SHIP OF DREAMS
Chapter Eight

"Cal! Cal, it was an accident." Rose was wrapped in a blanket, trying to get her fiancé’s attention.

What was an accident? Anne slowly made her way towards the group, but stopped a few yards off. Her eyes widened slowly. The Master-at-Arms was there. So were some crewmen, and a man Anne recognized as Colonel Gracie. Rose and Hockley were there, and so was Hockley’s manservant, whose name she did not know. There was also a rather attractive young man present. He appeared to be of the third class, and the Master-at-Arms was handcuffing him. Anne quickly put two and two together and realized that the others had jumped to conclusions. Rose looked slightly shaken, but anger flashed in her eyes more than anything else. Obviously, Hockley wouldn’t hear of it. And Rose never lied...well, almost never.

"Rose?" Anne stepped forward, and it seemed that everyone noticed her for the first time.

"Run along, Elizabeth. We don’t need you here," Hockley airily said.

"Rose is my sister, Mr. Hockley. And she seems a bit distraught. As her older sister, it’s my duty to make sure she’s safe," Anne defended herself, her pride slightly wounded by the way the man treated her.

"If I’m not mistaken, you’re her stepsister, related only by law." Hockley smirked triumphantly. "And Rose is with me. She’s safe enough." With that, he turned away from Anne, completely missing the surprised expression on Colonel Gracie’s face as he learned that Anne was related to Rose, after the way she’d been treated at dinner.

"One hour," Rose whispered to Anne as she passed her. She did not glance back to see if the other had heard her, but hoped desperately that she had. With that, the others, save the third class passenger and the manservant, disappeared into the ship.

Anne left the two men to walk a ways off, but not to completely disappear. She wanted to be at the stern in an hour.

*****

"Anne?" Rose quietly walked up behind her stepsister. She waited for her to turn around and recognize her. "I’m sorry about this evening. Cal can be so...so..."

"I know what you mean. I understand completely; there’s no need to apologize." Anne politely smiled. After years of living with girls who are just the same, one grows accustomed to the constant criticism and sarcasm. "Who was that handsome young man the Master-at-Arms was about to lock away? He couldn’t take his eyes off you."

"Well…" Rose took a deep breath. "Let’s take a walk. I’ll explain along the way."

And so, the two women began walking the length of the ship. Rose told her stepsister everything that had happened that evening, from stabbing her arm with her salad fork at dinner to trashing her room afterwards to finally running to the stern...where she had intended to commit suicide.

"But he saved me. Jack Dawson. He pulled me back, and oh! Anne, he’s so..." Rose shook her head. "I sound ridiculous, don’t I?"

"The only ridiculous part of your story is trying to throw yourself from the ship," Anne replied. "Suicide? Rose, there’s always another way. You must promise me that you’ll come to me before you’re hanging over the back of a ship sometime, all right?"

"All right." Rose smiled, and the two shared a knowing smile. "Cal’s invited Mr. Dawson to dinner tomorrow evening, though. That should be an event. All evening, he’s just going to torment him. I can see it now."

"Well, if Mr. Dawson can persuade a stubborn woman like you to climb back over the railing, I’m sure he can handle an evening at dinner." Anne’s smile quickly faded as she recalled the previous dinner she’d shared with them hours earlier. "Well, maybe."

"I hope so." Rose sighed. "So, what will you do once you finish working for the Lewises?"

"Well, I had hoped to settle down. But now I see that all of that is just a foolish dream. I don’t have the means to settle down, nor to travel." Anne sadly smiled. "I suppose I’ll continue as a tutor for the rest of my life."

"I’d rather be a tutor than Cal’s wife," Rose whispered.

"Well, in that case, so would I." Anne laughed.

*****

It was two in the morning, and Anne sat on a deck chair. She lay on her side, her legs curled up beneath her and one hand beneath her head. She had covered herself with her shawl. Tears freely escaped; no one was around to witness them. She had returned to her stateroom after her conversation with Rose, but sleep eluded her. So, Anne had grabbed Jane Eyre and read from that for a bit. However, she soon grew restless, and so took a walk around the ship. She had only gotten lost once, and that was only because she hadn’t been paying attention.

"Miss Stewart?" She quickly wiped her tears away and sat up.

"Mr. Murdoch!" she exclaimed, and quickly glanced both ways up and down the deck for anyone else, but no one was around. "What are you doing here?"

"I’ve been looking for you," Murdoch replied, sitting down on the deck chair beside hers.

"I know." A small smile crossed Anne’s face. "Mr. Barnes."

"He told me he hadn’t seen you," Murdoch said.

"I made him promise not to tell you," Anne replied.

"Now I’ll have to find someone else. Barnes can’t be trusted," Murdoch teased.

"Well, I highly doubt he’d care. From what I heard, you sent him around the ship," Anne said. Her face became grave and serious. "Mr. Murdoch, I spoke with Mr. Moody and Mr. Lightoller earlier today. I don’t want you to lose your job, and I don’t want your reputation to be ruined anymore than it is now. It could hinder you from being Chief Officer, and I know that’s what you want."

"We’re simply talking, Miss Stewart. I don’t think there’s a rule against that," Murdoch pointedly whispered. "I wanted to apologize for dinner."

"Oh, there’s no need. I’m used to it." Anne smiled sarcastically. "I would have been rather surprised if they had been at all kind to me. You said nothing to belittle me."

"Nay, but I said nothing to defend you, either." Murdoch shook his head.

"But if you did, they would hate you just as much as they hate me," Anne said. "And with women like Ruth DeWitt Bukater, finding people to hate is a daily hobby which is passionately pursued."

Murdoch said nothing. An image of Anne sitting at the dinner table among the others came to mind. He watched her drop her eyes to her plate. And he noticed her throat turn red. He had learned that her throat blushed instead of her cheeks. When she looked up again, her eyes seemed moist, as though she was ready to cry. The image had nearly broken his heart. And he had done nothing to alleviate her pain and suffering. He had sat there silently.

Anne stared at the deck. Her eyes occasionally flitted to Murdoch, but he seemed deep in thought. She wrapped the shawl more tightly around her.

"Are you cold?" Murdoch asked, frowning slightly in concern. Even though Anne shook her head, he unbuttoned his greatcoat and draped it around her. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you," Anne whispered. She finally looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head. "I-I don’t want to go to Pennsylvania. I’m scared. I’m scared of them, scared of what will happen, scared of what won’t. I don’t want to die having lived a meaningless life."

"Your life will never be meaningless," Murdoch gently told her, cupping her face with his hands. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "It’s all right to be frightened. But I know you’ll do fine. You’re a strong lass."

"You can say that when I’ve cried in front of you twice? Or have I miscounted?" Anne asked. She rubbed at her locket, but stopped when Murdoch reached up to lay a hand on top of hers.

"There’s no need to worry." Murdoch faintly smiled. He rose from his chair. "Walk with me?"

"I suppose," Anne said as he pulled her to her feet. "Perhaps you’ll end up a steward on the voyage back to England, and I’ll die a single tutor at the age of one hundred or something."

"That would be interesting," Murdoch mused aloud. "This reminds me of Romeo and Juliet."

"Although I’d rather we not commit suicide, if it’s all the same to you," Anne added.

"Fair enough." Murdoch softly laughed, linking his fingers with Anne’s. "Your hands are cold."

"Well, this isn’t exactly the Mediterranean we’re crossing," Anne quipped. "But we’d better get some sleep. I won’t feel quite as comfortable entrusting my fate to a drowsy First Officer."

"I suppose you’re right." Murdoch sighed.

"Of course I am." Anne laughed.

"My, I think the early hours bring out your wit." Murdoch grinned.

"No, it’s just that you’re slower in the early hours, so I seem sarcastic." Anne laughed again. "All right. I’ll stop."

"Good," Murdoch teased as he escorted her down to her stateroom.

"I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then. That is, if Captain Smith doesn’t flay you alive and ban me from ever setting foot on a White Star Line ship again." Anne smiled from the doorway of her stateroom.

"I suppose." Murdoch raised a hand to caress Anne’s cheek. "But Smith is retiring after this voyage."

"G’night." Anne smiled. However, she did not close the door, and she and Murdoch held gazes for a moment longer. "All right. Really, it’s a quarter ‘til three. I’ll see you tomorrow."

"All right." Murdoch laughed with a nod. "Good night, Miss Stewart."

"Good night, Mr. Murdoch." Anne closed the door. Maybe this will work, after all.

Chapter Nine
Stories