When Tides Turn Read online

  The men worked faster, grabbed hands, pulled people out, shouted instructions.

  “Oh no,” Mary said. “The door. Look. The people—they’re pressing up on both sides.”

  Tess groped for her friends’ hands. With people pushing on both sides, the door couldn’t revolve. They were trapped. But there were other exits. There had to be other exits. But did they have enough time?

  Flames licked out the top of the door, stretching, seeking, hungry, cruel.

  “Oh no. Arch,” Lillian mumbled. “Please, get away, Arch. It’s too late.”

  Tess strained to see through the crowd on the sidewalk across Piedmont.

  A siren sounded. A fire engine.

  “Thank you, God!” Tess cried.

  Flames poured out the entrance, yellow swords slashing all the way out into the street. Black smoke billowed into the night sky.

  In the middle of the street, a woman in lavender huddled with a large man in a gray suit. She glanced Tess’s direction, then the two strode down Piedmont.

  “Yvette got out,” she whispered. “Solange? Oh Lord, please get Solange out. And Jean-Auguste.” What a selfish prayer, only for those she knew. “Lord, please. Please protect everyone in there. Get them out.”

  Several fire engines eased down the crowded street. Firemen fed hoses through the doorway, set up ladders to the roof, and hacked at the walls with axes.

  Streams of water hissed on the flames.

  Four men in navy-blue overcoats crossed the street toward the ladies. They’d lost their covers. Jim cradled his hand to his chest.

  “Jim!” Mary ran to him. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just—just a slight burn. I’m fine. Not like . . .”

  Tess’s stomach twisted. Not like the hundreds of souls trapped in that inferno.

  “Arch?” Lillian grabbed his hands and pressed her forehead to his. “Are you all right?”

  His hands shook hard. “I’ll be fine. I will.”

  “They’re setting up a first aid station over there.” Nora pointed to the end of the street. “Tess, we can use our training.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t have to stand and watch. She could do something.

  Dan stared at his hand. Drops of blood splashed onto the sidewalk.

  “Dan! You’re hurt.” Tess grasped his hand, opened it to see red lines scrawled across his broad palm.

  “A woman. She reached out. Down low, under the flames.” From behind, the fire lit up the disheveled black waves of his hair. “I thought—I thought I could pull her out. She had—she had red nails.”

  The streaks blurred in Tess’s vision. “You tried. You did your best. At least she knew someone tried to save her, someone was there, someone cared.”

  He looked up to her, his eyes stark white in a soot-streaked face. “I—I couldn’t—”

  “No one could have. You did your best. Now, let’s get you some first aid.” She took his arm. Now it was her turn to guide him.

  17

  Massachusetts Institute of Technology

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Friday, December 4, 1942

  “The Great Dome, MIT’s nod to architecture.” Dan pointed Tess to the classical structure with its clean white lines. “The school was built for practicality, not beauty.”

  “Makes sense.” Her breath puffed before her.

  But Dan frowned at the other, more utilitarian buildings. No school could be more practical than the Naval Academy, yet Annapolis’s architecture pleased the eye. And the soul.

  “Does it still hurt?” Tess asked. “Your hand?”

  His heart wrenched, and his bandaged hand ached. The officer in him wanted to make a stoic statement, but Tess’s light green eyes glowed with compassionate strength. She’d reported for duty first thing Monday morning after the fire, stricken but undaunted.

  “Does it?” she asked.

  She was a fine sailor, and she deserved honesty. “I don’t want it to stop hurting. It should always hurt.”

  Tess’s eyes darkened, and she burrowed deeper into the collar of her overcoat. “Four hundred and ninety people killed. I can’t believe it.”

  Even if he lived through a hundred battles, he’d never forget the screams at the Cocoanut Grove. “I’m thankful we got out in time.”

  “I never should have suggested the place.”

  “Don’t talk like that. If anything, you saved us. You knew we had to leave. Somehow you knew. If we’d waited for everyone to put on coats . . .”

  She glanced away, up at the clear blue sky. “Still—”

  “Don’t. And be thankful we didn’t follow your friends down to the Melody Lounge. That’s where the fire started. Did they—your friends . . . ?” This was his first chance to speak to Tess since the fire, other than greetings at the ASWU office.

  “Solange and Jean-Auguste. Yes, they were down there when the fire started. They threw themselves to the ground and followed a waiter out a service exit. They said the fire went straight to the ceiling and raced up the stairs.”

  That was where a great number of people had perished—at the top of the stairs in front of the emergency exit. Which the nightclub kept locked to prevent theft. His unbandaged hand fisted in his coat pocket. Criminal.

  A chilly breeze spun through the space between the buildings, and Tess clamped her hand on her cover. “Yvette and her date must have left just in time, right after Professor Arnaud.”

  “Speaking of Professor Arnaud, we did come here for a reason.”

  “Yes, the Rad Lab. My brand-new WAVES reporting for duty.”

  Dan gestured south toward the Great Dome. “That wing—that’s Building 4, where the Radiation Laboratory started in 1940 to study radar. They chose the name to confuse the Axis into thinking they were studying nuclear physics. The next wing over—see that radome on top of Building 6? That’s ours.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Dan turned north. “In ’41, we expanded to Building 24, and this May they completed Building 22 for us. That’s where we’re going today.”

  “And Professor Arnaud?”

  “He’s a statistician, helps us analyze our data.” Dan led the way into Building 24 and down a hallway.

  Tess unbuttoned her overcoat as they walked. “They say a busboy started the fire by accident. He was screwing a lightbulb into one of those fake palm trees, and he lit a match to see what he was doing.”

  “I saw that in the paper.”

  Her cheeks, pink from the cold, scrunched up. “I can’t help but think—no, I’m being silly.”

  “What are you thinking? Your French friends?”

  “Yes.” Something sparked in her eyes. “All of them were down there before the fire. And why was Yvette wearing a disguise? Oh, she denies it. She denies being there, but we recognized her. And Professor Arnaud was sneaking around with a woman who is not his wife.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve met his wife.” She sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t throw around accusations.”

  He led her down a hallway that crossed to Building 22. “Don’t discount your observations. Your suspicions may or may not be warranted, but they shouldn’t be ignored.”

  Her chin edged higher, and her voice edged lower. She rattled off a list of concerns in the group, from leaked secrets to shifting alliances to voiced accusations, all presented with admirable precision of thought and an appropriate amount of shocked fascination.

  She tugged at the white silk scarf around her neck. “Nothing concrete, of course. Just a gut feeling that something’s wrong and Yvette’s in the middle of it.”

  “So keep your eyes and ears open. But be careful, Tess.” He braced himself for a fierce “Miss Beaumont!”

  Instead she nodded. “I will.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he turned down a hallway inside Building 22. Somehow the ordeal of the fire had eased the tension created by his thoughtless remarks.

  “Thank you for coming with me today, Mr. Avery.”

&nb
sp; Back to military formality. “As I said, I need to discuss the reports from Operation Torch with the scientists.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. The men will accept me better if you introduce me.” Her gaze wavered, and she looked smaller.

  And his chest felt bigger. That was one of the great dangers of women. They made a man feel strong and needed, made him want to protect her. He could still feel Tess’s warmth as he clutched her to his body and helped her out the revolving door at the Cocoanut Grove.

  “Yes. Well, glad to help.” His voice sounded gruff, and he shoved open a door.

  Inside lay a complex of business offices. Scientists and workers chatted and passed papers. Dan followed the sound of typewriters. “The Rad Lab is a civilian organization under the Office of Scientific Research and Development. Because they work with the Navy, we have yeomen here to type up reports and correspondence. The WAVES are replacing the male yeomen.”

  “Free a man to fight.”

  “If only they could free me to fight.” Dan introduced Tess around, not relishing the interest he saw in men’s faces. Couldn’t they see the WAVES were here to work?

  In one office, six WAVE yeomen sat at typewriters, as diligent as the WAVES at ASWU. They stood and saluted, and Dan and Tess returned their salutes.

  Tess had the WAVES introduce themselves. She had a welcoming way about her, but undergirded with authority. The ladies looked both relieved and impressed with their new commanding officer. What a way she had.

  “You’re still here, Mr. Avery?” Tess gave him a questioning smile. “I thought—”

  “Yes.” He snapped to attention. “Wanted to make sure you were situated. I’ll return in an hour.” He marched out of the business offices, his neck warm.

  Two more months. Two more months in Boston, then he’d be gone. Out to sea where he belonged. Away from the lovely Tess Beaumont and the spiteful Stanley Randolph.

  He was determined not to complain about Randolph’s demeaning orders. All he had to do was keep his head down, work his tail off, keep his temper in check, and trust Commander Lewis to see the truth if Randolph spread poison.

  Two long months.

  A group of scientists strode down the hall in civilian suits and flapping white lab coats, Professor Louis Arnaud in the center. The professor gave Dan the briefest greeting as they passed, not what one would expect from a fellow survivor of one of the deadliest fires in American history.

  But if Tess was right and the professor had been out with a mistress, he wouldn’t want to call attention to his presence at the Cocoanut Grove.

  Dan climbed the stairs. Tess said the professor was the leader of the French expatriates, a group allegedly infiltrated by a spy. The professor had access to classified military information. Could he be the spy’s target? What if he were the spy himself?

  No. All foreign scientists in the Rad Lab had been investigated. They were loyal to the Allied cause and had been trained in security precautions and procedures.

  Dan opened the door to a lab filled with oscilloscopes and transceivers and radar dishes. He stepped over wires and squeezed between lab benches crammed with equipment in unholy disarray.

  “Mr. Avery.” Dr. John Sandler picked his way through the mess a lot faster than Dan did.

  “Dr. Sandler.” Dan shook his hand. “How’s the research going?”

  “Excellent.” The radar specialist raked his hand through graying blond hair. “But we’re concerned about the reports from Torch.”

  “So are we. When the surface radar worked, it worked well. But we had too many mechanical problems. On many of the ships, the radar broke down when the guns fired.”

  Brows arched over anxious blue eyes. “It’s delicate equipment. You must speak to your men. They need to treat it with care.”

  This was the continuing problem. Civilian scientists thought in theoretical terms, wanted unlimited time, and required ideal conditions. “I understand. But the purpose of surface radar is to operate on a warship—at sea, in combat. The equipment must be rugged, designed to handle cold and heat, saltwater, and gunfire.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I do.” He worked to keep his voice low and soothing. “I understand this is new technology, experimental. I understand what it must be like watching us destroy your creations.”

  Dr. Sandler groaned. “You have no idea. We work so hard.”

  Dan leaned his hip against a lab bench. “I ask you to consider what it’s like in battle, when shells are flying, when men are injured and dying. Things happen fast, and you need your equipment to function. Repairs need to be made quickly—not by skilled scientists, but by an eighteen-year-old sailor fresh out of training school.”

  Dr. Sandler fiddled with an oscilloscope. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

  “But it is. Keep in mind this could win the war.”

  “I know.” But the distance in his voice said he’d forgotten.

  “Radar helped win the Battle of Britain, and now radar has the potential to win the Battle of the Atlantic. If we all work together.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll do my patriotic bit.” Humor laced his words. “Let’s go over those reports.”

  For the next hour, he and Dan reviewed the reports, listing specific problems, areas to address in research and testing. It was easier working with military men who thought the same way he did, but if the scientists thought the way Dan did, they wouldn’t be as good at research. It took all sorts to win a war.

  Even vivacious blondes.

  Dan stifled a groan. Another great danger with women was how they invaded his thoughts on duty.

  His discussion with Dr. Sandler completed, Dan shook the scientist’s hand and headed downstairs to the business offices.

  Tess greeted him with her usual sparkle restored. “They’re the nicest girls and so smart. They’ll do a wonderful job.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Dan retraced their earlier steps through Building 22.

  “I’ll come here once a week, my CO said. That’s not too much extra work, which is good because bond sales keep me hopping. We had to change all our plans this week. After the fire, no one’s in the mood for rallies.”

  “No, they aren’t.” The entire city was in a state of stunned grief, slowly changing to outrage over unsafe conditions at the nightclub. So many servicemen had been killed—even a WAVE—that Hitler certainly had to be praising the nightclub owners for furthering his cause.

  “So I cancelled the rallies and rewrote my material. Monday was one big blur.”

  Dan had seen the posters and the article in the Boston Navy Yard News, and he’d heard the announcements. She’d struck the right note of sober patriotism and wartime urgency.

  “I’ll be glad when the drive is over and I can settle into a normal routine, encouraging payroll deductions to buy bonds.”

  “Over the top by New Year’s,” Dan quoted the ads and posters.

  “Yes.” Green eyes gleamed. “You’re contributing, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know a certain WAVE who’d make me walk the plank if I didn’t.”

  She laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard in a week and very welcome. “I would.”

  Dan turned into Building 24. “When is the drive over?”

  “December 23. My CO gave me a week’s leave. I’m so excited. I haven’t been back to Vermilion for over a year.”

  A light flipping feeling in his chest. “I’m also going home. Two whole weeks. I’m overdue for leave.”

  “Do I dare ask how long it’s been?”

  Dan opened the door to wintery sunshine, and he headed for Kendall Station. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken even forty-eight hours’ liberty. “I haven’t been home for—I don’t know—three years? Maybe longer.”

  “Oh my goodness.”

  Shame plunged into his gut. He couldn’t blame the Navy, only himself. “It’s time. I need to see my mom and my little brothers and Lucy and her new baby.”r />
  Tess shook her head. “No one could ever question your dedication to the Navy.”

  That dedication meant he neglected those he loved—and reminded him why he couldn’t add anyone to the list.

  18

  Boston

  Friday, December 18, 1942

  “Even a little can help a lot.” Tess smiled at the passersby in Boston’s North Station and wiggled the poster mounted to cardboard. “Buy your war bonds at our booth on the main concourse.”

  Men and women of all ages passed, many in uniform, all dressed in their best to travel. But no sign of Yvette.

  “Buy your war bonds and help our boys finish the job.” Her smile felt forced after three hours. This idea had been brewing since the Cocoanut Grove fire. Did Yvette go away each weekend? With whom and where? Or was she staying in Boston? If so, why lie about it?

  Tess’s commanding officer heartily approved of setting up a bond booth at the train station on a Friday evening.

  From where she stood, Tess could see anyone coming downtown from Charlestown. She wasn’t being sneaky. Selling bonds gave her an excuse to smile at each traveler without looking rude, and Yvette would never question her presence.

  If she came.

  Tess’s heart drifted low. Sure, Yvette could have slipped past, although Tess was also watching the blonde women in case Yvette wore her disguise. She hated to admit it, but it looked like Yvette was lying again.

  Then a brunette popped into sight in a red beret and black coat. Yvette! And she was with Henri, arm-in-arm.

  “Thank goodness.” When the couple drew nearer, she flagged them down. “Hi, Yvette! Hi, Henri! Catching your train?”

  “Yes.” Yvette smiled and eyed Tess’s poster. “We’re going to Cape Cod.”

  “Our favorite hideaway by the sea.” Henri gazed at Yvette adoringly.

  “On your way, stop by my booth and buy war bonds.” Tess gave them an exaggerated wink.

  “I gave at the office, remember?” Yvette winked back and sauntered away.

  Yes, she had. Yvette and Henri bought more than their share, proving they were loyal to the Allied cause, despite Madame Robillard’s suspicions.