Chapter 42
42
Summer came to New York, and with it a whole new list of challenges for Inga as the city geared up for wartime production. Thousands of young men flocked to the recruitment centers scattered throughout the city. Factories were retooled to support the manufacture of weapons, ammunition, and uniforms. War rallies and fundraisers continually clogged the streets.
Inga landed a job as a telegrapher for the American Red Cross, but finding a place to live proved more challenging. The influx of workers to the city had made securing an apartment almost impossible, and she couldn’t bunk in with Delia forever.
In the end, she moved in with her old friends Katherine and Jonathan Birch. Katherine was a dentist who once lived across the hall from Inga at the Martha Washington. She and her husband had recently bought a town house and had a room to rent, and it was walking distance to her new job. Soon everything was magically falling into place.
Except for the lingering issue of Benedict. The Gerards knew and understood all aspects of her complicated marriage of convenience to Benedict, and she visited them often.
“Benedict sent me a telegram, pestering me about the annulment,” Inga said one afternoon when she joined Mary for tea in the Gerards’ plush suite of rooms overlooking Park Avenue. Mr. Gerard wasn’t there, which was a blessing because it was easier to seek Mary’s advice without Mr. Gerard’s blustery presence.
Inga handed the telegram to Mary. It was typical Benedict: short, cold, and inscrutable.
Miss Klein,
Please sign annulment document and submit to court.
—B.
“Why haven’t you done so?” Mary asked. After all, Mr. Gerard had prepared the paperwork shortly after they arrived in Washington, and Benedict signed it before sailing for Japan.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I liked being married to Benedict, and I think about him all the time. I even went to the public library to read about the American Embassy in Tokyo. Did you know some of the most beautiful gardens in Tokyo are on the grounds of the embassy?”
Mary stared at Inga for so long it became uncomfortable. The last thing Inga wanted to confess was that she’d been going to the library to learn everything possible about Japan and Tokyo and what Benedict’s life there was like ... and if she might be able to join him there after all. That was the real reason she hadn’t signed the annulment papers, though she would never admit it. The prospect of moving to Japan to assume embassy duties was dreadful, yet she dreaded ending her marriage to Benedict just as much.
Mary finally spoke. “If Benedict lived in New York, would you want to stay married to him?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I love him. I’m a better person when he is near. I think I made him happy too.”
Memory of their time in Rosendorff flashed before her. Cuddling in bed and recounting their day to each other. Watching him shave in the mornings. Leaning on him for support when old memories threatened. They’d both been happy.
Mary pursed her lips as she poured more tea. “The two of you are such opposites,” she said. “He doesn’t seem at all like the kind of person I envisaged for you.”
A smile hovered as Inga summoned memories of watching Benedict in action at the embassy. “He’s a man ,” she said. “I don’t want a boy who is flirtatious and fun. I want a man who can stand up for what is right whether that’s bullies on the street or diplomats at the German chancellery. I never realized how attractive that was to me until I met Benedict.”
Mary replaced the teapot with a loud clink. “That’s all fine, but I’ve never been happier than after James promised me his career as a diplomat was over. We’re home where we both belong, and I never intend to leave it again. My dear, as much as you care for Benedict, and as hard as you might try to become a good wife to a diplomat, you can only force a square peg into a round hole for so long before one of them breaks.”
The words haunted Inga on her walk home. Benedict was born into a diplomatic life, which came naturally to him. It never would for her. The prospect of sailing to Japan or any other foreign land to assume a role where she’d never belong made her sick at heart.
She signed the annulment papers and filed them in court the next afternoon.
The heat of August finally released its grip on New York as a cool September breeze swept through the city streets. Inga expected her heart to have mended by now, but still she obsessed about Benedict. When she bought the latest issue of The Perils of Pauline , all she could think about was wishing he were there to tease her about it. Had she made the right decision in refusing to go to Japan?
“I know he’d take me back if I asked,” Inga said one evening as she sat with Katherine and Jonathan at the small dining table in their new town house. Although they didn’t know about her marriage, she’d confessed how she and Benedict had carried on a whirlwind romance while in Berlin.
“Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to move to Japan?” Jonathan asked as he set a plate of warm apple cake on the table. Though he was a police officer, Jonathan was also the world’s best baker. Perhaps God had a sense of humor in having a dentist marry a man with a wicked sweet tooth.
“I’ve been wondering if I could adjust to life in Japan,” she went on. New York was home, even though she hadn’t been overflowing with joy since her return. It felt as if she’d lopped off a piece of her heart after shedding Benedict from her life.
“Maybe you could visit and see what it would be like,” Katherine suggested. “You could sail there, spend a week in Japan, and be back within a month.”
Inga sighed. “I’ve only been at my new job since April,” she said. “I don’t think they’d give me a month off to visit Japan.”
“Someone with your qualifications could get a job anywhere in the city,” Jonathan said. “I hear they are short-staffed down at the harbor again. Jenkins quit just last week.”
“He did?” That was a surprise. Frank Jenkins had a wife and five children to support. He loved the overnight shift and had worked at the harbor for the past twelve years. Something drastic must have happened for him to suddenly quit, and she prayed he wasn’t heading off to become a soldier.
The question plagued her so much that she resolved to visit her old workplace to discover what had become of Jenkins.
The sun had just begun to rise when she arrived at New York Harbor the following morning. Signs of the war were everywhere. Being the largest port in America, the city had forever struggled to manage the constant influx of ships and goods. Now things were worse than ever. A haphazard-looking quilt of rail lines and electrical wires crisscrossed between the warehouses. Every berth on the aging piers was in use, forcing ships to remain offshore, sometimes for days, before they could dock. The entire waterfront was a whirlwind of disorganization, the epitome of chaos in motion.
Inga climbed the steps to the communications tower. Had it only been three years since she worked here? It felt like a lifetime. Carson was still at his post, as was her former supervisor, Mr. Guillory, who shot out of his seat the moment he clapped eyes on her.
“Inga! Please tell me you’re here in search of a job.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I came to check up on Jenkins. I heard he no longer works here. Is that right?”
From his place at the desk overlooking the harbor, Carson tugged off his headphones and swiveled to face her. “Jenkins left last week. He got a job at Western Union, lucky devil. The war is making a hash of everything. We have to work more hours, and the new rules are insanely strict. It’s why Jenkins left.”
So long as he hadn’t suited up and gone to war, she could breathe a little easier.
“So, Inga,” Mr. Guillory said agreeably, an overly bright grin plastered on his face, “you like the overnight shift, right?”
“Not particularly.”
“I’ll pay you a nickel more than I pay my dayshift employees. And if you work at night, you won’t ever need to see the tyrant who is now in charge of everything, including this office.”
She blinked in surprise. “Who’s running the office now?” In the past she always reported directly to Mr. Guillory.
“A brand-new entity called the War Board for the Port of New York,” Mr. Guillory said. “President Wilson wants the port pulled apart and rebuilt to accommodate the needs of the war. They’re tearing down old warehouses, building new ones, and adding more docks. All of it means more work and more hassle. You should see the rules they’re cramming down our throats. Two weeks ago, the War Board got a new boss, and he came by to read us the riot act. I tried to explain to him that’s not how we do things around here, and the stuffed shirt nearly bit my head off.”
“You poor dear,” Inga said in genuine sympathy, even though she secretly agreed that changes were overdue. Her time in Germany gave her a better understanding of war and the need for cooperation up and down the lines of authority. She didn’t envy any outsider appointed to shake things up in the Port of New York, but it was necessary all the same.
“So many persnickety rules,” Mr. Guillory grumbled. “Why can’t we file monthly reports like we always did? Now everything must be filed weekly, with copies going to the state, the feds, and the new tyrant.”
Carson nodded. “It wouldn’t be so bad if the guy didn’t look like he relishes the prospect of catching us in an error. He’s like a vampire lurking for blood.”
She cast her gaze around the communications room. When she worked here, it was a cluttered mess of unfiled paperwork with aging equipment stuffed into the closets because Mr. Guillory was afraid to discard anything. Now everything looked refreshingly tidy.
“You’ve done marvelous work organizing this place,” she said. “Don’t be so hard on the new guy. We’re about to send a million of our men overseas, and we owe it to them to have this place running like clockwork.”
Mr. Guillory rolled his eyes. “That’s the exact thing the new guy said. He wants the office to run like clockwork as if we’re nothing but machines.”
Inga wouldn’t waste more time consoling them. Either they could roll up their sleeves and get to work, or they could quit.
“Look at the time,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I’m off for breakfast. Would anyone like to join me?”
“Not a chance,” Mr. Guillory said. “The new rules say we have to work until ten o’clock each morning. If we want something for breakfast, we have to bring it to work.”
Carson sounded equally annoyed. “Maybe if the new guy ate something besides cold oats each morning, he might appreciate the benefits of a hearty breakfast.”
The complaining continued, but Inga had quit listening after the words cold oats . Her mouth went dry, heart pounding. She had to wait until she could speak with a calm voice.
“What is the new supervisor’s name?”
Mr. Guillory snorted. “Benedict Kincaid, but we all call him Benedict Killjoy.”
Was she dreaming? If Benedict was in New York, why hadn’t he sought her out? None of it made sense, and yet it felt like the sun was rising inside her, filling her with joy. If Benedict was really here in New York, she needed to see him. Immediately.
“Where’s his office?” she asked. Benedict had always been an early riser, and he might already be there.
Mr. Guillory provided her directions to the administrative building a few blocks away, and she scooped up her handbag and bolted out the door without even saying goodbye.
Outside, hundreds of people were on their way to work at the various buildings near the port, but there was only one man she was interested in seeing. She ran around piles of construction equipment and bumped into pedestrians in her mad dash down the street. The administration building loomed at the end of the street, and she was breathless by the time she reached it. A flight of stairs led up to the entrance, and she scampered up them two at a time, then pushed through the heavy front door so hard it banged against the wall. Tension zinged as she stared at the directory in the front hall. It listed Benedict Kincaid in the top slot as Director of the War Board for the Port of New York .
Her heart thudded as she wended her way down a narrow, tile-lined corridor toward his office. She calmed her breathing, smoothed her hair, then peeked through the window in his office door. He sat at an imposing desk, attired flawlessly in a three-piece suit and tie, a watch chain looping to his vest pocket. His face was drawn and grim as he surveyed some papers in his hands.
She tapped on the door, and he looked up. A fleeting look of surprised happiness lit his face. Then he quickly schooled his features and stood. He adjusted his suit jacket as he stepped around the desk to open the door.
“Miss Klein,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again. Come inside.”
Couldn’t he come up with something a little more personal? But no. She must never forget that this was Benedict.
She remained standing in the open doorway. “Rumor has it there’s a new man in charge of the port.”
“So I hear,” he said with a nod.
“He’s not very popular.”
Benedict’s expression remained stoic except for tiny laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Some things never change.”
The new War Board agency Mr. Guillory described had a challenging mission. Being in charge of it would take a spine of steel and an unlimited supply of diplomacy. Benedict would be a good choice for it.
“I thought you were in Tokyo,” she said, sounding a little wounded.
“I turned it down.”
Her jaw dropped, and she could barely draw a breath. “Why?”
He locked gazes with her. “Can’t you guess?”
It couldn’t be because of her. If he turned down a plum assignment on her behalf, wouldn’t he have sought her out? She was easy to find since everyone at the Martha Washington knew where she lived.
“If you came here for me, why didn’t you contact me?” Frustration mingled with elation as she scanned his face, still finding it hard to believe he was here.
“Inga...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Pardon me, Miss Klein ,” he corrected. “The whole world is at war, and the largest port in America is a chaotic mess of corruption and inefficiencies. I thought it best to get the port in order before turning my attention to ... personal issues.”
“Is that what I am? Nothing more than a personal issue?”
He stepped around her to glance down both sides of the hallway, as people were beginning to arrive. Then he tugged her inside the office and closed the door.
“I can’t call you ‘my wife’ since you finally got around to signing the annulment papers. Very slipshod of you, Miss Klein.”
How she’d missed his teasing. He looked stern and sexy and unbelievably attractive as the undercurrent of attraction hummed between them. “Did you follow me here?”
A flush heated his cheeks. “I was on my way to Japan when I got a telegram from Mary Gerard, telling me you may be willing to keep the marriage if I left the diplomatic corps. When the ship docked in Hawaii to refuel, I changed ships and set off for home. Of course, by the time I got back to the mainland you’d already signed the annulment papers, so coming here to win you back was a gamble. I’ve been screwing up the courage to address the issue.”
She sagged, bracing her hand against the wall. She never dreamed of asking Benedict to make such a sacrifice, and yet he had done so anyway. “You always wanted the top job. To be an ambassador.”
“I want you more,” he said, his tone gruff with affection. “I thought of you every day and wished you were by my side. I want a family, Inga. We had something like a family at Alton House, but I want the real thing, and I want it with you. I don’t want a marriage of convenience. I want a real marriage.”
“So do I.”
He reached behind her, pulling down the shade to cover the window in the door. The expression in his eyes was enough to set the room ablaze as he cupped her face between his hands and leaned down to kiss her. She twined her arms around his neck, letting him deepen the kiss.
Even after the world’s most amazing kiss came to an end, they clung to each other. Benedict’s voice was warm as he whispered in her ear, “Are you ready to do a marriage properly this time?”
She pulled back to look into his eyes. “Was that a marriage proposal? It had a touch of reprimand in it, Benedict.”
Humor lit his face as he sank down to one knee. He looked overjoyed as he cradled her suddenly chilly hand between his warm ones. “Inga, will you do me the honor...? Oh, drat, I don’t have a ring.”
“Ask me anyway,” she prodded.
He sprang to his feet and swept her into a hug, laughter shaking his whole body. “Oh, Inga, I love you. Will you marry me so I can tell you that every day for the rest of my life?”
Inga was barely able to speak because her smile was so wide. “I love you too. Let’s find a priest and get married for real this time.”
In a world churning with turmoil, a piece of Inga’s life was settling into perfect harmony.