SHIP OF DREAMS
Chapter Six

Friday morning dawned clear and sunny. Anne had become accustomed to the sounds of the ship, and fell asleep to the sound of the engines. Now, she awakened to the sounds of the crew working about the ship. She glanced at her pocket watch in the early morning light. The time was quarter ‘til seven, and Anne had another hour and forty-five minutes before breakfast would be served. Not one to waste the daylight, she searched for Megan and asked the maid to help her dress.

Anne could not decipher the silly grin Megan had on her face the entire time she helped Anne ready for the day, and by the time she reached the poop deck, she still could not figure out the meaning of the smile.

She watched the stewards walk the dogs, and counted at least six of the furry animals. Then, she went to the railing to watch the sunrise. It had begun not too long ago, and she smiled as she felt a slight warmth on her face and arms. The weather seemed to be steadily cooling, however. Fortunately, she had taken her shawl with her, and gratefully wrapped it closer around her. She closed her eyes, and dreamed she could feel Murdoch’s arms around her, as they’d been the previous evening. Her stomach was aflutter, and she had never felt so alive before in her life. Is this love? No, it can’t be. It’s far too soon. It’s an infatuation. Still, she could not erase the images of the handsome officer from her mind.

"I shall be presumptuous and assume that you have not eaten breakfast." Anne turned to see Murdoch standing a few feet behind her, a cup of tea in each hand.

"You would be correct in your assumption." Anne smiled with amusement. She accepted the steaming hot cup of tea with a soft thank you. They both turned to watch the sunrise. "Tell me, Mr. Murdoch, do you ever sleep?"

"Yes." Murdoch nodded; he wondered if he should remind her to address him by his first name. "Sometimes. But not often. You get used to it. You don’t seem to sleep much, either."

"Well, I was usually up late at Barclay, grading essays or helping someone or any other number of tasks. And I always had to wake early enough to dress, eat breakfast, and prepare for the day before the students were awake. It’s just become a habit to go to sleep late and rise early." Anne shrugged, then took a sip of her tea. "Don’t you have to be on watch? I don’t want to keep you."

"Don’t worry. Lowe is at the bridge now, and the experience is good for him. Besides, we’ll be able to see any icebergs or growlers in time to steer around them," Murdoch reassured her.

"Growlers?" Anne asked.

"A growler is a dark-colored slab of ice that has broken off from a larger iceberg or an ice pack," Murdoch explained. "Not to worry. We haven’t received any ice warnings yet. And if we do, it’s nothing unusual. Ice is common here in April."

Anne nodded with a small, forced smile. Ice? There will be ice? Well, don’t worry about it. Will—Mr. Murdoch said ice is common. And he’s got plenty of skill. He’ll take good care of us. She took a sip of tea to hide her doubts, but Murdoch saw the fear in her eyes.

"I will get you to New York safe and sound." Murdoch took one of her hands in his. "That is a promise."

Anne nodded slowly, with more belief than before. He thinks I doubt him. Why do I doubt him? I shouldn’t. His family is a seafaring one. He knows the ways of the oceans. I’m but a passenger. "I believe you."

The two drank their tea in silence for a few minutes. They watched the sunrise. They listened to the waves lap against the iron sides of the ship. They looked at the clear, cloudless day that surrounded them, and at the smooth, glassy surface of the ocean. It was completely flat and motionless.

"Do you plan on remaining a governess for the rest of your life?" Murdoch asked Anne.

"Good heavens, no." Anne shook her head. "I hope not, at least. In all honesty, I don’t even want to go to the Lewises now. But for someone like me...this is as much as I can hope for. Under different circumstances, I doubt I ever would have heard of Barclay Academy. But God had other plans for us, I suppose. Have you ever read Jane Eyre? Probably not. Sometimes, I feel like Jane, like I’m trapped and there’s nowhere for me to escape to, nowhere to run. My life just keeps plunging forward like a locomotive, and there’s nothing I can do to alter its course. Like Jane, I spent my childhood in a finishing school, when most other wealthy children were playing with toys. Instead of a coming out party in a house full of eligible men, I was teaching arithmetic. And now, when I should be married and with child, if not already a mother, I’m on my way to spend at least the next few years tutoring two spoiled children. Perhaps if I had stayed in England, or if I had purchased a second-class ticket, I would have more money, more of a future. At least I’d have something of a dowry. But now I’ve nothing but a few thousand pounds." She paused and blushed, then shook her head. "You really shouldn’t let me drivel on in such a manner."

"I enjoy the conversation. And you have your intelligence, your clever wit. That’s worth something." Murdoch’s brow furrowed slightly. "Maybe the Lewises will find someone else, or perhaps your services will not be needed for an extensive period of time. You’ll be free to do whatever you want. You could marry a wealthy businessman and own a house in New York City and another in Paris."

"Well, a businessman would be the last man I’d want to marry, but other than that..." Anne softly smiled. "What about you? What kind of woman would be your ideal wife?"

"What makes you think I’m not married?" Murdoch asked, feigning surprise.

"Well, one of the stewardesses...she said you weren’t." Anne felt her throat blushing profusely. Had Megan been misinformed? Was Murdoch married? Anne, you’re such a fool!

"I suppose that would have been Megan Carter?" Murdoch asked, chuckling when Anne’s surprised eyes confirmed his guess. "Aye, she’s quite talkative. I once almost had a wife. Her name was Ada. I met her in 1907 on a voyage to Australia. She was from New Zealand. We were going to be married; we were going to live at 94 Belmont Road, Southampton. It was a fairly new brick house, and we were both thrilled." Murdoch paused to sigh deeply, as though it pained him to continue. He saw Anne open her mouth to tell him to stop, but he continued before she could speak. "We never married. On our wedding day, I stood at the altar for hours. I was there after everyone else had left, after they had realized that she was not coming.

"She wrote to me much later. She said she wanted someone home with her constantly, and obviously, my career would not allow that. And so...she left me. We had already paid for the wedding, for the honeymoon, for the house. A lot of money was lost that day. But more importantly than the money, I had lost the woman I had been certain would be Mrs. Murdoch.

"I haven’t seen her since. I’ve heard she’s married so some wealthy aristocrat in New York City or somewhere thereabouts, and very happy."

Anne stared at Murdoch. A heavy silence hung between them, and she had nothing to say. No words to comfort him. Nothing to soothe his soul, which she knew was in pain. Speechless, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up into her eyes, and she could tell he was fighting to control his emotions. The life of a seaman was definitely a difficult one.

"I-I don’t know what to say." Anne shook her head. She set her teacup on the deck near the gunwale. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. It’s not your fault." Murdoch exhaled deeply; he watched as she gently took his teacup from his hands and set it down beside hers. He searched Anne’s eyes for her true feelings; they always revealed her innermost thoughts. He almost cried when he searched long enough. She was sad. Lonely. Angry. Afraid. Vulnerable. He wanted to pull her close; he wanted someone to tell them both that everything would be all right, but he knew that would not happen. A happy ending? Happy endings were for those who didn’t want to face the harsh cruelty of reality. He had been jilted at the altar. Anne hadn’t even gotten as far as finding someone to be jilted by. He reached up to wipe a tear away when it rolled out from the corner of Anne’s eye. "Please, don’t cry."

"I’m sorry." Anne weakly laughed, but her laughter was hollow and forced. "You were the one who endured all of that, not me."

"And I’m glad," Murdoch softly whispered. He pulled her close. He stroked her hair. "I’m glad it was me and not you."

Anne leaned in close against Murdoch’s chest. It reminded her so very much of the scene that had played out but two days ago. She felt the solidness of his chest through the warmth of his greatcoat and the coldness of the buttons; she listened to his heartbeat. She smelled his aftershave and felt safe. She never wanted the security she felt at that instant to ever go away.

Murdoch slowly and reluctantly pulled away from Anne. She had felt so small in his arms, and yet so perfect. But they were receiving curious stares, and he had no desire to tarnish her reputation. He picked up their cups, and they slowly proceeded to the crew’s mess.

"Anne!" Anne and Murdoch both stopped on their way to the crew’s mess to see Moody swiftly approaching. He glanced at Murdoch. "I need to speak with Anne."

"Well, you can say it in front of the both of us." Anne tilted her head.

"Hmm. I’d rather not." Moody smirked.

"I’d probably rather not hear it," Murdoch muttered as he continued through the doors that led to the mess hall. He turned to Anne. "Stay and talk. I’ll be back in a minute."

"So, what’s this pressing matter of urgency?" Anne asked.

"The pressing matter of urgency regards a certain spectacle that the captain happened to witness on the poop deck not five minutes ago," Moody seriously said, though he suppressed a grin at the bit of news.

"What?" Anne’s voice rose so high she squealed. She clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbed Moody’s wrist, and dragged him to a more private area on deck. A bit more quietly this time, she repeated her question.

"You heard me." Moody nodded.

"Murdoch’s career is on the line now, isn’t it?" Anne softly whispered, and Moody slowly nodded again. "It’s all my fault."

"Now, don’t go blaming yourself. I saw it. It wasn’t. I just wanted to warn you," Moody calmly told her. "Breathe, Anne. You’re turning red."

"Oh? Sorry." Anne fought the blush that was slowly consuming not just her throat, but also her face. "Is...is the captain around?"

"He’s in the wheelhouse. It’s the small room in the enclosed bridge house," Moody explained. "Come on."

*****

Murdoch opened the door from the kitchen to find Chief Officer Henry Wilde sitting at one of the tables. He wasn’t there a minute ago. Wilde rose from his seat and approached the lower officer.

"So," he began, without greeting. "I take it you couldn’t have controlled yourself until you were in private?" He raised a questioning eyebrow as Murdoch opened his mouth to defend himself. "Will, you were directly in front of the bridge. Might I add that Captain Smith was there at the time? And Moody saw it, too."

"It was an embrace," Murdoch calmly said.

"Between a passenger and an officer," Wilde added. He ran a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, Will. You should have just gone ahead kissed her on the spot!"

"I told her," Murdoch said.

"What?" Wilde frowned, confused. Registration dawned on his face. "You told her about her?"

"Which her are we talking about?" Murdoch asked.

"Ada! And Miss Stewart!" Wilde exclaimed. He was half-excited for his friend, and half-frustrated that Murdoch had even told her in the first place. He smacked his hand against his forehead in a display of his aforementioned frustration. "Good God, Will! Do you want to remain single for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, it’s my life-long goal. I want to die single," Murdoch laconically replied. "If you’ll excuse me, Anne—Miss Stewart is waiting."

"Actually, last I saw, James was taking her to the bridge," Wilde somewhat regretfully informed his friend.

"What? Thanks for stalling." At this, Murdoch sprinted from the crew’s mess and toward the bridge.

Chapter Seven
Stories