Yvette’s thin brown eyebrows sprang high. “Never again. Not even if the Nazis conquer America and we have no other food. I will starve.”
Mary laughed and patted her friend’s hand.
The train went down an incline and entered the subway system. Lights flashed by in the dark tunnel.
“See? You must stop.” Yvette rapped Mary’s hand. “No more notes.”
“I have to.” Mary raised her voice to be heard over the magnified train sounds. “We have to catch the saboteur before anyone gets hurt. If I can help in any small way, I must.”
“The FBI told you to stop. You must obey.”
“I’m not breaking the law. They’re afraid I’ll do something stupid and interfere with their investigation, but I won’t.”
“They want you to be safe, and so do I.”
Mary raised a satisfied smile. “Then I must help. No one is safe until the saboteur is caught.”
Yvette mumbled a long string of French words, none of which Mary understood.
They each had their code language. Yvette had French, and Mary had shorthand. She kept her notes about Yvette in shorthand and didn’t type them up. Rumors circulated around Yvette because she was a foreigner, and some of the things she said might sound incriminating to someone who didn’t know her. A solid record could protect her friend in case of accusations.
Mary gazed out the window to the platforms of the Haymarket Station. Unlike Yvette, Jim encouraged her investigation, and that meant so much to her. Whenever she prayed, she felt a sense of stirring rightness. Unless that changed, she’d continue.
In her letters home, she hadn’t mentioned a word to her parents or sisters—they’d think her sleuthing was silly. But Quintessa was delighted and full of questions and ideas. If only her dear friend were here to puzzle over the mystery.
Mary sucked in a breath. But then Jim would forget Mary existed. In Quintessa’s brilliant presence, Mary faded away. In the past, Mary preferred it that way, but now she didn’t want to fade away in Jim’s sight.
All her life, she’d avoided attention, but now she wanted attention—from Jim.
At the Devonshire Station, more people exchanged places, and Mary sorted out her views. Seeking attention usually stemmed from pride and selfishness, but not in this case. She cared for Jim and hoped he’d return her affections. Love wasn’t a selfish goal when both people benefitted.
The whole thing was more complex and nuanced than she’d led herself to believe.
If only she could see him. Jim hadn’t had liberty since his first weekend back in Boston, and neither had Arch. Gloria called Mary every day, sounding more frantic with each call, and Mary soothed her each time. No, Arch hadn’t forgotten her. The men were hard at work.
“Here we are.” Yvette stood and made her way down the aisle.
Mary followed and stepped off the train onto the underground platform, keeping her purse clutched to her stomach as they pushed forward.
Up the stairs and through the tunnel they went, then down some steps straight into Filene’s Basement. Yvette charged into the crowd, but Mary hung back to get her bearings.
Upstairs, Filene’s carried eight stories’ worth of gorgeous goods, but down in Filene’s Basement bargains reigned.
For Bostonians, it was a game and a gamble. Products came downstairs with low prices, then were marked down 25 percent after twelve days, 50 percent for six more days, 75 percent for six days, and then donated to charity. The longer you waited, the greater the bargain—and the greater the chance someone else would snatch it up.
Mary searched until she found a bin of summer dresses in her size. Half a dozen women pressed around, grabbing dresses, examining them, thrusting them back. One woman stripped off her dress, down to her slip, and tried on a green-and-white striped dress.
If only the bargains came with dressing rooms.
Mary’s eyes were drawn to a short-sleeved sailor dress, and she held it up. How sweet—white with blue trim around the collar and sleeves, and with a darling princess-seamed cut and a flared skirt.
Wouldn’t she look smart walking next to Jim in his naval uniform? Or would she look like she was angling to be a sailor’s girlfriend?
She grumbled, reached to put it back, then stopped. Someone else might grab it. She should at least try it on.
A flash of red blurred by her face as a woman tossed a dress back into the bin.
A bold red dress, yet in a silky fabric and softened with passementerie trim on the bodice. A year ago, she would have adored a similar dress in blue, but never in red.
