SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Seven

"I cannot believe I lost to yeh," Tommy declared, shaking his head as I collected the winnings--a few bills, some cigarettes, and a button. Really, I have no idea who presented the button or even why they had it or even why any of us agreed that it was adequate for winnings, but still, it was something to flaunt.

"I told you," Jack said in a long-suffering voice. "She does that every time."

"It is pazzo," Fabrizio added, looking somewhat put out.

"Aw, come on, Fabri." I laughed, leaving the winnings in a pile. Everyone was going to take their things back anyway—the betting pool was all for show. "Come dance with me!"

"What is it with you and dancing?" Jack asked as I pulled Fabrizio up out of his seat.

"Women love dancing," Tommy said seriously. "It’s mad. Once they learn, they don’t stop. They always want to dance. They—"

"I get it, Tommy," I said, snatching his hat as I passed him. He whirled around to try and catch it, but I was quicker. "Fabri, catch!"

Fabrizio fumbled with it for a moment before lunging it at Olaus, who caught it with the hand not holding a beer. Olaus must have figured out what was going on, either because Bjorn was shouting at him or because Tommy was making a beeline for him. Either way, he tossed it to some random man dancing by. Tommy’s battered bowler hat was soon passed to nearly everyone in the dining room. Fabrizio and I giggled ourselves silly as we danced around the room, evading Tommy’s wrath and watching him try and get his hat back.

"Oi, that’s me bloody hat!" he howled as Jim Farrell, one of Tommy’s roommates, caught the hat and spun away with Katie Murphy, who was laughing so hard she could hardly dance. Even Cora caught the hat at one point, darting under arms and between dancers. The hat finally came back to me, and Tommy nearly tackled me to get it.

"That’s quite enough of that," he said triumphantly when he had finally pried the hat loose, putting it firmly back on his head. Then he gave me a rather disturbing look. "Yer in fer it now."

"No!" I shrieked, running. Many people began to laugh at me, which I thought unfair, considering that they had been laughing at Tommy’s expense and applauding me only moments before. Tommy chased me all the way up to the poop deck, where he finally caught me from behind and told me that if I were his sister, he would spank me, but as it was, he would just "let me off with a warning."

"Oi, it’s after hours, it is! Get back down below!" a crewman snapped at us.

Snorting, we returned to the party, where it seemed that everyone had forgotten about the hat incident. Jack, Fabrizio, Bjorn, and Olaus had all started up a game of poker, which Tommy joined in on. Seeing as how I was always terrible at it, I sat and watched for a few dances until I started to get restless again. Jack must have noticed my fidgeting, for a moment later he said, "Look, Ang, if you’re so bored, go dance."

"There’s no one to dance with," I pouted.

"I ain’t doin’ it again," Tommy declared.

"I am actually winning!" Fabrizio said excitedly, giggling to himself. "I am not a-getting up until I a-win the whole game!"

The Swedes looked as if they had no intention of moving any time soon, so I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Dancing isn’t all that bad, you know," I muttered. "It’s fun. It’s better than poker, anyway."

"Angie."

"What?"

"Please shut up."

"But I’m bored! I want to dance!" I said to Jack, knowing I sounded extremely childish but determined to impress my sentiments upon him.

After a moment, I felt a tentative poke in my back. I turned around to see a small boy standing meekly behind me. "Um…excuse me, miss, but…would you, would you dance with me?"

I beamed. "Well, of course I will!"

He grinned shyly as little children are prone to do as I took his hand and walked out to the dance floor. He awkwardly put his right hand on my hip and took my right hand with his left. I led, of course; I don’t think he had ever danced before. He had probably only just watched, poor thing.

"And what’s your name?" I asked.

"Timmy. Timmy McFarland," he said. I had to lean down to hear him over the noise, but I could hear a slight Irish lilt to his voice.

"I’m Angie Marshall," I returned. "Is this your first dance, Timmy?"

He nodded. "Yessum."

"Then I’ll show you what to do."

I had to change things around a little bit, but soon I was spinning and twirling Timmy all over the place. The kid loved it; he laughed out loud and begged for more. Finally, he declared that he was too tired to move, so I settled him against my hip.

"Where’s your family, Timmy?"

He looked around sullenly for a moment and then pointed hesitantly over to a table in the corner. "That’s where Mommy and Nora are. But we don’t have to go over there."

Ah. So he had given them the slip. "Well, I’d like to meet them," I said, heading for that table. Nora was a little older than Timmy, red-headed and speckled in freckles. Her feet were dangling from her chair as she clapped in time to the music. Mrs. McFarland was a red-headed woman covered in freckles who looked rather stern. For a moment, I was afraid she would chastise her son for running off.

"Timmy!" she exclaimed, standing up. "Where did yeh go?!"

"I was dancing, Mommy," he mumbled, not looking at all happy that he had been found out.

"Hello," I interjected, smiling in what I hoped was a winning manner. "I was dancing with your son."

Mrs. McFarland’s sternness immediately faded into an apologetic expression. "I’m so sorry! Was he bothering yeh?"

I shook my head quickly, setting Timmy down. "Oh, no, not at all! We’ve had lots of fun, haven’t we, Timmy?"

Timmy nodded fervently, obviously hoping I could get him out of trouble with his mother.

Mrs. McFarland smiled. "I’m glad. Kathleen McFarland."

"Angie Marshall," I returned, taking her outstretched hand.

"This is my daughter, Nora," Kathleen McFarland continued, resting a hand on her daughter’s orange hair. I waved at Nora, who shyly waved back. It’s cute how little children are so shy until they get to know you. Then they tell you more than you needed to know. "Well," Kathleen went on, "it’s about time I put these two in bed. It was nice meeting yeh, Angie."

"You too, Mrs. McFarland."

She rolled her eyes as she began to shepherd her children away. "Please, Mrs. McFarland is me mother-in-law! Call me Kathleen or I’ll start calling yeh Miss Marshall!"

I laughed. "If you say so."

Timmy waved at me before he was lost in a tangle of legs. I smiled to myself and returned to the table, where it appeared that Tommy had won the poker game.

"Who was your sweetheart there, Angie?" Jack teased as he dealt out the cards for another game.

"Ha, ha. His name is Timmy and he’s adorable," I said sincerely, already starting to feel bored. I hated poker. A part of me thinks that the whole reason they were playing it was because I couldn’t play and would probably be out of their way. I was the annoying kid who tagged along where she wasn’t wanted. It was even worse that I was a girl surrounded by men—I pouted just to let them know how much I disliked the situation.

Bjorn stood up then and said something to me in Swedish, holding out his hand. He jerked his head towards the dancers as he talked and I realized he was asking me to dance. I beamed and popped up, taking his hand and allowing him to lead the way to where the other dancers were already spinning.

"Doesn’t she ever sit still?" I heard Tommy ask as we walked away.

As I’ve said before, Bjorn is a wonderful dancer. I laughed and giggled as he spun me around every which way, all the while gabbling in Swedish. He even dipped me once, much to my delight. Since we had come in during the middle of that dance, we went on dancing for the second and third dances. By the time the band struck up a fourth tune, we were both tired and retreated back to the table, where Fabrizio had won the poker game.

"Now that she’s good and tired, let’s see if Angie will win at blackjack," Jack suggested, giving me a fiendish look.

"Vad?" Bjorn asked, which I had figured out earlier that night meant "what?"

"Blackjack!" I shouted over the noise. Of course we had to get a table near the band so that we couldn’t hear a blasted thing.

He nodded eagerly, ready to play.

I actually lost this round. Tommy came away the victor, and boy did he let me have it.

"Excuse me, but I just got back from dancing all night, so I’m a little tired!" I argued, knowing it was futile as Tommy whooped and Jack and Fabrizio clapped his back in congratulations. I think Bjorn tried to console me, but of course I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, so his efforts were in vain.

By now the fellas were tired of playing cards, so we sat and watched those who still had the energy to dance. I nearly fell asleep at the table, so exhausted was I from dancing. It was a relief when Bert tapped me on the shoulder, a sleeping Cora in his arms and her head lying on his shoulder. I yawned the entire way back to the Cartmells’ cabin and I was so tired that I don’t even remember getting into bed, but I must have, for the next morning I was in it, wearing my nightgown.

"Coo, we stayed out late last night," Emmy remarked, yawning widely.

"Is Bert gone already?" I asked, yawning as well and scratching the back of my head.

"Yes; he’s always been an early riser." Emmy yawned again, shaking Cora, who was still asleep. "Cora, love, it’s time to get up."

"Mmphbug," Cora mumbled. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like.

I climbed down from my warm and comfortable bed, rummaging through my bag for some clothes. "What time is it?" I asked, yawning again.

"I have no idea." Emmy yawned. Was it just me, or were we only talking in yawns? She shook Cora again, less gently than before. "Cora, love, wake up."

Cora sat up and yawned as well before stumbling out of bed. It took the combined efforts of both Emmy and I to dress her, but finally we were all ready and we ambled wearily into the dining saloon for breakfast. Jack and Fabrizio had opted to sit at one of the long tables with Tommy, Bjorn, Olaus, and Bert, so we joined them there. Their eyes were slightly bloodshot and there were marks on their faces where they had laid their faces on their pillows and the pillows had left funny creases, but I’m sure I didn’t look much better, so I refrained from teasing them.

As none of us had anything special to do that day, we accepted an invitation from Jim Farrell to go watch the first and second class passengers on the poop deck. You see, for some reason, the upper classes seemed to find watching steerage passengers an amusing way to spend their days. Personally, I don’t see what’s so interesting; we were all dressed in tatty clothes and watching the children play games. But they goggled at us as if we were creatures in a zoo. So, we decided to return the favor and stare at them. I found that they didn’t like this so well.

We reached the poop deck at about ten o’clock, giving us two hours until lunchtime. We congregated around the space of deck just below the second class deck so that the first class passengers would have a clear view of us and we of them. While the Cartmells took a stroll around the deck, Jack, Fabrizio, Tommy, Jim Farrell, and I all pointed rudely at the first class passengers, acting as if they couldn’t see us. Some of them, the older ladies in particular, seemed extremely ruffled by this.

"Lucille, do you see those common people down below? I do think they’re ogling me!" one particularly snobby lady asked her companion loudly.

I nudged Jack and Tommy--for they were on either side of me--and said in a very loud voice with an extremely over-exaggerated English accent, "Oh, my, I think those ladies are staring at us! How ghastly!"

"Shocking, that is," Tommy said as seriously as he could, his ever-present cigarette twitching as he tried not to laugh out loud at the ladies’ stunned expressions.

We imitated their voices for awhile afterwards until they finally said, "What nerve!" and stalked off, their noses so high in the air I feared they would walk into something. It vaguely occurred to me that they could have left much sooner, but I think they were trying to make us leave first, considering we were their "inferiors." Obviously, it did not work the way they had wished it to. Gradually, more and more first class passengers appeared; it seemed that many of them liked to sleep in. Not that I was accusing them of anything; I had roused unwillingly that morning, and later than I normally did.

The sea air had once again made us hungry, so at twelve o’clock, we adjourned back to the dining saloon. The McFarlands were sitting at a table already, and Timmy anxiously waved me over. We were soon joined by the Gundersons and the Cartmells. We were quite the group—talking and laughing in different accents and, in the Gundersons’ case, different languages. I noticed Fabrizio eyeing the blonde girl from the night before as she passed with her parents, and I would have said something had Jim not chosen that moment to ask me if it was true that I had choked on a cigarette the night before.

After successfully bruising Tommy’s arm, I finished my lunch and went with the Cartmells to lie down for an hour or two. The party from the night before had worn me out, and the sea air didn’t help at all. Luckily, all four of us felt extremely refreshed after our hour-long nap. Emmy insisted on staying to fix her hair; it had been mashed as she slept. I stayed with her and did the same, more out of politeness than because I was too concerned about my appearance, while Bert and Cora went off to the public room.

I had passed by the public room one or two times, but I had never actually gone into it. It was the brightest room in the third class area, or so a kindly steward had told me. Speaking of stewards, although we steerage passengers did have our own stewards, we had less than the other classes and very few of them were patient with us. So far I had counted several different stewards, and I suspected that there were more that I hadn’t seen and probably never would see. Stewardesses very rarely came down to us; they were normally stuffing women into whalebone and pinning up their hair and drawing baths. I should know; that’s all I ever did at the hotel. I had tidied up more women than I had rooms.

But I digress. The public room, from what I had seen, was full of wooden benches and had a few tables off to the sides. There was even a piano, for I had heard someone plunking around on it earlier. The smoking room, according to Tommy--of course, he had already been there--was very similar in design, but the smoking room was carpeted, dimmer than the public room, and had more tables and individual chairs than the public room. Typically women and children frequented the public room more than men, so Jack, Fabrizio, and Tommy had not yet visited it as well.

When Emmy and I finally deemed our appearances satisfactory, we set off for the public room. She laughed that she had never walked so much in all her life ever since she had boarded the Titanic—apparently, she had only ever walked to the market once a week in Manchester. I sheepishly admitted that I had walked for most of my life; that is, the life I remember. I might have had a car in Pacific Grove, for all I know. But Emmy was quite interested to hear that I had almost always been on my feet when Jack, Fabrizio, and I weren’t sneaking aboard trains.

Bert and Cora were, thankfully, sitting near the end of a bench that left some room for Emmy and me. Someone was noodling around on the piano and the whole room was buzzing with conversation in several different languages and accents. Bert and Emmy were content just to talk about nothing in particular, but Cora and I were restless, so I took her hand and we walked around the room. The McFarlands were sitting in the opposite corner as the Cartmells, which is why I hadn’t initially seen them. Cora and Nora were delighted to find that their names rhymed and immediately began to make their dolls play with each other. This didn’t suit Timmy too well; he begged and begged his mother to take him topside.

"I can take him," I offered. "I’m not one for sitting down."

Kathleen smiled. "If yeh don’t mind…"

"Not at all," I assured her. In truth, I was eager to get going—while the public room was lovely and all, the deck was by far more interesting. So, after Kathleen had instructed Timmy to keep his hat and coat on and to stay close to "Miss Angie" and to listen to her, the two of us were free. I stopped to inform the Cartmells that I had not abandoned their daughter—she was just playing with another girl in the other corner. The Cartmells, being the lovely people they were, said that that was fine and for me to have fun. Really, they were such nice people!

There was a set of stairs going right from the public room to the deck, so it was not long before we were in the salt-tinged fresh air. Timmy took my hand and ran around the deck, pointing out various clouds of steam from the funnels and seamen going about their duties and first class ladies in their impossibly large hats. It was a wonder that they ever found hatboxes to accommodate those things, but no lady would ever purchase a hat that did not have a box, so it must have been possible.

It was not long before Timmy paused in the middle of the poop deck and suddenly pointed, an action I was growing steadily more accustomed to. "Aren’t those the men you were sitting with last night?"

I looked up to where he was blatantly pointing and saw that Jack was indeed sketching something while Tommy was talking to Fabrizio, his cigarette in his mouth again. It occurred to me that the only times he had ever been without it was the one time we had danced and when he ate; other than those, he was never without it. Timmy was more than happy to go visit with them; he had already done everything he wanted, including romping with some of the dogs that a patient steward had been walking.

"We wondered where you’d gone," Jack said by way of greeting.

"Who’s this?" Tommy asked, nodding at an uncharacteristically silent Timmy.

"This is Timmy McFarland," I said proudly, displaying the little boy. "Timmy, this is Tommy." Tommy flicked his cigarette. Lovely. "Jack." Jack smiled, returning to his sketch immediately. "And Fabrizio." Fabrizio was by far the kindest; he shook Timmy’s hand, which delighted the little boy to no end. "What are you drawing?" I asked Jack, leaning back against the railing while Timmy asked Fabrizio if he was an Egyptian.

"No, no, I am Italian," Fabrizio explained, smiling. This wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken Fabrizio for another nationality; he had been called an Egyptian, Greek, Armenian, Hispanic, and even an Indian.

"O-o-o-o-oh," Timmy said, regarding Fabrizio with something like awe. Italians were generally said to be untrustworthy thieves, so Timmy seemed to find it incredible that such a nice man was an Italian.

"I’m drawing those girls right there," Jack answered me, jerking his head towards where two girls who had to be sisters were sitting by the railing, their legs poking through the rungs so that they were dangling over the sea and their arms resting on the bars of the railing. They were chatting away happily in what I think was French.

"So, is this where you’ve been this whole time?" I asked, flapping away the smoke from Tommy’s cigarette. He smirked and dragged on his cigarette again.

"Pretty much," Jack said absentmindedly, shading in their shawls.

"Where have you been?" Tommy asked me.

I pushed a curl out of my face; despite the fact that Emmy and I had redone our hair just over an hour ago, running around on a windy deck with a little boy is bound to make one’s hair fall down. "I went with the Cartmells back to the cabin for an hour, and then we went to the public room. Then I found Timmy and we came up here."

Tommy, deciding his cigarette was no longer satisfactory, flicked it into the ocean and lit up a new one. "What were yeh doin’ in a cabin fer an hour?"

I hesitated, which caused Jack and Fabrizio to look up as well. I was turning red; admitting that I, Angie Marshall, had taken a nap like a child was like a man admitting he enjoyed women’s fashions; his--or in this case, my--friends would take the mickey out of him--or me--for it.

"Well? What were you doing, Angie?" Jack asked.

I fiddled with a button on my coat. "I was taking a nap," I mumbled.

The lads exchanged smirks. Damn them.

"Aww, was widdle Angie sweepy?" Jack asked in a rather annoying baby-voice.

I groaned. "I was tired. And besides, it got me away from you lot for awhile."

A chorus of "oohs" came up at this last comment.

"Aw, lass, that hurts," Tommy said in a voice that suggested it did nothing of the kind, clutching his chest as if pained.

"Sometimes Mommy makes me take a nap," Timmy piped up.

The others bit back snorts, turning away so that they wouldn’t catch each other’s eyes and burst out laughing. I was not amused.

"Come on, Timmy; let’s get back to the public room," I suggested, beginning to shepherd him away.

"But why?" he asked, thoroughly confused that we were leaving so soon.

"Um…I’m cold," I lied. In fact, I was quite the opposite; the lads’ laughter at my expense was making me flush with indignity. But I didn’t want to be laughed at any longer, so Timmy gallantly escorted me back to the public room. I say "gallantly" because he took it in his stride, trying to take my elbow like the gentlemen of first class did and trotting back to the public room. When we got there, Kathleen apologized and said that it was time for the children to have a lie-down.

"But I don’t want to go!" Timmy protested, his lower lip jutting out most unattractively.

"Yeh’ll go if yeh want to stay for the party tonight," his mother warned.

Timmy sighed loudly in a very annoyed manner before waving good-bye to me and slouching off after his mother and prim-and-proper sister. Cora was still there, and she and I returned to her parents.

"How is it outside?" Bert asked genially as we sat down.

I thought for a moment. "Windy," I finally decided. "It’s lovely out, if you can avoid the wind."

He nodded happily. "Yes, yes, I heard it was supposed to be excellent weather. You know, I’ve even heard speculation that we might make it into the harbor on Tuesday night instead of Wednesday morning!"

I raised my eyebrows. "Are we really going that fast?"

He nodded. "So the steward says."

The stewards were generally experts in this area, so I took his word for it. At dinnertime, we were reunited with the three lads, whose hair was tousled from the wind and their cheeks somewhat red. Just as the last of the plates were being cleared away, Eugene Daly and his motley ensemble gathered together in the corner. His bagpipes flared to life just as the drum began to pound away and several bows went up in unison, playing upon well-tuned strings. My feet began to tap at once. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around.

"May I have this dance?"

Chapter Eight
Stories