Lady Sky wears rouge when she wants to be noticed.

A young couple approaches Bo. He studies me, his mouth gripped, the way we used to look at the beggar children living under Blackfriars Bridge in Cheapside.

I throw back my shoulders. “Thank you for the whale. You should see to your customers.”

The floorboards fight me as I cross back to the stairs. Something inside me has broken loose, upsetting my balance. I can’t decide which bothers me more, that the shawl I thought Mum loved embarrassed her, or that Jamie understood her and I had not.

29

Dressed again in the honeycomb dress and bowler, I opt for the lift back to B-Deck, resenting all the faces that notice me. The chatter and laughter of the nobs in their fashionable evening attire make my ears ring, a ringing that continues even after I pass into the quiet halls of the Cabbage Patch. So Mum only pretended to love her shawl. How many other times did she put on a brave face for my father’s sake?

Once back in my room, I take out my picture of my parents and study Ba, his smile like a light bulb on his still youthful face. For the first time, I resent how little the photograph shows me. It’s only a flash in time, with no glimpse into what lies deeper.

Ba always said our family was like the four fingers of a hand, and that they had to pull together for the hand to work. I’d figured Ba was the pointer, the leader, but maybe he’d been more like the thumb, doing whatever he pleased no matter what the other fingers wanted. Mum had been the pointer, keeping us in line. But for the hand to grab what it wants, the fingers must agree. How many times did she bite back her own feelings?

Jamie and I might’ve been as alike as two people could be—born at the same time to the same parents, under the same stars. But it’s clear we experienced our sameness in very different ways.

“Good evening, honored parents. I wish I had better news for you. But we’ve done our best, and—well, you should’ve seen Jamie. He was brilliant, and I hope . . .”

Suddenly, confessing my heart’s desire—for Jamie to join me in America—grows too complicated. If he joins me, will it come at the cost of his own feelings? But at the same time, how can I let my only family go?

Someone knocks on the door.

“April?” I call.

“No, ma’am. It’s Baxter. I’ve a suitcase for you.”

Remembering the young porter who found Mrs. Sloane’s trunk, I open the door and quickly take the alligator suitcase. “Thank you.”