When Tides Turn

by Sarah Sundin

  When Madame Robillard and Solange learned they would be charged for aiding enemy agents and serving as accomplices to murder and attempted murder, they agreed to testify against the spies and to plead guilty to false charges of arson.

  An officer in the WAVES had indeed been seen leading a blonde woman out of the bakery, but only Tess knew it wasn’t Solange, but Yvette in a blonde wig. And only Mary and Lillian knew Tess had been that officer.

  Last night, Tess had told Mary and Lillian the false story. They were astonished, but no more than if Tess had told the truth. As for Yvette, her friends would think she had fled to New York, despondent over Henri.

  When the church service ended, Bill Bentley leaned forward in the pew and smiled at Tess, oblivious to her ordeal. “Here’s hoping we have another pleasant week at ASWU.”

  Tess blinked and returned his smile. Mr. Randolph had been away on special assignment, and the office was relaxed, cheerful, and productive. “I hope so too.”

  “Maybe Dan will come back. It’s about time.”

  Tess’s heart lurched. Bill had no idea what had happened between her and Dan, nor should he. Dan deserved discretion and courtesy.

  Bill stood. “Of course, he won’t be in town long. You heard he’s being transferred?”

  Another lurch with a painful jab at the end. “No, I hadn’t. Where . . . ?”

  “Commander Lewis won’t tell us until Dan receives his orders. But I didn’t like Mr. Randolph’s barbs about Dan being better suited for a desk job in DC. I hope Commander Lewis sees through him.”

  “Me too.” Her voice choked.

  On Tess’s other side, Lillian stood and smiled. “Well, look who’s here.”

  Dan? Tess whipped around. No sign of the man she loved. However, a WAVE officer sat in the back pew with sad brown eyes. “Nora!”

  Tess squeezed past her friends, barreled down the aisle, and slid into the pew beside Nora. “Please forgive me. I’m the most selfish, thoughtless—”

  “Hush. No, you’re not.”

  “But I am.”

  Nora’s mouth bent with a hint of teasing. “Well, maybe that one night.”

  Tess’s eyelids drooped shut. “Not maybe. Definitely.”

  “Nonsense.” Nora’s warm hands gripped Tess’s. “Anyone who recognizes she made a mistake as quickly as you did could never be called thoughtless. And anyone who humbles herself like this could never—well, don’t you dare call yourself selfish again.”

  “Only if you forgive me.” She offered a slight smile.

  “Already done. But can you forgive me? I wrote letters, but they sounded awful and I ripped them up.”

  Tess hugged her. “Please let’s be friends again. And please, please, please tell me you’re stationed in Boston again.”

  “I am. Now please let me breathe.”

  They laughed together, a shaky kind of laugh. In the aisle, Mary and Lillian and Arch waited to welcome Nora, but Bill stood back, his face dark and determined.

  Oh no. What happened? Everything had been going so well before Nora left for training school.

  Tess followed Mary, Lillian, and Arch into the second-floor lobby.

  “Welcome back, Nora,” Bill said from behind Tess. “Would you like to have lunch with me, just the two of us?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Tess had to use every ounce of will not to stare back at them.

  “For the same reasons you didn’t answer my letters this month?” Bill’s tone sharpened.

  “I—I was busy in training school.”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are.” Disappointment lowered Nora’s voice. “We’re friends. So let’s have lunch with the rest of our friends.”

  Tess gripped the banister, her mind spiraling down with the staircase. Did Nora think Bill was only interested in her friendship, her mind? No one had ever told her she was beautiful. No one had ever kissed her.

  And poor Bill had no idea why she was pushing him away.

  Tess shouldn’t get involved, yet a strange sense of urgency led her to hang back at the doorway while Nora marched past her and down to the sidewalk.

  The darkness in Bill’s blue eyes—she couldn’t bear it. Tess grabbed his arm and pulled him out of sight inside the front door. “Tell her she’s beautiful.”

  “What?” His lip curled in confusion.

  “Have you ever told her?”

  “No, but—”

  “Tell her right now.” Her fingers dug into his arm.

  His face cleared, and his jaw edged forward. Then he stepped onto the front stoop, and Tess followed. Nora waited on the sidewalk with the others, her back to the door.

  “Nora Thurmond!” Bill yelled, standing at perfect military attention. “I think you’re beautiful!”

  She whirled around, her eyes large with shock, with hope. Then her gaze flicked to Tess, and she set her mouth in a thin line and stomped up the dozen steps, straight to Tess.

  Oh dear. She’d lose Nora’s friendship for good this time.

  Nora glared at her. “I don’t want to hear it like that. Not under duress.”

  Bill stepped closer. “It wasn’t under—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Nora held up one hand to silence Bill, and her gaze drilled into Tess. “How could you?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Tess whispered. “You’re punishing Bill for not calling you beautiful. How’s that any different from what I did to Dan?”

  Nora gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “It isn’t fair to expect a man to say what you need to hear if you don’t tell him.” Tess’s voice warbled. “For heaven’s sake, it isn’t fair to expect him to say it even if you do tell him.”

  Tears glimmered in Nora’s brown eyes. “I . . . I . . .”

  “May I have a say in this?” Bill pushed closer. “Since you’re talking about me.”

  Nora swung to Bill, her hand tight over her mouth, then she ducked her chin.

  Tess needed to fade away, but she was trapped with a brick wall behind her, a wrought-iron railing in front of her, a white column on one side, and Bill on the other. She pressed back against the wall.

  Bill took the hint and slid into her spot. “Nora, I didn’t think you’d want flowery talk like that. You’re so practical and down-to-earth.”

  Nora shook her head, her gaze on Bill’s black shoes. “I don’t want to hear it if—”

  “If I don’t mean it?” His voice softened. “But I do. Look at me.”

  Tess squished past him and padded down the stairs with a few other curious churchgoers, and she watched her friends out of the corner of her eye.

  Bill set one finger under Nora’s chin and tipped her face up. “I mean it. You’re so beautiful. Your eyes—I just want to fall in. And when you’re thinking hard—that cute little thing you do with your lips. And your fingers—even your fingers—they’re so pretty.”

  As Tess descended the steps, her smile rose higher and higher.

  “What’s going on?” Mary asked.

  Bill murmured sweet somethings, and Nora’s hand lowered from her mouth and fluttered for Bill’s shoulder.

  Tess’s fiasco with Dan had produced unexpected fruit, and the sweetness of that fruit satisfied her soul. “They won’t be joining us for lunch.”

  46

  Argentia, Placentia Bay, Newfoundland

  Wednesday, May 26, 1943

  “Welcome back to Newfoundland.”

  In the wardroom of the USS Bogue, the officers applauded Captain Short. Dan might not be a member of the crew, but he shared their emotion.

  “I just received a note from Adm. Royal Ingersoll, Commander in Chief of the US Atlantic Fleet.”

  “Never heard of him,” an officer wisecracked, and everyone laughed.

  Captain Short wore his customary grin. “The admiral offers high praise. Not one merchant ship in Convoy ON-184 was attacked by a U-boat, despite overwhelming presence of the enemy. The Bogue an
d the Archer have sent a message to Admiral Dönitz.”

  “The Archer? We were first!”

  More applause, a few catcalls. The British escort carrier HMS Archer had sunk a U-boat attacking Convoy HX-239 on May 23, but yes, the Bogue had been first.

  “Now.” The captain lowered his eyebrows in an expression reminding his men that high spirits were never an excuse for interrupting a commanding officer. “I have our new orders from Cinclant. We’ll sail from Argentia on May 31 for the Central Atlantic convoy routes—but Admiral Ingersoll isn’t tying us to a convoy. He’s giving us free rein to chase down fixes from Huff-Duff and intelligence, and to cover convoys when needed. We’re no longer on the defensive. We’re going on the offensive.”

  Dan wholeheartedly joined the cheering. Although he wouldn’t be along for the ride, a soft sadness had replaced his harsh bitterness. And he’d be sailing with the Bogue in spirit. Over the past few days, he’d worked with the senior officers as they developed tactics to deal with antiaircraft fire. Now the Avenger torpedo bombers and Wildcat fighters would fly in pairs. When a U-boat was sighted, the Wildcat would strafe the deck to chase the Germans from the guns, then the Avenger would swoop in from another angle with her depth bombs.

  Captain Short concluded his address, and Dan chatted with the officers at his table. His supper of Salisbury steak, potatoes au gratin, and buttered beets nestled warm in his belly.

  The ship’s mailman entered the wardroom and distributed mail brought from shore to the carrier at her mooring buoy.

  Dan received a thick stack.

  The officer to his right let out a whistle. “She must be crazy about you.”

  No, she wasn’t, but Dan would survive. He held up months-old letters from Rob and Jim, both somewhere in the Pacific. “Big family.”

  Dan flipped through—several letters from his parents and from each of his brothers and sisters, but none from Tess, not that he expected any.

  Two letters stopped the blood in his veins. The first from Cinclant—his new orders. The second from Commander Lewis—his censure.

  It was one thing to know it was coming and another to see it in brutal black-and-white.

  The wardroom began to empty as the men prepared for the second dog watch, when the other half of the officers would dine and hear from Captain Short.

  But Dan sat holding his letters. Washington, DC, wouldn’t be so bad. He could visit historical sites and the Smithsonian. He had friends from the Academy in town. When he had leave, Ohio was a reasonable distance away.

  And his work would have worth. Personnel manned the ships, and supply met their needs. Both were essential. Dan would put his all into his duties.

  With a deep breath, he worked his finger under the rim and pulled out his orders.

  Lt. Daniel Avery is ordered to proceed to Norfolk Naval Operating Base on 15 June 1943 to report for duty aboard the auxiliary carrier USS Bogue as assistant communications officer.

  Dan couldn’t breathe. The Bogue? At sea? A line officer?

  His gaze whipped to Captain Short chatting by the door with the chief engineer. Dan bolted to his feet, to the door.

  After the engineer left the wardroom, Captain Short faced Dan.

  He couldn’t speak. He could only lift his orders.

  The captain gave them a glance. “Good. I got my way.”

  “You—”

  “When we were in Boston in April, I talked with Commander Lewis. We agreed you needed to finish your current projects at ASWU, so I’m afraid you won’t join us on our next cruise.”

  “That—that’s fine, sir.”

  “Looking forward to having you on board in June.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” Dan meandered back to the table, staring at his orders. He went the wrong way and had to try again.

  Captain Short had arranged for his transfer in April. Before Randolph’s campaign to ruin Dan. Before Dan’s vicious plan to ruin Randolph. Without Admiral Howard’s help.

  He stood by his chair, his breath in disorganized clumps. God had answered his prayers, but in his timing, not Dan’s. God waited until Dan surrendered his goal and stopped fighting in his own feeble strength. Even if the Lord had sent him to Washington, he would have been fine. But the Lord hadn’t done that. He’d sent him back to sea.

  Dan laughed out loud, grabbed his mail, and retreated to his cabin. At his desk, he ripped open Commander Lewis’s letter to answer the remaining mysteries.

  The Monday after the Bogue sailed, Lt. Cdr. Stanley Randolph presented charges against you and demanded you be transferred and court-martialed.

  His demands seemed extreme, but I promised to investigate.

  His first charge was that you had failed to delegate while away and were therefore guilty of dereliction of duty. This hadn’t happened in your previous absences, so I summoned Ensign William Bentley. He reiterated his claim that Mr. Randolph had ordered him not to complete the work and that you were to perform all duties yourself, including typing. He was aware that Mr. Randolph denied giving such orders.

  I stated that I had noticed tension between you and Mr. Randolph. Mr. Bentley claimed not to know the source, but said it was longstanding and personal.

  The second charge involved the “work party” arranged by Ensign Quintessa Beaumont. She assured me it was entirely her doing and that she had surprised you, which was confirmed by Mr. Bentley and the WAVES. Miss Beaumont was mortified that her actions might have caused you trouble.

  I also asked her about the tension. She said you had told her the source but had asked her not to say anything for Mr. Randolph’s sake. Then she offered a hint—I should look at the personnel records from 1935.

  That was all I needed. I found the record of Mr. Randolph’s transgressions on the USS Texas and your role in bringing them to light.

  His current transgressions bear a strong resemblance to those in the past, but this time he interfered with the duties of this unit and tried to destroy the career of a fellow officer.

  Mr. Randolph is currently under suspension. Upon receipt of your written statement, I will transmit a request for a general court-martial to the Secretary of the Navy.

  The rest of the letter faded to a blur. Dan hadn’t spoken one word against Randolph, but the man had still been brought to justice.

  “Thank you, Lord. Thank you.” He rested his head in his hands until the spinning stopped, praising God for his mercy and praying for Randolph to turn to the Lord and change his ways.

  When he opened his eyes, the paragraphs about Tess came into focus. She’d defended him and shown concern for his welfare, while still respecting his wishes—for the most part. He ran one finger along his favorite sentence. She defied him enough to drop one hint—an impulsive little Tess-twist.

  Kind and merciful and generous, she’d chosen to help him. He wanted her in his life forever. If only she’d give him a second chance.

  Dan opened the desk drawer and retrieved the two sailboat drawings.

  Something was missing.

  He grabbed a pen and got to work. “Lord, help me bring this sketch to life.”

  47

  Boston

  Sunday, May 30, 1943

  Tess had never known such a meaningful Memorial Day. In Boston Common, she and the WAVES from the war bond office untied the bunting from the wrought-iron railing that ran around the stage of the Parkman Bandstand.

  The WAVES looked fresh and bright in their new dress whites, cut in the same flattering pattern as the dress blues.

  “Here, Miss Beaumont.” Thelma Holt handed Tess a pile of folded bunting.

  “Thank you.” She trotted down the curving stairs to the brick pavement. She hugged the bunting and sniffed for a hint of Dan’s scent.

  None, of course.

  Tess nestled the bunting in its box. Dan would return to Boston any day now, but he wouldn’t stay long. On Friday, the ASWU office was buzzing over Dan’s transfer and Mr. Randolph’s court-martial.

  Seeing Da
n would hurt, but she could hand him her letter, give him a proper apology, and end the matter. Then they could have a fresh start. Apart.

  Tess returned to the stage and untied another string of bunting. She’d joined the WAVES for a fresh start, and she’d found her purpose—not by developing new skills but by recognizing the worth of her natural skills. She encouraged people, built up morale—and yes, she sold a lot of bonds.

  Especially today. The early afternoon Memorial Day service had been touching. Everyone remembered those who’d died freeing North Africa, Guadalcanal, and Papua New Guinea from Axis control, as well as those who’d died on the sea and in the air and in countless unsung ways. Like Henri Dubois.

  Tess drew a shaky breath and gazed at the site on the pavement where sailors dismantled her booth. The WAVES had sold hundreds of bonds.

  “That’s the last of it, Miss Beaumont.” Celia Ortega pointed to the boxes at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Thank you, ladies.” Tess smiled at them. “You did a wonderful job. The sailors will load the van and unload it at the Navy Yard. You can get a ride in the van if you’d like, but you’re free to enjoy the rest of your Sunday afternoon. I’ll take the subway.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The WAVES headed toward the van and its handsome crew.

  Tess leaned her elbows on the wrought-iron railing, relishing the sunshine. Nora was on a romantic picnic with Bill, so Tess would go to Mary and Lillian’s apartment to relax before the special evening service.

  To the east, Park Street Church’s white steeple soared into the blue sky above the trees in the Common.

  Tonight at 2100, Park Street was holding a Singspiration and Dr. Ockenga was giving an evangelistic message that would be broadcast on Boston Common, reaching hundreds of servicemen and civilians. After the service, the congregation planned to mingle on the Common. What an unusual and exciting idea, and Tess couldn’t wait to see what happened.

  She smiled down at the people milling around the park. Children capered, and ladies and gentlemen strolled, their steps lighter without heavy winter coats. Dozens of sailors wore dashing white for the first time that year.