The Good Left Undone(52)
Dear Mother Superior,
Thank you. The men of the Boidoin are eternally in your debt.
For now, please accept this ring as payment for your superior service.
Truly yours,
Captain John Lawrie McVicars
He wrapped the note around the ring and deposited both in the donation box by the front door. The captain had followed Nurse Cabrelli’s order. He left the hospital and walked back to the docks, where he understood how the world worked.
CHAPTER 19
APRIL 1939
Stephanie switched off her bedside table lamp. Josephine slipped out of her house slippers before sliding under the coverlet on her bed.
“The nuns need to turn the heat up at night,” Josephine complained.
“It will soon be so hot you’ll forget how cold the winter was.” Stephanie unfolded the extra blanket on the end of her bed and covered herself with it.
Domenica reached up from under the covers and shut her window tight.
“That’s where the cold air was coming from.”
“I’m sorry, girls.”
“Any mail today?”
“I put it on your desk,” Domenica answered.
“Not for me,” Stephanie said. “For you.”
“No mail,” Domenica said.
“I thought for sure that was not the last we’d see of your captain,” Josephine said.
“He’s not my captain.” Domenica was defensive.
“Some men are slow.” Josephine punched her pillow and turned on her side.
“Ladies. It’s only been a week,” Stephanie reminded them. “He’s in the fighting stage.”
“With whom?”
“Himself. He’s fighting his feelings.”
“Why would he do that?” Domenica sat up in bed.
“They don’t really want us, you know. Men wish we didn’t exist so that they wouldn’t have to surrender. It suits them to wander the world with no ties. Why else would a man choose to live at sea?” Stephanie applied her face cream without a mirror.
“You have an encyclopedic knowledge of the male species.” Josephine was in awe.
“I don’t care if he writes to me. I don’t want to be involved with a sailor,” Domenica insisted.
“You are involved. Plus, he’s got a rank,” Josephine noted.
“Never marry a sailor,” Stephanie began. “They do more shipping out than shipping in. Domenica would have a brood of kids to raise on her own, and the captain would be nowhere to be found.”
Domenica rolled over in her bed. At least she knew how her closest friends felt about the captain. It had been a long day. As she said her prayers, the convent life took on a patina in her imagination that she found comforting. She thought again, as she went off to sleep, about becoming a nun. With the world outside in turmoil, was it such a sacrifice? Domenica craved serenity and the peace that came from knowing her own heart. She was soon to find out whether it belonged to the Sisters of Saint Joseph or the captain.
* * *
The bell rang three times on the fourth floor of Fatima House, indicating there was a guest in the lobby. The attendant called up to the fourth-floor house phone and summoned Domenica to the front desk. She had been cleaning the room on her day off, wearing faded dungarees and a cotton blouse. Stephanie had put Domenica’s hair up in rags to curl it, so her head was covered in the mismatched bows. “You have a visitor, mademoiselle,” the attendant said.
Captain McVicars stood up. “Good morning, Miss Cabrelli.” He was out of uniform. He wore a somber gray suit and blue tie.
“Is there a funeral?”
“No, this is my good suit.”
“You look well,” she offered.
“I’ve been in Marseille for the past week.”
“Eleven days,” she corrected him.
“Has it been that long? Been working right here in the harbor. Around the clock, of course. Trying to get the old Boidoin seaworthy again.”
“Is she?”
“Quite.”
Domenica processed his litany of excuses carefully. When she’d left him after breakfast eleven days earlier, she was hopeful she would see him again, and soon. But patients who got well and were discharged rarely, if ever, returned to the hospital.
McVicars offered another excuse. “This is a strange time for merchant seamen. Some of our routes are shut down or compromised—”
“I understand.”
“I took leave and remembered you had a day off on Saturdays. Clearly you’re not on duty.”
Domenica patted the rag bows in her hair. “This is the only day I have to do my hair,” she said sheepishly.
“I see.” McVicars went on: “I thought you looked a little pale when we were last together, and I wondered if you’d like to go for a drive? I borrowed a car. A convertible. It won’t go more than thirty miles an hour, but we’re not going thirty miles so we should be fine.”
“All right.”
“All right that I borrowed a car or that you’ll come for a drive?”
“Both. Let me get my hat.”
Domenica went upstairs to her room. She stood inside the door of her room and froze.