Instinctively, I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He smiled at me as if to say "I'm all right." lut I couldn't keep my heart from pounding out its ominous warnings. Like some old seafaring soul, I sensed an impending storm over the horizon and felt the need to batten down the hatches.
A little over a year ago, Momma decided that if Daddy wanted us to go along on his cruises, he would have to permit her to redecorate the suites we would have on the liners. She designed the suites in only two ships before losing interest, but one of the two was, of course, The Jillian. In one of her fashion magazines, Momma had seen a spread done on a celebrity's New York apartment and she decided to model her shipboard suite after it. Our suite was decorated in serene neutrals, taupes and honeyed beiges with bleached light-colored woods that all provided the perfect backdrop for Momma's cool blond good looks.
The liner was a floating resort. On one level there were all sorts of shops, including beauty shops and barber shops, drugstores, and boutiques featuring the latest fashions from home and abroad. There was a continuous schedule of activities for guests, including dance instruction, exercise classes, art exhibits and lectures, teas, endless meals, games of competition, shuffleboard, and, of course, once we sailed into the warm weather, swimming in one of the three pools on The Jillian. At night there were dances with
entertainment provided by singers and comedians, and even first-run movies.
Momma slept late every morning, so that Daddy and I usually went to breakfast without her. We always ate with the captain, so when he wasn't available, the first officer, plus guests. Some days, Momma didn't come out of her suite until early afternoon and had her breakfast brought in. Usually she had only a small glass of juice, one poached egg and one piece of toast.
She was very disciplined about how much she would expose herself to sunlight, actually timing it so she would just have some slight color on her face. She had read somewhere that sunlight hastened wrinkling and nothing terrified Momma more than the possibility of a wrinkle appearing. Her vanity table was covered with every skin cream and -dy lotion available, especially the ones that promised eternal youthfulness. Most of her morning was taken up with working creams into her skin and preparing her makeup. She was often in the steam room and scheduled herself a massage every day and a facial once a week.
From the day we left Boston Harbor, Momma complained continually about the devastating effect the salty sea air was having on her hair. She had to go to the beauty parlor almost every day to keep her hair from "kinking." She said the sea air robbed her hair of its softness and chapped her skin because her face was too sensitive. She was rarely on deck in the evening, even when we had sailed into the warmer climate and the evenings were tepid. I thought there were few sights as beautiful as the calm ocean on a warm night with the moonlight painted over the water. The waves bobbed under an unobstructed night sky so dazzling it took my breath away. I was always trying to get Momma out on the deck with me to look at it, but she told me she could see it through the windows whenever she wanted.
Although Daddy was busier than usual on this voyage because it was a maiden voyage establishing a new cruise, he made every effort to spend more time with both Momma and me, always promising to meet us here or there. Momma didn't seem to care if he was with her or not. Whenever he had time to do something with us, she always found something else to do. Daddy and I spent many evenings without her, watching a movie or attending one of the shows. She would promise to join us, but never appear. When I inquired, she told me she was too tired or had a headache. I would find her in bed reading one of her many magazines or scribbling letters. Whenever I asked her to whom she was writing, she would simply reply, "Just friends," and put everything away as if she had become instantaneously bored with what she had been doing.
Even when I sat on her bed and described the singers and the comedians and the activities, she seemed very distracted and not very interested, so I knew she wasn't very happy. And then, one night nearly a week after our cruise had begun, I was awakened by the sound of Momma and Daddy shouting at each other.
"I do everything you ask of me," Daddy complained, "but still you act as if you're suffering. You wanted to remake the suite, I let you and spent the money; foolishly, I thought, but spent it anyway. You're the owner's wife, but do you attend to some of our more important guests? No. And when you do come to the dining room to sit with me and the captain and one of the guests you yourself chose, what do you do . . complain about the sea and living on board a liner as if you were some Negro slave being brought over from Africa and kept chained below.
"How do you think that makes luxury liner travel seem . . . my own wife despises it!"
"I'm not built to be confined," she retorted.
"That's your own choosing. I don't tell you you can't come out of this room. Why don't you enjoy the activities more, enjoy what the ship has to offer?"
"I told you how the sea air affects me, but you don't care about me; you care only about your precious ship and your business. You would sacrifice me to it, endanger my beauty, my looks and health, just to use me as some sort of public relations person."
"That's not fair! You were the one who suggested this cruise."
"I didn't suggest we take it."
"But . . . I thought . . . you always wanted me to take you to Jamaica," Daddy blurted in confusion. "Honestly, Jillian, you're driving me mad. I don't know what you want and don't want anymore."
"I don't want to stay up all night arguing. I need my rest to combat the elements," she said and there was a deep silence. When Daddy spoke, he sounded so frustrated and angry. What was happening to them? I wondered. Was it because of the pressures of the business?
There was an uneasy peace between them for a day or so afterward and then one morning I went with Daddy down to his engine room when the chief engineer reported a problem. I was wearing one of the new outfits Momma had bought me for the cruise. It was a pair of knee-length white shorts with a matching blue and white sailor blouse. The shorts had blue embroidery over the pockets.
I always enjoyed going down to the engine room to see the great machines that made so large a ship move through the ocean. Some of the
passageways were quite narrow, as was the
scaffolding, but I found it adventurous and fun. I knew the men who worked down there were amused by my interest in their work, but they were all quite friendly and eager to describe their responsibilities and explain the purposes of different gauges and levers and wheels.
One of our engines had to be shut down for repair, but the others could pick up the slack for the time it would take. I listened to the questions Daddy asked the chief engineer and followed him about to see what the problems were. I lost myself in the discussions and didn't realize I was leaning up against a very greasy railing until we came up from the engine room and met Momma in the corridor by our suite. She was just coming out to have some breakfast and she looked fresh and exuberant for the first time since we had left Boston.
But the moment she set eyes on me, she froze in the corridor and screamed so hard and so viciously, she frightened me.
"Where have you been? Look at the grease on your arms and on your outfit!" She pointed and I looked down to see a thick line of engine grease along the side and front of my shorts. She looked up at Daddy accusingly. "Where have you taken her, you fool?" she demanded.
A shiver raced down my spine. I told myself over and over it's all right. It's all right.
Daddy's face turned crimson. I had never heard her call him a name to his face before, and I knew he was especially embarrassed because she had done it in front of me. He snapped his head back as if she had actually slapped him across the face, but his reaction didn't slow her down.
"I picked out this outfit for her at one of the more expensive Boston department stores because I wanted her to look like a young lady in fashion, not a grease monkey. You continually sabotage my efforts to teach her the finer things, to help her r
ealize her potential as a woman. You insist on trying to make her into a tomboy," she accused.
"Now, just hold on there, Jillian ."
"Don't tell me to hold on there. Leigh, get to your room and clean yourself up.I'll have the maid take that outfit to the laundry immediately to see if it can be salvaged."
"Momma, it wasn't Daddy's fault. I just wasn't careful,
"Of course it was his fault," she insisted, glaring at him. "If he hadn't taken you to where he had taken you, it wouldn't have happened."
"But I wanted to go, Momma. I wanted to see the engines and . ."
"You wanted to see the engines?" She rolled her eyes. "Look at what you are turning her into," she said, her palms out toward me as if I had changed into some sort of creature on the spot. Daddy closed and opened his eyes patiently.
"It won't hurt her to know a little about the workings of the ship and the things that can go wrong. The day will come. . ."
"The day will come when all this will end," Momma snapped and pulled me toward my suite, leaving Daddy standing behind us with his mouth open. I felt so sorry for him, but Momma was in a rage and babbled on and on about how he was ruining me, ruining my chances to become a debutante, a young and desirable young lady. She said he was "suffocating my femininity."
I tried to defend him, but she wouldn't listen. I got out of my outfit quickly and changed into something else while she went off to give the greasestreaked shorts and blouse to a maid. By the time I emerged from my suite, Daddy was already gone. I spent the remainder of the day feeling terrible because I thought it had all been my fault. Oh, why hadn't I been more careful? Why wasn't I as concerned about my clothing and my looks as Momma was? There were cracks appearing all over my fragile world, but I was trying desperately to hold it together.
I couldn't remember seeing Momma shout at Daddy that way or Daddy so embarrassed and angry. This cruise, which was supposed to make Momma happy and cheer Daddy up by helping his business, was turning out to be a disaster for all of us.
That evening things became even worse when Momma developed a bad case of seasickness. Not only didn't she come out to dinner, but she didn't come out to enjoy any of the entertainment, which included ballroom dancing, one of the few things she enjoyed doing on the ship. Every time I went down to her suite to see how she was, I found her moaning and groaning.
"Why did I agree to this? Why did I come on this ship? I wish I could just fade away," she wailed. I couldn't do anything to help her. The ship's doctor was called twice. He gave her double doses of everything, but she wasn't much better the next day, and once again, she wouldn't get out of her bed. I went down to read to her and keep her company. She was very depressed because she looked so pale and sickly that no amount of makeup could help.
"I don't even want the servants to see me," she cried. "It will take me weeks to get over this," she claimed. "Weeks!" She pulled on strands of her hair. "Just look at what's happening to me. Look!"
"But Momma, this never happened before. Why is it happening on this trip?" I asked. Her eyes cut toward me sharply and for a moment grew small. Then she fell back against her large, fluffy pillow and crossed her arms under her bosom, pouting.
"How would I know? I was just lucky before." She turned on me quickly. "You don't remember your first trip across the Atlantic, I suppose," she added in a biting tone. It was as if I had accused her of faking it and she wanted to punish me. "You were so sick the first two days, I thought we would have to turn the liner around and go back to Boston. Then, as your father would say, you got your sea legs. He was so happy about it, as if walking around looking like a bowlegged sailor is an accomplishment."
She turned to the wall to catch her breath. Her face was brightened with emotion as she encouraged her own anger. When she looked at me again, she had a very ugly but determined look on her face.
"Well, I never wanted sea legs," she said smirking. "Oh, I don't know why I didn't insist Cleave get out of this stupid business years ago. We could have had a respectable business in the city . . maybe a chain of department stores, something like Tony Tatterton has. Then you're not at the mercy of the weather and the finicky ocean," she concluded.
"But Daddy's always been a shipman. It's all he really knows," I protested in a low, scared voice.
"Nonsense. A man learns what he has to learn if he's a man. It's just been easier for your father to remain what he is. He's lazy, that's what."
"Lazy? Daddy?"
"Yes," she insisted. "Just because he works hard at what he likes doesn't mean he's not lazy. And he's not brilliant when it comes to investments. We should be twice, no, three times as wealthy as we are."
I was shocked at the way she spoke about Daddy. She often complained about this or that, but her complaints were never so vehement, so vicious. She was so angry and looked so hateful, it made my heart pound for Daddy. I was happy he wasn't nearby to hear all this, but I wondered if she hadn't said things like it to him before. Maybe that was another reason why he was walking around with a sad face so much of the time.
"But don't you just love having all this, Momma? The big ships, the glamorous cruises, all these wealthy passengers and . . ."
"LOVE IT! NO! I DON'T LOVE IT!" she screamed. "Thank God, I'm not on the ships that often. When you're on one of these extended cruises, you miss all the social activity back in Boston. I think the people who have discovered airplane travel are right. You get to your vacation resort quickly, enjoy it, and return, so you don't miss the important things at home.
"Anyway," she said, calming down a little, "I can't tell you enough times--never marry anyone who is a slave to his business, no matter how rich he might be or handsome. You have to come first, even if it means he might sacrifice a little money here and there."
"But . . ." She had just complained about not being rich enough, I thought, and now she was willing to sacrifice money. But she didn't care about her contradictions.
"The smart executive has people he can trust doing all the real work," she rambled on. "But not your father.
"Your father," she said pulling the blanket up to her chin, "is a peasant in rich man's clothing, I'm afraid." She turned her back to me and pulled the blanket nearly over her head. "I have to close my eyes and imagine I'm not here now, Leigh. Go on upstairs, but don't go fiddling around with mechanical things or go down into the engine room again."
"Yes, Momma. If you feel better, will you try to come to dinner tonight? It's a special dinner because we'll be in Jamaica tomorrow," I said.
"Thank God for that. I'll see. If I feel better," she muttered with little enthusiasm.
She really didn't come out of the suite until we sailed into Montego Bay and Daddy went down to announce we had arrived. It was a magnificent day, the kind the Caribbean islands were famous for--rich blue sky with only a passing cloud, a luscious warm breeze, and music everywhere. I was on the upper deck playing Ping-Pang with two girls I had met during the voyage, the Spenser sisters, Clara and Melanie, who were both about my age, so I didn't know what went on between Momma and Daddy below, but the next thing I knew, the porters were carrying Momma's luggage off the ship to a waiting taxi.
I watched in disbelief. Oh, Momma, what are you doing? I wondered. We weren't supposed to be checking into a hotel here. The ship was going to dock at the harbor for three days and nights. Passengers would disembark to shop and go to the restaurants, and then we would sail back to Boston.
Daddy signaled to me to come to him.
"Your mother wants to see you below," he said. He looked so tired and depressed with his sad, unhappy eyes cast downward at the deck. My butterflies started waking up, but this time they felt less like flutterings, more like birds flying and crashing around in my stomach. I was scared that I might be sick.
When I entered their suite, I found Momma dressed in one of her olive green, silk cardigan suits with a lily of the valley beaded pin on the bodice, a silk scarf and matching silk gloves. She-had her hair brushed back and up
away from her face and put on her e: :shell white bell bonnet just as she turned to face me. The suite reeked with her jasmine perfume.
All the paleness and gloom was gone from her face. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips bright. She had put on all her makeup and even darkened her eyelashes. I thought she looked as healthy as ever. It was a miraculous recovery, and one that filled me with anxiety and dread.
"Oh Leigh," she said when she set eyes on me. "I've made a decision. I'm going back to Boston," she announced. Her words fell like thunder and my heart became a heavy lead drum in my chest.
"Back? But how, Momma?"
"I had the ship's captain inquire as to airplane schedules and found a flight going into Miami, Florida. From there, I will take another flight into Boston."
"But Momma, what about our vacation in Jamaica?" I couldn't believe what 1 was hearing, and what made it even more difficult to swallow was that she had already made all these travel plans, plotting here in the suite while I thought she was groggy and sick. "Why are you doing this?" I cried, unable to hide my disappointment.
"This has turned out to be anything but a vacation for me, Leigh. I'm not enjoying a moment of it, as you know." She straightened the fingers of her gloves. She was obviously determined to walk off the ship in style, knowing many people would be looking at her and wondering what was happening, since she was the owner's wife.
"But Momma, we're in the harbor now. We're not sailing. You won't be seasick."
"What about the trip back, Leigh? Do you want to put me through all that?"
"No, but I wanted us all to be together, to go shopping together and go to the fine restaurants and see the shows and swim in the ocean and . . ."
"Your father wouldn't have the time for much of that anyway. He wouldn't leave the ship. Don't you remember how we had to twist his arm to get him off the ship in London, and if we hadn't taken that tour, we wouldn't have seen half the city?"
"He arranged for the tour, Momma, and we had such a good time. I have all those pictures of us at London Bridge and Big Ben and the Tower of London. We did have a lot of fun there. We'll have a good time now, too. Please, stay with us, Momma. Please," I begged, silently praying that she'd reconsider.