by Sarah Sundin
Mary studied the perfect symmetry of Gloria’s face. “What if he doesn’t miss it? What if he’s satisfied with a simpler life?”
A startled look raced through Gloria’s eyes.
Just as Mary thought—Gloria planned to make Archer Vandenberg quite dissatisfied with Navy life.
“All right, ladies.” Arch stepped closer, pulling on a khaki shirt. “Time to head ashore and dress for dinner.”
Mary rummaged in her bag, pulled out her one-piece playsuit, stepped in, and buttoned it up, still tickled to have found a playsuit in navy-and-white polka dots to match her swimsuit.
Gloria sauntered down the length of the boat, hips swaying, swinging her bag, and she sang the new hit song “You Made Me Love You.”
Arch hopped to the pier, reached out a hand to his girlfriend, then retracted it. “Do you have something to put on over that? Shorts and a blouse like Mary has?”
Gloria put one hand on her hip. “Are you ashamed of me?”
His shoulders sagged. “Come on. I told you my parents are old-fashioned. Please put some clothes on and don’t make a scene.”
Without a word, Gloria threw her bag to the deck and opened it.
“Mary?” Jim stood on the pier, his hand outstretched, and he tilted his head as if to say, “Let’s get out of here.”
Mary took his hand, hesitated as she studied the watery gap between boat and pier, then jumped across.
He leaned down, his face only inches from her ear. “Let’s give them some space.”
How could she breathe with him so close and his hand still wrapped around hers? She wouldn’t let go. He might, but she wouldn’t. “All right.” Her voice came out too breathy.
“Here. Let me take your bag.”
She’d rather he hold her hand than her bag, but he took it from her and strode up the wharf to the shore, his unbuttoned khaki shirt flapping behind him.
Mary followed him up the stairs to a winding, climbing path across the manicured estate grounds.
She and Jim strolled side by side. Stone benches beckoned from under shady trees, and colorful flower gardens rested in the bends of the path. At the top of the slope, the Vandenberg home sat long and stately and white, trimmed with gray stone. In the center of the home, the wall bowed outward, graced with huge windows in the ballroom upstairs and the enormous sitting room downstairs. Off to one side lay the tennis courts and horse stables.
Mary could admire such opulence without coveting it, but unlike Gloria, she’d never seen it as an option. In a way, she felt sorry for the girl.
Faint snapping voices rose from down by the water.
“Oh dear,” Mary said. “I do hate when couples argue.”
Jim slung both his bag and Mary’s over his shoulder. “They won’t be a couple for long.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“It was inevitable.” He waved one arm over the grounds. “Arch says he wants a woman with middle-class sensibilities, then expects her to share his upper-class indifference to luxury. It’s happened before, and unless he wises up, it’ll happen again.”
“And he’s such a nice man.”
“He is. He’s a good man, a good officer.”
“It’s too bad that wasn’t enough for Gloria.”
“Yeah.” A wry smile crinkled one corner of his mouth. “I have a hunch it never was.”
“And the more she feels him slipping away, the harder she tries.”
“And the harder she falls. The Vandenbergs don’t like show-offs, and they despise scenes.”
The path curved around a maple tree, and Mary ran her hand under the green leaves, soon to be a brilliant orange-red. “If the Vandenbergs don’t like show-offs, I’m surprised they allow maple trees on their property.”
Jim laughed, stopped, and faced Mary. “They’re show-offs in autumn, but they pay penance in winter. Maybe that’s why they haven’t been chopped down.”
Mary joined his laughter. Jim’s shirt hung open over the long lean expanse of his chest, and a sudden playful impulse leaped inside her. She grasped his open shirt and did up a middle button. “Why, you’re a show-off too. You heard Arch. Put some clothes on and don’t make a scene.”
He stood stock-still. Silent.
What was she doing? Her fingers froze and fumbled with the button, and her breath grew ragged. He must think she was either forward or ridiculous. Somehow she had to save face, so she straightened his collar points. “There. You’re a big boy. You can do the rest yourself.”
She mustered up a smile and looked him in the eye.
His expression turned her knees to mush—the question in his eyes, the parting of his lips, the softness, as if he wanted—as if he wanted to—
Footsteps stomped behind them. “I can’t believe you said that, Archer Vandenberg. Just who do you think I am?”
“Come on, Gloria. Come back here. Let’s talk in private. Don’t make a scene.”
Jim’s expression warped. He stepped back and did up his buttons with his free hand, giving Mary a tight-lipped smile. “So much for the relaxing weekend, eh?”
With effort, she nodded, but the world felt topsy-turvy beneath her feet.
Gloria stormed past them on the path, properly clad but cursing Arch in improper language.
Jim glanced behind them. “Arch will stay on the pier for a while. I know him.”
“Oh. All right.” Mary’s voice squeaked and embarrassed her.
“Come on. Let’s get dressed for dinner.”
“All right.” No squeak this time, thank goodness, but she couldn’t help but sigh. Had she imagined that moment? That look in his eyes? As if he wanted to kiss her?
Her lungs filled with perfumed ocean air. She’d dreamed of a whole romantic weekend, but she’d had one romantic moment. For now, that would have to do.
21
Boston
Sunday, September 7, 1941
After the last rousing chord of “God of Our Fathers,” Jim sat down next to Arch in the pew at Park Street Church.
Time for the choral anthem. Behind him, up in the gallery, he could barely see Mary in her black choir robe. The choir director waved her baton, and the musical introduction started.
Jim’s grip tightened on the stiff brim of his cover in his lap. Lord, hold Mary up.
She met Jim’s eye. He gave her a huge smile and mimed hauling on a rope to hoist a sail, despite the odd look Arch gave him. Mary rewarded him with a brief smile. Right now it was more important for Jim to be a good friend than a debonair suitor.
Some debonair suitor he was. The previous weekend in Connecticut he’d had several opportunities to push their friendship over the threshold into romance. And he’d wasted every one. He could still see her buttoning up his shirt, her dark head bent close to his, her silvery eyes glancing up to him full of affection and self-consciousness.
He’d wanted to stroke her cheek, to embrace her, to tell her he needed help with the rest of his buttons, to burrow in her hair, to kiss her forehead, kiss her lips. Torn between so many good options, he’d frozen. Then when Gloria stormed by, all the options evaporated.
All week he’d told himself the timing had been wrong. Starting a romance the same day Arch and Gloria broke up would have been insensitive.
Jim’s leg jiggled. Yet how much time did he have before they shipped out again? Not much.
The voices of the choir rose in a triumphant anthem. Was it his imagination, or did the soprano section sound stronger? Perhaps Mary’s courage had bolstered the rest of the ladies. Courage did that.
Arch shifted in the seat beside him. Thank goodness Durant had given them liberty today. Not only did Jim want to cheer for Mary the first time she sang with the choir, but Arch needed a distraction.
Since the breakup, Arch had alternated between stony and melancholy. He was furious with Gloria for being more enamored with his inheritance than his heart, and he was furious with himself for being snared by another gold digger.
In a few wee
ks, Jim could talk to Arch about his unrealistic expectations, but not now. Now Arch needed his fury.
The song ended, and Dr. Harold Ockenga approached the pulpit, prayed, and started his sermon.
Jim had enjoyed every one of the pastor’s sermons he’d heard, but today he couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to see Mary and find out how she was doing.
No one else in the building knew the fullness of what today meant for her, how she’d faced her worst memory and deepest fear. His satisfaction that she’d confided in him and his admiration for her strength filled his chest.
What a wonderful woman she was, and how blessed he was to call her a friend. And perhaps soon, something more.
Finally the organ played the recessional. Jim strode down the aisle and out to the second-floor lobby. Mary came down a spiral staircase on his left, her choir robe swinging around her shapely calves.
He dashed to her. “Good job. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a twitchy smile and clutched her choir book to her chest. Her hands shook.
If only he could take her hands and smooth away the tremors, but a church service was no place for a romantic overture.
Mary stepped aside to let other choir members pass. “I need to put away my robe and book.”
“Oh, sure. Sure. I’ll meet you outside.” Would he ever attain suave? He joined Arch and went down one of the twin spiral staircases to the ground floor, then down to the sidewalk.
Arch was quiet, gazing up at the red brick façade and the white spire, but Jim paced until Mary glided down the steps in a flowery dress.
“Wasn’t the sermon wonderful?” She even smelled like flowers. “Isn’t it remarkable that he spoke on Isaiah 43? Exactly what I needed, and perfect for you, Jim.”
“Yes, perfect.” He sent up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t probe further, but guilt jabbed him. Should he really pray for God to conceal his lack of focus during a sermon? He took a step of courage, into honesty. “Actually, I was distracted.”
Her gaze swung to Arch, and she gave Jim a sympathetic smile. “It’s been quite a week, especially with the Greer incident.”
Jim had failed again. Couldn’t she see he’d been distracted by her, not by his best friend’s heartbreak or even an international naval incident?
Arch was already talking about the injustice of it, funneling his personal anger into the story—how a German U-boat had fired upon the destroyer USS Greer in the North Atlantic, and how the Greer had fired back with depth charges.
Jim’s own anger hardened into a lump. He knew a fellow on the Greer, and someone had tried to kill him. Why Congress hadn’t immediately declared war, Jim didn’t know, but they hadn’t. No ships had been sunk. No sailors harmed.
Mary clutched her purse to her stomach. “I’m surprised we aren’t at war.”
Jim sighed. “That’s all anyone’s talked about on the Atwood—how many men have to die to tip the balance?”
She gazed up at them as if relaying a confidence. “I’ve heard men at the Navy Yard say we fired deliberately, either to enrage Germany into declaring war on us, or to enrage the American public into calling for war ourselves.”
Some of the sailors did talk about provoking an incident, but talk didn’t mean action, especially when their own lives would be at stake. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Me neither.” Mary adjusted her hat, a little straw thing with flowers on it. “Will you be in town long? I know you can’t give me specifics . . .”
Jim put on his cover. “A bit longer. The Navy’s adding new equipment and loading us up with supplies. New crew members too.”
He and Arch exchanged a glance. They couldn’t say they’d taken on a full load of live ammunition. They couldn’t say they’d soon escort a convoy from Newfoundland to Iceland, with British ships relieving them at the Mid-Ocean Meeting Point. They couldn’t say they might end up in an international naval incident themselves.
A pretty young redhead came down the steps and approached Mary, turning her shoulder to exclude Jim and Arch. “I was so surprised to see you in choir this morning. I was afraid you’d faint.”
Jim’s hands coiled around the hem of his white tunic. She had to be Claudia, the soprano diva Mary avoided.
Mary gave Claudia a stiff smile. “Edith and Bertha prayed with me beforehand.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angling for a starring role in the Christmas pageant.”
“Oh, never,” Mary said with force.
“Good.” Claudia patted Mary’s arm. “As I’m sure you know, the role of Mary has always been played by a soprano, and you and I are the only ones young enough.”
“Don’t worry. Your role is safe.”
Jim smiled at the sarcasm in Mary’s voice.
“I know, but I’d hate to see you disappointed.” She fluttered a wave at Mary and departed.
Arch tapped Mary on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you introduce us? I’m single now, and she’s my kind of woman. Such kindness. Such sincerity.”
Jim joined Mary’s laughter. Good. Arch was already switching back from melancholy to charm.
Two tiny elderly ladies came out and headed straight for Mary. “There’s our girl,” one of them said, clasping Mary’s hand. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”
Now Mary’s smile was relaxed and true. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Oh, you must meet my friends, Jim Avery and Arch Vandenberg. Jim and Arch, please meet Bertha Wilkins and Edith Wilkins.”
Bertha shook Jim’s hand. “Well, Mary, aren’t you blessed to have two handsome young men fighting over you?”
Mary’s laughter rivaled the pealing church bell. “Not like that, Bertha. They’re my friends.”
Jim winced. Maybe he was the only one who wanted that to change.
Edith peered up at Arch. “Are both you boys single?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Arch’s eyes sparkled.
Edith clapped her hands. “What a coincidence. So are Bertha and I.”
Laughter eased the hurt somewhat. Was he making a fool of himself again? Reading too much into the act of slipping a button through a buttonhole?
Arch lowered into a bow. “Would you three ladies do us the honor of joining us for lunch?”
Mary turned to Jim and raised an eyebrow and a smile. Yes, Arch was turning on the charm full force. The sermon must have raised his spirits.
“We’d love that. Wouldn’t we, Bertha?”
“On one condition.” Arch bent closer, his face drawn in mock seriousness. “I must know. Are you only after my money?”
“Oh no, sweetie.” Edith pinched his cheek. “I’m after your handsome face.”
Arch grinned at Jim. “If I’d known all the lovely ladies were in choir, I would have joined ages ago.”
“I think he’s feeling better now,” Mary murmured to Jim.
He looked into her twinkling eyes. “Arch has never had trouble finding a date. Only in finding the right woman.”
“How about you, dearie?” Bertha asked from his other side. “Which gives you troubles?”
The women’s gazes skewered him from opposite ends, making him feel like corn on the cob, sweating over the grill. “Huh?”
“You’re still single, young man,” Bertha said. “Which gives you troubles? Finding a date or finding the right woman?”
Jim tried to swallow, couldn’t. The right woman stood beside him, but he couldn’t say so—not here, not now, not like this.
Mary leaned in front of Jim and cupped her hand over her mouth. “As you can see, Jim has trouble finding the right words.”
He smiled and nodded. For once, playing the fool suited him fine.
22
Friday, September 19, 1941
Agent Sheffield snuffed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray and flipped a page in Mary’s notebook. “Doesn’t look good for Ira Kaplan and his pals.”
“No, sir. It doesn’t.” The leaden feeling in Mary’
s chest wouldn’t go away. Mr. Kaplan had always been kind to her.
“He has experience with wiring, you know. Studied engineering at MIT for two years, then dropped out to work here two years ago. He’s smart enough, all right.”
“Mm-hmm.” At his desk facing the wall, Agent Hayes nodded and made notes.
Mary sighed. “I still can’t imagine him—”
Sheffield slapped the notebook shut. “That’s why you leave the investigation to us. In this work, there’s no room for feminine sensibilities or women’s intuition. Cold hard facts and the insight into the criminal mind that comes from training and experience.”
Mary leaned forward and eyed her notebook. “Anything useful in there?”
“I have to admit, yes. And I appreciate how you transcribe the conversations without any editorial input.”
“Yes, sir. Only cold hard facts.”
Sheffield rewarded her with half a smile. “I should give you my weekly lecture about keeping your little nose out of this, but you won’t listen, will you?”
Mary’s mouth twisted in what she hoped was a mysterious way. “Oh, I’ll listen.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Women.”
The office door burst open. Ira Kaplan barged in and slammed a small metal item onto Sheffield’s desk. “There. You wanted proof. Here’s your proof.”
Agent Sheffield rolled his desk chair back and narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Kaplan, I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“Oh.” Mr. Kaplan spun to Mary and gave her an apologetic look that turned to curiosity.
Mary lowered her eyes to the empty notebook in her lap. To maintain her cover, she tried not to be seen in the FBI agents’ office. But any harm was already done, and now her own curiosity took over. “Go ahead, Mr. Kaplan. Don’t mind me.”
Agent Sheffield poked the metal disc with his pen. “A German-American Bund pin.”
Kaplan held his chin high. “It belongs to Heinrich Bauer. I saw him drop it.”
“Did anyone else see him drop it?” Sheffield gazed at the young man over the top of his reading glasses.
“No, but—”
“Bauer says you’re framing him, then you show up with a Bund pin with no proof it’s his.”
