When Tides Turn

by Sarah Sundin

  In the workroom, she wrote a note and paper-clipped it to the top folder. Then she set the stack of folders on Commander Lewis’s desk and smiled at her note: “To Cdr. Thomas Lewis: Completed reports from Lt. Daniel Avery. Sincerely, Ens. Quintessa Beaumont.”

  The commander could ask Randolph for his signature and write off the confusion to a loopy dame. Most importantly, he’d see Dan had completed the work.

  Then she refilled Dan’s coffee, no cream, no sugar, and took it to his office. He sat hunched over his desk, writing hard, kneading the back of his neck.

  “More coffee?”

  He looked up, his eyes bleary. “Thanks. Please. Yes.”

  The poor man had worn himself ragged. She set down the cup, picked up the paper he was working on, and set it to the side.

  “What are you—”

  “You’re taking a break.”

  “I don’t have time for a break.”

  “You can’t work like this.” She grabbed a blank sheet of paper and set it before him. “Draw something.”

  “Draw?” He ran his hand along the thick dark stubble on his jaw.

  “It’s what you do when you need to relax. I’ve seen you.” She tapped the paper. “Draw something—a sailboat, a flower, a ladybug.”

  “A ladybug?” A black eyebrow arched.

  “Anything you want. You have fifteen minutes.” She studied the clock. “Until 2225.”

  Dan groaned, but he leaned back in his chair and started sketching. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Tess giggled. Because she loved him. “Because I don’t want you to die young of a heart attack.”

  He jerked up his head, his eyes stricken and sad.

  “I’m sorry.” She perched on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “No, you’re right.” He shaded the top of the paper with long strokes. “Admiral Howard died of overwork and under-rest. I’ve learned the lesson, but this week . . .”

  “Some weeks are like that, but you still have to trust God enough to rest.”

  “Trust God?”

  Tess smoothed her navy-blue skirt over her knees. “The other day, I didn’t want you to come to the FBI office with me, but you insisted. You said if God wanted you to finish your work, he’d make it happen.”

  She remembered his voice when he said it, so close she felt his breath, his hand caressing her arm, infusing her with courage. And she remembered how he sat at her side in Agent Sheffield’s office, his presence lending her story weight. Because of Dan, the agent took her even more seriously.

  Dan sighed. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  She gathered her thoughts, willing the warmth in her cheeks to be invisible. “I think the Sabbath is kind of like tithing.”

  “Interesting. Explain.”

  She leaned back against the wall. “Think about it. God gives us a paycheck and says, ‘Keep 90 percent, give me 10 percent, and trust me to meet your needs out of that 90 percent.’ Tithing is an exercise in trusting the Lord.”

  “True.” Dan sketched an arced line.

  “It’s the same with time. God gives us a week and says, ‘Work hard on six days, give me one day for worship and rest, and trust me to meet your needs out of those six days.’ Choosing to rest is an exercise in trust.”

  “I didn’t work on Sunday, remember?” He winced and tucked up one shoulder.

  Tess slid off the desk. “Yes, but you also need daily rest. You’re working too hard this week, and your body’s fighting back.”

  “I don’t have a choice, and I’m fine.” His voice turned gruff.

  “You’re not fine.” She stood behind Dan’s chair and set her hands on his shoulders.

  He sucked in a breath and sat forward. “What are you—”

  “Your neck hurts. I’ll work out the knots while you draw.” She pulled on his shoulders.

  He sagged back in the chair. “Don’t forget I outrank you.”

  “On Sunday you called me captain.” She pressed the heel of her hand into the triangle of muscles at the base of his neck, stiff and lumpy under his white shirt.

  “I—regret it.” His voice edged higher.

  “Poor thing. You have knots the size of Bunker Hill. Loosen that tie and undo one more button.”

  “Tess . . .” His voice darkened with warning.

  “Relax. I’m not getting fresh, but your collar’s in the way.”

  He grumbled, but he obeyed.

  She worked her fingers down under his collar, trying to ignore how warm and supple his skin felt. Had they truly touched before, skin to skin? She’d touched his coat sleeve. He’d touched hers. But this?

  Thank goodness he faced away from her and couldn’t see her tingling cheeks.

  Dan grunted and gripped the edge of his desk.

  “You’re not drawing,” she said.

  “How can I when you’re torturing me?” His voice squeaked.

  “Stop it, you big baby.” She glanced at the clock. “Only nine more minutes. Draw.”

  More grumbling, but he picked up his pen. Soon his posture relaxed, his muscles softened and warmed, and he stretched his head to the right to allow her to massage.

  “What are you drawing?” She peeked over his shoulder.

  “A sailboat.” His tone was low and dreamy. “I don’t have my father’s gift. I can’t create beautiful things that call to the soul. That’s what Dad does, you know.”

  “I know.” It was good to hear him say that, good to hear him say “Dad.” He always said “my father,” respectful but impersonal.

  “All these years I’ve disdained his work, but he’s right. There are different kinds of work, and they’re all good. Mom does the books, Dad crafts the boats, you encourage—”

  “Me?” Her hands stilled.

  “Don’t stop. A little lower, to the right.” He tipped his head to the left.

  “Encouraging isn’t work.” Tess followed his instructions and found a new knot.

  He jerked and grunted. “Sure, it is. The yeomen sing your praises. You ran a stirring bond rally. And you organized this work party. With your gifts, you help the yeomen work better, you sell heaps of bonds, and now you’re helping me get my work done and putting this cranky toddler down for a much-needed nap.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “It doesn’t feel like much.”

  “It is. You’re generous and cheerful, and you make people feel better about themselves. I can’t think of anything more . . . more useful.”

  Useful. No one made her feel better about herself than he did. Her pinky finger strayed into the hair at the nape of his neck, thick and soft. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Thanks to you and your friends, I’ll meet my deadline. I might even—I might finish early Friday.”

  “Friday?” She gasped in delight. “Your birthday. You could go out and celebrate.”

  “That’s my new goal, and I’m determined to meet it.”

  She fought the urge to hug him and plant a kiss on that stubbly cheek. “Oh, Danny, that’s wonderful.”

  “Now, my fifteen minutes is over, my neck feels like warm jelly, and my reports await.” He held up his drawing. “My best yet.”

  Tess snatched it out of his hand and sat on his desk. The lines were looser but no less firm, somehow gaining confidence in their relaxation. “Oh, it is good. Very good.”

  “Color it for me?” He had never looked more appealing, his tie hanging loose, his shirt collar open and inviting, his smile even more open and inviting. Yet he was still the same rock-steady, no-nonsense Dan.

  She hugged the paper. “I will.”

  35

  Boston

  Friday, April 16, 1943

  In the ballroom of the Bradford Hotel, while Frankie Masters and his orchestra played a swing tune, Dan set a birthday card on the table and smiled at his friends. “Thanks, everyone.”

  “You’re not done yet.” Tess pulled a flat box from under her chair.

  “I sai
d no presents.”

  “Hush. I only put it in a box so it wouldn’t get crumpled. Besides, you asked for this.”

  He gave her a skeptical look and opened the box. He had indeed asked for this. She’d colored his sailboat bright blue and drawn a little man lounging along the bow, wearing an officer’s cover and red swim trunks. He read the caption out loud, “Danny at play.”

  Lillian laughed. “He has never been a Danny.”

  He was now, but only with Tess.

  “I wish I had that other sailboat drawing,” Tess said. “Do you remember?”

  Remember? He had it in his wallet at that moment. “I do.”

  “I’d call it ‘Dan at work.’ The first boat was solid and practical, and you were in uniform. The second is fluid and playful.”

  “Six days, one day.” With her at his side, he could achieve that balance. Which reminded him it was time to get underway. He tucked the drawing and the cards in the stationery box Tess had used. “Thanks again, everyone. It’s not every year a man gets two parties.”

  Bill scooted his chair back. “It’s not every year a man turns eighty.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Oops. Sorry. You only act eighty.” Bill winked, stood, and offered his arm to Nora. “Would you like to dance?”

  Arch asked Lillian. Each of the men had promised to give Mary a whirl around the dance floor, but she glanced away from Dan, kindly freeing him to ask Tess.

  He stood and approached Tess’s chair. “The drawing reminds me of a grave wrong I committed against you.”

  She looked up at him with amusement. “Which one?”

  He bowed his head. Fair enough. “The night I drew that first sailboat, you told me it would be polite if I asked you to dance, and I refused. I was wrong.” He held out his hand. “Would you do me the honor?”

  She hesitated one painful second, then settled her hand in his.

  He led her to the dance floor. He could have offered his arm, but holding hands felt more personal, more proprietary.

  “‘In My Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown,’” Tess said.

  Strange thing to say. “Hmm?”

  She laughed, her hand small in his. “The name of the song. I heard Frankie Masters perform it when I was in Chicago. Only then I was wearing an actual gown, not a uniform.”

  She couldn’t have looked any sweeter. He pulled her into his arms and immediately forgot how to dance.

  Tess stood so close, her face tipped toward his, a flush on her cheeks, her eyes round, her mouth curved. “Has it been that long?”

  Since he’d danced? Or since he’d kissed a woman? Too long for both. “It has, but I’ll make do.”

  He forced his feet in the old patterns, but his mind was more interested in the position of his hands—one on the curve of Tess’s waist, the other holding her hand. Such a pretty hand, yet capable of inflicting the sweetest agony.

  The sweetness of those fingers caressing his neck and shoulders and hair and reducing his brain to mush. The agony of not being able to pull her down to his lap for a passionate kiss.

  Dan turned his attention to the couples dancing and the swing band on stage. A kiss was months away, but tonight he’d set his plan in motion and give his speech to Tess.

  Once he managed to get her in private, he’d cut to the chase and tell her he wanted to ask her out after he received his transfer. Commander Lewis had been impressed with how Dan met his deadline, and he’d praised Dan’s humility in giving credit to Bill, Tess, and the WAVES. With a good recommendation from Captain Short, Dan was sure to succeed.

  As soon as he was out from under Randolph’s thumb, he’d be free to pursue Tess openly.

  Next he’d explain why he’d rejected Admiral Howard’s instructions to avoid romance and how Tess had helped change his mind. It was too early to tell her he loved her, but he’d list everything he admired about her and why he wanted her in his life. That could take a while.

  Then he’d order her not to answer until he returned from his cruise on the Bogue. He’d be gone at least a month, which would give her plenty of time to pray about it. He only asked for the courtesy of considering his offer.

  It was a fine speech.

  “You’re quiet.”

  Dan blinked.

  Tess’s eyes were mesmerizing this close, the gold and green in rays of brightness and life. “Thinking about the steps?”

  He was indeed, but not the dance steps. “You could say that.”

  “Well, aren’t you mysterious?” Then the music changed, and her eyes faded.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She gave her head a small shake. “Nothing. I just don’t like this song.”

  “I don’t recognize it.”

  “You’re hopeless. It’s called ‘Scatterbrain’—a Top Ten hit a few years back. It’s Frankie Masters’s theme song.”

  “And you heard him in Chicago.”

  Her mouth pursed. “My date said it should be my theme song too.”

  Dan tuned in to the gentleman singing about his darling scatterbrain with her delightful smile and insane chatter. He frowned. “That wasn’t kind, and it definitely isn’t true.”

  “I didn’t allow him a second date.”

  “See? Proof you’re no scatterbrain.” Part of his speech threatened to tumble out prematurely, but he restrained himself. The other day she’d massaged words right out of his skull. If the neck rub had lasted another fifteen minutes, he would have proposed marriage.

  When the song finished, Tess relaxed. But then the band switched to a peppy Latin beat, and Dan released her. “Sorry. I can’t keep up with this.”

  Tess spun to face the crowd. “Look! They’re starting a conga line. What fun! Let’s join in.”

  “Not me.” He backed toward the edge of the room. “Bunch of nonsense.”

  She bounded to him and grabbed both his hands. “Even you can do the conga. Three steps forward, little kick to the side. Follow me.” She congaed backward. “One and two and three—kick! One and two and three—kick!”

  He followed, enchanted. She was right. Even a no-nonsense man could have a little nonsense in his life, a little rest, a little romance.

  Dan let a grin rise. “Lead on, Carmen Miranda.”

  She cheered, whirled around, and planted his hands on her waist. Then she congaed her way to the snaking line with the drummer at the head. The line opened and swallowed them.

  Dan had a strange woman’s hands on his waist, and Tess had her hands on a strange man’s waist, but Dan didn’t mind. He held Tess’s small, nimble waist. Her hips bounced and swayed to the beat, and she kept glancing back at Dan, laughing for joy. And his laughter welled up from an old and neglected vault in his soul.

  All too soon, the song ended and the crowd clapped and whistled.

  Tess’s face glowed. “Wasn’t that fun?”

  “It was.” He ran his hand over his hair, the waves gone wild.

  She looked past him. “Mary’s trying to get my attention.”

  The rest of their party was at the table, and Mary beckoned. Dan guided Tess back through the crowd.

  “I’m sorry.” Lillian patted her knee. “I don’t want to spoil the party, but I’m getting sore.”

  “I’ll take her home,” Arch said. “And Mary too.”

  “And I’m not feeling well.” Nora rested a hand on her stomach. “I hate to—”

  “I’d be glad to take you home,” Bill said.

  Dan’s gut tightened. It was only nine. He’d hoped for another hour.

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” Tess’s voice was softened by compassion but also held a tinge of disappointment.

  Dan turned to her. “I’d rather not call it a night yet. Would you like to keep dancing?”

  She brightened. “Oh yes. It’s too early to go home, and you have so much to celebrate.”

  “I do.” He directed a deliberate look at Arch. “Which is why I won’t see you at church on Sunday.”

&nb
sp; The former naval officer nodded. “I see. Congratulations.”

  Dan hugged Lillian and Mary, shook hands with Arch, saluted Bill and Nora, and sent them on their way.

  “Tomorrow?” Tess asked by his side.

  He leaned closer to her ear. “I report to the ship at midnight tonight.”

  “Or you turn into a pumpkin?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “When should we leave?”

  “At 2200. That’ll give me time to take you home, get my sea bag, and return to the ship.”

  Tess’s eyes glistened, but then cleared. “I’ll miss you, but I’m so happy for you.”

  His chest ached with a good pain he’d never felt before, as if his heart were stuffed full to the top. How he wanted this woman in his life, a woman who would miss him when he was at sea and welcome him back to shore, supporting him wherever he was.

  “So!” She grabbed his hand. “You have one more hour. Use it well.”

  He did. For the next hour, he danced with her and talked with her, breathing in her air and basking in her light. His speech muddled in his mind. He rearranged it, adding bits. Then he chided himself for editing such a fine speech.

  The hands on his watch spun to ten o’clock. Time to give that speech. Time to say good-bye.

  He checked out their coats and his cover, and they headed outside. A taxi sat at the curb, and Dan hailed it and opened the back door for Tess. A cab ride would be a good place for his speech, private enough to declare his intentions.

  But Tess stared up at the sky. “Too bad I live so far away. It’d be a lovely night to walk.”

  The temperature hovered around forty degrees, but a three-quarters moon lit the starry sky. Dan leaned into the cab. “Excuse me. Could you please meet us about three blocks from here?”

  “Sorry, pal. I’ve got guaranteed fares if I sit here.”

  Dan slipped out his wallet. “I’m hiring you for at least an hour and a half. I’ll pay you in advance and then some.” He handed the man three dollars.

  The cabby whistled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll meet you at the corner of Tremont and Stuart. Take your time.”

  Tess clasped her hands before her chest. “Thank you. I didn’t want the evening to end yet.”