If he was a fool, he might as well act like one.
45
Mary leaned against the port rail of the ferry. Across the harbor before her, the Bunker Hill Monument lifted its farewell.
How she’d loved living in its shadow. And how she’d loved working at the Boston Navy Yard with dear Mr. Pennington. Even before the sabotage case, her work had satisfied her. Now she was leaving when everything was settling down, when everyone was beginning to work together again.
Too bad she’d miss having Lillian Avery for a roommate, but Quintessa and Yvette would make her feel welcome.
Mary faced away from Charlestown toward downtown Boston. The wind twirled a lock of hair in front of her face, and she held it back. So chilly today, just above freezing, but it would be far colder in Michigan.
There was the Custom House, and if she used her imagination, she could see Park Street Church. How she’d miss her friends, the choir, and Dr. Ockenga’s inspired preaching. So much history in Boston, and she’d loved exploring every bit of it.
A heavy sensation squeezed her chest, but she drew a deep breath to rid herself of it. Yes, she’d loved her life in Boston, but a wonderful new life awaited her in Michigan.
If only this ferry would transport her toward that new life a mite faster. Although she had plenty of time to catch her three o’clock flight, she wanted to move faster, farther.
But the ferry plodded along, barely fluttering the water beneath her. Why, that sailboat would pass them in the blink of an eye. Trim and fast, she sliced through the harbor at a jaunty angle, men at work on sails and helm.
Pain coiled around her heart. Not so long ago, Jim had stood behind her at the helm, guiding her hands, showing her how to sail.
Mary pushed away from the rail and strolled around the stern of the ferry to the starboard side, away from that sleek boat and her bittersweet memories.
If only she could leave her memories behind in Boston. At least at home in Ohio and in her new job in Michigan, she’d form new memories and the old ones would lose their power and their sting.
Meanwhile, Jim and Quintessa could grow in their love without Mary’s impedance. How long until she received a wedding invitation? Six months? A year? By then she’d be ready, surely she would. She would attend, she would rejoice with them, and she would wish them well.
Her departure today was a form of blessing on their relationship. Why shouldn’t the two people she loved most find love with each other?
A low commotion rose on the port side of the ferry. Mary glanced over her shoulder behind the aft end of the cabin. People gathered at the rail, pointing down to the water, smiling, talking.
Hadn’t Mary caught a glimpse of Harvard maroon on the men’s sweaters? They were probably up to some college pranks.
She smiled and shook her head, glad to be away from antics and commotion as the frosty air nipped at her cheeks.
“Mother! You have to see.” A girl of about fifteen dashed to the lady to Mary’s right. “It’s so romantic.”
“Romantic?” her mother asked.
The girl clapped her hand on the green bow on top of her head and pointed to port. “There’s a Navy officer on a sailboat, calling for his girl. I think I’ll change my name to Mary.”
Mary’s heart went into a jitterbug, but it couldn’t be Jim. He loved Quintessa and was with her this very moment. Besides, naval officers were a dime a dozen in Boston. As were women named Mary.
The girl dragged her mother to the other side, but Mary remained, studying the Inner Harbor and the waterfront.
The commotion built, and the crowd continued its migration.
Curiosity tugged on Mary. She did love a good romance even if she didn’t have one herself. What would it be like to be that other Mary, to have a man chase after her in an extravagant gesture? She would melt, completely dissolve.
With a sigh, she followed the crowd. People lined the rail three or four deep, blocking her view. Through an opening, she glimpsed a bright white sail and a maroon sweater.
“Mary!” A man’s voice climbed above the muttering of the crowd. “Mary Stirling!”
Her hand flew to her mouth. Jim? What was he doing? Calling her name? Why on earth?
“I need to find her. Mary! Mary Stirling!”
Oh dear. Maybe something awful had happened to Quintessa and he was trying to track her down. Mary found a slim opening and squeezed closer.
