APRIL
After service is over, Jackson lingers near the entrance of the Third Class General Room as the rest of the congregation files out. Lottie drapes herself over his legs, much in the way she drapes herself over mine, and grips both of his hands in hers. She throws her head back, looks at me upside down and giggles with her mouth open in a wide grin.
Jackson looks at her with mirth as he dips her low, low enough for her long hair to graze the wooden floors, and brings her back up.
"Gracie, watch me," she says.
"I see you, you goose," I reply.
"Jackson, do you have to leave us now?" Lottie asks when he pulls her to her feet. She wraps her thin arms around his middle and rests her chin on his stomach. "I don't want you to."
Jackson smiles and folds his hands atop her head. "I'm not sure," he says, and in his tone I can tell he wants to stay just as much as we want him to.
"We're going to eat in the Dining Saloon," I tell him. "It's not First Class, but it's very nice."
"I'd prefer anything over the First Class Dining Saloon," Jackson says. "You don't mind if I join you?"
"We want you to join us!" Lottie says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Will you carry me?"
I'm about to tell her to leave him be, to stop asking such things of him, but Jackson obliges her request before I can open my mouth. "Come here, you," he says, and lifts her onto his hip much in the way he'd done during service.
"You're spoiled, mopsy," Cecelia says, smirking over her shoulder as she leads the way to the Dining Saloon.
Lottie sticks her tongue out at our older sister and wraps her arms around Jackson's neck. "Why don't you like the First Class Dining Saloon?" she asks him.
He shakes his head and frowns dramatically, saying, "Much too fancy."
"Too fancy?!" Lottie says, then laughs. "That's silly."
"It's all very silly," Jackson says, covertly taking my hand as he still uses one arm to hold my sister. He intertwines our fingers and I catch his eye to find his expression sparkling. He squeezes my hand and keeps talking to Lottie, saying, "I'm sure I'll have a much better time with you."
"And April Grace," Lottie says, extending an arm towards me. I take her tiny hand with my free one and kiss the top of it again and again.
"Of course, April Grace," Jackson says.
"But our dining room doesn't have windows, and yours does," Lottie says as Jackson gently sets her in a chair that he pulled out.
"Windows don't matter when you have such fine company," he says, then pulls out mine and Cecelia's chairs as well.
After we sit, Jackson takes his place next to me and I hold his hand under the table - I can't keep from touching him for very long. I thought about him all night last night, so being around him now is simultaneously satisfying and overwhelming.
As Cecelia and Lottie debate over whether or not Lottie should eat her prunes, Jackson says, "You know, I didn't think I would enjoy church. But I did. It was nice."
"Good," I say, stroking his knuckles. "You've never been before?"
He shakes his head and says, "Never."
"Are you going to go to hell?" Lottie asks, those blue eyes wide and worried.
"Lottie," I hiss, toeing her ankle under the table.
"That's what Mrs. Ward used to say," she mutters, her voice a bit more withdrawn. "She's wrong, isn't she?"
"Of course, she's wrong," I say. "There's nothing at all about Jackson that would send him to hell."
"And," Jackson says, plucking a prune from Lottie's plate and popping it into his mouth. "I plan on sticking around for quite a while, anyway."
"I'm going to live until I'm one hundred," Lottie says, lifting her chin and puffing out her scrawny chest.
"That's what Mrs. Ward would say to get her to eat her vegetables," Cecelia says, clueing Jackson in. "But the question is, Lottie, would you eat them?"
"Yes! Every time," Lottie says.
"You fibber," I say, grinning.
"Tell me more about this Mrs. Ward," Jackson says, taking a polite bite of his potatoes.
"She is not my mama," Lottie says. It's a knee-jerk answer for her, as she used to think that Mrs. Ward was her mother and Mrs. Ward got tired of hearing it. She soon made it clear to Lottie, not exactly in a kind manner, that that wasn't the case.
"We used to work for her," Cecelia answers.
"Now, we're going to the big city to meet my real mama," Lottie says.
"Well, you have met her before," I say.
"But I don't remember," she says. "And I'm still scared of the big city. I don't want to go."
"Lottie, it's our home," Cecelia says lightly.
"It's not my home," Lottie says. "I was never there."
"You were," I say, taking her hand across the table. "I carried you in a sling on my chest. I made it myself. You rested your head right here," I pat the place over my heart, "and listened to my violin."
"I did?"
I nod. "You'd sleep for a while, then you'd open your eyes and watch me. You never once cried."
"I never cried because you were holding me," Lottie says, gripping my hand now with both of hers.
"That's right," I say. "And when we get to shore, I'll hold you just as close."
…
After we eat, we head to the promenade on C-Deck - the promenade designated for Third Class and Steerage passengers, as we decide not to sneak to the A-Deck today. Jackson seems more comfortable here, around amenities that my sisters and I are familiar with, which only makes me more comfortable with him.
The four of us sit around a small table as Cecelia shuffles a deck of cards. "Do you know how to play Laugh and Lie Down?" Lottie asks, tapping her palms together. "It's my favorite card game."
"I've never heard of this," Jackson says, sounding a bit clueless.
"You've never heard of Laugh and Lie Down?!" Lottie exclaims, then proceeds to try and explain the rules in a way that absolutely no one in their right mind could understand.
When Jackson doesn't grasp it, Cecelia gives it a try and attempts to convey the nature of the game. But even she doesn't do a very good job.
"Let's save the cards for another day," I say. "Maybe I should tell a story instead."
"A story, a story!" Lottie says, then scrambles out of her seat to make herself comfortable on my lap. She nudges Jackson's leg with the toe of her shoe and says, "Gracie is the best storyteller in the world."
"I'm all in," Jackson says.
"Gracie always tells me stories," Lottie says. "Who did you hear stories from, Jackson?"
He shrugs one shoulder and makes a slightly sad expression with his mouth. "No one," he says. "My mother has never been the storytelling type."
That strikes something within me. Jackson, as a child, was never told fairytales before he went to bed? On rainy days? On long walks?
Maybe there are certain things that money can't buy.
"Well, listen to this one," I say, then rest my arm - the one that isn't wound around Lottie - on his leg. "Once upon a time, there was a little princess with bright red hair."
"Make there be three princesses with bright red hair, Gracie," Lottie says.
"All right," I say. "There were three princesses with bright red hair. And they lived in a big castle that could float on the water. One day, they decided to travel from one side of the world to the other, even though the journey was very long. But even though it would take quite a few days, it was faster than any other castle could go."
I lift my eyes to meet Cecelia's face and find her smiling. When I told stories to Lottie at Mrs. Ward's estate, she would listen then, too.
"The three princesses had a lovely time in their floating castle. They played music, cards, and slept well as the ocean waves rocked them. It was a bit scary to go from one place to the other, two places so far away from one another, but they met someone on their trip who made all those fears go away."
"Was he a prince?" Lottie asks, her eyes lit with interest.
I smirk softly, one corner of my lips pulling up. "He was a prince," I say. "And the three of them enjoyed his company so much that they didn't want to part from him when their castle docked on the other side of the world."
I glance at Jackson and he takes my hand that's resting on his leg and threads our fingers together.
"So, they didn't," I say. "Once their castle docked and they met their mother, the prince came with them. And they were never seen apart from each other from there on out; they stuck together and lived happily ever after."
Jackson lifts my hand and kisses the top of it slowly, and suddenly I want nothing more than to be alone with him in the way we were last night. Truly alone.
"That story was too short, Gracie," Lottie says, pouting.
"That's because it's not bedtime," I say, lifting her little body off of my lap and leaning towards Jackson, who welcomes me close.
He kisses my cheek and makes me blush as his arm winds around the back of my chair, then nuzzles the side of my neck.
"I think Jackson and April Grace want to be alone," Cecelia says, her tone light and lilting.
"I don't mean to steal your sister away from you…" Jackson says, preparing to leave, "but…"
"No, no!" Lottie says, catching my skirt as I stand to leave. "Gracie, no."
"Lottie," I say, turning around to find her pulling on me with all her might. "What's the matter?"
"I don't want you to go," she says, slipping her thumb into her mouth. "You'll be gone for too long, like last night." She blinks and tears coat her long eyelashes. "I missed you."
"Oh, mopsy…" I say softly, stroking her face. I think for a long moment, trying to come up with something that will placate her, then come up with an idea. "What about this? I'll write you a note that you can read tonight. Even if I'm not there when you fall asleep, you can read the note so you won't miss me."
"But I will still miss you," she insists.
"But perhaps not as much," I say, touching her little chin.
"All right," she says, sniffling.
I find an inkpen and a sheet of paper, then start writing - clear enough so Lottie can read my handwriting even in the low light of our cabin.
Dearest Lottie,
My most darling little sister, the most special girl I know. Even if I'm not right beside you, I'm never far away. Missing someone is simply your heart's way of reminding you that you love them. And guess what? I love you, too. And I will see you very soon.
Goodnight, my love.
Gracie
…
With our violins in tow, Jackson and I slip off to his stateroom. There aren't many places on the ship where we can find privacy, and his room is the best option we've got. I want to hear him play, and he only agreed to do so if I brought my instrument and played, too.
We arrive at B-54 and Jackson locks the door behind us, and I sit in the armchair with my legs tucked under me and my deep blue skirt pulled close.
"You should play first," I say.
"Me?" he says. "I want to hear you."
"You've heard me plenty of times," I say, resting my weight against him as he sits beside me.
He cups my face with one hand and strokes my cheekbone with his thumb, staring heavily into my eyes. I overlap his hand with my own and close the space between us to kiss him on the lips, my mouth moving slowly against his as my heart quickens in my chest.
He runs both hands through my long, thick hair, all the way to the ends, and moves his lips to my cheek, the hinge of my jaw, and the hollow behind my ear. My skin tingles and the feeling of his tongue and teeth makes a shudder work through me.
"I want to hear you again…" he whispers, dragging his fingertips across my collarbones as his lips are pressed to my ear.
"You're very persuasive," I say, blinking slowly as he pulls back to look at my face.
"And you're irresistible," he says, tracing the pout of my lower lip with his thumb.
I smirk and pop open the locks of my violin case, but before I can pull it out, three harsh knocks sound from the oak door.
"Jackson Avery, I know you're in there," a woman's voice says. "Open the door this instant."
"My mother," Jackson says quietly, and I close my violin case back up. "We have to leave."
He takes my hand and ushers me to a standing position, and my skirt flows around my legs as we hurry to the other door.
"Jackson!" his mother shouts again. "I have a key. I am coming in."
"Go!" Jackson urges, and we burst through the second exit and rush through the hall, past a number of other staterooms, on our way lower.
"Where are we going?" I ask through laughter, clutching him with one hand and my violin case with the other. Under his arm, he still carries his case as well.
"Far from here," he says, leading the way.
"You don't know where you're going!" I call. My hair and skirt are both flying behind me like wings preparing to take flight. If we run any faster, I just might lift off the ground.
"No!" he says gleefully. "Do you?"
I allow a moment of quiet inside my mind, then come to the perfect conclusion. "Yes," I say. "Let's go to F-Deck… the room where they store the linens, I know where that is. It's near the swimming bath and the boilers. No one's ever in there."
Jackson's eyes glint. "All right," he says, "let's go."
…
When Jackson and I make it to the Linen Rooms, we're both panting and sweating. I collapse on a pile of neatly folded towels, head thrown back and arms tossed above me as I try to catch my breath.
I hear Jackson's quick breath, too, as he lowers to rest beside me. I turn to look at him, then pick up a towel and use it to dab the sweat from his forehead. "Finally, we're alone," I say, smiling as I let my body go completely boneless atop the soft linens.
I hold his face in both hands and spend quite some time studying him, letting my eyes roam his face - from his strong eyebrows to his kind eyes to his full lips.
"You're beautiful," I tell him, caressing his damp skin. There's not much - if any - ventilation in this room.
"You are," he says, then leans in to kiss me.
I close my eyes and let my hands explore his body while he maps my skin with his mouth. I drag my fingertips over the sturdy muscles of his back, then find my way higher to touch and admire the fine hairs on the back of his neck. As I gently run my fingers through that soft hair, he exhales - long and deep - which tells me it feels good.
"Tell me something about you," I say, bunching his shirt in my fists and untucking it from his pants - methodically and without rush. "I want to know everything."
He unties the bow tied precisely around my waist until the ribbon unspools between us. We work on each other's buttons at the same time, then laugh as our hands get in the other's way.
"Let me go first," I say, and he permits it.
"I've got a koi pond in Boston," he says. I feel his eyes on my face, though my gaze is concentrated solely on undoing the buttons that line his chest. "With fish of all different colors. You would love it."
After I undo the final button, I pull his shirt apart and push it down his arms until he's left in a simple white undershirt.
"Will you show me someday?" I ask, then lift my chest as he runs his hands over my breasts and down my ribcage. I have quite a few more buttons than he did, trailing all the way down my skirt, and he takes his time in separating them.
"Yes," he says, lifting my slip as he uncovers it. "Someday, I'll show you everything."
Once my dress has come apart and Jackson gently takes my slip over my head, I'm left in my stockings and underthings. As I sit up and untie the lacing of my brassiere, Jackson stands to step out of his pants - but as soon as my brassiere is cast away, he's beside me again, and I'm glad.
"Jackson," I say, my hand gliding down the front of his now-bare chest.
I take a deep breath, which forces my breasts to rise, and his eyes dart to them. I lift my chest towards him, telling him without words that he can do what I know he wants to - what I want him to do, too.
He opens his mouth and covers my nipple with his lips and tongue, and the sensation makes my eyelashes flutter and my eyes roll back. For a moment, I lose my train of thought - I lose everything inside my head because of how good his mouth feels.
"Jackson," I breathe, after a moment has passed. He's got his mouth on the same nipple, sucking, as he uses his fingers to stimulate the other. "What will happen when we dock?"
He scatters kisses across my chest - from the swell of my breast to the flat plane between them. He rests there for a moment, pressing his forehead to my beating heart, before moving to the other side.
"I don't want to live a life without you," he murmurs, his lips moving over my dewy skin.
"I don't want to live without you, either," I say, stroking the back of his head as he pulls my other nipple into his warm mouth.
"Let's get married," he says, gripping my side with one large, strong hand.
"Your mother would never allow that," I say, quivering as he drops kisses lower and lower on my body, spending extra time on the soft skin of my stomach.
"I don't care," he says, closing his eyes and lying with his cheek in the middle of my ribcage. He pulls my bloomers down but leaves my stockings on, the stockings that reach my thighs, then takes the last of his underthings off as well.
"But what about your home?" I ask. "Your lifestyle?"
"Until I met you, I didn't have a home," he says, hovering over me with the tip of his nose touching mine. "As for my lifestyle, I don't need it. I'd rather have you."
With wide eyes, I trace his facial features and skim the back of his leg with the instep of my foot. I look at him for a long time and he looks back, and it's like we're communicating without speaking at all.
"I love you," I whisper, resting my fingertips on his jaw. "I've known you forever, I'm sure of it. And I love you."
"I love you," he says, then kisses me swiftly. "I can't wait to marry you one day. One day soon."
"When we reach the shore," I whisper. "Say it will be then. That soon."
"Yes," he says, smiling. "It's a promise."
I tuck my face into his neck and open myself for him as he pushes inside of me. It hurts at first, but the pain is manageable when he lifts his head and kisses my skin, everywhere he can reach, and begins to move slowly. Then, it doesn't take long for a heady feeling of pleasure to pulse through my body in thick waves.
"I want to bear your children," I tell him, my voice pitchy and strained from how it feels to be filled like this. "Yours, and no one else's."
"You will," he says, then opens his mouth on mine. The kiss is hot and wet, and I wrap my arms around his neck to keep him near once it breaks. "We'll have as many children as you want. We'll fill our home with babies."
"Beautiful babies," I say, whimpering as he pushes especially deep. I throw my head back and let my thighs fall open wider, and he snaps his hips forward to bury himself fully within me.
"You're their mother," he says, his lips moving against my ear. "Of course, they'll be beautiful."
He continues to thrust, and I hold onto his body as we sway with the ship and get lost in what we're doing - the most sacred act there is. It's a lovely thought, a satisfying one, to know that he's the one who I'll do this with for the rest of my life.
He's mine forever. And I am his.
"I love you, April Grace," he groans, then releases. I feel him pulsing within me, then a hot, liquid sensation spreads from inside - one so good that I tighten my legs around him and keep him where he is, nearly forcing him deeper as he finishes.
He kisses me after - slow, languid, and sweet - but he doesn't lift away or pull out of my body. He makes sure that I have an orgasm, too, by stimulating my swollen, sensitive nerves in a circle with the very tips of his fingers. With that, it doesn't take long at all.
I come with my eyes pinched closed and my legs open, twitching and bucking against his hand as he works. As the feeling courses through my system, I pull him close and kiss him with all I've got.
We're sticky once our bodies come apart, so we clean up with a towel and discard it soon after. Jackson pulls me to his naked chest and I lie there for a moment before realizing something.
"Our violins," I say. "We never played."
"Mmm," he hums, his lips moving against my sweaty hair. "We have plenty of time for that."
Knowing that he's right, I wind an arm around his waist and hold him close, cherishing what we just did, what we can never take back. I never want to take it back.
I don't want this moment to end, not ever. At the very least, I don't want to forget it.
"Do you have a knife?" I ask.
"In my pocket," he says, sounding sated and sleepy.
I sit up and find the knife easily, then take my violin out of its case. "Carve your initials and the datet," I say. "So, we'll always remember."
He sits up, too, looking interested. "Remember what?" he asks. "There's so much."
"Falling in love like this," I say, then hand him the tool and my instrument. "Go on."
Carefully, he carves into the spruce wood: JTA, 4/12/1912.
"Now you, with mine," he says.
"Your Stradivarius?" I ask, then shake my head. "Oh, I couldn't."
"You must," he says. "I insist. It's only fair that I get your initials, too."
I open my mouth and inhale, about to refute him, then decide against it. "All right," I say. "Give it here."
Into the gleaming face of his violin, I carve: AGK, 4/12/1912.
We tuck our violins back into their cases and lie down again, fulfilled and nearly euphoric. From there, we fall asleep to the sound and sensation of the ocean waves below.
…
APRIL 13TH, 1912
When we wake up, we know we can't stay. It's the middle of the night, but we redress as best we can and slip out of the Linen Room to head to our respective cabins.
"I want to spend all night with you," I say, clinging to his hands as our paths diverge.
"I do, too," he says, running my hair through his fingers. "It won't be long until we can."
He kisses my hands and wraps me up in his arms, and I press my face into his neck. His skin smells wonderful - masculine, clean, and innately Jackson - and I don't want to let him go, though I know I have to.
"I'll miss you until the morning," he says, kissing my ear.
I pull away and nod, dragging one hand down his chest. I'm about to pull away, to walk towards F-Deck, but Jackson's pull is simply too strong. I double back and throw my arms around him, and his grip is tight and reassuring at my waist. "I love you," I say, then kiss him to punctuate the thought.
"I love you," he says in return, then kisses my knuckles again and again.
"Only a few hours until the sun rises," I say. "Meet me on the promenade when it does."
He nods and kisses my lips one last time. "Until then," he says, "I'll see you in my dreams."
…
When I slip into cabin F-70, I do so as quietly as I can. I change into nightclothes and clean up in the sink with a few splashes of water, then feel refreshed enough to climb into bed beside Lottie.
As I do, she stirs and shifts towards me. "Gracie?" she rasps, still half in a dream.
"It's me, mopsy," I say. "Go back to sleep."
She loops her arms around my waist and presses her forehead to my sternum, and I hold her small body tightly. "I read your letter," she says, sounding groggy. "But I still missed you."
"I'm here now," I whisper back, stroking her curls.
She lifts her face, then, and looks at me. Her eyes shine in the low, low light of our cabin. "Are you going to marry Jackson?" she asks.
She's always been the most intuitive of the family. There's no sense in lying to her.
"Yes," I say, curling a stray ringlet behind her ear. "Once the ship docks, we'll be married."
She doesn't seem surprised by this fact. But while she may not be surprised, her face still morphs into an expression of worry and concern. "Are you going to leave?" she asks.
I press my lips tightly together. "Enough of that now," I say, pretending to scold her. "You're a part of me, and I'm a part of you. No matter who falls asleep without the other, who marries who, or what in the world goes on." I touch the tip of her adorable nose. "All right?"
"All right," she says quietly, her eyelids beginning to droop once again. "Will you sing me to sleep?"
"Of course," I say.
I sing her favorite hymn then, with her head tucked under my chin, as the ship sways and cradles us.
Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee
Or if, on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee