Laurel pulled the sapling closer. “No, that's all right. I've got it.”
“OK.” Will hefted a large suitcase with one hand, took Jean's arm with the other, and led his family to the dock.
Brian studied the St. Mihiel. “It's a real pretty boat.”
“It is,” Jean said. She turned so the baby could see the ship. “See, Susie, that's going to be our home for the next five days. It'll be fun.”
Laurel wished she could believe her mother's words, but if they had to travel on the open sea, she doubted it would be enjoyable, especially if the weather was bad.
Mr. Prosser bumped against her. He tipped his hat, exposing graying hair. “Sorry.” The wrinkles in his face deepened with his smile.
“It's all right.” Laurel pushed closer to her father and shifted her grip. Her arms ached from holding the plant. She searched for a less crowded spot but couldn't find one.
“Is it true the boat is overloaded?” Miram asked in a whiny voice. “I think it's awful we're being forced to sail in the open sea.”
Laurel offered what she hoped was a compassionate smile and said, “I'm sure the captain knows what he's doing.”
Miram waved a gloved hand at a seaman standing on a pile of crates. “Sir? Sir.” The man looked at her. “Is it true we're overloaded?”
“This ship can carry a lot more than what you have here,” he said.
“But is it true we're not taking the Inside Passage? That's what we were told.” Her voice reached a higher pitch with each word. Sniffling, she pushed her glasses back into place by crinkling her cheek. The motion stretched her mouth into a grimace and squeezed her eye into an unattractive wink. She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief.
“I can't say which way you'll be heading, ma'am, but the St. Mihiel is a sturdy ship and will take good care of you either way.”
“Are we taking the Inside Passage, or aren't we?” a heavyset man standing beside Miram asked.
The sailor nudged back his cap. “That was the plan …”
“So, has the plan changed?” the man pressed, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
The crowd quieted, waiting for the sailor's answer.
“I'm not the one makin' the decisions.”
The crowd pressed in closer, crushing Laurel against her father. She pushed at the people closest to her, needing to get free of the squeeze. A hand rested on her shoulder, and Laurel turned and looked into Adam Dunnavant's eyes.
Wearing his boyish smile, he said calmly, “That looks heavy. Can I carry it for you?”
Shaking off the sense of being suffocated, Laurel tried to focus on his face. “No, I can carry it.” She didn't want any help from Adam Dunnavant.
“Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
Although Laurel nodded yes, she wasn't at all sure she was.
“There's nothing to worry about. It's just a little crowded.” He gently squeezed her shoulder.
Laurel's stomach did a somersault. “I'm fine. I wasn't worried,” she lied.
“Good.”
Laurel glanced at the boat. “I wish we could board. I'd like to get started.”
“Everything's going to work out fine,” Adam said.
“That's not what you were saying last night.” Laurel shifted her tree and wished she could find a place to set it down.
“Sometimes I can be too cynical. You shouldn't listen to me all the time.” He smiled.
Laurel couldn't help but return the gesture. His intense blue eyes stared into hers, and he leaned close. Blushing, Laurel tried to step back, but there was nowhere for her to go. The crowd moved, and Adam was pushed against her. They were too close. Laurel couldn't look at him, so she searched the crowd. “I … I wonder where Robert is?”
“Can't help you there,” he said, his mouth forming a hard line. “Haven't seen him.”
Two men wearing white uniforms approached the top of the gangplank. One remained on deck, standing at the entrance, while the other ambled down the catwalk and opened the gate at the bottom. “All right, one person at a time, please,” he said, stepping aside while people boarded.
Passengers made their way up the footbridge, and Laurel felt an odd mix of relief at being freed from the mob and anxiety. With the seedling still in her arms, she walked up the gangplank.
Adam stepped in front of her. Walking backwards, camera pressed against his eye, he snapped a picture. “That'll be a good one.” Before Laurel could say anything, he turned and hurried up the catwalk.
Once on board Laurel walked to the railing and deposited the seedling on the wooden deck. Standing beside her mother, she shook her aching arms, leaned on the balustrade, and looked down on the docks. Families were still boarding. The more adventurous children raced ahead of their parents; the timid clung tightly to their hands. Hundreds of well-wishers stood on the pier, waving and yelling their good-byes.
Against her will, Laurel searched out Adam. She found him almost immediately. He was taking a photograph of a family. The oldest daughter was openly flirting with him. Laurel felt an uncomfortable resentment.
“We better get your things down to your quarters,” Will said, turning and steering Jean toward a porter. “Can you tell us where the women are staying?”
The man pointed at a nearby stairway. “Follow those down until you reach a landing with a sign and an arrow pointing toward the sleeping quarters. The arrows will show you the way.”
“We're not staying together?” Jean asked.
