EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Eleven
"What are you?" Harry
asked me. I stopped my walking on the deck, turning to face him. I can’t
believe we’ve just been walking around this deck—it feels like it’s only been
minutes, but I think it’s been hours, talking about anything we could think of.
I merely had breakfast and I made myself disappear from my father’s sight. He
had been giving me peculiar looks this morning out on the promenade deck.
"You’re humming again,"
my father felt the need to point out as we ate before managing a laugh. I think
he was shocked I was in such a great mood—and why wouldn’t I be? I was actually
able to sleep, merely out of pure exhaustion from that silly chase from Ismay,
and now here I am—with Harold Lowe. So, after we ate, my father said he was off
to do a walk-through of Titanic, like he always seems to do every other day,
and I left. Pretty quick and unnoticed, too, I’d like to point out.
"What?" I asked,
confused to Harry.
"What are you?" What is
he talking about?
"I don’t understand—"
"Oh, oh." He laughed.
"Are you French, Italian, German, what? Your heritage. I already know
you’re Irish."
"Andrews sticks out like an
Irish thumb," I laughed. "Why do you ask?"
"Curious, besides it’s one
thing we haven’t talked about yet."
"Everything but," I
pointed out.
"I was wondering because you
don’t have an Irish accent, at least not like your father’s."
"Well, he was raised in
Ireland, I really wasn’t." I leaned against the ship’s white railing to
face him as people continued to pass us on the deck. The sun is way too bright,
I think by having my back to it, it won’t be so bright. "I suppose that’s
why I don’t have an Irish accent." I shrugged.
"To me, it sounds like a mix
of Irish, French and American." He chuckled when I smiled.
"Do I really sound like
that? I must sound so disoriented! My mother’s French, so that may explain the
French part of the accent."
"And your name."
"No, no, my father chose my
name."
"Really?" Harry raised
an eyebrow in thought.
"At my mother’s protest. She
uses that name against me."
"Is your mother on board?
She sounds awfully interesting." Sarcasm.
"Thank goodness, she’s not.
She hates to travel. I, for one, am relieved." He laughed.
"You sound it!" I bit
my lower lip.
"What about you? Your life
story—I just gave you a short version of my biography. Tell me something."
"About what?"
"Anything about you."
He sighed, unsure of what to say.
"Well, I was born in North
Wales." There, now we’re getting somewhere. "…I ran away from home
when I was fourteen." Ran away!?
"Fourteen?" He nodded.
"That seems so young."
"I was supposed to go work
for a company in Liverpool as an apprentice with my father—but I refused.
Getting out seemed like the only option." Why hadn’t I thought of running
away before? It’s because I really have nowhere to go.
"Good plan," I managed
to joke.
"I wasn’t going to work for
nothing," he smiled. Alright, that actually makes sense. Just think: a man
with some gray matter in his head. Ismay killed the theory that men had mined
at all and I am now coming around to believing they may actually have a thought
process.
"So, what did you do?"
I asked.
"I worked on Welsh waters
for five years and before I knew it, I was certified to become an officer. I
joined the White Star Line here…" He hit his hand on Titanic’s white
railing, "a year ago."
"You’re experienced on
ships, then?" He smiled.
"I guess you could say
that." He sighed, shaking his head. "But, I’m still glad I got out of
that apprentice job."
"Why?"
"I wasn’t going to be
pin-holed for the rest of my life. My father wanted me to be him when he was at
that age, as if he was trying to re-live his life through my eyes."
"Pin-holed?" I
repeated. He nodded.
"I suppose others have had
it worse, but when it’s shoved down your throat every day since the day you
could speak, it gets to be—"
"Unbearable." He
glanced down at me, surprised before nodding.
"Yes, how did you…?" I
managed a smile.
"My mother does the same
thing." I crossed my arms over my chest. "She wants me to be raised
as a proper lady, but proper ladies never do anything. They just sit around and
let their husbands or fiancées chat about nothing in particular and nod when
appropriate. And who wants that?"
"Not me. I’ve seen it,
though. Both on Titanic and other ships I’ve been on. It’s a shame,
really." Oh my, he actually agrees with me on something I never even
discussed! "Personally, I’ve seen a lot of young women get married to men
who could be their grandfathers, let alone their fathers because of
wealth." He laughed.
"It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?
Every girl I ever went to school with is engaged because of money. Some younger
than you’d expect."
"You’re not married, are
you?" he asked me suddenly, sounding extremely nervous. I shook my head.
"No."
"Engaged?"
"Not even close. My mother
tried to set me up with one of those rich men, though. He was a prick."
Much like Ismay. "I hated him from the first moment my mother introduced
us. My father didn’t know about it, she hid it from him because he hates the
whole society picture."
"I can tell." I
laughed.
"He just walks around with
that little notebook, in his own nirvana," I sighed. "God bless him.
I wish I could do that."
"Well, you could. There’s a
great gift shop that sells notebooks and pencils and…" His voice trailed
off as I began to giggle.
"You know I didn’t mean it
like that!" That’s when I saw him. Ismay! Stomping down the deck, looking
to be in somewhat of a rage. I took Harry’s arm and ran for the gymnasium
door—and opening it, I ran in, Harry behind me. I shut the door quietly and
went for the window, Harry behind me.
"What’s the trouble?"
he asked me, obviously not having seen Ismay. The door’s half-frosted, so I can
only see out of the corner of the window. I touched a finger to the glass
without making a sound.
"Ismay."
"And his moustache?" I
tried not to laugh, and nodded instead.
"And his moustache," I
confirmed.
"Didn’t you hear that
commotion last night?" Ismay’s voice seemed to blare through the glass
windows as he stood in front of an older, obviously first-class, rich couple.
The man shook his head.
"No, nothing."
"There was such a racket!
Absolute chaos! Whoever felt the need to have tea and cookies at such an hour
will have to pay for the broken china!" The man smiled at Ismay, shaking
his head. He must be laughing—in his mind. I know I am.
"I doubt you’ll ever find
anyone who’ll confess," he said.
"He’s got that right!"
Harry whispered into my ear.
"Shh!" I hissed at him.
"Even if it’s the last thing
I do!" Ismay promised, shaking his fist in the air, to no one in
particular. Men. I rolled my eyes at that. "I will find out who did this,
there were two people, and once I do, it will not be a pleasant picture."
He glanced momentarily at the man’s wife, tipping his hat to her. What a
nutcase. "I’m sorry to distraught you, ma’am. Your room is just so close
to where I chased those two people to and I thought maybe…"
"I’m sure you’ll catch
him," the man encouraged him. Is he kidding? Ismay never even got a good
look at us, how could he ever find out? But, I won’t be able to say a sentence
to Ismay without looking guilty of something. I’m an awful liar and I suppose
the broken china is a great excuse for making even less eye contact than I
already do with Bruce Ismay. The jerk.
"I let the Master at Arms
know, but…" Ismay sighed and glanced in the direction of the half-frosted
window and I skidded to the side of the window, pulling Harry along with me.
"Who knows at this point! Good day."
"Can he talk loud or
what?" I asked Harry. He smiled.
"These are real wood doors,
too. I can’t believe we could hear him." He paused. "Do you think,
that he knows it was us?" I shook my head.
"No, not yet, anyway. We
must keep a low profile."
"Oh, well, I don’t think
running from Bruce Ismay is the answer."
"It’s been working for
us!" I argued in a joking tone. "Let’s not mess with something that
doesn’t need fixing." I gestured to his wristwatch. "What time is
it?"
"Almost six."
"Your watch has to be
wrong," I mused aloud. We have not been walking around this deck all
day—or have we? Are the days getting shorter, the sunshine hours diminishing in
front of us?
"It’s not wrong," he
reassured me. "It was set by one of the best jewelers in—"
"Alright, alright!" I
said, laughing. "I believe you. But, if that clock is right…"
"It is right,
Antoinette."
"Okay, then if it right,
it’s almost an hour before dinner." I sighed, leaning against the
gymnasium’s wall. "Getting something to eat is a package deal. We have to
deal with Ismay. Or maybe I’ll have to deal with him by myself. Are you on duty
tonight?"
"Later on tonight, I
am."
"Not at dinner?"
"No, it’s another sucker’s
turn." He looked down at me. "I’ve paid my dues for the time
being."
"Are you going to be with us
at the table?" I asked.
"Not if I don’t have
to." He smiled.
"Then, I’ll be left
alone," I said, batting my eyes sadly.
"Will should be there."
As if that solves the major problem? William Murdoch—Oh, poor woman-less Will.
I haven’t seen him all day, he must be working.
"I don’t even think I want
to go to dinner," I sighed. "Have any ideas of what we can do
instead?" He smiled.
"I thought you’d never
ask."