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nap.”

    Tess couldn’t stop thinking about their exchange afterward, examining her memory for holes. Had she read Madame correctly? It seemed a promise had been made; surely she hadn’t let her own hopes read too much into Lucile’s words. But she felt it; it was there, a benevolent mood. And when Madame informed the purser that she wanted Tess’s room moved up from the E deck to the A deck? It was to keep her available for longer hours, of course, but what a thrill it was to hear the news. She ran down the stairs to steerage, to the narrow bunk—only one of many crammed together—where she had tucked her few possessions under the mattress. She squeezed past a man coughing thickly into a dirty handkerchief and shut her ears to the high-pitched bickering of two women fighting over a blanket. She inhaled deeply, defiantly. She was breathing in the rank odors of this dark, windowless place for the last time.
    “You’re leaving us?” the girl in the next cot said, a hint of disappointment in her tone. “Didn’t see much of you, but you’re my age and I thought we could talk every now and then. I’m going to my uncle’s in a place called the Bowery. Know anything about it? I’ll work in his saloon, but he says it’s respectable in America. I’ve still got some apples. Share one?”
    Tess shook her head and smiled. “I can’t now, but maybe later.”
    “Oh, I don’t think once you go upstairs you’ll ever come back down here.”
    It was true, of course. Tess felt warm color in her cheeks. “Goodbye,” she said. “Maybe we’ll meet in New York.”

    APRIL 14, 1912
    The day was glorious. Madame was napping again in the late afternoon, and Tess luxuriated in her new access to the first-class deck. She was allowed to sit on Madame’s deck chair and watch the promenade of privileged people as they strolled by, laughing and chatting, people whose names she should learn. She had never been in a place where everyone seemed on holiday, and if she wanted to stay in their world she had to educate herself.
    And then, strolling toward her, she saw John Jacob Astor and his wife. Such an elegant pair! The long, tapered fingers of Mrs. Astor’s left hand rested gently in the crook of her husband’s arm and her face was tipped toward the lowering sun, as if basking in its light. Tess couldn’t take her eyes off them, mesmerized by this first look at what shipboard clothing was for the very, very rich. He wore immaculately creased trousers and a mohair cardigan over a crisp shirt and tie. She, on the other hand, gave little quarter to such casualness—her pale-green gown of cord silk, so perfect with her glowing skin and soft chocolate-brown hair, drew envious glances from other women strollers. The men passing by nodded greetings, some casting equally envious glances at Mr. Astor. “He bagged quite a trophy out of that messy divorce scandal,” one murmured to another.
    Some time later, in the first glow of what was clearly going to be a spectacular sunset, she copied their stroll across the deck, trying to imitate Mrs. Astor’s swanlike glide. The other passengers had all disappeared back into their staterooms to prepare for the evening. How had that lucky woman floated so effortlessly? Tess tried, but couldn’t quite rein in her own hurried stride.
    She heard a chuckle and glanced over her shoulder. A sailor was watching. And, yes, he was the same one who had quietly mopped up when she spilled the tea. Tall, about her own age, somewhat thin, even with those sturdy shoulders. His hair was unruly, but swept aside with careless confidence. And his eyes were just as warm and alert as she remembered—the kind of eyes that didn’t miss much. They were indeed as blue as the sea.
    “Not bad, but you’d do best walking your own way,” he said. “Don’t want to fall on your nose, do you?”
    Tess lifted her chin high. “No chance of that,” she said, adding, “I do thank you for cleaning up the mess I made the