EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Nineteen

"Hit me," I told Moody, who dealt me another card.

"Bust!" Bride said angrily, banging his fist onto the table as I laughed.

"I only had eleven," I said simply, showing him the cards in my hand before handing them to Moody to place back in the deck.

"Oh, come on!" he said, looking as if he was ready to bang his head on the table. Sitting at a table with a bunch of officers, a mirror image of last night, why am I still winning a game I just learned how to play merely hours ago? Woman-less Will, Harry, Moody, Bride and Wilde joined us. It was Lightoller’s shift a few hours ago and he had to leave, switching places with Moody. Harry has tonight off and Bride? He never works and neither does Will. I’ve decided that in my own mind. How can they work, if they’re always playing cards? That’s what I want to know! How can they work?

Of course, everyone at the table thought I wouldn’t be coming, even though Will had told them I was. Lightoller had said he thought my father had locked me away in an ivory tower because of the panic I had caused the night before. They had all heard through the grapevine about the supposed search party for me and all they can do is laugh whenever I ask Harry the time.

Anyhow, blackjack is much simpler than I thought it to be. Harry had been right—it isn’t as difficult as poker. "As long as you can count up to twenty-one, you’ll be okay," he had reassured me earlier this afternoon. I had asked him if he was sure and before there was an answer, there was kissing. I took that as a yes at the time!

But, blackjack basically consists of getting dealt two cards, usually with someone else as an opponent and whoever gets twenty-one, without going over, wins the hand. An ace can stand for eleven or one, it matters what you need it if you ever get dealt it. Now, the lingo is much easier. "Hit me" means you’ll get dealt a card and "Bust" means you went over twenty-one. Easy, right? Of course, there is betting! What great card game would be without betting?

I think I’m lucky again tonight. I’ve been beating these officers and workers of the White Star Line for the past twenty minutes. When someone lost, I went onto the next person at the table. So far, Bride has won a few times, Moody once and Will once. Harry? Nothing. And he taught me how to play!

"Alright, I surrender," Bride laughed, handing the cards back to Moody, who began to shuffle them. "I think you should become a professional card player." I laughed.

"Sure. Okay, who’s next?"

"Will," Wilde replied simply, taking a puff of his cigarette. Who knew Wilde was a smoker? He doesn’t look like too much of a smoker, does he? I turned to face Will, who was sitting beside me, as he was last night while Moody continued to shuffle the cards.

"Don’t tell me it’s a conspiracy!" I laughed at him as he shuffled a few more times. He looks extremely frustrated.

"It has to be," he said confidently.

"You’re never going to think she may just be a good player?" Will asked skeptically. Moody laughed.

"She’s a witch!" he joked. "Every time she plays with us, she wins."

"Not all the time," I corrected.

"But most of the time," Wilde laughed as Moody handed him the cards.

"You shuffle them," he told Wilde.

"Why?"

"I think I’m unlucky." Wilde laughed as he began to shuffle the cards.

"Do you want me to deal?" he asked Moody, who nodded. "Alright, my turn." He dealt Will and I both two cards. I got a five and a three. Eight. I need quite a few more to get to twenty-one! I glanced at Will, who seemed to be doing the math in his head.

"Hit me," I instructed Wilde. Literally, I don’t want him to hit me, but—Oh, it’s just a blackjack term! He dealt me another card. Turning it over, it’s a four. Twelve. Well, I’ve got an okay shot at—

"Hit me," Will told the dealer. Where was I? Oh, I’ve got a good shot at maybe getting a smaller card, but it’s highly doubtful I’ll get an ace. Oh, what the Hell? I’ll take the chance.

"Hit me." Another card—this time, it’s another three. Sixteen. Well, I think I’ll stay right here at sixteen. I really don’t think the odds are with me on this, they’re against me. I glanced at Will once more, who had this plain look on his face. He’s a much better poker/blackjack player than me. He really has the poker face. Whenever I got a good hand last night, I was trying not to smile, but I know I was. I suppose I’m not a good liar. With cards. With people, it’s another story.

"Hit me," Will repeated, getting dealt another card. He smiled.

"Hold," I said, trying not to sound sad. He then held out his cards to me. It was exactly twenty-one! "You actually beat me!" I laughed as I got a good look at the cards that were in his hand. An ace, so that was eleven, a five, a two, and a three. "That’s the second time you’ve beaten me."

"Last night poker," he reminded me. I laughed.

"Exactly."

"See, I knew it!" Moody laughed, banging his fist on the table.

"No need to get violent," I reassured him and Harry began to laugh.

"I’m unlucky," Moody decided, nodding his head.

"No, you’re not," I tried to reassure him.

"Oh, yes I am." I handed Wilde back the cards and so did Will.

"I think I’m good for now," I told him. "Let Will beat some other unknowing…" My voice trailed off as Wilde smiled.

"You got it." That’s when there was the knock. Uh-oh, not another knock on the door. That always spells trouble! Wilde grabbed his hat hanging off the corner of an empty chair and everyone began to shove the useless coins, paperclips, miscellaneous objects, not to mention the cards into the navy hat before he threw them under the table at his feet just as the door swung open.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" I actually gulped. I could hear the simultaneous gulps go across the room. Ismay. I hid my head in my hands. Why did it have to be Ismay? Out of all the people on this ship, why the grease ball? "Nice to know the White Star Line is allowing you pay and pleasure at the same time."

"Mr. Ismay, I—" Will’s voice trailed off as he took a quick glance at the officers at the table until he fixed his eyes on me.

"Mr. Ismay, it’s too cold to stay out there all—" Ismay shook his head and Moody immediately shut his mouth.

"Well, young lady," he said, gesturing to me, "so this is where you’ve been running off to. Your father’s looking for you."

"It’s not ten yet!" What is he, my keeper? He’s not my father.

"Oh, it’s extremely past ten, Miss Andrews." I grabbed Harry’s wrist, where he wore his wristwatch and looked at the time. It is not past ten!

"It’s only nine-thirty!" I argued, pointing to the watch. We began playing around seven.

"It’s almost eleven-thirty," Ismay corrected, reading from his pocket watch.

"Actually," Will chimed in, clearing his throat before looking up from his own watch, "He’s right."

"I thought you said your watch was right!" I yelled. Harry looked at me, completely in shock that his watch wasn’t, in fact, the correct time. "It was set by one of the best jewelers!"

"It was right."

"There was another search party out looking for you," Ismay continued as I sighed angrily. "Now, then I’ve found you, we won’t have to miss our cigars and brandy…again." Oh, thank goodness, I wouldn’t want to inflict in his perfect little world. "Now, then, come along, Miss Andrews…" He took my wrist and lifted me out of my chair.

"Hey, that hurt!" That’s when Will and Harry both stood up.

"We’ll take her back," Will offered. Harry looked as though he was ready to kill someone. Ismay, perhaps? "No need to hurt her, Mr. Ismay."

"Don’t you touch her that way," Harry suddenly threatened. Ismay raised an eyebrow skeptically at him.

"Or you’ll what?" he tempted, grasping my wrist merely tighter than before. He began to drag me towards the door and no matter how hard I tried to keep my feet planted to the ground, it was no use. As much as I hate to admit it, old grease ball was stronger than I’ll ever be.

"Why you scum—!" Harry went for his throat, but Moody and Wilde managed to hold him back, along with Will. Ismay smirked. Now, if I ever get the chance, I am throwing him overboard.

"I suggest that you don’t do anything you’ll regret later." Ismay cleared his throat. "If you don’t remember who I am, I am Bruce Ismay."

"Thanks for clearing that up!" I snapped. He looked over his shoulder at me and merely squeezed my wrist harder. Is he trying to break it!? Will suppressed his laughter, along with the other officers—the only ones who weren’t laughing were Harry and I.

"I am the President of the White Star Line and I can assure you, if you won’t allow me to take your precious friend back to where she belongs, I’ll make sure everyone in this room never has a job with a respectable company like this again." Is that a threat? That’s the best he could come up with? That was pathetic.

"Or I could make everyone’s life a living Hell," he continued, "by making sure no one here ever works on the sea again." Everyone tensed up, even more so than before. "So, as I was saying, don’t even attempt to threaten me, Officer Lowe. You are clearly in a state of delusion, thinking you can speak to me that way!" He heartily laughed. "I’m bringing her back to her father, where she belongs. I hope to never see this charade again, especially with Titanic’s officers and a first-class passenger. Now, I bid you good-night, gentlemen. Come along, Miss Andrews."

He dragged me out of the room and began down the hall for the first-class suite. I glanced over his shoulder at Harry and Will, who had no idea what to do except to stand there. I think I was wrong—those two can’t save their own lives, let alone mine!

Ismay’s mumbling to himself as he quickened his pace down the crew’s hallway. "I can’t believe this! I shouldn’t be babysitting Andrews’ daughter! Do I look like that much of a sap? Another search party, he says, it won’t take that much time, he says—I want her back, he says…Well, I’ve had it up to here with that shipbuilder…" I can’t believe I’m listening to this man practically insult my father! We quickly passed the operator’s room and there was Jack Phillips, his back to the door, tapping away. No one can even help me escape from this sobering maniac.

"We’ll miss brandy again, I argued. No we won’t, he said. She’s my daughter, he said. Well!" He glanced over his shoulder at me vindictively, sighing heavily. "She’ll come back, I said. No she won’t, he said. I thought she knew, he said—"

We took a sharp right and I quickly looked over my shoulder at the hallway we had just passed through. I have no idea where we are and I now realize that Ismay is a sincere, tried and true alcoholic. He’s too worried about his brandy to make coherent decisions! Who makes this drunkard president of a shipping company? Another drunkard?

Oh, dear God—why am I just following Ismay around? Have I lost my mind? Who knows where I’ll wind up, because at this point, he’s a very angry alcoholic—I know I probably won’t end up back at my suite, where I belong. Why, oh why, did Harry’s watch have to be wrong? I was fully planning on following my father’s request to be back at ten. I was keeping time!

"You know, Miss Andrews, you’ve caused quite a stir on this ship," Ismay said, shooting me yet another look before eyeing me up and down over his shoulder. "I am glad to say this voyage is almost over."

"Can you let go of me?" I asked softly as he took a more firm grasp on my wrist. He always seems to be strangely gawking at me, why not use it to my advantage? I fluttered my eyes sweetly.

"I’m bringing you back to where you belong, so your father can call off that damn search party!"

"I’ll go back, I promise," I said as he looked again over his shoulder. I smiled as sweetly as I could muster. His mean glare softened, but he shook his head.

"No, you won’t. You’ll go back to that lover-boy of yours." Lover-boy? Who is he kidding? "I’m shocked someone with such high standards, such as your father or your mother, would tolerate such reckless behavior out of their only child!"

"My mother’s not on board."

"That explains much!" he huffed. "You need standards, young lady—"

"What are you, my father?" I asked angrily.

"I might as well be! All I do is search for you!" He gripped my wrist tighter than before, so much so that my fingers are now losing their feeling.

"Let go of me!"

"I will; Once we get to your room!"

"Let go of me NOW!" I shrieked at him.

"NO!" he yelled back at me. He cleared his throat, quickening his pace once more.

"Hey, slime-ball!" I screamed at him, as loud as I could. He stopped, so much in shock that there was a shout of name-calling that he accidentally dropped my wrist.

"What did you just call—" The moment he turned around, I punched him, before pushing up his nose with my palm. Then, I heard a crack! I punched him square in the nose, with my best hand!

He staggered away from me, clutching his nose. He gasped, clutching his nose in his hand as scarlet liquid flowed from his fingers. "You broke my nose!" he gasped, holding his nose tenderly. I attempted not to laugh. I didn’t react to that.

"And by the way," I replied, "His name’s not Lover-Boy. It’s Harold Lowe!" He scowled at me angrily.

"Why, you little—" He went for my throat, with his bloody hands, but I ducked under his arm and began to run. Run as if I had never run before in my entire life.

Chapter Twenty
Stories