“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine,” she said. “I’m Edith Pinkerton. Miss Edith Pinkerton. I’m traveling with a group of friends on a cultural tour of Europe. We are two widows and three spinsters—the other spinsters are retired schoolteachers, like myself. My bosom pal, Miss Hetherington, is a real aficionada of European art. She was formerly the art teacher at a ladies’ seminary in Boston where they educated girls from the finest families. So it was she who set up our itinerary. We’ll be visiting Venice, Florence, Rome, Munich, Vienna, and finishing up in Paris…”
“How lovely for you,” I said when she paused to take a breath. “I’m Mrs. Sullivan. Molly Sullivan.”
We shook hands formally. Then she looked around the narrow space. “The only question will now be who takes the top bunk. I consider myself quite agile for my advanced age, but…”
“I really don’t mind taking the top bunk,” I said, “but I may have to attend to my child if he cries and perhaps take him into bed with me.”
“Take him into bed with you? My dear, isn’t that most unhealthy? One should not give in to them or spoil them in that manner. And I’m surprised to find you nursing him yourself. I thought all modern mothers made use of the bottle. So much more hygienic.”
“It’s lucky I am nursing him,” I said. “I don’t know how one would heat up bottles at all hours on a ship like this.”
“Oh, Miss Hetherington says that the stewards and stewardesses on these ships are wonderful,” she said. “They will do anything for you, so I’ve heard. Of course last time she traveled on an English line. Whether the French will be as accommodating, we shall have to see, won’t we?”
There was a tap at the cabin door and a steward’s face came around it. “Your baggage has arrived, madame,” he said to Miss Pinkerton. Then he looked at the cabin with the cot on one wall and my trunk on the floor. “Mon dieu,” he said.
“Is there perhaps another cabin that might be available for Mademoiselle Pinkerton?” I asked. “It seems unfair that she should have to share with a small child who might disturb her sleep.”
He shrugged in that very Gallic way. “All is occupied, Madame. It seems that ze whole world wishes to spend springtime in Paris zis year.”
“We’ll manage,” Miss Pinkerton said. “Leave the trunk in the hall outside the door. I’ll go and find my friends and leave you to unpack, Mrs. Sullivan. Then your trunk can be taken away and I’ll have room to unpack my small valise. Miss Hetherington warned us to travel light, since we have to take so many trains and she said sometimes one is required to jump on or off when the train is in motion.”
She waved the steward away and shut the door behind her, leaving Liam and me alone in the cabin. I took out only the clothing Liam and I would need on the voyage, making sure she had half the closet space, then dragged the trunk outside, telling the steward he could put it into storage for me until we arrived. He put my mind at rest by assuring me that laundry would be taken care of during the voyage and a pail would be provided in the bathroom for dirty diapers. I had been worrying about how I would manage with a small child, but it really seemed as Miss Pinkerton had said, that the stewards would take care of everything. Feeling more content I went back to gather Liam from the cot and carried him up on deck. As I came out into the fresh air I got a shock. We were already underway. The tall buildings of New York were now behind us and there on our left we were drawing level with the Statue of Liberty, her green robes glowing in the late afternoon sunlight and her torch flashing.
“Look, darling,” I said, pointing at her as many other travelers were doing. “Look at the lady.” Liam grabbed at the railing, much more interested in the ocean below us. I held onto him tightly. “No, you are not going to get down,” I said firmly. And I laughed. I felt a little of the tension slipping away as the New York skyline receded in the distance. In spite of everything—the loss of my house, my possessions, my sweet little servant girl—I could smile again. I was going to Paris, to my dearest friends. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be all right.
Eight
We stayed up on deck until La Lorraine passed the last spit of land and I felt the swell of open ocean. America was now irrevocably behind me and France lay ahead. Liam had fallen asleep against my shoulder. I toured the portions of the ship reserved for second-class passengers, including a pleasant dining room with white-clothed tables and a piano lounge with comfortable armchairs, sofas, and potted palms. I inquired about food for my baby and was told that the kitchen would prepare pureed vegetables and custards with pleasure and that the steward would keep an eye on my child if I wanted to dine unencumbered. Thus relieved on that point I went down to my cabin to change for dinner.