“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. She told me she wants to reveal everything at some point, but obviously, we know she never did. I’m hoping Violet leads me to the answer somehow.”
Ben pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time. “Are we ready to go?” He checks himself over one more time in the mirror, fixing the last stray hair. There’s a sharp knock at the door and I know immediately who it must be at this hour. Edward.
“Ugh!” I groan as I tilt my head back and slump down in the chair. I feel like a child throwing a tantrum. I want to make my body into dead weight. The only way you’re getting me out of here is if you drag me. I want to become the child throwing the explosive tantrum in the busy grocery store, and Ben, the embarrassed and mortified mother.
“Ali, I’m going to answer the door. Can you sit up and try to act like a lady?” His voice is calm, as if he’s negotiating with a petulant child. I cross my arms like a toddler. “I said a lady, not a baby,” Ben laughs as he walks over to the door.
“No promises.” I stand up and swish my gown into place. The underlayer is a red wine-colored silk with chiffon sleeves. It has a scalloped gold lace overlay and a matching wine-colored velvet sash around my waist. It feels the least ladylike, the least demure of any options the stylists sent me with. Its bold, powerful colors feel almost like battle armor tonight.
Ben opens the door and my scowl turns to an empty, placid stare at the flip of a switch. I will go through the motions, but I will not be happy about it. I find it more and more difficult to even pretend to be pleased in Edward’s presence.
Ben hands me off to Edward, and he follows us to dinner. We are dining again this evening with the Holt family and Edward’s uncle. Luckily, the King family is not here tonight, so I am safe from the judgmental stares of Cecilia and Martha. After my conversation earlier with Violet, I observe Daphne’s mannerisms, looking for clues that would show she feels trapped within the confines of her life. Her mother seems intent on finding her a match during this voyage. The topic of marriage keeps coming up at the table, with questions about mine and Ben’s parents and stories of Francis and Helen’s wedding day.
Edward leans across me to speak to Ben. “Say, Turner, when will you settle down and choose a wife?”
Ben’s nervous gulp causes him to briefly choke on his potatoes. I am thoroughly amused by him squirming for once instead of myself until I notice Daphne immediately straighten up her posture as if she might capture his interest. Poor girl, she doesn’t even know him and yet she feels the need to present herself to him.
“Yes, brother. When will you choose a wife?” I laugh as I jokingly lend a hand and pat him on the back.
Ben stiffens his posture to regain control over the character he has been carefully crafting while on board. “Well,” he laughs. “I suppose I haven’t found the right woman yet.” He winks at me, a wink only I notice, a small joke between the two of us.
“Oh, surely we can remedy that with such fine stock to choose from just here in this room.” Edward points his fork outward toward the other tables of guests.
Stock.Are you fucking kidding me?
Violet was right. The life of a woman, her entire purpose, truly is reduced to the singular transaction of a marriage agreement. I can’t quite decide whether his use of the word stock infuriates me more, or whether it is his implication that men need simply to choose a wife. As if she has no say in the matter. As if we just wait, always at attention, for their favor. She may accept a proposal after courtship has been initiated, but she cannot pursue a suitor herself. She must wait to be chosen off the shelf like the perfect doll. It’s like a professional sports draft. An athlete hones their skills their entire life. A hockey player, for example, will spend years perfecting their skating, their goal scoring, and their stick handling, all in preparation to present themselves as a package for choosing. A woman does the same. From childhood, their education is based on the expectations and skills needed for marriage and managing a home. She hones her skills of sewing, playing instruments, learning languages, and other activities to fill her day as she pretends her life is exactly as she wished it would be. She spends her life sharpening these skills, only to present herself for selection and wait for the choosing by a man that decides her worth.A man decides her worth.It’s utter fucking lunacy. The expectations are unrealistic and unattainable.
I am exhausted from keeping up this performance of being an impeccably bred young woman. I feel so worn out from smiling when someone else wants me to, and not when I’m genuinely happy.
At this moment, I am incredibly grateful to be me. Maybe I’m alone. But I’m free.
Chapter Sixteen
Paper Crown by Alec Benjamin
April 12, 1912
Luckily, dinner is over quickly and the gentlemen withdraw themselves right on schedule, allowing me to make a quick escape.
I come straight back to my cabin from dinner and slump into a chair, exhausted from the brave face I’ve been wearing all day. I hastily pull my gloves off and throw them on the table. I’m determined to stay in the room this evening. It’s a half-hearted attempt to minimize the damage I feel I’ve already done. Sarah enters the room with her journal, but once she sees me, she sits down next to me at the table.
“Ali, are you alright?” Her voice sounds concerned.
“No, I’m not,” I admit. “I just feel like I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“So fix it.” She sounds so matter-of-fact. She doesn't realize this is far more complicated than I am letting on.
“It’s not that easy.” I don’t know how transparent I am. Does she think this is just about playing the first-class part and pushing myself through performances? Or does she realize how complicated things have gotten now that I’ve let my feelings get involved?
“Ali, come on, none of this is easy. We didn’t sign on to this for easy.” Her tone turns warm as she puts her hand on my back. I have no experience with it, but it feels like I have a big sister comforting me. “Look, I know we haven’t known each other for very long, and maybe this isn’t my place. But I can see you. And I can see that something has changed within you. I won’t speculate who or what it is. That is yours to keep until you’re ready. But, you should know, it’s not something that happens all the time. And if you sit here and let it pass you by, Ali, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
I get the sense that Sarah is speaking from experience, as if she has loved and lost, or perhaps been too afraid to love at all. Maybe she’s not even referring to having feelings for a specific person. I don’t want to press her either, especially if it is not something she is ready to share. But at this moment I feel connected to her, as if we silently understand each other.
I sit quietly, trying to process my thoughts. I’ve never been this girl before, one who is reckless and acting on emotion instead of logic. Everything in my brain says run. It’s what I always do when it gets hard. Someone could get hurt. I could get hurt. And even worse, he could. But then there’s something in my heart, magnetically pulling me to him, as if beyond my control. Lonely, intrusive thoughts fill my head. But with him, it’s clear. Everything makes sense.
Perhaps what I need at this moment is one of Ben’s patented dance-it-out sessions, but I haven’t divulged to him the entire scope of what’s going on in my head. He knows all of what is happening with Violet, but all he knows of Charlie is some minor flirtation, not the complex feelings I’m having. I think if I brought him up to speed, we’d be arguing, not dancing. And I don’t need to be under his watchful eye the rest of the time we’re here.
