A VOYAGE TO REMEMBER
Chapter Sixteen
Isolde woke up the next morning
to shuffling in the cabin. She looked downward to see Flynn and Tommy walking
out the door. Aine was quietly searching through a suitcase. She noticed Isolde
and placed a hand over her mouth after gasping.
The young Welshwoman's eyes
widened. She lifted a hand to her face, barely touching it because it was so
sore. Until that moment, she had forgotten Shamus backhanding her. She let out
a small sigh and dropped to the floor.
"I'm sorry," Aine began
in an apologetic voice.
"Aine," Isolde cut her
off. "I wanted to thank you. If you hadn't had Flynn following Shamus, I
could've been in a much worse state of health."
The woman simply nodded, not
quite sure how to respond. After watching Isolde pick out a clean outfit, she
finally spoke her mind.
"Isolde," she started
off, "I just don't want you to worry. Shamus switched bunks with Tommy.
They'll still be keeping an eye on him."
The young woman smiled at her.
She had never had a friend that kind. The redhead simply returned the gesture.
"Are you still with the
officer?" she inquired.
Isolde suddenly grinned. In all
the chaos, she had forgotten that she was engaged now. She stepped forward,
pushing her hair away from her face.
"You can't tell a
soul," she began seriously. Aine nodded. "He proposed to me!"
"He what?" the
Irishwoman exclaimed loudly.
"Hush!" she said
quickly, placing a finger on her own lips for silence. "He did. I said
yes."
"But you've only known him
for a few days!" she rambled out, happy yet concerned for her companion.
"I love him," she
replied, now in more of dreamlike trance.
Aine let out another sigh.
"Then I'm happy for you."
Isolde couldn't help but smile
again. She went to the door, her belongings in hand.
"Don't tell a soul!"
she reminded her before walking away.
Aine shook her head. What a
surprise it had been.
Meanwhile, Isolde was in the
bathroom. There were only a few women, too busy to notice her. She hopped into
a bathing room. The heated water quickly created steam that filled the room. As
she rinsed her hair, she let the hot water run across her. She even let out a
few notes under her breath.
She stepped out and used a plush
towel to soak up the water droplets. Isolde wanted to look perfect. She would
be meeting Harold later tonight. She put on her nicest wool skirt. A white
blouse matched it. Carefully walking to the mirrors, she noticed how bad the
bruise on her face was. She heard a tsk-tsk sound from behind her.
Turning around, she looked at a
very young woman, a year or two younger than herself. She was beautiful, her
hair in the latest fashion, wearing a dress to die for. Isolde couldn't help
but be speechless. This woman belonged in first class.
"Your husband do that?"
she asked in an American voice.
"No," Isolde replied
softly.
"Well, I can cover it up for
you," the woman continued kindly. "I'll even help you with your
hair."
Isolde looked at her in awe. A
first class woman shouldn't be doing this! Why wasn't she in a fancy stateroom?
The woman laughed at her shocked expression.
"You're wondering why I'm
here?" she began while sitting down next to her. "Truth be told, I'm
sharing a room with four sisters. They take forever in the bath and readying
themselves. So, I decided to come here."
"I see..." began
Isolde, still a bit startled that the woman was daring enough to visit third
class areas.
"All right," the woman
began decidedly. "I'm Elizabeth Smith." She held out her hand.
"And you are?"
"Isolde Conway," she
said with a smile, shaking her hand in the process.
"Well, Isolde,"
Elizabeth replied loudly with a grin. "Now that we're acquainted...you're
going to tell me your entire story, while I make you gorgeous."