Moonlight Over Paris(85)
Captain McKay and his senior officers were perfectly pleasant men, as were the other diners at her table, but the conversation was so staid and predictable that she all but fell asleep before the second course. There was no way around it, apart from claiming mal de mer and hiding in her cabin, and since she was a poor sailor to begin with there was every chance of her ending up confined to bed as soon as they hit rough water. She had better make the best of it while she still felt able to enjoy her food, if not the company at table.
When packing in London, she’d had the presence of mind to include paper, charcoal, and pastels, and for the first few days she busied herself with views of the ship and its fittings, mindful of Ma?tre Czerny’s advice. In order to win commissions as a commercial artist, she would have to build up a portfolio of work on related themes, and where better to begin than on a first-class voyage across the Atlantic?
So she walked up and down the decks and stretched out on a steamer chair and let the wind rush through her hair, and at night she stood by her window and stared at the dome of stars that silvered the endless velvet sky. When her attention wavered from the work at hand, she pulled out a smaller sketchbook, and she tried to recapture the moments of joy, fear, laughter, and despair that had led her away and across the sea. She drew Sam, many times, and she drew her friends and Agnes and dear old Hamish, filling page after page with portraits of those she loved.
Two days into the crossing, a telegram was delivered to her cabin.
SAM STAYING HOWARD FAMILY HOME NYC TWO E SEVENTY-NINTH ST AT FIFTH AVE STOP WORKPLACE FOURTEEN WALL ST FIFTH FLOOR STOP HAVE CABLED DAISY STOP SHE WILL MEET YOU AFTER CUSTOMS STOP ETIENNE AND MATHILDE SEND THEIR BEST AS DO I STOP SARA
Late on Sunday night, the call went up—New York had been sighted in the distance, hours earlier than expected, and she rushed to the promenade deck above and shivered in her too-thin coat as a faint glow on the far horizon grew bigger and clearer, and someone nearby explained that they were seeing the lights off Long Island, and then a little later it was New Jersey in the distance, and then, at last, the ship began inching to starboard and they crossed through a narrow passage and emerged into an immense harbor.
Everyone rushed to the other side of the deck then, so they might see the great statue at close range, her torch lighting up the sky, but Helena stayed where she was. She was captivated by the sight of New York City ablaze with electric lights, and her artist’s eye was fixed upon the strange modern skyline and its reaching towers, far higher than any buildings she’d seen in London or Paris.
The ship went straight to the piers on the Hudson River, on the west side of Manhattan, and by midnight they were neatly berthed—but no one could disembark until the following morning at eight o’clock, when the customs offices at the piers would be open and the SS Minnewaska’s passengers might be legally admitted to the United States of America.
It took an age for her to fall asleep, for she was terribly excited and a little nervous, too, but when she woke she felt rested and surprisingly calm. She was up and out of bed not long past dawn, and after a light breakfast of tea and toast with marmalade, which the steward delivered to her cabin, she dressed in her very best outfit: the pansy-purple Vionnet frock and coat she’d worn to Rose’s wedding.
At eight o’clock she was one of only a handful of passengers making their way down the gangplank and across to the customs offices on the pier; the remainder, she assumed, were taking the chance to sleep in and have a proper breakfast in the dining room.
The customs officer was polite but officious, and was at first concerned that her visa for entrance to the United States had been issued in Paris, though she had set sail from London. Fortunately he accepted her explanation that she had originally intended to travel from Le Havre but had been persuaded by her aunt that a direct journey from London would be more agreeable. It wasn’t an out-and-out lie, but it was certainly the first time she had ever been less than completely truthful with any sort of official.
When the officer had asked to see all the funds she had with her, she’d at first feared that he meant to extort some or all of the money, but it turned out he only wished to ensure that she had sufficient capital to support herself without resorting to public funds or charitable assistance. Last of all he extracted a payment of eight dollars, what he called a “head tax,” which all foreigners had to pay upon entering the country.
By the time she emerged from the customs shed at the end of the pier, there was a sizable crowd milling around, and though she craned her neck and looked every which way, there was no sign of Daisy. She was just beginning to worry when she heard her name being called—no, shouted.
“Helena!!! Hellooooo! Helenaaaaa!”
And there Daisy was, pushing through the crowds, hugging her close and all but pulling the both of them off balance in her excitement.
“Come on—let’s get out of this crush. We’ll talk in the car. Give me one of those cases, won’t you?”
As soon as they were seated and the driver had shut Helena’s luggage in the boot of the car, Daisy turned to her friend and asked, “Where do you want to start?”
“It’s not even nine o’clock . . . perhaps at his parents’ house? Let me find the address again . . . here it is. Number two East Seventy-Ninth Street. Is that far?”
“It’s a ways off, especially in rush-hour traffic. But it will give us a chance to talk. Tell me everything.”