Free Crossing on the Paris by Dana Gynther

town about ten kilometers from Le Havre, and they had attended the same training course. Her hair was thin and mousy, her skin blemished, and her smile was drawn tight to hide missing teeth. Accordingly, she had been assigned to work in steerage.
    Relieved to see someone she recognized, Julie offered her a shy wave. As plain as Simone was, she was talkative and outgoing and, during the course, she was usually found holding court in the center of a group of girls.
    â€œHello there,” Simone said, joining Julie at the wall. “Aren’t you from Le Havre? Didn’t we do our training together?”
    â€œThat’s right. I’m Julie Vernet,” she said, returning Simone’s four kisses. “You’re Simone, aren’t you? Is this your first assignment too?”
    â€œYes! Don’t you love it? Though, I must admit, I was disappointed when they told me I’d be working down here. I wanted to hobnob with the rich and famous in first class!” Her lips stretched into a closemouthed grin. “And you? What do you think?”
    â€œWell, to tell you the truth, I’m having a hard time so far,” Julie answered. “I’ve never been on a ship before and I feel just awful. I keep having to rush off to the toilets, but I’m trying to hide it from Madame Tremblay. What a nightmare! And pretty soon we’ll beserving dinner—garlic soup and rabbit? God, I hope the passengers can keep it down!”
    â€œYou’re not kidding! I’ve cleaned up enough throw-up for one day,” she said, rolling her eyes, then remembered Julie too was unwell. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re feeling bad.”
    â€œAnd you? What’s your secret?” Julie asked, slightly hopeful.
    â€œNo secret. I guess it never even occurred to me that my life here wouldn’t be perfect,” she said with a shrug, then glanced down at her watch. “Already half past four? It’s time to start setting up the dining room.”
    Julie groaned as they set off down the metal corridor. There, they ran into four other girls heading toward the steerage kitchens and they fell into step. Simone, who had already met them, began talking enthusiastically to everyone at once.
    â€œHave you been in the kitchens yet?” Simone asked, her eyes wide with excitement. “Have you ever seen so much food in your life? And the portions served up—even here in third class! When I think of all the rationing during the war . . . The seagulls following this ship eat better than we did!”
    The other girls nodded and laughed; Julie tried to smile despite her nausea. She had overheard the purser and cooks discussing the astonishing quantities of food needed for the five-day voyage: twenty-five tons of beef, ten tons of fish, five tons of bacon and ham, eighty thousand eggs . . . The higher up on the ship, the more food the passengers consumed. Since the launch that morning, she herself had only been able to eat some dry toast. How people were tempted into gluttony aboard a moving vessel was beyond her.
    The girls gathered the white tablecloths from the linen closet, covered the long tables, then sat down to begin their premeal task of folding napkins. Julie listened to the chatter around her—Simone leading discussions on the amenities in first class, the wonders of New York, the best-looking crew members—and, although she said very little, she was happy to be a part of the group. Wishing she feltbetter, Julie picked up a napkin and twisted it into kinks and knots: an echo of her insides.

    Vera could see the soft cliffs of the Isle of Wight out her cabin window; the ship was cruising toward the Solent and the port town of Southampton. There they would dock for an hour, collect passengers and mail, then set out for America in earnest. She put on her coat and grabbed her cane.
    â€œBibi,” she murmured, attaching the leash to the dog’s