I grin. “Wagtail.”
Something out to sea catches his eye. “See that circle? The bigger fish create a whirlpool, helping to stir up the smaller fish. Makes them easier to catch. We call that a kiss from Tin Hau, the goddess of shipwrecks and sailors. It means good luck is on the way. Maybe for you.” He rubs his sooty fingers with a rag. “Tin Hau is generous, but quick to anger. Somebelieved she sent the monsoon to destroy our village because we had taken too much from the sea.”
“Was that why you left home?”
“Yes.” From his pocket Bo pulls a small carved wooden object, the size of a spool of thread, and holds the figurine to me. “I made this for you to remember your trip here.”
It’s a whale. I run my finger along the details of its underbelly, its eyes, its fins, and its wide mouth, all carved with an exacting hand, using even strokes and hashmarks. Just like with his shell ring, he transformed something ordinary into something beautiful—for me. Strange feelings press on my heart like cat paws on a windowpane.
I swallow down the tightness in my throat. “Why a whale?”
“A whale rules the sea. It goes where it wants without fear. And if troubled, it can become a bird”—he flaps his hands, his long fingers moving gracefully—“beating wings hard enough to stir up the sea. It means being in control of your destiny.”
Am I in control of my destiny? My grip on the whale tightens. Maybe I am like theTitanic, motoring along invincibly, when really, one push of the ocean could easily change my course. Mr. Stewart could say no. Jamie could say no. Mr. Ismay could sniff me out like a rat and throw me off his ship. But I’ve done all I can, haven’t I?
Feeling Bo watching me, I project a casualness I do not feel, focusing on the vivid pink dome overhead. “This sky reminds me of my mum’s favorite shawl. Ba bought it for her to wear to the Chelsea Pageant.”
The celebration of Chelsea’s history was intended to draw people from all ranks of society, despite costing a pretty penny. Ba wanted us all to look our best. How we looked reflected on all Chinese. Plus, Ba took great pride in being a Londoner, even if the city didn’t take pride in us.
Bo nods. “I know about the pageant, and the shawl, too.”
“Jamie told you about theshawl?” It’s such a personal detail. It seems strange for Jamie to mention it.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “We talk about the latest fashions.” When he sees my stony expression, he shifts around on the bench. “I think, maybe, your mother did not love this shawl as much as you think.”
“But she did. Ba said it made her look like a queen.”
His nose draws up to where a navy curtain has begun to descend over the pink. “Did your mother like... attention?”
“Of course not. What are you getting at?”
He doesn’t answer, and it dawns on me. Mum hated the stares that followed us every time the four of us went out. I remember how brightly Ba’s eyes shone when he gave her the shawl. But when the day of the pageant came, Mum told him she wasn’t feeling well, that we should go without her. But Ba begged her to go anyway, dressed in that vivid, eye-catching shawl.
Lady Sky wears rouge when she wants to be noticed.
A young couple approaches Bo. He studies me, his mouth gripped, the way we used to look at the beggar children living under Blackfriars Bridge in Cheapside.
I throw back my shoulders. “Thank you for the whale. You should see to your customers.”
The floorboards fight me as I cross back to the stairs. Something inside me has broken loose, upsetting my balance. I can’t decide which bothers me more, that the shawl I thought Mum loved embarrassed her, or that Jamie understood her and I had not.
29
Dressed again in the honeycomb dress and bowler, I opt for the lift back to B-Deck, resenting all the faces that notice me. The chatter and laughter of the nobs in their fashionable evening attire make my ears ring, a ringing that continues even after I pass into the quiet halls of the Cabbage Patch. So Mum only pretended to love her shawl. How many other times did she put on a brave face for my father’s sake?
Once back in my room, I take out my picture of my parents and study Ba, his smile like a light bulb on his still youthful face. For the first time, I resent how little the photograph shows me. It’s only a flash in time, with no glimpse into what lies deeper.
Ba always said our family was like the four fingers of a hand, and that they had to pull together for the hand to work. I’d figured Ba was the pointer, the leader, but maybe he’d been more like the thumb, doing whatever he pleased no matter what the other fingers wanted. Mum had been the pointer, keeping us in line. But for the hand to grab what it wants, the fingers must agree. How many times did she bite back her own feelings?
Jamie and I might’ve been as alike as two people couldbe—born at the same time to the same parents, under the same stars. But it’s clear we experienced our sameness in very different ways.
“Good evening, honored parents. I wish I had better news for you. But we’ve done our best, and—well, you should’ve seen Jamie. He was brilliant, and I hope...”
Suddenly, confessing my heart’s desire—for Jamie to join me in America—grows too complicated. If he joins me, will it come at the cost of his own feelings? But at the same time, how can I let my only family go?
Someone knocks on the door.
“April?” I call.
