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."