by Sarah Sundin
“The things he said, that I recorded, they sound so incriminating.”
“But you don’t think he did it.”
“I know he didn’t. Oh, Jim, you should have seen his face. Yes, he tried to frame Mr. Bauer, which was horribly wrong. But he was motivated by a vigilante sense of justice. He was convinced Bauer was the saboteur and needed to be arrested. Once he realized Bauer was innocent, he instantly regretted his actions. You could see it.”
Jim squinted at her. “Which means Kaplan isn’t guilty, and our saboteur is still out there.”
“Yes.” Mary’s shoulders slumped. “But not one clue since Kaplan was arrested.”
“Looks like you have some detective work to do while I’m gone, eh?” He offered her a smile and his elbow. “Now, show me those Fletchers.”
At Dry Dock 2, they gazed down at the two bare hulls side by side on their wooden scaffolds.
“The Guest and the Hutchins,” Mary said. “I can see why you sailor boys are so eager to sail in them.”
He laughed at her sarcastic tone. “Just you wait. Our Gleaves-class destroyer is only 1630 tons, but the Fletchers will be 2100 tons and 28 feet longer. They can carry more guns and torpedo tubes, and are more rugged. Sleek design too.”
“Interesting.”
Was it? Was it interesting to a young woman? “I’m boring you, right?”
“Never.” A lock of hair covered her mouth, but not the amusement in her eyes. “Remember, this is my business too.”
A surge of emotion rose inside, and he lifted his hand to brush away her hair, to linger.
But she beat him to it and shook her hair off her face.
He used his raised hand to scratch the back of his neck. Either a drooling fool or a frozen one. He’d chosen his path—why couldn’t he follow it?
Mary stayed close to Jim’s side. Two hundred men and officers of the USS Atwood crowded the wharf, all in gleaming white uniforms, along with wives and sweethearts and children. What an honor to be invited to see Jim ship out.
All around, women cried into shoulders or put on brave stoic faces. She understood their fears. The sea itself was dangerous, especially the frigid storm-tossed waters of the North Atlantic where everyone knew—but no one could say—the Atwood would be sailing.
In those same seas, U-boats sank dozens of ships each month. Only a matter of time until an American warship was sunk, until they went to war.
But the Bible said, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear,” and Mary would rest in that. If she loved Jim—and she was pretty sure she did—then fear had no place. Her fear would only burden him and paralyze her. The Lord loved Jim and would keep him safe, even if safety lay in heaven rather than on earth.
Jim faced her, breathtakingly close in the press of the crowd. “I’ll miss you.”
She wanted to drink in the warm expression on his face, to etch it into her memory. “I’ll miss you too.”
“It’s good to know you’ll be here when I get back.”
“When is a nice word.” Her voice came out too whispery, whittled away by the intensity of his gaze. Perhaps when he came back, things really would change. If only she could communicate her wish to him without sounding forward or desperate.
Someone jostled Jim and clapped him on the back. Jim smiled at the man. “Hi, Mo.”
“Hiya, Jim.” The officer led a petite dark-haired woman by the hand toward the gangplank.
Jim gestured with his thumb. “Maurice Shapiro, communications officer. That man over there with the four little girls—that’s the captain.”
“Lieutenant Commander Durant,” she said.
The man embraced a lady who held a little girl on her hip and a cheerful smile on her face. They kissed, and the captain patted the other girls on their heads and climbed the gangplank.
His wife held up the pudgy hand of the tiniest daughter. “Say good-bye to Daddy, girls. He’s off on a grand adventure.”
What a tender scene, and what a brave wife and mother.
“Well, I’ll be.” Jim nudged Mary and nodded toward a red-haired officer, who was engaged in a passionate kiss with a pretty blonde. “I’d heard rumors Reinhardt was married, but somehow I never believed them. Glad I was wrong.”
Lieutenant Reinhardt boarded the destroyer, and other officers after him, each kissing someone good-bye. Only Arch and Jim didn’t have sweethearts to kiss good-bye. This had to be painful for Arch.
Arch strode to the foot of the gangplank, faced the crowd, and pressed his hand over his heart. “Alas, I have no one to kiss good-bye. Any patriotic volunteers?”
From the edge of the crowd, a feminine shriek rang out, and a young lady pushed her way forward, one of the other secretaries at the Navy Yard. “Me! Me! I’ll volunteer!”
“Oh my goodness,” Mary said.
Jim gave her a stunned smile. “Guess he’s over Gloria. Or pretending he is.”
The brunette dashed to Arch. He pulled her into an embrace, dipped her low, and planted a quick kiss on her lips.
The crowd erupted in laughter and applause, and Mary and Jim joined in. The patriotic volunteer sashayed away, fanning herself, while Arch swept a bow and climbed the gangplank.
Near the top, Arch wheeled around and leaned forward, bracing himself on the guide ropes. “Your turn, Mr. Avery! Kiss her!”
Mary gasped and shrank back. Oh goodness, no. Already dozens of heads turned to her.
Jim stood stock-still, his hands fisted, gaze cemented on his best friend.
“Yeah, Mr. Avery, kiss her!” another officer shouted from up on the deck.
“Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Mary sucked in a breath, willing away the nausea.
Everyone stared at her, smiling, laughing, chanting, “Kiss her!”
Jim spun to her, eyes wide. “Mary, I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Her stomach squirmed, not only from the attention, but because Jim didn’t even want to kiss her. “It—it’s all right.”
Jim swatted at the chanting men on the ship. “Knock it off, fellows. Leave her alone.”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Avery? Chicken?”
“Yeah, if you don’t want to kiss her, I will.”
Mary’s face tingled. They’d keep chanting until he kissed her or left her. In an instant, her concern flipped from herself to him. If he didn’t kiss her, the crew would tease him the entire cruise. How could she allow that to happen to him?
Mary tugged his sleeve. “Would it be so bad?”
“Huh?” Jim turned to her again, his face red.
“Would it be so bad? One kiss? Just a friendly kiss.” How could she say such a thing? But how else could she end the attention? How else could she protect Jim from teasing?
Jim stared down at her, his eyebrows twisted. “A . . . friendly kiss?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake, the man would never act. Only she could end the shouting, the laughter, the tension.
“Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Mary threw her arms around his neck, drew his head down, and kissed him full on the lips.
He stiffened, but then his arms circled her waist and gathered her close.
Was he? Yes, he was kissing her back.
Around her, the chants melted away and disappeared in a blue haze. All she sensed, all she cared about, was the gentleness, the firmness of his kiss, his embrace, the way every bone in her body turned to jelly and only the strength of his arms held her up.
But how long had they been kissing in that glorious blue haze? A split second . . . or a week?
Mary eased back.
Slowly, Jim opened his eyes. Never had she seen them so close—the brown mixed with green, the tiny golden rays, the intelligence and humor and thoughtfulness she adored.
Oh dear. What would he say? Her breath caught and her lips wouldn’t move, swollen by the kiss. Should she apologize? Should she blurt out her love for him? What?
One corner of his mouth bent up. “Just a friendly kiss
, eh?”
So that’s how they’d handle it. “What kind of friend would I be if I let those men tease you?”
Then he gave her the grin she loved, but fuller than ever, and he tipped his cap to her. “Till I return.” Up the gangplank he went, his stride long. At the top, he turned and waved at her.
She waved back, her own grin bursting forth. Oh goodness, it wasn’t her imagination, not at all. Something was happening—something had happened.
Only then did she realize no one was chanting or laughing or staring at her anymore. How strange that she’d dissipated the attention by accepting it and stepping into the limelight for one blissful moment.
Mary hugged herself and bounced on her toes. Oh, what one kiss could do.
24
Like a pretty red beacon on the wharf, Mary grinned and waved.
With great effort, Jim resisted the urge to race back to her. It had really happened. She had kissed him. She had kissed him. If that was how she said good-bye, he couldn’t wait to say hello.
Only one problem. She had kissed him. Why hadn’t he initiated that kiss? After all, she invited him, gave him permission, but he’d just stared at her like an imbecile until she’d been forced to act.
At least he’d had the presence of mind to kiss her back. He’d have to make up for it when he returned. His smile returned, he gave her one last wave, and he stepped onto the deck of the Atwood.
Arch leaned against the bridge superstructure. “Well, well, well. Jim Avery has suddenly acquired a taste for quiet brunettes.”
Jim tried to look noncommittal. “Just a friendly kiss, she said.”
“Friendly? She didn’t kiss me like that.”
“Guess you’re not her friend.”
Arch laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s about time, old man.”
Yeah, it was. Joy erased his noncommittal façade. “I’d better get to my station.”
“Me too. The engines won’t run themselves.”
Jim headed forward, where he’d help the executive officer, Vince Banning, with the deck gang as they hauled up lines for shoving off.
In the narrow space alongside the superstructure, Jim squeezed past Mitch Hadley heading the opposite direction.
“What do you know?” Hadley said. “Jim Avery even floats with the dames.”
The muscles in Jim’s neck went taut. “You don’t know anything about the situation.”
“I know the poor girl had to kiss you, because you don’t have the guts.” He stuck out that thick jaw of his. “You have no initiative at all.”
“Excuse me. I have a job to do.” Jim continued on his way before he took the initiative to sock the jerk in the chin.
His arms swung hard by his side. No initiative? No initiative?
Jim’s lips set in a solid line. That was going to change.
Twirling on the sidewalk in front of the Bunker Hill Monument wouldn’t be mature. Not at all, so Mary indulged in a touristy gaze upward at the white granite obelisk, circling to view the charming neighborhood. There. She’d twirled without twirling.
Why shouldn’t she twirl? Jim had kissed her.
Well, she had kissed him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Her chest expanded, and her eyes drifted shut. Oh, the look of wonder on his face afterward.
Even if he wasn’t falling in love with her, at least he was attracted. Maybe the kiss had awakened something. Maybe that was the first time he’d seen her as a woman, not just as a friend. Either way, it was bliss.
Mary strolled down Monument Avenue toward her apartment. “Bring him home soon, Lord,” she whispered, but guilt pricked her conscience.
Jim had important work to do. If the Atwood could scare off the U-boats, the lives of countless merchant marines could be saved, and thousands of tons of valuable supplies could be delivered to Britain.
Her prayer needed editing. Lord, help him do his job well and bring him home safely—in your time.
The tune of the new song “Yours” flowed up inside her and out of her mouth. For once, she didn’t care who heard her singing. An older woman passed by and gave her an appreciative smile. Mary closed her eyes. She refused to let praise do its harm, but she also refused to let fear silence her song.
She climbed the stairs to her apartment and swung open the door.
“Mary! There you are!” A beloved voice, a beloved face, a beloved pair of arms enfolding her in a hug.
“Quintessa?” Mary hugged her back. Relief surged through her that Jim wasn’t there, but how could she be so selfish? Thinking only of herself?
Mary pushed back and held her best friend by the shoulders. “My goodness! What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you.”
Quintessa’s golden-green eyes sparkled. “I wanted to surprise you, sweetie.”
“You did. Oh, it’s so good to see you.”
“Don’t you look swell?” Quintessa stroked the sleeve of Mary’s dress. “I’ve never seen you wear red, and it’s marvelous on you. And I love your hair like that. A little longer, isn’t it? So is mine. We have to stay with the times, don’t we?”
“We do.” Mary fingered her friend’s shoulder-length blonde curls. “Oh, it’s good to see you. But what brings you here? How long—listen to me. I haven’t even invited you in yet.”
“I’m already in.” Quintessa raised that infectious smile of hers.
Mary laughed and motioned her to the couch. “When did you arrive?”
“Right before noon.” Quintessa sat and smoothed the skirt of her yellow dress, patterned with swirls of pale green leaves. “Your friend Yvette recognized my name, said you talked about me all the time—you sweetheart—so she let me in. When she said you’d be gone all day, I took the El downtown, looked around, and . . . met my new boss.”
Mary blinked. “Your new . . .”
“Yes.” Quintessa’s shoulders lifted. “Oh, I was miserable in Chicago. Yes, I needed to get away from Vermilion—I can’t stand seeing him with her—but I was so lonely in Chicago. I liked my job at Marshall Fields, but I got to thinking. I can do this job in any city in America. Why not with my very best friend in the world? So I applied to Filene’s, and they were impressed with my business degree, and they hired me. I’ll have to work the floor in sales for a year, but then they promised to move me into the business offices.”
Mary gripped her friend’s hand. “You’re staying in Boston?”
“I’m so excited. I haven’t been this happy in over two years.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful.” It took every grain of effort to keep selfish disappointment from marring her face. Quintessa would still be here when Jim returned.
“Do you suppose . . . I hate to spring this on you, but Mr. Garrett at Filene’s said finding an apartment in Boston is near impossible with the shipyards booming. Do you suppose . . . ?”
“You could live here?” It was difficult to swallow and smile at the same time. “My room is plenty big. We could fit another bed, another dresser, but of course I’d have to ask Yvette.”
“She loves the idea. In fact, she’s the one who suggested it. Cut the rent, you know?” She winked, cute as ever.
“This is wonderful.” Mary built it up in her mind. She’d finally have a dear friend in town to do things with, to—“Oh! Now I can show you my notebooks for the Case of the Shipyard Saboteur.”
“I can’t wait.” Quintessa clasped her hands together. “I couldn’t stand how you were having this delightful mystery adventure without me. You’ve been having all the fun this year. And with Jim Avery in town too.”
Jim Avery, who had a lifelong infatuation with Quintessa Beaumont.
Mary’s heart deflated. “He shipped out an hour ago.”
Quintessa pressed her hand over her mouth. “He did? When will he be back?”
How could she face Quintessa and talk about Jim? She went to the kitchen, since she had to make dinner anyway. She grabbed her favorite apron from the hook by the kitchen door and tied it around her waist
. “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone. A month or so, I imagine.”
“Oh, bother.” Quintessa followed Mary and untied the apron from behind. “Don’t you dare make dinner. I’m taking you out. I was hoping Jim would be here too, but oh well.”
Mary studied her golden friend in her golden dress. “He’ll be happy to see you.”
“Do you think so?” Quintessa patted her throat. “Pardon me, but may I have something to drink? I’m so thirsty.”
“Would you like some iced tea?” Mary opened the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher she’d made this morning, before Liberty Fleet Day. Before the kiss.
Pain squeezed her heart, and her hand squeezed the pitcher handle.
“Did you forget something?” Quintessa asked.
Yes, she’d forgotten how gold outshone silver. She lifted a smile. “The glasses are in the cupboard behind you.”
Quintessa spun around and pulled out two glasses, always thinking of others, and she set them on the table.
With a deep breath to steady her hand, Mary poured the iced tea. “Sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
“Come, let me show you something.” Mary led her friend back to the living room. “Sit in that chair, lean toward the bay window, and look up the street.”
Quintessa did so, brushing aside the lace curtains. “Oh, look! You can see the Bunker Hill Monument. How thrilling.”
Only minutes earlier, Mary had wanted to twirl in its shadow. Now she stood behind her best friend to conceal her face. “It’s my favorite spot.”
“To tell you the truth, Jim is one of the reasons I came to Boston.”
“Oh?”
Quintessa swirled the tea in her glass. “You said the two of you are only friends—you know I’d never interfere in a budding romance—but your letters got me to thinking. He was madly in love with me in high school, but of course I overlooked him because I had a boyfriend. But now . . . if he’s turned out as well as you say he has, he sounds like a real catch. If he adored me then, he might adore me again. I thought to myself, why not?”
“Yes,” Mary choked out. “Why not?”
Quintessa turned and took her hand. “Do sit down, sweetie. I want to see your lovely face.”