“Miss Cabrelli? I love you.”
Domenica laughed.
“No, I mean it sincerely. My hands were on fire, and now they are wrapped like a newborn babe.” McVicars held up his hands. “I know a little bit about your line of work. I once pulled a bullet out of a man’s gut on a battlefield—well, it wasn’t a battlefield, it was the barroom floor at my favorite haunt, a pub called Tuck’s in Glasgow—but I saved his life. But I don’t believe I’ve ever actually taken away another person’s pain. And you did.”
McVicars followed Domenica back to the dining room. The captain was dizzy from hunger, but he had no appetite. His body ached, but he didn’t feel the pain. He wasn’t himself, and he didn’t understand why.
Mother Superior approved of the bandages on the captain’s hands. She thanked Domenica and invited her to have breakfast in the dining room with the captain. This was a rare invitation, and Domenica humbly accepted. The captain sat by the fire with Domenica as she entertained him with stories of home. He took in every word as he consumed the best meal of his life. The strawberry jam on the croissant exploded in his mouth like a sweet summer day. The fluffy omelette was seasoned with fresh herbs and melted in his mouth. The coffee was the hottest he had drunk since the Boidoin docked in Colombia, in South America. This was no ordinary hunger satiated by a good meal; the captain’s soul was being fed too. He wondered if the brown-eyed nurse from Italy had something to do with it.
* * *
McVicars stood by as the nurses filed into the chapel. Cabrelli nodded in his direction. He also received his share of winks and smiles from her co-workers. The Sisters followed the nurses inside. Sister Marie Honoré smiled at him as she stooped down to remove the wooden wedge from under the chapel door before closing it. He could hear the murmur of the priest’s opening prayers. McVicars turned to leave H?pital Saint Joseph through the door he had entered the night before when he came eye to eye with the statue of Mary on a pedestal. He stood for a moment and looked up at her. He patted the breast pocket on his uniform, retrieving his gold signet ring. He picked up paper and pencil from the front desk and scrawled.
23 March 1939
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.”