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.