Christmas in Time Read online

  All the breath left her. She couldn’t have looked away if wild elephants had stampeded into the middle of afternoon tea. She closed her hand around her star sapphire necklace for something to hang onto.

  Bow poised, his left hand now wrapped around the neck of the violin, the man turned back to his band and said something Gilly didn’t hear.

  She felt little tremors running through her. What was he saying? Would he look her way again?

  When the bandleader turned back around, he found Gilly once more. His gaze never left her as he began to play. Gilly had never heard a violin played with such skill, such passion. The music ripped straight though her, tearing down any notions she had about romance – formal introductions and supervised courtships that might lead to a period of engagement and eventually marriage to someone you’d grown to admire. The music exposed her, left her feeling naked, stripped of everything except raw nerve endings and a heart beating too fast.

  The violinist was playing Melody of Love, and Gilly felt herself falling, heart first, into a state of such yearning she thought she might jump out of her skin. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Her teacake went untouched; her tea went cold. And still, she sat at her table, napkin wadded into her fists and her breath caught in her throat. When the violinist played Stairway to the Stars, she thought it might be possible to die of longing, to sit with the upper-crust of society in the first class section of the Titanic and expire from love.

  Around her, the chatter of passengers enjoying afternoon tea faded into nothingness. There was only Gilly, the violinist and his music - every song a love melody, and every one of them meant for her.

  She hoped. She was fanciful, but she wasn’t silly. How could she mistake the way he keep seeking her out, the way he smiled as if she were the only person in the room?

  As the sun sank toward the western horizon, the café began to empty. Finally there was no one left at the tables except Gilly.

  The last musical note died, and the musicians began to pack their instruments into cases. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave, not while she could see the man who had spent the afternoon making love to her with his music.

  He placed his violin into the case, then turned and strode toward her table. Up close, he looked like something she’d dreamed, sculpted lips and cheekbones, dark eyes that could swallow you whole.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” He had a British accent and a voice filled with cadences.

  Too excited to speak, Gilly nodded.

  “I’m William Wesley.” He folded himself into the chair across the table. When his knee brushed against hers, Gilly understood why swooning was so much the rage.

  “Gilly Debeau,” she finally said. And then because she had more than her share of intelligence and had also been brought up to have manners, she added. “Your music is exquisite.”

  “I could see that you’re a woman who appreciates the violin.”

  And the violinist.

  His knee was still against hers. Deliberate, she decided. She struggled to compose herself. This man had more passion in one finger than all the boys in her hometown lumped together. And he had called her a woman.

  “You mesmerized me,” she told him, then realized too late exactly what she’d said.

  His chuckle was as seductive as his music. “Then I hope you’ll do me the honor of a stroll around the deck before dinner.”

  He might as well have invited her to stroll to the stars. When he pulled out Gilly’s chair and offered his arm, she felt currents all the way down to her toes, which curled under in her sedate patent leather pumps.

  But on April 10, 1912, there was nothing else sedate about Gilly Debeau. As she stepped onto the deck on the arm of the man who had wooed her all afternoon with his violin, she felt wild and free and ready for magic.

  Forget Alabama and decorum and long courtships. Even forget Papa sleeping in his stateroom. She was on a ship at sea where all rules were suspended. She was on the Titanic where anything at all could happen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Never had Gilly been more appreciative of being on a 46,000 ton luxury liner that was almost nine hundred feet long and stood fifty-nine feet above the water line. An afternoon stroll couldn’t begin to uncover the wonders of the ship. If things went well, William Wesley might invite her for a stroll every day for the rest of the voyage, and there would still be things to see on and beyond the Titanic.

  “Do you travel often?” he asked.

  Gilly guessed that her nervousness showed. Briefly she considered claiming many voyages, which would indicate a maturity fitting for the woman seen on the arms of William Wesley. She’d guess him to be in his late twenties, but he could have been even older.

  She discarded the notion. Tell a lie and it will always find you out.

  “This is the leg home of my first trip abroad. Papa gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Happy birthday, Gilly Debeau. I’ll have the band play the Birthday Song tomorrow afternoon in the café. Will you be there?”

  “I will. And thank you. That would be special.”

  He tugged her in closer so that they brushed against each other as they walked, her wool skirt against his crisp trouser leg. Occasionally she felt the more solid contact of body against body.

  Gilly thought that the writer of the lyrics for Stairway to the Stars knew exactly what he was talking about. Being with the person of your dreams makes you feel as if your feet aren’t even touching the ground.

  She glanced at William’s face to see if he felt the same surreal sensation. He merely smiled at her then led her toward the ship’s rail where they could get a better view of the sunset.

  “This is my favorite time of day,” he said. “After the band finishes the afternoon tea gig, I always try to come on deck for the sunset.” He pointed toward the west. “No wonder people used to think the earth was flat. See that horizon line.”

  Gilly stood on tiptoe and strained her eyes across water and a sky turned shades of gold and pink.

  “The water and the sky look almost the same.”

  “There.” William shifted so that he stood behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his left hand on her waist and his right arm around her as he pointed across the ocean. “Squint a little. Now can you see it?”

  “Oh, I do.” Gilly clapped her hands, a child-like gesture she’d never been able to break herself of. “It looks as if the sun is sinking into the ocean.”

  “Exactly.”

  They stayed that way a long while, standing at the railing watching the sunset, William pressed close against her back. She’d never known this kind of excitement, never dreamed how a man’s hands at your waist could make you feel as if you were growing too big and too hot for your skin, that any minute you might explode into a thousand pieces. She couldn’t have told you the rainbow-like colors the sun made on the water, but she could have told you precisely the scent of William’s aftershave and the pomade he’d used to keep his dark hair in place. She could have closed her eyes and described his strong hands and the exact shape of his fingers and his well-manicured nails.

  He had a violinist’s fingers, long and slender, capable of touches both delicate and deliberate. The pressure he exerted on her waist felt deliberate. The heat from his hands easily passed through her wool dress, making her feel so giddy she shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “I should have brought a wrap.”

  “Evenings at sea get very cold. Especially this time of year.” William peeled off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. Then he wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. “Better?”

  She nodded, too full to speak. He kept his face close to her hair, and she found herself snuggling against him in the way she imagined wanton girls would do. What must he think of her?

  And Papa! For goodness sake, what would he say if he came on deck and found her lolling about in the arms of a man she barely knew?

  Sh
e stiffened and wondered whether she should try to extricate herself to show she was a lady or whether it would mark her as sophisticated to simply stand where she was and enjoy what she had.

  “Gilly?” His face was still so close to hers, his breath stirred her hair. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, perfectly.” She tried to make herself relax. She’d been so excited about turning eighteen, she hadn’t thought of all the things she had to learn about being a woman.

  “Good.” His arms tightened around her. “I hope I’m not keeping you from another appointment.”

  “Goodness gracious, no!”

  He chuckled. “I admire a woman who doesn’t play games.”

  Wouldn’t he be surprised to know that she didn’t even understand what he was talking about? Gilly had always been a straight-forward, straight-talking girl. It pained her to think that becoming a woman meant she had to adopt some sort of silly pretense, that she had to act one way when she felt exactly the opposite.

  “I assumed a beautiful woman like you would have a dozen men waiting.”

  “Not even one. Not here and not back home in Alabama.” She twisted to look at him, and almost lost her balance. He drew her so close she had to tip her head to look at him. In the sunset he was golden, sculpted, like something you’d want to put on display to look at. Gilly found herself staring, tongue-tied.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that, Gilly Debeau from Alabama.”

  Maybe he was the kind of man who picked up a different girl for every crossing. For all she knew, William Wesley had left a string of broken hearts all over Europe and half of America. After all, he was a ship’s musician.

  “Have you played on other ships?” She had to know.

  “Yes. I’ve played on the Lusitania, and most recently the Mauritania.”

  “I guess you meet lots of…people.”

  That brought another chuckle from him. “None like you, Gilly.”

  “All right, then.” She nodded. Satisfied. She might be fanciful and a bit too whimsical for her own good, but nobody had ever accused her of not having a brain, of not being a good judge of character.

  Besides, her toes were still curled in her shoes. A sure sign that what she was feeling was no passing fancy, no frivolous shipboard romance. It was so much more that Gilly even dared to call it love.

  William leaned a bit closer, so close she wondered if he was going to kiss her. If he tried, she’d let him. Her mother cared what people thought, and she didn’t like to cause Eleanor or her father any alarm, but basically, Gilly didn’t give a fig what the rest of society thought.

  “You’re a strange and beautiful bird, Gilly. Exotic. I’d even say rare.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.” He stared down at her so long she felt heat rising in her face. Was he memorizing her as she was him? She wanted every detail of him stamped on her memory.

  Finally he said, “We should go inside. I have an after-dinner show.”

  Gilly felt such a sense of loss that moisture gathered in her eyes. Another Debeau curse. Feeling things too deeply.

  “Tears, Gilly?”

  “I cry at the drop of a hat, when I’m happy, when I’m sad. It doesn’t matter. My body automatically turns on the water works.”

  “Are these happy tears or sad?”

  “Both. Happy because I met you and sad to be parting.”

  “Only until we meet again.” He turned her hands over, kissed both her palms then offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your stateroom.”

  She felt like a queen walking through the ship on the arm of William Wesley. Everybody turned to stare. Or so it seemed.

  Fortunately, Papa was not one of them.

  At her stateroom door in the First Class section, William bent over her hands and kissed them once more.

  “Later, Gilly Debeau.”

  She stood by her door watching him walk away until he had disappeared down the hall and around the corner. It wasn’t until she was back inside her stateroom that she realized she was still wearing his coat.

  She hugged the coat around herself and waltzed around the room, dreaming with her eyes wide open.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gilly didn’t want to take the coat off. It smelled of William and the sunset and the sea. It reminded her of romance and possibilities and the wonders of being a woman.

  Still, when it was time to dress for dinner, she knew she’d never be able to explain to Papa why she showed up for dinner in a man’s jacket instead of her own ruby colored velvet cloak.

  She dressed with extra care, wearing the necklace and earrings of pearls and diamonds her grandparents had given her for her birthday, and a French-made dress Papa had brought from his last trip abroad that her mother said showed too much cleavage and Gilly thought made her look sophisticated and grownup.

  You can’t keep her a child forever, Eleanor, Papa had said, and that settled the matter.

  Though she’d wanted her mother and her brother to come on her birthday trip, tonight Gilly was selfishly glad they hadn’t. Her mother would have kept Gilly on a short leash, while Papa would give her a much freer reign.

  She finished her toilette and hurried toward the dining room. It was already teeming with first class passengers, their elaborate hair ornaments and expensive jewelry glittering under the lights from enormous chandeliers.

  She scanned the room for a glimpse of William, but he was nowhere in sight. Gilly let out an audible sigh. He’d said an after dinner show. She didn’t know if she could wait that long to see him.

  But she did see her father, standing at a table near the windows, his hand upraised. She hurried off to join him.

  “Gilly.” He kissed her cheek. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

  “Wonderful, Papa! And you?”

  “I took a long nap then a swell turn in the Turkish bath.” Papa pulled out her chair then introduced her around the table.

  The woman on her right was a flamboyantly dressed, cheerful woman Papa called Molly Brown.

  “You’re just a pretty as Jack said you’d be.” Molly pinched Gilly’s cheek. “My, it’s grand to be so young.”

  “I’m a woman now.”

  “Is that so?” Molly’s laughter was so boisterous, people all over the dining room turned to look. “I bet I can guess what you did today to put such color in your cheeks.”

  Goodness. Had this Molly Brown seen her with William Wesley?

  “I watched the sunset from the deck. I guess it was the elements.”

  “My guess is a beau. A pretty little thing like you. I bet you’ve already found a fellow.”

  Papa cleared his throat. He’d never been one for small talk, and he’d let it go on only so long before he’d do something about it.

  “They say the Titanic’s electrical system is powered by steam-driven generators, and has two Marconi radios. With modern technology like that, it won’t be any trouble to send and receive messages from home.”

  “You don’t say.” Molly Brown nudged Gilly and winked. “With all that electrical power, I can light up sixteen Christmas trees.”

  “Christmas trees?” Gilly wondered if this woman had all her faculties. “In the middle of April?”

  “Why not? It’ll be the biggest Christmas party anybody’s ever had on the biggest ship.” Molly took a big swallow of her wine. “Especially with me as the hostess.”

  The other diners at the table peppered Molly with questions, but Gilly was only half-listening. Christmas wasn’t what she had on her mind. Nor was the rack of lamb with mint sauce and the dessert cart carrying such a heady display of sweets you could get fat just looking at it.

  There was a stir at the entrance, and Gilly turned to see William walking into the restaurant. She was certain the rest of his band was with him, but she had eyes only for the tall, dark-haired man with the violin.

  “That’s William Wesley,” Molly leaned over to say. “A looker, if you
ask me.”

  “Yes, William Wesley is very handsome.” It was such a relief to see him at last, to have a perfect opening to say his name aloud so others could hear. She loved the way his name melted on her tongue, like sweet cherry ice cream on a summer’s day.

  The band assembled onstage, William leaned in to tell them something, then turned toward his audience. Gilly watched him searching the room, saw his face light up when he spotted her. Only the slight upturn of his mouth showed his satisfaction.

  But when he lifted his bow and began to play, he never took his eyes off hers. The song was Melody of Love. The same one he’d played to her that afternoon in the tea room, a song Gilly decided would be their song.

  She could feel Molly shift toward her, smell the wine on her breath as she leaned in close. “They say his fiancé was furious when he took this job on the Titanic.”

  If cold water had slammed into her face, it couldn’t have shocked Gilly more. “His fiancé?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

  “Over in Dewsbury, West Yorkshire. I guess she’s getting tired of sending her man off to the high seas.”

  Gilly could only nod. She felt cold all over. She reached for the velvet cloak she’d draped over the back of her chair and pulled it around her shoulders.

  Papa leaned across the table. “You’ve gone white as a ghost, Gilly. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Papa. It’s just a touch of seasickness.”

  Her father stood up. “I’ll go to the ship’s doctor and get you something.”

  A ship’s doctor didn’t have the cure for what ailed her.

  “Please, Papa. Don’t bother. I’m sure it will pass.”

  Would it? Would she ever get over falling in love with a man who belonged to another?

  Being eighteen was harder than she’d imagined. She thought about using her touch of seasickness as an excuse to escape to her stateroom. But William’s coat was there, a stark reminder of everything she’d had then lost. Besides, if she left in the middle of dinner, everybody in the dining room would see and speculate.