The hall lights click off, one last insult, and darkness rushes in, as thick as the tide. Frantically, I grab at the walls, feeling for another switch. But I don’t find one. Why put a light switch in a closet?
I bang at the door. “Help! Somebody, help me!”
No one comes.
After several more minutes of yelling, my throat feels like it’s been scrubbed with a horsehair shoe brush, and my knuckles are raw from knocking. I let go of the doorknob and grope at what’s behind me. Perhaps there is something here I could use.
The Titanic dips. Losing my balance, I knock into something flat and metal—a shelf—and grab at it to steady myself. My hands collide with a pile of wooden objects—rackets—and a stack of something soft—towels.
I fall into a heap, and hard objects rain down on me. With a shriek, I cover my head with my hands. The objects make hollow sounds as they bounce off the floor.
Steady, girl, they are just balls.
I scramble to my feet. But the rolling balls make the terrain uneven, and I stumble again, landing hard on my knees.
Jamie won’t be able to find me down here. We’ll miss our appointment with Mr. Stewart. All this work. All these dreams. Buried in the rock pile, just like the little girl who fell down the coal hole. Now what? There’s no crane to pull me out, no chain for me to scale.
The Titanic hits a wave, and hysterical laughter sloshes out of me like tea from a teacup.
Without windows in the closet, the stuffy air begins to reek of my own sweat. I’m going to breathe all the air out of this room. The more I think about suffocating, the faster my breath comes.
I’m six years old all over again, trapped like a tiny mouse in a watering can. The coal chute was too high and slippery. I tried to climb it, but every time, I slid back into the rock pile, cutting my knees and palms. Black dust filled my nose and mouth, like gunpowder rammed into a musket. Two bullies named darkness and cold pinned me down, and the biggest bully, isolation, took punches.
I gather my knees to my chest, trying not to cry.
Ba always said life is for the strong. But I can’t help thinking that he was wrong about that. There are moments to be strong, but there are also moments to be weak. And in those moments of rest, we find strength anew and challenge ourselves to grow bigger than we ever thought possible.
So I order my shaky pins to grit down and my panicked lungs to breathe. Focusing on the drone of the ship’s engine, I close my eyes. I slow my breath, inhaling as if drawing a bucket of water from a well, and exhaling as if pouring it back.
I picture Jamie and myself, standing on opposite ends of a wire. Folks have come from all over to witness our feats of amazement. The band stops playing, save for a pattering drumroll. Breaths are held. Eyes widen. Jamie gives the nod, and we begin to fly.
Sweat trickles down my forehead. How long have I been here? I have to get out. Life is streaking by, and there’s not a second to waste. I twist at the doorknob again, feeling for the keyhole under the knob. If only I had something to pick the lock.
I stand and roll my shoulders, my wrists, then my ankles, feeling the weight of my single boot. My boot. I kneel and pull out the shoelace with its aglets of high-quality metal, not glue or wax.
I work an aglet into the keyhole. What am I feeling for?
Several minutes, maybe hours, pass. I feel something catch. But no, it isn’t the lock; it’s the aglet. The bugger has gone crooked and is now unusable.
Biting back my frustration, I switch to the one at the other end. My arm has begun to lose feeling, but I keep working at the lock. I twist and tug the aglet, madly searching for the release, careful not to break it. But the road has become a twisted jumble in front of me, and I cannot find my way.
Breathe.
Mum taught Jamie and me the art of tatting. As with most things, he caught on faster than me. After working our shuttles, he’d end up with a pretty lace snowflake, and I’d have a nest of thread, soggy with tears. Mum said the trick was learning how to breathe. Slow and easy. Somehow, breathing untied the knots.
Click.
With a cry of relief, I turn the knob and swing open the door. Fresh air cools my face. I feel around for a switch, and light pours over me. Blinking hard, I try to adjust my eyes to the brightness. The narrow staircase rises before me.
Grabbing my shoelace, I climb to the landing, where another door blocks my way.
It is locked.
32
I rest my head against the door, feeling tears come. I’ll have to do it all over again. But my aglet is in shambles, worn down to a frail nubbin.
A yelp on the other side of the door startles me. Another yelp follows that sounds more like a yip-yip! Then the sound of scratching. Strudel?
“Valora?”
“Jamie?” Tears well up. “Jamie, oh, Jamie!” I blubber.
“Sit tight, Sis. Tao’s picking the lock.”
Moments later, the doorknob twists, and my cage opens. Jamie, holding my second boot, grips me in an embrace.
“Oh, Jamie, it was dark, and I wanted to die.”
“But you didn’t. And I’ve got you. Come on, now, don’t cry.”
Tao tucks a simple hairpin into his braided beard. “Magic fingers.” I guess finding enlightenment hasn’t dampened the man’s skills.
I find a smile, despite my tears. “Thank you, Uncle. Thank you, too, Strudel.”
The poodle puts her paws on my leg and sniffs me with her narrow snout.
Jamie eases my foot into my second boot while Tao helps me relace my first one with his nimble fingers.
“S-s-skel—”
“We figured. The purser didn’t let us store our money, so we came back and found that slop bucket and his dogs in the room, tearing the place down.” The light glints off Jamie’s sharp-looking teeth as he yanks my laces tight. “Skeleton’s wishing he really was dead. Bo gave him quite a mousing.”
“Tell me the lads didn’t fight.”
“I sent them to find the other Johnnies, but they brought back Mr. Domenic instead.”
“Dina’s father?” An image of the brawny man with his bulging arms and thick neck appears in my mind.
“You should’ve seen him toss those jackasses like sacks of straw. Ming Lai said he used to be a professional wrestler.”
“Where . . . is Bo?”
“Probably in the stern. We split up to look for you. Bo took Wink and Olly. Ming Lai split off with Fong. Drummer’s been in the boilers.”
“What time is it?”
Jamie’s mouth girdles. “Close to eleven.”