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“But you might have a relapse,” Michael said, placing the cloth back on the table, leaning down closer to Maria. He felt the heat in his loins as his eyes lowered, seeing the heaving of her bosom, so large, tempting his hands to reach upward to touch. But, no. He had to remember. She had just recovered from an illness so close to having become pneumonia, and also, her damn brother who was too close, ready to pounce if Michael made the wrong move. The curtain had been hung for privacy. He would have to tack it to the ceiling once again.
Maria stretched her long, lean legs out in front of her, crossing them. “And how far away are we from America?” she asked softly. “I am so anxious to see this new world. And also my Papa. It's been so long. I only hope he is well.”
“I'd say about another week of travel should get us there,” Michael answered, moving to sit beside Maria, crossing his own legs. He couldn't keep his eyes from venturing along the smoothness of her olive-colored legs, and then on upward. Surely he could hold her again .. . have her all to himself. . . before the ship reached its destination. For once they had reached New York, the confusion of the docks could very well separate them forever.
“Can you tell me about it, Michael?” she asked, eyes wide.
“What do you want to know?”
“What I will first see when the ship draws near to the New World.”
Michael crossed his arms and began speaking softly, intending his words only for Maria's ears. To hell with Alberto and his nonsensical ways. “When the ship moves into the harbor, you shall first see a huge statue.”
“A statue?” Maria exclaimed. “What kind of a statue?”
Michael laughed hoarsely, loving her innocence. “It's called the Statue of Liberty. It stands for ‘Liberty Enlightening the World.’ It was a gift from the French to the American people, commemorating a century of American independence.”
Maria pulled her legs up and hugged them to her. “It sounds fascinating,” she sighed.
“It is the landmark most looked for by immigrants like yourself and your brother,” Michael continued. “It's a symbol of welcome to every shipload of immi-grants entering the harbor. One of the first things to be seen of this New World, as you choose to call it, as the ship moves up the bay.”
“Then what else will I see, Michael?”
“Then you will see the largest suspension bridge on earth. The Brooklyn Bridge. And after that, you will’ get your first look at the lower Manhattan skyline. A sight to behold. But I won't tell you anymore. It will spoil it all for you.”
“Please tell me one more thing, Michael,” she said. “After Alberto and I leave the ship, will we go immediately to the train and start our trip to my Papa's home?”
“Not exactly,” Michael said even more softly.
“Why not?”
“There's a place called Ellis Island. All immigrants have to go there. I guess you could say you have to go through a process of Americanization.”
“Like what? What do you mean?”
Michael laughed. “Honey, you don't have anything to worry about. The ones who do have are convicts, insane persons and persons likely to become public charges. You are none of these things. Right?”
Maria giggled, snuggling down more onto the bed. She pulled the blanket up over her, having felt a sudden chill. Then her stomach played an overture of grumbles, reminding her of her hunger. She glanced upward at Michael, smiling coyly. “I'm very hungry, Michael,” she said.
He jumped from the bed, smiling broadly. “Those words are like music to my ears,” he said. “It's further proof of your regained health. You have to know you haven't had much nourishment these past two days.”
“And have I had-any? If I have been asleep, how could I have eaten?”
“My dear, you were fed by me. Don't you remember?” •
Maria blushed. “You did this for me also?”
“Some of the best clam chowder prepared aboard this ship. Spoonful by spoonful.”
“Oh, Michael,” Maria sighed. “You are so good to me.” Then her gaze moved to Alberto. “And Alberto? He has eaten also?”
Michael's eyes became cold. “He has indeed,” he grumbled. “For a man who was supposedly near to dying.”
Maria was confused by Michael's tone. It was as though he hated Alberto. Even his eyes showed his dislike. “What do you mean, Michael?” she said softly, looking from Michael to Alberto, then back to Michael once again.
“What do I mean?” Michael asked, crossing his arms. “He has managed to put away quite a stomachful of duck and all the trimmings each time I have left food for him.”
“How do you mean . .. left food for him? Didn't he eat while you did?”
