, Abe." I replied, wiping down the stained counter once again, more out of habit than necessity.

"Sure it is," Nellie muttered with a knowing smirk. "I was your age when I met Richard—shy boy, never talked to anyone."

Her words faded into the background as the bar slowly began to fill. I made my rounds, pulling the blackout curtains over the windows one by one, shielding us from whatever the world outside might bring.

When I returned to the counter, a familiar face walked through the door—Janet, fashionably late as always.

"About time," I grinned, waving her over.

"Oh, please, Lucy. I’m not late. I’m just making an entrance," Janet teased, tying on her apron with a wink.