A Midnight Clear (10 page)

“You love this, don’t you? Playing at being skipper?”
 

“I’m not playing,” Joe corrected. “Sailing a ship is deadly serious. Back home, men died doing this.”

“Men die doing a lot of things. I don’t know why they make us do this when we’ll spend all our time on a gray hull.” Steven shrugged deeper into his coat. “Or I will. You’ll be flying.”

“What kind of sailor doesn’t know how to sail?” No matter how he loved flying, Joe would probably always be a sailor at heart. “Campbell, trim the sail—it’s luffing.” The wind had changed, as it always did at sea.

Which was why the skipper had to keep watch.

“Only two more days,” Steven said, clearly thinking that much too long. “I suppose I can survive. And then it’s home for Christmas. Say, have you picked out a present for your girl yet?”

“Yep. Got it just before we left.” Foolish maybe to buy it before they’d had a proper discussion on the matter, but the hope within him had been too great to deny. If they were going to discuss marriage on Tuesday, he wanted to be prepared.

He pulled the box out of his trousers pocket and passed it to Steven, keeping one hand firm on the wheel.

“You brought it with you?” Steven flicked open the velvet box, then whistled. “Impressive.”

Joe couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the ring behind. The ring should either be with him or on Frances’s finger—not in the barracks. Overly romantic, yes, but that’s how Joe felt these days. He smiled broadly. The entire world ought to be in love along with him.

Steven passed it back. “Well, congratulations.”

A superstitious shiver passed through Joe as his fingers closed around the box. “Save that until she actually says yes.” He tucked it back into his pocket.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married before you even graduate.” That from Campbell, a blond-haired, blue-eyed, corn-fed kid from Nebraska. Only a third-class midshipman, but he was already the star of the Navy football team. He was also a halfway-decent sailor, given that he grew up thousands of miles from any ocean. Give him a few more trips like this and he’d be a first-class sailor.

“We’d wait until after I graduate.” At least, Joe assumed they would. The shiver ran through him again. Bad luck to be talking like this. Very bad luck. The sea brought that out in him.

Campbell shook his head. “I’m going to enjoy being a junior officer myself. Flying by day, ladies by night.”

Joe laughed at the kid’s cockiness. “Wait until you fall in love. You’ll see there’s more to life than flying or girls or playing football.”

“Blasphemy!” Steven yelled. “There’s nothing more to life than the Navy.”

“Other than beating Army,” pitched in Campbell.

“Beat Army!” the entire boat roared as one.

Joe was still laughing when a hard gust of wind hit the boat. The sail snapped and strained with it, the boat rolled as a wave rose and smashed hard into the bow—and then a massive, thunderous crack sounded from the mast.

The boom carved out a wild arc, catching Kelsey right in the face and tossing him into the sea.

“Man overboard,” Joe shouted as he fought with the wheel, the ship bucking like a rider-less horse.

Campbell ran to the rail as Steven jumped up and caught the boom, steadying it before it could do any more harm.

“Don’t just go in after him,” Joe warned. Two men overboard wouldn’t help matters.

Campbell tossed a line to Kelsey, then swore. “Shit, he’s knocked out.”

Before Joe could order anyone in the water, Campbell was already moving, diving in to rescue the man.
 

“Fleming, watch them,” he ordered Steven, then turned his attention back to his ship, still trying to steer the boat as she lurched through the waves. “Bring down the sail.” But the other midshipmen were already doing so, their training kicking in as it should.

Once the sail was down, they could assess the damage. But the man overboard was the more pressing situation. Joe did his best to keep the ship close to Campbell and Kelsey, his gaze hard on them as the swells pushed the ship about.

Campbell snared Kelsey as soon as he was close enough and began swimming hard for the ship. Thank God the football player had gone in—Campbell was as strong as an ox, holding Kelsey’s head above water easily.

When he reached the ship, Steven reached over and hauled Kelsey in, then helped Campbell in. Right as Campbell’s ass hit the deck, the sail came fluttering down.
 

The ship went still, bobbing in place amid the waves.

Joe finally let himself take a breath. “Is he all right?”

Kelsey chose that moment to open his eyes. He came up on one elbow and coughed about a gallon of sea-water onto the deck as Campbell pounded him on the back.

“Kelsey,” Joe barked, trying to bring the man to full attention. “You all right?”

Kelsey nodded. “Just rung my bell,” he choked out.

“You sure?”

Campbell slapped Kelsey’s shoulder. “He’s fine. Sailors hit the drink sometimes; doesn’t kill them.”

Joe smiled in spite of himself. Yep, Campbell would make a fine sailor. “You two get below deck and get warm. Being wet won’t kill you, but hypothermia might.”

He watched as they climbed down the stairs into the cabin, some of the weight of the situation lifting from his shoulders.

“Everyone else present and accounted for?” Always good to do a check, in case someone else had gone over. Joe did a quick head count.
Seven
. Plus himself, plus the two going below deck, made ten. Everyone accounted for.

A little more weight lifted.

“What the hell was that?” Steven asked.

But not all. Joe looked up. “The mast.”
 

Sure enough, about five feet from the top, the mast had cracked, wood splintering from it as the broken length listed over them.

They were in no immediate danger, but their cruise was ended. Joe rubbed his forehead with his free hand, the other holding the wheel, pondering what came next.

“Fleming, take the wheel,” he ordered, still in skipper mode. “I’ve got to radio for help.”

A hell of a way to end a training cruise. But everyone was safe, they’d tow the boat into harbor, and he’d make it back with plenty of time to meet Frances like he’d promised.

He took the stairs below deck two at a time, steadying himself on the handrails. He’d call for help, they’d send a rescue tug, and they might even be home early. No reason to feel so disappointed.

He slid into the chair in front of the radio, wrapped his fingers around the heavy handset… and paused.

Of course, they could try to repair the mast well enough to limp back to the harbor. The mast had broken high enough that they could do it, but the repairs would take the better part of a day. They’d be back in port later than they’d planned. Too late for him to meet Frances.

He lifted the handset. It would be best to call for rescue.

Except… this was an opportunity to learn some of those skills the sailing training was supposed to impart. Working together in a crisis. Thinking on the fly. Repairing ships in the middle of nowhere, with no support. This was the perfect chance to prove his leadership skills.

But he’d promised Frances.

He returned the handset to the cradle, studied it as he struggled with his thoughts. It was supposed to only be a stupid training cruise, not a test of his and Frances’s relationship. His career or her—he already had to choose.

He tapped a finger on the radio dial, wanting to punch it instead. He knew what he should do. Hell, he should have known the moment he’d bought the ring this choice would be forced on him. He only hoped Frances would understand when he told her. Hoped she would be as strong as he believed she was when he didn’t appear on Tuesday.

He set his jaw and picked up the handset. “Harbormaster, do you read? Repeat, harbormaster, do you read? This is Midshipman Reynolds of the
Audacious.
”

Static buzzed through the radio, then it released a sharp crackle. “
Audacious,
we’re receiving.”

“We’ve got a cracked mast. About five feet from the top. We’re going to effect repairs then return to harbor.”

Silence, in which he could hear the harbormaster’s shock. “Effect repairs? You’re not going to wait for a rescue tug?”

“No, sir. I feel confident we can repair the mast such that we can return to harbor under sail power. This is meant to be a training cruise. And now we get to learn how to repair a mast.”

Joe put as much assurance in his voice as he could manage, but he sensed the harbormaster wasn’t convinced.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“Yes, sir.” And he had, as a boy.

“All right then.” The harbormaster didn’t bother to hide his doubtfulness. “Radio in at regular intervals so we can send out a ship if you go belly up.”

“Yes, sir.” Joe had no intention of needing a ship to come rescue him, no matter how incompetent the harbormaster thought him.

He set back the handset with a hard click and hung on for a moment. He might be able to get word to Frances. He could radio back and tell the harbormaster—

He jerked his fingers off the radio. No. He couldn’t ask the harbormaster to call his girlfriend for him. They were in no danger—not that he could tell her that.

She had to trust in him. As he hauled himself back on deck, he prayed she had enough trust for their relationship to survive this.

Frances heard the pounding on the front door as she was putting her curlers in. She stuck her head out of her bedroom and found Suzanne standing in the hall looking down the stairs.

“Who could be at the door?” she asked.

“Father went to answer it.”

Curious, Frances stepped down onto the first step and peeked down. She could only see a tiny sliver of the entryway. Father was in his slippers and had his pipe in hand. The heavy old door creaked as he opened it.

“Good evening, sir.”

Frances gasped.
It was Joe
. On her doorstep.

When two days prior, he hadn’t shown up at the bridge, she’d waited for an hour. Then she’d taken the bus home and demanded her father ensure he was safe. When the answer came back that he was, that his boat had suffered a problem but he was dealing with it like the officer-in-training he was, she hadn’t known how to feel. Proud, frustrated, selfish, worried: Each of these and other emotions had coursed through her and she hadn’t settled on one.

Except she knew she couldn’t see him again.

If she married him—and after dinner, he’d strongly implied that he wanted to marry her—this would be the future. And she simply couldn’t take the devastation.

These past few weeks, Joe had made her see her life and its obligations differently. She knew now it wasn’t selfish to keep things just for her. Or if it was, a small amount of selfishness was all right. Better than all right, it was protective.

Joe made her feel protected. He made her feel free. But having her emotions get tied into knots when he failed to show up for a date reminded her of all the reasons she didn’t want to be a Navy wife.

He might have proven to her the rules of her life needn’t always apply, but this rule was more important than ever.

She hated how it would hurt him, but there wasn’t anything for it. She didn’t want a lifetime of him not showing up for supper. She didn’t want to weather every crisis on her own. She didn’t want a husband who wasn’t present. So as much as Joe made her feel, there was no future for them.

Downstairs, Father sighed heavily. “She’s getting ready for bed. And I don’t think she wants to see you.”

“If I could just wait, sir, while you check. I’ll wait as long as necessary. I
have
to see her.”

“Does your C.O. know where you are?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to know how you convinced him to let you go.” Several seconds passed, and then her father stepped aside. “You can wait in the parlor, but I can’t guarantee you she’ll come down. Or that she’ll forgive you if she does.”

“Thank you, sir. You’ve been more than fair.”

Joe came in the hall then. Frances pressed herself against the wall and examined him. Well, as much of him as she could see. He hadn’t changed or shaved, which probably meant he hadn’t showered.

“Let me take your coat,” Father was saying—and Frances couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken someone’s coat. “It was a real command decision. We were all impressed. Well, erm, not Frances… but everyone at the Academy. The parlor’s through here. Mind the tree. The girls were decorating.”

Frances could hear their conversation continuing. She sat on the landing with a thump. Her heart was buzzing and her hands had gone cold. It was one thing to decide she didn’t want to see him again when he was out on a boat. It was another when he was in her parlor.

Oh dear.

Suzanne sat down next to her. “What are you going to do?”

She answered honestly, “I don’t know. I thought I did, but now I’m not sure.”

“He did come back.”

“Well, he’s late.”

“I think he actually cares about you,” Suzanne said.
 

Frances didn’t reply; there was no need. It was obviously true.