Date: Thursday, the Eleventh Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Second Class
Time: Seven Minutes Past Two in the Afternoon

After dinner, I went back out onto the deck to see if Marjorie or Marshall were out playing again.

They weren't.

I wandered to the front of the ship and looked out across the sea. All I could see was water—no land at all. Just open ocean. But then I saw them.

Dolphins.

A whole group of them, swimming just ahead of the ship.

They seemed to be following us. I stood there for a long time, watching them jump in and out of the waves. They were so fast, I couldn't believe how well they kept up with the Titanic. I didn't know much about speed—maybe we were going fourteen knots? I wasn't sure. But however fast we were going, the dolphins didn't seem to mind.

They jumped in groups—three, six, even fifteen at a time. Sometimes one swam alone, but it always found its way back to the others. That made me smile.

I really like dolphins. I've never understood how anyone could kill them for food.

They were so graceful the way they leapt through the waves, taking quick breaths before disappearing below the surface again. With each splash, the sea shimmered around them. The ship's bow threw up sprays of foam, making it all look like some kind of watery ballet.

Eventually, like all lovely things, the dolphins drifted off—disappearing behind us as the ship moved ahead.

I waved goodbye.

"I wish they had stayed," I whispered.

The wind picked up as the Titanic gained speed. I felt it rush through my hair and stretched my arms out, letting the breeze lift me.

I felt like I was flying.

"This is the greatest thing ever!" I shouted into the open air.

But just then, a strong gust of wind pushed me forward. I stumbled and had to grab the railing quickly to keep from falling.

"Careful there, kid!" someone shouted.

I turned and saw a man standing a little ways off, looking at me.

"Don't get too close to the edge," he said as he walked over. "You might fall."

He smiled. "What's your name?"

I looked down. "My Mama told me not to talk to strangers," I mumbled.

He chuckled. "You have a very smart mother."

I stepped away, still unsure. I turned and walked back toward our cabin. When I glanced behind me—he was gone.

Just vanished.

I kept walking, not knowing he had followed me for a short while, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Back in our cabin, Mama was sitting near the window, knitting. Most likely another sweater—for me or for Anneliese. Speaking of Anneliese, she was napping, curled up with Lucie. I like naps too, but I wasn't tired. Papa was asleep in the bunk across from me, and I didn't want to disturb him.

"Mama," I whined softly. "None of the other children are outside playing. I'm bored."

"Why don't you read a book?" Mama suggested, still focused on her stitches.

"A book?" I laughed. "Where am I supposed to find a book on a ship?"

"There's a library, you know," she said, amused.

I blinked. "Wait... there's a library?"

Mama chuckled. "Yes, it's on C Deck, near the rear of the ship. The area's called the poop deck."

My eyes widened. "Really?"

She nodded. "If you get lost, just ask a crew member."

That part confused me. Mama always said not to talk to strangers, but now she was telling me to ask one for help? I stared at her. She gave me a small smile, as if she could read my thoughts.

I guess she trusted I'd know when to speak—and when not to.

As I stepped out of the cabin, I saw something move—a quick shadow down the hallway. I paused, then shrugged it off and kept walking. The hallway stretched long in front of me. I figured if I kept walking straight, I'd reach the end of the ship, then head up two decks from there.

As I walked, I started to notice the details—the wood carvings, the gold trim, the softness of the carpet beneath my shoes. The red squares had little crosses in the center. Everything looked like it had been made by someone very skilled—chisels and hammers and careful hands. I thought to myself, People are going to talk about this ship for years. Maybe forever.

It took me a little over five minutes, since I kept stopping to look at everything. Eventually, I reached a staircase and climbed slowly upward. As I turned onto the landing, I nearly bumped into an elderly man making his way down.

He smiled politely, and I stepped aside so he could pass.

At the top of the stairs, I saw it.

The library.

It was tucked neatly into the corner of C Deck—a warm, quiet room filled with bookshelves and big windows that looked out to sea.

I stepped inside.

It wasn't crowded—just a few passengers sitting with books in their laps, or writing postcards. I wandered over to a shelf near the wall, running my fingers along the spines of the books.

So many titles I recognized: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The Last of the Mohicans. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. David Copperfield.

It was hard to choose.

Then I saw it.

Moby-Dick.

The cover had a drawing of a whale, rising out of the ocean. It felt right—reading a sea story while riding the biggest ship in the world.

I opened the book and read the first line aloud under my breath:

"Call me Ishmael."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ishmael? Who would name their child that?"

I kept reading.

"Someyears ago—never mind how long precisely..."

I smiled. Now this was going to be interesting.

~o~O~o~

The book was fantastic. I laughed a few times, especially when things got silly. I was just about to turn the page and start another chapter when I looked up—and saw him.

The man from earlier.

He was sitting just across the room, one hand resting in his lap, the other cradling a cup of tea. He was gazing straight at me.

"Hello," he said, smiling.

"Hi," I replied, quietly.

"My name is Peter Good Man—" he cleared his throat. "Goodman."

He shifted slightly in his chair. "I know I asked your name earlier, but I figured... I wouldn't be a stranger if I told you mine first."

"I'm Josephine," I answered.

"Well, hello there, Josephine. That's a very pretty name."

"Thank you," I said, grinning. "I picked it out myself—"

My voice caught in my throat.

Peter tilted his head. "Hmm?"

"Er— I mean, my Mama picked it," I said quickly, looking down. "She always chooses nice names."

"That's what mothers do best," Peter chuckled.

There was a pause. Then he leaned forward slightly. "I can tell you're bored. Want to come out on the deck? We could play a few games of Quoits. Maybe Shuffleboard. Something fun."

"I'm not bored," I said politely. "I'm reading a book."

He leaned over and read the spine. "Moby-Dick. Oh. That one's about a whale, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's getting really interesting," I said, lighting up. "Captain Ahab is really—"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "What's so interesting about a book?" he asked flatly.

I blinked. "Well—lots of things. You see, Captain Ahab is really after this white whale, and—"

"You can read that anytime," he said, waving it off. "You're only on this ship for a few days. Come on, enjoy it while you can."

I looked at the book... then back at him.

"...Okay," I sighed.

I gently closed the cover and returned it to the shelf. Then I followed him out of the library.

"You won't regret it," Peter chuckled as we stepped into the corridor. "You'll like the games I'm going to play with you."

As we walked, he reached for my hand.

I let him take it.

People we passed in the hallway probably thought I was his daughter. I blushed a little at the thought.

~o~O~o~

Peter brought me to the Promenade Deck, where he showed me a game using a long stick with a curved end. There were wooden disks lined up near the railing, and a painted triangle on the deck with numbers inside.

"It's called Shuffleboard," he said, setting up the game.

Inside the triangle were the numbers seven, eight, and ten, and farther back was a negative ten, which meant if you hit it, your score would go down. The goal was to push the disk across the deck and land it inside the other triangle.

I wasn't very good at it.

No matter how hard I tried, I could only get the disk halfway across the board. Peter, on the other hand, made it every time. He was very good. At the end of the first game, the score was thirty-three to zero. I was the zero.

We played two more rounds, but I gave up after that and sat down on a bench near the rail. My hands were tired, and I didn't like losing.

Peter sat beside me. He put his arm around my shoulder.

I tensed up and scooted a little farther away.

"Josephine," he said, inching closer, "you don't have to be shy. I wouldn't hurt you."

He slid off the bench and knelt down so our eyes met. I hadn't noticed, but at some point, he'd placed his hand on my lap.

"I need to grab something from my cabin," he said softly. "Why don't you come with me? It'll only take a minute. After that, we can play something different."

I hesitated. But I nodded.

We walked down the hall toward the cabins. As we went, I noticed a tattoo on his shoulder.

"Do you like doughnuts?" I asked suddenly.

Peter laughed. "Of course I do. Why?"

I pointed. "Your tattoo—it looks like one."

He chuckled. "Oh, that old thing."

A moment later, we reached a door marked E–36.

"Wow," I said, reading the number. "Your room's really close to ours."

"I know," he said quickly.

I blinked. "Wait... how do you know where we're staying?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he opened the door and stepped inside. I followed.

The room looked a lot like ours. Small, with a washbasin and a single bed. But something was different.

I noticed it right away.

Ladies' clothes.

They were folded on the dresser. A skirt. A blouse. A pair of shoes that clearly weren't his.

"Wait..." I said slowly. "Why are there so many women's clothes in here?"

Peter paused. "That's, uh... my wife's. Her clothes."

He tried to smile. "Why don't you sit on the bed while I find what I came for?"

I walked to the edge of the bed. But something felt off.

The bed looked far too small for two people. I turned back—and he was standing much too close behind me.

Then, without a word, he pushed me down.

"You'd better not tell anyone!" he hissed.

I stared up at him, frozen. My heart was pounding.

"Tell who?" I cried. "Is this even your room?!"

I started to scream.

And just then, the door flew open.

A woman stood in the doorway, staring.

Peter turned, stunned.

"Who are you?" she yelled. "And why are you in my room?!"

Peter didn't answer. He just shoved past her and ran—bolting down the corridor as fast as he could.

I stayed on the bed, shaking, my hands clenched in my skirt.

The woman turned to me, her face softening. "Sweetheart," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

I couldn't answer. I was crying too hard.

Date:Thursday, the Eleventh Day of April, 1912
Place:Titanic– Cabin E–36
Time:Thirty-eight Minutes Past Four in the Afternoon

The ship's officers arrived quickly—especially with a child involved.

Mama and Papa were notified immediately and rushed over as fast as they could. They didn't have far to come, since our cabin wasn't far from where I'd been found. Anneliese was with them, clinging to Mama's side.

I was still sitting on the bed, trying not to cry, while a ship's doctor gently examined me and asked quiet questions. My hands were shaking.

One of the ship's younger officers entered the room. He was in uniform, with a calm but serious face.

"Good afternoon, miss. I'm Fourth Officer Joseph Boxhall," he said gently, crouching a little to be closer to my height. "I know this is difficult, but can you try to tell me what happened?"

I nodded slowly.

"I... I thought he was nice," I began, voice trembling. "We played shuffleboard out on the deck."

I paused to wipe my eyes.

"Then he said he needed to get something from his cabin. I followed him, but... it wasn't his room. It was hers." I pointed to the woman standing in the doorway, her face pale and serious.

"Please, go on," Boxhall said quietly.

"He told me to sit on the bed," I said. "Said he had to find something before we went out to play a different game. Then he just... pushed me down and yelled at me."

My voice broke again as I began sobbing.

"That's when I walked in," the woman said firmly. "He was in my room—Cabin E–36. I saw him standing over her, looking angry."

Boxhall turned to her. "Can you describe him?"

"He had a mustache," she said. "That much I saw before he ran."

"He had a tattoo too," I added, sniffing. "On his left shoulder. It looked like... a doughnut."

Boxhall gave a quiet nod, then rose to his feet.

Just then, several more officers arrived at the door—Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, Third Officer Herbert Pitman, Sixth Officer James Moody, and Second Officer Charles Lightoller.

"Perfect timing, gentlemen," Boxhall said briskly.

"Lowe and Pitman," he continued, "I want you two to check the Promenade Deck and any outer walkways. Look for a man with a mustache and a tattoo on his left shoulder—a doughnut, the girl says. Approach with caution. Do not confront him alone."

The two nodded and stepped out at once.

"Moody, Lightoller," Boxhall turned to the others. "Search the second-class common areas, smoking lounges, and hallways. We need all eyes on this."

The officers moved with quiet urgency.

"You'll be alright," the doctor told me softly. "You weren't injured, thank goodness. But I recommend you stay with your family—or at least in a group—until this man is found."

"And we will find him," Boxhall said, turning back to me. "I give you my word."

He then turned to the woman who had found me—Miss Mabel, as her name was written on the passenger list hanging by her door.

"As for you, Miss Mabel," Boxhall said firmly, "I advise you keep your door locked from now on."

"Oh, believe me," she said, her voice shaking just a little. "I will."