When Tides Turn Page 12

  And they were telling the truth—at least about going away with each other.

  Tess followed them to the main concourse. Yvette and Henri stood in line at a ticket booth, so Tess went to the war bond booth, off to the side so she could watch the lovebirds.

  “How is it going?” Tess asked three of the enlisted WAVES from the war bond office.

  “No offense, Miss Beaumont.” Ruth Feingold arched her dark brows. “But I’ve had more fun on a Friday night.”

  Thelma Holt heaved a sigh. “I don’t have a date anyway.”

  “But . . .” Celia Ortega lifted a finger in triumph. “We’ve sold oodles of bonds.”

  “Wonderful. Fifteen minutes, and we’ll call it a night.” Tess ventured a glance. Yvette and Henri were heading to the platforms. “I’ll go that way. This time of night there are more arrivals than departures.”

  She strolled at a distance from the couple, keeping that red beret in sight and selling, selling, selling. “Buy war bonds. Start your weekend right.”

  Henri held open the door for Yvette. The door outside.

  Oh dear. The temperature was below twenty, and Tess’s overcoat was back at the booth.

  “For heaven’s sake, I’m from Ohio.” She gritted her teeth and followed.

  Ohio blood or no, the icy air yanked the breath from her lungs. “Buy your bonds. Keep ’em flying.”

  Puffs of steam blew in the night sky, illuminated by lamps. Far down a crowded platform, Yvette and Henri stood by a sleek locomotive painted in deep green and yellow—the Canadian National Railway?

  Tess glanced at the sign. The train was the New Englander.

  She backed out of sight and found a conductor. “Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me where the New Englander goes?”

  “Aye, miss.” He nodded his white-whiskered chin. “Montréal via Lowell, White River Junction, Montpelier, Burlington, and points in between.”

  North. Not south to Cape Cod, and Tess shuddered.

  “You ought to wear a coat, miss.” The conductor gave her a fatherly frown.

  “I should. I think I can sell more bonds inside anyway. Thank you for your help.” She trudged to the door, her head as low as her heart. Yvette wasn’t lying about going away with Henri, but she was lying about her destination. Why?

  “Pardon.”

  Tess glanced up. She’d almost run into a man, a young blond man in a brown overcoat and fedora. “Monsieur Fournier?”

  “Oui. Mademoiselle Beaumont? You are traveling?”

  “Selling bonds.” She lifted her poster. “Doing your bit?”

  “And then some.”

  “Going away for the weekend?”

  “Alas, for business, not pleasure. I have clients in Burlington. Bonsoir.” He tipped his hat and departed.

  Tess opened the door to the station and glanced over her shoulder to see Jean-Auguste board the New Englander as well. Surely he wasn’t joining Yvette and Henri. Wouldn’t he be surprised to see them? And wouldn’t they be embarrassed to be caught in their lie?

  A sigh slipped out as she returned to her booth. Her plan had only been halfway successful. She still didn’t know Yvette’s destination, only that it wasn’t Cape Cod.

  Nevertheless, she hefted up her smile. “Buy war bonds. Even a little can help a lot.”

  Vermilion, Ohio

  Thursday, December 24, 1942

  Mama’s potato soup warmed Tess’s belly, the fire in the parlor warmed her feet, and Papa and Mama’s laughter warmed her heart.

  Papa’s paintings were propped along the walls, waiting to be transferred to studios in Vermilion and New York. A storm on Lake Erie, water and sky in tumult. A sailboat with deflated sails and a lone woman standing pensively at the bow. A lopsided home with two small girls dancing under an elm tree.

  Tess traced a brown pigtail on one dancing girl and yellow curls on the other. Not many painters could capture as many moods as Papa did. “I like this one best.”

  “It’s you and Mary.”

  Tess laughed. “We didn’t move here until Mary and I were much older.”

  “That’s who you were in your hearts.” Papa settled into his armchair, his short beard gray all the way through now.

  Mama set a plate of gingerbread cookies on the coffee table. “We’re so glad to have you home. You look so grown up in that uniform.”

  Faint sounds of singing rose from outside, the tune and lyrics coming into clarity.

  “Oh! We have carolers.” Mama dashed to the window and lifted the curtains. “It’s the Avery family. They do make a complete choir.”

  Tess’s stomach flopped over. She’d enjoyed an entire week in Boston without Dan’s silent scrutiny. No matter. She was on leave and it was Christmas, and she wouldn’t let the old sourpuss ruin her fun.

  Mama flung open the door. The Avery clan, plus Arch Vandenberg, stood on the walkway in a snow flurry, illuminated by the porch light, singing “The First Noel.”

  Tess hugged herself against the cold and grinned at the familiar faces. Mr. and Mrs. Avery. Dan and Jim. Lillian and Arch. Lillian’s twin sister, Lucy, her husband, Martin, and baby Barbara bundled in a carriage. The youngest boys, Ed and Charlie—Ed in a midshipman’s uniform from his plebe year at the Naval Academy. They were only missing Rob, between Dan and Jim in age and serving in the Pacific.

  They finished the verse, and Lillian reached for Tess’s hand. “Come with us. We’re picking up Mary next.”

  What fun! But she shouldn’t. “I’m sorry. My train just arrived. It’s my first night—”

  “Go,” Papa said, his face almost stern.

  “Yes, go.” Mama grabbed Tess’s WAVES overcoat from the rack and tossed it to her.

  Tess fumbled for it. “But I—”

  Papa set her cover on her head—backward. “Have fun, dolly.”

  He hadn’t called her that in years. She righted her cover and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa. I will.”

  After she bundled up, she trotted down the stairs to Arch and Lillian. “Let’s go get Mary. What are we singing?”

  “‘Joy to the World,’” Lillian said. “It’s Arch’s favorite.”

  Tess joined in the singing as they crossed the street, a beloved path. The windows of the Stirling home glowed yellow in the night, and curtains shifted.

  Mary opened the door, pulling on her overcoat, with her parents behind her.

  Tess didn’t wait for buttons to be buttoned. She grabbed her best friend’s hands, pulled her down to the lawn, and danced in a circle to the carol, tiny snowflakes and laughter spinning around them.

  Like Papa’s painting.

  “You silly girl.” Mary tipped her head back in the snow. “You wonderful, silly girl.”

  “I’m on leave. For the first time since October, I can be silly.” When the song ended, Tess halted and buttoned her friend’s coat. “But I won’t be selfish. You look freezing.”

  “Not when I’m with you.”

  Jim bowed to Mary. “May I have the next dance?”

  Mary’s silvery eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “I thought we were caroling, not dancing.”

  “Who says you can’t do both?” Jim waltzed her down Huron Street.

  “Where to next?” Ed called out. “The Andersons’?”

  “Yeah.” Charlie punched his older brother in the shoulder, then skipped away like a girl. “Peggy hasn’t seen him in his new uniform yet.”

  “Aw, pipe down.” Ed chased after his brother.

  Tess joined the laughter as the family went next door to the Anderson home. Sensing Dan’s presence behind her, she caught up to Arch and Lillian. She didn’t want a lecture about conduct unbecoming an officer.

  Not only was she on leave, but she was determined to put the gloom of the past month behind her and celebrate the joy of Jesus’s birth and the love of family.

  Whenever she was in the ASWU office, Dan hovered. Watching. Judging. Disapproving. But she refused to let him faze her. She was doing a fine job, and he
r commanding officer approved of her work. Part of her wanted to stick out her tongue at the lieutenant. So there.

  At the Anderson home, they sang “Silent Night,” and on the walk to the Hunters’, Tess fell in beside Jim and Mary. But Dan joined them—and Jim and Mary began speaking in intimate, hushed tones.

  Grimacing, Tess dropped back to give them privacy, Dan right beside her. “Don’t you have work to do, Mr. Avery?”

  He smiled. He actually smiled. “Not a lick. By the way, in social situations, officers are allowed to address each other by their given names. Please call me Dan.”

  Oh bother. “Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Danny?”

  “Danny? No one’s called me that since I was six.” Yet another smile. What was wrong with the man tonight? “For the past week I’ve read books, watched every movie at the Liberty Theater, seen my old haunts, visited everyone who hasn’t forgotten me—and some who have—and I’ve relaxed.”

  Tess covered her mouth and made her eyes big. “You know how to relax?”

  “With hard work, anything is possible.”

  “Only Dan Avery could turn rest into hard work.”

  “True.” Snowflakes clung to the dark stubble on his jaw, begging to be brushed away. “I’m conducting an experiment. The Lord commanded us to rest, so I’m obeying his orders. But will two weeks’ liberty refresh me and make me more productive? Or will it make me lazy and soft?”

  “Are your colleagues at MIT taking measurements?”

  He worked one hand under his coat over his heart. “One set of wires here, another there. A transmitter here.” He knocked his skull with his fist.

  Tess laughed. At least he could make fun of himself.

  At the Hunters’ two-story clapboard home, Tess stood near Mr. and Mrs. Avery, determined to shake Dan.

  But his rough bass sang off-key behind her, mangling the “glorias” in “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

  In a way, his bad singing was cute. He seemed like the kind of man who did everything well and would refuse to do anything he couldn’t master. Yet he sang very badly. But with gusto and a surprising amount of joy.

  Her quest to find something annoying about him was failing. He seemed hard-nosed, but he was fair and kind. He seemed rigid, but she couldn’t deny the appeal of his passion and devotion. When she was honest with herself, the only thing she didn’t like about him was his low opinion of her.

  Standing two blocks from Hugh Mackey’s house, she recalled her former boyfriend’s starry-eyed adoration. She’d always dated men who fawned over her.

  But they weren’t men of integrity. Men like Dan Avery.

  After the Hunter family waved them good-bye, Tess walked by Mrs. Avery’s side. “How have you been? How’s the boatyard?”

  “We’ve been drafted.” Mr. Avery’s dark eyes twinkled. “No sailboats for the duration. We’re churning out landing craft.”

  Mrs. Avery rearranged her red scarf. “We’ve never been so profitable. We’ve hired some of the young people in town, even some of the young ladies.”

  “Good.” Dan was there. Again. “I’m proud that Avery Boats is supporting the war effort and the economy as well.”

  Mr. Avery gazed up through the snowfall. “We all have to make sacrifices, but I do miss my work. It satisfied my soul.”

  “I understand.” Tess couldn’t imagine Papa giving up painting, but his artistic skills weren’t needed for the war effort.

  “Each sailboat has a unique personality.” Mr. Avery cupped his hands as if shaping a wooden hull. “But these landing craft are lifeless, all the same.”

  “They have a purpose,” Dan said. “To safely land men on hostile shores. A sailboat . . .”

  “Doesn’t have a purpose?” Mr. Avery turned a hard gaze to his oldest son. “Doesn’t the joy of sailing serve a purpose? The beauty of a sleek hull dividing the waves? Joy and beauty restore the spirit.”

  Tess held her breath.

  Dan shrugged. “Pleasure is meant to be a counterpoint for work, not the purpose of life.”

  “Don’t forget, son.” Mr. Avery’s voice stiffened. “Work takes many forms.”

  “Dan. George,” Mrs. Avery said with a warning tone. “We’re at the Geigers’.”

  While they sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” questions bounced in Tess’s head, displacing the lyrics. She’d wanted to chat with Martin and Lucy on the next leg, but curiosity drew her to Dan’s side. “What was that?”

  He held up one hand and slowed his pace until they lagged behind the group.

  “Well? I didn’t realize you and your father didn’t get along.”

  His lips mashed together. “Is it obvious?”

  “That explains things. At MIT, you mentioned looking forward to seeing your mom and your brothers and sister, but you didn’t mention your dad.”

  “We’re different.”

  He couldn’t throw her off the trail so easily, but he did require an indirect approach. “You’re more like your mom.”

  “True. She’s a hardworking woman. I respect her.”

  Didn’t he respect his father? Tess studied the couple walking arm-in-arm in the snow. “They balance each other. He’s the dreamy visionary, and she takes care of the details.”

  “Yes. She’s good for him.”

  Tess laughed and whapped Dan lightly in the arm. “Don’t you see? He’s good for her too. Without his dreams, she wouldn’t have supplies to order or ledgers to balance. He provides the beauty. She provides the structure. They’re perfect for each other.”

  Dan used to look right through her, but now his gaze drilled inside. What did he see? Someone who contradicted his values? A flibbertigibbet who danced in the snow? A selfish, vain, career-destroying vixen?

  And why did his opinion matter? The only opinion that mattered was the Lord’s.

  Dan blinked and turned his attention to the snow-dusted street. “You have a point. I’ll have to think about that.”

  Lt. Daniel Avery considering changing his mind? As long as he did his thinking in private—and for a good long time.

  19

  Vermilion, Ohio

  Friday, December 25, 1942

  Nothing had changed. And yet everything had changed.

  Dan set his last present beside him on the floor and tightened the belt of his bathrobe.

  The Avery offspring sat in their customary spots around the living room while presents were passed around and wrappings were sorted in piles in the middle of the braided rug. But all the children were full grown now, they’d added Martin and Mary and Arch, and baby Barbara sat on her grandmother’s lap in a tiny red dress, babbling and chewing on a rattle.

  “It’s wonderful having Dan home for Christmas again.” Mom nestled a kiss in Barbara’s fuzzy blonde hair. “If only Rob could be here.”

  “Probably not for the duration.” Jim wore his uniform instead of pajamas, probably because Mary had come over after breakfast. “But soon I may have the opportunity to see Rob.”

  “What?” Dan’s question joined the gasps.

  Jim leaned back against the wall beside the tree and tucked Mary’s hand under his arm. “I received my orders last week. After my leave, I’ll report to San Diego for assignment to a new ship based in the Pacific.”

  Mary smiled at her boyfriend, brave and serene. Apparently, she already knew.

  Dan wrestled back a surge of jealousy and congratulated his brother. The Pacific! That’s where the US Navy was making history. The Battle of the Atlantic was a British show, and American contributions were almost a footnote.

  More questions flowed, but Jim’s answers were short due to security.

  Soon he cut them off. “I have one more gift—for Mary.” He pulled a small cubical box from his jacket pocket and knelt before her.

  Dan held his breath. Was that a ring? But they’d only been—no, they’d been dating over a year. But Jim was too young. No, he was twenty-five. When their father was twenty-five, he was married and
had a son.

  Jim opened the box. “Mary, will you—will you sail with me? For better or worse? As long as we both shall live?”

  “Oh, darling, yes.” Eyes glistening, she held out her hand. “And I’ll marry you too.”

  Jim’s grin lit up the room, and he slipped the ring onto Mary’s finger. “How does one o’clock sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  More gasps, all around the room.

  “One o’clock?” Mom asked. “You don’t mean today, do you?”

  “We do.” Jim sat next to his—his fiancée—beside the Christmas tree.

  Mary laughed. “It’s all set up. When we came home last week, we got the license and talked to Pastor Reeves and made all the arrangements.”

  His father leaned forward in his armchair. “But—”

  “It’ll be a quiet little ceremony,” Jim said. “Just our families and closest friends.”

  “But a reception . . .” Mom clapped a hand to her forehead. “A cake.”

  “My parents are cooking Christmas dinner,” Mary said. “And who needs cake when you have pie?”

  Mom waved her hand toward the kitchen, which emitted smells of roasting turkey. “But I have—”

  “Bring it all over,” Jim said. “We won’t go hungry.”

  “What about your dress?” Lillian asked.

  “I bought a lovely new suit at Filene’s. I don’t need anything special.” Mary leaned her head on Jim’s shoulder. “I just want to marry Jim before he ships out.”

  Dan’s heart squeezed so hard it hurt. He was almost thirty years old. No one would miss him when he shipped out. No one would be waiting for him when he returned.

  But he was alone for a reason, so he could press toward the mark. He’d chosen this course. Now he had to stick to it.

  As Pastor Reeves explored the nuances of 1 Corinthians 13, Dan stood at attention and kept his eyes on his little brother and his bride.

  The scent of pine boughs filled the church, and candlelight glinted off dark wood. Jim stood straight and still, and Mary looked beautiful in a pale blue suit and a hat with a short veil.

  They were good for each other. Mary grounded Jim, and Jim helped Mary to blossom. She didn’t hold him back in his career, but Jim’s ambitions had never been as lofty as Dan’s.