By the Light of the Silvery Moon (24 page)

They passed the third-class smoking room. Men’s laughter rang out from behind the glass door, along with the clinking of glasses. A song began on the piano. It was a happy tune, and a smile lifted Amelia’s lips.

After walking through the third-class berth, Geraldine led her through the cargo area to the powerhouse in the deep, dark belly of the ship. The mood down there changed, and Amelia no longer felt like she was on the same liner. With cautious steps, she moved into the boiler room. Huge coal-burning furnaces supplied power to the ship’s engines. Stokers stood with shovels in hand, and then a gong sounded. In unison the stokers shoveled in more coal. The men worked as one.

“See those dials?” Geraldine pointed to the gauges on the boilers. “They tell you which boiler needs coal next.”

The floor beneath Amelia’s feet quaked, not nearly as smooth a ride as it was up top.

Amelia looked at the faces of the men, wondering what they thought of the passengers above. Or did they think of them? Maybe not. Maybe it was easier to do one’s work and not think of those who lounged and dined.

They left the doorway, shutting it tight, and reversed their path. “I doubt many passengers know, but there was a fire in boiler room six. It was smoldering when we left the dock in Southampton, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s smoldering still.

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Geraldine shrugged. “The firemen keep an eye on it. And the truth is, every time we head out to sea there’s a certain level of danger. Fire, storms, ice, human error. What surprises me is when we make it to port without incident.”

Amelia grew weary from all the walking. She didn’t know how Geraldine could stay on her feet all day every day. The stewardess returned Amelia to her stateroom, and they paused at the door.

“Thank you,” Amelia said. “I’m sure I’ve seen more of the ship than any of the other passengers.”

“That is certain.” Geraldine offered a quick hug. “I just hope it’ll help you, Amelia. Help you know your mother in ways you haven’t before.”

“That it will. Have a good day, Geraldine,” Amelia said, and gathering up her strength again, she stepped through the door into her stateroom.

“Where have you been?” Aunt Neda asked. “Did you have breakfast with Mr. Walpole by chance?”

Amelia was surprised by the smile that played on Aunt Neda’s lips. Perhaps Damien’s wealth was drawing Aunt Neda more than she wanted to admit. After all, if one married the likes of him, one would never lack for anything….

Except ownership of oneself, she thought. Gain the whole world and lose your soul, not necessarily to damnation, but to the masses who desire to know all about your life and who live a bit of their dreams through you.

As Aunt Neda finished pinning up her hair, Amelia sat down to read yet another letter from Mr. Chapman, hoping beyond hope that his words would draw her again to his heart.

Amelia laughed out loud, and Aunt Neda turned. Then, almost immediately, she realized again whom he spoke of … that Betsie MacLellan. Was
flower
or
flour
a term of endearment? “What is it, Amelia? What do you find so humorous?” She pushed the smile back onto her lips. “Uh, I forgot how witty Mr. Chapman is…. If you are going to read any more letters from him, Aunt, you should start with this one.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Aunt Neda rose, patted her hair as she looked into the mirror, and moved to the door. “But for now I’d like my breakfast. And maybe we’ll be greeted by another one of your suitors, Amelia. It seems we never know who to expect at the table, do we?”

It was Quentin who waited in the second-class dining room as Amelia and her aunt approached. He rose and greeted them with a smile. Amelia smiled back at Quentin and noticed again what a truly nice man he was when he wasn’t attempting to push her away.

Aunt Neda didn’t seem overjoyed that Quentin was there, but she didn’t completely ignore him either. Instead she eyed him, and as they ate their breakfast, Amelia saw he could be just as fine a gentleman as his brother, Damien, when he wanted to.

“So, Amelia, when did you start being an angel of mercy to the people in your neighborhood?” She could tell he was trying to be playful with his question, but she didn’t want Quentin to think he was just another person she took pity on.

“I didn’t set out to do that.” She spread fresh butter on a roll. “I suppose it started when I was twelve or so. I remember seeing one young girl walking down the street with her mother. Her dirty dress was far too small for her. I followed them to see where they lived, and then I rushed home to ask Aunt Neda if she could help them in some way.”

“That she did.” Aunt Neda nodded. “She wouldn’t let me get a wink of sleep that night until I sewed up a simple frock.”

“We took it to them the next morning.” Amelia smiled as the memory played in her mind. “You should have heard the girl’s squeals of joy as she clutched the garment to her chest. Then her mother made us stay while she tried it on. The girl pranced around the room as if she were Queen Victoria herself. Do you remember, Aunt?”

Aunt Neda smiled at the memory. “I remember, but I believe you forgot something. Your generous spirit started long before that. I remember when you were six years old. You’d only lived with me one or two weeks when I discovered a small stash of food in your room. You’d hidden it inside your cardboard suitcase.”

Amelia tried to picture what her aunt was talking about, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember. Amelia laughed. “Was I saving it for later?”

“Actually, no. You were saving it for the little girl who used to live in the apartment next door to your mother’s place. You said she didn’t have much food, and you wanted to take it to her.”

Quentin’s mouth dropped open as he studied Amelia’s face. “You don’t remember that?”

She shook her head. “No … I don’t.” Then Amelia turned back to her aunt. “So did we take her food?”

“Yes, although I made fresh bread instead of the stale biscuits you’d hidden away. But—” Aunt Neda lowered her head.

“But what, Aunt?” Amelia placed her hand over her aunt’s.

“Well, we got to the right floor, but instead of going to your friend’s house, you ran to your mother’s door. You pounded and pounded—” Aunt Neda’s voice caught in her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head, unable to continue.

Amelia looked from her aunt to Quentin, unsure of how to respond.

Quentin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Did anyone answer the door?”

Aunt Neda shook her head. “No, and Amelia never asked to go back to that part of town—well, not until the day when she saw that little girl in need of a dress. I had a feeling that bread was simply an excuse. After that she accepted the fact that her mother was gone. Her little heart just needed to confirm it was true.”

Amelia’s heart ached for the sad girl she used to be. It ached for all the lonely years, but in a strange way her aunt’s story caused thankfulness to grow in her chest, expanding and filling every part of her. The truth was that despite her heartache, God had been faithful. He’d watched over her and given her a wonderful aunt and cousins who loved her. He brought her to this ship. Led her to a new hope for her future. It was a turning point, she supposed. She’d learned as a young girl there was no use thinking of what was past—but rather she needed to focus on what she’d been given. She looked to Quentin and smiled. He was one of those gifts.

After the meal, he rose again, this time offering her his arm. “Would you like to stroll?”

Amelia glanced over and noticed her aunt’s disapproving look. By her aunt’s standards, she was an eligible woman, but he—of all men—was far from acceptable. Still, as Amelia peered into Quentin’s dark eyes, he drew her in. “I’d love to.”

Ladies in fine attire and gentlemen in suits strolled along the decks. Their clothes weren’t near the caliber of those in first class, but the second-class patrons mustered their finest duds for the trip, and to Amelia they looked just fine. The sun rose behind a bank of clouds with pink-tinged edges as if they, too, were putting on their finest display.

As they walked, Amelia glanced up at the crow’s nest. “Can you imagine the view from up there?”

“Would you like to see it?” There was a sparkle in Quentin’s eyes.

“No, it’s not allowed.”

“Do you always follow the rules?”

She nodded. “Don’t you?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt heat rising to her cheeks. “Actually, I didn’t mean that. I mean, under the circumstances in which we met, I should know—“

“You’re probably wondering why I snuck onto the
Titanic
,” he interrupted. “Honestly, it was a last-minute decision. I only wanted to steal a loaf of bread, but when I saw all the food being loaded on the ship … something told me this was my answer.”

“Maybe it’s your answer because you have a chance to reunite with those you care about.” As she said the words, she saw his form stiffen beside her. “I’m sure there are many jobs at your father’s business that you can fill.”

“I told you before, that’s not going to happen.”

“I know.” She blew out a sigh. “For someone who has nothing, you sure are a proud man.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s your pride that is keeping you in hiding, instead of strolling up to that first-class promenade. You’ll have to humble yourself to face him. Humble yourself to ask your father for a job when you know full well that if you had stayed you would have overseen one thousand jobs.

“But you know what I think already, don’t you?” She quickly added. “I won’t mention it, at least for this circle around the deck.” She smirked. “What I will say is that I’m thankful you still feel
obligated
to talk to me. It makes the days pass much more quickly.”

“You aren’t one to keep your opinions to yourself, are you?” He glared at her. Then his face softened. “If I weren’t obliged to talk to you, I’d walk away for certain. And if I weren’t obliged to make sure you stayed on this side of the deck, I’d throw you over for sure.”

She drew back and compressed her lips to keep from laughing outright. “Well, I’m thankful you’re choosing to let me live.” She playfully punched his arm. “Although I have to say you might regret it; there are a number of days between now and when the ship docks.”

“Enough time for us to spend together?”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll have to check my social calendar, but I might be able to fit you in. Today, for example, I’m open for lunch. I’m also having afternoon tea with my Aunt Neda and her friends. Do you want to join us?”

He offered an overexaggerated shiver. “Do you think I’m British or something? Lunch sounds good. I’ll pass on tea today, but I’ll see you tonight at supper.”

“Well, actually …” Her eyes widened, and he paused. She could tell her hesitation caused an alarm bell to go off inside Quentin.

“Do you have plans? Let me guess, my brother,” he mumbled. “I’m suddenly not hungry for lunch.”

She lifted her face toward his. Why had she said yes to Damien? “It is your brother, but if you’d like me to change my plans …”

Tell me you’d rather I have supper with you. Ask me to cancel, her heart begged.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.””