The dignitaries climbed onto the platform. Then the band played the national anthem, while Mary pressed her hand over her heart and Jim and Arch stood at attention and saluted.
After the anthem, Mr. Pennington approached the microphone and thanked a list of people. He adjusted his glasses. “Today I realized I’ve been remiss. Never once at a launching have I thanked the person who works behind the scenes, making sure every little detail is in place, from the programs in your hands to the supplies at my feet.”
Mary’s breath rushed in and turned to bile. He wouldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. She eased behind Jim, behind the shield of his navy blue back.
“That person is my lovely secretary, Miss Mary Stirling. Miss Stirling, would you please join me on stage?”
No, no, no. She pressed her hand over her stomach, willing it to settle. Why hadn’t she made some mistake, forgotten some detail, missed some deadline?
“Mary? What’s the matter?” Jim looked over his shoulder at her, the visor of his cap hiding his expression.
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
Silence. Then he nodded and faced the stage. His shoulders stretched even broader. “I haven’t seen Mary, have you, Arch? Not a sign of her.”
“Who? Never heard of the girl.”
Mary took slow, even breaths, grateful for her inconspicuous hair and hat and coat, for Jim’s height and protection and whatever miraculous physical fitness they taught at Annapolis.
“Miss Stirling?” Mr. Pennington called over the buzz of the crowd. “Well, she must be hard at work. Let’s get on with the launching.”
Mary peeked around Jim’s shoulder as Mr. Pennington introduced Massachusetts state senator Ralston Fuller and his wife, Dorothy, theEttinger’s sponsor. The mahogany fur on Mrs. Fuller’s coat danced in the breeze.
Senator Fuller gave a speech, the chaplain intoned the “Prayer for Our Navy,” and the commandant, Rear Adm. William Tarrant, presented the bottle of champagne to Mrs. Fuller.
She held the bottle aloft. “In the name of the United States, I christen theeEttinger. May God bless her and all that sail in her.” She smashed the bottle over the hull, and the crowd erupted in applause.
The destroyer slipped down the ways and into Boston Harbor, sending giant roaring wings of water arcing on each side.
Mary’s delight flowed out in her sigh, forming white curlicues in the frosty air.
Up on the stage, Mrs. Fuller yelped, jumped back, and swatted at her coat.
Chuckles swept the crowd.
“Must have gotten champagne on that fancy fur coat,” Jim said.
But everyone on stage stepped back, staring at the champagne spill. “Put out your cigarettes!” someone shouted.
The men flung down their cigarettes, stomped on them.
What was going on? Mary stepped out from behind Jim.
Senator Fuller dropped his cigar, and tiny orange flames flickered around it. Mrs. Fuller screamed. Mr. Pennington tossed down Mary’s rags and smothered the flames.
A murmur started at the stage and rolled out through the audience. “Gasoline.”
The word slammed into Mary’s chest. “The bottle.”
“The bottle?” Jim frowned at her.
“The champagne bottle. I knew something was wrong. The foil was loose. Thank goodness no one was hurt.”
“You think someone ...”
“Poured out the champagne and put in gasoline. Then replaced the cork and the foil.”
“But who? Why?”
