A VOYAGE TO REMEMBER
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isolde looked over at the brawl
worriedly. It finally settled down and she got up to see the outcome. Shamus
was pulled to one side by a couple of men. His face was bruising already. She finally
spotted Harold being restrained by two more men. He looked unscathed, and still
wanting more of a fight. Isolde pushed through the crowd and grabbed his hand
to lead him out. They were in the hall when she finally turned towards him.
"Why did you have to do
that?" she asked loudly.
"I couldn’t let him get away
with what he did," Harold said with a shrug.
"At least you aren’t
hurt," she said with a sigh. Harold simply nodded. Isolde narrowed her
eyes at him. "You’re not telling me something."
"It’s nothing," he
replied hurriedly. "A few bruises…"
Isolde pushed him onto a bench.
"Where?"
He gently lifted his shirt; his
stomach was a nauseating purple and black. His ribs were probably cracked, she
confirmed after seeing his shallow breathing and the bruising moving upwards.
She pulled his shirt down and motioned for him to stand.
"Come on," she mumbled,
still angry that he had fought.
"Where are you taking
me?"
"To my stateroom so I can
wrap you up," she explained.
A few moments later and they were
in her stateroom. The girls were still awake and looked at them curiously.
Harold sunk into a chair; he didn’t realize how taxing this bruising would be.
Edith stood up and rushed to Isolde.
"What happened?"
"He got into a fight,"
she said angrily. "Do you have any extra sheets?"
Edith nodded and motioned for one
of the maids to bring her some. Isolde sat in front of Harold, at his feet, and
began tearing the white cloth into strips. Harold’s eyes were closed and he ran
his fingers through her hair. She wanted to pull away in anger, but couldn’t
make herself do so.
"I can’t believe you,"
she began ranting, still tearing sheets. "You could’ve been hurt much
worse."
"But I wasn’t," he
protested.
"You could’ve been,"
she said simply.
She dropped the sheets on the floor.
Standing up, she began to unbutton his shirt. The youngest sister’s mouth
dropped open. Erica rolled her eyes and ushered her from the room. Isolde
pulled him forward and took the shirt off. She tried to ignore his well-muscled
body with difficulty. He hissed when she began wrapping the cloth tightly
around him.
"Does that hurt?" she
asked with concern.
"Not too badly," he
replied, "but your hands are cold."
Isolde shook her head and
continued. A few minutes later, she finished. She helped him with his shirt
again. He stood up shakily, bidding good night to the sisters and thanking them
for their hospitality. He and Isolde were in the hall when he looked at her
intently. He was leaning in to kiss her when she turned her head and crossed
her arms. He frowned.
"Are you angry with
me?"
"Yes!" she retorted.
"I asked you not to fight and you did!"
"I’m sorry," he
whispered. "I couldn’t help it."
Isolde shook her head. "Men
are all the same."
"Why do you say that?"
"You always have to
fight!" she began in exasperation. "Over women, because you’re drunk,
over stupid bets…the list goes on!"
"I fought because I love
you," he explained.
Isolde let out a harsh laugh.
"Sure."
"I do love you," he
said forcefully.
Isolde couldn’t stand to see him
like that. "I know you do."
"Are you still angry with
me?"
"Yes," she said
stubbornly. "Go off to bed."
Harold gave her a peck on the
cheek and walked away. Isolde stared until he was out of sight. She sighed and
walked into her new stateroom. The girls looked at her as she disappeared
behind the screen to change into nightclothes. She came back out and Edith
showed her where she was to sleep. Isolde thanked them and rolled beneath the
covers. Harold was still on her mind.
April 13, 1912
Isolde woke to the harsh, whispered
voices of the Smith sisters. Someone grabbed her hand and managed to get Isolde
onto her feet. She groaned and let them pull her around. After being shoved
into a tub of cold water, Isolde was wide awake.
Her teeth chattered as a maid
poured water over her head. Finally, she was done and smelled strongly of
lilacs. Behind the changing curtain, new underclothes were thrown on her. Isolde
refrained from cursing at the corset as it was tightened. A beautiful cream
morning gown was slipped on. A deep red sash was tied around the middle, making
her waist look slimmer. Little matching cream shoes were added to the ensemble.
Isolde had to fight her way to
the mirror. The sisters were fixing hair, adding makeup, and other things.
Isolde snatched the crystal pin from yesterday and pushed back her dark hair,
letting it hang loose. Covering up the bruising, she stepped away, decidedly
finished.
The Smith sisters were finished
also. Elizabeth grasped Isolde’s gloved hand and led her from the room. Today
it would be brunch, meaning Isolde would not have to return until tea that
afternoon.
Once again, they waited for their
escorts at the entrance of the main dining hall. Elaine and Erica went with
their fiancés, while Elizabeth went with an officer. Emily was placed with a
very young first class gentleman. She was ecstatic. Without realizing it,
Isolde was placed on the arm of Harold, unable to switch. She tried not to look
at him, but it was difficult. Isolde was placed between Harold and Cal Hockley.
Cal Hockley turned towards her
with a grin. "I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m–" But he was
cut off.
"I know very well who you
are, Mr. Hockley," Isolde said coolly. "I should think that you’d be
in mourning for your fiancée instead of socializing."
Harold coughed to stifle his
laughter. Trying to act casual, he placed his napkin on his knee and pretended
to read the menu.
Cal smirked at Isolde’s response
and let out a low chuckle. "I’ve been told it is best to move on and think
of better things in life. And with such a beautiful lady, I would hope that
you’d assist me. What is your name again?"
Harold was now glaring into his
menu. The thought of Cal Hockley talking to his love made him furious.
Isolde patted Harold’s knee in
comfort under the table. She felt his hand squeeze her own. Turning to Cal, she
gave him a false smile.
"I didn’t say it. But if you
must know, I am Anne Olen," she said sweetly.
Cal grinned. "A beautiful
name for a beautiful woman." He paused. "Would you care to join me
this evening for supper in the Parisian Café?"
Isolde smirked. "I think
not."
"Do you have something
preventing you?"
Isolde smiled coldly. "Yes.
My loathing for heartless men." She turned towards Harold. "Officer
Lowe, would you be so kind as to escort me into the fresh air?"
"My pleasure," he
replied. Placing his napkin back onto the table, he offered his arm. She took
it and he led her from the room, leaving Mr. Hockley in a state of shock and
anger.
Isolde and Harold were on the
outside deck. The wind was much colder, causing Isolde to cross her arms.
Pacing back and forth, she waited for Harold to say something, anything. When
he didn’t, she took the initiative.
"Why did you have to
fight?" She looked at him. His breathing was still shallow; he was trying
to hide his pain.
Harold frowned. "You
shouldn’t have stopped me."
"Why?" Isolde asked
angrily. "He could have killed you!"
"It doesn’t matter!"
Harold said loudly.
"It matters to me!"
Isolde retorted. "Do you want me to lose you so soon?"
"No," he said in
frustration, "but it shows that you did not believe I could defend myself,
Isolde."
Isolde glared at him.
"That’s what you’re upset over? My worry for you? Caring for you? You are
a fool."
Isolde began to storm away when
Harold hurried after her, ignoring the pain. Turning her, he placed a kiss
against her lips. She stopped for a moment, but then pulled away. "I love
you, Isolde." She didn’t respond. "What now?" he asked in
confusion.
Isolde shook her head. "You
think I’ll forgive you so easily."
"Why must you make everything
so difficult?" Harold asked in exasperation.
Isolde didn’t respond. She walked
away. Harold kept his mouth shut. He wouldn’t chase after her this time. Let
her come to her senses.
They did not realize one thing
throughout their entire argument. Cal Hockley had been observing them the whole
time.