It occurs to me that Jamie might refuse me, walk out of the ring, no longer the brother I remember, but a blander, mopier version of himself. Though it saddens me to see him like this, it affirms that I’m on the right path. Our fates are tied together, so when he’s unsteady, I must take a firmer hand. Didn’t Ba always tell us that one boot leads the other, and when one lags behind, the other must pull its twin forward?
The ship rolls sharply. My feet shuffle for steadier footing, even in my pumps, but Jamie distractedly grabs a bedpost.
Stand too long in the same place and you’ll get stuck, Brother.
He catches my scornful glance and grimaces. Noticing his mates, hung like mismatched laundry around the room, he grows taller, glaring at them as if to ask,What are you looking at?A cocky smile feathers his face, and he wiggles a finger at me. “We don’t just go our separate ways. If you lose, you return to London. I’ll get you the money.”
I bark out a sharp laugh, waiting for a punch line that doesn’t come. If I want Jamie to play, I have to risk something equally big. London is my past. My future is America. Can I afford to gamble with my own destiny? But how can I not? Once Halley’s Comet is gone, you’ll never see it again in your lifetime.
With two strides, I reach him and hold out a fist. He bumps his on top, a gesture that indicates the sealing of a bet. “Good luck, Sister. You take my seat at lunch.”
“I thought we were having lunch together.”
“An extra place setting would look suspicious, and I’m still loaded from breakfast.” From his seabag, he pulls out an extra set of slops and tosses them to me with a grin. “I think I’ll get started on those deck chairs.”
At least he isn’t going soft on me. I have half a mind to skip lunch and get cooking as well.
“Well, if you’re that worried...” I toss out.
He laughs, not taking the bait. “Bo’ll take you to the Dining Saloon. And lads”—he gives Wink’s and Olly’s caps a tweak—“stay salty.” Then he slips out the door.
After Jamie leaves, an awkward silence descends betweenBo and me, punctuated by the swish-slap of the lads’ slippers. From the window, a gust of salty air belches in my face.What exactly was your plan again, you cocky-boots?Bo and Jamie have the advantage. Not only do they both fill out their clothes, being actual men, but there are two of them.
Well, lads, I will be smarter.
“We wait outside,” Bo grunts.
Wink lines up his slippers under his bed, while Olly throws his in a heap by the sink. Stepping into their shoes, they start to follow Bo out the door. But before exiting, Olly squats, his attention caught by something on the floor.
Glancing up at me, his humor vanishes, like it was knocked off his face.
“What is it?” On the floor is a feather. I pick it up, a small white quill I recognize from the toque. Probably I broke one of the feathers when pinning the veil to the brim.
Olly gives Wink the kind of look you use when you’re holding a picnic hamper and thunder claps. “It was pointing to twelve o’clock,” he whispers.
I twirl the feather in front of Olly, but he nearly trips over himself backing away and out the door.
11
Wink and Olly flank me, Valora the seaman, as we follow Bo to the Dining Saloon one deck below. Jamie said an extra place setting would look suspicious. But what about a different diner? Then again, Jamie thinks it’s safe, and he’s the conservative twin. I crank my seaman’s cap lower on my head.
“We want in on the bet, too,” Wink announces. The taffies in his pocket make crinkly sounds with each clomp of his oversized boots.
“Yeah, two against one isn’t fair. And Wink and I count as another person.”
The sight of the lads’ earnest faces, turned up like sunflowers, squeezes my heart. “Well, what can you do?”
They furrow their brows as if they’re looking deep inside their heads for hidden talents.
“Wink knows how to shine shoes,” Olly pipes up.
Wink’s boots tell a different story with their scuffed tips and a crack along the side that looks glued up. “Olly knows how to do armpit chuffs on the backs of his knees.”
Stopping in the middle of the corridor, Olly snakes a hand up one of his trouser legs, then begins cupping the back of hisknee, producing a symphony of musical flatulence. Wink adds harmony using the more traditional armpit.
Bo throws back a dubious glance. “Yes, do that. That will empty pockets for sure.”
“Mind your own business,” Wink growls.
