Chapter thirty-four
Atlantic OceanThe ship’s crew waited for Marie to appear. She was late, but it didn’t matter. Time had no consequence. Some of the crew were seated in the rows of chairs. The remainder was standing. The smell of hair tonic and cleaned and pressed uniforms predominated. Clad in a white suit, a dark-brown tie, white frilled shirt, and polished boots, Joshua Denning stood with them, his back to the cabin hatchway, the bright sun off to his right side. Standing with him by a makeshift altar made of wood crates were Sullivan and Cogswell.
“How do you feel, captain?” Cogswell asked, his dark eyes on his old boss. He would be Denning’s best man today. Standing with a military straightness, the pilot was the proud owner of neatly parted hair, and a clean-shaven face, except f
