A Song Across the Sea

by Shana McGuinn

  Tara sat down again to read, but soon became aware that she was being scrutinized. The young man who came and sat beside her was about her own age. He didn’t look at all like the lads in her village. His skin was deeply tanned, his lustrous, curly hair as black as his eyes. She noted that his body looked muscular and strong beneath the white homespun shirt and brown trousers that he wore, then chided herself for thinking such thoughts—and about a foreigner, no less!

  “Forgive me if I am making a…an interruption. On your book.”

  Curious, she put the book down. “I don’t mind.”

  He looked around him. “It is nice out here, no? I like it better outside. So…sunshine. Like my village.”

  His accent intrigued her. The awkwardly chosen words had, nonetheless, a pleasing rolling sound.

  “Where do you come from?”

  “Is near Perugia. In Italia.” He corrected himself. “Italy. I go to America to work with my brothers. We are…” There was a long pause while he groped for the word, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Stonemasons.”

  He broke into a smile. His teeth were startlingly white against his bronzed skin.

  “My English is…is not so good. Forgive me”

  “It’s fine,” she said, smiling back and relaxing. This would certainly give the old cackle-hens in steerage something to talk about. She was sitting on the deck, bold as brass, talking to a strange man. A foreigner.

  “Is your brother?” He motioned in the direction of the children.

  “The one in the blue cap.”

  He nodded. “I see you with him. The lady with the money, she make you angry. You are proud. Proud and very beautiful. That is why I had to talk to you.”

  She stared at him, openmouthed.

  He looked momentarily alarmed. “I did not use…right words? I have all respect for you.”

  Tara hardly knew how to reply.

  “Oh, they were the right words. I’m just wonderin’ if you’re always so bold.”

  He smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  “No, not always. I am on a ship to America so I feel brave. And you are very beautiful. That makes a man brave, too.”

  • • •

  She spent the entire afternoon with Dominic Morelli. They talked without pause, learning more about each other in that short span of time than Tara would have thought possible. His father and four older brothers had been in America for three years, working to save money. Now Dominic was escorting his mother and grandmother there to join the rest of the family.

  “She no wanna go to Philadelphia, America, my grandmother. She don’t speak English like I am. But my father, he say go. So we go.”

  He asked her all about herself, never taking his eyes off her face as he listened to each detail with flattering fascination. He clicked his tongue sympathetically when she told him about her parents.

  “So sad. So young. You are…what is the word? The word for no mama and papa.”

  “Orphan,” she said. It was the first time she’d said it aloud.

  He looked at her with grave concern then nodded as if he had come to some conclusion. “But you will do good in America. I know. Even as orphan.”

  About her plans for America she said little. In truth, she had no specific plans, just a tenacious resolve to find work and a place for herself and Padraig to live. Dominic didn’t find this at all silly.

  A thought occurred to him. “You are not going to live with family? Maybe you come to Philadelphia! It is…great city. My father, he writes letters about it. It has big buildings. So many people. You would like it, Tara.”

  Why not? Philadelphia was probably as good a place as any—although New York had always been fixed in her mind as her only destination. It was almost an unconscious choice, planted there, perhaps, by the long-ago boasts of Brigid Connelly.

  It was mealtime before they knew it.

  “I must go now,” said Dominic. “You meet me later, please? I will show you stars. I know them. Their stories.”

  They arranged a time and he left, to meet with his mother and grandmother.

  For the first time in months, Tara felt lighthearted. Happy, even. She’d almost forgotten the sensation. The heavy burdens that had settled for so long on her young shoulders flew away like seabirds. Her life ahead was as open as the great ocean that stretched around her in all directions. A handsome man was paying her court. He seemed to find her lovely and charming.

  Tara called Paddy to her and took him down to supper.

  It might be an enjoyable journey after all.

  • • •

  “This way!”

  Tara followed Dominic, feeling a little foolish. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

  Dominic laughed, a rich, easy sound that pleased her. “No, we are not. We are going to see the rich people. See them as they eat. You want to go back?”

  Curiosity won out. “No. I don’t suppose I do. But this is just the sort of mischief I’d scold me brother for.” Padraig was asleep in his bunk after hearing his usual allotment of stories from “The Fairy Ring.” The book was one of the few belongings besides clothes he’d been allowed to bring with him. “What about the stars you were after showin’ me?” she asked impishly.

  “First the rich people. They eat now. Then, all stars in the sky, for you, Tara.”

  Tara and Dominic inched their way precariously around a crane in the after well deck. Dominic started to crawl along a gigantic boom leading to the First Class quarters. Tara hesitated only a moment. She was nimble enough, after jumping over walls and running through uneven fields her entire life. Fear that they might get caught only heightened her growing appetite for adventure.

  She got up onto the boom and crawled after him. It was while ascending a ladder to the deck that Dominic suddenly stopped and pointed.

  Through a window beyond the ladder she could see into the a la carte restaurant that was frequented by the First Class Passengers. It was like glimpsing a bit of heaven. Suspended from the ceiling were magnificent chandeliers whose iridescent layers of dangling crystals served as prisms, refracting the light above and splashing it, in pinpoints of color, onto the walnut-paneled walls. There were flashes of liquid fire from the diamonds adorning the white throats of female patrons. Uniformed waiters in white gloves glided back and forth over the rose-hued carpeting, carrying burnished silver platters. At the center of each table stood a small light whose glow assumed the dusky pink blush of the silk shade that surrounded it.

  Tara stared through the window, openmouthed in amazement. Without thinking, she let her grip on the ladder rung relax and nearly fell.

  Dominic grabbed her wrist and held her steady until she regained her hold. “What you think?” he whispered. “Is nice, no?”

  “Oh, it’s grand. I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t imagine such fine places existed, even.”

  “Someday maybe I take you to eat like the rich people. In a restaurant like here.”

  She studied the people who seemed so at home amid these opulent surroundings. So this is what it was to be rich, she thought. The men were dashing enough figures in their flawlessly cut black evening attire and white, stiff-fronted shirts, but it was the women who captured her attention. Their dresses transformed the restaurant into a rainbow of silk and satin. She spotted the woman who’d tossed coins and candy down to the steerage passengers. The dramatically low neckline of her plum velvet gown allowed her to show off a necklace of gold webbing studded with enormous emeralds. Her silky hair was upswept, exaggerating the sleek length of her neck.

  Some day, Tara vowed to herself, I’ll dress like that, and sit in a grand restaurant eating…

  “What are they eating?” she asked Dominic, then answered the question herself by leaning closer to the window for a better look. “Roast duck, I think. Yes. And asparagus—”

  “Allo! Wot’s this? Wot the bloody ’ell’s goin’ on here?” A First Class steward stood on the deck, gl
aring down on them, his beefy build set in a combative stance. “Wot do you two blighters think you’re doin’? Peepin’ in windows? You bloody well know you’re not supposed to be up here! Now get back down to steerage before I report you to the captain. And keep to your place from now on, if you know wot’s good for you.”

  His shrill orders were interrupted by a smoother, calmer voice.

  “See here. Using language like that in front of a lady is simply unacceptable.”

  The steward’s tone quickly changed to a submissive, conciliatory one. “B-b-b-begging your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you and Mrs. Rutherford standing there.”

  The Rutherfords! She’d overheard them being discussed by some other passengers. “Richer than God,” was one woman’s description of them. “A man of considerable influence. He inherited a vast fortune and made it even bigger. Owns a newspaper, a railroad, and several silver mines. He’s one of New York’s leading citizens, don’t you know.”

  Mr. Winthrop Rutherford looked about sixty-five, his slender, elegant wife perhaps five years younger. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and had that effortless air of authority that bespoke wealth and power. His wife—her silver hair styled in waves that hugged her aristocratic head—shivered and pulled her velvety sable coat more tightly around her. She smiled kindly down at Tara, who suddenly felt foolish. Of all things, to be scolded by a steward while clinging idiotically to a ladder! How kind, though, of this couple to come to her and Dominic’s defense.

  Mr. Rutherford cleared his throat meaningfully. “I wasn’t referring to my wife, although I may very well have been. That young lady there”—he indicated Tara—”is also deserving of respect, whatever her station in life.”

  The steward was indignant. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve had some experience with this type. If I don’t put the fear o’God into ’em, they’ll likely try sneakin’ back here again—and bringin’ their mates with ’em next time. Best to keep ’em well below. They’re a smelly lot, they are. Most of ’em don’t even speak English.”

  Tara bristled. “I speak English better than you do, you Cockney wharf-rat! You may like to put on airs, but you can’t hide where you’re from. I may be poor, but I’m a good girl from an honest family. Had I manners as rude as yours, I wouldn’t be so free in talkin’ about people smellin’ and speakin’ other languages. You’ve obviously had no sort of upbringin’ at all.”

  Her outburst was followed by an uncomfortably long moment of silence. Mrs. Rutherford viewed Tara with astonishment, and not a little admiration. Her husband looked as if he were trying to suppress a laugh.

  “Well, steward, I guess that clears the air well enough.” He softened his demeanor, sounding reasonable and diplomatic. “Let these young people go on their way. And see that you use a little more tact in the future. They’re passengers, after all. Just like we are.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Rutherford, they’re hardly like you and your wife.” The steward’s obstinate refusal to concede defeat stopped Mr. Rutherford as he started to lead his wife away.

  “I would hate,” he said slowly, “to have to speak to the captain about this.”

  The steward finally gave in. “You won’t have to, sir. Good night, sir.”

  • • •

  Tara and Dominic returned to the starboard well deck, giggling uncontrollably.

  “You see that steward’s face when you call him—what is it?—a Cockney rat? You are so angry. And so beautiful when you are angry.”

  “Me mother always said I couldn’t hold me tongue.”

  The Atlantic was glassy and smooth around them, under a moonless sky aglitter with a legion of stars. She squeezed her hands together. Gripping the cold metal rung of the ladder for so long had stiffened and numbed her fingers. The frigid air began to seep in through her clothing and clawed at her skin, making her shiver.

  “You are cold? Dominic will warm you.”

  He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in the heavy fabric of his jacket and leaned against his solid chest, giving herself over to the sensation of being cared for. Dominic’s broad back shielded her from the buffeting winds.

  Tara felt a rising excitement deep inside her…a tingle of anticipation, a hunger she couldn’t name. Dominic felt it, too; she could sense him trembling. She lifted her face to his. Their lips met in a kiss that began gently, as they reveled in the strange, new, wonderful connection that rippled like a current between them. She felt so grown up! This was what it meant to feel like a woman! Their arms were wrapped around each other in a way that felt so utterly natural, so comforting and yet so exciting at the same time. The kiss turned urgent. A small, shrill voice within her warned her to stop, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. It was Dominic who finally pulled away and held her at arm’s length.

  “We go inside now. It is too cold for you out here.”

  Bereft of the arms that had encircled her, of the lips that had incited such passion in her own, Tara nonetheless knew that he was right. She followed him silently below deck.

  A lively party was taking place in the steerage common room. Young men and women danced zestfully to accordion music while their elders watched in amusement. Pints of ale were lifted in hearty toasts. Conversations grew loud and lively in order to compete with the music. The rich scent of pipe tobacco drifted toward the ceiling in an aromatic haze.

  “Tara! Tara!” The high-pitched voice that assaulted her ears belonged to Danny Flaherty’s mother. A petite, nervous woman, she seemed agitated.

  “Have you seen me Danny, Tara? He’s not in his bunk. Is he with Paddy, do you think?”

  “No, Mrs. Flaherty. Padraig is asleep in his own bunk.” Where he belongs, she might have added.

  “Oh, dear! Whatever has happened to Danny, then? I warned him to behave. What if he’s fallen over the rail? The poor lad could scream and we’d never even hear him, with all this dreadful noise.” She looked at the accordion player resentfully.

  Tara tried to calm the woman. Danny’s nocturnal escapades were well known to the ship’s crew by now. Doubtless he would be returned safely to his mother after being discovered hiding in some shadowy hold.

  “Where is your husband, Mrs. Flaherty?”

  “He’s out huntin’ for Danny.”

  “I’m sure he will find him,” Tara said firmly. “The lad can’t have gone—”

  She was interrupted by a dull thump on the hull of the ship, followed by a nerve-rattling scraping sound that seemed to go on forever.

  “What the divil—?”

  The ship lurched, making Tara nearly lose her footing. Dominic grabbed her firmly by the arm and held her steady. The accordion fell silent. The dancers stopped and looked around uneasily. All conversation ceased.

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Flaherty was, predictably, the first to find her voice. “What could that have been?”

  Tara wasn’t all that concerned. After all, a ship this size would hardly run into trouble it couldn’t handle. Even if the thump meant a collision with another ship, the other ship would surely get the worst of it.

  Nonetheless, Tara, Dominic, Mrs. Flaherty and dozens of other steerage passengers swarmed up on deck. An amazing sight greeted them: gleaming, irregular blocks of ice that loomed high over the starboard well deck, opposite the foremast. There must have been several tons of it.

  “D’ya see? We’ve struck an iceberg!” someone said.

  Dominic looked worried, but his concerns were evidently not shared by too many others on the deck. The discovery of the ice restored the passengers to high spirits. The mystery was solved. It was a startling thing, to be sure, and it would make a fine story to be told to the relations when the ship docked in America, but it was no cause for alarm.

  One young lad reached down and helped himself to a fist-sized chunk of ice. “Here, Jimmy! See if you can catch this.” He hurled the ice at another lad, who ducked it and armed himself with his own frozen missile. A free-for-all quickly
broke out. Ice was soon flying in all directions.

  Tara smiled at the revelry. Except for the hulking slabs of ice littering the deck, all was reassuringly normal. Several Second Class passengers leaned over the rail lining their own deck and exchanged jokes with those below.

  Yet stewards’ bells rang dimly in the background. Were they sounding an alarm? Or simply summoning crew members to clean up the debris?

  She couldn’t wait to find out. Chilled to the bone once again, she and Dominic hurried back down to steerage. Maybe the party would resume in the common room. Tara noticed that the worried expression hadn’t yet lifted from Dominic’s face.

  • • •

  It was apparent, soon enough, that something was seriously wrong. The once-steady ship was rocked by intermittent tremors and seemed to be listing slightly. No steward appeared to quell their fears, so confused panic soon spread among the passengers in steerage.

  No one seemed to know what to do. The expansive alleyway of E deck was soon crammed with people trying to push their way aft, carrying all manner of cases and valises. Under the low white ceilings lit starkly by bare light bulbs they formed a crush of baggage-laden humanity, waiting to be shown where to go.

  “This way, Tara!” She realized with relief that Dominic was pulling her toward the sleeping quarters—and Padraig. His sturdy shoulders formed a flying wedge for her to follow through the crowd. They made it through the worst of it then he halted.

  “Get your brother and put on…put on…” He couldn’t find the word.

  In a flash, his meaning came to her. “Lifejackets? Dominic, you don’t mean that…the ship could really sink, do you? Surely that’s not what you’re sayin’? Not a ship this size?”

  “No. Never.” But there was a shred of uncertainty behind his calm words. “This ship is big. Too big to sink. But, uh…is better to have…lifejackets. Just in case. Now get your brother.”

  He turned away and she caught his wrist in alarm.

  “Dominic, where are you going? Please!”

  “I go to mother and grandmother. They speak no English. Will be worry about what to do.”