Unspeakable (15 page)

“It's a double lavatory,” I explained.

“Inside the cupboard?” Her eyes widened and her mother and I laughed at her shocked expression.

“A ship has to find ways to make the most of the space. That sofa is also a bed, and look here.” I pulled back the curtain, revealing the top bunk. “You can sleep here.”

Her eyes flickered to the porthole in the wall beside it. I could tell the space made her feel uncomfortable. Trapped. Even many adults got that same expression. I know I did at first.

“Can you build sandcastles?” I asked, changing the subject. She nodded. “Well, why don't we let your mother get settled in while I take you to see the children's playground.”

“Here on the ship?” She took my hand.

“A great big sand playground, wait until you see it. On the way, I'll show you the barber shop and library, and the lovely dining room where you'll be eating.”

Mrs. Hanagan smiled in gratitude. If only all passengers were as easy to please as young Gracie.

Chapter Eighteen

7:00 P.M
.

THE BUGLE CALLED FOR DINNER
, inviting all first and second class to their allotted dining rooms. And though second class lacked the rich mouldings and gilded accents, the domed ceiling, and the Moroccan leather seats of first class, the
Empress
bragged of the high standards offered to all. The second-class menu boasted boiled halibut, followed by veal cutlets, beef ribs, roast fowl, and ox tongue. Finished off with Devonshire tarts and jam puffs with ice cream. High-class dining. Even those in third class, who did not get dinners, were offered smoked herring, cold meat, pickles, and bread and jam at tea time. They'd also received another impromptu concert by the Salvation Army band, which to my mind was every bit as wonderful as the five-piece string orchestra of first class. More so, I'd say, for they did it out of the goodness of their hearts. Then after eating, many passengers strolled the decks, bundled against the cold night air. Others lounged in
the music room, or stopped by the library to dash off a quick postcard before the bags left on the midnight mail tender.

10:00 P.M
.

AFTER SUCH A BUSY DAY
, most passengers had retired to their cabins, except for the few men in the smoking room who lingered with their cigars, Scotch, and another round of cards.

My passengers had settled in for the night, thankfully, though it had taken some convincing to get Gracie to quiet. That porthole spooked her something awful.

“I don't want to sleep there.”

“What? Sure that's the best bed in the place, Gracie,” I'd said, picking her up and peering out the porthole. “You can lie in your bed and watch the night stars. You can make a wish for every one.”

She'd squirmed as we drew nearer to the open window. “No, Ellie. No! That's where the water will come in.”

“You're just overtired,” Mrs. Hanagan explained. “You've had a big day today.” In the end, she settled her young daughter in the lower bunk farthest from the window and, spent from all the excitement of her first day aboard, Gracie gave in.

I closed the porthole slightly. Like most people in the outside cabins, her parents enjoyed having a bit of fresh air. Technically, the stewards were supposed to lock up every porthole that ran in long rows down the
Empress
's steel sides. But when we appeared with our brass keys, many passengers protested, and, in the end, many portholes were left open. It wasn't a big deal. It happened all the time. We'd report
the open portholes to the night watchmen, who simply made note of it.

The girls were in their bunks by the time I reached our cabin, Gwen nose deep in an article about the Irvings, Kate rolling her hair in the curls that would frizz before breakfast, Meg reading the latest magazine from Timothy. I changed into my long white nightdress and hopped into my bunk just below Gwen's. The girls chattered a bit, and after the lights went out I heard each one's breathing grow long and steady as she sank deeper in sleep. But I bobbed around in the same uneasiness I'd felt that afternoon, my mind tossing from one thing to another yet settling on nothing.

Something just wasn't right.

12:45 A.M
.

I COULDN'T SLEEP
. After what seemed like hours of restlessness, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed air. I got up and slipped on my shoes and woollen coat and, with a quick glance at the three sleeping shadows behind me, slipped out into the darkness.

The ship seemed deserted at this late hour. Though a few night stewards were on duty, even Gaade would have turned in. The
Empress
had stopped—probably to meet the mailboat from Rimouski. Men's voices called to one another from down the side, and looking over the rail, I could just make out the dark outline of the dwarfed steamship
Lady Evelyn
slowing to a stop. A ray of light shone on the
Lady Evelyn
's deck as a door opened in our hull and mailbags were thrown across from our ship to the other. Within minutes, mail delivered and hatch
closed, we were underway. The lights of
Lady Evelyn
faded into the night as we parted.

I gripped the rail, hoping the nip of the night air might settle me, or at least numb my mind as it did my fingers. But the cold only seeped into my bones, chilling me to the marrow with an unease that left me all the more anxious. After another fifteen or twenty minutes, the
Empress
stopped again. We must have been near Father Point. After navigating the two hundred miles of river from Quebec, this was where the river pilot's trip ended and he disembarked onto the cutter that had met us alongside. From here, Captain Kendall took over and we gathered steam. Next stop, Liverpool.

I flipped up my collar and took a deep breath, the cold air pinching my nostrils and piercing my lungs. Poor John. I glanced up at his post high in the darkness where he manned the crow's nest on the foremast. It was from there he had spotted the night steward approaching Jim and me during our first-class dinner, and from where he'd seen the ice floes on our way in to Quebec a few days ago. I hoped he'd have as keen an eye at night on our way out—for there was surely ice in the air. And for all we knew, in the water too.

As my gaze fell from the mast, I noticed him farther down the rail. Jim stood, motionless, in the misty rays of light that fell from the windows, hunched over his journal. Writing. So intent upon it, in fact, that he never noticed me standing there. I wondered what had riveted him so.

Or who.

I watched him for a while, the tilt of his head, pencil at his lips, the eagerness of his scribbling when the thoughts flowed. For a man of few words, he certainly had a lot to write.

A low bank of fog crept in over the water, blurring the lights of another ship in the distance. I'd often wondered how the captains navigated in conditions like these, with neither sight nor star to guide. Jim had told me once as we passed ships before, something about the lights—I squinted in the darkness. Green, I thought. We'd pass green to green on the right side. But then as suddenly as it had appeared, the vessel vanished in the fog.

The
Empress
gave three short blasts. The signal that we were reversing engines and slowing down. Captain Kendall wasn't taking any chances, thankfully. The horn of the other ship echoed eerily in the darkness and I shivered as the fog draped my shoulders like a damp shawl, making me sneeze.

Jim looked in my direction, and as our eyes met, I felt everything at once. Embarrassed at being caught spying, anger for how he'd left me in Quebec, confusion about why, exactly, and, under it all … desire. A yearning, a great longing for him to look at me the way he did at the top of the hill. I felt torn, like I wanted both to be seen and at the same time to disappear completely in the fog, and so I stood frozen on the spot, unsure of whether to run to, or from, him.

The
Empress
's horn gave two short blasts. We were at a dead stop. Lost in the fog.

Jim closed his journal and slipped it in his pocket as he stepped toward me. “Ellie?”

Don't let him in
, a voice said.
Don't let him hurt you again
. I clenched my jaw. He'd never even apologized or explained his actions in Quebec. I didn't want any more games. He'd said it wasn't right—
we
weren't right.

But as he moved closer, I knew the truth. Every part of my being did, and my resolve crumbled.

Jim stood before me and lifted his hands, cupping them gently around my face. Like a sheltered flame, I felt suddenly stronger, warmer, brighter. His thumbs brushed my cheeks one at a time, clearing the two tears I hadn't realized I'd shed.

“Oh, Ellie,” he whispered, his eyes locked on mine, reading me with the same intensity that he had his journal. “I am so sorry.” He lowered his face to mine, put his mouth on mine, and I melted into him. My hands slipped inside his open jacket, up his chest, and spanned the width of his broad back as he pulled me to him, the heat of him drawing me as surely as his strong arms.

I didn't know what he was sorry for—for hurting me, for leaving me, for what sadness he saw in my eyes, or perhaps for what sad news he had yet to tell. I didn't want to know.

I just wanted him. Here. Now.

Chapter Nineteen

“
THE BAND, THE LAUNCH, THE CAT
.” Steele sat across from me in the wing chair by the fireplace, ticking off the details like a shopping list as he scanned his notes. “The dinner, and settling Gracie in her room.”

I hadn't told him all I remembered. Some memories were mine to treasure. And many were mine to forget.

As if I could.

“Were you sleeping when the
Empress
was hit?” he asked, urging me to see what I'd shied away from these long weeks. I had never talked about it to anyone.

We'd come to it, then. The accident. That night.

“No.” I took a deep breath and gripped the armrests, trying to hold myself here in the present even as the memories of that night pulled me back. “I was at the rail. With Jim. Starboard side on the Lower Promenade Deck.”