Good or not, change was stressful, and Rosmerta was apprehensive as she disembarked from the vehicle. She walked up to the mission door and knocked tentatively. The door creaked, and a short, dark-haired woman appeared in the sliver that opened before her.
“Hello,” said Rosmerta. “You have a room waiting for me.”
“Who are you?”
“Rosmerta Bedrosian. Here, I have this.” She slid a letter of introduction from Mrs. Lincoln through the gap.
The woman read the letter and opened the door wider. “This way,” she said.
Rosmerta followed her to a small room just off the landing at the top of a flight of stairs. The woman turned and left without a word. Rosmerta collapsed on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately.
The first light of a new day streamed through the window and brought her back to the world. It was early—too early to bang around the mission house without waking everyone else. She was restless and she wanted to get started. She walked into the city and headed for the harbor. Her boat wasn’t leaving for another two days, but she wanted to know where it was docked.
Latakia was coming to life in the cool of the early morning air. The harbor was busier than the rest of the city. Fishermen start early. Several boats were already making their way past the sea wall to the fishing grounds. Bait and equipment were being loaded onto other boats that floated alongside the docks projecting out from the rocky shore. The boats were small, crewed by only a few men. There were none suitable for crossing an ocean.
Rosmerta decided she must be in the wrong place. She walked along the water’s edge until she came upon another group of docks that were populated with small row boats. The next quay was even smaller. Beyond it, Rosmerta saw a long dock stretching well out into the harbor. There were no boats there, but the dock was more substantial than anything else she’d seen so far. She approached the structure and found a large building with two ticket windows side by side. Even with the building being closed and the windows dark, this looked like the right place.
Confident that she knew where to board her ship, Rosmerta returned to the mission, anxious to get back before the heat of the afternoon. The door was locked, so she had to knock. The little woman peered out. “Well?”
“It’s me, madam. I am staying in the room upstairs.”
“We have no more room.” The door closed.
Rosmerta knocked again. A slight crack of the door and an eye appeared. “What do you want?”
“I’m Rosmerta. I spent last night here.”
“What are you doing out there?” The door opened just enough for Rosmerta to squeeze through. “Get back to your room.”
Rosmerta scurried upstairs and closed her door. It was hours before hunger overcame her anxiety and she slipped back out, looking for food. She was informed that breakfast was over and dinner would be served at 5:00.
Rosmerta returned to her room and waited for dinner. She would be glad to get out of this place.
When it was time to leave, the mission provided a guide to show Rosmerta to her boat. It was a good thing too, because the boat departed from the other end of the town. The areas of the harbor that Rosmerta had visited when she first arrived in Latakia were used only by a few small ferries and by local fishermen providing for their own families. The main commercial part of the harbor was much larger. There were navy vessels from England and large fishing vessels with heavy gear on deck. Rosmerta was set to sail on the HMS Olympia. The navy cruiser was over 300 feet long with a white hull and tan topsides that contrasted sharply with the red bottom paint. There were two tall smokestacks in the center of the ship and two even taller masts fore and aft. The Olympia had been converted to carry paying passengers after several years of fighting Germans on the high seas.
Olympia sailed from Syria to Portsmouth without incident. The sky was clear, and the seas were calm. Rosmerta arrived in England energized and optimistic about her future. Her mood changed shortly after departing from Portsmouth. The first day, it rained heavily. All the passengers had to remain below deck in their bunks. The slow rolling motion made Rosmerta queasy. That night, she was throwing up and couldn’t sleep. After a few rough days, she was finally getting used to the motion when they sailed into a massive storm.
Rosmerta wished they could go back to the slow rhythmic rise and fall of the North Atlantic swells. Instead, the Olympia was being thrashed about in short choppy seas. The ship seemed to be slamming into every wave on the ocean. With each impact, the old hull groaned ominously. Several times Rosmerta was certain they had hit the wave that would break the ship in half and send them all into the water.
The Olympia pushed through it all and kept sailing. After a long, uncomfortable six weeks of almost constant sickness, Rosmerta was relieved to feel the seas calm and see the sun come out over the New York City skyline.
They cruised past the Statue of Liberty and slid up against the docks of lower Manhattan. There was a flurry of activity as lines were tied and ramps installed. It seemed to take forever. The mood on board the Olympia was nervous but hopeful. Rosmerta noticed that she was shifting her weight back and forth from one leg to the other. She stopped her motion briefly, only to find that she was doing it again soon after.
Finally, a gate was lifted on the rail of the ship. On the upper deck, Rosmerta could see people from the first- and second-class cabins streaming off the boat. She went to the stairs only to find them blocked. None of her companions from the steerage area seemed to be concerned, so Rosmerta decided it must be okay. She went back to the rail to see the last few people of class leaving the boat. Some of them slowed down enough to make sure the crew knew what a lousy job they had done, or what a crappy boat they worked on, or otherwise complain about whatever nasty thing was offending their delicate sensibilities.
The crew rolled the gangway away from the ship. Lines were released and the boat drifted away from the dock. Rosmerta’s heart raced. What was happening? She was supposed to get off in New York. Olympia steamed to an area in the center of the harbor where other boats were moored. This is where they spent the night.
Rosmerta was too excited to get much sleep. She had traveled so far and was so close. What would happen in the morning? Would they let her in? This question had never occurred to her before. Why did it torment her now? Uncle Margos said he had everything organized, but what if he had missed something? She couldn’t go back to Turkey. She knew that. In any case, it would all get resolved tomorrow.