Anchor In The Storm Part 9

"How does one treat it?"

Doc ran his hand through his light brown hair. "They don't really know. Sedatives work to some extent, but I only have a small stock on board for emergencies, if a sailor gets hysterical or dangerous."

Arch licked his lips. "So what can we do for them?"

Doc barked out a laugh. "You want to know the treatment of choice? The men are surveyed-kicked out of the Navy. Can you imagine the disgrace in a time of war? The men know what awaits them, so they don't ask for help. Don't want to be labelled as cowards or malingerers."

"I-I don't blame them." The exact reason Arch wouldn't seek help again. Besides, all Dr. Blake had done was give him those pills. "You said sedatives work to some extent. How would they affect the men?"

Doc set down his clipboard and opened a textbook labelled Pharmacology. "They're quite interesting medications, the barbiturates."

Why did he sense a lecture on the horizon? He offered a smile. "In layman's terms, please."

"Oh, of course." The textbook closed. "In layman's terms, the men would act drunk."

"Drunk." Like McLachlan.

"Yes, sleepy, relaxed, uninhibited, unsteady."

"One of my men acted like that this morning. Captain Buckner and I smelled his breath. I smelled nothing but bacon and eggs."

"But I haven't dispensed a single tablet." Doc's gaze skittered around the office. "Come to think of it, I've seen other men acting groggy. I thought they were tired. No one's sleeping well, including me. Do you think . . ."

"I don't know what to think."

Doc stood and rubbed his chin. "I want to help the men. I want their anxiety relieved so they can do their jobs and stay in the Navy. It isn't right to put men in combat then punish them for their humanity. It isn't right."

"I agree."

Doc's eyes brimmed with emotion. "I'm glad you think that way. The captain doesn't."

Arch stood and snugged his cover back on his head. "I'll let you know if I see anything else."

"Thank you, sir."

Arch headed toward his cabin for his long-delayed nap. Had McLachlan taken a sedative? If so, where had it come from? From a Navy physician? What about the other groggy men Doc had noticed? Were they simply exhausted, or had they taken something?

If only Arch could find out the truth, but the enlisted men wouldn't open up to an officer for fear of disciplinary action.

A sailor burst through the door to the main deck, his hand wrapped in a rag.

"Palonsky," Arch said. "What happened?"

He squinted at his hand. "You know, sir, I felt bad for Doc, not having anyone to fix up today. Being a man of compa.s.sion, I decided to remedy that. Sliced open my thumb securing the whaleboat."

"How thoughtful of you."

"Yeah?" His wide-set eyes glittered. "'Cause you said that, I'm going to be extra thoughtful and ask Doc to name all the bones in my hand. He'll like that, don't you think, sir?"

Arch lifted a wry smile. "As a man of compa.s.sion, you're sure to use that information to cheer the men in a comedy routine."

"Ah, Mr. Vandenberg, you've got me pegged." He sauntered down the pa.s.sageway.

Arch chuckled and stepped out to the main deck. If he had Palonsky's rapport with the men, he could find out anything he wanted.

He stopped in his tracks. The setting sun spilled orange light over the gray waves.

What if he could use Palonsky as an intermediary?

"Use?" He spat out the word. Wasn't that why he'd rejected the life of wealth? Because he'd used people and discarded them? People who loved him?

He'd hated the boy he'd become, and he'd vowed never to become a man he would loathe.

No. Arch wouldn't use his rank to get his way. He wouldn't use Palonsky or anyone else ever again.

He'd have to find another way.

10.

Boston

Sat.u.r.day, February 7, 1942

"Such a treat." Quintessa sat by the bay window across from Lillian. "The sailor boys are here when Clifford finally gets to spend the weekend in town. Isn't it swell?"

"Yes, swell." Clifford perched on the arm of the chair and squeezed Quintessa's shoulders, but his voice sounded stiff.

"Too bad Dan won't join us." Lillian settled back in her armchair and sent Jim a wink.

"Dan, Dan, Dan." Squished between Mary and Arch on the couch, Jim laughed and shook his head. "All work, no play."

"What are we going to do with him?" Lillian fingered a pleat in her brown-and-gold plaid dress. Their oldest brother's s.h.i.+p, the cruiser USS Vincennes, had been sent to the Pacific, but Dan had been a.s.signed to an Anti-Submarine Warfare Unit the Navy was establis.h.i.+ng in Boston. Dan was not pleased. He wanted to go to sea.

"So," Arch said. "What should we do with our day?"

"I had the best idea." Quintessa fairly hopped in her seat. "One of the girls at Filene's told me she'd gone ice-skating at the Public Garden downtown. We could rent skates. Doesn't that sound fun? I used to love skating on the Vermilion River."

Mary tilted her brunette head in Lillian's direction. "I don't think skating is a good idea."

Lillian shrank back. She hated to be excluded, but she also hated to be singled out.

"Oh." Quintessa's pretty face stretched long in both mortification and disappointment, but then she smiled. "That's all right. Let's think of something else."

The usual suggestions of movies and walks circled the room, and Lillian groaned inside. If only she could beg out and let them have fun without her, but they'd never allow that. Why did she always have to be the wet blanket?

"No." Lillian sat up straight, her jaw firm. "You're going ice-skating."

"Nonsense," Mary said. "We want to do something together."

"Since I came to town, you haven't even gone dancing, and I know you love dancing. It isn't fair. I refuse to hold you back."

Jim pressed his lips together. "We want you to come too. We want-"

"I'll come. I'll watch. Like watching a movie. In fact, watching you on skates is better than a Hollywood comedy." She gave her brother a teasing grin.

It worked. An hour later, Lillian sat on a pier by the pedestrian bridge in her bottle-green coat and matching hat. Frost-covered trees sparkled under a clear sky, and Boston's cityscape rose on the far side of Boylston and Arlington Streets. Her friends zipped by on the vast frozen lagoon. As enjoyable as a movie.

Jim and Mary made such a darling couple, skating with linked arms. Arch skated with masculine ease, greeting her when he pa.s.sed but never lingering. And all the children were adorable in their oversized snowsuits, tottering and slipping and falling. Longing tugged at her heart. She'd only had one winter of skating before her accident, and she'd loved it.

Clifford and Quintessa stood to the side of the lagoon in conversation, and Clifford looked annoyed. Something about that man made her uneasy. What was it?

A skater shushed ice in front of her, and she startled.

Arch grinned down at her. "What are you watching so intently?"

Her cheeks warmed. How could she admit she was snooping?

But he'd already followed her line of sight. Clifford motioned over his shoulder with his thumb, and Quintessa planted her hands on her hips and shook her head.

Arch plunked onto the pier beside Lillian. "I don't like that fellow."

"You don't?"

"I don't like how he pressures her. He wants time alone with her, and she wants to stay with her friends."

"You were eavesdropping?"

Arch shrugged, his eyes impossibly blue in the suns.h.i.+ne. "We're in public."

Clifford took Quintessa's elbow, but she shook him off, and then he gave her a big smile and spread his hands wide, as if pleading.

Lillian's stomach turned. That's what she didn't like-the pressure, the controlling. "I don't either."

"Don't what?" Arch gave her a quizzical look.

Why did she have to be so bad at conversation? "Clifford. Something about him . . ."

"Mm-hmm. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Good."

Arch crossed his ankles, the blades of his skates flas.h.i.+ng in the sun, and he watched the skaters pa.s.s.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but she didn't want him to feel obligated to keep her company. Nor did she like the idea that he might want to keep her company.

"I've been meaning to ask you about . . ." Arch stopped, and a smile spread. "Never mind. I have a better idea."

"What? What were you going to ask me?"

"Another time." His face grew serious. "But I do have something to ask. Why can't you skate?"

Lillian gripped her hands together. "What do you think?"

"I was thinking. Your foot-pardon me, please-but your foot bends when you walk, as if it were hinged."

"It is." Her shoulder muscles tightened. No one asked about her prosthesis except small children-who were rebuked by their mothers.

Arch stared at her prosthetic foot, not with morbid curiosity, but like a boy inspecting a gadget. "How does it . . ." He glanced up to her, and his face reddened. "I beg your pardon. I was ogling your leg. How rude. Please forgive me."

The incongruity, his expression, the humor of it all swelled into a burst of laughter.

"What's so funny?"

Lillian couldn't talk. She waved a hand in front of her face. "No one has ever-ever ogled that leg."

Arch grinned. "Well, I find it interesting. I was trying to figure out how the foot returns to position after each step, and then it occurred to me how it must look to a pa.s.serby. 'Why, that officer is ogling that lady's legs. Shame on him.'"

When her laughter receded, she stretched out her artificial leg. "The ankle is hinged. A spring inside returns the foot to position after each step."

"A spring. I should have known. So why doesn't it work with skates?"

"It . . . it just doesn't."

"I don't see why it wouldn't. No spins or jumps, of course, but gliding should be fine."

Lillian studied a skater's feet. "I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Would you like to try?"

"Goodness, no."

Arch tucked his hands in the pockets of his navy blue overcoat. "I thought you were the adventurous sort."