“Well, I guess you won’t be losing him.”
“I know you think I am a wagtail. But one thing I know about wagtails is that they must make their own lives. They need to wander to turn into men.”
The words cut me. Jamie said he needed space. But we are a dragon-phoenix pair, two halves of a whole that functions best when we are together. Plus, I just missed him.
“I upset you. I am sorry. Haircuts are supposed to relax.”
His eyes, dark as charcoal, catch me studying him in the mirror. I quickly return to my own guilty reflection, like a cove caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel.
I push up from the chair. The boat sways, and Bo grabs my arm to steady me. My feet don’t seem to work well around him. I begin to pull away, but he holds on.
“Wait.” Gently steering me around, he blows the clipped hair from my neck, setting off a rash of goose bumps.
I almost don’t hear the click of the door as it opens.
24
Bo quickly steps away from me.
A man with a dressing robe over his suit appears in the doorway. “Hello? I was hoping for a service. Tried to stop by earlier, but there was such a rush.” He puts on his glasses and peers at us. I wonder if he can see me trembling, or if he notices the flush on my cheeks.
I clear my throat. “Er, sorry, guv’nor.” Mum’s accent slips out. “We’re just tidyin’ up here.” I grab the drape and shake it out. Bo, catching on, clutches a broom. “The barber’ll be back tomorrow, and he’ll clean you up right as rain.”
The man shakes his head, which is fuzzy like a summer squash. There’s hardly anything left to feed the clippers, but maybe when you’re rich, you don’t need a reason to spend money. “Ah well, I’ll try back tomorrow, then. Say, you must know those Chinese boys doing the acrobatics tomorrow. It’s the talk of the Dining Saloon.”
“Right. It’ll be one helluva show. Not to be missed. Tell your mates.”
“Will do. Good night, gentlemen.” And the door closes.
Energized by our narrow escape, we quickly finish sweeping. I slip a deck of cards and an orange kerchief into mypocket, then leave a whole shilling in the barber’s tip jar, triple what the items cost.
“Close shave,” whispers Bo as we hustle back to Room 14.
Once there, I place the kerchief and the cards on the lads’ beds.
“Wink will like the scarf,” Bo says.
“I hope so. What happened to him? He doesn’t want to talk about his parents.”
He leans against a bedpost, and a dent appears between his eyes. “Wink’s mother died when he was born. His father beat him with a stick many times. He would climb trees to stay out of his father’s way.”
I grimace. A sudden urge to protect Wink makes me glance toward his seabag, the shabbiest of the lot. All children need their mothers, even ones they never met.
CanI take the lads to America? Perhaps if Lady Liberty opens her arms to me, her embrace will be wide enough to fit two more.
“You have left this room many times in the last second,” says Bo.
“How do you think Wink and Olly would feel about going to America with me? I could ‘adopt’ them, like sons, or at least like little brothers.”
His star-like dimple appears on the smooth plane of his cheek. “I think Wink would follow you anywhere, and where he goes, Olly goes.”
His dimple seems to grow brighter at my surprise. I’ve only known Wink a few days. Perhaps I’m the first female influenceon his young life, and never having had a mum, he somehow took to me. Something stirs deep within me. The bones of my spine align, and my feet take a more solid stance. As if I don’t have enough compelling me to go to America already, two new reasons hitch themselves to my kite like tails.
The dimple dims. “But do not ask them unless you are sure you want the responsibility.”
I nod. I have lived by the bright candle of hope. I know how it felt to have it snuffed out when Ba’s winning streak turned sour. Caring for two charges is no small task. Stealing taffies and slippers is one thing, but in lean times, will I be able to find food for their bellies and a warm place to sleep? What happens when they begin to question me? They might resent me for being stern with them. After all, Jamie thought I was overbearing. Was that, at least in part, the reason he left?
TheTitanicrocks as if exhaling a great sigh, and the shushing from the ocean is a strange kind of music.
