Mary scrunched up her nose. What a selfish thought. What kind of person wanted to keep her two favorite people apart? Even if Quintessa hadn’t arrived, Jim wouldn’t have fallen for Mary. If he hadn’t done so in six months, he never would.
She quickened her pace down the elm-lined road between Buildings 33 and 34. At least Quintessa’s arrival saved Mary from falling deeper in love with Jim. Thank goodness she’d come when she had.
Several months ago, Jim had told her he rarely went home because seeing Quintessa and Hugh was too painful, because it was wrong to love his best friend’s girlfriend. He’d made that decision out of respect for both Hugh and Quintessa, and out of self-respect as well.
It was time for Mary to follow his example and leave Boston, out of respect for both Jim and Quintessa, and out of self-respect. Yesterday after work, she’d received a phone call from the Defoe Shipbuilding Company in Bay City, Michigan, offering her a job.
Today she would give the Navy Yard two weeks’ notice. She would fulfill her obligation with the Christmas pageant, spend a few weeks at home for the holidays, then start the new year with a new job and a new start.
If God was smiling on her, she’d be able to leave before Jim returned from his tour. Last time he’d been gone five weeks. If this tour lasted as long, she’d already be home for Christmas.
“There she is.” In front of her, in the gap between Buildings 38 and 39, five men approached.
Mary recognized Ralph Tucker and Curly Mulligan, but not the other three. However, she did recognize their demeanor as less than friendly. She gave them a polite greeting and turned toward her building.
The men stepped in front of her, in an arc blocking her path.
She stopped short, hugged her notebooks, and studied five burly, angry faces. “Yes, gentlemen?”
Ralph Tucker crossed his arms over his chambray work shirt. “We understand you’ve been spying on our friend O’Donnell.”
“Spying?” Her voice came out thin.
Curly Mulligan adjusted his cap. “Yeah. Every time we see you, you’re writing in one of those notebooks.”
“O’Donnell says you’re spying for that Frenchie girl,” Tucker said. “You’re her roommate, aren’t you?”
Mary straightened her back and willed away the quiver in her chin. “Taking notes is my job. I’m a secretary. I was taking notes long before this sabotage nonsense began.”
“Well, stop.” The tallest man poked his finger at her, glaring down a bulbous nose. “We see you taking notes again, we break your pen. Maybe something else.”
Her breath ratcheted its way down her throat, and she stepped back. “How dare—”
“Tell you what, Miss Stirling. Why don’t you let us look at those notebooks ourselves, see what you’re really up to.” Ralph Tucker reached for the notebooks in Mary’s arms.
She held them closer and took another step back, only to bump into someone large.
“Yeah, lady.” The mountain behind her nudged her closer to Tucker. “Show us what you got in there.”
She couldn’t. All her typed notes about Yvette and Mr. Fiske were in there, for Agent Sheffield’s eyes only. “It’s none of your business.”
“Says who?”
“Says Mr. Barton Pennington.” Mary stared down Ralph Tucker. “Do I need to tell him you tried to steal from his secretary? The granddaughter of his oldest friend? That you threatened her?”
Tucker’s gaze wavered. Mr. Pennington had plenty of influence over hiring and firing, and the union wouldn’t like its name sullied by a workman threatening young ladies.
“Excuse me.” Mary shouldered her way past him.
Another group of workmen approached, and Mary sucked in her breath.
“Say, miss.” This man looked concerned. “Those hoodlums bothering you?”
The cavalry had arrived, but Mary didn’t need them. She turned and gave Tucker and Mulligan an icy glare. “You tell me. Are you bothering me?”
Mulligan dropped his gaze to his shoes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good.” She passed the cavalry. “Thank you. I’m glad there are still some gentlemen in this world.”
