Leo, my firstborn, was my sun and moon. His birth was a joyous occasion that even my grumpy mother celebrated. All of the Tempest women gave birth to daughters, and when nothing obvious had afflicted me on my twenty-second birthday and just a year later I gave birth to a boy, we all wrongly believed the curse had been defeated. He was as stubborn as his father, but unlike James, Leo was gentle and thoughtful.
Arthur, was born three years later in the middle of a summer storm. His birth was difficult and James scarcely made it home in time to see it. Reminiscent of the night of his birth, he was thunder and lightening. Loud and rambunctious, he often came inside far past his bedtime, covered in mud, sporting a new bruise or two. Histrophies,he called them. There wasn’t a challenge he ever shied away from.
I had been restless for years, even before Beatrice had fallen ill. Influenza took her from us only nine years after I had saved her and my husband James died. A notion that made me dizzy, considering now you walked into a drugstore and received a shot to prevent such things from happening. The boys were adults, running their fathers company and beginning to work at having families of their own.
When I left New York ready to start anew, it was in the hope that I was leaving that piece of my life behind. Tragedy had dug its claws deep into my flesh. My heart was heavy with grief—for my daughter, for my sons, for my lot in life, and for what was ahead of me. That weight grew heavier each day, knowing that I would not see an end. I’d have to bury the boys, their wives, and their children too. It was too much.
So, I left.
Except that anywhere I went, Death lurked.
four
Astoria
December 1938
Ihad no interest in seeing the library or playing games on deck with the other passengers. In fact, if the woman from the room over bothered me once more, I might snap.
A tray of untouched food sat on the table beside me as I stared at the dark wood paneled walls. I couldn’t remember when the attendant brought it, I could hardly remember moving from the sofa. My trunk was still neatly packed at the foot of the double bed, the silk duvet hardly ruffled.
Regardless of the cost of the cabin, I couldn’t bring myself to look out the window. The dark seas were a grave reminder of the choice I made and what I was leaving behind. I pressed my head back against the cushion, settling in for another bout of restlesssleep. Nothing worked to quell my troubled spirit, at least not since Beatrice had passed.
I could take a few of the tablets Leo’s doctor gave me to help me sleep, but they made me feel strange and I felt strange enough as it was.
With a heavy sigh, I placed my arm over my face once more and laid in my grief. Tears welled until I could not hold their release and they fell down my cheeks. It wasn’t just Beatrice’s death, but the loss of the boys. When would I see them again? Would I get to attend their weddings? Arthur planned on asking for Charlotte’s hand in marriage soon, and I would not be there to be part of it. For all his assurances, I could not bring myself to even meet the darling girl. How do you explain to your fiancè that your mother does not age? That your children could wind up cursed because of their grandmother’s arrogance? I would never regret having my children, but I would always bear the guilt of what I knowingly passed down to them.
They were better off without me.
I cried harder, pressing the embroidered cushion to my face.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
How many times must one woman tell another that she does not want to play bridge? Were there no other compatible matches elsewhere on this ship? Ignoring the pushy woman at the door, I kept to my crying with eyes shut. The sofa was comfortable enough, and the voyage thankfully short. I could manage to stay there for the few days it would take. Arthur and Leo had graciously purchased a cabin with an attached bathroom and a view. I could stay here without moving, or eating…
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Did her mother forget to teach her manners? I didn’t want to cause a fuss, but with my hair a mess, mascara undoubtedly streaked down my cheeks, and dressed only in my chemise aftershedding my gown, the last thing I wanted was to tell a woman I had no desire to be her companion on this trip.
“I fear I am feeling quite poorly, would you mind leaving me to rest?” I called, my eyes still closed with my arm slung over my face.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Tossing the pillow across the room and rising to my feet, I stomped to the door and threw it open. “I said I am feeling poorly and I do not–” the vitriol fell from my lips as I looked up to find the last person I wanted to see standing in the doorway. His towering frame crowded the already cramped space as he rested an arm above the door and leaned into the wall. My face grew red and suddenly I couldn’t remember what I had been thinking.
Death took his time allowing his eyes to travel my body, lingering at the barest hint of skin above my stockings and beneath my chemise. My heart beat heavier, each flutter tightening my chest as I slammed the door in his smirking face.
That man! No–not man, that… that BEING. I despise him. I despise him so much…
Locking the door with a huff of frustration, I turned to find him already there, a leather bag at his feet and his legs crossed over one another as he sat perched on the edge of the bed in a pressed suit.
“Do you mind!” It wasn’t a request, but a demand as I held my hands over my chest and turned away from him. My trunk was close to his legs, I’d have to turn around and walk past him to search for my dressing robe.
“Not at all,” he replied with a dangerous voice and crooked grin. He laid back, resting his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes. I took that as my invitation to reach for my things.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you have against making friends?” He peeked one eye open, and the attention he gave me burned as he looked me over once more with smug satisfaction.
