Anchor in the Storm Page 15
“Just what I’d expect from plucky Lillian Avery.”
“That’s who I am—the plucky one, the strong one, the one who doesn’t need anyone else. That’s why I don’t open up to people. It makes me feel weak. It—it terrifies me.” Her voice broke.
A rumble emanated from Arch’s throat, and he cracked open a peanut. “Don’t shoot me for saying this, but it doesn’t help when people hurt you after you do open up.”
Lillian’s vision blurred, and she blinked to clear it. “And I—I never told him much. My old boyfriend. I never told him what I just told you. I’ve never told anyone.” A breeze ruffled past her, and she shivered in her nakedness.
Arch lifted one hand from his lap, as if to grasp her hand, but then he returned his hand to his lap. “I won’t hurt you,” he said in a husky voice.
She couldn’t look at him. “I . . . I know.”
“I’d only hurt myself in the process.”
“Hmm?” She glanced at him, at his adorable half-smile.
“Where would Holmes be without his Watson?”
A giggle bubbled up, wet and strange. “Oh no. I’m Holmes. You’re Watson.”
“I heartily disagree, my dear.” He mimed smoking a pipe, rolling a haughty stare down his nose. “You wouldn’t look good with a pipe. But I look rather dashing.”
“You look ridiculous.” She popped the twin peanuts into her mouth.
“Enough of that. Game’s about to start. Have another peanut.” He flipped one to her.
She caught it and laughed. “Thank you. What am I? An elephant?”
He took a swig of pop, his eyes sparkling.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to be cold anymore. She cleared her throat. “I do mean it. Thank you.”
“And thank you for trusting me.” He gave her a smile, small but sincere, then faced the field.
Lillian wanted to thread her arm under his and clasp his hand, to lean into his shoulder, to kiss his cheek right where the hint of stubble glowed like gold in the sun.
But she didn’t.
She cracked open the peanut, nice and neat.
23
Boston Navy Yard
Thursday, April 16, 1942
Under a cloudy late-afternoon sky, Arch strolled down the pier with Jim and Mary. “Another busy day for our Miss Stirling.”
“It was.” She leaned into Jim as they walked. “Two keel-laying ceremonies and two launching ceremonies.”
Jim kissed her temple. “Four more destroyers for the US Fleet.”
“Not for a while.” Arch stopped and gazed up at the Ettinger. “But look at ours. She’s never looked more gorgeous.”
Mary laughed. “She looks like an explosion in a bedspring factory.”
The men joined her laughter. American sailors had dubbed the gangly SC radar apparatus on the mast a “bedspring antenna.” But with that antenna, the Ettinger could detect surfaced ships up to four miles away. That type of antenna had helped the Roper sink U-85.
“Well, gentlemen, I’m tuckered out,” Mary said. “Time to go home, enjoy Yvette’s beef bourguignon, and collapse.”
Arch pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Mary. “Would you give this to Lillian, please?”
Mary’s eyes danced. “I’d be glad to.”
“It’s just a Bible verse I thought she’d like.” He crossed his arms. “Say, my parents’ anniversary is coming in two weeks. I doubt we’ll be in town, and if we are, I doubt we’ll get a whole weekend’s leave, but they’re having a big party with music and dancing and plenty of food. I’d like to invite both of you and Lillian too.”
“How lovely,” Mary said.
“If we can’t make it that weekend, another time this spring or summer.”
“Lillian too, eh?” Jim’s gaze hardened. “Testing her?”
Arch groaned and gazed at the two new Fletcher-class destroyers in the harbor. “I know. Every time you’ve seen me bring girls home, I’ve been testing them. And they all failed.”
“Don’t—”
“You’re missing two important points.” Arch held up one finger. “First, Lillian is not my girlfriend. Second, gold diggers start flirting the instant they peg me as wealthy. Lillian? She’s never even batted an eye at me. I have no need or desire to test her.”
Jim dipped his chin. “Good.”
Mary turned the envelope in her hands. “A weekend at the shore sounds . . . romantic.”
That’s what Arch hoped. The more his hope grew, the less he trembled and the better he slept.
After Jim kissed Mary good-bye, the men climbed the gangway.
“I wouldn’t count on your parents’ party.” Jim pointed to the new antenna. “As soon as that’s installed, Buckner will want to take her out for a spin.”
“I don’t blame him. It’s time to even the score.” If only the Ettinger would be one of the nine destroyers the Atlantic Fleet was required to assign to the Eastern Sea Frontier in April. They were needed here. The situation was so dire, the Navy had ordered a halt to oil tanker traffic along the East Coast.
If the Ettinger remained with the Atlantic Fleet, they were overdue for North Atlantic convoy duty. Escorting cargo ships to England would take well over a month. Long past the party.
When Arch and Jim reached the quarterdeck, they saluted Captain Buckner. “I report my return aboard, sir.”
“Very well. Report to your stations.”
Jim grinned at Arch. “Reporting to the sack for naptime duty.”
“Sleep tight.” Arch checked his watch. In half an hour, he’d supervise fueling and provisioning. He strolled to the lifeline and scanned Charlestown as if he could locate the drugstore.
Taking Lillian to the Red Sox game had been a brilliant idea. Not only had Boston defeated the Philadelphia Athletics 8–3, but conversation flowed for the length of the game. They compared the hitting of Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio, and the promising rookie, Johnny Pesky. They exchanged stories from childhood and school. And they shared peanuts, lots of peanuts.
How he’d wanted to kiss her good-bye. Outside her apartment, she stood on the bottom step, her eyes level with his, her mouth level with his. She stammered her farewell, cheeks flushed, as if she wanted a kiss as much as he did. But something told him to respect the opening of her heart by waiting to enter.
Loud voices rose by the aft superstructure. A dozen men marched forward, Earl Kramer in the center, hauling Hobie McLachlan by the collar. What on earth?
“We’ve got a thief on board.” Kramer shook Hobie and muscled him to the quarterdeck.
Arch spied Palonsky at the back of the crowd. The seaman gave him a slow nod, and Arch returned the signal. They’d talk later.
Captain Buckner wheeled to the mob. “What’s going on?”
Kramer’s square face glowed with fury. “Sir, I caught this thief red-handed.”
“He’s lying!” Hobie squirmed in the coxswain’s grip, his black hair disheveled. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
Buckner glared at the taller man. “How do you address an officer?”
“Sir!” Hobie fought to stand up straight, but Kramer shoved his shoulders down. “I’m not a thief, sir.”
“Things have gone missing all week, sir,” Kramer said. “Anyone notice?”
“Yeah.” Phil Carey shook his finger at Hobie. “The ring I bought for my girl—it’s gone.”
“The binoculars at the torpedo tubes,” Fish said. “Can’t find them anywhere.”
The captain frowned. “Come to think of it, I can’t find my silver cigarette case.”
Arch etched the scene into his memory. Hobie and Kramer belonged to the ring. Palonsky was pretending to belong. Arch had seen Carey groggy on the job. Why did he have the funny feeling this incident was related?
Kramer gave Hobie’s shoulders a hard shake. “Sir, search his things. I saw him sneaking around. He pulled something out of Mahoney’s coat pocket and stuffed it in his own locker.”
“
I didn’t!”
Buckner eyed the men. “Show me.”
The crowd entered the aft superstructure and descended the ladder to the crew’s quarters. Arch passed rows and rows of bunks.
“Here.” Kramer pointed to a locker under a bunk.
“Is this yours, McLachlan?” Buckner asked. “Open it.”
“Yes, sir.” He knelt and opened the locker.
Arch peered around the group.
Kramer scooped stuff onto the deck. “Binoculars. A jewelry box—look familiar, Carey?”
“Hey, that’s mine!”
Hobie ran his hands through his dark hair, his eyes wild. “I ain’t seen none of that before. None of it . . . sir.”
Buckner picked up a silver cigarette case. “It’s engraved with my name, you numbskull. What on earth made you think you could get away with this?”
“I ain’t done nothing, sir. Nothing.”
“The evidence shows otherwise.”
Hobie pawed through the locker’s contents. “Hey, where’s my . . . ?” His face stretched long, and he stared up at Kramer.
The coxswain raised a triumphant smile. “Thieves pay.”
Arch held his breath. The meaning of that interaction ran deeper than words alone indicated. He resisted looking to Palonsky for a translation. He’d find out later. If the men suspected Palonsky was ratting on them to an officer, the case would be ruined—and Palonsky could be in danger.
“Good work, Kramer.” Buckner slipped his cigarette case into his breast pocket. “You and I will escort this slimy piece of seaweed to the brig on shore. You—Carey—load up everything from his locker as evidence.”
Arch followed the group up to the main deck. Hobie would be court-martialed. If he was found guilty—and he certainly would be—he’d serve two to four years in the penitentiary and then receive a dishonorable discharge.
Tomorrow Arch would debrief Palonsky, but he suspected Hobie had broken some rule or defied Kramer in some way. And he’d paid.
The sun went into hiding behind the city skyline, and the sky grew dimmer. How much power did this ring have? What had Arch dragged Palonsky into?
And Lillian. His face went cold. Had he put her in danger?
24
Boston
Saturday, April 18, 1942
“Why’d I agree to do this?” Lillian wrung her hands, then stopped herself.
Mary squeezed Lillian’s shoulders. “You’re just introducing Arch to Mrs. Harrison and going out to lunch.”
“But we always do things in a group. This is . . . pairing off.”
“He’s a good man. That’s a rare thing.” Quintessa crossed her arms over her stomach. She’d lost too much weight in the past few weeks. “You should snatch him up.”
“But I don’t want a boyfriend.”
Quintessa’s blonde eyebrows lifted, as if she’d never imagined such a thing.
The doorbell rang. Too late now. She put on a smile and opened the door. “Ready to meet my Boston grandmother?”
“In a minute.” Arch stepped inside and closed the door. “I have news.”
Why did he have to stand so close and look so handsome and smell so good? Like her father’s shaving soap, but better. Lillian swallowed. “News?”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Hobie’s in the brig, in the hospital, actually, going through withdrawal.”
“Oh my goodness. What happened?”
“He crossed Earl Kramer. Hobie served as Kramer’s apprentice in the ring. He wanted Kramer’s job, so he spread rumors about him. But the big shot on board saw right through. He and Kramer stole items from around the ship, planted them in Hobie’s locker, and alerted the captain.”
“They framed him.” Lillian pressed her fingertips to her lips. What would they do to Arch or Palonsky if they found out what they were doing?
“Kramer needs a new apprentice. He picked Palonsky.”
“Oh dear.”
“No, it’s good. The apprentice is connected to the big shot in case anything happens to Kramer. The big shot is Fish.”
“Fish?”
“Sorry.” He cracked a sliver of a smile. “Fish is a nickname for a torpedo—and for Torpedoman’s Mate Gifford Payne. He’s our source on board.”
Lillian gasped. “You did it!”
Arch held up one hand. “We still need to find the connection on shore. His name isn’t on your list.”
“But it’s a big step.”
“Yes, it is.” He gestured to the door. “Now, may I meet the famous Mrs. Harrison?”
“Oh yes. You’ll love her.” Lillian called out her good-byes to her roommates, grabbed her purse, and led Arch upstairs. “By the way, thank you for sending that Bible verse.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Liked it? If he only knew how much. She’d set the card on her dresser so she could read it twice each day and absorb the wisdom. And to admire Arch’s signature and its powerful A. Not a pointy A, but an appropriately arched one, with the center line aimed high like an arrow. Clever yet subtle.
“I read it the morning after the baseball game and thought of you.”
“I memorized it.” Lillian paused outside Mrs. Harrison’s door. “‘And he said unto me, my grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.’”
On the threshold, Arch removed his cover. “Only the Lord could make truth out of such nonsense.”
Lillian twiddled her purse strap so she wouldn’t smooth the blond curl that poked up on top of his head. “And it’s true. All my life I’ve tried to be strong on my own. But lately, the weaker I let myself be, the more God strengthens me.”
“Good.” Something in his long soft gaze told her he wouldn’t use that against her.
Lillian rapped on the door. Even if she could trust him didn’t mean she wanted to.
“Oh, Lillian.” Mrs. Harrison clasped her hands in front of her chest. “I’m glad you brought your young man.”
“He’s not—”
“I’m just a friend.” Arch offered his hand. “Ensign Archer Vandenberg.”
“I’m Opal Harrison.” She gripped his hand in both of hers. “Any friend of Lillian’s is welcome in my home.”
“Thank you.” Arch entered the apartment and gazed around. “A lovely home it is. How long have you lived here?”
“Five years now, since Mr. Harrison passed away. But we lived in Charlestown all our married years. Our youngest daughter lives here too, though she scarcely visits.” Mrs. Harrison motioned Arch to an armchair and offered a plate of cookies.
Lillian set her purse on the cabinet by the door and perched on the piano bench, smiling at Arch’s easy way with a stranger.
“Your youngest daughter.” Arch picked out a cookie. “Do you have other children?”
“Yes, another daughter in Worcester and a son in Salem. They don’t visit often either. That’s why I’m glad I have my new young friend.” She held out the plate to Lillian.
“Thank you.” The compliment tasted even better than the cookie.
“But you, young lady.” Mrs. Harrison circled one finger in the direction of the piano. “It’s time for your lesson. ‘To a Wild Rose.’”
Lillian sent her neighbor a beseeching glance. “Not in front of Arch.”
“Too hard?” he asked.
“Too easy.”
He frowned.
Mrs. Harrison settled into her armchair. “We’re working on it. She has to learn to pour her heart into it.”
Arch winked. “A recurring theme.”
She gave him the same wrinkled-nose glare she gave Jim when he teased, and she popped the last of the cookie in her mouth. Then she faced the keys and her nemesis. As always, the nemesis won.
“That’s why it’s bad.” Lillian grimaced at the sheet music.
“Mm-hmm.” Arch walked up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders.
She stiffened and sucked in her breath. Why was he touching her? Hadn’t he seen her flinch every time he came near?
“Stop it. Relax.” He kneaded her shoulders. “In fact, slouch.”
“Slouch?” The word came out too high. How could she speak with his fingers massaging her? “A—a pianist never slouches.”
“Excellent idea,” Mrs. Harrison said. “Slouch and close your eyes.”
Had they both gone mad? “Close my eyes?”
“You’ve memorized it.” Arch pressed one hand to the back of her head. “Slouch, put your head down, and close your eyes.”
“You’ll never leave me alone until I prove you wrong.”
“So prove me wrong.”
“Fine.” Lillian shrugged away his hands, smoothed her hair, and adopted the ridiculous posture, groping for the keys.
Arch sat beside her. Why did the bench have to be so narrow? His shoulder and hip pressed against her. How was she supposed to concentrate?
“Here it goes.” She launched in, but she had to feel around for the chords, and she missed a note. She started over.
“No, don’t start over,” Mrs. Harrison said. “Let yourself make mistakes. Don’t focus on the notes, but on the song. What does the song say to you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Arch nudged her. “Play it over and over. Don’t stop.”
With her eyes shut, she could only sense the cool keys under her fingers and Arch’s warm body next to her. And the music. She played as commanded. It sounded as awful as ever, but with the added glory of botched notes.
Over and over she played the short piece, until a strange sense of relaxation settled on her. Why? From the lazy posture? From Arch’s strength? Or from the song seeping inside?
“That was nice. Right there,” Arch said.
“Was it?” She sneaked a glance at him, and he nodded. She turned to Mrs. Harrison’s armchair, but it was empty. “Mrs. Harrison?”
“She went into her bedroom a few minutes ago.”