Queen of the Waves

by Janice Thompson

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Yes.” Edith took a couple of steps in her direction. “She is onboard, and you know how she is.”

  “I—I don’t, actually.”

  “Perhaps that’s for the best. Just remember, your designs are much more in line with what I’m doing. Have you seen her latest?”

  Iris nodded but chose her words carefully. “Yes, of course. The looser waists are a hit with the young women.”

  Edith visibly shuddered. “Well, yes, but slit skirts? And plunging necklines?” She shook her head. “We will not chase that cat down the back alley—do I make myself clear?”

  “Y–yes.”

  “Good. Then we have an understanding.” She cradled the little pig as it continued to pour out its little tune. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that allies are a good deal more effective than friends. You and I will be allies in this business. And I promise you, Iris, you will look lovely wearing silks and satins. The light will shine off you as never before.”

  Iris nodded and stammered her thanks again before meekly leaving the suite. By the time she made it to the Grand Staircase, she just couldn’t help herself. She hopped, skipped, and jumped her way all the way to B Deck. She could hardly wait to see Tessa and give her the news.

  Jacquie walked the streets of Southampton completely alone, her heart in her throat. Yesterday’s visit from Peter had left her reeling. She pushed back the tears, determined not to cry again. She’d spent most of the night wading through an ocean of tears, hadn’t she?

  His emotional words had left a sting unlike any she’d ever known. But the tears through which he spoke those words convinced her that he did, at least to some extent, care for her. Perhaps not in the way she had hoped, but at least he cared. And his offer to marry her—to grow into a relationship, as he called it—was, she supposed, generous. Still, how could she marry someone who didn’t truly love her? To do so would be humiliating.

  At once she thought of Roland Palmer, of how he would have settled for a one-sided relationship. Strange, when she thought about it. He might be willing to settle for such a thing, but she would not, though she had sacrificed everything she held dear to discover it. No, she could not force Peter into a marriage that he did not desire. True, his feelings might grow in time, but she would prefer they do so without being forced.

  Jacquie pulled her jacket tighter to ward off the chill that enveloped her. It came from a place deep inside and held her locked in place. Frozen.

  She could not go forward.

  She could not go back.

  Truly, she had no options. And when one had no options, what was the point in going on?

  Late Saturday night, a cold chill fell over the Titanic. At that very same time, however, the icy chill that had hovered over B-54 thawed. Tessa found it quite ironic. From the moment Iris arrived back at the cabin after meeting with Edith Russell, all was forgiven. For the first time ever, the two girls could express themselves as friends. Real friends. And that’s just what Tessa did as Iris helped her with her corset strings after dinner.

  “I must admit, there are certain advantages to pretending to be someone I’m not.” Tessa eased her way out of her undergarments and reached for her nightgown. “When I take on the role of Jacquie, I don’t have to think about my father or of the poverty that held me captive from childhood. I can eat what I like, do as I like, and enjoy the admiration of people. Is it selfish to say I enjoy that?”

  Iris shrugged. “Probably normal.”

  “I can see that having money would make one rather spoiled. That’s certainly different from the way I was raised. Opposite of it, in fact.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t asked many questions about your life before you came to Abingdon Manor.” Iris’s nose wrinkled. “I—I should have.”

  “My life before…” Tessa felt the sting of tears but willed them away. “No young girl deserves such a life. My father…” She could not continue because the lump in her throat got in the way.

  “He was unkind?” Iris asked.

  “Unkind is too small a word. He was cruel. He is cruel.” She shuddered, just thinking about it. Why did it take stepping away from the situation to see it for what it was?

  Iris reached for a dressing gown and draped it over Tessa’s shoulders. “If you want to talk about it…” She looped the sash around the gown and took a step back. “I know I haven’t been the best friend, but I’m here if you need a shoulder.”

  “Thank you.” Tessa paused to think it through. “Maybe tomorrow we can have a good long talk.”

  “That sounds good.” Iris covered her mouth as she yawned. “Are you going to the church service tomorrow morning? I hear the captain is leading the one in the first-class dining saloon.”

  “I—I don’t think so.”

  Tessa couldn’t imagine it, in fact. Every time she thought about the Lord, her knees ached and her heart writhed within her. No, thank you. She would forego that ritual.

  Still, as she gazed into Iris’s peaceful face, as she contemplated all that had taken place over the past few days, she had to believe there was a God—somewhere, someplace—arranging all of this.

  Just as quickly, guilt wriggled its way into her heart. If God did exist, He surely wouldn’t care much for the fact that she’d spent the last several days lying about who she was. And Nathan. Sweet, kindhearted Nathan. He would surely run the opposite direction if he discovered she was a fraud.

  Strange, she’d only known him a few days now, but the idea of disappointing him—or worse, losing him—brought an ache in her heart that she could not explain.

  “Are you all right, Tessa?” Iris glanced her way, eyes filled with concern.

  “Oh.” Tessa took a seat on the edge of her bed and gestured for Iris to join her. “Just thinking.” Should she share her heart with her new friend? Open up and talk about the things that troubled her?

  “I have a lot to think about too.” Iris settled into the spot next to Tessa and fluffed the pillow. “So many plans to make.” She leaned back and sighed, a heavenly, happy sigh.

  Tessa decided to forego any somber conversation and focus on her new friend to celebrate the day’s news. Though she had seen snatches of Iris’s sketches over the past few days, she asked to see them again. Tessa examined each one, completely in awe. How could anyone possibly possess so much talent?

  She and Iris spent the next hour sharing stories, nibbling on chocolates, and talking about how exciting life would be once they reached New York. And as Tessa dozed off, all worries about losing Nathan floated away on the night winds.

  As she drifted off to sleep, Iris thought about how much had changed in the few days they had been out to sea. First, the meeting with Edith. What an unexpected gift! And now, a friendship with Tessa. Could such a thing be possible? They were sisters, no less—the sort pressed together by life and circumstance, if not by blood. This sister she could empathize with on so many levels.

  Similar upbringing, though it was becoming clearer with each passing day that Tessa had endured much at the hands of a cruel father. One need look no further than her knees to see the scars the man had caused. Iris had a feeling those scars ran far deeper than skin, however. Surely Tessa had endured much that she didn’t speak of.

  Iris thought back to her own upbringing. Though poor, Mother and Father had cared for her in the best way they knew how and had given her love in place of those material possessions they could not afford. Now that she saw Tessa’s plight, Iris realized the depth of the gift her parents had offered.

  Love, even in a home with little money, made one feel wealthy.

  She thought of Jacquie and of the many years the spoiled girl had received everything she’d ever wanted and more. She pondered Mrs. Abingdon’s disdain of her husband, the general stand-offishness that permeated every relationship in that family. Surely even money couldn’t fill in the gap when one lacked true love.

  Iris found herself praying as she drifted of
f to sleep—thanking God for His blessings and wishing the same on her new sister-friend. Oh, if only Tessa could know the kind of love she herself had experienced as a child. Then maybe nothing else would matter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sunday Morning, April 14, 1912

  Aboard the Titanic

  Early Sunday morning, Tessa got word that the lifeboat drill, scheduled for that morning, had been canceled so that passengers could attend Sunday service. This, she heard from Jessie Leitch, who greeted her on the Grand Staircase after breakfast.

  “I would love to stay and chat,” Jessie said, “but we’re on our way to the service now. Captain Smith is officiating.” Jessie’s eyes lit up as she leaned against the railing of the staircase. “You should come with us. We can all sit together.”

  “I don’t think so, but thank you for asking.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, please do join us. We’re meeting in the dining hall for hymns and a message.”

  Minutes later, after strolling the enclosed promenade deck, Tessa found herself reconsidering. Perhaps she should go to the service and give it a try. She made her way back to the first-class dining saloon and stood outside the door. From inside, the sound of voices raised in song drew her forward. Still, she could not make herself go in.

  Tessa leaned against the door as the music filled the air.

  “Would you like to go inside, miss?” The steward reached for the handle to the ornate door, but she shook her head and took a couple of steps back.

  “No. Thank you.”

  Even so, she couldn’t quite tear herself away. As the voices rang out in harmonies that could only be described as heavenly, she found herself focused on the words.

  O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast,

  And our eternal home.

  Something about the words “eternal home” pierced her very soul. She thought about her home back in Gloucestershire County and the pain she had endured at the hands of her father. Then her thoughts shifted to the home she would one day have in America, should Jacquie’s grandmother be willing to take her in. That home didn’t feel real yet. In fact, nothing felt real, did it? Surely this whole thing felt like shifting sand beneath her feet.

  Grief washed over her afresh as she contemplated her role in this farce. How could she presume to ask the Almighty for help when she had so willingly joined in such a scheme to deceive so many? She pressed in to listen to the next part of the song, intrigued by the feelings welling up inside of her.

  Under the shadow of Thy throne

  Still may we dwell secure;

  Sufficient is Thine arm alone,

  And our defense is sure.

  “What would that feel like?” she whispered.

  “I beg your pardon, miss?” The steward gave her a curious look.

  “I–I’m sorry.” She looked away, afraid her misty eyes would give away her emotions.

  Still, the very idea that she could feel secure caused joy like a warm blanket to wrap her in its cocoon. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture God’s arm—like the song said—wrapping around her. Would He truly defend her? Protect her? If so, why hadn’t He done so those many times back on the rocky path?

  Her heart ached as feelings of betrayal set in. They were quickly followed by tendrils of guilt that wrapped themselves around her heart and squeezed until she could scarcely breathe.

  Who am I, to expect God to intervene on my behalf? A girl who pretends to be someone she’s not?

  Oh, but she hadn’t always been such a girl, had she? No, only for the love of a brother had she agreed to play this role. Surely the Lord understood that sort of love.

  The voices from inside the dining hall rang out again, a steady chorus.

  Before the hills in order stood,

  Or earth received her frame,

  From everlasting Thou art God,

  To endless years the same.

  She couldn’t make sense of those words. Before the earth received her frame? Before creation? God was there in the darkness of night?

  “Yes, child. And I was there in your darkest hour, too.”

  Where those words came from, she could not be sure. They shook her to the core and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Her heart affixed in her throat and she somehow missed the next few words of the song. All that remained were the words the Lord—had it really been the voice of the Lord?—had spoken to her soul.

  No longer concerned with what anyone thought about her late arrival, she reached for the door handle. The steward stepped into action and pulled the door back, ushering her inside the room swelling with the angelic tune. She stepped into the back row, her gaze traveling the room until it fell on Jessie, who glanced up and smiled as she gestured for Tessa to join them. Tentative steps moved her toward them, and she took a seat beside Jessie, who continued to sing in an angelic voice.

  O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Be Thou our God while life shall last,

  And our eternal home.

  The song drew to an end, but the music inside Tessa’s heart was just beginning, the melody clear and strong. She could hardly wait to see how it would end.

  When the service drew to a close, Tessa lingered in her chair, unable to think past the words of the hymn the others had sung. Jessie remained too, though Reverend Harper and Annie went back to their cabin. The young woman slipped her arm around Tessa’s shoulders, a gentle but kindly movement that caused a lump to rise in Tessa’s throat. When the room emptied, Jessie finally spoke.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I—I have a lot on my mind,” Tessa managed at last.

  “I can see that.” Jessie’s warm smile brought comfort. “And I’m here if you want to talk.”

  “I know.”

  A couple of moments passed before Jessie leaned close and whispered, “Tell me about your father, Jacquie.”

  Trembling began immediately, and Tessa fought the urge to stand and run. Determined not to respond, she shook her head, her heart crawling up to her throat. “I can’t.”

  Jessie seemed determined to persist. “I don’t want to pry, but I have the strongest sense that the struggles you’ve had are wrapped up in him. You alluded to as much yesterday. Forgive me if I’ve overstepped my bounds, but my uncle has taught me to go straight to the source of the problem, and I cannot help but think that your father is the source. Am I right?”

  Tessa released a lingering sigh and pondered her next words. Then, like a dam breaking, she told Jessie every horrible story—about the rocky path, about the weights, about the rock prayers. Careful to make sure that no one else was looking, she eased her skirt up to show the scabs and bruises on her knees, now mostly healed. Still, they ached as if the abuse had taken place yesterday, not weeks ago.

  Jessie gasped as she took in the bruises. When Tessa lowered her skirts, the tears flowed—long, silent sobs, pulling up every bit of ugly emotion from inside of her and spilling it out like oil upon the sea.

  When Tessa finally calmed, Jessie’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re telling me that your father forces you to repent for sins you’ve not committed?”

  “Y–yes.”

  “And that he heaps guilt and condemnation on you though you don’t deserve it?”

  Tessa’s throat constricted. “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Oh, Jacquie!” Jessie’s eyes pooled with tears. “You poor, sweet girl. What a skewed image you must have of the Lord. He isn’t an ogre, ready to grind your knees into the rocks when you come to Him with a burden or even something you’ve done wrong. He loves you too much for that. The depth of His love for you exceeds that of the Atlantic beneath us. How I wish you knew that.”

  Tessa closed her eyes and pictured the water, the icy, deep waters of the Atlantic. If she tried all day, she could not swim to the bottom. How could God reach down out
of heaven and love her with such depth?

  “Jacquie, I can assure you, God won’t take your sins, real or imagined, and hold them over your head. He wants you to come to Him, yes, and He will accept you with open arms when there truly are things on your heart that you need to repent of. You don’t ever need to be afraid of Him.”

  Tessa opened her eyes and gazed at her new friend, taking note of the tears that trickled down her cheeks as well.

  “Promise me this, my sweet friend.” Jessie clutched her hand. “Promise you will spend some time praying about what I’ve shared. Picture God on His throne, His arms open wide, hoping you will run into them for a heavenly embrace.”

  This picture was almost too much for Tessa to bear. While she wanted to imagine such a lovely sight, when she squeezed her eyes shut, she only saw her father—drunk, angry, and ready to burden her with weighted bags and drive her knees into the broken rocks. They ached just thinking about it.

  “How do you know if you can truly forgive?” she asked. “I don’t know that I can release my father from the pain he has caused.”

  “Forgiveness is a choice. I stand as a testimony to the fact that forgiveness is a gift to the one who extends it, many times more so than to the one who receives. Does that make any sense?”

  “I—I guess so.”

  “When you forgive someone, it’s as if you’re taking the key to the cell that’s been holding them in bondage and you’re placing it in the lock to release them.” Jessie paused and slipped her arm around Tessa’s shoulders again. “Release your father, Jacquie. I don’t understand the extent of what he’s done, but release him. In doing so, you will release yourself. Then take that key and toss it overboard. Lose it to the ocean’s depth. That’s what God does with our sin, after all. He casts it as far as the east is from the west.”

  At once Tessa saw herself standing on the dock at Southampton, ready to board the Titanic for the first time. New York, many miles to the west, seemed a distance too far to imagine. Now here she stood. Would the Lord really cast her sin—the bitterness, the anger, the deception—over a distance greater still? If so, she needed to experience this kind of forgiveness. Needed to learn how to extend it to her father.