EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Twenty-One
"What’s wrong?" my
father asked me as he shut the door behind him. "Does it have something to
do with that screeching sound?" Can he read minds? I nodded.
"Yes."
"Where were you when you
heard it?" A little off-topic, isn’t he?
"In the storage area,"
I responded. He raised a confused eyebrow at me, but nodded.
"Alright, alright. Thank
you, Ann." Why is he thanking me? He cleared his throat before calling to
Mary. "Mary! Mary!" His voice rang through the suite. Mary appeared
from my bedroom seconds later, looking quite startled, as if she had been
taking a quick cat nap.
"Yes, sir?" she asked,
almost timidly, refusing to look him in the eye, keeping her eyes on the
carpet.
"I need you to help
Antoinette get out of those wet clothes. Make sure she dresses warmly—It’s cold
out, and find her warmest coat, would you?"
"Of course, sir."
"But, Daddy…" I said to
my father softly. He looked down at me, confusion etched across his face.
"It’s going to be fine,
honey," he reassured me, before focusing his attention back on Mary.
"And hurry," he instructed.
"Yes, sir," she said
and taking my hand, she began to lead me towards my bedroom as my father went
for his room—out of sight. Where is he going?
"Daddy…" How could he
possibly hear me? Besides the fact that he’s gone now, I had spoken so softly
that I could barely hear myself. Mary glanced at me, raising an eyebrow as she
sort of dragged me into my bedroom, shutting the door behind us.
"What happened to you, Miss
Andrews?"
"Long story," I said
simply. I stood there, motionless. What was going on? Why did my father look so
panic-stricken? I need to stop my mind from wandering. As I took off the dress,
I seem to be in another world. Did what just happen actually happen? Is
everything going to be alright? Of course, those watertight doors are a true
Godsend! Imagine what would’ve happened had the doors weren’t there. My father
is a genius.
Mary began to tie my new corset
and although it still hurts, a lot even, I can’t feel anything. My fingertips
and body are still numb—and I’m beginning to believe my mind is going numb,
too.
"Did you fall overboard? Or
even into the swimming pool?" Mary’s cheerful voice pulled me out of my
head as I stepped into a new, dry dress. She giggled when I didn’t answer.
"Miss Andrews?"
"Sort of," I lied as
she began to hook the dress in the back, myself still holding onto the oak
bedpost. I could suddenly hear knocking—Not on my door, mind you, but on the
front door of our suite, that led to the first-class corridor. She stopped.
"I suppose I have to get
that—" I heard the usual creaking of the door, that only creaks when it
opens, and took Mary by the arm.
"He got it," I told her
simply.
"Mr. Andrews, the Captain
wishes to see you…" I can’t make out the rest of what the man said, but
either way, there has to be a problem. Why else would Captain Smith want to see
my father? It’s not like they’re chummy or play cards—Unlike the rest of us
first-class folk.
"Tell him I’ll be there as
soon as I can," he replied.
"Yes, sir." The door
shut, I heard it click shut and then there was a knock on my door—just as Mary
began to ring out my soggy hair.
"Antoinette? I have to go
see the Captain, but I’ll be back—"
"Wait, wait!" I ran for
the door and swung it open. My father stood there, with his black wool coat on,
Titanic’s blueprints under his arm. "I’m coming with you." I don’t
want to leave his sight, especially with my new-found confusion about what
happened below deck merely minutes ago. I want to feel safe and the only way I
can feel that way is if I’m with him.
"Ann, you’re soaking wet.
Just stay here. You need to warm up." I shook my head. "I’ll be
back," he tried to reassure me. "It’s for the best if you stay
here." I opened my mouth to argue, but instead—I gestured to the blueprints.
"There are more blueprints
than that!" As if he thinks I don’t know him! "I’ll carry the rest of
them for you. You can’t carry them all by yourself." Enticing him with an
offer of being a carrier could work. He hesitated, but managed a nod.
"Alright." He sighed.
"Alright." Mary pulled me back into the room, twisting the water out
of my hair for the second time.
"Miss Andrews, if you’d just
give me a minute, you’ll be dry in no time—"
"Don’t worry about it,"
I told her simply as I ran for my closet. I’ll dry eventually, and who really
cares at this point? No one else is suffering for me being in the wrong place
at the wrong time—just me.
Rummaging through the closet, I
can’t find any coats. Well, besides the fact that the one I usually wear is now
soaking wet—My mother doesn’t pack for warmth, she packs for the style aspects
of clothing. She needs to get a grip.
I went to the far end of the
closet and there, sitting there in the darkness was a black coat. Well, it’s
better than nothing at this point. I ripped it off the hanger and threw it on.
"Thank you, Mary," I
told her, gesturing to my dry dress. I have to learn how to be more courteous.
The woman does everything for me.
"Not a problem, Miss
Andrews," she replied. I glanced back at my bedroom doorway, only to find
my father gone. I ran into the sitting room, looking around frantically for
him. Did he already leave? No, he told me he’d wait! He’s someone who would
ultimately keep his word. I know that much.
"Dad!" I called out,
beginning to walk towards his office. And there he is, searching through large
pieces of paper protected in a bigger than life envelope that was spread across
a table in the center of the room. Things were scattered on the floor: rulers,
pencils and other miscellaneous objects and for the first time, I’ve seen the
top of that particular table. One blueprint usually covers the entire table
top, but not now. They were rolled up, now on the floor at my father’s feet. I
realize now he’s searching through other blueprints.
"Antoinette, come here,"
he instructed in a monotone, pulling out blueprints at random from the envelope
before pushing them down to the table at me. "Roll them up." Well, at
least I’m making myself somewhat useful. He pulled out two or three more
sketching of the ship and assisted me in rolling them up. He remained silent as
we made our way into the sitting room. "Mary, we’ll be back!" he
called out towards the direction of my bedroom.
"Alright, sir!" she
replied. He glanced down at me and at this moment in time—I’m struggling with
blueprints. They’re bigger than me!
"Ann, are you alright?"
he asked me. "I can carry them…" I shook my head.
"No, no, I’m fine." He
managed a nod and opening the door, he waited for me to exit and shut it behind
us. Taking my hand, we quickly made our way down the hallway, myself trying to
keep up with him. One step for him could mean three or four for me.
Now at his heels, more so than
before, I can see more first-class passengers coming out of their rooms,
wondering aloud about that screeching noise that they had heard. They’re
talking to any White Star Line official that had been roaming the halls.
Granted, they’re more like interrogating…Either way, I don’t think anyone has a
clue about what’s going on, not even the ship’s workers. I sure don’t know
what’s going on.
"Excuse me," said a
woman as we reached her to someone in White Star Line garb, "why have the
engines stopped? I felt a shudder." The man managed a smile, shaking his
head.
"I shouldn’t worry, madam.
We’ve likely thrown a propeller blade…that’s the shudder you felt. May I bring
you anything?" We brushed past the man and the woman, who still felt the
need to talk.
"No, thank you," she
replied behind us as we got farther and farther away from her. My father
maneuvered his way around the corridors as if he had Titanic memorized, his
hand still locked into mind, refusing to let go, no matter how far behind I
ended up getting. Chattering filled the air, I now notice, buzzing around my
ears, going in one ear and out the other.
"Everyone’s under
control…" I heard one voice say around us, but I couldn’t put a face to
the voice.
"Sir, there is no
emergency," said another. How do they know that? How do any of us know
there is no emergency?
"Dad…" He glanced over
his shoulder at me. "Where are we meeting the Captain?"
"Up on deck."
"But, where?" I need
specifics, if anything, just to keep my mind from wandering.
"Near the crew area."
Oh, sure, that’s much more specific than up on deck.
"What do you think the
problem is?" I asked him. He didn’t respond. "Daddy?"
"I don’t know, honey."
He paused. "I don’t know." As we got outside, the cold hit me so
hard, I almost fell over. It was so intense—I can’t even believe my hair being
just a tad bit damp could make my bones this cold. That’s when I saw it. The
ice.
Ice was scattered across the
deck. Big blocks of ice—that look to weigh more than those crates that are
probably now underwater below us, in the storage area. Other passengers, in
their pajamas, were tossing the ice back and forth to one another, laughing and
giggling about the fact their hands were freezing from it.
Well, maybe they should stop
touching it before their hands freeze to the ice. Or maybe they should try
being in that water for more than five seconds, and we’ll see how much laughter
there is.
"Did you see the
iceberg?" I heard one male passenger ask another. An iceberg?
"Heard it, didn’t see
it."
"Apparently, it hit over
there."
Titanic hit an…iceberg? That
makes no sense! Sure, it does account for some of the screeching sounds I heard
down in that freezing storage area, but an iceberg can’t cause that much damage
to metal. Can it?
"Dad, did we hit an
iceberg?" My father looked at me, and nodded slightly.
"I think we did."
We went towards the white stairs
that led to the higher level of the deck, where all of the navigation for the
ship is…I think, and who came into view but Wilde, the Captain and another
officer I didn’t recognize.
"Mr. Andrews!" Wilde
exclaimed as he began to lead the group behind him down the stairs and towards
us.
"Mr. Andrews," began
the officer I don’t know, "Boiler room six is flooded eight feet above the
plate and the mail hold is worse—She’s all buckled in." They began to
walk, my father in the middle of them, his hand still in mine as he pulled me
across the deck. Where the Hell are we going?
"Can you shore up?" the
Captain asked. What, in God’s name, does that mean!? The same officer shook his
head.
"Not unless the pumps get
ahead." Well, at least he seems to know what he’s talking about.
"Have you seen the damage in
the mail hold?" my father asked, bringing me to his right, in the middle
of the group.
"No, she’s already
underwater." Well, I suppose an iceberg can damage metal.