Chapter 1 #2
“I’ve got some rouge, too.” Adriana produced a small tub. “You’ll have better luck with the guards this way.”
Another cabin mate watched them quietly, pushed up from her bunk, and took something out of a bag she’d been using as a pillow.
“It was my nonna’s.” She clutched a cashmere shawl to her chest. It didn’t look new, but it had been well cared for and could still pass for acceptable among the upper class, at least Francesca hoped.
“The gray will be pretty with your eyes,” the woman continued. “Please, be careful with it.”
Francesca hardly knew them, yet they lent their most precious belongings to help her. An unspoken sense of unity hung in the air. Tired of suffering, they’d all left their homes behind and hoped for better times ahead.
“I…I don’t know how to thank you all,” she stammered as a swell of emotion clogged her throat.
“Show those puttanas they aren’t better than us,” Adriana said, winking.
At that, Francesca smiled.
She blew her cabin mates a kiss to whistles and cheers.
Holding her head high, she threaded through the narrow hallway, wound through a room filled with barrels and clusters of steamer trunks, and passed a huddled group of passengers playing card games.
She approached the ladder leading to the second-class deck quickly, before she could change her mind, and ascended it.
And there, at the end of the next passageway, a crewman stood guard.
When he spotted her, he stepped to the right and crossed his arms, blocking the entrance.
She clasped her hands together like a lady should, stretched her five-foot, three-inch frame to full height, and, ignoring the thundering in her ears, marched toward the guard.
He stood stiffly in a navy uniform, the name “Forrester” stitched across his breast pocket in yellow thread. “I can’t let you through, miss. There’s no steerage allowed here.”
Her stomach tightened, but she forced a smile. “Excuse me, Mr. Forrester, I am second class. I have friend in steerage. I visit her but now I return.”
The wiry seaman peered at her, his gaze traveling over her worn shoes and dress.
Nervously, she dug her thumbnail into the flesh of her index finger, willing herself to remain calm.
“Second class, you say?” His eyes rested on her rouged lips.
“Yes. Excuse me,” she said, her tone clipped as if she were insulted.
He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable minute. At last, he angled his body away from her, leaving just enough room so her body would brush against his in an intimate way.
She pushed past him, ignoring his groping hands, his breath on her cheek.
Too relieved to be annoyed by his behavior, Francesca darted quickly down the narrow corridor.
At the first door, she peered through a small oval window.
The room was crowded with luggage. She continued forward, pausing at each window, becoming more anxious as she went.
When she came upon the dining saloon, she found the door locked and the room empty.
Though the evening meal wouldn’t be served for another couple of hours, she’d hoped the room might be open for late-afternoon tea or libations.
It must be the first class who were offered such luxuries.
She huffed out an irritated breath and continued down the narrow corridor.
Ahead, she saw a young woman wearing a pale-blue frock with a fashionable bustle and a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with ribbons.
She was prettily dressed, her frock likely one of a series that she rotated every other week, something Francesca aspired to have one day soon.
As she neared the woman, the scent of roses drifted around them and filled the cramped space.
Francesca met the woman’s eye briefly and nodded, even as she stared back at Francesca like she were diseased.
Ignoring the uncomfortable exchange, Francesca continued to the end of the corridor to the last room before the cabins began. It was a storage room filled with barrels and shelves of foodstuffs. It, too, was locked.
She leaned against the door. Of course it was locked.
They wanted to prevent thieves from pilfering goods—thieves like her.
Sister Alberta’s lectures about letting God provide rang in her ears.
Yet had Francesca let God provide, she would have starved to death on more than one occasion.
Had she let Him provide shelter and comfort, she would have suffered broken bones at her father’s hand for many more years.
God gave her plenty of free will, and with it, she chose to provide for herself.
Only she wasn’t doing that so well either.
She fought back tears. Maria needed water desperately.
Could Francesca risk it, try first class?
It would probably turn out the same, but she had to try.
Fists clenched, she pushed back from the door.
She weaved around several male passengers and a woman in a striped dress, pausing to ask them for water, but they first looked annoyed and then ignored her.
When she reached the first-class deck, another steward stood watch at the top of the landing.
“You there!” He pointed at her. “You aren’t allowed here.”
Concentrating, she searched for the words Sister Alberta had taught her.
I need, You need, He needs, We need…
“I need…” she began tentatively. “You need Forrester.” She shook her head. “Forrester needs you. The captain is angry.”
The guard squinted. “What for?”
“The captain is angry,” she repeated, willing her pulse to slow. “You go now.”
“Nice try, miss, but I ain’t leaving my post. Now be on your way.”
“I—”
The door behind him swung open, and a shrill voice cut the air. “Boy! I need your help at once!” A middle-aged woman draped in furs glared at him with expectation.
The guard’s scowl gave way to one of feigned interest. “How can I help you, madam?”
“The linens on my table are filthy, and I want them changed immediately. That poor excuse for a waitstaff is ignoring me entirely, and I won’t have it.”
“I’m sure they’ll be with you soon, madam.”
“You would have me stand in the middle of the room while others are being tended to until someone decides to help me?” she shrieked.
“Of course not, madam,” he said quickly, realizing his mistake.
As he darted after her, Francesca’s knees went weak with relief.
With haste, she followed them at a short distance to the dining saloon, but as the wealthy came into view in their elegant silks and jewels, her footsteps faltered.
If the fashionable women she’d seen in second class had been intimidating, these women felt otherworldly as they sparkled in diamonds and bright red and blue stones, smiling and floating around the room with unimaginable grace.
What was she doing here? In that instant, she realized how completely ridiculous she appeared in her borrowed shawl and rouge, her modest earbobs and combs. She could never pass for first class. Not ever.
But as Maria’s dear face flashed in her mind’s eye and Sister Alberta’s voice echoed in her ears, Francesca remembered what she must do. How far she’d already come.
“Time to be brave, Cesca.” She whispered Sister Alberta’s words the day they had departed Sicilia.
Ignoring the bold stare of a lady dressed in cornflower-blue silk, Francesca followed the others inside the dining saloon.
Rows of tables dressed in elegant linens fanned around a center point in the room where a grove of potted trees made the space more welcoming with their lush greens.
Above, the ceiling formed a dome of glass panels edged with shiny bronze.
Francesca imagined sunrays streaming through the milky glass on nicer days, spilling over the crystal goblets and water carafes, and making them sparkle like diamonds.
The dining room couldn’t be more different from the dark hole crammed with unwashed bodies where she spent her days.
The startling contrast between what her life was and what it could be had she been born in a different world held her there, transfixed.