SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Eleven

Rose did not leave us, not until the party was over. I seethed whenever I so much as caught a glimpse of her red hair or decorated wrist, clapping in time to the music. She couldn’t possibly understand the music, not the way we did. I danced more than I ever had before that night, just to escape her. She was always as kind as could be whenever I was pulled back to the table; she would try to make small talk while I swigged on a beer and I always gave her short answers, conniving one of the other fellows to dance with me. I was selfish and spiteful, but such is the way of young girls. We can be nasty things, we females.

Bjorn tired quickly that night, although I’m sure a great deal of it was attributed to Rose. Even Bjorn, my sensible, impossible-to-understand newfound friend, was infatuated with her. I decided right then and there that I should be rewarded in heaven for putting up with so many stupid men falling over themselves for one measly girl. I had found out through our conversations that she was seventeen—only a year older than me. She wasn’t even a full woman yet. Jealousy burned at every inch of me, and it only died down when I was away from her.

Timmy provided a wonderful distraction—he was keen on dancing with me, since Rose apologetically informed him that she couldn’t dance--no surprises there, so we dipped and whirled around the room until I could no longer support him. Even then, we settled over in a corner with Kathleen and Nora, neither of whom had any inclination to visit with Rose. When Timmy began to nod off, as did Nora, Kathleen apologized profusely and led them off to bed. Now I was left without a partner or even someone to talk to, something I could not abide. I had to brave all and go back to face her. No matter how hard I prayed, she was still there, still laughing and clapping in time to the music and sipping daintily from the beers Tommy so generously kept providing--he was strangely willing to get them tonight.

When I made my way to the table, fighting against the current of people, Rose was sitting there with Tommy, Bjorn, and Olaus; Helga and Fabrizio had been dancing the whole night and were unlikely to stop anytime soon. The first thing I noticed was that Rose was still there. The second thing I noticed was that Jack was missing. This was not good.

"Where’s Jack?" I asked, trying to sound calm and laughing instead of frustrated and worried like I really was.

"Over there," Tommy bellowed, having to cup his hand around his mouth. He jerked his head at the table behind him, where Jack was talking animatedly to the Cartmells. A moment later, he led little Cora out to the dance floor and began to dance with her.

"Where’ve ye been?" Tommy asked loudly.

"With Timmy. He had to go to bed," I answered.

"What?"

"Timmy!"

"Who’s Timmy?" Rose interjected. I had to keep myself from glaring at her.

"The little boy I was with," I responded.

"What?" she asked, unable to hear.

"The little boy I was with!" I shouted, exasperated that I had to repeat myself so often tonight--the lads, being idiots, always got a table near the band. Well, that and the fact that I really just didn’t like communicating with Rose at all.

"Oh!"

God, I hated her.

Olaus asked me something, which I had thought was in Swedish.

"What?" I asked, shouting.

"You dance, uh?" he asked, louder.

"Oh, yeah!" I said, nodding enthusiastically as the last song died down. I pulled on Olaus’ hand, thrilled I had a dancing partner and an escape from her highness. "Play us a fast one, Eugene!" I called to the leader of the band, laughing for no particular reason as he grinned and complied. Olaus wasn’t Bjorn, but he was still a rather good dancer. I had grown used to the certain way he held my waist by now, the almost-but-not-quite stiff way in which he danced. I couldn’t, of course, understand anything he gabbled about, but I’m pretty sure he enjoyed himself just as much as I did, if not more. For a time, I was able to forget about Rose.

When I glanced over at Jack, expecting to see him with Cora, I was shocked and somewhat hurt to see him pulling Rose off of her chair and into his arms. I clenched my jaw but, remembering that Olaus would most likely notice, I released it and forced a smile, laughing loudly when he twirled me. The others expected me to play a gay little girl full of laughs and jokes, and so I would play the part. Olaus didn’t seem to notice, though; he, like many others, was watching Jack and Rose prance all over the room. It sickened me to watch them, so I pointed at the table where Helga and Fabrizio were showing off. It distracted Olaus—until Jack pulled Rose onto the table as well.

Everyone has, at some point in their life, encountered a girl who is young, loud, thinks the world revolves around her, and will do practically anything to have as many eyes as possible focused on her. This was how I perceived Rose at that moment. Jack, after pushing his unruly hair back, began to tap out a little jig that I recognized from England. Some tipsy Irishmen that we had met in a pub one night were shocked we didn’t know any jigs and so proceeded to teach us. Jack was displaying his talent for jigs now on the table for all to see. That part was fine; it was Rose’s bit that bothered me. Of course, Jack had to pull her up on the table so that everyone could see her attempt to be one of us.

Rose laughed, took off her shoes and actually tossed them at some woman nearby. I recall that my mouth fell open at her audacity; really, it was just rude of her to expect that we were all born and raised to be servants. The woman accepted them with good grace, setting them down on the bench. Rose proceeded to hike up her skirts well past her shins--I was shocked that she would do something considered so scandalous by her kind--and imitate Jack’s jig. I have to grudgingly admit that she wasn’t bad, but the fact that she seemed so…so perfect…it annoyed me. Perhaps it was jealousy, something I would never have admitted at the time. Rose was rich, gorgeous, and she seemed to attract everyone to her—especially Jack. The more his heart swelled for her, the more mine wilted.

After a few more steps, they linked arms in imitation of Helga and Fabrizio, who were in their own little world, and everyone of course clapped and cheered like they were watching a baseball game. In a few moments, they had clasped hands and begun to spin in a circle, gradually growing faster. As they both made whoops of glee, a less generous part of me wished she would slip on her stockings and fall. That injury would be difficult to explain to the fiancé.

"Oh, well, I was down at a steerage party and I was dancing on a table with the poor boy we brought to dinner, and since I wasn’t wearing any shoes, I slipped and fell!"

They hopped down from the table after awhile and continued to dance around the crowd, caught up in themselves. I was unwilling to get anywhere near them, so I returned to the table with Olaus. He said something to Bjorn, who protested for a moment before heaving himself out of his seat and going. I think Olaus tried to explain what had just transpired, but he was less adept at communicating than his cousin and so gave up after awhile. We set up a game of blackjack--Tommy was in a generous mood tonight--and for a time, I forgot about the pest.

To men like Tommy Ryan, nothing is accidental. They are convinced that every man--they would never blame a female unless she was a sister--has an ulterior motive behind his every action and they love to find someone to blame. That was why, when an energetic couple caused Bjorn to crash into the back of my chair and slosh beer all over me, Tommy lunged forward and grabbed Bjorn by the front of the shirt and said, "You stupid bastard!"

Believe me, I was fine. I mean, I would have preferred not to have any beer on me at all, but what was done was done, and as they say, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Spilled beer, rather. I don’t think Tommy was actually defending my honor or whatever it is that gentlemen do—it was more that he was bored and looking for an excuse to get involved in something. When Bjorn spilled beer all over me, it was a rather reasonable excuse. Bjorn, probably not understanding why Tommy was suddenly scowling and bellowing at him, set down the beers and raised his fists to defend himself. I knew that they probably wouldn’t really fight, and even if they did, they would punch each other a couple of times and then laugh it off over a beer. Men are like that. However, I wanted to be safe rather than sorry, so I leapt in between them, one hand on each of their chests. "Boys, boys! Did I ever tell you the one about the Swede and the Irishman going to the whorehouse?"

The scowls on their faces and their puffed up chests brought two words to mind--piss and vinegar. That was all I could think of when looking at them at that moment. Then they suddenly broke into grins and Tommy held up his arm, his hand cupped slightly. I wasn’t sure what he was doing--although I should have, considering I’ve very rarely been under the influence of feminine company, but Bjorn understood, and so the two of them sat down at the table, facing one another, and locked hands in an arm-wrestling match. It was not long before a small crowd had collected around them and we were all cheering them on; even Maggie left her place near her husband’s band and watched the fun. As I had before, I cheered for whoever was winning; so far, the odds were leaning in Bjorn’s direction, judging from Tommy’s red, screwed-up face.

I hardly noticed when Jack and Rose approached, so concentrated was I on the match. I was aware that Jack snagged two of the beers, but other than that, I completely ignored them. Finally, Tommy’s hand crashed to the table, covered by Bjorn’s. Some drinks were spilled and glasses knocked onto their sides, but there was no real damage. Bjorn let out a sort of growling noise of victory, causing those who had been rooting for him to let out their own triumphant noises. Those who had been rooting for Tommy groaned, patting him on the back as if to say better luck next time.

Tommy would have none of it, however.

"Two out of three! Two out of three!" he insisted, holding up two fingers.

Bjorn smirked and grasped his hand again, preparing to win a second and third time.

"So," Rose interjected, setting down her beer. Damn her. We were all getting along fine. We had been enjoying a pleasant arm-wrestling match. And then she came to ruin it. "You think you’re big tough men?" she asked, plucking Tommy’s cigarette right out of his mouth and smoking it. My hatred for her increased tenfold. "Let’s see you do this!" And with that, she reached down and grabbed a handful of skirt. "Hold it up for me, Jack. Hold it up!" she commanded imperiously.

Jack, being left with no other choice, held up the shimmering skirts, shrugging at the rest of us. What was she doing? Even the meretricious whores in the streets of Whitechapel were more discreet with their business—they, at least, only showed their poorly-stockinged legs in the privacy of a dark alleyway. Rose raised her arms slowly, as if in a trance. Her closed eyes only added to the effect. Suddenly, she was standing on the points of her toes. I was so shocked--as was everyone else--that I couldn’t even form a spiteful thought. Her face bunched up in pain, and after a few seconds, she cried out and collapsed into the arms of a quick-moving Jack.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Maggie declared in wonderment as some of the lads laughed and clapped each other on the backs. Even when they did nothing, they felt the need to congratulate each other.

"Are you all right?" I heard Jack ask the drunkenly giggling Rose. I don’t see why she wouldn’t be; she was enjoying all the attention.

"I haven’t done that in years!" she exclaimed, laughing some more.

"Go see Maggie, lads! Give her the holley! Let’s go!" Eugene could be heard shouting to his fellow band members.

"Ho!" some of them shouted in return, obviously recognizing the tune.

A train of people began to form; first with a Scandinavian man I didn’t know and a very blonde Swedish girl, then with Helga and Fabrizio, the latter of whom grabbed Rose’s hand, who in turn grabbed Jack’s hand. Not to be outdone, I snatched up Tommy and Bjorn’s hands and yanked them to the line before they could even figure out what was going on. Everyone in the line was laughing and whooping; not even the scowling, arm-wrestling Tommy could hide the fun he was having. A space cleared out for us and we fell into a circle, clapping our hands and constantly moving with the music. Someone was always in the center, either alone or with a partner, showing off their dancing prowess.

Surprisingly, it was Bjorn who pulled me to the center. We spun and twirled to the point where we were definitely showing off, but then again, so was everyone else. Although everyone clapped and cheered whenever anyone performed a step, I still glowed as we were applauded. Bjorn ended by tossing me up in the air amid my laughing squeals. When we fell back into our spot, he said something to Tommy, grinning. I don’t know what it was between them, but they obviously knew when one was challenging the other, because Tommy grinned back and grabbed my wrist, making as if to run into the middle. I was out of breath but pleased; I loved being fought over, even if it technically wasn’t really fighting over me. We never got the chance—Jack and Rose ran out. Of course.

They weren’t really doing much of anything; even now, at a considerably more mature and wiser age and with far less dislike of her than I felt then, I know that they were only cheered on because she was adorned like a Tudor and from a world that was equally foreign to us. It was all I could do not to grimace—I was sure that my disgust of her would damage my jaw if I wasn’t careful. Finally, Jack stepped away with an overdone flourish, gesturing as if for her to make a curtsy. Tipsy as she was--and believe me, that girl was tipsy, Rose managed to sweep into a graceful ballet plie, her feet turned out perfectly as if she was from a painting and not real life. Of course this caused everyone to burst into laughs and applause while she giddily skipped back to her place with Jack. Fabrizio and Helga jumped in next, whirling each other around; apparently, she was stronger than he was. This, of course, amused Tommy and I, who laughed when Fabrizio almost lost his footing with a wide-eyed expression.

After other men or pairs of sisters or couples had shown off--Tommy had whipped me around so fiercely that I laughingly swore my neck would kill me the next day, the circle closed in until it was gone completely and everyone was dancing in a chaotic mass again. We returned to the table, our feet sore from our exertions. Jack was forced to go locate Rose’s shoes, which took a little bit and so left us Rose-less for a few moments. I was extremely happy about this.

I can’t quite remember who it was, but someone started to belt out Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine. The rest of us liked this song so well that we all began to sing it. I should probably note that the combined voices of foreign tongues, strange accents, drunken slurs, and some who could simply not sing--I was among that percentile--does not produce the most glamorous effect, but we still had a wonderful time shouting out the words, our faces red from the alcohol, the dancing, and the singing. When the singing had died down to only a few tipsy men mumbling it, Rose asked if anyone knew the time. It took awhile to locate someone with a pocket watch; our table consisted of those who were far too poor to own something. Finally, we found a man who pulled out a bronze, battered watch and declared that it was 11:30.

"Is it really?" I asked, suddenly yawning. It felt like it should be much later—half-past eleven seemed far too early.

Rose’s already porcelain face paled somewhat. She said something to Jack, and when he announced that he was going to walk Rose back to her room, I had to stop myself from beaming. Finally, the vixen was leaving our midst! I hoped that the next three nights would be sans Rose; one night with her was quite enough for me. The lads all lamented the fact that she had to go, telling her that it had been a damn good time, damn good. I was forced to also note that I was sorry she couldn’t stay longer. It’s a very good thing Jack couldn’t tell I was lying right through my teeth; if he had, I’m sure he would have been upset with me for the rest of the voyage. They made their way to the stairwell and disappeared up it.

"Jack’s one hell of a lucky bastard," Tommy noted, lighting up a fresh cigarette.

I scoffed. "Please. I don’t see why he’s so infatuated with her; she’s just a girl. And just because she’s first class doesn’t make her Queen Victoria. Her head was full of air!"

"Aw, lay off her, Ang. Just because Jack’s smitten with her doesn’t mean ye need ter get all riled up," Tommy said wearily, momentarily removing his cigarette to take a swig of beer.

My mouth fell open at that. Out of all the sour, pessimistic things I had expected to come out of his mouth, that was most definitely not one of them. I remember stuttering like an idiot for a moment before finally forming coherent words. "What? But I…why do you say that?"

Tommy and Fabrizio exchanged glances, their lips curling up in a smile. Even Helga and the Gundersons were smiling as if they knew something.

"Well, lass, ye are kind of…taken…with him," Tommy said slowly, more to savor the words than because he didn’t want to upset me.

"I…oh, God," I groaned, putting my face in my hands.

"It’s-a okay, Angie," Fabrizio consoled me, patting my back carefully.

"I must look like a complete idiot."

"No, you a-don’t," Fabrizio assured me, his pats sympathetic.

"Jack hasn’t noticed, if that’s what yer so worked up about," Tommy said calmly, as if discussing the weather.

"He hasn’t?" I asked hopefully, raising my head and causing Fabrizio to cease his commiserating patting.

"Nah; he’s too caught up with that Rose lass," Tommy said in that same monotonous tone.

My face must have fallen, because he promptly laughed. "Ah, ye know better’n ter listen ter me, lassie. Nah, I know that’s not why."

I chewed on my lip for a moment. "So…you’re not going to…tell him or anything, are you?"

Tommy scoffed, looking annoyed. "O’ course not! I’m a prick, but I’m not that bad of one. Are we, Fabri?"

"We won’t a-let him know, Angie," Fabrizio promised, giving me a smile before turning to Helga.

"Well…thanks," I muttered, gulping down some beer. I winced. "Ugh; it’s stale."

Tommy reached over and tasted it. "Aye," he nodded. "Much like the beer all over ye."

I looked down at my beer-drenched attire and laughed. "To tell you the truth, I completely forgot about that!" I admitted. "I was too preoccupied tonight to give it much thought!"

"Yeah," Tommy agreed. He paused for a moment. "Because you were too busy sulking."

I scoffed, turning red. "I was not sulking!"

"Ye were sulking, and unattractively, at that, I might add."

"I was not!"

"Ye were, too, and ye damn well know it."

"I wasn’t!"

"Ye were."

"Wasn’t!"

"Were."

"Oh, hush up, the pair o’ ye." Maggie, who was passing by, laughed as we looked like ashen-faced children.

"Where are the Cartmells?" I yawned, glancing around the room. I was ready to go to bed.

"I dunno; I think they already left," Tommy shrugged.

"Really?" I asked, perplexed. Not that I was offended or anything; I perfectly understood that they wanted to go to bed, and they certainly didn’t need to wait on me. But even so, it inexplicably surprised me.

"Aye. Why, ye thinkin’ o’ goin’ ter bed?" Tommy asked, a small smirk showing on his face.

"Maybe," I admitted. "Aw, come on; you can’t tell me you’re not tired, too!"

"I am, a bit," Tommy conceded, nodding. "O’ course, I can always sleep in; there’s not much ter do on a ship."

"If you sleep in, you won’t get anything good for breakfast," I reminded him.

"Ah…ye have a point there," Tommy agreed, stretching.

The Dahls came to collect Helga presently, barely able to contain their contempt for Fabrizio. There was no real reason for us to stay around much longer, so the lot of us gradually dispersed to bed. I’m afraid that I opened the door of the cabin without thinking; thus, I was accosted by an image of Bert changing. I let out a little yelp and closed the door quickly, my face beet red. After a few moments, the door was opened by Emmy, who was already in a nightgown.

"Angie, dear! I’m so sorry, darling; Cora fell asleep on Bert’s shoulder and you looked like you were having such a good time that we didn’t want to bother you—"

"Oh, no, it’s fine," I assured her. "Really."

"Well, I’ll send Bert outside for a tick," Emmy said warmly, chivvying her husband, who was clad in only his pajamas and a worn bathrobe, out of the cabin.

Cora, who must have woken up since falling asleep on Bert’s shoulder, sat up in bed and wrinkled her nose, sniffing. "Why do you smell like beer? I mean, you really smell like beer!"

I had grown accustomed to the way I smelled, and I realized I must have been stinking up the entire cabin. "I’m sorry; Bjorn accidentally spilled beer all over me."

"Well, let’s get it washed out," Emmy said brightly, helping me undress. She rinsed out my things in the water basin while I put on a nightgown and then she wetted a brush, running it through my sticky hair. The beer was soon mostly washed out of my clothes and hair, so we climbed into bed and called to Bert through the door that he could come in. I don’t even remember him opening the door; I was more tired than I had thought and I fell asleep before I could properly settle into the bunk.

Chapter Twelve
Stories