Masquerade by Nancy Moser Page A

Father told me guests are allowed on board for the two hours before sailing.”
    “So your mother and father could have come to see us off?”
    “They have enough to deal with at home. Besides, they wouldn’t want to spend the train fare to Liverpool and back. And lodging.”
    “So what do we do now?” Dora asked.
    “I suppose we go to the railing and wave our good-byes.”
    “To whom?”
    Lottie thought a moment. “To England.” She extended a hand toward the door. “Shall we, Miss Connors?”

    As the ship began to pull away, the dock swarmed with well-wishers, waving hats and handkerchiefs to the passengers lining the rails of the ship. Lottie marveled at how high she and Dora were from the ground, as if God had lifted them up to carry them across the sea.
    “ Arrivederci, Paolo!” came a voice from a lower deck.
    Holding on to the railing, Lottie leaned forward to look at the decks below. There were at least two levels beneath the one for firstclass passengers. The people waving from these decks were dressed in simple dark-colored clothing, the women with kerchiefs covering their hair and babies swaddled in shawls tied across their chests. They looked poor.
    Dora must have seen the direction of her gaze. “There are ever so many, aren’t there?”
    “Who are they? And why are they going to America?”
    Dora offered her an incredulous look. “Haven’t you heard about the thousands of people emigrating to the United States from all over Europe?”
    Why would she know such things? “Why do they go?”
    “For different reasons. They flee poverty or persecution or politics. Or maybe they simply seek adventure.”
    The decks below were crowded compared to the spaciousness of the first-class deck. “I’m very glad they are down there and not up here with us.”
    Her statement brought another look from Dora, this one less gracious. “They’ll not bite, you know.”
    Lottie felt herself redden. “I’m sorry if they make me uncomfortable. I can’t help it if I’ve never been around such people. Mother and Father protected me from the baser elements.”
    “Perhaps they protected you too much.”
    It was a concession she might have to make. The world Lottie had known was tightly guarded, with high walls that prevented the entry of disparate persons. And yet they had also prevented Lottie from any knowledge of their existence. The village of Lacock, nearest her family’s home, had provided her knowledge of people of lesser means, but not the mean issues of their existence.
    Dora nodded at the crowd below. “I admire them.”
    “Admire?”
    “It takes courage to flee the known and step toward the unknown.” She looked at Lottie. “Sometimes I wonder what we are fleeing.”
    Fleeing? It was a strange word to contemplate. Unlike the emigrants, Lottie was not fleeing poverty, persecution, or politics. Her life in Wiltshire had been rife with advantage.
    Had been rife.
    The full consequences of her family’s downfall were still unknown. Even if she’d stayed behind, her life would have changed. Her parents had mentioned they would be moving elsewhere to start again. Lottie shuddered at the notion. It was as if they were retreating in shame.
    Shame. Was that what Lottie was fleeing? She’d experienced enough of that already. The memories of her party still smarted and elicited sadness and anger. From that day until this one, not a single friend had come calling to say their good-byes or express their regret. How odd it was to realize that a lifetime of friends had turned out to be nothing more than acquaintances. What a waste.
    Her own inability to recognize the shallow nature of these friends disturbed her. Did Lottie own the ability to identify true friendship? And if she didn’t know how to have a true friend, did she know how to be one?
    She glanced at Dora, waving at the crowd on the docks below. They were traveling as friends. Although Lottie had always considered them as such, the truth was