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other day.”
    “You handled it well. Walked away quite proper, and no giggles in your wake.”
    “My mother’s advice was always to hold my head up.”
    He nodded. “First time you let it hang, somebody hammers it down further. Don’t be fooled by these people; they’re just rich show-offs.”
    “Mrs. Astor has true grace,” Tess countered.
    “Maybe she does, but so do you,” he said gently, studying her face. “You just don’t know it.” He stepped forward and crooked his arm. “Shall we stroll?” he asked, half teasingly.
    With only an instant of hesitation, she accepted the invitation. They walked a few paces, alone on that deck as the brilliant sky turned orange and gold, and then, laughing, he coaxed her into a skip. A bubble of pleasure filled her throat. She could release herself for this, for just a few seconds, couldn’t she?
    Only a moment, a quick moment. When they stopped, he put a finger to his lips. “Good day, ma’am,” he said, his voice lively with humor. “See? You can play, too. And I’ll never tell.” He headed back to work, whistling as he bent to pick up a heavy coil of rope, then throwing it over his shoulder.
    He’s a village boy, Tess told herself as she leaned against the railing and watched the dance of light on the water. A seagoing version, with a more jaunty spirit than most. And quite beautiful eyes.
    She stood there for a long time, mesmerized by the expanse of limitless water reaching to a fiery red horizon. She was filled with yearning—for what, she wasn’t sure. But if she listened she could still hear the seductive, melancholy whistle of the trains that had wound their way out of the valley and off to the larger world when she was a child. She had always wanted to be on one of them. Most people had pursed their lips, either disapprovingly or angrily, when she talked about going away. Thank goodness she realized early, somehow, thatthey were mostly afraid. And never, never was she going to let herself be afraid.
    Tess ate dinner alone in her cabin, listening to the faint music of the ship’s orchestra as the musicians played in the first-class dining saloon. Around ten, she went out on deck for a stroll under the stars, enjoying the solitude, although unable to resist peeking into the dining room. How huge it was, the width of the entire ship, she had been told. The walls and the graceful pillars were a creamy white; the dining chairs covered in a sumptuous emerald-green velvet. Wineglasses sparkled in the glow of the slender white lamps on each table, their light reflected back again through the tall, arched windows that opened onto D deck. How beautiful it was. All those confident, wealthy men and women, most of them in evening dress, laughing, lifting glasses filled with brandy. She found herself trying to piece together their stories.
    There was that couple that had boarded ahead of her, sitting by themselves, heads close, murmuring. They were dancers, Madame had told her—Jean and Jordan Darling—yes, lithe, beautiful, coming home to New York for a Broadway play and, everyone said, genuinely in love. “A little past their prime,” Madame declared matter-of-factly. “I’ve dressed her for several shows, but I suspect she can’t afford me anymore.” And there was that handsome man in the tan coat she had met in the gymnasium. In evening dress, he was just leaving the captain’s table, which meant that he, too, must be important. His name, Madame had told her when describing the more important personages on board, was Jack Bremerton. “A Chicago millionaire. No one quite knows how he made his fortune,” she said. “In banking, or something equally shady. Several wives; rumor is, he’s leaving the current one.”
    A dining-room steward carrying a tray of glasses suddenly shoved past Tess, pushing her off balance. He stumbled, the tray falling from his hands with a tremendous clatter. At that moment the chairman of the White Star Line strode around the