SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Nine

Nothing of particular interest happened that morning. The excellent weather continued, so I took Cora, Timmy, and Nora up to the deck for them to run around. I followed them at a considerably slower pace, not wanting to interrupt their fun unless it was to tell them they were annoying the gentleman over there and they nearly bowled over that poor lady and please don’t bother Mr. Daly while he’s playing his pipes and would they please keep their voices down?

For a fleeting moment after they had given me abashed looks, I feared that I had turned into Kathleen. Not that Kathleen was a horrible person or anything—I just didn’t want to turn into a stern matron who constantly scolded children. They already thought I was too old to play with them--it’s not as if I minded people staring at me; I would probably never see them after this voyage; I didn’t need them to think I was twenty years older.

Jack, Fabrizio, Tommy, Bjorn, and Olaus all set up a card game on the deck, making sure to stay out of the wind so that they wouldn’t lose any of the cards. I don’t know why, but Jack seemed insistent on staying outside that morning. "It’s good weather and I don’t wanna waste it," he declared every time someone asked him why he simply didn’t move it to the smoking room or even the public room.

Come to think of it, Jack was acting strangely all day. He had practically bolted out of the dining saloon to go on deck after breakfast, and he had staunchly refused to go back inside. Yes, the weather was perfectly lovely and all, but we had had wonderful weather for the whole voyage and it wasn’t as if it was a new concept. On top of this, Jack kept glancing up at the upper decks. The others were starting to get impatient; when I wandered over to see the progress of their poker game while the three children all sat on a bench, worn out, Tommy gruffly asked Jack why he was "so bloody bent on stayin’ out in the bleedin’ wind."

"It’s nothin’," Jack assured us, dragging on a cigarette. He glanced up again.

Fabrizio noticed. "Jack, if you a-want to draw a-someone, go ahead and quit. We do not a-care."

"Aye," Tommy agreed, staring so intensely at his cards that I thought he was trying to burn a hole in them.

"I’m not—" Jack paused and then smiled, shaking his head. "Okay, you win. I’ll go."

The lads didn’t mind starting over—according to Fabrizio, the game was a real puttana.

"The bloody hell does that even mean?" Tommy asked, starting to get annoyed that he was the only English-speaker among our group who didn’t know the word puttana.

"Haven’t you ever heard Fabri use it before?" I asked, satisfied that I knew something Tommy didn’t. "You know, a figlio di puttana—"

"I have never heard of a fuggy putty before."

I had to step to the side and hang onto the railing for support because I was laughing so hard. Fabrizio, who had never, ever used the term son of a bitch--never in English, that is; he said it quite liberally in his native tongue--tried to explain it to Tommy—but he only succeeded in confusing the Irishman even more. Jack had already gotten up and moved to the side, staring up at the decks, most likely trying to figure out how best to approach the sketch.

"Mate, I don’t bloody know what the hell yer tryin’ to say. A Figgie Puddin’? And what the hell is so funny, Angie?"

I was laughing so hard that I wasn’t even making a sound. Cora, Timmy, and Nora were all staring at me, unsure of whether or not I was trying to be funny or if there was something seriously wrong with me. When I had finally caught my breath, collapsed into giggles again, caught my breath again, and then collapsed into one more fit of giggles, I finally calmed down enough to explain just what figlio di puttana was Italian for. He seemed to warm to the phrase instantly and even tried it out a few times. I’m afraid that his coarse Irish brogue spouting out Italian curses made me dissolve into yet one more fit of giggles, at which point there was a painful stitch in my side.

Now that Jack was avidly sketching off to the side, the lads had no real reason to stay outside, so they moved their card game into the smoking room. I returned to the children, who all seemed relieved that I had not been suffering from an epilepsy fit--Nora had seriously been inquiring as to whether or not one of them ought to fetch a wooden spoon. We had not been playing a chasing game for five minutes when Timmy stopped and declared, "I’m hungry."

"Lunch should be soon," I replied, even as my stomach growled. "Oh, goodness," I said, putting a hand to my murmuring stomach. It growled again in displeasure. I stopped a gentleman walking by. "Excuse me, sir, do you have the time?"

He gave me a strange look and walked on hurriedly. Damn all these people who couldn’t understand English.

"Angie, is it time to eat yet?" Cora asked, her voice sounding somewhat whiny.

I shrugged. "I dunno; hold on a minute."

It took a good long while, but finally I found a passing officer who was walking beside Officer Crisp! Now, don’t ask me what two officers were doing near the poop deck, but I suppose they all have their duties. It’s not as if I would know—I had only helped in the kitchens on the tramp steamers, so I had no idea what was required of whom. "Excuse me, sirs, but do either of you have the time?"

I don’t know if it was just the man himself or White Star Line officers in general, but the older version of Officer Crisp smiled politely, made a little bow as if I were a real lady and pulled a golden pocket watch out of his pocket. "It is precisely 12:13, according to my watch," he said in a crisp yet not unkind voice. I remember that he had a very distinctive voice, one that I had yet to find a match to. I also remember that he seemed a true gentleman and that I felt almost abashed in his presence.

I smiled and thanked the officer before informing the children that it was indeed time to eat and following them into the dining saloon. Kathleen and the Cartmells were already there, all three of them looking relieved when their red-cheeked and windblown children showed up. We were joined not long afterwards by Fabrizio, Tommy, and the Gundersons.

"Who won?" I asked, digging into my mashed potatoes.

"Bjorn did," Tommy said shortly, chewing his ham so viciously that he could have easily bitten off his tongue.

"Why d’you suppose Jack wanted to play outside?" I asked; although I had told myself to avoid him today due to my dream, I couldn’t help but wonder about him. Jack never played cards outside—he always liked playing them somewhere where there was always a glass of beer or two nearby and he was surrounded by a thick blanket of cigarette smoke. Out on a deck was just…odd.

"To enjoy the weather, of course," Tommy said in disgust. "If yeh ask me, he was tryin’ to find that red-haired first class lass from the other day. Probably thought he could make us believe his story, or some shite like that."

I pursed my lips as I cut up some ham; I didn’t like the idea of Jack going out of his way just to catch a glimpse of another woman. I knew I was being stupid—after all, Jack had visited brothels many times to draw the women there, and he never acted as if he was enamored of any one of them. Well, except for that one-legged prostitute’s hands. That was a bit strange. But the idea of him thinking of another woman…well, it made my blood boil, to be honest. I know now that I was just a foolish young girl with my heart set on an older boy, but at the time, I was convinced that it was extremely important.

I was trying to find a way to word the question, "Did Jack say anything about her?" without trying to give away the fact that I was in love with Jack. It simply wouldn’t do for Tommy Ryan of all people to hold a secret that he could use as blackmail against me. I would sooner jump off the Titanic than do that. Just as I was rephrasing it in my mind, Jack sauntered into the saloon, his sketchpad under his arm.

"Speak o’ the devil," Tommy noted, loud enough for Jack to hear.

"Huh?" Jack asked, sitting down. "What’s this about me?"

"We were just talking about what a pansy you are," I said calmly, sipping my water.

"That’s interesting," Jack replied without missing a beat, "me and Jim were just talking about how much you look like a guy."

Tommy and Fabrizio roared with laughter.

*****

After lunch, we settled in the public room. Jim Farrell sat in the corner, noodling around on the piano while being surrounded by a group of admirers. He mostly plunked out small repetitive tunes, but it gave the public room a pleasant atmosphere. Many people were still eating lunch, so we had no trouble finding seats. Kathleen and the Cartmells sat in a relatively quiet corner, most likely discussing the various aspects of being a parent. That was the only thing I could imagine they would talk about; other than being parents and being natives of Great Britain--although Kathleen detested the thought of her fair Ireland being considered part of British territory--they had absolutely nothing in common.

Cora, Timmy, and Nora, obviously finding the conversation their parents were having boring, wandered over to where Jack, Fabrizio, Tommy, and I were all gathered, talking about nothing in particular. Before much time had passed, Cora nestled close to Jack’s side and the two of them began drawing funny faces on a blank page in his sketchbook. As I watched them, I couldn’t help thinking that Jack would make a wonderful father. This brought my mind, once again, to the dream, and I felt myself growing hot in the face. I allowed myself to imagine for a moment that Jack was sitting with our daughter instead of Cora, before banishing the thought from my mind and turning my attention to Timmy and Nora.

Before long, the room began to fill up. Families and traveling companions scooted into seats, keeping as closely-knit as they could. Children, mostly boys, began to chase each other around the room while weary parents chatted and only occasionally ordered their offspring to behave. Stuffy-looking matrons--even steerage has stuffy old matrons--knitted as they complained about their dreamy daughters or their impossible sons or their good-for-nothing husbands. I think I even heard one woman complain about her ridiculous sister, who had a skin condition that made her bitter.

As we were talking and inevitably scooting in closer to make room--it got to the point where Tommy snagged a chair from one of the tables and sat it in front of Jack--the blonde girl entered with her parents. They looked dismayed at the lack of space as they slowly made their way through the room, trying to find some place to sit. Fabrizio sprang up and caught the attention of the blonde girl, motioning to a seat just behind where he had been sitting before. Since Fabrizio was like a brother to me and I had not yet seen him truly flirt with a girl, I convinced Timmy and Nora to come with me to the table where Bjorn and Olaus were playing cards so that the girl’s parents could sit. Nora wanted to watch us play blackjack very much, which the Gundersons had no objections to. I glanced behind me and grinned; it had worked. The blonde girl’s parents were sitting beside Jack, looking somewhat disgruntled as their daughter talked to Fabrizio. Or tried to—she couldn’t understand Fabrizio.

Now that Jack was preoccupied with Cora, Fabrizio was attempting to talk to the blonde girl, and I was playing blackjack with Bjorn and Olaus, Tommy had no one to talk to and made quite a point of it by bellyaching loudly.

"You can always play blackjack with us, y’know," I told him when he had ambled over, complaining.

"And lose again?" Tommy scoffed. "Nah, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same ter yeh."

"Then stop whining to me about it. Hit me!" I declared.

"Why do you want someone to hit you?" Nora asked, genuinely perplexed at such a declaration.

In the end, Jack handed Tommy a sheaf of drawings that he had made of various passengers. Tommy twisted and turned in his seat, glancing around to find the originals. I know because he shoved a drawing in my face after a few minutes and said, "Tell me they don’t look alike!"

After recovering from the initial shock of having a charcoal portrait shoved in my face, I examined the drawing and then looked around to find the unwitting model. Sure enough, an exact, colored replica of the laughing girl in the picture was sitting a few benches back, flirting with a bearded man who looked to be a few years older than her. I shrugged. "Yeah, Jack’s really good."

Tommy seemed somewhat upset that I wasn’t seeing the amazement of it all. "It’s…it’s dead-on! I’ve never seen anyone draw this good before!"

Tommy was right; Jack was amazing. But thinking about Jack’s wonderful talent made me remember that dream—something I did not want to do. "Yes, well, when you’ve known him for as long as I have, you get used to it. Hit me."

"Bust," Olaus groaned.

After Tommy had returned to his seat, looking around for more likenesses to compare, the Cartmells stopped by.

"We’re going to take Cora back to the cabin for a nap; do you want to come?" Emmy asked.

I shook my head. "No, thanks. I think I’ll stay here."

The Cartmells said that this was fine and that they would be in the cabin for the next hour or so if I needed anything. Once more, I have to marvel at the sweetness of these people—they were treating me like a royal guest and I felt somewhat guilty that my own kindnesses were so meager in comparison to theirs. I heard Bert say, "Cora, it’s time to go now; say good-bye to Uncle Jack."

"Bye, Uncle Jack," Cora’s soft little voice said.

"Bye, Cora!" Jack returned.

They had not been gone one minute when a hush suddenly fell over the vast and open room. I twisted in my seat and finally found the source of the silence. My mouth fell open. Entering into the steerage public room was the red-headed first class lady that Jack had stared shamelessly at the other day. The red-headed lady that Jack had claimed to have prevented from suicide. Maybe…no, that story couldn’t have been true—could it?

She was in a yellow dress with a white collar, sleeves and shoulders and yellow-gold embroidery along the bosom. Her rose-red hair was swept into a bun that reminded me strongly of a princess, or the likenesses of Roman goddesses that I had seen in Italy. A tiny purse hung from her wrist; she was definitely a first class lady, through and through. As she ventured into our midst, a somewhat forced smile on her face, people turned and shamelessly stared at her. Men who had been leaning against poles straightened up immediately. The males in the room, even the little boys, tipped their hats respectfully. And she kept walking. Walking towards what? And suddenly, it hit me.

She came to a halt in front of Jack, who looked somewhat stunned to see her, but definitely not as stunned as the rest of us. Maybe…hell, maybe he was telling the truth. As she stopped in front of him, Tommy looked her up and down. It was a very, very good thing she was focusing on Jack—if she had seen the way Tommy was eyeing her, she probably would have run away and warned the rest of her little friends about slumming. Some first class passengers had gone slumming with us before, but only to the decks. No one had yet ventured into the public room as this red-headed girl was doing now.

"Hello, Mr. Dawson," she said in the most refined, melodic voice I had ever heard. Jim struck up the same tune on the piano again and the conversations started up anew, albeit somewhat quieter and more reserved than before.

"Hello again," Jack said in a quiet kind of voice. Again? Damn, they really had met before!

She hesitated, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "May I speak with you?"

I couldn’t hear everything, thanks to Jim’s stupid piano-playing. But I’m positive that Jack said, "Yeah" as he gestured to the bench. We were all staring shamelessly, but then again, we had every reason to. Seeing a first class passenger—a lady, no less—down with us was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs; it had been done, but it was always fascinating to watch.

"In private?" the woman asked quickly. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed; so she wasn’t going to stay with us. Oh, well; at least we had seen her come into our midst, which was a miracle in itself.

"Yes, of course," Jack replied, sounding almost…amused. Like the whole thing was funny. Maybe it was; at the time, I only felt in awe. The only thing I found funny about the situation was the fact that Tommy’s eyes were level with her bosom, and he wasn’t taking any pains to move them.

"After you," Jack continued, picking up his sketchbook. She looked only too happy to comply—she had looked ready to bolt. Jack hit Tommy’s shoulder on the way out. Tommy and Fabrizio exchanged glances before bursting into that stupid, boyish laughter that we women find so irritating. Bjorn was asking me something, but damn it, now was not the time for me to try to understand Swedish. I jumped out of my seat and scurried over to where Tommy and Fabrizio were still laughing.

"What the hell was that all about?!" I asked. If they were laughing, surely they knew something.

"Who knows?" Tommy snorted.

I frowned. "Seriously, fellas; who was that girl? And how does she know Jack?"

"Well, she’s the one he was staring at the other day, remember?" Tommy asked, still chuckling as Fabrizio turned back to the blonde girl, making more fruitless attempts at a conversation.

"Yes, I know that, but it still doesn’t explain how they met," I persisted.

"Well, it’s obvious, innit?" Tommy asked, examining a sketch of Timmy and Nora.

"Um…no, not really," I said grudgingly; I hated whenever Tommy knew something that I didn’t. Behind me, I heard Kathleen collecting her rebellious children. "But Mommy, an angel just came down here! Did you see her?! I don’t want to take a nap now!"

Tommy cocked an eyebrow, a smirk making its way onto his face. "Well, he stopped her from jumpin’ off the back o’ the ship, didn’t he?" Tommy asked, his smirk widening.

I hit his arm. "Shut up." I bit my lip. "You don’t really think that’s how they met, do you?"

Tommy’s face turned serious. "I couldn’t tell yeh, lass. It sounds kinda…"

"Unlikely?" I suggested.

Tommy nodded. "Aye. Unlikely. But then again, so does winnin’ two tickets to the grandest ship in the world and then bringin’ along a stowaway."

I couldn’t help but smile at that. "Well, you do have a point." I glanced back at the Gundersons, who were, unsurprisingly, arguing again. "Wanna play blackjack? I’ll go easy on you."

Tommy rolled his eyes and shoved the drawings at a somewhat surprised Fabrizio, who promptly began to show them to the blonde girl. "Fine. But yeh’d better lose this time."

"Well, I can’t make any promises," I said, smirking as I flounced over to the Gundersons.

Chapter Ten
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