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“Ah,
now
I recognize you.” He gave her a brotherly squeeze. “A pig farmer’s daughter, all done up with bells and whistles, putting on airs.”

“I beg to differ.” Jacquie fussed with Tessa’s hair, twisting it up into a chignon. “Before that ship sails, no one will see Tessa as anything other than a lady.”

“Yes, I’m a real lady, I am. But at least my ‘airs,’ as you call them, don’t stink like Countess’s stall.” Tessa plopped into the
wingback chair in a whoosh of pink satin and crinkling petticoats, the pain around her midsection catching her off guard. Not at all what she was accustomed to. In fact, she had to wonder if she would ever get used to such frippery. She sat up straight, the corset offering no other option.

Peter chuckled. “I daresay, when you enter the ship with so many trunks and hatboxes, you will be perceived as quite the lady.”

“So I am to be defined by my possessions, then?” Tessa jutted her chin. “Is that it?”

Jacquie sighed and gave a little shrug. “I’m afraid you must play the role of one who would find that notion to be quite acceptable. Can you do so?”

Tessa paused to think it through. If she could pretend to be a fine lady, she could surely pretend to enjoy fine things.

“Can she do it?” Peter doubled over with laughter. “She’s a devil of an actress. You should see the performances she’s put on through the years. Always pretending, this one.”

“Quite the little Sarah Bernhardt, eh?” Jacquie slipped her arm around Tessa’s shoulder. “Well, she has made a career of it. Perhaps you can too. Once you land in New York, I mean. I understand they have wonderful theaters there.”

Tessa didn’t have a clue who Sarah Bernhardt was but didn’t say so. Instead, as Peter had a good laugh at her expense, she and Jacquie went into the other room to change into a simpler everyday dress, one made of the prettiest blue-and-white cotton. It felt like heaven against her skin. As she lifted the dress to adjust the petticoat, she noticed Jacquie glancing over at her scabbed knees. Tessa quickly pulled the dress down and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Do you mind if I ask—?” Jacquie paused then bit her lip, her gaze shifting once again to Tessa’s legs. “Have you been injured?”

On the outside? No.

“I…” Tessa shook her head, unable to speak. She tugged at her skirt, making sure her knees were properly covered. A girl like Jacquie would never understand. Still, from the look of concern on her face, she wasn’t likely to let the conversation fizzle out, so Tessa released a lingering breath and tried her best to explain. “When Pa’s angry…”

Jacquie shook her head. “He what?”

“It only happens when he’s been drinking.” Tessa’s words grew more passionate. “He makes me repent for my wickedness.”

“Your wickedness?”

“That’s what he calls it, anyway.” She forged ahead with the story. “When my work on the farm is shoddy, or when he’s upset, he makes me repent.”

“And what has this to do with your knees?”

Tessa bit her lip, unsure if she should continue. Still, the barrel had been opened, had it not? She might as well pour from it. “Off to the side of the pig stall, there’s a rocky path. Sharp. Deep.” She shuddered. “When Pa is soused, when he’s good and worked up about something I’ve done wrong, he makes me kneel on the broken bits until I’ve prayed through my sins and offered full repentance. He calls ’em my rock prayers. There are times when he weighs me down with bags of feed on each shoulder to add to the burden. I’ve carried more than my share of burdens over the years, and my knees have taken the brunt of it, I’m afraid.”

Vivid memories of Pa’s hand pressed against her back arose. She pinched her eyes shut to close out the many times he had shoved her down until she had fully repented for being such a disappointment to him. Bile rose in her throat as she relived the latest prayer session.

Jacquie gripped her hand. “Oh, Tessa. I am so sorry. You have endured so much.”

A lump rose in Tessa’s throat, but she managed to speak over it. “Peter has saved me more than once from Pa’s wrath. But now that Peter is gone…” Her lashes grew damp, and she swiped at them with the back of her calloused hand. Just as quickly, she hid her hands behind her back. Would she always feel such shame? With Pa, and now with this girl?

“You poor thing. Say no more.” Jacquie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I can promise you one thing. You will never again offer up rock prayers. The only prayers you’ll need to pray are the ones for a safe voyage to a new life, one where men like your father don’t exist and prayers are answered with happily-ever-afters.”

Jacquie slipped her arms around Tessa and pulled her into a sisterly hug. For the first time in her life, Tessa released the tears. She wept—not just for the pain Pa had inflicted, but for the pain she felt every time she thought about boarding that ship and leaving her brother behind.

Still, she would do it. Out of love, she would do it.

Chapter Seven

Saturday, April 6, 1912

Savoy Hotel, London, England

On the Saturday before the
Titanic
sailed, Nathan Patterson found himself eager to head back to New York. Once he boarded the ship, his thoughts could transition fully to the work awaiting him back home at his father’s insurance company. In the meantime, Nathan sat across the dining table from his mother at the Savoy in Westminster, listening to her ramble on about the various stores she had visited during their stay in London. He gave an occasional nod but couldn’t keep up. Not that any of it held his interest anyway.

Mother chattered on about the many people she hoped to meet once they boarded the
Titanic
. He pretended to listen, but his thoughts shifted back to his upcoming job with his father. The insurance business captivated his thoughts more often than not lately. Perhaps it had something to do with his desire to care for those less fortunate and tend to folks in their time of need. Wasn’t that the biblical mandate, after all—to defend the defenseless? And working with his father held great appeal. Never had he known a kinder man or one who so exemplified Christlikeness in all he did.

“Nathan, what do you think of that?” Mother’s voice hinted of displeasure.

“Hmm?” He glanced up from his cup of lukewarm tea into her narrowed eyes. “Think of what?”

“I had a feeling you weren’t paying attention.” She almost lost her hold on the slice of beef dangling from the prongs of her fork but managed to catch it just in time and pop it into her mouth. Then she placed her fork on the table and dabbed at her lips with a lace-trimmed napkin. “I asked what you thought about going to the opera tonight. With only four days until we sail, I want to take advantage of every opportunity to get out among people. Once we arrive back in New York, I’ll be shut up in that musty old house without a chance to socialize. It vexes me to think about it.”

“You will hardly be shut up away from society.” He chuckled. “You’ll have Margaret Hinkle over for tea the day we get back, and the two of you will schedule a canasta game with the other ladies within the week. From there, you will plan a tea party, and after that you will throw some sort of soiree to welcome one dignitary or another into the fold.”

“True.” She sighed. “But back home I’m surrounded on every side by friends I don’t really care for. Spending time with them isn’t the same as going to the opera in London. And when will we ever get back to England? Besides, it will be a family affair tonight. James has asked us to accompany him. He paid a pretty penny for the tickets, too, snagging us seats on the third row. Can you believe it?”

Nathan put his cup down on its matching saucer and released a slow breath. “Really, Mother? Isn’t it enough that we have to see James Carson so often at home? Must we really visit with him in London too?”

“I thought you would be thrilled at this news.” Mother’s smile faded and her cheeks flamed pink. “James is the best sort of family friend. And he’s been so kind to us over the years.”

“Too kind.” How could Nathan speak his mind without hurting Mother’s feelings? James Carson was a thoughtful, caring man, but presumptuous at best. Why he felt the need to turn up at every social function, Nathan could not be sure. If Mother didn’t watch her step, the gossips would have their way with her story, making far too much of her relationship with the man.

Mother’s brow wrinkled and she pouted. “Well, I, for one, want to see the London Opera House’s production of
La Bohème
this evening. The paper gave it rave reviews. Won’t you consider coming with us?”

Us?
Nathan shook his head. “Are you saying that you will go with James even if I choose not to?” Surely not. Even Mother had enough common sense to know better than that. He hoped.

She dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “The man is like an uncle to you, for heaven’s sake. And he’s your father’s dearest friend. Surely no one will question the fact that we’re spending a civil evening together—in a public setting, no less.” Her cheeks flushed. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss. I just want one last night on the town before our ship sails. Now please tuck your stubbornness into your pocket and come with us. Let’s celebrate our time together.”

“Fine.” He spoke the word, but it sounded false in light of how he felt. Something about this situation with his mother soured his thoughts and gave him cause to wonder. Still, he said nothing, only responding with a forced smile and nod. Though he cared little about what happened on the stage, he would go to the opera house, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on things in the third row.

Tessa paced the front room of the tiny cottage where she’d spent the past week. Except for the occasional visit from Jacquie or Iris, she’d felt like a prisoner in the castle tower. In her quiet times she found herself aching for the farm, for the familiar routine of chasing Countess around the stall or cradling the baby piglets against her cheek. Strange, that she would swap the opportunity of a lifetime for a feisty porker and her babes, but at times the idea held appeal—and never more so than during etiquette lessons.

“Try it again, Tessa.” Jacquie pointed to the delicate china place setting in front of her.

Tessa shook off her ponderings and took a seat at the table. She stared at the plate and the various pieces of silverware surrounding it, finding herself more confused than ever as she looked at the spoon and knives on the right and the forks in their varying sizes on the left. She examined the butter-pat server with its delicate knife, and then her gaze shifted to the fruit fork. Ready to give up, she glanced over at Jacquie and sighed. “I just don’t think I can do this. I can never get it right.”

“Now, please don’t fret, Tessa,” Jacquie said. “Chances are quite good that the other guests will be distracted with their chatter and won’t even notice that you’re confused. Just watch the ladies and do what they do.”

“If I spend the whole meal watching them, I won’t eat a bite.” Tessa reached down and grabbed the roll from the table then yanked off a piece. Stuffing it into her mouth, she attempted to speak around it. “I’ll starve.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll do just fine, trust me.” Jacquie spoke the words with sureness, but the worry lines on her forehead
told a different story. “Now, if you’ve been invited to afternoon tea, offer to serve the others. It will put you in their good graces and show that you are comfortable as hostess.”

“But I’m not comfortable as hostess,” Tessa huffed. She struggled with the desire to pick up all the forks and hurl them across the room. Instead, she silently counted to three then turned her gaze to her mentor. “I’m not comfortable with any of this. And no matter how many times we go over it, I’m not sure I ever will be. Don’t you see? This is all so pointless.”

“Don’t be silly. You have come leaps and bounds over the past ten days. I’m very proud of you. And your diction is coming along nicely too.” Jacquie beamed, clearly proud of herself for being such a great tutor. “But if you’re truly uncomfortable with serving, just choose to take your tea in your room while onboard the ship. Feign a headache. That’s what Mama does when she’s uncomfortable in a social setting. It works every time.”

“I wouldn’t have to pretend to have a headache.” Tessa rolled her eyes.

This got a laugh out of Jacquie, who returned to the lesson on table manners. As soon as they finished their tea, she turned her attention to discussing the latest fashions. Tessa took notes as Jacquie spoke but couldn’t make sense out of much of it. Who cared if charmeuse silk was in fashion? What did it matter, in the grand scheme of things? And why would she consider entering into a conversation about plumed hats, of all things?

“Feathers should be kept on peacocks, where they belong,” she muttered.

This got another laugh out of Jacquie, who lit into a conversation about the need for beautifully designed chapeaus. When she shifted the chatter from hats to politics, Tessa groaned and
dropped her head into her hands in dramatic fashion. “I truly do have a headache,” she said. “This is wearing me out.”

The clock chimed four times and Jacquie gasped as she glanced at it. “Is it really four o’clock?”