Spunk. Pure spunk.
Phillip watched Miss de la Pointe—Adele—take one last glance ashore and had been ready to offer any encouragement she needed, but she stepped aboard with no other hesitation, determination and resolve clear in her confident strides.
And—was that...a skip in her step?
He followed behind, the gas lights in the short tunnel jiggling and flaring as if picking up her energy and amplifying it.
Blood rushed to his groin as visions of her in his arms assailed him—he’d lost control. So passionate she was. So open. To join with her completely—he inhaled sharply, picturing it. What would it be like to experience her excitement, her energy, her wonder, as he moved in her? He ached to know—but such was not possible unless he married her. He knew now, Charlotte’s plight or no, he wished to make her his wife.
His first priority then was to make himself indispensable and to find ways to be always at her side. He had the perfect excuse—she needed a bodyguard after all.
He also would need to open himself up more, relax, and engage her in discussions, reveal himself more. Perhaps let this dashing nature she seemed to enjoy manifest itself more fully. It seemed to sit more comfortably on his skin.
Then he stepped into the dappled sunlight inside the submersible and gasped. He craned his head, drinking in details. The brass struts comprising the glass dome gleamed, glinting here and there from the sunlight. He stood on a wide, blue-marbled promenade, with the upper two decks stepped back and overlooking the whole. Lush potted palms accented nooks and crannies, and chirping brass canaries flew overhead, trailing colorful ribbons and dropping blue confetti.
A man approached, his white uniform starched and crisp and sporting a blue armband the same shade as the gleaming floor and confetti. He bowed. “Welcome to The Neptune and the start of your amazing journey. I am Pierre and one of the many guides on board. You’ll know us by our armbands. Our sole purpose is to assist you in any way possible and help make your experience the best it can be.”
Phillip paid only half a mind as their luggage was sorted and porters carried them to their respective rooms. Meanwhile, Pierre pointed out highlights and the approximate locations of such public rooms as a Turkish bath, a library, a pool, and a billiards room. When Pierre began talking ship specifications, Phillip perked up.
“As you can see, the whole is covered in a glass dome. It is industrial grade and has been tested to withstand pressure far greater than what we’ll face.”
“So it is a submarine?” Phillip asked. “This whole ship will submerge?”
Pierre beamed. “Indeed it will. While we’re in port, it will act like a regular steam-powered ship. Once we reach the deeper waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the smoke stacks you see running alongside the elevators will lower and seal themselves shut, and we will submerge and convert to a combination hydro-electric power.”
Phillip cast an anxious glance at Adele, wondering how she was handling being on a submarine again. She gave him a smile. One less person to worry about then, for the moment. He’d also satisfied himself on Charlotte’s well-being by telephoning Louise during one of their appointed times to let her know his travel plans and to check on Charlotte. All was well, thankfully.
“What about if we run aground or spring a leak?” asked Mrs. Rochon. Adele’s great-aunt emphasized her point by tapping the end of her parasol on the deck.
Phillip winced and glanced at Adele, whose face looked a little whiter but otherwise gave no indication she was about to panic.
“We have enough life rafts on board for every single passenger and crew if the worst happened.”
“What if that happens while we’re under water?” Adele asked, her voice steady.
“The rafts are miniature submersibles, each capable of holding fifty-seven passengers and crew.”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied by his assurance. Relief washed through Phillip. All in all, a sound ship, and he looked forward to experiencing more. And experiencing it with Adele.
Adele fingered the edge of a detailed map of the Gulf of Mexico spread atop the captain’s table and marshalled her feelings while they waited the captain’s arrival. Her camera and recording equipment lay at her feet.
After boarding, she’d had no time to stop and collect her thoughts. No sooner had she been shown their cabin than they’d been summoned by the captain. It was all so overwhelming—the submersible, her new assignment and responsibilities, her conflicting feelings on Rawley and the threat he posed.
Rawley approached the table and picked up a brass weight. “These must be our planned stops.”
Adele focused on the weights. Indeed, amongst the smaller weights holding down the corners, and others marking different spots, four larger weights marked their ports of call: Mobile, Tampa, Havana, Cancun.
The door opened behind them, and in walked a man in his late fifties, salt and pepper hair in tight curls on his head. Sharp cheekbones accented his black skin. His uniform was more ornate than the others they’d seen.
“Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’m Captain Trimble, at your service.” He bowed. “One of you is Miss de la Pointe, I presume?”
“That would be me.” She curtseyed. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. This is my chaperone, Mrs. Linette Rochon.” She motioned to the room’s far side where her great-aunt had become engrossed in the books and now stepped to the table. “And this is a friend of ours, Dr. Phillip Rawley.”
“A pleasure. A pleasure. So. Mr. Tonti has apprised you of your assignment?”
“Yes. With your permission, I’d like to record your speech at launch and take pictures.”
He clapped his hands and rubbed them. “Splendid.”
She felt a little out of her depth, but after Molly had left last night, Adele had come up with a rough plan for how to approach this story and stay flexible enough for unexpected discoveries. “I know now is not an ideal time, but I would also like to set up a time to interview you, get your background, and discuss notable features of the ship and the voyage, that kind of thing.”
“Of course. I’m at your disposal after we launch. And please, let me know if we can accommodate you in any way.”
“May I interview passengers?”
“Certainly, if they have no objection.” He headed toward the door of his cabin. “I suppose we better get downstairs for the big event.”
They followed the captain down to the second level, overlooking the promenade, and to a roped off area containing a speaker’s box and horn. A crowd milled below.
“What do you need us to do?” Rawley asked Adele.
She directed them as needed, and soon she had her camera set up at an angle that would work. She’d have preferred getting more of the captain’s face, but since she couldn’t set her camera up past the balcony rail, she’d have to be content with his profile. Luckily, it was a strong one.
Next, they set up the Edison Recorder on its tripod on the other side of the captain, Loki assisting in its setup, and she placed Rawley there to manage it, quickly showing him the controls. Her great-aunt, complaining of fatigue and declaring Adele was in no danger of losing her virtue at such a public gathering, left for their cabin and a nap.
Soon the hour of their departure was upon them. Horns blared from the pier and a shout went up. Adele hustled to that side to see. Waving spectators and children sitting on their fathers’ shoulders lined the river. She gave a quick wave and went back to her camera.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The captain’s voice, assisted by the large horn, carried over the crowd on the deck below. Instantly the passengers stilled and conversations stopped.
“Today we embark not only on a new ship, the likes of which has not been seen before, but also on a new chapter in man’s ingenuity and endeavor,” he continued. “This vessel can trace its history back to the C.S.S. Hunley, constructed right here in this very harbor. Though it was built to defeat the federal government in the Civil War, Lincoln, in his infinite wisdom, looked to each city in the South to see what industry could be fostered to assist in the Long Road to Healing, otherwise known as Pax Lincolnia.
“For Mobile, it was shipbuilding, but more specifically, the submarine. Since then, we have become leaders in our fine country, and this ship is but the latest in the line of submarines we have devised.”
The captain continued with his welcome speech, while Adele captured picture after picture and Loki handed her photographic plates. She made sure, using the second hand on her watch, to acquire a wide range of exposure times. She glanced up to where Rawley stood with the Recorder. He gave a thumbs-up.
The crowd erupted in a cheer at something the captain said, and he was about to swing the bottle of champagne. She positioned her camera and timed a shot for when the bottle hit the side.
Another cheer went up at the shattering of glass. Ship horns blared and caused an answering cheer from the crowd on the river, muted by distance and the glass dome. Everyone moved to the shore side of the ship and waved frantically. Adele picked her camera up by the tripod legs, carried it to that side, and exposed a couple shots of the crowd at the river and of the crowd pressed against the glass.
The energy washed over her, feeding her own excitement. This was going to be a trip to remember. She spun around to wave at Rawley, and her hand, half-way up, dropped to her side. A crimson blush suffused Rawley’s face, for she’d caught him staring at her behind.
A fuzzy warmth tickled her belly. It would be a trip to remember, if she could remember to keep her distance, that is.