Introductions were made, and Tom felt an instant ease with Margaret’s family, who apologized that she was at work. Photographs of John and Margaret and Joanna lined the walls as well as a wedding picture of George and Dottie. It was as if even the walls of the home were a welcoming hug, and it stood in contrast to the militaristic feel of his own.

He paid particular attention to the pictures of Margaret, grinning at the images of her childhood pigtails to her elegance at what must have been a school dance to the woman she was today—standing on a pier holding her hat against her head so it wouldn’t blow away. Laughing into the wind.

He couldn’t wait to meet her.

Her family gave him a seat at the head of the table and plied him with chicken salad and oatmeal cookies. Dottie offered to ring Margaret up at the Navy Yard, certain that she could get away since she was the boss, but Tom insisted that he wanted to surprise her. He’d taken a chance that he’d find her here. But maybe this was even better.

They had so many questions about his farm in Virginia and about his family. And though he sidestepped the questions they had about the war, he regaled them with stories of the John that he had known and loved.

Mrs. Beck kept a handkerchief to her eyes nearly the whole time. With any luck, he’d be sitting with William’s mother within the next few weeks. And then his own.

At one o’clock, Mr. Beck kissed his wife on the cheek and told her that he had to get back to the shop. A shipment of velvet and threads had come in and he was going to begin working on the party shoes that he wanted to put in the display window in time for the holidays. Three short months until shopping season was barely enough time to meet what he expected to be a tremendous demand.

Brooklyn was ready to celebrate the turn of the year.

“Wait, please,” Tom asked as Mr. Beck stood from the table. “Before you go, I have to ask you something.”

“Anything, son,” the man answered, swelling Tom’s heart unexpectedly. Margaret’s dad had a kindness in his eyes that Tom had never seen in his own father’s.

Tom stood and placed his hands on the table. “I’d like to ask for your permission to take your daughter to dinner.”

Mrs. Beck jumped up and pulled him into her arms, and Tom didn’t remember ever receiving quite so many hugs in one day. Mr. Beck came over and shook his hand.