Ira Kaplan strolled over and set down a coiled hose. “Say, Mr. Fiske, glad to see you’re keeping an eye on Bauer. The man’s shifty, up to no good.”
O’Donnell chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Like what?” Kaplan straightened to his full, lanky height.
“Like us to have some German saboteur here, just like in those warmongering Hollywood movies you Jews keep churning out. Then everyone would catch your war fever.”
Mary eased back, heart pounding.
“Yeah?” Kaplan jabbed his finger at O’Donnell. “Maybe they should. If Hitler knocks out Britain, where do you think he’ll come next?”
O’Donnell scrunched up his thick face. “Over here? Over thousands of miles of ocean? You’re crazy.”
“Hitler’s got friends in South America. Don’t you know anything? You’re crazy if—”
Mary sent Frank Fiske a pleading glance, but he was already stepping forward, setting one big hand on each man’s shoulder.
O’Donnell shook his finger in Kaplan’s face. “Shame on you. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“Then you’re old enough to know better.”
“Stop it, men,” Fiske said.
“You’re right, I’m old enough.” O’Donnell glared from under iron-gray brows. “Old enough to remember how the Brits bamboozled us into the last war.”
“That’s enough, George.” Fiske tightened his grip on the draftsman’s shoulder.
“All right, Frank. All right.” O’Donnell held up both hands and stepped back.
“Back to work, Kaplan.” Fiske’s voice rang with authority.
“Yes, sir.” The young man walked away, flexing his hands open and shut.
Mary’s heart rate settled down, and she continued on her way, climbed the ladder, and strolled down to the next dock.
Her brand-new notebook beckoned her, and she opened its crisp pages. On the top of one page, she wrote “Heinrich Bauer” in shorthand, then divided the page into two columns. On the left, she wrote all he’d said, which wasn’t much. On the right, she recorded what others had said about him.
Then she flipped the page and repeated the process for Ira Kaplan and George O’Donnell.
Maybe shehadread too much Nancy Drew. She couldn’t do anything with this information. Everything she’d recorded could be discounted as rumor and gossip.
Besides, showing it to someone and seeking praise would be prideful. Her favorite verse, Philippians 2:3, said, “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.”
She’d learned the importance of humility the hard way.
Yet something deep in her belly solidified. A record needed to be kept, and who better to take notes than an invisible secretary?
4
On the fantail of theAtwood, lined up with his eight fellow officers for the commissioning ceremony, Jim had never felt taller. Although 199 men in dress blues crowded the deck, the only sounds were the pennants flapping in the breeze and the voice of Rear Adm. William Tarrant, commandant of the Boston Navy Yard, as he read a speech.
This was why Jim had joined the Navy—the tradition, the camaraderie, the sea. He’d enjoyed his service on the battleship USSTexas, but being a “plank owner,” one of the crew at a ship’s commissioning, was a great privilege.
So was serving with Lt. Cdr. Calvin Durant, theAtwood’s commanding officer. Jim’s older brothers had both sailed with the captain and spoke highly of him. An admiral-maker, Dan called him. Jim didn’t share Dan’s and Rob’s lofty ambition, but he certainly didn’t mind floating behind them.
Admiral Tarrant said, “In accordance with this authority, I hereby place the United States shipAtwoodin commission. Hoist colors.”
The band on the pier played the national anthem.
