Through Waters Deep Read online

  She set her jaw and opened her eyes. “Never again.”

  43

  Saturday, December 6, 1941

  Jim strode up Monument Avenue, past dozens of people out for a Saturday stroll. The only outrage he’d heard in Boston was over the American League’s Most Valuable Player vote. Joe DiMaggio of the New York Yankees with his 56-game hitting streak had been selected over Ted Williams of the Boston Red Sox with his .406 batting average, and it was wrong, all wrong.

  Never mind that in the past two weeks the USS Atwood and two more American merchant ships had been sunk. Dozens of men killed in an undeclared war, and no one seemed to care.

  He paused in front of Mary’s apartment building. The survivors of the Atwood had been distributed among the destroyers escorting Convoy ON-39 to Halifax. Back in Boston this morning, they’d been granted thirty-day survivor’s leaves while awaiting new assignments. Jim had accompanied Homer Udell to the hospital. The man was morose, but he was stubborn and smart and hardworking. In time, he’d flourish, same as Lillian had.

  Lillian now had a job, thanks to Mary’s tip. Starting in January, she’d work at Dixon’s Drugs here in Charlestown. It would be good to have her here, even better to see her happy.

  First things first. Jim had waves to make, first with Quintessa, then with Mary.

  His feet thudded up the stairs, and his finger felt like lead on the doorbell.

  The door opened. Mary stood there in a deep blue dress, her dark hair loose on her shoulders, her eyes like stars.

  “Mary.” Her name tumbled out of his mouth, perfect in its simplicity.

  “Oh, Jim.” She clapped her hand to her chest. “You’re alive. I heard about the Atwood, heard—thank God, you’re alive. Arch?”

  “He’s fine.” All he wanted was to hold her. He needed her, needed her peace and gentleness, and he moved forward to claim her.

  But she stepped back and called down the hallway, “Quintessa! He’s here. Jim’s here.”

  A bedroom door flew open, and a blonde bullet aimed for him, wrapped her arms around him. “Thank God, you’re all right. I was sick with worry. When I heard . . . and then . . .” Sobs heaved Quintessa’s shoulders.

  He had no choice but to embrace her. “I’m all right.”

  But he wasn’t, not with Mary walking away down the hallway. Not now. Not when he needed her most.

  “I was beside myself,” Quintessa said. “First what happened with Mary, and then your ship. Too much to bear.”

  “Mary?” Over Quintessa’s head, he pinned his gaze on Mary. “What happened to you?”

  She flapped her hand and stepped back. “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Quintessa rolled halfway out of Jim’s embrace and wiped her eyes. “You tracked down the saboteur, got him arrested, saved two men’s lives, and were almost killed. I don’t call that nothing.”

  “What?” Concern for Mary mixed with pride in whatever she’d done, plus a zing of satisfaction that he had an excuse to keep her in the room. “Come on. Like it or not, you’re telling me the story. Let’s sit down.”

  He shrugged off the overcoat over his new dress blues, marched into the living room, and plopped onto the couch. Quintessa snuggled beside him and clutched his arm.

  Inside, he groaned. How could he have that long emotional talk when the girl was already a wreck? That would be cruel.

  Mary hovered beside the couch, twisting her hands together. If only she were the one snuggled up to him.

  Jim pointed to the armchair in the bay window. “You’re not getting off the hook. Remember, I was there the day this whole case started. I’ve heard all about your investigation until recently. Don’t you think I want to know how it ended?”

  Mary sat, the afternoon sun lighting the edges of her hair. “Don’t you think we want to hear how you survived the sinking?”

  He chuckled. “Trying to deflect attention from yourself. I know your tricks, young lady. Besides, my father taught me manners. Ladies first.”

  Over the next half hour, Jim prodded her with questions, and she revealed the details, relaxing before him, returning to the easy camaraderie of their friendship. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and Quintessa broke her hold on his arm.

  All he noticed was Mary. Her feminine gestures, her sweet voice, and her measured words. Her modesty and intelligence and courage. Her care for others and her persistence in the face of opposition. She’d used her gifts as God intended, her sails hoisted and filled, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  His love for her pressed against the bars of his rib cage, longing to escape, to reach her.

  “There. My story is told.” Mary sat back with a satisfied look. “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Yes, your turn.”

  Jim glanced over his shoulder.

  Quintessa leaned back against the couch cushion, her arms folded over her stomach, her gaze unswerving. Dissecting him.

  She knew he loved Mary, didn’t she? Would this make the big talk easier or harder?

  “What is your story, Jim?” Quintessa’s lips bent into a tight smile.

  He shrugged. “I can’t say much due to censorship. A U-boat torpedoed us. The ship was lost along with fifty-two good men. But Arch and I survived, and we’re back.”

  “That’s all you can say?” Blonde eyebrows lifted.

  “And the water was cold. Really cold.”

  Mary gasped and sprang to her feet. “Oh goodness, the time. I have to get to the church.”

  Jim frowned. “On a Saturday afternoon?”

  “The Christmas pageant.”

  “That’s tonight?” He’d actually made it back in time, but not in a way he ever would have wished for. “I’d better let you ladies get ready.”

  “Yes, you’d better.” Quintessa took his arm and hustled him out the door. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes. Arch went home to Connecticut for a few days, but I’ll see if any of the other men want to come.”

  “See you there.” Quintessa shut the door on him.

  Yep. She knew he loved Mary, all right.

  While the choir sang “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” from up in the gallery, Mary trudged down the aisle of Park Street Church, one hand supporting her pillow belly, the other clinging to Ed Fanarolli’s arm, her Joseph.

  Hundreds of eyes watched her, burning her like welders’ torches.

  Her gaze latched onto Jim. He sat on the aisle with Quintessa and several other men in navy blue. A dozen emotions whirled inside her, topped by the intense relief that he’d survived, the release of the burden of worry she’d carried for almost two weeks.

  Jim grinned at her, meant to be encouraging, no doubt, but only a piercing reminder of their past friendship and a future that could never be.

  Quintessa watched too, her eyes round and cool, as they’d been all afternoon. She was jealous and with good reason. She must have detected Mary’s love for Jim. Mary had talked to him for over half an hour. How could she conceal her feelings that long? She’d failed, and now her best friend thought she wanted to steal her boyfriend.

  This was why Mary had avoided spending time with the two of them. This was why Mary needed to leave Boston. Now.

  “No room at the inn. No room at the inn. But please use my stable.”

  While the choir sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” Mary disappeared into the stable, the curtain door dropped, and she wiggled the pillow out from under her robe.

  She’d fulfilled her two weeks’ notice at the Navy Yard. Mr. Pennington asked her to stay through the launching ceremonies on December 10, but she refused. She’d planned each detail and delegated each responsibility. Everything would run fine without her.

  Tomorrow afternoon, she’d fly home. She still hadn’t told anyone but Mr. Pennington about her departure. Quintessa and Yvette would ask too many questions. Mary needed to be honest, but for the sake of peace in the apartment, confessing her love for Jim and her decision to step out of Quintessa’s
way should wait for the last minute.

  After church, she’d make her confession, and then she’d depart on her adventure. She’d decided to splurge on a cab and a ferry to Boston Airport, then her first airplane flight—land, sea, and air. After a few weeks at home for Christmas, she’d start her new life in Michigan. Not an escape, she kept telling herself, but a grand adventure.

  The choir hushed, and a light shone above the stable. Ed drew back the curtain, revealing Mary by the manger, and she folded her hands over her heart and gazed adoringly at the baby doll in his swaddling clothes.

  The eyes of the congregation ripped into her and sliced through her veneer of confidence.

  Up in the gallery, Claudia, Bertha, and Edith sang “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Despite Mrs. Gunderson’s coaching, Claudia overpowered the older ladies, trilling and cascading and calling attention to herself.

  Was Mary any less proud than Claudia? Her picture in the newspaper after the FBI’s press conference? The caption that read “Miss Mary Stirling accepts the adulation of the crowd”? It made her ill.

  And the way she’d been so friendly with Jim this afternoon, letting down her guard, telling every element of the story. Wasn’t that a form of pride? She’d sought Jim’s attention, and she’d taken twisted pleasure in stealing his gaze from Quintessa. Oh, she had. She most definitely had.

  Pride, pride, pride.

  The song ended, Claudia’s voice lifting the last high note for all to admire.

  Mary’s cue.

  Her throat tightened and her stomach roiled, but she scooped the doll from the manger and took slow steps forward on the narrow rickety platform before the entire congregation.

  She’d been careful to use the restroom before the performance and to avoid drinking anything all day, but pressure built in her bladder, taunting her.

  The musical introduction began.

  Mary stood there in her blue robe, baby Jesus in her arms, and her throat clamped shut. She couldn’t sing. Not one word.

  Her head felt light, her stomach queasy. She swayed to the side and barely caught herself.

  The piano paused, played a few chords, and began again. Mary had missed her cue.

  Soft murmurs rose from the audience, and a soprano Claudia-like titter sounded from the gallery.

  For the first time in her life, she longed for a spotlight, not to focus eyes on her, but to blind her to the faces, all the faces, so concerned and sympathetic and—

  And Jim looked straight at her, his expression earnest, and he moved his hands up and down as if hauling on a rope, as if hoisting sails.

  Could she? Should she?

  Movement by Mrs. Gunderson’s music stand caught her eye. The choir director looked pointedly at Mary and opened and shut her hand like a blinking light.

  “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” Not so Mary would be glorified, but God.

  She turned back to Jim’s encouraging face. If she sang well, God would be praised through the timeless beauty of the music and lyrics.

  If she didn’t sing, the pageant would be ruined, and what would people talk about? They’d talk about Mary Stirling! Refusing to sing would be the worst form of pride, choosing self over God, choosing fear over faith.

  The musical chords built slowly, surely.

  Mary drew a deep breath and a deeper prayer.

  “Silent night! holy night!” Her voice came out weak and quavering.

  “All is calm, all is bright.” Hesitant, but stronger.

  “Round yon virgin mother and Child.” The quiver evened out, and her volume built.

  “Holy Infant, so tender and mild.” Mary gazed down at the doll’s sweet painted features and stroked the porcelain cheek. “Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.”

  Her voice soared to the high notes and caressed the low notes, with a waver that sounded right, poignant. A peasant girl feeling both the weight and the joy of her gift, her insufficiency to do God’s will and her determination to do so despite her weakness, through her weakness.

  Mary’s vision blurred. She tipped her face to heaven and launched into the second verse, overcome by her own insufficiency, her own determination, the joy of accepting her own weakness and the Lord’s strength.

  Through her singing, maybe she could help others praise the Lord, and wouldn’t that be glorious?

  The final verse seemed too short and fleeting to convey the richness of who God was, but her role was complete, and others had songs to sing.

  Mary returned to the stable while the shepherds came down the aisle, singing “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night.”

  She returned baby Jesus to his manger and arranged his blanket, her smile heartfelt and genuine. In Michigan, she’d wear her red coat and join a new choir and do her very best on the job. Whatever else God asked her to do, she’d do it without flinching.

  Ed gave her a concerned look and a handkerchief. Why?

  Her cheeks tingled with happy tears. She hadn’t even noticed. She laughed and dried her cheeks. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.”

  44

  Sunday, December 7, 1941

  Today was the day. No putting it off one moment longer. The church service seemed to last ten hours, and Jim fidgeted in the pew. How could he concentrate on the sermon with Quintessa beside him and Mary in the gallery behind him? How could he sit still when he needed to talk to Quintessa right now, end this charade, and declare his own path?

  When the recessional played, Jim stifled a sigh of relief and led Quintessa outside onto the sidewalk.

  “It’s so cold today. I smell snow in the air.” Quintessa chattered about the weather without a break long enough for Jim to ask her to lunch.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, his gaze darting between the chatty blonde and the church door. Soon a quiet brunette emerged, wrapped in a red coat.

  “Miss Stirling?” A middle-aged lady took Mary by the elbow. “You sang beautifully last night. So moving.”

  The woman’s husband set his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “That’s all Nellie could talk about—how you made her cry.”

  Jim stood close, ready to rescue Mary if needed.

  But Mary smiled and covered Nellie’s hand with her own. “I’m glad you enjoyed the pageant. Everyone did a fine job.”

  “There she is.” A woman in a very tall hat squeezed into the circle on Mary’s other side. “Last night—that was the most beautiful thing. Don’t you agree, Nellie?”

  “Certainly. How you stumbled and hesitated—it reminded me that Mary was just a girl, like any of us. She must have been terrified, but she overcame her fears and obeyed the Lord.”

  Tall-hat Lady patted her chest and blinked. “You made me cry, young lady.”

  Jim had to smile. He’d heard an awful lot of feminine sniffles in the audience after Mary sang.

  She smiled, both modest and confident. “I understand her. I stumbled and hesitated because of my own fears, but the Lord gave me the joy and strength to obey, to sing.”

  Jim’s chest ached, he loved her so much. When would he finally have the chance to tell her?

  “Well, it was simply lovely. Thank you, dear.” Nellie squeezed Mary’s arm, and the trio departed.

  Mary turned to Jim and Quintessa and made a funny face. “Perhaps I should have worn Arch’s curly blonde wig this morning.”

  Jim laughed. “Nonsense. You’re doing great.”

  Then his breath hitched. He needed to talk to Quintessa alone. Now. That meant he needed to be rude to Mary.

  Mary looked up at Jim, her eyebrows drawn together. “Um, Jim, I don’t mean to be rude, but could I have Quintessa to myself for lunch? I need to talk to her about something.”

  Alarm jolted through him. “Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing.” He faced Quintessa. “I really need to talk to you. Today.”

  Quintessa let out a nervous giggle. “Gracious, I’
ve never been so popular.”

  “Please?” Mary asked.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you and I have all afternoon to chat at the apartment. Besides, I haven’t had any time alone with Jim since he returned.”

  “Oh.” Mary chewed on her lips. “I—I didn’t mean to interfere.”

  “You never do, sweet Mary.” Quintessa clutched her in a hug. “You never do.”

  Mary nodded on Quintessa’s shoulder and glanced up to Jim. “Good-bye, Quintessa. Good-bye, Jim.” Her tone sank low, as if wishing them farewell forever.

  Then she headed for the subway, her chin tucked to her chest.

  He’d probably hurt her feelings, but he’d deal with that later, along with everything else.

  First, Quintessa. Jim motioned to a coffee shop across the street. “Will that do?”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice high and clipped.

  At the coffee shop, Jim and Quintessa slipped into a booth. The waitress brought coffee and menus, and Jim took a sip of his coffee.

  Quintessa didn’t pick up her menu. “Let me guess. You don’t love me anymore.”

  Jim choked on his coffee. At least she hadn’t skirted the issue. He swallowed and wiped his lips with his napkin. “I never really did. I admit I was infatuated with you in high school, but it wasn’t love.”

  Quintessa traced the edge of the menu with one finger. “You aren’t even infatuated with me anymore, are you?”

  “No.” He kept his voice gentle but firm.

  She blinked a few times. “Because you love Mary.”

  Jim exhaled a relaxing breeze of truth. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “No. I planned to tell her when my ship came to port in November, but . . .”

  “But I was there, throwing myself at you.” She pressed her fingertips between her eyebrows, her head bowed.

  Jim gave her a half smile. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  “I would. I was so blind, so selfish. Something was brewing between you two, and I came barreling in, full of plans to fulfill your dreams. How arrogant! I just assumed you’d still be interested in me, never thought you two might be interested in each other.”