EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Forty-Five

I’m not surprised he asked about my father. I’m not. I sort of, kind of, even expected it. I didn’t expect the way Ismay reacted to the question, though—no one did. The Senator, though, seemed quite pleased that Ismay finally answered the question—or even answered it at all. Harry gripped my hand tighter than before. I now feel as if all eyes are on me, but I know they’re not. Ismay hasn’t seen me yet, or I know he’d keep watching me. But, he knows I’m around. He knows that.

"In what capacity was he?" Smith questioned. Ismay furrowed his brow.

"I do not quite follow you," he admitted. It sounds like he’s lying to me. Smith gritted his teeth.

"What was the occasion of his coming to make this trial trip?"

"As a representative of the builders, to see that everything was working satisfactorily and also to see how he could improve the next ship." Well, my father certainly lived up to that, he was diligent in seeing how he could improve a new ship. All of those notes of his, for nothing, for there won’t ever be another ship with him as the Master Shipbuilder.

"Was he a man of large experience?" I found myself nodding, but stopped myself.

"Yes."

"Had he had part in the construction of this ship himself?" Hell, yes.

"Yes."

"Was he among the survivors?" Ismay hesitated, but shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no." Yet, here we are again, back in the twisted web Bruce Ismay has weaved. My father was asked to go aboard the Titanic, he was representing the builders of the ship, but Ismay went on there voluntarily and lived? It doesn’t seem right. That’s because it isn’t right—both Ismay and I know it.

"How old a man was he?"

"It is difficult to judge a man’s age, as you know, but I should think he was perhaps forty-two or forty-three years of age. He may have been less. I really could not say." Well, he was less. He was thirty-nine. Ismay wasn’t off by a lot. He doesn’t get any credit, either way.

"Did anyone accompany you on board this ship?" Ismay shook his head.

"No. I was alone."

"What about Thomas Andrews? Did anyone accompany him on the voyage?" Ismay managed a nod, not opening his mouth to answer. Come on, spit it out, my friend. You know I was there, you know you had chased me down into that boiler room, you know I yelled at you in the Captain’s area when my father was studying those blueprints, before reprimanding me. You know I was there. "Mr. Ismay?"

"His daughter." Smith stared at him, waiting for more of an answer.

"Her name…?"

"Antoinette Andrews." Smith went to one table behind him and whispered something to one of the men sitting there. One man was scribbling something down on a notepad and I swear, I saw Smith mouth the word testify. Oh, dear God, I hope I don’t have to testify. I knew I should’ve stayed at the hotel. I shouldn’t have answered that officer aboard the Carpathia—I should’ve made up a fake name and just went along with it. No one would’ve known the difference.

"Was she among the survivors?" Smith asked.

"That I could not say, sir." Lying again, my friend? Tsk-tsk, this doesn’t look good. Smith took a piece of paper offered by one of the men he had just spoken with and quickly read through it. I can see his eyes shifting left to right very quickly. Neither of them has yet to spot me.

"Well, she seems to be on the list of survivors…" His skeptical voice stopped as he glanced at Ismay.

"Perhaps she survived." Ismay shrugged his shoulders. "Either way, I could not say for certain." Harry glanced at me, managing a smile.

"You’re one of the wanted ones," he whispered into my ear.

"I guess so." I don’t care, either way. I hope to never be found, so I won’t have to testify.

"Well, then." Smith seems to now be getting away from the topic of me. Thank goodness. I sighed a breath of relief. "Then…you were the only executive officer aboard the ship representing your company, aside from the ship’s customary complement of officers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you have occasion to consult with the Captain about the movement of the ship?"

"Never." I rolled my eyes. Liar. I’m sure he talked to the Captain—he probably shouted at him for all I know.

"Did he consult you about it?"

"Never. Perhaps I am wrong in saying that. I should like to say this: I do not know that it was quite a matter of consulting him about it, of his consulting me about it, but what we had arranged to do was that we would not attempt to arrive in New York at the lightship before five ‘o’ clock on Wednesday morning."

"That was the understanding?" Smith questioned.

"Yes. But that was arranged before we left Queenstown."

"Was it supposed that you could reach New York at that time without putting the ship to reaching to its’ full running capacity?"

"Oh, yes, sir." Could’ve fooled me. He seemed to always act as though we were never going quite fast enough for him. That was, of course, between him telling everyone and anyone who would listen about the broken china. On board, he spoke of wasted money, but not now. No, he couldn’t tarnish his already tarnished reputation. Besides, everyone was gone now—nobody could even say otherwise. Even to him, I’m dead. "There was nothing to be gained by arriving at New York any earlier than that."

That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. That is a flat out lie! I took in a sharp breath. So, I was right: Bruce Ismay would and did lie on the stand. We have nothing to hide. My blood began to boil with anger. He does have something to hide! I remember distinctly the conversation I had with Ismay, well more like an argument with him, on the Carpathia, when I questioned him if he was the one who ordered the Captain to speed up the ship. And he had nodded. The jerk had nodded!

"The ship never had been at full speed."

How could I have not heard him say that? Was I too engrossed in my own thoughts to even hear and comprehend what he was saying? I must’ve been! He says now that Titanic wasn’t going at full speed, but that night on the Carpathia, he had told me otherwise. He’s lying, just like I knew he would. And it was all for the newspapers, it was all for the papers, the press…then, he said it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I suppose he got his press, just like he wanted.

"You lying son of a bitch!" I shouted. I gasped, putting my hand to my mouth. Was that me? I glanced around the room and everyone had turned their attention to me. People were turned in their chairs to see me, the Senator had stopped his pacing and Ismay had just broken out into a cold sweat. Alright, so I suppose that was me and I said it loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Excuse me?" Smith asked, just as my voice echoed away, putting his hands on his hips. I stood up, holding onto the empty seat in front of me for balance.

"He’s lying!" I shouted, gesturing to Ismay. "You are a lying, cheating scumbag—You son of a bitch!" Women in the crowd gasped, as if they had never heard cursing before in their life. I never knew I could swear like that, though! As the people in the rows of seats began to chatter, Smith knocked on the table Ismay was sitting at.

"Order!" he shouted, not breaking his glare from me. "Order!" Nobody’s listening as Smith turned back to Ismay.

"Why don’t you tell us the truth, Bruce?!" I shouted at him, gesturing around the room. "I’m sure everyone would like to hear you say something besides your utter bullshit!" Harry pulled on my arm to pull me back down into my seat, but I pushed his hand away. This is not the time to stop. I’m too far in.

"How dare you!" Ismay yelled at me. "Are you calling Bruce Ismay a liar?"

"I don’t see anyone else with the name Bruce Ismay in this room!" He huffed, completely insulted.

"Can you imagine! A complete stranger telling me I am—"

"Isn’t it true that you wanted Titanic in New York by Tuesday night—so she could make the morning papers!?" Ismay glared at me, but didn’t respond. "Bruce Ismay, tell us all the truth!" Everyone turned their attention to Ismay, including the Senator.

"I have nothing to say," he said between gritted teeth, trying to sound cool and collective. "I’ve never seen this woman before in my life!" I huffed. Of course he knows me. I punched him, he gawked at me every change he got, he told me the truth. And I also broke his china. That’s it! He won’t be able to control himself with the china.

"Harry and I broke the china!" I suddenly blurted. Ismay glared at me, his jaw dropping.

"Why, you little brat!" He stood up from his chair. I knew it. I can read Ismay like a book! "You’re going to have to pay for that! You and that Officer! I swear to God, you will pay for that china!"

"It’s at the bottom of the North Atlantic!" Harry suddenly argued, standing up.

"I knew it was you two! How could I have not known!? You broke White Star Line property, goddamn it! I will make you pay for it if it’s the last thing I do!" Smith, who I think has been enjoying the little spectacle, had been searching around the room for something and I suppose he found it. A mallet. He banged it loudly onto the table to silence everyone, and everyone did—except for Bruce Ismay. "I want them arrested!" he yelled at the top of his lungs to Smith. "Guards, guards! Arrest them! Arrest them!"

"For God’s sake, I said ORDER!" Smith slammed the mallet down, harder than before onto the table and everyone shut up immediately. I think he might’ve caused harm to that poor table. I almost fell back into my seat. The sound pinged across the room. There was silence for what felt like an hour, before he turned to me. "Miss, I am going to ask you civilly to leave this room. This is an inquiry, not a shouting contest!"

"But—" My eyes welled up with unexpected tears as Harry took my hand.

"I don’t want to have to hold you in contempt, Miss." How can he hold me on anything? I’m merely stating the facts. He stopped, taking in a deep breath himself, winded from all of the yelling he obviously is not accustomed to. "You’re disturbing the peace." I. Am. Not. Oh, when did I turn into such a nutcase?

"Ann, come on," Harry said, squeezing my hand before gesturing to the doors behind us. "We’ll go get some air."

"Harry, but—" He forced a smile.

"No jail for you, Love. Not today, anyway. Come on." He handed me my crutches and he helped me out of the row. I couldn’t keep my eyes on where I was going or even Harry, I kept my eyes on Ismay. I placed my crutches under my arms and began to walk, Harry beside me. "Careful, careful," he said softly, holding me steady as we made our way down the aisle to the door.

"Guards!" Smith shouted, practically making me jump. "Please, open the doors!"

"But, sir…" an officer shook his head at him.

"Just open the damn door, Henry!" he exclaimed angrily. The guards sighed, but unlocked the doors for us and we stepped out into the hallway. The doors stayed open as the guards seemed to watch with interest my struggle with the crutches. Fantastic, my ankle’s throbbing now. I must’ve put pressure on it. "Alright, shut the damn door!" Goodness, he’s mighty cranky, isn’t he? I heard behind me the doors begin to slowly but surely shut. The last thing I heard was the same questioner, interrogator even, say, "I’d like to know the truth, Mr. Ismay!" I smiled at that and quickly glancing over my shoulder, I can see Ismay staring at me—like a child who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar, just as the door shut behind us.

Chapter Forty-Six
Stories