No one had been hurt, thank goodness, but they all could have been blown to pieces.
All day, Mary had been shaken. All day, she’d prayed for safety for the crew and justice for the saboteur.
Word hadn’t leaked out into the Navy Yard, but it would, and chaos would ensue.
Due to the news, Mary had almost broken the resolution she’d made on Sunday. But she refused to be swayed. It was time.
Mary climbed the steps, opened the church door, and made her way toward the choir room.
While she didn’t want Jim back in town for such a horrid reason, she still longed for his return. The fanciful part of her thrilled at the memory of his voice and the dream of romance, but the reasonable part of her listened to the truth in Quintessa’s last letter.
A month before, her best friend had asked if anything romantic was stirring between Jim and Mary. Mary kept her feelings private and merely said Jim never acted gaga around her. In this week’s letter, Quintessa confirmed that Jim couldn’t have a crush on Mary. The poor man wore his heart on his sleeve. If he were interested, everyone in Boston would know.
Mary drew a deep breath. Quintessa was right, and Mary would be fine. It was only a mild crush, after all, and she truly enjoyed their friendship.
She paused outside the open door to the choir room. Sounds of conversation, laughter, and a tinkling piano drifted into the hallway.
Time to hoist her sails. Mary strode into the choir room. About forty people milled around inside. At the piano sat a middle-aged lady, her graying blonde hair rolled into a low chignon—Hilda Gunderson, the choir director.
Mary lifted her chin and approached the piano.
Mrs. Gunderson gave her an expectant smile. “Well, hello. Who might you be?”
“Mary Stirling. I came to inquire about joining the choir.”
“Do you like to sing?”
“Very much.”
“Can you read music?”
“Yes.” Thanks to Mother’s insistence that a lady should know how to play the piano, even if she played poorly.
“And can you hold a tune?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Gunderson squinted at Mary through her glasses. “Soprano?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Splendid.” Her fingers fluttered over the keys, sending up a bounty of notes. “We’re always short on sopranos. Very high turnover.”
“Did I hear we have a new soprano?” A young lady gave Mary a dimpled smile.
“Yes.” Mary’s heart jumped as if she’d met a celebrity. Claudia Richards, a red-haired beauty, frequently sang solos on Sunday mornings.
Claudia clasped her slender hands in front of her chest. “Ooh, you can sit with me. Please do.”
“I’d love to.” She’d only been there five minutes, and she’d already made a friend.
Mrs. Gunderson gestured to a bookshelf. “Claudia, please show Mary where to find her music. After practice we’ll find a robe that fits.”
“Oh.” Mary’s face tingled. She should have told the choir director earlier. “I—I won’t be able to sing on Sundays.”
“Do you have to work?”
“No. I ... I...” She twisted her hands together.
