The Glass Ocean

by Beatriz Williams

  She was so surprised she couldn’t speak for a moment, and then Captain Turner began the service so that she was forced to keep her questions to herself. She spent the rest of the service acutely aware of Robert sitting next to her, of his beautiful tenor voice as they sang “For Those in Peril on the Sea,” and of his arm brushing hers as he held her hymnal.

  They were silent afterward as they followed the crowd out of the main lounge, finding themselves walking down the Saloon Promenade toward the Verandah Café. “Would you like some tea?” Robert asked.

  Caroline nodded, still unsure of what she should say, thinking of a thousand things and rejecting them all before they reached her tongue. She’d prefer coffee, but doubted she’d be able to taste anything so it didn’t matter. They were seated at a small table for two, surrounded by ivy, trellises, and wickerwork, and for a moment Caroline could almost believe she was at home in her own garden. They talked about the weather and fellow passengers while they waited for their tea to be poured, then stared at each other for a long moment.

  “You sent me the roses?” Caroline finally asked.

  Robert nodded. “At your party, you seemed so sad, and not looking forward to the voyage. And I remembered how much you loved roses. The first time I ever met you was in a rose garden.” His eyes twinkled as they both remembered the circumstance. “I thought they might lighten your spirits a bit.”

  “They did,” she said, impulsively reaching over and placing her hand on top of his. Their eyes met as heat sparked between them, holding just for a moment before Caroline quickly withdrew. She sat back in her chair, concentrating on putting the right amount of sugar and milk in her tea, watching the liquid gently sway inside her cup.

  “How are you holding up in the rough weather?” he asked, returning to a safe topic of conversation.

  “I’ve barely noticed it,” she said, taking a sip. “I suppose I’m made of sturdier stuff, despite what other people might think.”

  He waited in silence for a moment, to see if she’d say more. When she didn’t, he said, “I’m assuming you’ve heard about the three Germans held in custody on board?”

  “No, I haven’t. Is it something I should be worried about?”

  “I don’t think so. I think the mere fact that we caught them before any damage could be done is good enough reason to not be alarmed. But I wanted to let you know. So that you’d be . . . vigilant.”

  “I hadn’t heard, so thank you. Gilbert doesn’t believe in upsetting me, but I think it’s best we are all aware of possible dangers. Especially on board this ship. Do you think there might be more spies on the ship?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I suppose anything is possible. This is wartime, after all. But if we all agree to be diligent and alert, I would expect if there are more spies, they will be found out before any harm can be done.”

  Caroline found herself relaxing, despite the less-than-reassuring news. Maybe it was because it was coming from Robert that she felt safe. “Thank you, Robert. I appreciate your frankness.” She sat up. “Perhaps you would allow me to be just as frank?”

  “Of course.” He continued with his casual air, but she detected a hardening in his eyes.

  “You should open the telegram from your father.”

  His expression didn’t change. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  She allowed herself a small smile. “Because I know you too well. You always like to have the upper hand. And by not reading your father’s telegram, you have all the power still.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that so?” Leaning forward, he said, “What if I told you that my father, despite his heroic public image, isn’t quite the man he would lead you to believe?”

  Caroline recalled the stories of his brother’s drowning, of how Robert’s father had blamed him, and how the news had all but killed his mother. But she also knew how important her last remaining family member was to her, and how an estrangement would wound her deeply and permanently.

  “I won’t pry into your family matters, Robert. But I do know that your father is all you have left, and it is my belief that you should do whatever you can to make amends with him. He won’t be in your life forever, you know.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” Almost imperceptibly, his gaze traveled down to her lips, bringing to mind the electric moment her hand had touched his, and making them both aware of all the dangers that might be lurking. His eyes met hers again and she thought that perhaps she’d only imagined it.

  When they were done, he led her outside to the Saloon Promenade. The driving rain had mercifully stopped, but the pregnant clouds lay low and swollen, promising more rain. Three nannies marched past them in a desperate attempt to run off some of the pent-up energy of their various charges, forced earlier to stay inside due to the inclement weather. One nanny fell back to lift a little girl with blond curls—the same little girl Caroline had seen the day before, still clutching her teddy bear—who’d stopped walking to stare at Robert and Caroline.

  “Come along, Alice. It’s not polite to stare.”

  The children disappeared down the promenade, leaving the two of them alone. The rough seas were keeping many passengers in their beds, near their basins, giving the decks a nearly abandoned air. Caroline turned back to Robert to comment, her smile quickly fading at the serious expression on his face.

  “Why are you so sad?” he asked quietly.

  She opened her mouth to reply just as a large swell hit the ship, causing Caroline to lose her footing and slam into Robert. His feet remained steady as his arms went around her and even after the danger had passed, he didn’t release her. She tilted her head toward him, so close she could see the green flecks in his eyes. Could see the softness of his lips and the dark stubble that was already beginning to show on his cheeks. Could smell the spicy maleness of him that had nothing to do with soap or cologne. It was simply Robert. The man she’d known for years, the person she always searched for at parties. The man who’d thought to send her roses because he thought she’d seemed sad.

  Without thinking, she pressed her lips to his and all the lights in her world dimmed for one brief moment before becoming startlingly bright. Their mouths fit together perfectly, the touch of skin on skin feeling as if it were the first time she’d ever experienced the sensation. His arms tightened around her and she was glad, quite certain her knees couldn’t support her without them.

  The sound of a distant bell brought her back to reality, reminding her where she was. And with whom. She stepped backward and Robert released her, his eyes mirroring the confusion she felt. Caroline pressed her fingers against her lips. “What have we done?”

  He continued to stare at her without speaking, his silence as clear an answer as if he’d shouted.

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, trying to evoke a response that would make her feel better.

  Robert stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you really mean that?” He gave her a short bow, then left her alone with her thoughts and guilt. She stood like that for several moments, gathering her breath, preparing herself to return to her cabin as if nothing untoward had happened, only church services in the lounge and tea in the café.

  She turned to head back inside and spotted a lone figure of a man standing next to the engine hatch leaning on the railing, staring out to sea. With a start she realized it was Gilbert and her heart began to race, wondering how long he’d been there. And what he might have seen. She stood still, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to fling accusations at her. Instead, he drew back from the railing and began walking down the promenade away from her, in the opposite direction Robert had taken.

  Caroline waited for a solid fifteen minutes, despite the chill wind and her frozen fingers and toes, long enough for her heart to settle and her blood to resume its usual pace as she remembered the kiss and wondered what Gilbert had been doing by himself on the promenade. Then she made her way back to her cabin to lie down, the
scent of the roses rotting in stagnant water a just punishment for her transgression.

  Chapter 9

  Tess

  At Sea

  Sunday, May 2, 1915

  The blooms in the dining room were beautiful, but Tess could smell the rot beneath the roses.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” demanded Mary Kate, stopping in awe at the threshold of the second-class dining room. Large pillars stretched to the delicately frescoed ceiling, where a round colonnade opened up onto a second-story balcony. Palm fronds decked the room, some reaching nearly to the ceiling.

  “Splendid,” said Tess weakly. She was sure it was all very grand, but those palms were making her feel distinctly hemmed in. And the smell of the flowers—they looked pretty enough, to be sure, but there was something cloying about them, something that got in Tess’s nose and made her stomach churn.

  “Well, we won’t have any trouble finding a place,” said Mary Kate cheerfully, half-pulling Tess toward one of the long tables. The dining room was sparsely occupied; with the seas choppy, Tess wasn’t the only one suffering from seasickness. “You’ll see, a bit of food and you’ll feel right as rain.”

  “What’s so right about rain?” protested Tess, but Mary Kate ignored her, plopping down into one of the red velvet–upholstered chairs. The ship rocked, all but throwing Tess into her seat.

  She should have stayed in the cabin. Except Nellie was in the cabin, in command of the basin. It will be like living in luxury, Ginny had said. Everyone loves a sea voyage, Ginny had said. Ha. If they’d been meant to go on the sea, God would have given them fins, Tess thought darkly.

  She had missed her rendezvous with Ginny last night. Second-class promenade, nine o’clock. But at nine o’clock, Tess had been curled up in a ball on her bunk, whimpering into her pillow, and what she’d felt about Ginny and her schemes wasn’t fit to be printed. What was the prospect of a fortune compared to a patch of dry land? She wanted to be in New York—Chicago—Kansas City—anywhere, just so long as it didn’t rock beneath her feet as the dining room was rocking now, sending the water in the jugs sloshing to and fro. Tess couldn’t stop watching it. Back and forth, slopping almost to the top and then down again, hypnotic and revolting.

  “Puree soubise—I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds grand, doesn’t it?—and then there’s salmon trout in Dutch sauce—I wonder what’s Dutch about it? Oooh, and then there’s braised veal.” Mary Kate had seized on the menu with its Cunard logo and was reading it with what seemed to Tess to be ghoulish relish. She turned to Tess inquisitively. “Unless you’re going to have the steak and kidney pudding? There’s roast turkey or corned tongue, but those just don’t sound as fancy, do they, Miss Fairweather?”

  “It sounds lovely,” Tess croaked. It sounded horrible. “Is that my water? I just need a sip of water.”

  “Do you know you’ve turned quite green?” said Mary Kate with interest. “Why, I remember the time Liam took me boating—not that it was a boat like this—and—”

  “’Scuse me,” Tess gasped, and shoved her chair back from the table, nearly bumping into an affronted waiter. If she heard yet another tale of Liam the Great, she really would be ill.

  Mary Kate sprung up from her own chair. “Do you need—?”

  Tess flapped a hand at her without looking back. “No. Enjoy your”—her throat twisted on the word—“food.”

  And she fled the room, pursued by the scent of braised veal.

  Air. That was what she needed. Air. But the stairs led up to the well above the dining saloon, and the smell of mashed turnips and steak and kidney pie followed her, wafting through the opening. Tables had been set up in the upper foyer to accommodate the overflow of second-class passengers. None was occupied by diners, but a group of gentlemen had established themselves over a game of cards, reeking of smoke and laughing too loudly. Someone was pounding the keys of the upright piano in the corner, while another man crooned the words of the popular ballad: “Can’t you hear me calling, Caroline . . . It’s my heart a-calling thine . . .”

  Tess hastily fell on the first door she found, pushing against the wind that was holding it closed.

  “I’m wishing I could kiss you, Caroline . . .”

  Air at last! But Tess tripped over a skipping rope and nearly fell, catching at a deck chair as the starchy English voice of a nanny intoned, “Now, Beatrice, what did I tell you? You mustn’t leave your things lying about.”

  She was surrounded by a sea of children, dozens of them, all on Shelter Deck being herded to their own lunch in the special children’s dining room: girls in starched pinnies clutching dolls, adorable moppets in sailor suits with jam on their faces. Beautiful, well-tended children who somehow managed to make more noise than the late-night crowd at the Golden Spur Saloon in Carneiro, Kansas.

  Dodging around moppets, Tess stumbled toward the first available flight of stairs and took to higher ground. Her father’s golden rule: When in doubt, run. It didn’t much matter where you were running to, just so long as you kept going. And going. Because while you were running, you couldn’t think of where you’d come from or where you might land. Sometimes, it felt like she’d spent all her life like this, always in motion, going, going, going, because to be in motion meant never having to stop and think.

  She’d hit the end of the line, as high as she could go. Above her, the great funnels belched out smoke and dark clouds blotted out the sky. Raindrops struck her face but Tess didn’t care. She blundered to the rail and gripped it with both hands, feeling her stomach lurch in time with the movement of the ship. I-won’t-be-sick; I-won’t-be-sick . . . Her body hummed along with the ship’s engines, every resource she had focused on the all-important task of not losing the soda crackers she’d choked down in lieu of breakfast.

  She was on one of the promenades, she knew. The abandoned deck chairs told her as much. Ordinarily, there would be people here, strolling, chatting, talking, regarding the view. But the weather kept them away, indoors. She had the deck to herself, just the sea and the sky and the sound of the ship churning its way through the waters.

  Or almost. Staccato footsteps passed behind her, paused, and circled back.

  “Hullo,” said the unmistakable voice of Robert Langford. “It’s Cinderella.”

  Tess pressed her eyes shut. Not him. Not now. She didn’t have the energy to match wits. “Shouldn’t you be in first-class?” she rasped, not turning around.

  “This is first-class,” said Mr. Langford, with some amusement. “You just can’t stay away, can you?”

  Tess looked sharply at him, and wished she hadn’t. The movement made her head swim. “Is it? I didn’t—” When she’d made her detour around the children on the Shelter Deck, she must have gone up the wrong stair. They tried to keep second- and first-class apart, with separate rooms, separate walks, separate stairs, but trust her to have blundered into the one place she didn’t want to be just now. “I’ll just—”

  Go, she was going to say, but her throat closed around the word, fighting the nausea that rose with the swell of the ship, so that it came out as something between a retch and a gag.

  “It’s like that, is it?” Mr. Langford was at her side in an instant. “You poor infant.”

  “I’m not an infant,” Tess gasped, clinging to the rail with both hands. She didn’t dare lift her head to look at him; if she did, she would disgrace herself for sure. “I’m twenty-four years old.”

  “As old as that?” Mr. Langford’s voice was mocking, but it was a kindly mockery. A hand touched her shoulder. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  Tess wasn’t sure she could. “Why? Are you planning to have me evicted?”

  “I’m planning to get you a cup of tea,” said Mr. Langford, and turned to hail a passing steward.

  “No, don’t—”

  In the embarrassing interval that followed, Tess was vaguely aware of Mr. Langford steadying her, smoothing the damp strands of hair away from her face, murmuring encouragem
ent. Tess’s world narrowed to the immediate complaints of her body. Even the press of the rail against her chest and the warmth of Mr. Langford’s hand on her shoulder seemed to come from somewhere very far away.

  When at last there was nothing left in her, she fumbled for her handkerchief. A much finer one appeared in front of her. “Better now?”

  Tess heard a moaning noise. She had the uncomfortable feeling it had come from her own throat.

  “Glad to hear it,” said Mr. Langford. “Ah, thank you, Patrick.”

  The world was beginning to come back into focus. From the corner of her eye, Tess could vaguely make out the same red-haired steward who had brought the flowers to Mrs. Hochstetter’s cabin setting down a small table, followed by a tray. She would have admired his dexterity if humiliation hadn’t overwhelmed just about every other sentiment.

  “Here.” A blue-and-white-patterned teacup appeared in front of her, like a conjurer’s trick.

  Tess jerked away. “Please, no. I couldn’t.”

  “Never say never,” said Mr. Langford. “Excelsior. Put your courage to the sticking point. And all that rot. Trust your uncle Robert. I’ve forgot more about hangovers than you’ve ever learned in all your long, twenty-four years.”

  “I’ll be sick again,” she warned.

  “You won’t.” The cup jiggled insistently beneath her nose. “It’s ginger. A sovereign remedy for mal de mer—or mal in general, really.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” croaked Tess. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I can hold it myself. You don’t need to feed me like a baby.”

  “Don’t I?” But Mr. Langford surrendered the cup into Tess’s hand, where it shook so badly she could scarcely get it to her lips. She managed a small sip before the cup was whisked away. “Baby steps,” he said. “Or baby sips, as it were.”

  Tess would have glared at him if she could have managed it. As it was, she contented herself with a deep breath, and found that the salt air didn’t scrape against her throat the way it had a moment before.