Five Passengers from Lisbon

He stopped there as if struck by a thought. He looked hard at the paper. Finally he took up a pencil and wrote, slowly, reading the interpolation as he wrote it: "They were Nazis. They destroyed each other. This was their destiny."

"Why, yes," said Daisy Belle suddenly. "Their destiny—our destiny on this ship, our meeting with fate. Our rendezvous . . ."

The ship ran out of the fog the next day.

And finally, steadily, came into Charleston harbor.

That was very early one morning. The sea was gray, the sky was gray and tranquil. The ship glided evenly along with the rosy radiance of the Red Grosses around her like a gentle blessing. The decks were lined with soldiers who could walk, leaning out to get their first view of home, shouting through the ports to others who were in their bunks, "I see land . . . I see lights . . . There's a tender. . . ."

It was a tender, streaking busily out to meet them, bringing the boarding party. The public-address system carried welcoming words from the port transportation officer—straightforward, sincere, deeply moving. It was to be the Magnolia's last trip from Europe. She was to go now to the Pacific and there continue her high and faithful task of mercy.

Josh and Marcia stood at the railing and listened.

The U.S.A.H.S. Magnolia went on slowly along the broad and gracious river, past the lovely old city, her gracious houses dimly outlined in the dawning light.

The sun came up and the river turned to gold. They drew slowly and evenly up to a long pier, and the flag waved against the blue sky. The sun glittered upon the shining instruments of the welcoming bands. Long lines of ambulances and busses stood in waiting. Companies of corpsmen, trained and skilled, were at attention. Music burst upon the ship like a warm embrace. The port commander, a general's stars on his shoulders, came himself to meet the ship. A boy, carried from the ship in a litter put both hands flat upon the pavement and smiled as if he said: "This is America."

Watching the swift precision and care with which the whole shipload of patients was unloaded it seemed to Marcia that the whole kaleidoscope of war—of hatred and suspicion and terror, of pain and fear, could somehow in the end be shaken down into a firm design of love and mercy.

Josh said suddenly: "I'm going to kiss you." That deck, far above the gangway, was deserted. Josh held her for a long moment. "I love you," he said. "I'll always love you."

The band played and the sun shone. A boy on the gangway threw his cap in the air and caught it and gave a loud shout of happiness. "Home," he yelled above the band, above everything. "Home."

And Marcia thought, but this is home, close to Josh, like this, forever. End of book