Date: Sunday, The Fourteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Forty-Four Minutes Past Eleven o'Clock in the Evening

"What do you mean, get your lifebelts on?" Momma asked.

"I was down in the boiler room, shoveling coal," Papa began, his voice tense. "And then—out of nowhere—there was this awful crash. The whole wall groaned like it was splitting, and then water came bursting through." He paused, then corrected himself. "Or rather, coming in."

He handed us each a lifebelt. "Here. Take one. Put it on."

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Momma tried to calm him. "Surely the ship can seal the damage until we reach New York?"

"We can't take any chances," Papa replied firmly. "It may get worse."

He began peeling off his soaked work uniform and changing into dry clothes. Anneliese and I looked away quickly—just in case he was undressed. Probably, he was.

Momma stepped to the window and peered into the darkness. "Well, that explains why the ship's stopped."

"Did we hit something?" I asked. "I thought I saw something huge floating in the water earlier."

"Could've been a reef," Anneliese said. "Or maybe some big undersea rocks."

Papa sat heavily on the edge of the bed and placed his hand over his forehead. "It was a nightmare. The ship shook, and then water and ice came pouring through the walls."

"You didn't mention ice before," Momma said, her tone sharpening.

"Ice?" I echoed. "We might've hit an iceberg!"

I ran to the window and squinted into the darkness. Something large loomed in the distance—barely visible.

"There," I said, pointing.

Papa joined me. "Are you sure that's an iceberg?"

"Not really," I admitted. "But Captain Smith talked about them with me earlier today."

Momma and Anneliese came to the window too.

"I don't see anything," Anneliese complained.

"We should go outside," I suggested, already inching toward the door. "Maybe we can see it better from there."

"Oh no, you don't," Momma snapped. "It's late, and you two should be in bed."

"But I'm not tired," I protested.

"Me neither," Anneliese added.

"What if we fall asleep and the ship starts sinking?" I asked.

"We haven't heard anything from the crew," Momma replied, exasperated. "Except for your Papa."

"Let them stay up," Papa said from the bed. "If everything's fine, they'll tire out soon enough."

There was a knock at the door. Momma opened it.

An older man stood there, leaning on a cane.

"Beg pardon," he said in a thick accent. "Did any of ye feel a jolt about fifteen minutes ago?"

"Yes, we did," Momma replied. "Come in, please."

"Much obliged," he said, stepping into the room slowly.

He gave me and Anneliese a kindly smile. "Well now, hello there, young lassies. I'm Herbert Spenser. I believe I've seen the two of ye playing outside before."

Anneliese and I just stared at each other. We didn't understand most of what he was saying—his voice was thick with an accent we weren't used to.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, pulling out a pipe.

Papa looked at the pipe and understood his meaning. "It's fine by me. What do you think, honey?" he asked, glancing at Momma.

"I don't know..." she hesitated. "What about the children?"

"It's alright," I said. "They were smoking in the library—even while I was playing the piano."

"I don't mind," Anneliese giggled.

Herbert packed his pipe and struck a match. I watched curiously. I didn't see many people smoke up close. I always wondered why Papa didn't, though Grandpapa always had.

Anneliese sat on the floor and began playing with her jacks. I joined her. The ship wasn't moving, so the game was much easier than usual.

Herbert chuckled. "So there I was, playing checkers at the table, when all of a sudden, this great big spider walks across the board. Now, I saw it, but Fred didn't. He was playing black, and when it was his turn, he picked up the spider instead of the piece—nearly jumped outta his chair!"

Momma and Papa laughed. I shivered. I hated spiders.

Herbert took a puff from his pipe, then leaned back in his chair. "Say now... why are ye all wearing lifebelts?"

Papa explained the situation—everything he'd seen in the boiler room.

"Well then," Herbert said, his pipe glowing faintly. "So that's what happened. Nothin' to worry about. This ship was built to take a knock or two. We'll be sailin' again in no time—soon as they patch up whatever's been scuffed."

They talked a little longer—about the ship, about home, about nothing in particular. Finally, Herbert stood with a slight wince.

"I'd best be headin' back to me cabin," he said. "This old leg of mine says there's a storm brewin'."

Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Nine Minutes Past Midnight

"Everybody up! Get dressed! Get your lifebelts on at once!" a man's voice called from the hallway. It sounded like a crewman. He kept shouting the same thing, banging on every door he passed.

I could hear passengers just outside our cabin now. Some were grumbling about the noise, others protesting the lifebelts. A few asked why the ship had stopped—
That was still my question, too.

"There's no need to worry," the crewman called back. "Just put on your lifebelts and head up to the deck. Chop, chop!"

He knocked on more doors, then finally reached ours.

Papa opened it.

"Everybody up, get dressed, get your lifebelts on at—" The man paused when he saw us all already suited up. "Well done. Come on then—up to the deck with you."

He hurried off again, repeating his cry. "Everybody up, get dressed, get your lifebelts on at once!"

Momma insisted we stay warm, and helped us layer what we could under our dresses. It didn't work very well—it was hard to move in so many layers. In the end, we wore the dress Captain Smith had given us, one extra dress underneath, and our wool sweaters.

Before leaving, we all looked back at the room—at everything we were leaving behind.

If the ship really was sinking... we'd never see any of it again.

That's when I saw her.

"Lucie!" I gasped.

"Forget the doll," Momma said sharply.

"But Momma—I can't! I can't sleep without her. She's my first doll." I was already crying.

"I'll get you a new one," she said, but her voice was tired.

"Just let her take the doll," Papa said gently.

Momma exhaled. "Alright. You can bring Lucie."

"If she can bring Lucie," Anneliese piped up, "then I'm taking the crayons and our drawings."

Momma sighed again—but didn't object.

We stepped out onto the deck. The cold hit me like a slap. Dozens of passengers were standing around in lifebelts, looking lost.

Above us, the funnels roared with sound. It was loud enough that I had to cover my ears. I saw Anneliese doing the same. The wind tugged at our hair and stung our cheeks.

"Go back to your rooms!" one crewman shouted. "Dress in warm clothes and bring blankets—anything you have. Then return to the deck!"

Other crewmen were shouting the same message further down.

Momma had been right all along—we were supposed to dress warmly. She hesitated, unsure if it was allowed to take the ship's blankets, but with the order given, we all hurried back.

We gathered every blanket we could find. Momma stuffed a pillowcase with some of our clothes. Anneliese scooped up her jacks, and I clung tightly to Lucie.

Place: Titanic – Second-Class Hallway
Time: Sixteen Minutes Past Midnight

The hallway was packed with people—men, women, children—rushing to and from their cabins in every direction. Voices rang out in English, German, Swedish, Yiddish. It was like a storm of footsteps and fear.

We kept close to the wall, trying to push through the crowd. None of us even thought to lock our cabin door.

Suddenly, someone bumped me hard, and my arms flung forward—Lucie!

My doll slipped from my grasp and tumbled to the floor. I bent down to pick her up, but in that one second—I lost them.

When I stood up, they were gone.

"Momma? Papa?" I shouted. But no one heard me in the thunder of voices and footsteps.

I turned in place, trying to see over the heads and coats. I was small, too small, and the crowd jostled me without a second thought.

Then, from nowhere, a pair of arms scooped me up.

I screamed. "Let me go! Let me go!"

My hands reached out, searching for anything—my doll, the wall, someone's coat—but I was already being carried away.

"Don't worry, Anneliese," said a voice.

I froze. That voice—

I looked up, blinking through tears.

"Peter?"

He smiled, winded from the effort. "It's me."

"Where have you been?" I choked.

"I'll explain later," he said quickly. "We've got to get out of here."

"No!" I shouted. "I want Momma—and Papa—and my—"

Peter covered my mouth. I screamed behind his hand, trying to twist free.

He turned down another hallway—the wrong direction.

"I said let me GO!" I bit down on his hand.

Peter yelped and slapped me across the cheek.

The sound rang out. People turned. Eyes stared.

I wailed, my sobs turning raw. He wasn't watching where he was going.

Then—crack.

He ran full-force into an open cabin door.

Peter crumpled to the floor. He didn't move.

I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding. I didn't even glance back. I didn't care if he was hurt. I just ran.

I ran and ran, slipping on someone's coat, catching myself on a railing.

There—our cabin.

I rushed in and slammed the door behind me, locking it with shaking fingers.

Breathing hard, I slid to the floor, clutching Lucie, and sobbed.

Place: Titanic – Boat Deck / Second-Class Hallway
Time: Approximately Twenty-Five Minutes Past Midnight

Momma, Papa, and Anneliese finally made it onto the deck. The air was sharp and freezing, and the wind whipped through their blankets as they stepped out into the night. Around them, passengers stood in scattered groups, clutching coats and children.

Crewmen were moving purposefully now, pulling at ropes and shouting to one another.

Some of the lifeboats were being uncovered.

"That's strange..." Momma murmured, squinting toward the edge of the deck.

Anneliese tugged on her blanket, pointing toward a boy nearby. He was holding something in his arms.

"Mommy, Mommy! Look what I found!" the boy chirped, lifting it to his mother.

Anneliese's eyes widened. "Momma... isn't that Josephine's doll?"

Momma stared at the object. "It certainly looks like the same kind of doll," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Josephine?"

She turned again. Still no sign of her.

"Josephine?" she called, louder this time.

Papa, hearing the tone in her voice, was already alert. He turned quickly and marched over to the boy and his mother.

"Excuse me," he said urgently. "Where did you find that doll?"

The boy clung to his mother's skirt. "I found it on the floor... in the hallway," he whined.

Without another word, Papa took off running. He charged back into the ship, down the crowded corridors. The hallway was full of people—some heading up, others wandering lost, many still confused. He scanned the crowd frantically.

"Josephine!" he called out. "Josephine!"

No answer.

He checked corridor after corridor. Finally, he reached their cabin and grabbed the handle—locked.

His heart sank. If the door was locked from the inside...

He turned and ran again. Down another hallway. Around another corner.

That's when he nearly tripped over something in the corridor.

A man.

Peter.

Flat on his back, unmoving.

"Damn drunk," Papa muttered, not recognizing him for who he was. He stepped over the man and kept running.

Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912

Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Approximately Half Past Midnight

Back in the cabin, I sat curled on the floor beside the door, knees hugged to my chest. My breath was shaky.

Then—I heard the doorknob rattle.

I gasped and scrambled to the bed, crawling onto it and burying myself in the blanket.

"I want my Momma and Papa!" I sobbed.

I thought about going out to find them—but I couldn't. What if Peter was out there? What if he'd been waiting for me to open the door, just to grab me again?

No. I stayed put.

I lay on the bed, shivering.

A few minutes passed.

Then—pounding.

Someone was knocking—no, beating—on the door.

I sat upright and stared at it, wide-eyed. Tears streamed down my face.

The pounding got louder. My heart felt like it might burst.

Were people out there watching? Why was no one stopping him?

And then... silence.

The door creaked open.

I gasped and ducked down behind the bed. A hand touched my back.

"Josephine?" said a voice.

I looked up.

"Papa!" I cried, leaping into his arms. "I was so scared! I saw Peter and—"

"I know," Papa whispered gently, rocking me.

"How?" I sniffled.

"He's out cold in the hallway," he said.

He picked up the blanket I'd dropped and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then he lifted me into his arms and carried me out of the cabin.

In the hallway, I looked down. Peter was still there—just like before. Lying on the floor, as if he were sleeping.

We moved past him. The corridor was still crowded, though less frantic than before.

Finally, we stepped outside into the cold.

"Josephine!" Momma cried, rushing toward us.

"Momma!" I reached for her with open arms.

She wrapped me tight in her shawl and didn't let go.

"Here's your doll," Anneliese said softly, holding out Lucie.

"Thank you," I whispered, still sniffling.

Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912

Place: Titanic – Boat Deck
Time: Shortly Before One O'Clock in the Morning

Music played softly across the deck. I wasn't quite sure what they were playing, but it was gentle and calm—almost like a lullaby for the grown-ups. The notes floated through the cold air and made it a little easier to stay outside.

Around us, crewmen moved quickly and with purpose. One man stood out among them, giving orders in a sharp voice.

"Women and children first!" he called.

His words stirred an uproar. Some of the men grumbled loudly.

"What do they mean, 'women and children first'?" I asked Papa.

He didn't answer. He was watching the crowd too closely.

I glanced over at Anneliese. She was sitting on the wooden deck, clutching her blanket tight around her shoulders. I walked over and sat down beside her.

"I believe you may need some company," I said gently.

"Thank you." She hugged me. "I'm scared."

"I am too," I whispered, hugging her back.

Then—from the corner of my eye—I saw him.

A tall, shadowed figure stepped out onto the deck. His face looked hard, dark, and searching.

"Cover your face," I whispered quickly.

We both pulled our blankets up over our heads.

"What's wrong?" Anneliese asked, doing as I'd told her.

"Peter is out there," I said softly. "He's looking for me. And you look like me under the blanket. He might think you're me."

"Peter?" she asked. "You mean Francis—the one you were always with? The one... the one who hurt you?"

I nodded. "Yes."

We both started crying quietly under our covers.

I heard the slow, heavy footsteps. He came closer—then stopped.

He was right next to us.

His breathing was labored, loud. It made my skin crawl. I held my breath.

For a full minute, he stood there.

Then—he moved on.

We stayed hidden under the blankets, still trembling—not from the cold, but from the fear.

Momma came over a few moments later.

"Well now," she said with a little chuckle, "why are you two bundled up like that? Are you frozen stiff?"

"No," Anneliese said quickly. "We were hiding."

"Hiding?" Momma repeated, confused. "Hiding from what?"

"Never mind," I said, shaking my head.

We slowly pulled the blankets down and stood, walking over to stand beside Papa.

Place: Titanic – Boat Deck
Time: Between One and One-Fifteen in the Morning

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man,
Bake me a cake as fast as you can;
Pat it and prick it, and mark it with B,
And put it in the oven for baby and me.

Anneliese and I sat on the deck, clapping our hands together and chanting the rhyme. Around us, passengers stood waiting. Some paced quietly, others whispered. But we were getting restless.

"It's boring," Anneliese muttered.

She wanted to play Jacks but worried about losing the ball. She also thought we could color, but the same problem came up. What if the crayons rolled off the ship?

We settled on singing again.

Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down!

We fell to the ground giggling.

It would've been more fun with more children—but after a while, a few joined us. Our circle grew. More laughter, more songs, and even Momma and Papa clapping along.

It felt warmer somehow. Not just from moving around, but inside—like maybe everything would be alright.

After a while, we played a Swedish game one of the other children knew: Anka Anka Grå Anka.

We all sat in a circle while someone went around tapping heads, saying "Anka, Anka..." until choosing someone with "Grå Anka!" Then the chosen child would jump up and try to catch the runner before they made it back to the empty spot.

I lost a few times, but eventually I won. We were about to play again when Anneliese suddenly pointed.

"Look!" she cried.

Out in the darkness, far across the sea, was a small light.

"What is it?" I asked, squinting.

Just then—a loud whoosh.

A rocket shot into the sky, trailing sparks. It lit up the deck in a brilliant white glow.

"Pretty," I sang, smiling.

Everyone looked up. Even the grown-ups. For a moment, hope flickered in their eyes.

But no second rocket came.

I walked over to Papa, who stood at the rail, staring out into the black.

"Why did they only shoot off one?" I asked.

He didn't answer. He just shrugged, his eyes still searching the sea.

I stood beside him and did the same.

~o~O~o~

Anneliese and I kept playing hand games while Momma and Papa spoke with another passenger nearby.

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,
All dressed in black, black, black,
With silver buttons, buttons, buttons,
Up and down her back, back, back...

My hands were starting to feel cold. I paused and pulled my blanket around me again. Anneliese did the same.

The fun and games were over.

We didn't say anything. We just sat close and watched the grown-ups. The night was getting colder—and quieter.

Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912

Place: Titanic – Boat Deck
Time: Approximately One Forty-Five in the Morning

As we sat huddled beneath our blankets, another rocket lit up the sky.

I wished they would send more.

Then we heard a voice shouting across the deck—firm and loud. A crewman was calling for passengers to head toward one of the lifeboats.

Momma, Papa, Anneliese, and I followed the others. Women were gathering near the railings, and a few men stood among them. I didn't see many children.

Near us, a little girl stood silently holding her mother's hand. I looked up at Papa and slid my hand into his. Even if it made me look like a baby, I didn't care.

I noticed then—the music had stopped.

The deck felt strangely quiet now. All we could hear were footsteps, murmured voices, and the commands of crewmen directing people into lifeboats.

I watched as passengers climbed down into one of the boats. A crewman lifted two small boys inside.

"That's all for this boat!" he called. "Lower away!"

A woman screamed, "Please! Those are my children! Let me go with them!"

The man paused. "Alright," he said. "But she must leave." He pointed to a girl already in the boat.

The girl stepped out in silence.

"Ruth! Get in another boat!" the woman cried as she climbed in, taking her daughter's place.

The crewman turned to Ruth and said kindly, "Don't worry, kid. There's a boat over here for you."

We followed behind them.

Another woman was brought forward—she had been standing alone, away from everyone else. The moment she saw the boat, she became hysterical.

"Don't put me in that boat! I don't want to go in that boat! I've never been in an open boat in my life!"

An officer stepped forward, his voice firm but calm.

"You have got to go," he said. "And you may as well keep quiet."

It was Officer Murdoch.

Eventually, they helped the woman into the boat, and Ruth followed after her.

Then it was our turn.

Officer Murdoch lifted Anneliese and me into the boat. Momma stepped in behind us.

"Come on, Papa!" I called out, reaching for him.

But Murdoch raised his arm to stop him.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "Only women and children allowed at this time."

Papa hesitated. "May I say something to my children first?"

"Yes, of course," Murdoch said, stepping back.

Papa knelt beside the boat.

"Josephine... Anneliese..." he said. "You be good little girls. Look after your mother."

"Okay, Papa," we said together.

"I'll..." he swallowed hard. "I'll be on the next boat."

He looked at Momma. "I love you, honey."

The boat rocked gently as the last few passengers were loaded in.

We looked up at Papa, our eyes full of tears.

"Bye, Papa," we both cried.

"It's not goodbye," he called down to us. "It's see you later."

"Lower away," Murdoch commanded.