Jim read his brother’s message as easily as he read the flags. “Ah, yes. The philosophy of the eminent Aloysius Howard.” Dan had studied under the admiral at the Academy and then had served under his command at sea—and he wanted to follow in every one of his hero’s distinguished footsteps.
“He’s right.” Dan straightened his white tunic. “A woman slows down the serious naval officer. She cries when you go into danger, so you hold back. Or she has her own ambitions for your career and pushes you in the wrong direction.”
Jim smiled at the bright red and yellow and blue and white flags flapping above him. Mary was brave enough to send him to sea and gentle enough not to manipulate him.
“More importantly ...” Dan tapped Jim’s arm with the back of his hand. “What if you face a situation at sea? What if your destroyer is escorting a convoy, and a U-boat approaches? The proper thing is to make an aggressive attack and protect the convoy. But what if you have a pretty wife at home, maybe a couple of children? You might be tempted to save your own neck for their sakes. That would be wrong.”
How could he resist a tease? “What about Durant? He’s married, has four of the cutest girls you’ve ever seen.”
Dan glanced behind, below. “Why do you think he’s only commanding a destroyer? At his age, he should be a lot further along. He’s a good man, probably the best I’ve served with, but his family slows him down.”
Never mind that the Navy strongly encouraged officers to marry. Never mind the long line of new ensigns waiting to wed at the Academy Chapel on graduation day and parading their brides through Annapolis in horse-drawn carriages. When Dan Avery fixed on an idea, he couldn’t be budged.
Jim shrugged. “The captain seems happy.”
“And he deserves that.” Something in Dan’s tone said he thought Durant deserved more.
Another line of signal flags shimmied up to the yardarm. Jim wouldn’t float his way into a career or a relationship. He needed a plan for both. He needed God’s guidance for both. “You have to decide what matters most to you.”
“I want to make admiral.”
“And you will.” Jim’s goals seemed flimsy in comparison. What exactly did he want? To serve in the Navy. To work with people. On shore or at sea, it didn’t matter. And he wanted a family, a pretty wife at home waiting for him, and the picture in his dream had changed to a blue-eyed brunette.
“What do you want, Jim?” Dan’s gaze prodded him—not to tear him down but to build him up. “You have it in you too. You could make admiral.”
The corners of Jim’s mouth eased up. “I’ll have to see which way my path lies.”
17
Thursday, July 3, 1941
The El train shivered its way out of the City Square Station in Charlestown. The Boston Navy Yard passed by on Mary’s left. What fun to have an afternoon off to shop with Yvette.
The southbound Winter Line train clattered across the Charlestown Bridge, and steel girders flashed by Mary’s eyes.
“Now do you believe me?” Yvette whapped a headline in theBoston Globe. “The Nazis are here, and they are dangerous.”
“I know.” All week Mary had been reading every news article she could. In New York City, the FBI had arrested thirty-three members of the Duquesne Spy Ring, most of whom had been born in Germany and had become American citizens.
“Do you see?” Yvette bowed her head over the paper, and the feathers on the front of her hat bowed with her. “They worked at defense factories, on passenger ships—and on the docks.”
“I know.” The train pulled into North Station. Dozens of people disembarked, and dozens more boarded.
“Why not Boston?” Yvette’s golden-brown eyes beseeched her. “The FBI found thirty-three, but—”
“How many more? And are there any at the Navy Yard?”
“They put a bomb on your friend’s ship.”
Mary crossed her legs and rearranged the skirt of her blue-and-yellow floral shirtwaist dress. “We know someone put a bomb on the ship, but we don’t know who.”
“Pssh.” Yvette folded the newspaper. “We don’t know the names, but they are theBoche.”
“The Germans? Possibly.” A good detective, even of the amateur variety, needed to keep her mind and her eyes open.
“Possibly? Pssh. If it is not theBoche, I will ... I will...”
“Eat American cheese?”
