Anchor in the Storm

by Sarah Sundin

  No, she wouldn’t. Her playing was as wooden as her leg, because it came from her wooden heart.

  21

  Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts

  Saturday, April 4, 1942

  “Now we’ll see if these bucket-brigade convoys do what they’re supposed to.” Jim took a bite of corn bread.

  “Mm-hmm.” In the wardroom, Arch stirred his navy bean soup. Only Hayes and Taylor were having lunch now, at the far end of the table, while the other officers performed their duties.

  Over the next few days, the Ettinger and two smaller naval vessels were working their way down the coast, escorting empty cargo ships returning from England, then they’d return north with ships laden with oil and goods from the Gulf and the Caribbean.

  Jim wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not too upset we’re turning around at Hampton Roads. Can’t say I want to see ‘Torpedo Junction.’”

  Cape Hatteras had earned the grim nickname, a play on words with Glenn Miller’s hit song “Tuxedo Junction.” Arch scooped up more soup, careful to select a chunk of ham. “Buckner disagrees. Where better to hunt U-boats?”

  Jim chewed, eyeing Arch. “Thought the convoy would cheer you up.”

  “It does.”

  “You’ve been glum all week. Ever since your dinner with Bitsy.”

  “Do you blame me? My only night in Boston, and I spent it fending off my former girlfriend. She made it sound as if she’d changed, but I saw no evidence. Same friends, same shallow talk, same angling.”

  Jim sipped his coffee, still eyeing him. “You never asked about my evening.”

  “You already told me. Clifford’s married, and Quintessa’s heartbroken.” Why were men like Clifford safe on land while brave merchant marines died by the dozen?

  “You didn’t ask about Lillian,” Jim said.

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, but she was as glum as you are.”

  “Because of Quintessa? Or did something happen at work?”

  One corner of Jim’s mouth jerked up. “She was in high spirits until I told her you weren’t coming. She was disappointed.”

  Arch buttered his corn bread, applying an even layer all the way to the edges. “That’s the polite thing to say.”

  “No, it was genuine. And when I told her where you were, she went pale. She covered, but I know her. I’m afraid she’s softened up to you.”

  Buttery crumbs of corn bread rolled in Arch’s mouth. That was the best news he’d had in weeks, but he kept his expression impassive and swallowed. “And if she has?”

  “What? Do you want my blessing or something?”

  Arch fixed a serious gaze on the man who had been his best friend for over six years. “Yes, I do.”

  Jim laughed and shook his head. “For what it’s worth, you have it. I’ve been watching. You treat her well, and I think you’re good for her. But I warn you, if you hurt her in any way—”

  “You’ll hurt me worse. I know.”

  “I’m more worried Lillian would cause you serious bodily damage.”

  Arch grinned. She was certainly capable of it.

  But he tempered his elation and returned to his soup. Just because she missed him didn’t mean she’d fall in love.

  The familiar waters off Narragansett spread before Arch, choppy and gray. He stood on the wing of the bridge in the cool air, taking stadimeter readings.

  He gazed through the telescope of the handheld device at a ship in their makeshift convoy. He dialed in the mast height of the merchantman, then turned the cylindrical scale on the bottom of the stadimeter until he aligned the top and the bottom of the ship in his vision. Then he read the scale to discern the distance of the ship from the Ettinger and recorded it on his clipboard—seven hundred yards.

  Warren Palonsky approached. “Sir, may I have a word with you? I’m off duty.”

  “Very well. Why don’t you look busy and record my readings?”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He picked up the clipboard.

  Arch glanced around, but they were alone on the wing. “You wanted to have a word?”

  “Yes, sir.” His smile stretched wide. “The case broke wide open.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hobie was lying, no surprise. He got the drugs from someone else, only he didn’t tell his source he had a new customer.”

  Arch returned to the stadimeter. As junior officer of the watch, he had duties, and none of them involved drug dealers. He measured the next ship. “Position three-two, distance seven-five-oh yards. Record it there.”

  “Aye aye, sir. So the guy above Hobie’s source—”

  Arch whipped around. “Above Hobie’s source?”

  “Yeah. Looks like we’ve got at least three layers on board. Hard to tell. Everyone’s secretive.”

  It really was a ring. Arch blew out a long breath.

  “So the guy above him—he wondered why Hobie’s use of the drug suddenly doubled, figured he was trying to put one past him. Hobie’s a sneaky one. They told him to ’fess up or they’d cut off his supply. Roughed him up a bit.”

  Arch’s breath chilled, and he leveled a gaze at Palonsky. “You can get out any time you want.”

  “Are you kidding, sir?” His gray-blue eyes danced. “This is the role of a lifetime.”

  “Still, say the word and you’re out.” Arch turned the telescope to the next ship. “Position three-three, distance six-nine-oh.”

  “Got it. And I got another name—Earl Kramer. He’s Hobie’s supplier.”

  “Kramer?” The coxswain was experienced and respected. Hard to believe he was involved in this mess. “Who’s above him?”

  “Don’t know. Best I can figure, there’s one big shot, a couple middlemen like Kramer, and each middleman has a couple customers like Hobie. That’s where Hobie made his mistake. He wanted to add a fourth layer—me. Only they don’t like that. When they get a new customer, soon as they trust him, they introduce him to Kramer.”

  “Guess they didn’t trust you.” Arch winked at Palonsky.

  “Leave the humor to me, boss.” He waved toward the ocean. “Do your officer stuff.”

  Arch turned dials on the stadimeter. “Position two-one, distance one-three-five-oh.”

  So who was this big shot? Was it Doc? Or maybe Doc was clean, and the big shot was someone different, someone with a connection on shore, either at the Navy Yard or in Boston. And where was the connection to Dixon’s Drugs, if there was one?

  He took an invigorating breath of sea air. No tremor marred his movements. If he could break this drug ring and get his men to shape up, he might salvage his career—even boost it.

  For the first time in months, hope stirred inside—for his career and with Lillian. An anchor for the soul.

  No. He adjusted the dial and his attitude. Hope in the Lord was the only anchor he could trust.

  22

  Boston

  Tuesday, April 14, 1942

  Most people disliked working every other weekend, but Lillian loved having weekdays off to run errands.

  She washed her breakfast dishes and set them in the rack to dry.

  The phone rang.

  Oh bother. Was Mr. Dixon calling her in to work? She went to the phone table by the door. “Hello?”

  “Do you have plans today?”

  Lillian’s heart bounced. “Arch? Hi. Mary said your ship came into town yesterday.”

  “Yes, and do you have plans today?”

  Her fingers fluttered in front of her. Why was he asking? “Everyone is working but me. I—I’m going to the grocery and the dry cleaner.”

  “Would you rather go to the Red Sox game?”

  She gasped. “Opening day?”

  “Jim and I bought tickets yesterday, but Buckner assigned him to the skeleton crew. Mary said you have today off, and Jim thought you’d enjoy the game. It starts at 1400. I could pick you up at 1200.”

  She leaned back against the phone table, her thoughts racing. Jim knew she lov
ed baseball more than a woman ought to.

  “Just as friends, of course,” Arch said.

  “Of course.” The words caught in her throat. Why did she feel disappointed? And yet . . . opening day! “I’ll be ready at noon.”

  The El train clattered over the Charlestown Bridge. Lillian smoothed her new dress, a light gray scattered with miniature strawberries, with a short-sleeved berry-red jacket. “I’ve never been to a Red Sox game. I’ve seen the Cleveland Indians play, but never on opening day. How exciting.”

  Arch leaned against the window in his dress blues and gave her a funny smile with only the corners of his mouth.

  “I always wanted to play. Perhaps it’s best I had my accident, or I would’ve been an even worse tomboy.” She was babbling, but she didn’t care what he thought of her. He had his Bitsy, and that was all right. She had a friend—and a trip to Fenway Park.

  Arch shifted his position as the train descended into the tunnel on the far side of the bridge. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you the last time I was in town.”

  “No need to apologize.” She flapped her hand, pleased with her breezy tone. “Jim and Mary and I didn’t mind. We knew you had a friend in town.”

  “But I do need to apologize. You’re my partner, the Watson to my Holmes.”

  “I thought it was the other way around.”

  “Perhaps.” His lip twitched. “Or the Laurel to my Hardy, the Abbott to my Costello.”

  “You’re awful.” She swatted him playfully on the arm. Oh dear, what had she done? Her cheeks tingled, but she scrounged around for her breezy tone. “How are things at sea?”

  “Did you listen to the radio this morning?”

  “No, I was . . .” She was trying on every outfit in her closet. “I was busy.”

  “Down around Cape Hatteras, one of our destroyers, the Roper, sank a U-boat right after midnight.” He slashed his hand through the air. “Obliterated it.”

  “The first time.”

  “I thought Buckner would be angry someone beat him to the punch, but he’s never been in such high spirits. Now he knows it can be done.”

  “What great news.”

  “North Station.” He motioned for her to lead the way off the train, then they worked their way up stairs and through tunnels and onto the next train.

  Lillian settled in her seat. “So, Watson, anything new in the case?”

  “As Palonsky said, it broke wide open.”

  “It did?”

  “He found out the name of Hobie’s supplier—Earl Kramer—and he learned there are at least three layers. One man seems to be the source, he has a few middlemen, and each of them has several customers.”

  “My word.” The ring was so extensive.

  “We might have a lead on land. Palonsky says the men frequent a bar in Charlestown—the Rusty Barnacle.”

  “Barnacles get rusty?”

  He laughed. “No, but it certainly sounds rough.”

  Lillian opened her purse and handed Arch a scrap of paper. “I recorded all the suspicious prescriptions. It started in January ’41. Here are the patient names. Do any look familiar?”

  “No, although I don’t know all two hundred men on the crew.” He smiled and pointed to Opal Harrison’s name. “No women in the Navy—although they’re talking about starting a women’s reserve as they did in World War I.”

  “Mrs. Harrison’s one of the patients, but she’s innocent. She’s my upstairs neighbor, my piano teacher.”

  His eyes widened. “Your . . .”

  “The other day, I saw a phenobarbital prescription waiting for delivery. I wanted to trace it, so I delivered it myself. It was Mrs. Harrison, so no progress made.”

  “Lillian.” A furrow ran up his forehead. “Please don’t do that again. It could be dangerous. If anything happens to you, Jim will have me keelhauled.”

  “It won’t happen again.” She tucked the list back into her purse. “Mr. Dixon wasn’t pleased. The patients tip Albert, and if I make deliveries, I deprive him of tips. I don’t want to do that. Albert’s always kind to me.”

  “For once, I’m on Mr. Dixon’s side.” Arch nodded toward the window. “Kenmore Station. Here we are.”

  More tunnels and stairs, and then they emerged into the sunshine. Lillian drank in the spring air, so warm and light.

  Arch squinted at the buildings, then motioned the way. “Now I’m even more annoyed I didn’t see you the last time I was here. I’d rather have spent the evening discussing the case with you.”

  “It’s all right. You had a friend in town.”

  Arch grumbled and led her across a street. “I wouldn’t call Bitsy a friend.”

  “Oh.” Did her voice sound all right—not too pleased, appropriately sympathetic?

  “We dated in high school. I thought I loved her, thought she loved me. She comes from old money and wants to marry well. Specifically, she wants to marry the Vandenberg heir.”

  “But you wanted to join the Navy.”

  “Yes.” His gaze roamed her face, then returned to the sidewalk, which was filling with fans. “She was furious, did everything in her power to dissuade me, but my mind was set. I want a simple life, free from the trappings of wealth . . . the trap of wealth.”

  She studied his determined profile. It took strength of character and will to make that decision. How could Bitsy have been so blind? “You made the right choice.”

  He stopped and looked at her with knee-buckling intensity.

  “Hey, move it, fella.” A man shoved past Arch on the sidewalk.

  Lillian and Arch startled and continued on their way. They strode alongside a large brick warehouse, but everyone headed inside gates that looked like garage doors. “Is this it?”

  “Doesn’t look like a stadium, does it?” Arch’s shoulder bumped hers in the thickening crowd. “By the way, thanks for what you said about my decision. Bitsy didn’t agree. Neither did Gloria or Kate or any other woman I’ve dated. To them, I was only a ticket to prosperity.”

  “I’d rather have a ticket to opening day.”

  He chuckled and handed their tickets to the man at the gate. “I can do that for you.”

  Lillian’s insides squirmed. He was comparing her to his former girlfriends. What did that mean? Did she like it or not? And why was she letting her imagination run wild?

  Arch stayed close to her side as they worked through the crowd toward their tunnel. “All of the women I dated were only interested in my money, my name—the outside, not the inside.”

  The crowd pressed into the tunnel. Up ahead, sunlight and the open field beckoned Lillian. “With me, it’s different. No one has ever cared enough to look past the outside.”

  He flashed a mischievous grin. “Or you won’t let them.”

  Her throat tightened. “I’m cautious. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’ve been hurt.”

  She’d wanted the sunlight, longed for the openness, and now she closed her eyes against it. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”

  “I beg your pardon. It’s none of my business,” he said in a tight voice, and he approached a vendor selling pop and peanuts. “I’d like a Coke and a bag of peanuts. What would you like, Lillian?”

  “Just a Coke, please,” she mumbled. The stadium spread before her, rows of seats, emerald grass, players warming up, and how had she thanked Arch? By shutting him out. Again.

  He headed down the stairs, his shoulders straight and stiff. What had she done? The man had opened up to her, and she’d been coldhearted and rude.

  Arch stopped at their aisle and motioned for Lillian to take her seat, not meeting her eye.

  She stood in front of him, aching for him, for herself. “I’m sorry, Arch. You’re right. I have been hurt. I don’t talk about it, and I’ve never been a good friend because I don’t talk about things, and I’m so sorry—”

  “Stop.” The softness of his expression and voice almost undid her.

  “I am sorry.”<
br />
  “I know, but please don’t beat yourself up.” He smiled. “And please take your seat before someone beats me up.”

  “Oh.” She glanced back, sent the people an apologetic smile, and took her seat.

  Arch handed her a Coke bottle, then pulled out his knife, popped out the bottle opener, and removed both lids.

  “Thank you.” She took a cold, bubbly sip, then braced the bottle between her feet and settled her purse under her seat. Poor Arch should have invited someone else.

  “Here. Have a peanut.” He grinned and tossed a peanut into her lap.

  She caught it before it rolled down her skirt, and she thanked him, but she had no appetite.

  Even if he hadn’t admitted it, she’d hurt his feelings. She’d closed herself off so she wouldn’t get hurt, and in the process she’d hurt someone who cared about her.

  Lillian stroked the rough surface of the peanut shell. Lord, should I open up to him? Can I trust him?

  If the peanut snapped open lengthwise, she’d speak. If it cracked or crumbled and she had to pry it open, she’d stay quiet. One more prayer, and she pressed her thumbs along the seam.

  It popped open, nice and neat, and two little peanuts nestled in their cradles, identical twins.

  She drew a deep breath. “Lucy and I never got along.”

  “Hmm?” He raised blond eyebrows. “Your sister. Yes, I noticed.”

  “We were so different. She was sickly and needy. I was active and independent. Then I had my accident, all my fault. My brothers didn’t want me to play with them in the woods, but I chased after them anyway. I stepped in an animal trap. Lucy said I deserved it.”

  “Lillian . . .”

  She couldn’t stand the compassion in his eyes, so she gazed at the field, where grown men tossed baseballs back and forth like boys. “She said now I’d know how it felt. Now I’d understand. But I didn’t want to. She loved being weak, but I hated it.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Lillian traced the edge of the peanut shell. “Our brother Eddie was born right after my accident. Mom was worn out caring for Eddie and Lucy and me, and I wanted to lessen her burden. So I worked extra hard to walk again and be independent.”