EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Three
I roamed the wine-red, carpeted
halls of the first class, unsure of where I was going. I had never even looked
up when I had boarded the ship, I had kept my eyes at my feet. My mother always
said that’s where women’s eyes belonged, not roaming about. My mother needs to
get a grip on life, I know—but that’s how she is. Why my father ever married
her, I’ll never know. She’s always the one to start the arguments. It’s kind of
nice to know, in my own mind, that I won’t have to deal with her correcting me
through this whole voyage. "A young woman such as yourself, Antoinette,
should not be roaming about a luxury liner by yourself," she would say to
me. So much for that theory. "You need a companion to show you the
sights." The life according to my mother, Mrs. Thomas Andrews, consists of
me sitting, staring at walls, sitting some more, and so forth. Even when I try
to act like a lady, my father thinks I’m losing my mind. I can’t win.
As I passed an elevator, a voice
asked, "Looking for an elevator, Miss?" I glanced over my shoulder at
the elevator operator, probably excited to even operate machinery.
"Not really," I
replied, walking towards the open doors to get a good look at its’ operator.
"If you’re looking for any
place in particular, I may be able to assist," he conjured on.
"Thank you, but I—I know
where I’m going." I’m sure he must be thinking that’s what every person
passing that elevator says, as they go around in circles. In reality, I have
somewhat of an idea where I’m going.
I continued to follow the carpeting
until I came upon large glass doors made of honey oak, with two men standing
there in tuxedos. Door openers? My father has truly thought of anything.
"Is that the dining hall?" I asked one man standing at attention, but
seemed to be eyeing.
"Yes, Miss. Care to go
inside?" I nodded as they both opened the doors for me. I scurried in,
picking up the trail of my dress, thanking them profusely. That’s when I saw
the dome. It was shining above everyone down the staircases and even at me, as
if the stars knew where they should be shining. Dear God, it’s even more lovely
than I could’ve imagined. I leaned against a railing to get a good look at the
done, realizing now its’ made of glass, etched so you can’t see outside, but
allows for the light to shine through. Just breathtaking.
I looked down at what was at the
bottom of the staircase. Just angel figurines adorned the end of the handrails.
It seemed to be deserted. No reason to be a lady with nobody around. My mother
would slit my throat if she knew I even had thoughts like that! I gripped the
handrail, grasping my dress train, taking the ring sewn to the corner and
placing it onto my right wrist. As I followed each pristine step of the
staircase, I’m more in awe with each passing moment. I can’t believe my father
built this. I can’t believe I was so naïve to say to him that the ship was
really big. Had I seen Titanic’s interior, maybe I would’ve had some idea of
what he was talking about when I had seen in the papers Titanic being called
the Ship of Dreams. It really is!
When I reached the last step, a
load moan, almost as if the ship was alive, made me jump. Dear God, what was
that!? As the moan dissipated from the air, I could hear voices talking amongst
themselves. I began to follow the voices, finding another set of stairs. I
scurried down them, I can see their beauty afterwards. When I hit the last
step, there was a rather large dining hall ahead of me, inside two open oak
doors. To the right, there was merely wall, to the left there was open glass. I
suppose that’s so others can see what’s going on outside of the hall? I
shrugged. I don’t really know. That’s when I saw him.
My father, sitting with the
officers of the Titanic, E.J. Smith the experienced captain, and a few rich,
first-class passengers. There seems to be only one empty seat, beside my
father. I suppose that’s where I was to sit. I can see Bruce Ismay, with his
greased-up hair, and is that Molly Brown? I met her once a few months ago and
she was so American, I adored her. "And what about the ship, Thomas?"
Ismay’s voice echoed through the room and towards me. I ran for the wall beside
the doors so I could hear properly. My father looked up from his notebook that
he was scribbling in and looked slightly confused.
"I’m sorry, what?"
"The ship, Thomas, the ship!"
Ismay repeated.
"Oh. Oh. The ship…" his
voice trailed off as he continued to write.
"He’s merely worried about
that daughter of his," Ismay decided. That daughter? Was that an insult?
"Antoinette, Bruce. Her name
is Antoinette." Molly, who was sitting to his left, gave him a concerned
look.
"Well, what seems to be the
trouble?" she asked him. My father shrugged.
"I have no idea."
"What do you mean, you have
no idea?" Molly started to laugh, slapping my father on the back.
"Just ask!"
"I’ve tried."
"Women," Ismay
muttered. Did he just roll his eyes? I don’t think he holds women too dear or
close to his heart, but that’s my opinion.
"She’s not just a woman,
Bruce," my father corrected. "She’s my daughter."
"I know that, Thomas, I
just—" My father shook his head at Ismay.
"If you must refer to her at
all, refer to her as Antoinette." Ismay managed a nod. I glanced around
the around of the table, and the officers seemed to be extremely quiet. One was
fiddling with his hat, that was sitting on the table next to his plate, another
was fixing his cufflinks. No one seemed that interested.
"Thomas, I’m sure she’s
fine," Molly attempted to reassure him.
"She’s not. She has barely
spoken a word, cracked a smile for months."
"From what I remember, she
was vivacious, very talkative, very sweet…" her voice trailed off as my
father nodded.
"That’s how she was. I don’t
know what to do. She reassures me everything’s fine." I know everything’s
not fine, but I’m just not sure what’s actually wrong. Maybe my mother’s
complaining about my being unladylike is catching up with me. He gestured to
the empty chair beside him. "It’s not like her to not want to come."
Molly chuckled.
"I don’t blame her!"
she laughed. "Get her to come to breakfast. I’ll get her to talk."
How will she? My father nodded, saying something I couldn’t make out to the
waiter, while pointing to a menu.
"Just make sure it’s covered
so it stays hot!" he shouted as the waiter left the hall, and went towards
the kitchen. He sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"I was hoping to give her a
tour," he said to Captain Smith.
"Well, tomorrow’s supposed
to be fine weather," the Captain said, with a slight smile. "I’m sure
the crew would be happy to meet her." The officers glanced up at their
superior, all nodding.
"Sure," one said, with
a slight smile.
"Hell, why not?" was
another’s reply. There was suddenly a slight tap on my shoulder and I jumped,
gasping as I almost fell over. The taper managed to catch me as I turned to
face him.
"You alright, Miss?"
asked a heavy British accented voice. A uniformed officer stood in front of me
as his arms dropped to his sides. I managed a nod.
"You almost gave me a heart
attack," I whispered to him, backing away from the door so no one would
notice us.
"I do apologize." He
held out his hand. "Officer William Murdoch." I grasped his hand,
shaking it slightly.
"Antoinette Andrews."
He smiled at me, almost as if he recognized me.
"So, you’re
Antoinette?" He gestured to the dining hall behind us. "Thomas
Andrews’s daughter?"
"Sadly, I am. I’m a little
young to be his wife, don’t you think?" He laughed.
"I’ve seen many strange age
differences, Miss Andrews." I hate that Miss Andrews formality—it makes me
feel like an old matron. I don’t even have the strength to tell him to just
call me by my real name. Why can’t I be more like Molly Brown? I used to be—My
mother corrupted me.
"Am I not what you’ve
expected…?" I asked. He managed a laugh as our hands dropped to our sides.
"No. Your father’s been
raving about you all night, Miss Andrews." Is he deaf or something?
"That’s not what I
heard," I replied, with a slight smile. "Anyway, I’m off." I
can’t have my father find me here. I’ll hear about this through the whole
voyage, my luck. I hesitated. "Do me a favor, would you?" I’ve got nothing
to lose by asking. "Don’t tell anyone you saw me here."
"Sure," he said,
somewhat perplexed. "But, why…?" I could hear chairs being pushed in,
and footsteps coming towards the door
"I can answer anything
tomorrow morning," I told him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "I
promise." I quickly glanced over my shoulder.
"Alright, I’ll keep my mouth
shut." I smiled.
"Thank you." My dress’s
train had ended up on the floor again, so I grabbed it with my hand and began
to run up the stairs.
"Be careful!" he hissed
at me. I quickly glanced at him, managing a smile.
"I will be." And I left
William Murdoch alone just as the dinner party flooded into the hallway I was
just standing in.
"Anyone care for a
brandy?" Bruce Ismay’s voice made me roll my eyes. He is such a grease
ball.