Surely one secretary could dare to share her notes.
At the northeast corner of Monument Square, they turned right, down the hill toward the Navy Yard, past Charlestown’s neat brick homes.
Mary filled her lungs with warm spring air. Jim would be proud of her, and her heart leaped. How ridiculous to let herself develop a crush on him. He liked gold, not silver, and he still loved Quintessa, for heaven’s sake.
Mary crossed Chelsea Street and frowned. Was she being shallow? She hadn’t been interested in him in high school, so why now? The only thing that had changed was the breadth of his shoulders.
That wasn’t completely true. In high school, they rarely spoke. Hugh and Quintessa did all the talking, and Jim and Mary listened, enraptured. This was the first time they had truly conversed.
The lovesick boy had become a bright and funny man, kind and insightful, adventurous and thoughtful. And not one bit lovesick.
The whole thing was quite hopeless.
Mary straightened her shoulders. Regardless, she’d enjoy his friendship and encouragement until he shipped out.
She and Yvette showed their photographic identification passes and entered the gate to the Boston Navy Yard. They passed the octagonal Muster House, such a darling Victorian building for a military base. To her left, the long narrow building of the ropewalk stretched for a quarter mile, where men spun hemp fibers into rope for the entire US Navy. They turned left and entered Building 39, a solid structure of brick trimmed with granite blocks.
Yvette headed for Accounting, while Mary headed for Mr. Pennington’s office in Personnel.
After she hung up her coat, she set up her desk for the day, her notebooks beside her. Today would be perfect to talk to her boss, in the lull between the busyness of Mondays and Fridays, and before the end of the month with its rash of reports.
Mr. Pennington swept into the office, tossed his hat onto the rack, and hung up his suit jacket. “Good morning, Miss Stirling. Don’t you look lovely today?”
“You say that every morning.”
“Because it’s true, my dear. You have your grandmother’s eyes and her sweet spirit.” He tapped his temple. “You know I had my eye on her until your grandfather stole her from right under my nose.”
“I’m glad he did.”
Mr. Pennington laughed and smoothed his semicircle of white hair. “So am I. Gave me my most efficient secretary ever.”
Mary grabbed her notebooks and followed him into his office, where he plunked into his chair and tugged his vest down over his belly. Now was the time. She inhaled a deep breath and exhaled a quick prayer. “Mr. Pennington, I’d like to discuss something with you.”
“Oh?”
Her ankles wobbled. “You know there’s been a lot of unrest among the men lately, a lot of accusations.”
“Ah yes, the saboteur,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The entire nation is on edge. First the US declares the Western Hemisphere off-limits to Axis ships, but the British are quite welcome. We’ve chosen our side, and some people don’t like it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He spread out his hands. “And here in America our great hero, Charles Lindbergh himself, appears at an America First rally at Madison Square Garden and tells us the only way to save our country is not to fight. And then our great president calls our great hero a defeatist. And then our great hero resigns from the Army Air Corps.”
Mary smiled. “It’s been a busy week.”
“That it has. So I expect some grumbling from our boys on the docks.”
“I’ve been keeping track.”
Silver eyebrows rose. “Hmm?”
She shifted her weight from one shaky ankle to the other. “You always call me your little spy, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I record everything the men say about the sabotage.” She set the first notebook before him.
“It’s in shorthand.”
“Yes. I can take down over two hundred words a minute, so I can write faster than they speak. Since they’re used to seeing me take notes, no one thinks anything of it.”
He leafed through. “Very smart, young lady.”
