EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Eight

"Ann, you haven’t touched your food," my father whispered into my ear. Even though I heard him, I didn’t hear him. Sure, it makes no sense, this whole voyage is beginning to not make any sense. I wish something would make sense for a change! As I glanced around the dinner table around us, Harry’s not here. He must be on duty or something—but Will couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. Ismay won’t shut up, either. I tried not to roll my eyes, but I did at the table instead of Ismay. He needs a good slap. "Ann?" I have to answer to my father, too. He’s not going to give up so easily, as easily as he usually does.

"I suppose I’m not that hungry," I replied into his ear. I kept my eyes on the empty chair across from me, where Harry, I think, might’ve sat had he been here. As the conversation died down and the plates began to be taken away, I knew all of the men were going to go into that dumb smoking room and smoke their brains out. My father, though, would retreat back to the suite and stare at the plans of Titanic until he got so tired, he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Do I sound jealous of Titanic? Dear God, I hope not! I think I may be, though…I think I, Antoinette Andrews, may be jealous of a hunk of iron. What is this world coming to—first I dream about Harold Lowe and William Murdoch and now I’m jealous of a ship? What would my mother say? Who cares what my mother would say! Who cares! Besides, my father loves me, that’s what matters But, he also loves his ship and I can completely respect that. I do believe, however, that this ship gets treated better than the people on it, but that’s my opinion.

Even on that tour of Titanic today, I wanted to throw myself overboard. It’s a ship, it’s my father’s ship—he built her, he created her, but the last thing I wanted to do was walk around a ship full of people on a Friday afternoon. I did get to see everything that made this liner the Ship of Dreams: her engines, the boiler room and everything else in between, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I am so proud of my father, does he know that? I don’t know at this point.

"Are you finished, Miss Andrews?" a waiter asked me. I stifled a nod. I can’t eat. Mary, Mary, she tied me into this corset too tight and I can barely breathe, let alone eat. There’s always tomorrow. And besides, I don’t have much of an appetite.

"Care for a brandy, gentlemen?" Ismay’s voice rang through the crowded dining hall. Most of the men at the table began to chatter, almost as bad as when women gossip, and stood up, beginning to make their way into the smoking room.

"Antoinette, do you want me to bring you back to your room?" Will’s cheerful voice pulled me from my mind and back into reality—the cold reality of the fact that I’m sitting at a table where women are considered objects, and there are barely ever any women who ever want to make intelligent conversation. Molly Brown aside, of course, she can always be counted on to make someone laugh.

"No, I’ll stay here," I responded as he stood.

"Well, I must be getting back…" his voice trailed off as he took my gloved hand, laying a gentle kiss on it. "My shift tonight."

"Have fun," I said, managing a smile. He furrowed his brow, confused, before nodding.

"I will." He hesitated. "Will I see you tomorrow?" I hope not. I can’t keep playing this game with these officers any longer. I wish I was engaged to some old man, that way, I’d be unavailable. I’m not a seafaring woman, even as the Master Shipbuilder’s daughter—I can barely stomach the sea.

"Maybe." He dropped my hand, smiling wide.

"Thank you for tonight, Antoinette. It was wonderful." I barely said a word, how could it be wonderful?

"You’re welcome. I owed you—you saved me from the lifeboat." He laughed and placing his hat back on his head, he brushed past me and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he left the dining hall, through the doors I had first met him, and up the stairs. I sighed a breath of relief, rubbing my forehead. This has been one long night.

"Ann?" A hand on my bare shoulder made me jump. I turned around, keeping my hand on the voice’s and realized it was my father.

"Yes, Daddy?" I asked, trying to sound pleasant.

"Even if you didn’t want Will to take you back to your room, I’ll take you. I’m going back." I shook my head.

"No, I’m just going to stay here." I paused. "And sit."

"When can I expect you?" I shrugged.

"Soon." He nodded, kissing me on the head, smoothing out my hair like he always seems to do when he’s worried.

"Ann, I—" He kneeled down to my level, leaning against my chair and the one he had been sitting in to my right for support. "I have no idea what’s wrong." He sounded so sad at that moment. "You were so happy yesterday and now, you’re…"

"Daddy, there’s nothing wrong." He doesn’t look convinced. "Really."

"If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, won’t you?" I nodded.

"Yes." He smiled, almost out of relief and kissed me on the cheek.

"I love you, Antoinette."

"I love you, too, Daddy." He stood up and slowly, at first, left the dining hall and left me to an entirely empty table. It was empty of everything, except for the still-lit candles. A few women around me idled at nearby tables, but I knew they would be gone soon enough. I stood up and pushing my chair in, I made my way to a nearby exit. I can only take the stuffed shirts for so long, I am human!

I pushed open the door to the deck and it almost hit me, throwing me to the floor. The wind seemed to be wiping, and it was cold, cold to the bone, but I managed to shut the door behind me and began my way down the deck. I’m not sure where I’m going or what I’m going to do in the next five, ten or even fifteen seconds, but I know I’d rather be alone and cold than be around Ismay and all of his worshippers, even if they were away from me—in that dumb smoking room.

The deck is completely empty. I can hear a few voices and looking over my shoulder, I realize it’s coming from the Captain’s quarters and where the ship is steered, where the officers usually are and all of that—but as for passengers, everyone was either asleep or drinking to their heart’s content. I leaned against the white railing of Titanic, refusing to let the bitter wind make me go indoors, where every other sane woman should be. I held onto the handrail with all of my might until my knuckles turned cold before grazing my fingers over them. Painted white, obviously, but they’re metal underneath and love to hold onto the cold. Fantastic.

I can’t wait to get off of this ship. I won’t ever have to worry about William Murdoch or Harold Lowe again—or men ever after this voyage is over. It should be interesting to see how I make it through life without a husband, but there’s a first time for everything. Oh, if only my mother had a grave. One thing still makes no sense to me. I was so giggly and happy around Harry last night and even that afternoon during lunch. Now, with Will, I feel the way I did when I boarded. Quiet, unsure of my emotions. Maybe I’m reading into this too much, but it just doesn’t make much sense—

"Antoinette?" I jumped, probably as a result of the cold and fright and slowly but surely turned around. I hope it’s not Will, he’ll make sure I go inside. I sighed a half-breath of relief when I realized it was Harold Lowe. "Hello," he said with a slight laugh, tipping his hat to me with a simple bow.

"Hello," I responded, turning back to the sea.

"You do realize it’s freezing out here, right?" he asked, walking towards me. I glanced at him momentarily, noticing now I can see his breath against the dark sky. It is freezing. His nose is all red, too—along with his cheeks.

"It’s pretty cold," I replied, with a nod.

"Especially without a coat." He smiled at me.

"I’m okay." I gestured to him. "You look colder than me."

"I’ve been out here all night."

"White Star Line just loves to torture their officers, don’t they?" He laughed.

"I think it’s all a conspiracy," he joked. He cleared his throat, fixing his suit jacket, re-buttoning it. "I heard you went to dinner with Will," he said casually, leaning against the ship’s railing.

"It doesn’t take long for word to travel around here, does it?" He smiled, shaking his head.

"No, not really. Small ship, you know."

"I know, I feel so cramped!" I cleared my throat. "I owed Will, if you’re wondering."

"Oh." He sounds surprised. "Will’s a good man."

"Yes, he is." I sighed. "Do you have the time?"

"Almost nine," he read from his watch. "Do you want to go inside?" he asked me suddenly. "My shift is practically over and I don’t plan on staying out here all night."

"I’ll see you, then," I managed to say. He laughed, gesturing to the door that leads into the dining hall.

"I don’t plan on leaving you out here! We’ll go inside—You have no coat."

"True." I really don’t know if I want to go in, though.

"We’ll get something warm to drink…" Oh, he’s enticing me with the thoughts of warm beverages.

"And food?"

"Didn’t you just eat?" I shook my head.

"Not really." I just pushed the food around my plate, but he doesn’t really know that.

"I’m good friends with the chef, I’m sure he has something for you."

"Oh, really?" I asked, skeptically. "Good friends?" He smiled.

"Well, acquaintances." I knew it! "We have to go inside, though." I sighed, rubbing my eyes, turning to face him as I leaned against the railing.

"Do I have to?" He smiled—this sweet smile, the same smile I had seen yesterday at lunch.

"Yes. Come on." He took my wrist and began to drag me towards the door to the dining hall. Instead of struggling with him, I didn’t. I’m freezing, anyway—but I know I can’t admit that to him. I followed him inside and waited as he pulled the door in shut from the preceding wind.

I quickly glanced around the room and surprisingly, everyone’s gone. The carpeted room is completely bare. The plates have all been cleared, the glasses and the silverware. The only thing that is keeping this room somewhat alive is the chandelier and the candles still lit at the table. Even the band’s gone. They never leave until the absolute end. I made my way over to the still-open piano and sat down at the bench in front of it. Harry kept himself at my heels and as I sat down, I realized I had goosebumps on my arms from being out in the cold. I didn’t feel cold, out, though. It felt sort of…wonderful. I was alone. Until this one decided to show up, anyway.

"Are you cold?" he asked me suddenly. I glanced up at him, shrugging.

"Not, really," I lied. He laughed, sitting down beside me.

"No need to lie, Antoinette." He stood up, unbuttoning his overcoat and before I knew it, it was wrapped around me.

"No, no, Harry, I’m not cold—"

"Until you warm up," he suggested.

"But—"

"No buts." He’s not one to take a no for an answer, now is he? I sighed. It’s frivolous to argue. I might as well be appreciative of the generosity. "I’ll see what the chef has left over. You do drink tea, don’t you?" I nodded. As much as I sometimes dislike tea, the fact that it’s warm is a relief right now. "I’ll be right back." He began to walk away, but suddenly turned back. "Don’t run off on me." I glanced up from the carpet to him.

"Now, why would I do that?"

"It’s happened before," he mumbled, more to himself than to me. What is he talking about? I watched closely as he disappeared out of the dining hall, leaving me, the piano and his overcoat, completely and utterly baffled.

Chapter Nine
Stories