SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Eight

Well, actually, it was Bjorn, so it came out more like, "May I heff dis dance?" But still, I was thrilled to hear my native tongue come out of his mouth.

"You can speak English!" I exclaimed, both pleased and trying to comprehend the situation at the same time.

He shrugged, a confused smile on his face, and pointed to Jack. He raised his beer glass, grinning broadly, and took a swig out of it. I grinned at Jack and then hopped up to my feet and took Bjorn’s hand, following him to the center of the floor. We were one of the first couples to start dancing, so for the first dance, we had plenty of room to move around and generally do as we pleased. After a few dances, everyone began to crowd onto the floor. We made our way back to the table, where Jack and Fabrizio were cheering Tommy, who was having an arm-wrestling match with Olaus.

"Get him, Olaus!" I shouted as Bjorn cheered on his cousin in their own tongue.

"Yeh bloody traitor!" Tommy exclaimed. I’m sure he was joking, but it was difficult to tell as his face was screwed up. I laughed and cheered anyway as Tommy’s hand slowly pushed down Olaus’. Bjorn said something and Olaus grinned, getting out of his seat and letting Bjorn take his place.

"Are yeh bloomin’ jokin’?" Tommy asked in disbelief as Bjorn held out his hand, obviously ready to arm-wrestle.

"What, you’re not weak, are you, Tommy?" a lot of us asked, laughing as he scowled once more. He dropped his cigarette on the floor and ground it in with his toe. He took Bjorn’s hand and they began to grapple. I cheered for both of them—Tommy when he was victorious and Bjorn when he was victorious. I think most of the others were doing the same—after all, they had certainly been on my side the night before when I had taken Tommy’s hat, but they were on his side when he began to chase me. Even Cora joined us, watching in avid interest as Jack let her stand in front of him to see better.

When Bjorn won--Tommy was a bit sour at that--Cora tugged on Jack’s shirt and asked if he would dance with her. He complied with enthusiasm, whirling her around gently due to her small size. I got Olaus to dance with me, and while I had lots of fun dancing with him, Bjorn was by far the better dancer. Olaus only danced one time with me; he was not as fond of it as I was. Bjorn asked me again in his halting English if I wanted to dance, which I did, so he put his hand on my waist and began to whirl me around with such ferocity that he nearly sent me crashing into a table.

When the dance had ended, we both stood for a moment, panting and laughing at our sweaty, out-of-breath states. A new song was being struck up and we were about to take off when Bjorn paused and turned around. Standing behind him was Timmy, tugging on his shirt. He looked shy, facing this tall and strong stranger, but his words were certainly bold. "I want to dance with her!"

Bjorn didn’t understand. I was about to try and explain it--we were starting to be able to understand each other through a system of the strangest sign language I’ve ever seen--when Timmy pointed to me, repeating his words. The corners of Bjorn’s lips rose in a smile and he winked at me, stepping aside with an overdone flourish. Timmy beamed and bounced forward, putting his right hand on my hip and grabbing up my right hand with his left. I had taught him well.

"Who was that?" he asked me, having to shout as I picked up my feet and began to dance.

"That was my friend Bjorn," I shouted back, winking at the aforementioned Swede as we passed.

"He’s kinda scary-looking," Timmy admitted.

I shrugged. "I guess. But he’s very nice. And a very good dancer. Almost as good as you."

Timmy beamed, taking this compliment as very high praise indeed. He kept up with me very well, but I didn’t dare take him through some of the more complicated steps—knowing me, I would have probably sent him reeling into one of the poles or a table or even people. I twirled him once or twice, and he did not seem to mind the fact that only a few couples over, Jack was doing the same to Cora—a girl. When the dance was over, Timmy declared that he wanted to dance again, so we galloped around the room once more, laughing.

"You’re very good at this!" I told him, truly meaning it. Most children his age would be a good deal clumsier, but he very rarely stumbled.

"Thank you! So are you!" he returned; surely his mother’s influence was beginning to show in him. When the dance was over, he declared that while he still wanted to dance, his feet were much too sore. So I picked him up, my left hand holding him up against me, and I kept my right hand interlaced with his left. It was a bit awkward, dancing this way, but I soon got the hang of it. Timmy, for his part, was having the time of his life. I saw some appreciative looks from other people, most of whom were of the female persuasion and therefore prone to find it sweet.

When the dance ended, I was exhausted, especially after carrying around a four-year-old boy for a whole dance. I took him with me back to the table and sat him on my lap as Tommy pushed a beer over my way. Everyone who was gathered around the table just talked and laughed for awhile. Timmy didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; his feet dangled from where he was sitting on my lap, jiggling in time to the music. Maggie, Eugene Daly’s kind-faced wife, managed to find a glass of milk for him, which only increased his good mood. Tommy swore a few times, as he always did, but Timmy didn’t notice; he was too busy staring at the dancers.

During this time, Maggie Daly introduced me to her friend, Bertha Mulvihill, who was traveling with the Dalys and on her way to meet her fiancé in Rhode Island. Bertha was twenty-four and rather pretty; she had a fair share of Irishmen asking her for a dance now and then. Bertha had already been to the States and was returning from a wedding at her hometown of Athlone in County Westmeath--wherever that is--when her family’s neighbors, the Dalys, offered to accompany her back to America. That’s something I’ve always loved about the Irish folks I’ve met since Titanic; they place a great emphasis on togetherness and never leaving one of their own to fend for themselves. That trait would prove to be extremely important on this voyage; but I’m getting ahead of myself now.

After awhile, it was decided that we should play blackjack. I showed Timmy what I was doing so that he would know how to play. I don’t think he actually understood the finer points of the game, but he asked loads of questions and seemed genuinely interested. I won, of course. Oh, that sounds haughty, doesn’t it? Let me rephrase that--as the others had been drinking and smoking all night, their minds were a bit muddled. I, however, had only had one and a half glasses of beer and no cigarettes, so naturally, I had the clearer head and therefore won the game. Not to mention that I’ve always been better at it than they have.

"Shite," Tommy cursed, glowering at me. I gave him a warning look.

Timmy glanced between the two of us. "What does ‘shite’ mean?"

Jack and Fabrizio exploded with laughter while Tommy and I turned red.

"It is a word that only grown-up men are allowed to use," I finally invented.

Timmy nodded, wide-eyed. "Oh."

Jack got up, stretching. "I’m goin’ up; gonna get some fresh air before curfew."

We all nodded and said something or other along the lines of, "All right, see you soon." We didn’t think much of it at the time, but we didn’t see him for the rest of the night. Since Jack was gone, we had now lost the one person who seemed able to communicate with anyone, despite their nationality, so many of us began to dance again. Fabrizio disappeared as well; I later caught a glimpse of him dancing with the blonde-haired girl. I danced a few more rounds with Timmy before Kathleen wove her way into the crowd and said that the hour was late—she needed to get her children into bed.

I didn’t know what time it was, but my head felt a bit fuzzy and Timmy was yawning widely every few seconds. He protested, albeit half-heartedly, and finally agreed to hug me good night and then follow his mother and sister back to their cabin. With that, I returned to the table.

"Aw, had to say goodnight to yer beau?" Tommy asked, laughing as I smacked his arm.

"He’s a better dancer than you are," I retorted.

Tommy’s grin vanished. "Oh, I don’t think so."

He was joking, of course, but the swiftness with which he had changed facial expressions caught me off-guard. Before I could register what was going on, he had spirited me away from the table and was spinning me so viciously around the room I would have stumbled had it not been for his strong arms. I even shrieked a little, clinging tightly to him so that I really wouldn’t fall.

"Now who’s the better dancer?" he asked when the dance had ended and I had finally plunked back into my chair.

"You are evil, Tommy Ryan!" I gasped, clutching a stitch in my side. His only response was to laugh. I really was worn-out from his dance, though, and he made up for it by getting us a couple more beers. I drank greedily, my tongue burning pleasantly from the bite. I finally caught my breath again and my heart returned to normal. Cora was giggling at something silly Fabrizio was telling her--the blonde girl’s parents must have intervened again--and that was when I noticed that Jack was missing.

"Where’s Jack?" I asked loudly.

Everyone shrugged, none of them looking too concerned. I was disappointed; we hadn’t danced at all tonight. I didn’t have long to wallow in self-pity, however; Bjorn, who never seemed tired, now that I think on it, asked again, "May I heff dis dance?"

Two more dances with him and I was too tired to stand up much longer. Cora was nodding off at our table, so, after bidding the others good night, the two of us headed over to Bert and Emmy, both of whom were also ready for bed. Cora accepted a piggyback ride from her father while Emmy and I fell into step behind them.

"Has anyone seen Uncle Jack?" Cora asked sleepily.

I raised my eyebrows, turning to Emmy. "‘Uncle Jack?’"

Emmy smiled. "Besotted," she said in a low voice so that Cora couldn’t hear. Not that she would have been able to if Emmy had been speaking normally; poor Cora drifted off mere moments after inquiring as to Jack’s whereabouts. "Of course, Cora never had any brothers or sisters, so it’s only natural. She adores you, too, you know."

I felt surprised and somewhat guilty at that. "Does she?"

Emmy nodded. "Mm. But she seems to show it a bit more with Jack."

"Well, I am usually running around. I can’t sit still for long," I pointed out, shrugging. "And besides, I don’t know of many people who aren’t enchanted by Jack."

Emmy laughed appreciatively at this. "Oh, I can’t help agreeing with you there. He’s certainly a charmer, isn’t he?"

"Yes, he is," I mused, yawning.

*****

Jack was walking towards me down one of the white-painted, illuminated hallways.

"Where were you last night?" I asked.

He came up very close to me, standing mere inches away from me. My body was tingling; my breath was coming hard.

"I was thinking."

"O-o-o-okay," I said uncertainly, trying to move back a step and finding myself unable to.

"About you."

Well, this was certainly a change. I stammered out--yes, stammered, "Oh, um, were you?"

He nodded. The intensity of his eyes was almost frightening. He took a step closer, if at all possible. "Angie, I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years, ever since we met in Monterey. I was insanely jealous over Yves and Pablo…you wouldn’t even believe. It about drove me crazy. And now, on this Ship of Dreams, I can’t keep hiding it."

My heart thudded loudly as he brushed some stray curls behind my ear. I barely felt it, so caught up was I in staring at him. I felt dizzy; I couldn’t focus properly on his face. Was I swooning?

"Angie," he whispered, leaning forward. Instinctively, I closed my eyes as I knew his lips neared mine. "I love you…"

It was then that I felt that hard jerk of consciousness. It took me a moment in my disoriented state to realize what exactly was going on. I was lying in a rather comfortable bed, I was hot, my heart was threatening to burst from my chest, the joint between my legs was tingling--at the moment, I attributed it to a dire need to relieve myself--and I felt stuck. Further examination indicated that the reason I felt stuck was because I was impossibly entwined in the bed sheets. I had been dreaming it. Damn it.

"Awake so soon, Angie?"

Looking down and rubbing my bleary eyes--I felt some of the disgusting crusty stuff fall off as I did so--I realized Bert was talking to me. Luckily, he was dressed—he was just grabbing his cap. I absentmindedly ran a hand through my no doubt disheveled hair, realizing I must have looked horrible.

"Oh, um, I just had a…a very pleasant dream, and then what I wanted disappeared, and I woke up." While I didn’t mind explaining the basis of my dream to Bert, who was a lovely chap, I didn’t want to go into details; there was a dirty-feeling tingle between my legs--and it wasn’t just a dire need to relieve myself--that made me feel absolutely ashamed of myself.

Bert nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes; I’ve had that happen many times! Why, just the other evening, I dreamed that I was enjoying the most scrumptious lemon curry when suddenly I woke up and found out that I was chewing my pillow."

I laughed. Well, my dream hadn’t been quite like that, but his addition to the conversation made me feel a good deal less disoriented and much more awake. The unpleasant tingling was beginning to ebb away. "Are you going off to breakfast, then?"

He nodded. "Yes; I’ll be sure and see to it that the lads save you girls seats."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "I’ll probably be in soon, now that I’m awake."

"So, the party didn’t tucker you out too badly last night?" he asked, chuckling.

I smiled again. "I’m not as tired as I was yesterday. I suppose that’s a good thing."

"Very good," he agreed. "It means you’re getting used to the sea air." He checked his pocket watch. "Well, I’d best be off if we want a place to sit and eat."

"All right. See you in a bit, then," I said by way of parting, waiting until the door was firmly shut before I untangled myself from the sheets. It would have been bad enough for a man I was in no way related to to see me unwinding a sheet from around my legs, but the fact that my nightgown had ridden up to my waist didn’t help much either. I wondered if I had been thrashing in my sleep; I remember lying down on my back the night before and that my legs had felt like lead, so I hadn’t moved them voluntarily.

I could have easily gone back to sleep for a few more minutes, but now that I had moved around and whatnot, I was too awake and so climbed down from the top bunk. Cora and Emmy were still fast asleep; the nap yesterday must not have done them much good. After returning from an urgent trip to the water closet, I dressed, not bothering to be quiet; Emmy had to wake up sooner or later, and I would rather her wake up without me having to poke and prod her and say in a cooing voice, "Emmy, time to wake u-u-u-up!"

Sure enough, as I was buttoning my blouse, she rolled over and yawned, shielding the light from her eyes. "Awake already, Angie, love?"

"Yes," I replied, smoothing out the front of my blouse. "Bert left not too long ago."

"Did he wake you up?" Emmy asked, chuckling as she pulled herself off the top bunk she shared with her husband.

"No; a dream did."

Speaking of said dream, I knew I wouldn’t be able to face Jack that day. Or at least, face him without flinching and thinking of that dream. I hated having dreams like that, but this was by far the worst of them; it had set certain senses on fire. In my time, I’ve had plenty of strange dreams; I had had one of Yves wearing a lady’s dress and hat as he operated the lifts. I had had one of Fabrizio belting out a loud opera aria while Jack and I waltzed. I had even had one of Pablo dancing around in only his trousers with a rose between his teeth. I can’t really explain that last one, although I’m sure the famed Dr. Freud would have a perfectly logical reason for it. In any case, all of these dreams paled in comparison to the one where Jack almost kissed me and sent my girlhood buckling.

As Emmy dressed and I attempted to pin up my hair--I say attempted because it took several tries before I got it just right--and Cora stirred slightly in her bed, I hesitated and then asked, "Emmy, have you ever had a dream…a somewhat…disturbing dream…and it’s about a person, and when you wake up, you know you won’t be able to look that person in the eye for the rest of the day?"

Emmy paused in the process of pulling on her blouse. "Oh, darlin’," she said in a soft voice that indicated she knew precisely what I was talking about, "I know just what that feels like. It’s awful, isn’t it?"

I nodded, relieved that someone else knew how I was feeling.

"I once had one about Bert, back before we were good and proper sweethearts. I won’t say what it was now, but…it certainly made me a right bit shyer around him."

"I don’t want to go," Cora mumbled, rolling over in her sleep.

Emmy and I stifled giggles for a moment before I gently jiggled Cora’s arm. "Cora? Cora, honey, wake up. Mummy’s almost dressed."

Cora blinked and looked around before realizing that, yet again, she was the last one to wake up. Grumbling, she got out of bed and shimmied into her clothes, allowing her mother to brush her hair until it gleamed. By this time, both Emmy and I were fully dressed and all done up, so we all set off for the dining saloon. True to his word, Bert had secured three empty places for us near our enlarged group; now, our group consisted of the three Cartmells, the three McFarlands, the two Gundersons, Eugene and Maggie Daly, Bertha Mulvihill, sort of Jim Farrell--he mostly talked to another group, but sometimes he joined in our conversation, Tommy, Jack, Fabrizio, and of course myself. It was rather like a family—a large, strange family, but a family nonetheless.

It was hard to believe that this was only the fourth day of our journey. Well, the third for Tommy, Jim, the Dalys, and Bertha, all of whom had boarded in Queenstown on the eleventh. But it any case, even though it had been such a short amount of time, it had felt like weeks. I was growing fond of each and every one of these people sitting with us. It would be difficult when we got to America; what would happen to them? I might never see them again. And it wasn’t as if we could write; Jack, Fabrizio, and I moved around so much that we would never get their letters. Not to mention that the Gundersons couldn’t even speak English, let alone write in it.

I have to admit that I was close to choking up. I hid it by swallowing some water and laughing loudly when Jim took Tommy’s hat while Tommy’s back was turned. He interrogated each of us for a good while before Jim slipped it back to Tommy’s side when he had turned to ask me, "Are yeh sure yeh didn’t steal it again, yeh little thief?"

Meanwhile, I was avidly avoiding Jack’s eye. I don’t think he really noticed; there were so many of us that it wasn’t unusual for two people to not talk directly to one another over the course of one meal. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to look at him, at least not while the dream kept reenacting itself over and over in my head.

Unfortunately, fate was not on my side that day.

"So, Jack, where were yeh last night? Yeh disappeared fer a long while," Tommy noted through his eggs.

Jack swallowed his orange juice; he had a funny look on his face. "If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me."

Well, of course this made us all ten times more curious, so we plied him for information before he caved in. "Well, uh, see, I was up on the poop deck, and this girl came running by."

"I’ve heard this one before," Tommy interrupted, causing all of us to laugh heartily.

Jack grinned. "Uh-huh. Well, anyway, she was a first class passenger, and she ran straight for the railing."

"What was a first class lady doing on the poop deck?" Emmy asked, puzzled.

"And why did she run straight for the railing?" Bertha asked.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Well, see, she was about to jump over."

He was met with disbelieving silence before most of us snorted. "That’s a good one, Jack!"

"No, I’m serious," he protested, sounding a little annoyed. "She was trying to kill herself."

Some of us fell silent while a few others still chuckled.

"So then I convinced her not to jump, and she was turning around to climb back over when she slipped on her dress and I had to pull her up, and when some crewmembers found us, we were in a bad-looking situation."

All of us did laugh at this. Well, except for the Gundersons; not understanding English, they were having a heated argument, gesturing at their plates. I think it had something to do with sausage, but I don’t speak Swedish, so I haven’t the faintest idea.

"Oh, really? What happened next?" I hooted, still laughing.

Jack’s smile was still in place, but it looked a little forced now. I couldn’t imagine why, though. "They called up her fiancé, who nearly had me arrested, and then she lied and said it was an accident, so they invited me to dinner tonight."

I’m sure our table must have caused attention, what with the way most of us exploded in laughter. A piece of ham flew off of Jim’s fork and landed in Katie Murphy’s lap. I was actually clutching my ribcage. It was one of those things when it only sounds sort of funny when someone’s retelling it, but you have to be there to really laugh.

"What did she look like, Jack?" I prodded, hiccupping. It should be noted that laughing and orange juice cause hiccups.

Jack, seeing that none of us believed his story, just smiled and drank some coffee. "She had this amazing red hair."

Tommy paused in the process of loading bacon onto his plate. "Red hair? Cor, yeh don’t mean that lass from the other day, do yeh?"

The red-headed first class girl? Oh, it all made sense now. Jack had been trying to be funny and trick us; none of us believed his false story, so he grasped for straws and thought of the first girl he could; the one we had seen earlier. I felt sorry for him, really.

Jack just shrugged. "Well, when I don’t show up at dinner tonight, don’t be surprised."

"Jack, with your stomach, if you fell off of the ship you would swim back to it and climb back on just to eat."

My remark was met with laughs. It was true; Jack, like most young men, could tuck away a feast for a king and still ask for more. Jack rolled his eyes, smile still intact, and finished up his sausage. Olaus quite suddenly threw a piece of bacon at Bjorn. Apparently, he had lost the argument about sausage and retaliated by throwing a piece of bacon. At least, that’s the most logical explanation I could and still can come up with.

Chapter Nine
Stories