Page 54 of The Missing Pages

ADA’S WRIST GRAZED MY SLEEVE AS WE STOOD ON THE stern deck watching two white terns fly above. They appeared suspended in mid-flight, surfing the wind created by the air tunnel our massive ship generated whilst gliding over the Atlantic.

“How beautiful it must be up there, looking down at us,” Ada said.

While other passengers stood amongst us on this particular deck, I knew Ada and I could talk freely because my parents’ circle only ever took their sea walks on the first-class deck.

“And this air,” she added. “I wish I could bottle it up and bring it back home to London. I feel like all the smog has been cleared from my nostrils, from my mind. I’m thinking more clearly now than ever!”

I wanted to tell her that I certainly was not. I was distracted merely by being so close to her. All I wanted to do was kiss her again.

It was our third evening sailing on the Titanic.

The ocean breeze was crisp and every place on board seemed to be serenaded by one ensemble or another.

If you walked into the Palm Court, music was playing, just as it was in the Verandah Café, the dining room, and all of the ship’s other social spaces.

Everywhere you went, effervescent notes danced in the air.

“Mr. Ismay told my father we might beat the record for crossing the Atlantic. We could even arrive in New York a day early,” I informed Ada.

“Wouldn’t that be something.” She lifted her chin upward and closed her eyes, the sting of the night’s breeze making her draw her cape closer around her shoulders. “But part of me wishes we could be on this ship a little longer.”

“You’d need more books, then.”

“I would indeed.” She opened her eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “A lot more.”

She lifted her hand and pressed it to my chest. “So you really haven’t taken it off you,” she said as she felt the Little Bacon beneath my dinner jacket.

“No. I told Quaritch I wouldn’t.”

“You’re certainly quite the romantic, Mr. Widener.”

“How can you tell?”

“All the signs are there, written down.”

“Where?” I asked playfully.

“Up there,” she said and pointed.

“Well, the sky never lies,” I told her.

Her hand tapped my chest again.

“No, it does not.”

“Is it terrible to admit that I don’t want you to go back to London?”

“But where would that leave me, then?” she said. “I have responsibilities. Quaritch depends on me. I have worked too hard to give all that up.”

“I have a strong feeling everything will begin to fall into place once we dock in New York.”

She gripped the banister and looked up at the maze of constellations. “There’s a map there somewhere,” she said, smiling. “I will trust it to take us where we need to go.”

Mother spent most of Sunday morning going over the details of her party.

The menu had been finalized. The wines had been selected.

She decided upon a floral centerpiece composed of violets and sterling roses.

I had told her I would come, but that I couldn’t linger.

I needed to meet my friend right after we finished dessert.

“Your mystery friend,” Mother scoffed, trying to goad me into revealing who it was. “I don’t like you keeping secrets from me.”

“It’s not a secret. Tomorrow I will introduce you.”

“Very well,” she said. “You know how I enjoy surprises.” Her eyes twinkled.

“One day your mother will surprise us all,” my father teased.

“I don’t doubt that,” I agreed. I knew my mother, despite her appearing like almost every other socialite with her perfectly coiffed hair, her ostrich feathers and jewels, was strong as steel.

I just had no idea that it would take a tragedy to have her conviction tested.

That her strength would soon be channeled into creating a library made from marble, limestone, and bricks.