Mr. Stewart holds up a hand, while beside him, the captain studies us with his piercing blue eyes. Mr. Ismay greets two women who have joined them—April Hart and her mother, holding her daughter’s arm.
April’s gaze slides toward Charlotte, and she coughs out a small laugh. She gives me an approving nod.
“Please keep voices down. On with show!” Ming Lai cries.
Clouds cover the sun like hands over a face, as if the sun isn’t brave enough to watch.
Time to give them something they’ve never seen before. We shall strike our feet upon the wire, and light a fire in the sky.
I look at my brother and blow a dandelion puff of air. He blows back. We are ready.
26
Jamie, who will start us out, fills his lungs with a breath, then expels it. The ship cruises at a moderate pace, which feels as steady as a skate across ice—a few bumps here and there, but nothing to throw one off course. Today seems especially calm.
If you aren’t walking on a rail.
A zing of nerves for Jamie shoots through my belly. Most people believe that we can captain only our own ship, but I’ve always believed I could influence him from afar, just like the times I would call him with my mind and he’d turn my way.
He climbs onto the one-inch-thick rail. A hush falls over the decks. With his feet spaced perfectly, he balances, averting his gaze from the twenty-foot drop to the poop deck.
I envision for him a path where there is no falling. Only lightness, air, and wings. Tuning out the gasps and murmurs, I focus on pulling Jamie toward me, like a kite on a string. One step, two, three, four—a bobble, but he holds on—five, six, seven, eight, nine—he smiles as he nears—ten. He hops off the rail and lands beside me.
People clap, but Drummer tosses off a few drumbeats, and the crowd silences again.
Now people know what to expect. From here, it will grow harder.
“Ready,” I tell Jamie, and he nods. Climbing the rail again, he takes the first step.
I alight behind him, and we step in time. When we reach the middle, he sinks into a lunge.
Visualizing a brick staircase, I step onto Jamie’s calf and place my hands on his shoulders. “Yut-yee-som.” In one smooth motion, I leap onto his shoulders and hold my crouched position.
The ship rocks, or maybe it’s Jamie, but we hang on, with him poised under me like a crane wearing a sunhat.
Below us, the QM sucks in a breath, his hand flying to his chest. I imagine him as one of the brass instruments installed on the docking bridge, a telegraph perhaps, with its open face and jaunty hardware.
“God almighty, they’ll kill themselves!” cries someone.
Life is a balancing act, and the better you get at juggling, the better you get at living. You could be killed walking down the street, but you don’t let that fear stop you. You just practice until the fear is no longer part of the equation.
Of course, to the audience, the fear is everything. People want to see you in jeopardy; they want to feel the terror they imagine you must feel and then experience the sweet relief when you reach the end without falling.
Well, maybe the fear isn’t everything. Watching an acrobat is also just brilliant fun.
Time to move. I zero in on the rail, visualizing it as solid and wide as the quay at Southampton. After another “yut-yee-som,” I finish the leapfrog over Jamie.
Light as a bubble, I land on the rail with my feet in a line.
More clapping punctures the air. I breathe, and we make our way back to the starboard end and jump off.
“Bravo!”
“How’d they do that?”
“Saints almighty, they must have wings.”
Drummer drums, and we prepare for the next trick. Jamie gives me a smile. We never encourage each other out loud, because fate has big ears.
Tao hands me a cup and saucer, which I make an elaborate show of placing on my head.
“No! Is he going to?”
“Blimey, of course he’s going to.”
Still tucked into one corner of A-Deck, Charlotte Fine stands as still and resolute as a lady waiting for her sailor to come home from sea.
Steady now, Jamie. “Ready,” I tell him.
Back up onto the railing we go, me one pace behind him again. My teacup rattles against the saucer with each step. When we reach the middle, Jamie lowers into the lunge, and I prepare to mount his shoulders.
Lightness. Air. Wings.
I give the count, then push off his calf onto his shoulders.
One foot nearly slips, but Jamie catches my ankle. He grips the rail with his toes as if gravity doesn’t exist and we might fall off the world.
Gasps escape. A woman cries out. A child whimpers.
Now for the second part of the leapfrog. I give the count, willing the crockery to stay put.
And I leap.
The cup and saucer lift off my head a fraction. But as I land, they manage to stay on the saddle.
We make it back to the port side, then dismount.
Fong produces his teacup and saucer. This will be our last trick, the final test. I avoid looking at the audience, especially Mr. Stewart.
One more crossing and we’ll have done what no one has done before, and not just because this is the Titanic’s maiden voyage. We’ll have danced on air. For you, Mum and Ba. We’ll have made everyone see not just a couple of worthless Johnnies, but Virtue and Valor, your flying twins.
Something glints below. My breath snags at the sight of the four bottom cutters, not twenty feet away, their backs against the outer rail and devilment in their eyes. Peanut shells fall from their hands. Bledig lifts a bottle of ale to me, and I blink as the glare off it blinds me for a moment.
Shut them out, girl. Don’t you dare let them unnerve you. Not in your moment of triumph.
Filling my lungs, I let the air sweep the worries from my mind and the tension from my shoulders.
Jamie places Fong’s teacup and saucer on his head. I square my crockery as well.
Carefully climbing back onto the rail, we make our way to the middle once more. I can almost hear the breaths held, almost see the eyes opened wide, as they wonder what we’ll do next. Surely, not the leapfrog again, not with a teacup and saucer on both of our heads.
My legs shake with the tension of holding still. Sweat dribbles down my scalp and pools in my ears. I place my foot on Jamie’s calf, feeling him tremble as well.
“Yut-yee-som.”
I leap.
Jamie’s shoulders hold steady, his teacup barely making a sound against its saucer.