“But now, Meg, get down the cups. Coffee’s on the stove as it always was in the galleys.”
Florence smiled. She was liking this. Here she was finding contrast. She thought of the richly appointed Opera House where at this moment Jeanne haunted the boxes; then she glanced about her and smiled again.
She recalled the irrepressible Meg as she had seen her, a bronze statue against the sky, and resolved to know more of her.
As they sat dreaming over their coffee cups, Aunt Bobby began to speak of the romance of other days and to dispense with unstinting hand rich portions from her philosophy.
“Forty years I lived on ships, child.” She sighed deeply. “Forty years! I’ve sailed on big ones and small ones, wind-jammers and steamers. Some mighty fine ones and some not so fine. Mostly I signed on freighters because I loved them best of all. They haul and carry.
“They’re sort of human, ships are.” She cupped her chin in her hands to stare dreamily at the fire. “Sort of like folks, ships are. Some are slim and pretty and not much use except just to play around when the water’s sparklin’ and the sun shines bright. That’s true of folks and ships alike. And I guess it’s right enough. We all like pretty things.
“But the slow old freighter, smelling of bilge and tar, she’s good enough for me. She’s like the most of us common workers, carrying things, doing the things that need to be done, moving straight on through sunshine and storm until the task is completed and the work is done.
“Yes, child, I’ve sailed for forty years. I’ve watched the moon paint a path of gold over waters blacker than the night. I’ve heard the ice screaming as it ground against our keel, and I’ve tossed all night in a storm that promised every minute to send us to the bottom. Forty years, child, forty years!” The aged woman’s voice rose high and clear like the mellow toll of a bell at midnight. “Forty years I’ve felt the pitch and toss, the swell and roll beneath me. And now this!” She spread her arms wide.
“The ground beneath my feet, a roof over my head.
“But not for long, child. Not for long. A few months now, and a million pairs of feet will tramp past the spot where you now stand. What will these people see? Not the cathedral, as Meg will call it, nothing half as grand.