Josephine's Adventure
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STORY 1
STORY 2
TITANIC
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An Unexpected Journey
My name is Josephine. I live in Großmöllen, in the German Empire, near the coast of Pomerania. I am seven years old, and I am Jewish—Ashkenazi, like all the families on our street. We keep a kosher home, and Mama lights the Shabbos candles every Friday evening. But I suppose that's not the part most people notice first.
They see me and ask, "Is that the boy from the Goldstein family?"
But I'm not a boy. Not to me. Not ever.
I was born Joseph. But even when I was three years old—just learning to speak full sentences—I knew something was wrong with that name. With that life. I told Mama I was a girl. I wanted a girl's name. I wanted to wear dresses and ribbons and help knead challah with the other girls in the kitchen.
Papa didn't like it. He said I was born a boy and must behave like one. He didn't yell, but his eyes would get tight like the string of his fiddle when it needed tuning. I cried and stomped and screamed until I couldn't breathe. I remember that night so well—Mama kneeling by my bed, brushing my hair back, whispering that maybe this was just a phase. "It'll pass," she told Papa later. "Let her have her way for now."
But it's been four years. And it hasn't passed. It won't.
My twin sister, Anneliese, couldn't be happier. She says Hashem gave her a sister after all—just in His own time. We share everything: hair ribbons, secrets, and our favorite game—knucklebones, which we play on the cobblestone stoop outside. Sometimes we chalk squares for hopscotch. Other times, I stay inside with Lucie, my doll. Mama gave her to me for my sixth birthday. She has a soft linen face, blue glass eyes, and long red yarn hair. Her dress is sky blue with tiny hand-stitched flowers. I tuck her beside me every night before I sleep, whispering secrets only she can hear.
The boys in the neighborhood found out I was born Joseph. Since then, they've called me awful things. "Freak of nature," "sissy," "mishugene." They laugh when I pass by, kicking up dust with their boots and pointing. The girls, except for Anneliese, won't speak to me. They act like I don't exist.
So most days, it's just me and my sister. I don't have any other friends.
But I still have Lucie. And Shabbos. And Mama's soft hands brushing mine when no one else is looking.
Date: Friday, the 5th of April, 1912
Place: Großmöllen, German Empire
Time: Half Past Ten in the Morning
Anneliese and I were playing knucklebones in the yard, near the edge of the garden. The sun had warmed the stones just enough to make sitting outside pleasant, and we were halfway through our third round when we heard the sound of wheels skimming the road.
A boy on a bicycle—older than us, maybe fifteen or sixteen—sped up to our gate, tossed a small envelope toward Papa, and was gone again before the dust had time to settle. A telegram.
Whenever a telegram arrives, it's usually from Opa and Oma in Berlin. They send little messages on holidays or birthdays, always signing with blessings for health and long life. So of course Anneliese and I scrambled to the door, eager to hear what they had written this time.
But it wasn't from them.
Papa unfolded the paper. His brow furrowed as he read, and his hands began to tremble.
Mama stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. As her eyes scanned the words, she raised a hand to her mouth—and then the tears came.
Anneliese and I stood in silence, hearts pounding.
"It's from the city," Papa said quietly, though not really to us. "We're being told to leave."
"To leave?" Anneliese whispered.
"Five days," he said. "We are to vacate the home and leave Großmöllen."
For a moment, the whole house went still. Mama turned away, clutching her apron, crying harder now. Papa sat down heavily in his chair, the telegram still in his lap, staring ahead like someone had struck him.
Anneliese looked at me, her eyes wide with fear—and then she ran. Up the stairs, down the hallway, into our room.
I followed close behind, tears already welling up in my eyes.
We threw ourselves onto our beds and sobbed, holding onto each other like driftwood in a storm. When my crying slowed, I sat up and turned to the window.
From here, you could still see the water—gray and calm today, with just a few gulls gliding low near the shore. I stared at it, that familiar stretch of ocean I'd known my whole life, and wondered how I could ever leave it behind.
This was Mama's hometown. It's where Anneliese and I were born.
We weren't just being asked to leave a house.
We were being pushed away from home.
Date: Monday, the 8th of April, 1912
Place: Großmöllen, German Empire
Time: Quarter to Three in the Afternoon
It has been three days since the telegram arrived. Since then, we've packed up nearly everything—though not all of it can come with us. There's only so much you can carry when you're crossing the ocean.
Uncle Bernhard and Aunt Grethe are coming by to take the rest. Mama says they'll keep our things safe until we send word from America, once we've found a place to settle.
Yes—America.
The land of freedom. The land of opportunity. That's what Mama says, though the words feel too big for me to understand. All I can picture is that statue—a lady with a crown and a torch, waiting by the water to greet us. I wonder if she really smiles. Or if she's just made of stone.
Papa says we are leaving the German Empire for good. He doesn't talk much about why, but I can feel the worry beneath his voice when he speaks in hushed tones to Mama after we go to bed. Something about new laws. Something about how things are changing, and not in ways that are good for families like ours.
I had just finished tying the strings on my bag when I heard Papa hurrying up the stairs, his boots loud on the wooden steps. He's always in a rush on days like this—travel days. Leaving days.
"Beeile dich.Wir wollen nicht zu spät kommen!"he called.
Hurry up. We don't want to be late.
He doesn't speak much English—not yet—which Mama says might make things harder for a while. But she's hopeful. She always is.
Just as we finished bringing our bags downstairs, we heard the low rumble of an engine sputtering up the road. Uncle Bernhard pulled into the yard in his high-wheeled motor buggy, tipping his hat as he waved.
Anneliese and I ran to him at once.
"Uncle Bernhard!" we cried in unison.
"Hallo, meine Mädchen!" he said, arms open wide as he bent to hug us both. "All packed?"
"Pretty much," I said, my eyes dropping to the dirt road beneath my shoes. Saying goodbye was harder than I thought it would be.
We loaded into the buggy, and just before I shut the door, I turned to look back at the house—our house—for the last time. The white curtains fluttered in the upstairs windows, and I imagined Lucie waving to me from the bedroom, even though she was already tucked in my travel bag.
I didn't want to leave. I really didn't.
But we had to.
"Let's get this show on the road," Uncle Bernhard said with a grin, shifting gears and pulling away from the gate.
And just like that, we were gone.
We're bound for Cherbourg, in France, where we'll board a ship called the Titanic. Everyone says it's the largest ship in the world—even bigger than the Olympic, which sailed just last year. And best of all, it's unsinkable. Or so they say.
I wonder what it will feel like to stand on something that big and still float.
Date: Monday, the 8th of April, 1912
Place: Belgard, German Empire
Time: Half Past Six in the Evening
"Alleeinsteigen!" theconductor called, his voice sharp over the bustle of footsteps andclattering trunks. "Allaboard!"
We joined the small crowd making their way onto the train platform, the evening air crisp and damp. As we climbed aboard, the scent of coal and oil filled our noses. Papa helped Mama with her bag, while Anneliese and I clutched each other's hands tightly, trying not to get lost in the shuffle.
Our tickets were for third class, all the way at the rear of the train—but that didn't matter. To us, it felt like we were riding in gold-trimmed carriages. We had three seats toward the back, and since Anneliese and I were small enough, we sat together, pressed shoulder to shoulder. It wasn't the softest seat in the world, but we didn't care. We were going to America.
Papa had explained that train travel was the most affordable way to get anywhere. "We're lucky," he told us earlier. "The coal strike just ended, or there might not have been enough fuel to run the lines at all."
He looked tired when he said that. But proud, too—proud that he'd managed to get us this far.
And he had done something else too: he'd spent a little extra for our passage on the Titanic, so we wouldn't have to share a room with strangers. Just one small room, but it would be ours. Anneliese and I would share a bed, which we were already used to anyway. Better that than sleeping beside someone we didn't know—especially on a ship full of people from all over the world.
Once we found our seats, the conductor came down the aisle, long coat brushing the edges of the narrow path between benches. He took our four tickets with a polite nod, punched neat holes into each, then returned them to Papa with a quiet, "Danke schön."
The train gave a lurch, and we were off.
Anneliese and I jumped up at once, racing to the windows and watching as the world outside began to blur. Trees and cottages zipped by in streaks of green and brown. Horses in the fields turned their heads as we passed. We waved even though we knew they wouldn't see.
"I wish I could see the ocean," I sighed, resting my chin on the edge of the window.
"Why?" Anneliese asked. "We'll see the ocean when we get on the Titanic."
That made me smile. She was right. But still... I wanted to see it now. Just a glimpse.
After a while, the passing scenery began to look the same—more trees, more houses, more fences. I sat back in my seat, and Anneliese followed, plopping down beside me with a happy little bounce.
"This is fun," she said, her voice light as air.
"I agree," I said, nodding. "But I wish there was more to do than just sit or stare out the window. Did you bring any games?"
Anneliese reached into her little cloth satchel and pulled out a small velvet pouch. "I brought jacks," she whispered.
I laughed softly. "We can't play that on a moving train. The ball will roll away, and we'll never find it again."
I looked up toward the baggage rack above us. "I put my chalkboard up there. We could play tic-tac-toe, if we can get it down."
I glanced at Mama, who was seated a few rows ahead, speaking gently to a man in the next seat. He looked kind and had a travel-worn coat. From what I overheard, he was going to Cherbourg as well. And like us, he would be boarding the Titanic.
I began to wonder—how many of these passengers were headed there too? How many people on this train would be with us at sea?
Papa was sitting across from us, leaning over a little wooden board playing chess with a man who wore spectacles and smelled faintly of pipe tobacco. Judging by Papa's pleased smile and the other man's frown, I think Papa was winning. I didn't dare interrupt him. I didn't even know how to play chess.
I giggled as I bounced in my seat. Anneliese was bouncing too, and it made her hair puff up and down like a wool hat being fluffed. I burst into a fit of quiet laughter.
"Stop that," I whispered. "You're making me dizzy."
She grinned and nudged me gently with her elbow. "Only a little dizzy?"
"Very dizzy."
I curled up beside her, hoping the train's rocking motion would help me fall asleep later, not make me sick. The rhythm of the wheels on the tracks—clack-clack, clack-clack—was starting to feel like a lullaby.
We were on our way. Not just to Cherbourg. Not just to a ship.
But to something completely new.
Date: Tuesday, the 9th of April, 1912
Place: Berlin, German Empire
Time: Quarter to Five in the Morning
Somehow, I must've fallen asleep.
The rhythm of the train must have rocked me into it, even if I can't remember when I drifted off. When we arrived in Berlin, it was still dark outside, and everything felt too quiet, too gray. The kind of gray that comes before the sun rises but after the warmth of dreams is already gone.
Papa shook us gently. "Aufwachen," he whispered. "Wake up. We need to change trains."
I rubbed my eyes and whined, "I'm tired." But there was no time for rest. Our connection to Cherbourg wouldn't wait for sleepy children.
We stepped off the train into the cold April air. My hands were stiff. My shoes felt heavier than before. As we crossed to the next platform, a uniformed man stepped in front of Papa and held out a hand.
Papa stopped and began digging in his coat pocket. I watched as he handed over a set of papers—documents and little booklets, the kind that had our photographs glued inside and stamps all over them. Next, they asked to look through our bags.
I clutched mine tightly at first, confused. "Why are they looking in my bag?" I asked.
"They're looking in everyone's," Mama replied softly. "They want to be sure no one is bringing anything forbidden across the border."
"What would we bring that's forbidden?" I asked again.
She didn't answer that time. Her lips pressed into a line, and her eyes stayed on Papa.
Once the inspection was over, we were allowed to board the next train. As before, our seats were in the last car—the third-class compartment near the rear. The benches were stiff and the windows smudged, but at least it was warm inside.
I climbed into the seat, peering longingly toward the front of the train.
"I wish we were up there," I murmured, gazing at the second-class carriages ahead. "They look so new... and clean."
Papa heard me but didn't say anything. I think he wished it too.
The train began to move again. This time, the conductor didn't come to check our tickets. I wondered if that meant something was different—or if maybe they already knew who we were.
The city was still waking up. As the train pulled away from the Berlin station, the early light began to spill through the windows, casting a golden glow across the rooftops. For a moment, the whole city looked like it was made of gold—like it had never known night.
There were people everywhere. Men pushing carts. Women sweeping stoops. Boys chasing each other down alleyways with paper caps on their heads. The buildings were tall, proud, stacked beside one another like dominoes in a row.
But soon, the tall buildings gave way to low houses, then to farmland. And then—
"Sheep! And goats!" I cried, pressing my face to the glass. "Look, Anneliese!"
"Nothing to write home about," a woman across from us muttered, hardly glancing up from her knitting. Her needles clicked steadily as she worked a pale gray yarn.
Her needles clicked steadily as she worked a pale gray yarn
Date: Tuesday, the 9th of April, 1912
Place: Cherbourg, France
Time: Five Minutes to Eight in the Evening
"Did we make it to Cherbourg?" I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes as the train hissed to a stop.
"Yes, mein Kind, we did," Mama replied softly. "This is your first time outside the German Empire."
I blinked in surprise, then gasped. "Really? We're not in Germany anymore?"
"No, we're in France now," she said, brushing a bit of lint from my coat. "A whole new country."
I couldn't help it—I squealed with excitement. The idea of being in a brand-new land made me feel like a character in a storybook. I looked around as we stepped off the train, expecting something magical.
Instead, I felt a raindrop land on my cheek.
"It's raining!" I groaned, pulling my shawl tighter. The sky above was a sheet of dark gray, and the station's roof did little to keep the water out. Puddles were already forming along the cobblestones outside. I could tell from the look on Anneliese's face that she didn't like the rain any more than I did.
"Since we arrived a day earlier than expected," Mama said, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck, "your Papa and I will look for a place for us to stay tonight."
So we walked—Mama, Papa, Anneliese, and I—through the damp streets of Cherbourg. The gas lamps flickered, casting long shadows over slick stones. The buildings looked old and proud, with narrow windows and signs written in French, which I couldn't read.
We tried every inn we passed, but every place was full. The rooms were taken, and the clerks looked tired and impatient.
"No vacancies," one said without even looking up. Another simply shook his head.
After the fifth or sixth rejection, Mama sighed. Her voice was steady, but I knew she was disappointed.
"We'll have to go back to the station," she said quietly. "It's the only shelter left."
By the time we returned, we were all soaked through. My dress clung to my legs, and my shoes squished when I walked. The station smelled of wet stone, coal smoke, and too many people.
I found an empty bench near the wall and sat down, shivering. Anneliese sat beside me, and we huddled together under our coats, trying to stay warm.
"It's not much," Mama said, brushing water from my hair, "but it will have to do."
That's when I saw it—a flash of movement near the edge of the station wall. A rat darted across the floor, its tail trailing behind like a string. I nearly screamed, but swallowed the sound. No one else had seen it.
"I'm cold," Anneliese whimpered, curling against me.
"Me too," I whispered back. "And hungry."
Papa must have heard us, because he disappeared for a little while and returned with a small bundle of food wrapped in brown paper. He had bought it from a vendor near the station doors—a bit of dark bread, some boiled potatoes, and two small apples.
It wasn't much. But it was warm. And right then, it was enough.
As we ate, people passed us by without a glance, like we were invisible. Wet, tired, and sitting on a wooden bench with food in our laps—we must've looked like ghosts.
But after a while, some people began to notice us. A woman whispered to her husband. A man nearby gave us a long look before turning away. The whispers grew. I couldn't understand what they were saying—French, I think—but it was clear they were talking about us.
The noise in the station grew louder. It seemed the whole world was passing through at once—voices in every direction, carts creaking, footsteps echoing through the stone arches. I saw Mama and Papa listening, trying to catch bits of the conversation.
But I didn't care anymore. My head was heavy. My eyes burned. And despite the noise, despite the cold, despite the rat and the hunger and the strangers watching us...
Anneliese and I lay down on the bench—our coats wrapped around us, heads nestled together—and we fell asleep almost instantly.
Date: Wednesday, the 10th of April, 1912
Place: Cherbourg, France
Time: Six o'clock in the Evening
We spent the day near the harbor, not far from the train station. The rain hadn't quite stopped, but it had lightened into a soft drizzle—just enough to dampen our coats and turn the streets to mud.
The hours dragged by. Every time a ship's horn echoed in the distance, I perked up, hoping it was the Titanic, but Papa would shake his head and tell me, "Not yet."
Now, finally, it was almost time.
The ship was due any moment—thirty minutes, Papa said, checking the pocket watch he always kept chained to his belt. But before we could board the ferry that would take us out to her, we had to go through an inspection.
There was a queue of families ahead of us, all looking tired and travel-worn, some with crying babies, others clinging to sacks of belongings tied shut with string.
We were checked first for illness—Papa said they didn't want anyone with fevers, or coughing fits, or anything that might spread aboard ship. Then a man in a white coat began looking through our hair and behind our ears. He held a small light, peering close. I froze.
What if they checked everything?
I turned quickly to Mama, tears already starting to prick my eyes.
"I don't want them to see... my boy parts," I whispered in a panic.
Mama knelt down beside me, brushing a lock of hair from my cheek. "Shh, Josephine. Don't worry," she said, gently rubbing my back. "They won't ask to see that. Just stay still. It'll be over soon."
I nodded, swallowing hard, and let the man finish. He barely looked at me.
Then they began searching our bags again—something I had become used to by now. I watched as they poked through the clothing, lifted Lucie from the bottom of my satchel, gave her a curious glance, and put her back.
When it was done, they handed Papa a stamped paper and told us we were cleared to board the tender—a ferryboat that would carry us to the great ship waiting just beyond the breakwater.
We stepped aboard with dozens of others, huddling together on the deck under the drizzle. The air was full of voices, French and German, some English too. Babies cried. A woman beside us clutched her rosary tight, whispering prayers under her breath. It was loud. Crowded. Smelled like coal smoke and wet wool.
"It's crowded," I said to Anneliese, squeezing her hand. "There must be a hundred people on here."
Before she could answer, a thunderous blast shook the air.
I jumped so hard I nearly dropped Lucie.
Then I heard Anneliese gasp, "Look, Josephine!"
She pointed out toward the sea.
And there—rising out of the mist and the fading light—was a ship so vast, so grand, so impossible, it made my breath catch.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding.
The funnels reached into the clouds. The hull was a mountain of black iron. The lights gleamed like stars strung along her decks. The ferry rocked slightly as the great vessel came into view, accompanied by smaller tugs and whistles.
I screamed the name before I could stop myself.
"TITANIC!"
TITANIC -2
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All A-Bored
Date: Wednesday, the 10th of April, 1912
Place: RMS Titanic – Cherbourg Harbor, France
Time: Five Minutes Past Eight in the Evening
We didn't go straight to our cabin when we boarded the Titanic. Instead, we lingered out on the well deck, watching the lights of Cherbourg shimmer across the harbor like stars dancing on the water.
It was already dark. The lamplight along the shoreline glowed orange through the misty drizzle, fading slowly as the distance between ship and land began to grow.
Most of the other passengers were hurrying past us, eager to find their cabins and unpack. But a few stood like we did—quiet, still, caught in the moment.
"Isn't it a beautiful view?" Mama asked, resting her hands gently on our shoulders.
"Yes," Anneliese and I said at the same time.
We didn't get many chances to watch ships leave port. Back home, we only ever saw them pass by Großmöllen—fishing boats and merchant steamers crossing the Baltic Sea. But never anything like this.
As I stared out at the water, I thought about our house. The small garden. The windows that faced the sea. I thought of Oma and Opa, and of the things we left behind—things that wouldn't fit in our bags or follow us across the ocean.
I felt sad. But also... something else. A strange flutter in my stomach that might've been hope.
The wind picked up as the Titanic eased away from the docks, making the night air colder. Maybe it was just the ship's own motion—cutting through the water like a giant iron palace.
"We should go below," Mama said softly. "Land's out of sight now."
We turned toward the companionway. Papa had already started ahead and was speaking with two men near the rail. I didn't know what they were talking about. Mama led us onward, Anneliese trailing behind with slow, reluctant steps.
We began to descend the stairs.
Down we went. Past D Deck. Then E Deck. Then F. Then... G.
Anneliese wrinkled her nose, and I didn't blame her. The farther we went, the colder and damper it became. The paint on the walls looked old and chipped. A few rats scurried across the lower landings, vanishing into cracks like ghosts. I don't think Mama noticed—or maybe she did and pretended not to.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Mama opened a heavy door, and we stepped into a long corridor. The ceiling was low. The lamps gave off a yellow, flickering light that made the walls look sickly.
Rats again. At least three of them, weaving through the shadows like they owned the place.
"This must be it," Mama said, stopping beside a small wooden door. "Cabin G-4."
The hallway was so narrow, I could touch both walls at once if I stretched my arms out. All the doors were close together—lined up like buttons on a coat.
I wasn't surprised by the size of the cabin. Not after seeing how cramped the corridor was. But still, I had hoped for something a little nicer. Something more... grand. This was the Titanic, after all.
Inside were four narrow bunks—two on each side—with thin wool blankets tucked tight. There was a washbasin bolted to the far wall, with a cracked mirror above it.
There was a washbasin bolted to the far wall, with a cracked mirror above it
I looked around, confused.
"Where's the water closet?" I asked quietly.
Mama didn't answer right away.
Do we have to share with strangers? I wondered, suddenly nervous.
"Are you sure this is our room?" I asked, peering inside. "It looks like a closet."
"Josephine!" Mama scolded me, her tone sharp but tired.
I stepped into the room and sat on one of the narrow bunks. Anneliese followed behind me and sat down beside me without saying a word.
I looked at her. I could tell she was sad.
"I know how you feel," I whispered. "I'm sad too. But once we reach America, Papa will find us a new home. And then... maybe things will feel normal again."
She gave me a little smile—but I could tell it wasn't a full one. It was the kind of smile that tries to be brave even when your heart is still heavy.
Mama was standing just outside the cabin door, speaking with a woman near G-6. Curious, I wandered over and wrapped my arms around her waist. She rested a hand gently on my head.
"Josephine, this is Mrs. Agnes Sandström," Mama said. "She lives in America—in a place called San Francisco, California."
"Really?" I said, wide-eyed. "I heard people moved there because of all the gold."
Mrs. Sandström laughed softly. "Yes, that's true. My husband, Hjalmar, and I moved there four years ago—though the gold rush was long over by then. Most of it was found back in the '90s."
She didn't look very old—maybe a little older than Mama. I guessed she was in her early twenties, just like my parents.
"Why were you in Europe?" I asked without thinking.
"Josephine!" Mama hissed under her breath. "It's not polite for a young lady to ask personal questions."
But Mrs. Sandström smiled kindly. "That's quite all right," she said. "My daughters and I were visiting my parents in Hultsjö, and some dear friends in Forserum."
I blinked, confused.
"Sweden, my dear," she added with a gentle laugh.
"Oh," I nodded, though I still wasn't exactly sure where that was.
Just then, I glanced back toward our cabin and saw Anneliese sitting on the floor, playing jacks by herself.
I politely excused myself and returned to our small, narrow room. Mama stayed to chat with Mrs. Sandström a little longer.
"You know," I said, plopping down beside Anneliese, "it's not much fun playing jacks by yourself."
"I know," she sighed. "But what else is there to do?"
I gave her a small grin and joined the game.
A few minutes later, just as I reached Sixsies, the door opened and Papa stepped in, followed by Mama.
"Great news, everyone!" Papa said, his voice full of excitement.
Anneliese and I looked up. I was so startled, I dropped the ball—and it bounced right through the door.
Mama caught it just in time before it rolled out into the corridor.
"What is it, Papa?" Anneliese asked.
"I got a temporary job—here on the Titanic," he said proudly. "I start tonight."
"That's good, Papa," I murmured. "But... what's so great about that?"
"Josephine!" Mama snapped. "You've been very rude tonight."
I lowered my head. "I'm sorry..."
Papa chuckled gently. "Well, Josephine," he said, crouching a bit to meet my eye. "The good news is that because I'm now working on the ship, the captain has moved our family from third class... to second class."
Anneliese and I gasped in unison.
"Really?!"
We both leapt up and cheered.
"That's truly wonderful, dear!" Mama said, clasping her hands. "What kind of work will you be doing?"
"I'll be in the boiler room, shoveling coal," Papa said with a proud smile.
"Isn't that a dirty job?" I asked.
"Yes," Papa laughed. "But remember—we're going to second class."
~o~O~o~
As we prepared to leave third class, Mama stepped over to say goodbye to Mrs. Sandström, who smiled warmly and hugged her goodbye.
"I'm very pleased for you," she said, genuinely happy. "Second class will be more comfortable for the little ones."
Mama thanked her, and I noticed how calm Mrs. Sandström remained. She truly didn't seem to mind staying in third class, even with strangers in her cabin. "They're Swedish as well," she had said with a shrug. "It feels like home."
I wondered what it would feel like to belong so easily, even in a place so far from where you came from.
We made the long walk from G Deck up to E Deck, climbing stair after stair with our bags in hand. Each flight felt heavier than the last—my legs ached, and my bag kept bumping against my knee—but I didn't dare complain. Something about the air felt different the higher we climbed. Less damp. Less stale. Brighter.
The wood paneling on the walls became smoother. The lights were steadier. The people we passed looked a little more rested, a little more polished, though many still wore simple clothes like ours. There were children too, though they looked quieter somehow—like they had been told to behave differently in this part of the ship.
When we reached Cabin 51 on Deck E, Papa slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.
My eyes widened.
The room was still small—nothing like the grand cabins I'd imagined for first class—but it was bright and clean, with white painted walls and crisp linen sheets. There were two beds instead of bunks, a small writing desk by the porthole, and even a washstand with fresh towels folded neatly on the side.
I ran straight to the bed and flopped down face-first.
"This is the life," I thought dreamily.
It felt like sleeping on a cloud after the narrow, stuffy hallway of G Deck.
Anneliese giggled and jumped onto the other bed, making the springs creak. We didn't even bother to unpack. We were too tired. Too warm. Too content.
It didn't take long for sleep to find us—there in a foreign country, on a ship the size of a city, rocking gently on the sea.
Somewhere behind us, Cherbourg had disappeared. Somewhere ahead, America waited.
And in between, for just a little while... we were safe.
Date: Thursday, the Eleventh Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Second-Class Dining Saloon
Time: Five Minute Past Eight in The Morning
When we woke up the next day, we all felt refreshed and ready for the day—especially for breakfast. As we headed to the dining room, Papa was just coming back from his overnight shift in the boiler room. He looked filthy and definitely needed a bath. You could say he almost looked like a... well, Papa had so much coal dust on him, his face and arms were completely black. It made me laugh.
"You children go ahead and eat breakfast while I get washed up," Papa told us as he walked toward the washroom. "I'll be out later."
As he passed a well-dressed lady heading into the dining room—someone who looked like she belonged in first class with all those fancy clothes—she glanced at Papa with a look of disgust and walked away, muttering to herself.
"What's wrong with her?" I asked Anneliese.
"Beats me," she answered.
We walked into the dining room. Many people were already there, sitting at long tables. It looked almost like a restaurant, with servers walking around bringing out plates. It wasn't too fancy, but it was nice—and perfectly fine for us.
As we sat down, a waiter came over and handed us a menu.
"What would you young ladies like for breakfast?" he asked.
Being called a lady made something flutter happily in my chest. It felt... proper. Like maybe I really belonged here.
I looked down at the menu. "Oh! You have soda scones?" I said with a smile.
"I'm terribly sorry, miss," he replied. "We've just run out."
"Oh dear..." I pouted. "Well, I suppose I'll have the buckwheat cakes instead."
"A fine choice, miss," he said, jotting it down on his notepad. "And would you like some ham and eggs with that?"
"Just eggs, please. No ham—I'm Jewish," I said plainly. "And can I also have a bowl of oatmeal with fruit?"
"May I," Mama corrected gently.
I looked at her, then back at the waiter. "May I have a bowl of rolled oats and fruit, please?"
"Certainly, miss," he said with a smile, then turned to Anneliese. "And what would you like, dear?"
"I'll have the same as my sister," she replied softly.
Mama looked up from her own menu. "I'll have the fish, a bowl of hominy, and a cup of tea, please."
Mama doesn't eat much. She says she likes to keep her figure.
(Whatever that means.)
"I'll have tea as well," I added.
"Me too," Anneliese said, barely above a whisper.
"I'll bring those right out for you," the waiter said before walking off.
I glanced around the room. Other tables were already being served their breakfast. I supposed they must've arrived before us.
Papa came into the saloon just as our food arrived. He placed his order—grilled ox kidneys (which sounded dreadful), some au gratin potatoes, fish, and a cup of coffee. He must have been terribly hungry after working all night.
By the time we'd finished eating, the staff had already begun clearing the tables and preparing the room for lunch.
That's when we heard the ship's horn echo through the dining hall.
Date: Wednesday, the Eleventh Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Queenstown Harbor – Queenstown, Ireland
Time: Thirty-four Minutes Past Eleven in the Morning
The horn we heard meant we had reached our final stop before heading out to sea. I asked one of the passengers nearby where we were, and he said the place was called Queenstown, Ireland.
I didn't know where Ireland was. I imagined it must be full of green hills and sheep, but I wasn't sure. I started skipping off toward the deck to get a better look at the harbor.
"Hey, kid!" a man's voice called out.
I turned to look. He was standing a little ways off, near the railing.
"Shouldn't you be down in third class?" he shouted.
"No!" I yelled back. "I'm in second."
He sneered. "You don't look like a second-class passenger. Go back down where you belong."
His words hit me like cold water. My eyes filled with tears, and I turned and ran, not stopping until I reached our cabin.
"Mama!" I cried as I burst into the room. "This mean man told me to go back to third class!"
Mama looked up from her sewing, alarmed. She stood and pulled me into a hug.
"He said I didn't look like I belonged in second class," I sobbed.
"The nerve of that man," Mama said sharply. "You are a second-class passenger, Josephine, and don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."
She pulled me close, gently patting my back. Then she reached for her hairbrush, sat me down, and began to brush my hair with careful strokes. From her trunk, she pulled out a pale ribbon and tied it neatly into my hair.
I wasn't sure if she was doing it to make me look more like I belonged in second class, or just to make me feel better. But either way, I liked it. It felt soft and pretty.
Anneliese came over, holding out her brush. "Can you do mine, too?"
Mama smiled and nodded.
When she finished, she turned to me and said, "Now Josie, if anyone gives you trouble again—anyone—go straight to a crew member, do you understand?"
I nodded.
"If you want," Anneliese offered, "I can go out with you."
I gave her a quiet smile and nodded again.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Mama said with a laugh. "And be back before dinner."
Anneliese and I stepped back out onto the deck, the sea breeze tugging at our sleeves. We stood together near the railing, watching the small tender boats making their way from shore to ship, each one bringing new passengers aboard Titanic.
Date: Wednesday, the Eleventh Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Queenstown Harbor – Queenstown, Ireland
Time: Fifteen Minutes Past One in the Afternoon
After about ten minutes of staring out at the water, Anneliese and I decided to explore the ship. We couldn't go everywhere, of course—there were areas marked off for first-class passengers only—but we still had fun seeing what we could.
Toward the stern of the ship, we spotted two children about our age. A boy and a girl. They looked cheerful, laughing together as they played some sort of game.
We walked over to them.
"Hi," I said as we got closer.
"Hello!" the girl replied with a smile. "I'm glad there are more children aboard. My name's Marjorie."
"I'm Josephine, and this is my twin sister, Anneliese."
"Hi," Anneliese said softly, her voice a little shy.
"What game are you playing?" I asked, watching the boy toss a rope ring across the deck.
"Quoits," he said as the ring landed neatly on a painted circle with a number on it.
"Never heard of it," I said, tilting my head.
"Never heard of it?" he laughed. "Where in the world are you from?"
"Großmöllen," I answered.
"Where's that?" Marjorie asked.
"Großmöllen is in the German Empire," I said with a small frown. "But we don't live there anymore. We're moving to America. We had to leave our home."
"Oh... I'm sorry," Marjorie said gently. "My mum and dad and I are moving to Idaho, from England. We're going to live near family."
"We haven't decided where we'll settle," I told her. "Probably—"
Just then, the ship's horn blared loudly across the harbor, and all four of us jumped. A few seconds later, we felt it: the subtle shift beneath our feet as the Titanic began to move.
"I suppose we're off," the boy said. "I'd better head back inside. Dinner's starting."
He turned to run.
"Wait!" I called after him. "What's your name?"
"Marshall... Marshall Drew!" he shouted over his shoulder. And then he was gone.
"I'd better get going too," Marjorie said. "I don't want Mum and Dad waiting."
She gave us a little wave and hurried off.
Anneliese and I walked back toward our cabin. Mama was waiting by the door when we arrived.
"You two have a good time?" she asked as we stepped inside.
"Yes," Anneliese said. "We met some children."
"That's lovely," Mama smiled. "Now come along. Let's get ready for dinner."
TITANIC -3
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Sick in the Head
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."
TITANIC -4
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Keeping Together
When we returned to our cabin, Mama looked me over carefully, checking to see if I had any bruises. I didn't—but I was still scared.
I had thought Peter was a nice man. But he yelled at me, pushed me onto the bed, and hurt my feelings. Now... I just don't know what to think.
I have so many questions—questions I don't think I'll ever get answers to.
One of them is: why was he in that lady's cabin?
The rest of the evening was quiet. The sun was still shining, and I wanted to go back outside to play. But Papa told me I wasn't allowed to go out on the deck alone anymore. Anneliese had to be with me at all times.
"Just because I'm the youngest doesn't mean they have to treat me like a baby," I grumbled, sitting on my bed with a pout.
"You're acting like a baby," Anneliese giggled.
I stuck out my tongue at her.
"You two stop that," Papa scolded.
"I'm bored," I whined. "Can't I at least go to the library and get the book I was reading earlier?"
"I really don't want you out there right now," Papa said firmly. "Not with that man still on the loose."
"Okay," I mumbled, arms folded.
As usual, Anneliese was playing jacks. I sat down beside her on the floor to join in, but before long, I drifted off to sleep right in the middle of the game.
When I woke up, Anneliese was helping Mama with something near the washbasin. I felt a little left out—not angry, just... sad that I wasn't part of whatever they were doing.
When supper time came, we all left the cabin together. I felt like I was being punished—even though I hadn't done anything wrong. I walked slowly, keeping my eyes on the floor the entire way to the dining room.
As we walked, I kept hearing little noises—soft sounds coming from behind the walls or down the hall. I tried not to think too much about it. It was probably just other passengers leaving their rooms, I told myself.
When we reached the dining room, I noticed an officer standing near the entrance, watching the passengers as they filed in. He didn't speak, but he was keeping a careful eye on the men entering the room.
I figured they were doing this because, sooner or later, Peter would have to show up.
He has to eat sometime...
~o~O~o~
I still felt sad about losing what I thought was a friend.
He was almost like a grandpapa to me. He must've been around forty or fifty years old, but he had been kind—at least at first. He was a nice man... or so I thought.
I kind of wished he hadn't turned out to be a bad person.
I had fun playing shuffleboard with him, even though I lost every time.
Yes, he was a bit strange, especially when he put his hand on my shoulder. But at the time... it hadn't hurt. Not physically.
I lay down on my bed and let out a long sigh.
Mama must have heard me, because a moment later, I felt her presence beside me.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked gently.
"Nothing," I sighed again, not meeting her eyes.
"I know something's wrong," she said, sitting down next to me. "You always sigh like that when something's hurting on the inside."
I sat up slowly and rested my head against her shoulder. "It's Peter," I murmured.
"Peter?" Mama asked.
"He's the man I met earlier," I said quietly, barely above a whisper.
Mama's expression changed. "Josephine, he's not a good man," she said, sharper now. "He nearly hurt you. And he got you into trouble. You shouldn't have gone into that room with him. He could've done something much worse."
Her voice shook a little. I started crying.
"Oh, baby..." Mama wrapped her arms around me and held me close. "Why don't you try to sleep now, hmm? Things always look better in the morning."
"I hope so," I whispered through a yawn.
I lay back down, and Mama pulled the blanket over me. She walked over to check on Anneliese, already fast asleep in the top bunk.
"Momma?" I called softly.
"Yes, dear?" she asked, looking down at me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, eyes heavy.
She gave me a soft smile, and before I could hear her reply, I was already asleep.
Date:Friday, the Twelfth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Fourteen Minutes Past Ten in the Morning
The next morning, just after we returned from breakfast, there was a knock at our cabin door.
It was Officer Boxhall.
He stepped inside and removed his cap. "We've caught him," he said quietly.
Peter.
Except... that wasn't his real name.
"He was hiding in third class," Boxhall explained. "Moving between empty cabins. A night watchman spotted him trying to break into the kitchen to steal food."
Papa clenched his fists, standing protectively near Mama.
Boxhall continued. "His real name isn't Peter Goodman. It's Francis Hermann—a former reverend from Salt Lake City, Utah."
The name didn't mean anything to me—but the look on Mama's face said enough.
"He's wanted in connection to the murders of two women from his congregation," Boxhall added grimly. "And he's also suspected of killing his ex-wives... and two of his own children."
My stomach turned.
"He's in custody now," Boxhall finished. "Locked in a secured room below until we reach America."
None of us spoke for a moment.
The cabin felt smaller. The air felt heavier.
All I could think was:
He wasn't just a bad man. He was something worse.
And I had followed him. Smiled at him. Played games with him.
I didn't say anything out loud.
I just sat down on my bed, and hugged my doll tight.
Date: Friday, the Twelfth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Second-Class Promenade / First-Class Deck
Time: Just after Ten in the Morning
Even with Francis in custody, I still wasn't allowed out of the cabin alone. Anneliese was, though—she was tired of being cooped up. We ended up going outside to the shuffleboard court.
"This is the same one Peter and I played at!" I cheered.
"You mean Francis," Anneliese corrected me.
"He was Peter when we played here," I said, trying not to cry.
"Let's not play this game," Anneliese muttered, staring down at the deck. "It gives me the creeps... knowing a murderer was standing here."
I was disappointed, but I nodded and walked on to find something else to do. As we strolled along the deck, we saw the two children from the other day—Marjorie and Marshall—playing Deck Quoits again.
"Hello!" I called to them.
"Oh, hi!" Marjorie waved. "Want to play with us?"
"Not really," I said as I came closer. "I'd rather watch."
"Suit yourself," Marjorie said with a smile. "What about you?" she asked Anneliese.
"I guess," Anneliese replied with a shrug.
While I watched them play, I overheard two men walking by. Their voices were low, but not kind.
"What's this garbage doing on board?" one of them growled, looking at the lifeboats lined along the deck. "What a waste of space on a ship that's unsinkable."
"I agree," said the other man. "Not even God Himself could sink this ship."
They laughed and continued walking.
Something about that line made me feel uneasy.
I decided to follow them. Anneliese was too busy playing to notice, and I thought I'd be back before she even realized I was gone.
I trailed the men across the deck, keeping a safe distance. They talked nonsense the entire time—boasting, sneering, bragging about money and politics. Eventually, I realized we'd gone quite far... and I hadn't been paying attention to where we were.
Suddenly, a man's voice shouted from behind me.
"Hey! You there—kid!"
I froze. A crewman was running toward me.
The two men I'd followed looked back at me, laughed, and kept walking.
"What are you doing on the First-Class Promenade?" the crewman demanded.
"The what?" I said, looking around in confusion.
"Come with me, young lady," he said, reaching for my arm.
"You don't have to do that," another voice interrupted gently.
The crewman turned—and his eyes widened.
"Captain Smith... sir!"
"I'll handle this one," Captain Smith said calmly.
The crewman nodded stiffly, released me, and hurried back to his post.
Captain Smith looked down at me with kind eyes. "So," he said, "you're the young lady who helped capture a criminal."
"
"What?" I gasped. "How do you know about that?"
"Come with me," he said with a smile, resting his hand gently on my shoulder as we walked. "Word travels fast on a ship. You became something of a hero, you know. That man's been running from the law for over fifteen years."
"But Peter was such a nice man," I whispered.
"Is that what he called himself?" Captain Smith asked.
"Yes," I replied. "Peter Good Man—" I paused, then added, "Goodmann."
The captain laughed. "He cleared his throat when he said it, didn't he?"
"Yes!" I giggled. "Every time!"
As we walked along the first-class deck, I spotted Mama, Papa, and Anneliese searching for me near the staircase.
"There's my family!" I said, pointing. We headed down to them.
Papa scolded me right away for leaving Anneliese behind—but then he looked up and saw who I was with.
"Captain Smith," he said, nearly stammering.
"Please," the captain chuckled, "call me Edward Smith."
"We're terribly sorry for what Josephine has done," Papa said, putting a protective hand on my shoulder.
"Don't be sorry," Captain Smith said warmly. "Why don't your whole family join me for dinner this evening?"
"Dinner... with you?" Mama asked, clearly shocked.
"We'd love to," Papa began, "but... tonight is Shabbat."
"You're Jewish, then?" Captain Smith asked kindly.
Mama nodded.
"Well," he said, "then let's make it a proper Shabbat dinner. I'll have my cooks prepare a traditional Jewish meal—matzo ball soup, baked fish, Challah bread, and Latkes. We can light candles at sunset, if you wish."
Anneliese and I lit up instantly.
"Let's do it, Papa!" we sang in unison.
Papa glanced at Mama, then looked back at us. He thought for a moment.
"...All right," he said. "It's not every day we're invited to dine with the captain of a ship."
Anneliese and I cheered.
TITANIC -5
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Shabbat Shalom
Date: Friday, the Twelfth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Half Past Twelve in the Afternoon
When we returned to our cabin, Mama took me over to the bed.
"I'm disappointed in what you did," she said, sitting down beside me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears in my eyes.
I glanced over at Papa. He had that look—the one that meant he was thinking about spanking me. My heart sank. I didn't want to be in trouble.
"Now, you sit here for a while and be a good girl," Mama said, gently patting my head.
Papa lay down on his bunk. I think he was trying to get some sleep.
I looked across the room at Anneliese. She was sitting quietly, reading a book.
"What are you reading?" I asked her.
"Anne of Green Gables," she said, placing it on the floor so I could see the cover. "It's about an energetic and unusual orphan girl who finds a home with some elderly folks."
"Sounds interesting," I giggled. "I was reading a book called Moby-Dick."
"Oh! The story about the great white whale that Captain Ahab wants revenge on?" She laughed.
"Yes!" I squealed.
"I have it right here," she said, handing me the book.
"Wait—how did you know I was reading this?" I asked, surprised.
"Someone up in the library gave it to me," she laughed. "They thought I was you and said I should keep reading it. I figured they meant you, so I brought it back."
"Thank you!" I cried. "I was reading this before... before I spent time with Peter."
"You're welcome," she said softly. Then, more serious: "Next time, don't be foolish and follow strange grown-ups."
I looked down at my feet. "I won't," I sighed.
I curled up on the bed and opened the book. The words felt familiar, like returning to a place I hadn't visited in years—even though it had only been days.
I read a few chapters, but before long, my eyes started to close.
I was pooped, as Mama would say.
~o~O~o~
Papa and I woke up a few hours later—just as someone knocked at our door.
Papa opened it, and to our surprise, Captain Smith stood in the hallway, holding two beautiful dresses draped over his arms.
"I thought your young ladies might like something special for this evening," he said with a smile, handing the dresses to Papa.
Anneliese and I jumped up right away, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Are you sure about this?" Mama asked.
"You're our guests," Captain Smith said warmly. "And it wouldn't be proper for two young ladies to attend dinner without looking their best."
"Thanks!" I said cheerfully. Then I paused and looked at Mama and Papa. "But what about them?"
"Oh, don't worry," Papa said. "We'll find something to wear."
"Nonsense," the captain replied. "Come with me. I'll have my steward help you both. And my maid will come assist the girls."
Mama and Papa left with him, and a few minutes later, a well-dressed woman entered the room. She had a neat uniform and a calm, practiced smile.
"Alright then," she said kindly. "Why don't we get you ready? Would you like help with your dress?"
"No thank you," I replied politely. "I can do it myself."
"It's quite alright," she said, stepping closer. "I help girls with this sort of thing every day."
She gently reached for the ties of my old dress. I hesitated, suddenly nervous. My hands moved instinctively to protect myself—without thinking.
The maid paused. She looked at me for a second... then turned away.
"Oh," she said, her voice suddenly less warm. "I... didn't realize."
"I'm a girl," I said quietly, but firmly.
There was a silence.
She didn't say anything cruel—but she didn't smile anymore either.
Anneliese stood up, crossing her arms.
"She is a girl," she said boldly. "Just a different kind. That's allowed."
The maid gave a tight nod, her face stiff. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said quickly, and walked out, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than needed.
I stood frozen for a moment, my heart beating fast.
Anneliese walked over and squeezed my hand.
"You look great in that dress," she whispered.
I gave her a small smile. "Thank you."
~o~O~o~
When Mama and Papa returned to the cabin, they were dressed in fine clothes—just like the fancy ones Anneliese and I were wearing.
"Where's the maid Captain Smith sent over?" Mama asked.
"Yes, but she felt embarrassed and left," Anneliese said firmly.
Papa looked over at Captain Smith, who didn't look very pleased.
"I'll speak with her myself," the captain said, frowning.
Papa turned toward me. I was sitting on my bed, quietly crying.
"What's wrong, Josephine?" he asked gently.
I looked up at him through tears. "Papa," I sobbed, "I hate... having this part of me. I wish it wasn't there."
Papa sat beside me and wrapped his arms around me. "I know, dear," he said softly.
"Can we... can we have it taken away?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
"Taken away?" Papa blinked, startled. "You mean... like that? You could get hurt."
"I heard some people have had it removed," I said. "Why can't I?"
Papa looked thoughtful. "Josephine... those people had a special kind of surgery. It's not something that can just be done."
I lowered my eyes. "Could I have that surgery someday?"
Papa stood up slowly and walked over to the small round window that looked out over the ocean. He stared out for a long moment, then turned to me.
"Tell you what," he said. "Once we're in America... I'll try to find a doctor who can help. Someone who understands."
My heart leapt. "Really?" I whispered.
"I promise," Papa said with a smile.
"And I'll make sure it happens too," Mama added, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I couldn't help myself—I cheered, spinning around in my new dress, then ran over to Anneliese.
"Did you hear?" I giggled. "I'm going to be just like you!"
Anneliese laughed and hugged me tight.
Date:Friday, the Twelfth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – First-Class Dining Room
Time: Seven O'Clock in the Evening
We were escorted by a crew member to first class. When we entered the dining room, we walked straight over to Captain Smith.
"Shabbat Shalom," Papa and Mama greeted him warmly.
"Shabbat Shalom," Captain Smith replied with a smile. "And Shabbat Shalom to you, little misses," he said, turning to Anneliese and me.
"Shabbat Shalom!" we both said together.
Captain Smith stepped into the center of the dining room.
"Excuse me, everyone," he announced. "For those who wish to join, we're having something special tonight—celebrating Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest, which is similar to what many Christians observe as the Sabbath."
Most of the room quieted. Many people smiled and applauded softly. A few continued their quiet conversations, politely.
Then he turned to us.
"Would you two like to begin?" he asked.
"Us?" Anneliese blinked.
"Yes, you two." He chuckled.
We looked over at Mama and Papa. They were both smiling proudly.
"Go ahead, girls," Papa nodded.
We rose from our seats slowly, a little nervous with all eyes on us. Since this wasn't something we usually did in front of so many people, we felt a little shaky. Still, we walked up to the table where the candles had been placed.
The captain, our parents, and a number of guests watched us closely. Not everyone was interested, and that was okay. But those who did stay were curious—and respectful.
Anneliese took a match and carefully lit the first candle. She handed it to me, and I lit the second one. We waved our hands gently over the flames three times to welcome in Shabbat.
Then we covered our eyes and recited the blessing, joined by those who chose to participate:
"Baruch atahAdonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotavv'tzivanu l'hadlik neir shel Shabbat."
We always say it in Hebrew, but what we sang meant:
We always say it in Hebrew, but what we sang meant:
"We praise You,Eternal God, Sovereign of the Universe, who makes us holy withcommandments and commands us to kindle the Sabbath lights."
Next, we lifted our cups—juice for us, wine for the adults—and said:
"Baruch atahAdonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, borei p'ri hagafen."
"Wepraise You, Eternal God, Sovereign of the Universe, who creates thefruit of the vine."
Then we uncovered the Challah, the braided bread, and said:
"Baruch atahAdonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz."
"Wepraise You, Eternal God, Sovereign of the Universe, who brings forthbread from the earth."
We passed around pieces of Challah for everyone who wished to take part.
To my surprise, more than a dozen Jewish passengers came forward to thank us. They said we did a wonderful job—and we both felt so proud.
"Shabbat Shalom," we told each of them, beaming.
When we sat back down at the captain's table, he leaned over to me and whispered kindly, "I'm sorry about my maid earlier. And just between us—your secret is safe with me."
He gave me a little wink and turned to chat with Papa.
I looked at Anneliese and smiled. She smiled right back.
Supper was served on elegant plates with special utensils that were even marked Kosher. Each one had little words etched into them: Meat, Dairy, or Pareve.
Waiters brought over a buffet, just as the captain had promised. Some first-class passengers chose to have their usual meals from the standard menu, but many tried the Shabbat meal right alongside us.
My favorite part was the Latkes—crispy, golden potato pancakes with onion and matzo meal. Delicious. I also loved the matzo ball soup, though I had my chicken on the side. Anneliese preferred hers together.
Mama had fish, as always. Papa and Captain Smith were deep in conversation at the far end of the table, so I wasn't sure what they were eating—but both looked happy.
TITANIC -6
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Color me a picture
Date: Saturday, the Thirteenth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Second-Class Deck
Time: Eleven Forty-Five in the Morning
Breakfast was good today—not quite as fun as last night's supper in first class with Captain Smith, but still pleasant. The best part? We were allowed to keep the fancy dresses the captain gave us. He said they were gifts and refused to take them back. That made Anneliese and me very happy.
Papa and Mama still wouldn't let me wander off on my own. I had to promise—again—that I wouldn't leave Anneliese's side.
We walked around the deck together. There wasn't much to do, but it felt good to be outside in the fresh sea air.
As we passed by a group of women chatting, we overheard one of them mention that the barbershop sold toys. She said it was such a cute idea. Anneliese and I lit up. Toys? That sounded far more exciting than jacks—for once.
We rushed off toward the barbershop.
"Hey girls," a man said as we stepped in. "I'm Arthur White. You here for a haircut?" He had a pair of scissors in his hand. "Snip, snip!" he said, pretending to clip the air.
I stared at the scissors, wide-eyed.
"Uh—" I began, backing up a little.
"No," Anneliese laughed. "We heard you have toys!"
Arthur looked at me and smiled. "I was just teasing. I wouldn't dream of cutting such beautiful hair off two lovely young ladies."
I stopped feeling so tense.
"What kind of toys do you have?" Anneliese asked, stepping forward.
"Just look around," Arthur said. "There are toys everywhere."
We looked around—and our eyes went wide. Toys were hanging from strings, tucked onto shelves, even lined up along the walls. Why didn't we see this sooner?
There were dolls, yo-yos, cup-and-ball toys, and even familiar things like checkers, dominoes, playing cards, and crayons! I giggled when I saw a few more sets of jacks, just like ours.
I wished we could buy all of it.
"How much are the crayons?" I asked, pointing
"How much are the crayons?" I asked, pointing.
"For you?" Arthur smiled. "Just one penny."
"One penny?" I looked confused.
Anneliese leaned over to whisper, "What's a penny?"
"I don't know," I whispered back. Then I looked up at Arthur. "Can we ask our Papa?"
"Of course," he chuckled.
We hurried back to our cabin. But when we got there, Papa was asleep. That disappointed both of us. Mama was sitting nearby on the davenport, knitting something small—probably for the baby she said she hoped to have someday.
"Momma, what's a penny?" I asked.
"A penny is a coin," she said. "Similar to a pfennig back home."
"Back home?" I tilted my head. "You mean where we used to live?"
"It doesn't matter if we don't live there now," Mama said gently. "It's still our home. Always."
"Can we have a penny?" Anneliese asked quickly.
Mama looked puzzled. "Why do you need a penny?"
"To buy crayons at the barbershop," Anneliese explained.
"The barbershop?" Mama laughed.
"They sell toys there!" I added excitedly.
Mama set her knitting down and stood. "Well, why don't we all go see for ourselves?"
Anneliese and I jumped up and clapped.
Mama left a note for Papa, just in case he woke up, and we set off. Well—they walked. I skipped.
The barbershop was on B Deck, so we had to climb a few sets of stairs. Mama refused to use the lifts—she said she didn't trust new machines like elevators or those strange moving stairs called escalators.
I was fascinated by escalators. The wooden steps clicked and clacked as they moved upward. Clickity-clackity—like a machine chewing up the floor.
When we arrived, Arthur was trimming another gentleman's hair. We waited nearby, trying not to fidget—but I was so excited, I couldn't sit still. I bounced on my toes, hoping he'd finish soon.
Finally, he came over.
"Well, if it isn't the two twin girls from earlier," he grinned. "And who's this? Your older sister?"
"Hey!" Anneliese barked. "I'm the older sister!"
Mama laughed. "I'm their mother."
"Ah," Arthur chuckled, giving a playful nod. Then he looked at me again. I quickly tucked myself behind Mama.
"So," Mama said, "I hear my girls want to buy some crayons."
Arthur turned and grabbed a small box off the shelf. "Here you go—eight colors of the rainbow," he said proudly. "One penny."
"We've never had crayons before," I said softly, staring at the box.
"Is that so?" he smiled. "Well, these are special."
"That's quite a steep price," Mama teased. "But what will they draw on?"
Arthur reached under the counter. "For these sweet little girls, I'll throw in a pad of twenty-five sheets of paper—for only four cents more."
Mama handed him five pfennigs.
He paused. "German coins?"
He flipped open a little book and started checking the pages, scanning back and forth.
Anneliese looked at me. I looked back. We were both thinking the same thing: Are we ever going to get our crayons?
After a moment, Arthur sighed. "Afraid we don't take pfennigs—not on this ship. Do you have anything else?"
Mama dug into her purse again. "Just the change we got in France."
"Oh, Francs? We accept those!" Arthur nodded. She handed him the coins, and he gave her back a little change.
"Is this American money?" Mama asked, studying it.
"It sure is," Arthur said, holding up a coin. "This here's an American penny—see that man on the front? That's Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States."
"This says 1909," I read.
"Yep," Arthur said. "That was the first year they put Lincoln on the penny. Before that, they had what were called Indian Head pennies."
"Indian?" I blinked. "You mean from India?"
"No," he laughed. "Amerindians."
"Ameri-what?" I tilted my head again.
"Never mind," he chuckled. "You'll learn about them someday."
"Are you from America?" Anneliese asked.
"Nope," he said. "I'm from England. But I love history books." A customer walked in behind us. "Ah—duty calls! Enjoy your crayons, girls."
As we stepped back into the hallway, I couldn't stop staring at the crayons in my hands. They were so bright—even the paper wrappers looked pretty, like little coats for each color. I held them up to the light as we walked.
"Don't drop them," Anneliese warned, laughing.
"I won't," I promised—then immediately fumbled one.
It rolled under a bench outside the reading and writing room. I dropped to my knees to grab it, when a voice from nearby said, "Is that lavender? That's my favorite color."
I looked up and saw a young girl, maybe just a little older than me, sitting on the bench with a book in her lap. She had a red ribbon in her hair and a charming smile.
"My name's Ruth Becker," she said, brushing off her dress and kneeling to help me pick up the crayon.
"I'm Josephine," I said shyly. "And this is my sister, Anneliese."
Ruth grinned. "Nice to meet you. I've got two little brothers running wild around here somewhere. It's peaceful here for once."
She looked at our crayons. "Did you just come from the barbershop?"
"Yes," I beamed. "Arthur let us buy these with French coins."
"I should tell Mama," Ruth said. "She didn't know they sold things like that." She looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened. "Do you like drawing?"
"I've never done it before," I admitted.
"Then you'll have to show me when you start," she said. "Oh—and if you see a boy named Lawrence Beesley, tell him to stop reading so much and come talk to real people."
"I think we walked past him in the library," Anneliese said.
"Exactly where I left him," Ruth giggled.
Just then, a small, sandy-haired boy ran by, squealing with laughter, followed by a second boy who couldn't have been more than three years old.
"Gretchen! Where's my boat?" the little one cried as he passed.
"That's Gretchen Longley's brother," Ruth said with a sigh. "The second-class kids all seem to know each other by now."
We all giggled.
"I think the whole ship will know us by the end of the trip," Anneliese said.
Ruth smiled and looked toward the staircase. "I hope so. It's nice to know who you're sailing with. Especially on a ship this big."
Date:Saturday, the Thirteenth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Library
Time: Twelve Thirty-Eight in the Afternoon
We didn't want to disturb Papa while he slept, so we headed to the library.
Anneliese and I sat down at a table and began coloring. Since the crayons and paper had cost Mama a few coins, we didn't want to waste a single sheet. If we made a mistake, we simply turned it into part of the picture.
On my paper, I drew a dolphin jumping out of the water. I wasn't very good at coloring, but I tried my best. Anneliese was coloring a house with flowers and a girl standing next to it.
Mama sat near the library door, talking to a man and a woman. We kept coloring while she chatted. I saw Anneliese draw a sun, and I smiled—I had just drawn one too. I hoped it didn't look like I was copying her.
Looking over my drawing, I realized something was missing. I remembered the dolphins we saw a few days ago, and how they had followed the ship. That gave me an idea.
I decided to draw the Titanic in the background.
I made it long and carefully added three smokestacks rising above it. When I was done, I felt proud and showed it to Anneliese.
"Nice ship," she said.
"It's the Titanic," I told her.
"That's not the Titanic," she giggled. "You're missing one smokestack."
"Wait," I frowned and looked down at my picture. "There's four?"
"Come on, I'll show you," Anneliese said, tugging me by the hand.
"Hold on," I said, hurrying over to Mama. "Can you watch these?"
"Of course," she smiled. "Where are you going?"
"Anneliese is going to show me something real quick."
"Alright," Mama nodded. "Oh—before you go, I'd like to introduce you to someone. Josephine, Anneliese, this is Thomas and Patricia Otto. They're newlyweds, on their honeymoon."
"Hello," we both said in unison.
I tilted my head. "Newly what?"
"Newlyweds," Mama repeated. "They're on their honeymoon. Isn't that romantic?"
"Um, yes," I said awkwardly. I wasn't sure what a honeymoon was—and I didn't really want to ask. "Can I go now?"
"Yes, but come right back when you're done. And don't go too far."
Anneliese pulled me all the way out to the deck.
"Jeez, Anneliese, pull my arm off, why don't you?"
"See?" She pointed up at the ship's towering funnels.
I looked. "Why are only three of them smoking?"
"Hmm," Anneliese scratched her head. "Maybe the other one's plugged up."
We walked back into the library. Mama was still talking with the Ottos. I saw Tom look up and smile as I reached for the crayons and our pictures.
"I really liked the Titanic you drew," he said kindly.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"You know there are four smokestacks, don't you?" he added with a wink.
"I do now," I groaned.
I walked back to the table, a little embarrassed. I carefully added a fourth funnel to my picture—this one without any smoke. Then I drew some extra waves around the bottom of the ship to hide where I'd changed it. It wasn't perfect, but I was proud of it all the same.
Date:Saturday, the Thirteenth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Second-Class Promenade
Time: Eighteen Minutes Past Two in the Afternoon
We didn't go back to our cabin after dinner—just long enough to drop off our pictures. Papa was still sleeping, so Momma, Anneliese, and I headed out to the deck. Anneliese and I played a game of shuffleboard while Momma sat nearby on a bench, knitting and watching us.
I finally convinced Anneliese to play shuffleboard—even though yesterday she said it gave her the creeps. I guess she changed her mind.
I played better this time than when I played with Peter. At least now I could get the disk to the other end of the board. I still wasn't very good, but neither was Anneliese, so it didn't matter. While we played, I thought about Peter—Francis. Where was he now? Where did they take him?
Eventually, I stopped playing. I lost, and Anneliese was gloating.
"I did better than you!" she sang.
I sat on the bench and watched Momma take my place while Anneliese kept playing. I liked shuffleboard—but not when I lost.
As I sighed and looked around, I saw two girls playing nearby. They weren't the same kids from earlier. These were both girls. One was taller—probably my age—and the other was small, maybe two or three.
"Momma, can I go say hi to those girls?" I asked.
"Stay where I can see you," she told me.
I walked over.
"Hi," I greeted them.
"Hello," said the taller girl. She looked over her shoulder toward her mother, then back at me. "I'm Winnifred."
"Hi, Winnifred. I'm Josephine." I looked down at the little one. "Is this your sister?"
"Yes," she said, smiling. "Her name's Phyllis."
"Hi, Phyllis," I said sweetly, bending down.
Their mother walked over and surprised me. I jumped up. "Hi!" I blurted out.
"Hello," she said gently. "Just checking up on my girls."
"I'm sorry!" I panicked. "My Momma was—"
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she laughed kindly.
Just then Momma came over, with Anneliese right behind her.
"Hello," Momma smiled.
"Hello," the woman replied. "I'm Jane Quick."
They started chatting, and we kids ran around nearby. It didn't take long before Winnifred called out:
"Let's play hide and seek! I'll be it!"
"Okay!" Anneliese and I said together.
We asked little Phyllis to sit with her mom. She was too small to keep up, and we didn't want her getting lost.
Winnifred counted to twenty while I scrambled off to hide. I didn't know where Anneliese went. I found a space just in time—inside one of the lifeboats.
Eventually, Winnifred found Anneliese behind some barrels. Then they came looking for me.
"There you are!" Winnifred said, just as two crewmen walked by.
"Hey now," one of them scolded, "you girls can't be climbing into the lifeboats."
"They weren't doing anything wrong," the other one said. "Besides... when would we ever need to use these?"
"You've got a point," the first one chuckled. "Still—be careful."
They walked away.
"I thought we were in trouble," Anneliese shivered.
We were going to keep playing, but the deck was starting to fill with more people.
"Come on," Winnifred said. "Let's get back to our parents."
Jane and Momma were still talking. Phyllis was napping on the bench beside them.
"Momma," I whined. "It's getting crowded out here."
She looked around. "Alright. Let's go back to our cabin."
She turned to Jane. "It was nice meeting you. I hope you and your girls enjoy the rest of the voyage—and have a safe trip home to Detroit."
"You too," Jane said. "I hope your husband and girls find a lovely home in America."
We returned to our cabin. Papa was just getting up when we walked in.
"What have you three been up to?" he asked, stretching.
"Nothing much—just playing on the deck," Momma said.
"And I won every game," Anneliese grinned.
"Not every game," I argued. "I won hide and seek."
We both laughed.
TITANIC -7
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Forbidden Zone
Date: Saturday, the Thirteenth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Quick Family Cabin
Time: One Minute Past Four in the Afternoon
Winnifred sat on the bed in her cabin, just finishing up a project her mother had given her. Phyllis had split her dress while sitting down, so Winnifred had to sew it up. Jane, their mother, was busy chasing a naked little girl around the room. Phyllis was giggling her head off, refusing to stay still.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"Could you get that, dear?" Jane asked.
Shrugging, Winnifred walked over and opened it.
"Josephine? Anneliese?" she blinked in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you!"
"Hello," I said from the hallway.
"How did you know where our room was?" she asked.
"Your mother told ours," I laughed.
Behind her, I could see Phyllis running around the room stark naked, with Jane following behind her, holding a clean diaper.
"I think we came at a bad time," Anneliese giggled.
We all laughed.
"Wanna go somewhere fun?" Winnifred whispered.
"Sure," I whispered back.
"Where are we going?" Anneliese asked, suspicious.
Winnifred looked back at her mother and then at us. "It's a secret."
"As long as we're not getting into any trouble," I said nervously. "I'm already grounded and have to stay with my sister when I leave the cabin."
"You're not going to get in trouble," Winnifred promised. "We'll be back before supper."
I looked at Anneliese. She looked at me. We shrugged—and agreed.
"I'll be back later, Mother!" Winnifred called.
"Be back before supper," Jane replied.
"I will, Mother," she groaned.
We followed Winnifred down the corridor until she stopped at a door. Looking both ways to make sure no one was watching, she opened it and led us into a narrow stairwell.
"Wait," Anneliese whispered. "Shouldn't we be heading up? These stairs lead straight to third class."
"I thought we weren't going to get in trouble?" I said, starting to panic.
"Don't be a chicken," Winnifred chuckled. "Second class can go down—third class just can't come up."
"I don't think that's how it works," I argued. "If someone finds us down here, they'll probably tell our parents."
Winnifred didn't respond. She just kept walking.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Anneliese whispered.
Still, we followed her.
We passed hallway after hallway until we reached a room full of wooden benches and plain tables. It must've been the third-class dining area.
Anneliese and I paused.
"So this is where we would've eaten," I whispered. "If Papa hadn't gotten that job..."
Anneliese didn't say anything, but I could tell she was thinking the same thing.
"Come on!" Winnifred called back impatiently.
We kept walking.
Eventually, we reached the G Deck corridor.
"This is where we stayed on Wednesday," I whispered.
She nodded, and we walked past the room we used to be in. I noticed Mrs. Sandström's cabin as we passed. I wondered what she and her daughters were doing right now.
At the end of the corridor was a door.
Authorized Personnel Only
"We can't go in there," I said, panicking. "That's off-limits!"
"Only if we get caught," Winnifred said with a smirk.
She kept saying that.
The door was locked—but that didn't stop her. She pulled a hairpin from her braid and picked the lock. I stared in astonishment.
"You know how to do that?"
She didn't answer—just opened the door, looked around, and waved us forward.
We entered another hallway. After a short walk, we reached a spiraling staircase.
With every step, the sound of yelling and clanging grew louder. A faint orange glow lit the walls.
"Where are we going?" I shouted.
"This is the boiler room!" Winnifred shouted back.
"The boiler room?" Anneliese cried. The noise was almost too loud to talk.
We stepped into the massive chamber.
Men were shoveling coal into huge, roaring furnaces. Black shapes moved like shadows through the smoke and flames. It was hot. Very hot. The glow was blinding in places.
"This looks like hell," I whispered.
One man saw us.
"Hey! Kids!" he shouted. "You can't be in here!"
We turned and ran, weaving through barrels and doorways, finally ducking into a dark corner.
We sat against a wall, hidden from view, drenched in sweat and shaking.
"I knew we shouldn't have come here," I sobbed.
"We're going to get in trouble!" Anneliese moaned.
"Come on, you two," Winnifred hissed. "Stop being babies!"
"Where do we even go?" I said. "We can't go back out there!"
"That's what you think," Winnifred said—and opened a door behind us.
We rushed in.
As the door closed behind us, the roar of the fires vanished. The air was suddenly cool. Almost cold.
"Where are we?" I asked, rubbing my arms.
"The cargo hold," Winnifred said proudly.
"The storage room for all the passengers' belongings?" I asked.
She nodded.
I looked over at Anneliese. She was hugging herself tightly, shivering after coming out of the blazing heat of the boiler room.
We walked up to what looked like a fancy, royal red automobile. It kind of reminded me of what I imagined Cinderella's carriage must have looked like—only this one had brass trim, large headlamps, and no horses. I wondered what the Brothers Grimm would think of today's transportation.
We kept walking through the storage room, past crates and boxes, looking at all the cargo
We kept walking through the storage room, past crates and boxes, looking at all the cargo. A few more automobiles were parked nearby, but none of them were as beautiful as the red one.
Then we heard something.
Voices. Footsteps. Coming from behind us.
I froze. I could see a soft orange glow approaching—like the flicker of oil lamps. There were men walking around, searching. Looking for us.
I turned to Winnifred, scowling. Then I looked at Anneliese—she looked terrified. I was just as scared. But Winnifred? She looked... confident. What was wrong with that girl?
She motioned for us to follow her.
It felt like a bad idea—but we didn't have a choice. I followed. Anneliese stayed right behind me, clinging to my sleeve.
The men's voices were getting closer.
Winnifred led us to a thick rope hanging down from some stacked luggage crates.
"Climb this," she whispered.
My heart was pounding. But I grabbed the rope and climbed. Anneliese followed. Winnifred came last and yanked the rope up just in time.
We lay flat across the top of the crates, hiding beneath some old blankets. I held my breath.
A few seconds later, the men passed by.
They didn't see us.
They kept going—into another part of the storage area.
"How long are we going to stay here?" I whispered. "It's nearly suppertime."
"Shhh," Winnifred hushed me.
A little while later, we saw the flicker of another lamp.
A lone crewman was walking along slowly, searching. When he disappeared into another section, Winnifred moved.
She threw the rope back down, climbed off the crates, and we followed.
"Shouldn't we be going back the way we came in?" Anneliese asked.
"Are you kidding?" Winnifred barked. "They're probably watching that door."
"How do you know they're not watching the other ones?" I argued.
"They are," she said. "But I know a secret way out."
We followed her deeper into the cargo hold.
She climbed up onto some smaller crates and opened a vent.
"Come on," she whispered.
The vent was tight. It creaked as we crawled through it, knees and hands scraping along the metal. I didn't like the feeling, but I definitely felt safer in there than out in the open.
Behind me, I heard Anneliese crying.
"Almost there," I whispered, not sure if I believed it myself.
After what felt like forever—twisting and crawling in the dark—we finally reached the end of the vent and dropped out into a quiet hallway.
It was second class.
We were back.
"Why didn't we come this way before?" I asked.
"Because," Winnifred grinned, brushing herself off. "We wouldn't have had such an adventure."
She turned to us and added with a wink, "Besides... did we get caught?"
~o~O~o~
Once we got back into our cabin, Anneliese ran straight to her bed. I felt awful. We had almost gotten in trouble, and I knew it was partly my fault for going along with Winnifred's plan.
I sat down beside her.
Momma was sitting on the davenport, knitting, like always.
"You two have fun?" she asked casually.
"Kind of," I said with a frown.
"What's wrong?" Momma looked up from her yarn. "What did you do?"
"We... explored the ship," I admitted.
"Well, as long as you didn't do anything that would get you in trouble," she said, returning to her stitching, "then I'm fine with it."
I glanced at her, then turned to Anneliese. I lowered my voice.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She looked up at me... then smiled—and hugged me.
TITANIC -8
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The Piano
Date: Sunday, the Fourteenth Day of April, 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Seven Fifty-Five in the Morning
"Hurry up—we don't want to be late for breakfast," Momma said as she tied the ribbon in my hair.
I was tired. So was Anneliese. After yesterday's adventure, we had fallen asleep almost the moment our heads hit the pillow. But despite our yawns and heavy eyes, we managed to get out of bed just in time.
I stretched and rubbed my face. If only Momma knew why we were so tired...
By the time we reached the dining room, Papa was already sitting at the table with a hot cup of coffee in hand and a half-eaten plate of food in front of him.
"Morning, girls," he greeted us, smiling. "Hope you slept well."
"Morning, Papa," we said in unison, sliding into our seats.
But then I noticed something in his eyes—something just a little too serious.
Papa leaned in toward Momma and said softly, "One of the stokers I work with mentioned something strange. Said he thought he saw a couple of young girls poking around near Boiler Room Four yesterday afternoon."
My heart stopped.
My fork froze over my plate. I could feel Anneliese go stiff beside me.
"Oh really?" Momma raised an eyebrow and turned to look at us.
I stared hard at my eggs.
"Girls," Papa said, his voice low but firm, "you didn't go anywhere near the boiler rooms, did you?"
I swallowed hard. Anneliese looked at me. I looked at my juice.
"No," I said quickly. "We were just... exploring the ship."
Papa looked at me for a long second, then exhaled and nodded slowly.
"Alright then," he said. "Just be careful where you explore. That part of the ship is dangerous—even for grown men."
I nodded quietly. "Yes, Papa."
The air around the table settled. Momma sipped her tea. Anneliese let out the tiniest sigh of relief.
As we ate, the sound of singing drifted down the hallway:
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hopefor years to come,
Our shelter from the stormyblast,
And our eternal home.
It was Sunday. A church service was being held nearby, and though it wasn't our faith, the music was beautiful. The hymn echoed gently through the corridors, blending with the faint hum of the ship and the clinking of breakfast dishes.
I nibbled on a piece of Pan Dulcis, some eggs, and a warm crumpet, listening to the sweet sound of the violinist who normally played in our dining room. Today, I think he was playing at the service—but I could still hear him, as if his music followed us wherever we went.
I sipped my orange juice and started to daydream...
What would it be like in America?
Maybe we'd live on a big farm, with chickens and cows. Papa would do the hard work outside. Momma, Anneliese, and I would tend the house and the garden. We'd chase butterflies and maybe even own a dog. Maybe.
"Josephine!" Momma's voice pulled me back to the table. "Don't spill your orange juice."
I blinked and looked down. My cup had tilted dangerously.
"Sorry, Momma," I mumbled, righting it quickly.
~o~O~o~
After breakfast, Anneliese and I headed out to the deck. It was cold today. A sharp wind nipped at our cheeks, and only a few people were wandering around. The sun wasn't shining—just a flat sheet of gray clouds stretching for miles across the sky.
We spotted Marshall again, playing quoits by himself. Marjorie wasn't with him. She was probably with her family. We didn't go over. He looked like he was having fun on his own, and to be honest, the game didn't seem all that interesting today.
"Let's just go back inside and color or something," Anneliese said with a shiver. "It's too cold out here."
"I agree," I nodded. "We could always go to the library."
"You go. I want to color in the cabin," said Anneliese.
"But I'm not allowed to go alone," I whined.
Anneliese sighed. "Fine. But let's grab the colors and paper first."
We made our way back to the cabin. Momma saw us come in and glanced up from her knitting.
"What are you two up to?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said. "We're planning to go to the library. But first, Anneliese came to get the crayons and paper."
Anneliese rummaged through our things, pulling out the box of crayons and the sketch pad.
"Sounds like fun," Momma laughed softly.
"Okay, let's go," Anneliese said, standing up.
"You two be safe," Momma reminded us.
"We know," I grumbled, already halfway out the door.
As we walked through the corridor, we passed the large grand staircase. At the base of it stood a beautiful piano. Church service must have just ended—I could see people milling about, chatting softly.
I stopped and stared at the piano.
"Let's go here instead," I pleaded, tugging on Anneliese's sleeve. "I want to play."
Anneliese looked at the piano, then at me. She sighed. "Fine. Just don't be too loud."
I hopped over to the bench and sat down. I wasn't the best piano player, but I loved the feeling of the keys beneath my fingers. I mostly knew children's songs, but that didn't stop me. I started with "Mary Had a Little Lamb", letting my fingers slowly find the notes.
A woman walked by and paused.
"How sweet!" she said, smiling as she took a seat nearby.
Anneliese sat on the floor beside me and started coloring. I kept playing, unaware that I was starting to draw a crowd.
Next, I played "The Farmer in the Den" and "Der Deitcher's Dog
Next, I played "The Farmer in the Den" and "Der Deitcher's Dog." I wasn't perfect, but people seemed to enjoy it. When I finished, I was surprised by the applause.
I stared at the group in shock.
"Uh... hi," I stammered, starting to get off the bench.
"No, keep playing!" the woman encouraged.
Others began to chant: "Encore!"
I didn't even know what that word meant.
I glanced at Anneliese. She gave me a little nod. I took a deep breath and sat down again.
As I played, I felt more confident. A man approached me and asked, "Can you read music?"
"Yes," I said, "but I'm a little rusty."
He handed me a sheet. "Try this."
"Swan Lake," I read aloud. I looked over the notes and started to play. I made a few mistakes, but nobody seemed to mind. Some people chuckled kindly—but they clapped when I finished.
I kept going.
People requested songs by Beethoven, Bach, and other famous composers. I didn't know all of them perfectly, but I played what I could—and they clapped every time.
By the time I finished, my hands were tired and I felt a little dizzy.
Anneliese had stopped coloring halfway through and was now watching me with wide eyes.
When it was all over, I stood up from the bench and gave a small curtsy. The room cheered. I blushed.
Just as the crowd began to drift away, I realized I was famished.
As we headed down the hallway, I spotted Momma and Papa approaching us.
"You did a wonderful job, Josephine," Papa said with a proud smile.
"We heard you playing and came to watch," Momma added. "Anneliese told us."
I turned to my sister and smiled. "Thanks."
She gave a shy shrug. "You're welcome."
Together, the four of us walked to the dining room for dinner.
Date: Sunday, The Fourteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Titanic – The Wheelhouse
Time: Approximately Thirty-Nine Minutes Past Four in the Afternoon
Captain Smith stood with pride as we gazed around the wheelhouse. The space was bright with light filtering in through tall windows, gleaming across brass fixtures and polished wood. There were dials and levers and gauges I could hardly begin to understand, but they all looked so very important.
"The men here," Captain Smith explained, "relay orders from me to the engine rooms below. Each command must be clear and immediate. There is no time for confusion when you're guiding a ship of this size."
I glanced up at one of the large, round devices—the Engine Order Telegraph, as he'd called it. Words like Full Ahead, Slow, Stop, and Full Astern were etched on either side of the wheel-shaped disc. It reminded me of a game spinner, only far more serious.
Anneliese leaned in a bit too close, and a crewman nearby gently reached out. "Careful, miss. That's not a toy."
She stepped back, wide-eyed. "Sorry, sir."
Captain Smith chuckled warmly. "Curiosity is no crime, but it must be tempered with care." He nodded toward the helm. "And here is where we steer the vessel—this is the wheel. Though with a ship like Titanic, it's not so simple as just turning left or right."
He let us take a closer look as a young officer stepped in with a crisp salute. "Evenin', sir. All's well."
"Very good, Mr. Moody," the captain replied, then turned to us. "Mr. James Moody, our Sixth Officer. Mr. Moody, meet our honored guests."
He smiled kindly. "A pleasure to meet you, young ladies. I trust you're enjoying the voyage?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, my voice almost too quiet.
"You'll be telling your grandchildren about this day, mark my words," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Captain Smith gestured toward a pair of binoculars resting on a shelf. "Take a look, if you like."
Anneliese eagerly lifted them, aiming out over the vast Atlantic. "I see a seagull!" she shouted.
"Seagulls?" I questioned. "Out this far?"
"Sometimes they follow us," Captain Smith explained. "Looking for scraps or fish stirred up by the ship."
I took the binoculars next and scanned the horizon. The sky was clear now, a soft shade of pale blue streaked with golden sunlight. It was so peaceful... so perfect.
But something about the stillness felt strange. Like the whole world was holding its breath.
Captain Smith stood beside me, watching the sea in quiet reflection. "She's a fine ship," he said softly. "Strong. Steady. The very best ever built."
I nodded, unsure what to say. Something inside me felt proud to be here—and yet, a tiny whisper of worry stirred in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Just a feeling I couldn't name.
I stared at the wheel. It looked like such a fun thing to use—almost like something out of a toy shop, only grander and gleaming.
Captain Smith continued speaking to Anneliese nearby. "And over here we have..."
But I had stopped listening. I was too curious about the telegraph machine. The words etched into its face caught my eye. Full Ahead. Slow. Stop. Full Astern. I recognized some of them, but astern confused me. Did it mean backwards? Sideways?
Just for fun, I placed my hands on the lever. It felt cold and heavy beneath my fingers. I glanced around. None of the crew seemed to be paying me any mind. For a moment, I imagined myself a proper sailor, giving orders and shouting across the ship.
That's when I heard my name.
"Josephine," Captain Smith called, and I jumped.
Startled, I accidentally pushed the lever—far too hard. It shifted abruptly to the right. I gasped and tried to pull it back, but it wouldn't budge. In a panic, I did what any proper child might: I ran.
"There you are," Captain Smith said with a smile when he caught up to me. "I'd like to show you something special—something no one outside of first class usually sees."
We started heading toward the next part of the ship when suddenly, I felt it. Titanic swayed sharply to the left.
"What in tarnation?" the captain muttered. He turned on his heel and ran back into the wheelhouse.
"Who pulled the E.O.T. to Full Astern?" I heard him exclaim.
I watched, horrified, as the ship began veering. One of the crew members hurried to correct it, resetting the telegraph and steadying her course.
"Let's just hope none of the passengers noticed anything," Captain Smith sighed as he returned. "And if they do, I'm sure I'll be hearing about it before supper."
I bit my lip. Shame flushed through me. I couldn't believe what I had done... and worse, that no one suspected me.
We kept walking, and I glanced upward, my eyes catching on a small structure perched high on a pole. A man stood within it, unmoving, staring out toward the horizon.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing.
"That," Captain Smith replied, "is the crow's nest. It's a lookout point. The men up there help us keep watch for any other vessels—or large objects in the water."
"Like a whale?" I asked innocently.
Captain Smith chuckled. "Whales? They won't come near us. They know to keep their distance. Now, an iceberg... that's something we'd worry about. But don't be scared—we won't be seeing any of those tonight."
I looked up at the man in the crow's nest. It must be dreadfully boring up there. No fun, no warm dinners, not even a walk along the promenade deck. Still, it was her first voyage. Surely he'd get to enjoy her many more times. I doubted he'd be stuck up there all the time.
We continued walking along the deck, passing beneath one of the towering funnels. Up close, it was even more enormous than it had looked from a distance. Smoke curled steadily from its mouth, drifting into the sky like a slow, dark ribbon.
Captain Smith led us into a large room bustling with well-dressed passengers. In the distance, I spotted a grand piano—much larger than the one I had played earlier in the second-class lounge.
"I heard you were playing earlier," Captain Smith said with a smile. "And I'd like to hear you for myself."
"Oh, I'd love to," I replied truthfully, "but I'm a bit tired from playing this morning."
"Do it for me," he said, tilting his head just slightly, like a father coaxing a child.
I did love the piano. I had never seen one quite so beautiful—or so large. I glanced at Anneliese. She nodded eagerly.
"Alright," I said at last. "But only for a little while."
I walked slowly toward the piano and sat upon the plush bench. The keys glistened under the warm glow of the lamps, and waiting upon the stand was a music book—one I was sure the captain had placed there just for me.
I flipped through the pages until I found something familiar: Air on the G String by Johann Sebastian Bach. I had played it earlier, but this time, I hoped to do it more justice.
With care, I opened the fallboard and placed my hands upon the keys. I flexed my fingers and began to play.
Almost at once, the room quieted. Conversations stopped. Footsteps slowed. Gentle faces turned my way. It was as if the music pulled everyone in and wrapped them in stillness. I could feel their eyes on me—not just because I was young, but because I was good.
(They didn't know the whole story. They didn't know I was born a boy. But I knew who I was. I was Josephine. I was a girl. And I belonged here.)
After finishing Bach's piece, I played a few others—shorter ones, ones I loved—including my favorite: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. I hadn't played that earlier, and it felt like the perfect moment to share it.
When I finished, I rose and gave a curtsy. A real curtsy. The room burst into applause. A few older women approached me, praising my talent and pinching my cheeks. I tried to smile politely, but I really hated when they did that.
I hurried back over to Anneliese and Captain Smith. She hugged me tight.
"Well done," the captain said, offering a proud nod. "You've a gift, my dear. You should think about playing professionally someday."
He glanced at the clock on the wall. "We've a half-hour before supper. Come—I want to show you one more thing."
He led us just a few steps from where we stood, and suddenly, we were standing at the top of the most magnificent staircase I had ever seen.
It wasn't just grand—it was sensational. The staircase swept downward like a wave of polished oak. At the top, a handsome clock stood between two carved cherubs, and everything around it gleamed. The woodwork, the balustrades, the lighting—all of it felt like something out of a fairy tale.
"Do you know what kind of floor this is?" I asked, pointing to the glossy pattern beneath our feet.
"It's linoleum," Captain Smith replied. "A fine, durable flooring. Much better than marble."
I tilted my head. Marble seemed fancier to me, but I decided not to question him.
"Come along, girls," he said.
We descended the Grand Staircase and made our way toward the lift
We descended the Grand Staircase and made our way toward the lift. The same man from earlier was still there, standing at his post.
"E Deck, please," Captain Smith told him.
As the lift descended, I looked up at the captain. He looked down at me and smiled.
I smiled back.
Date: Sunday, The Fourteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Titanic – Second-Class Dining Room
Time: Two Minutes Before Seven O'Clock in the Evening
I sat near the window in the dining room, gazing out at the sea. It felt like such a gift to be seated beside the glass. The sunset painted the sky in sweeping reds and oranges, with touches of pink and blue like someone had brushed the heavens with pastels. What could possibly ruin such a view?
As we settled in for supper, the steward approached us with the menu for the evening.
I asked for roast turkey with cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, and some ice cream for dessert. They called it "American Ice Cream." I wondered what made it American. Did they churn it differently over there?
Momma insisted I order a vegetable. I tried arguing that potatoes were vegetables, but apparently they didn't count. With a frown, I asked for green peas—though I did so with great reluctance.
Anneliese ordered nearly the same meal as I did, except she chose boiled rice instead of potatoes.
Momma selected the spring lamb, which came with a strange green sauce she called "mint sauce." Papa went with curried chicken and rice, though I'm not sure he even knew what curry was. Both of them had puréed turnips. Just hearing the word purée made my stomach feel uncertain.
I couldn't help but wonder what the First and Third Class passengers were having for their meals tonight. Were they also being served lamb and curry? Did they get ice cream too?
When our food arrived, I reached eagerly for my dessert, but Momma stopped me.
"No sweets until after supper," she said firmly.
I groaned inside. Why couldn't I start with dessert just this once?
The turkey, at least, was lovely. Moist and warm, it pulled apart with my fork and paired nicely with the cranberry sauce, even if it was a bit tart. The potatoes were fine. But then came the peas.
I stared at them like they were poison.
Still, I scooped some onto my fork, brought them to my lips—and nearly gagged. Soft, mushy, and utterly awful. I didn't understand how anyone could eat them. Anneliese, on the other hand, was popping them into her mouth like they were sweets. She looked perfectly pleased with herself.
At last, the moment I'd been waiting for: dessert.
By the time I was allowed to eat it, the chocolate ice cream had started to melt. I took a careful spoonful and was surprised at the taste. It was sweeter than what I was used to and very creamy—more like milk than custard. The texture was light and smooth, almost too airy. I liked it well enough, but I missed the kind I had back home.
I glanced at Anneliese. From the look on her face, I could tell she was thinking the same thing.
~o~O~o~
After supper, Momma, Anneliese, and I went for a stroll out on deck. Papa was already getting dressed for work.
It was chilly outside—chillier than I'd expected. A small plaque on the wall said the temperature was just three degrees Celsius. Momma wanted us to wear something warmer over our dresses, but Anneliese and I both insisted on staying in what we had. In the end, we compromised and wore the wool sweaters Momma had knitted us—pulled right over our Sunday best.
"Why'd we come out here if it's so dang freezing?" I asked, folding my arms tight against the breeze.
"Watch your mouth, young lady," Momma said, not unkindly. "I just wanted to spend a little time with you. I barely saw you all day. And I didn't think being cooped up in that cabin would do us much good."
"Well," I said with a sigh, "I have had a busy day."
"That's right—you were with the captain. How did it go?"
"We got to see the wheels that control the ship," I told her proudly.
"Yeah!" Anneliese added. "And the ship even turned left for some strange reason!"
"So that's what I felt earlier," Momma laughed. "Thought it was just in my head."
I didn't say anything. I just kept walking and let her think that.
"Well anyway," I continued, "I played on a grand piano—bigger than the one I played this morning—and we even saw a beautiful staircase."
"You saw the Grand Staircase?" Momma's eyes widened. "Now I do wish I'd come. Not just to see it, but to hear you play."
Just then, I noticed Anneliese shiver a little, and suddenly I felt cold too.
"Can we go back inside?" I asked. "Anneliese and I are getting shivery."
"It's not what I wanted," Momma sighed, "but alright."
When we reached our cabin, Papa was just about to leave for his shift.
"Bye, Papa!" Anneliese and I called together.
"Stay safe, dear," Momma said, giving him a quick kiss.
"Ewwww!" both of us groaned.
Back inside, I let out a big yawn just as Momma was hanging up her shawl.
"I saw that yawn," she said, chuckling. "Time for bed."
"Awww, Momma..." I whined.
"There's more to do tomorrow, God willing," she said with a little scold in her voice.
"Alright," I muttered, pouting.
"You too, Anneliese."
"Okay, Momma," Anneliese replied, already hopping into bed beside me.
I must've been more tired than I thought—because I fell asleep just a few minutes later.
Date: Sunday, The Fourteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Titanic – Family Cabin
Time: Forty Minutes Past Eleven o'Clock in the Evening
I was sound asleep. So were Momma and Anneliese. In my dreams, I was already in America. I imagined Papa milking cows in the morning light, and Momma helping us collect eggs and feed the chickens out in the yard. Our new home smelled like spring and felt warm, even though I'd never seen it before.
Then everything shook.
It wasn't a loud sound—but the ship shuddered in a way that didn't feel right. Like we'd scraped across something far below. In my dream, it felt like an earthquake. But it was no dream.
"Momma!" I cried out.
"What is it?" Momma called back, startled.
"I—I had a bad dream," I said. "There was an earthquake. It felt so real."
"I don't think it was just your dream," Momma replied, sitting up now. "I felt something too."
"So did I," whispered Anneliese, rubbing her eyes.
Momma checked the small watch pinned to her blouse. "It's twenty minutes to midnight. Let's try to get some rest. Whatever it was, we'll learn more in the morning."
"Okay, Momma," Anneliese and I said together, though neither of us sounded convinced.
I lay back down, but I couldn't sleep. Something inside me still felt uneasy.
Anneliese drifted off again, her breathing soft and steady. But Momma had gotten up and was standing quietly at the window. I joined her.
"Can't sleep?" she asked gently.
"Nope," I murmured.
Outside, the night was black and endless. The sea looked like ink. I squinted. There—just beyond the ship—I saw something floating in the water.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing.
"I'm not sure," Momma said. "But have you noticed? Titanic isn't moving."
She was right. The low, steady hum of the engines was gone. The ship felt... still.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a crash.
Momma and I jumped. Anneliese sat bolt upright in bed.
Papa stood in the doorway, soaking wet and breathless.
"Get your lifebelts on," he said firmly.
TITANIC -9
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Women and Children First
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.
TITANIC -10 (Final)
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Carpathia
Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Lifeboat 13 – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Just After Two O'Clock in the Morning
As we were being lowered from Titanic, I looked up and saw Papa standing at the rail. He looked down at us for a long moment—then disappeared from view.
Anneliese and I were still crying. I think Momma was, too.
The ropes creaked and groaned as our lifeboat dropped lower. Suddenly, a huge stream of water came pouring from the side of the ship. It looked like it was being pumped out from somewhere—three or four feet wide and rushing toward us.
The men aboard shouted and grabbed the oars, using them to push us away from the side of the ship. Just as we drifted clear, another lifeboat was coming down directly above us.
We all screamed.
It was Lifeboat 15, and it was heading straight for us.
Luckily, someone stopped the lowering just in time. The boat above hung there—suspended just a few feet above our heads.
Then, the ropes on our own lifeboat jammed. We couldn't move.
One of the men had to cut the falls free so we could escape from the side of the ship. I don't believe in superstitions, but I suddenly realized: we were in Lifeboat 13.
"Hey!" one of the women called out. "We have no one to man this boat!"
"I'm not a sailor," said a man near the oars, "but I've been leading the firemen down in the boiler rooms since the start of the voyage."
His name was Frederick Barrett.
"Anyone want to elect him to take charge?" the woman asked.
We all agreed.
"Alright then," Frederick shouted, "Let's take up the oars. We need to row away from the ship."
The men obeyed. The boat began to move through the black water. I watched their arms working, the oars dipping in and out of the sea.
I could still hear the music playing on Titanic's deck. The sound was faint—but it was there.
I had a feeling those musicians weren't going to leave.
I turned and looked back.
The stern of the ship was rising slowly out of the water. I could see the giant propellers, gleaming under the flare of the rockets still being fired.
Each rocket lit the sky for just a moment, casting light over the waves. I thought about all the things that could be swimming beneath us.
Fish... sharks... whales.
What if a whale came up and flipped our boat over?
I tried to push the thought away.
Anneliese had moved to sit with Ruth, the girl from earlier. They were talking quietly, sharing the blanket. At least she wasn't bored.
Momma sat in silence, staring at the ship.
I bet she was thinking about Papa.
I thought of him too—and began to cry again.
Momma pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me.
Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Lifeboat 13 – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Nearing Two-Fifteen in the Morning
Anneliese and I tried to keep ourselves from getting too bored by playing another clapping game.
Some people in the lifeboat didn't appreciate the noise. They were restless, and one or two gave us sharp glances.
I sighed and turned toward the ship.
My eyes widened.
Titanic's bow was now deep in the ocean. The stern—the back of the ship—was lifted high into the sky, tilting more than it had before. I couldn't imagine what it would be like trying to stay balanced on her now.
The pianos I had played on... they must have shifted, or even crashed by now.
I thought about the beautifully polished grand piano in First Class.
I might have been the last person to ever play it.
I looked down into the dark water and sighed again.
We had drifted farther from the ship. The music that once echoed over the water was gone.
There was only the sound of waves lapping against the side of our lifeboat, and the murmurs and soft cries of people in other boats nearby.
I glanced at a young girl sitting near the edge of our boat. She was fast asleep, bundled in someone's coat.
I was getting tired too.
I looked over at Anneliese. She yawned.
I yawned back.
Contagious.
Our lifeboat was quiet now—one of the stillest out there. Most of the people were just staring, watching the ship.
I turned back to Titanic.
The bow was completely submerged. Only the upper decks and the tall stern remained above the water.
Just a few days ago, I'd been standing on that deck watching dolphins play, feeling like I was flying with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.
Now... I couldn't even recognize that part of the ship anymore.
And I was freezing.
Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Lifeboat 13 – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Around 2:17–2:20 AM
I heard them.
Screams.
Even from as far away as we were, the sound was chilling.
Shrill, desperate cries echoing across the water.
I thought of Papa—how he might still be on that ship. Maybe he was one of those voices.
I thought of Captain Smith, too. Still aboard. Still commanding, perhaps. Or maybe just... waiting.
Then, I thought of Peter.
Why?
Why was I thinking of him now?
Forget Peter. He can die in heck for all I care.
I thought he was a nice man.
But he tried to hurt me. To kidnap me. I don't care what happens to him now.
I looked back at the ship. The bow continued to slip beneath the surface—slowly, but clearly.
The tilt was gone. The ship wasn't leaning anymore. The decks looked level now, but they were rising into the sky—like the ship itself was mooning the heavens.
Speaking of the moon... I looked up.
It wasn't there.
Only stars. Cold, bright stars scattered across the black sky.
Then I saw it—
A massive wave surged forward, rushing toward the second funnel.
And then—
Boom.
An enormous explosion roared from the ship.
It sounded like thunder, but deeper. Heavier. The kind you feel in your bones.
The funnel closest to the water—the first funnel—toppled and crashed into the ocean with a violent splash.
Water sprayed upward. The ship began to sink faster.
The screams grew louder. More frantic.
And then—
The lights on Titanic flickered—just for a second—then vanished in a blinding flash, like lightning had struck the ship from the inside out.
Now it was pitch dark.
Only the stars remained.
My eyes slowly adjusted. I could just make out the shape of the ship's dark silhouette.
Then—another funnel—the second—tilted, groaned, and fell.
A larger splash. More chaos.
Then—
Another explosion.
A deep, cracking sound that tore through the air—followed by a noise so loud, so wet, so awful I couldn't describe it.
And then, before my eyes, the Titanic split in half.
A massive splash thundered into the sea.
Waves raced outward in every direction—towering, foaming walls of water hurtling toward us.
Our lifeboat suddenly lurched into the air, lifted by the wave that had raced across the ocean from the breaking ship.
For a terrifying second, I thought we might tip—but we landed safely back on the water.
The little girl who had been sleeping woke up with a start. She clutched her coat and looked around in confusion.
Back at the Titanic, the stern—the back of the ship—was now standing upright, towering above the sea.
Even after splitting in half, it remained there, as if refusing to fall.
I stared.
Was this the end?
The broken tail of the ship bobbed for what felt like forever—though it was only a minute or two. Then, all at once, it gave in.
It slipped beneath the surface, sliding down into the black water.
Gone.
Gone forever.
I sat in silence as tears ran down my cheeks.
Anneliese and Momma were crying too.
All around us, from the nearby lifeboats, I could hear sobbing. People crying openly—not just for the ship, but for what it had taken with it.
So many men.
So many women.
So many children.
And pets.
All still aboard... when it sank to the bottom of the sea.
Their final resting place.
Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Lifeboat 13 – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Between 3:00 and 4:00 in the Morning
After what felt like hours in the dark, I finally drifted off to sleep.
Most of the passengers had, too.
I woke suddenly, heart pounding, unsure where I was for a moment.
The cold. The boat. The stars.
Then I remembered.
Momma was still awake, her arms wrapped around me and Anneliese. She was watching the sea, her face tired but calm.
On the far end of the lifeboat, Frederick Barrett sat upright, eyes scanning the horizon. Watching. Waiting.
Some of the passengers had whispered before falling asleep—saying no ship was coming. That we would die out here, just like the others... just slower.
But I didn't believe that.
I couldn't.
Something inside me said we would be rescued. I had a feeling.
"Momma," I whispered, tugging at her sleeve. "I need to go potty."
She looked down at me gently. "Oh, honey... can't you hold it?"
"No... I can't," I whimpered, close to tears.
From the other side of the lifeboat, I heard a soft chuckle.
"I won't look if she must go," Frederick said kindly, turning his back. "And I doubt anyone else will. They're all asleep."
Momma nodded. "Alright, Josephine," she said softly. "I'll hold up the blanket so no one sees."
I moved quickly, nervous and embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to notice—especially that.
But Momma shielded me carefully.
I went as fast as I could.
And when I finished, I felt better. Lighter. Less afraid.
Momma helped me wrap back up in the blanket, kissed the top of my head, and tucked me close again.
The waves rocked the boat gently as I drifted back to sleep.
Date: Monday, The Fifteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Lifeboat 13 – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Just After Four in the Morning
I woke to the sound of a ship's horn.
At first, I wasn't sure if I had imagined it. Maybe it was just part of a dream.
But then I sat up and looked around—
Everyone was awake.
It wasn't a dream.
There, in the distance—through the early morning haze—a ship.
A real ship.
People began cheering and hugging one another.
We were being rescued.
We wouldn't die out here—not in the freezing cold, not alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
As the men began rowing toward the distant ship, their voices rose up in song. I didn't sing. I just sat there, listening—smiling, knowing we were going to live.
Light in the darkness, sailor, day is at hand!
See,o'er the foaming billows, fair heaven's land,
Drearwas the voyage, sailor, now almost o'er;
Safe withinthe lifeboat, sailor, pull for the shore.Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore!
Heednot the rolling waves, but bend to the oar;
Safe in thelifeboat, sailor, cling to self no more,
Leave the poorold stranded wreck and pull for the shore.Trust in the lifeboat, sailor, all else willfail;
Stronger the surges dash, and fiercer thegale;
Heed not the stormy winds, though loudly theyroar,
Watch the "Bright Morning Star," and pull forthe shore.Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore!
Heednot the rolling waves, but bend to the oar;
Safe in thelifeboat, sailor, cling to self no more,
Leave the poorold stranded wreck and pull for the shore.Bright gleams the morning, sailor, uplift theeye;
Clouds and darkness disappearing, glory isnigh!
Safe in the lifeboat, sailor, singevermore,
"Glory, glory, hallelujah!"—Pull forthe shore.Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore!
Heednot the rolling waves, but bend to the oar;
Safe in thelifeboat, sailor, cling to self no more,
Leave the poorold stranded wreck and pull for the shore.
Author's Notes:
The character of Francis Hermann, who appears in this story under the false name Peter Goodman, is inspired by a real historical figure.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a man named Francis T. Hermann gained notoriety in the United States for crimes that shocked the communities he moved through. He posed as a doctor, a minister, and a trusted member of society—yet was suspected of terrible things. Authorities believed he may have murdered multiple wives, at least two of his own children, and several women who trusted him through his church or false professions. Despite investigations and warrants, he was never brought to justice. After his final suspected crimes, he disappeared without a trace.
History never found him.
That silence stayed with me.
In this story, I've imagined an ending for him—one that never came in real life. By placing a man like Francis Hermann aboard the RMS Titanic, under a false name and trusted persona, I hoped to explore the danger of those who hide in plain sight, especially through the eyes of a vulnerable child like Josephine. It's also a quiet act of justice. One the real world never offered.
No part of this story is meant to glorify or sensationalize. Rather, it is meant to give voice to the forgotten victims—those who were never believed, never named, or never found. Fiction can't change history, but sometimes it can shine light into its shadows.
And sometimes... the sea takes back what the world never could.
— Natasa Jacobs
Real Titanic Passengers in this story.
Throughout this story, you've met a few characters who weren't just part of Josephine's world—but part of real history. These passengers and crew members were aboard the RMS Titanic in April of 1912. Their lives were real, their stories documented, and their presence in this book honors both the remembered and the forgotten.
Here are the real people you've met so far:
Captain Edward John Smith
Captain Smith was the commanding officer of the Titanic. Known for his calm demeanor and dignified presence, he had served for decades with the White Star Line and was considered their most senior and experienced captain. Titanic was to be his final voyage before retirement. He was last seen on the bridge during the sinking and did not survive.
Arthur White – Second-Class Barber
Arthur White worked aboard Titanic as the second-class and crew barber, located on B Deck. Barbershops aboard ships sold more than haircuts—they also offered grooming products, small toys, postcards, and toiletries. Arthur survived the disaster by escaping on Lifeboat 10.
Agnes Charlotta Sandström
Agnes was a second-class passenger from Sweden, traveling with her two young daughters, Marguerite and Beatrice. They were headed to join Agnes's husband in San Francisco. Agnes and her children survived the sinking in Lifeboat 13.
Lawrence Beesley
A British science teacher and author, Lawrence traveled second class. After surviving in Lifeboat 13, he later wrote a memoir called The Loss of the Titanic, which remains one of the earliest and most valuable first-hand accounts of the disaster.
Ruth Becker
Ruth was just twelve years old when she boarded the Titanic in second class, traveling with her mother and younger siblings. She helped care for her baby brother during the voyage. Ruth survived in Lifeboat 13 and went on to live a full life, often sharing her story in later years.
Gretchen Longley
Gretchen was a young second-class passenger, around four years old, traveling with her family. Her father, Charles Longley, was a Baptist minister. The entire Longley family survived the sinking, and Gretchen lived to adulthood.
Marshall Drew
Marshall was a second-class child passenger, around eight years old at the time of sailing. He was traveling with his aunt and uncle to the United States. Marshall survived the disaster and later gave interviews about his memories aboard the ship, including playing games and exploring the decks—just as he does in this story when Josephine and Anneliese meet him playing quoits.
Marjorie Collyer
Marjorie was eight years old, traveling second class with her parents, Harvey and Charlotte Collyer, as they planned to start a new life in Idaho. Marjorie and her mother survived the sinking in Lifeboat 14, but tragically, her father did not. In your story, Marjorie is friendly and curious, just as she was known to be from survivor accounts.
Miss Mabel Fenwick (the woman whose room Peter/Francis entered) though not widely known in Titanic lore, was a real stewardess aboard Titanic. Though her name wasn't mentioned directly in your story, the woman whose room is accidentally entered during the Francis Hermann encounter fits the historical role of a third-class female stewardess or passenger—many of whom lived in shared quarters. She was loosely inspired by real third-class women like Eileen Alice or Annie McGowan, both of whom survived and offered testimony about life below decks.
Thomas and Patricia Otto. – Third-class passengers aboard Titanic. The couple were newlyweds immigrating to America.
Thomas Otto survived the sinking.
Patricia Otto did not survive.
Jane Quick – passenger from England, traveling with her daughters Winnifred (8) and Phyllis (2). All three survived the sinking in Lifeboat 11.
James Paul Moody – The youngest officer on Titanic. He stood bridge watch on the night of the disaster and was the officer who first responded to the iceberg warning from the look outs. He perished in the sinking. Frederick Fleet –one of the two lookouts in the crow's nest on the night of the collision. He was the man who first spotted the iceberg and rang the warning bell.
Second Officer Charles Lightoller – known for strictly enforcing the order "Women and children first!"
He did not Survive
First Officer William Murdoch – responsible for enforcing the "women and children first" rule. He helped load several boats personally, often facing emotional pleas from passengers.
Eyewitness accounts confirm he used the phrase "Lower away!" and personally kept men off boats, even when passengers begged.
He did not Survive
Frederick Barrett survived Lifeboat 13 and was noted for helping keep order and rowing through the night.
New Horizons
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Date: Tuesday, The Sixteenth Day of April 1912
Place: RMS Carpathia – North Atlantic Ocean
Time: Early Morning
I don't remember climbing aboard the Carpathia.
One moment I was rocking in the lifeboat, listening to the men sing and watching the lights of the rescue ship draw closer—
and the next, I was being lifted into the air by strong arms, wrapped in scratchy wool, and pressed against someone's coat.
Everything was blurry.
The deck was loud—voices everywhere, people crying, coughing, calling out names that never got answered. The sky had turned gray. The stars were gone.
"Keep moving," someone shouted. "There's coffee below."
"Blankets here! We need more for the children!"
I didn't see Papa. I kept looking, even though I knew I wouldn't find him.
The lifeboats were being hauled up, one after another, like ghosts arriving from the sea.
I felt Momma's hand on my back, guiding me. Her face looked pale and tight, like she was holding everything inside.
Anneliese was holding my other hand. She looked up at me with red, tired eyes. Neither of us said anything. We didn't have to.
The ship smelled like coal smoke and wet clothes and salt. Every inch of it was packed with people—people who had made it, and people who still didn't understand how they had.
I couldn't stop thinking about the ones who hadn't.
We were shown below deck to a warm, crowded room. There were blankets, and tea, and something hot to drink that tasted bitter but felt good going down. I sat against the wall with Anneliese and Lucie, my doll, pressed tight against my chest.
A stewardess came over and wrapped another blanket around me without saying anything. She looked like she had been crying too.
Someone tried to ask us our names, and where we were going.
I didn't answer.
I was too tired.
Too sad.
Too full of thoughts I didn't have words for.
We were safe now. But safe didn't feel the way I thought it would.
Someone gave me a piece of bread. I didn't want it, but I took it because I didn't want to seem rude.
Anneliese tore off a bit and chewed slowly. Her eyes were empty—not sad, not angry, just... gone.
We sat curled together on the floor while Momma spoke to a man in a dark coat who had a notebook. I think he was asking about our ticket, where we were headed, who was missing.
I already knew who was missing.
Papa.
I hadn't heard Momma say his name. Not once. But when she finished talking, she just walked back over to us and sat down quietly.
No tears. No words.
Just quiet.
Someone passed by with a tin mug of tea and spilled a little. The drops hit my skirt and made me flinch. I hadn't realized how tightly I was holding Lucie. My hands ached.
"You alright, sweetheart?" a woman asked gently. She knelt beside me. She had dark eyes and a kind smile, but I didn't answer her.
She tucked a blanket tighter around me anyway. "You just rest. You're safe now."
Safe.
Everyone kept using that word like it was supposed to fix something.
Safe didn't mean whole. Safe didn't bring Papa back.
"Do you think he got on another boat?" Anneliese whispered suddenly.
I blinked.
"Papa," she said. "Do you think he's on one of the other boats?"
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to lie.
But I just shook my head and looked away.
"I don't know," I whispered.
She didn't say anything after that.
The room was packed, wall to wall. People wrapped in coats and wet wool, huddled close to one another, some still in lifebelts, like they were afraid to take them off.
A man nearby was coughing badly, while a woman rubbed his back and murmured in French. A child sat beside them holding a pair of shoes that were far too big for him.
All of us had something we were holding onto.
Shoes. A blanket. A doll.
A name.
Place: RMS Carpathia – Refugee Quarters
Time: That Evening
It didn't feel like a ship.
Not the way Titanic had.
There was no music, no polished staircases, no adventure. Just crowded rooms and tired voices and the smell of damp wool and salt.
Some people talked. Some didn't. Some cried.
I just sat, watching the same corner of the room, until I didn't remember what I was looking at anymore.
Anneliese had finally fallen asleep with her head in Momma's lap. Lucie was tucked beneath her arm like a second sister. Momma looked down at both of us, her eyes unreadable.
"I think Papa's still out there," I whispered.
I don't know why I said it. I didn't believe it. Not really.
Momma didn't answer.
The ship swayed gently under us, just enough to make me feel like I was floating—not on water, but on memories.
I saw Papa's face. Not the last one, on the deck. The one from the cabin, telling me stories and taking off his coal-soaked boots.
I blinked, and it was gone.
Dinner came, but it didn't feel like dinner. Just hot broth and a biscuit. The kind of food they give people who are sick or sad.
Later, a steward came by and said we could lie down in a cabin. It wasn't ours, not really—just one someone offered us for the night.
Momma said thank you. I couldn't speak.
The walls were plain. The bed was stiff.
I curled up beside Anneliese, still wrapped in the blanket from the lifeboat. Momma sat in a chair by the door, rubbing her hands together over and over.
Momma sat in a chair by the door, rubbing her hands together over and over
"Will we still go to... that place?" Anneliese asked. Her voice was small, like it was afraid to make noise.
Momma nodded faintly. "Somewhere near where the family lives. Not far from a big city, I think."
That was the plan.
The plan from before.
Before everything changed.
We had tickets. We had dreams.
We had Papa.
I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep right away.
My heart was still back there—floating in the cold, dark sea.
That night, I dreamed of the piano.
Not the small one in second class, but the grand one—the shining one. The one I played for Captain Smith.
But I wasn't playing a song.
The keys were all underwater.
Each note bubbled when I touched it. Sound didn't come out—just silence, and little bursts of foam.
The ship was tilted again. I was standing sideways, playing, and the water was rising up around my legs. The walls were glass. I could see fish swimming outside.
Papa was there, standing by the door. But he wouldn't come in.
"Come on," I said. "Come listen."
He smiled, but he looked tired. So tired.
"I have to stay," he said. "This room won't play music without someone watching it."
I ran toward him, but the floor turned to ocean. My hands were full of seaweed. I dropped Lucie.
The ship groaned.
The piano broke in half.
And Papa was gone.
I woke with a gasp. My heart was pounding. I sat up too fast and hit my head on the edge of the wall behind the bunk.
The room was dark.
But warm.
It was real.
I heard Anneliese breathing beside me, curled under the blanket. Lucie was still in her arms.
Momma was asleep, too—slouched in the chair with her arms crossed. She looked like she hadn't moved at all.
I sat for a while, trying not to cry. My chest hurt, like my tears were stuck behind my ribs.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin and watched the small patch of light coming from the hallway through the open crack in the door.
The Carpathia creaked.
Not like Titanic did. Not big and elegant. Just small. Alive.
A ship that moved like it still had a purpose.
I remembered hearing someone earlier—one of the men—say that we'd reach land soon.
I didn't know what land meant anymore.
Not really.
Not without Papa.
But it had to mean something.
Because the ship was still sailing.
And I was still here.
Date: Wednesday, The Seventeenth Day of April 1912
Place: RMS Carpathia – Upper Deck Corridor
Time: Just After Sunrise
The next morning came slowly.
There was no loud bell, no sudden call. Just footsteps. Quiet ones. The soft shuffle of tired shoes on tired floors.
I blinked awake. My neck hurt.
The blanket was still wrapped around me, damp from sleep and salt.
Anneliese was snoring gently beside me. Lucie hadn't moved from her arms.
I slipped off the bunk as carefully as I could and crept to the cabin door.
It was already cracked open.
The hallway outside was dim but full of soft yellow light. It smelled like old varnish, salt, and tea.
I stepped out barefoot, holding the blanket tight around my shoulders.
I didn't go far. Just a few steps to a small bench tucked along the wall. I sat there and listened.
The ship made a soft humming sound—like it was tired but still trying.
A woman passed by with red-rimmed eyes and a tray of cups. A steward whispered something to her, and she nodded without answering.
Two men stood near the far end of the hall, speaking quietly in another language. One of them looked at me for a moment—not unkindly—but didn't say anything.
I liked that.
I didn't want to talk.
I just wanted to sit where the light was.
A little while later, someone sat beside me. I didn't look up right away.
"I couldn't sleep either," said a voice.
It was a girl, maybe nine or ten. She had thick brown hair in two braids and a dress that looked a size too big for her.
"I'm Margaret," she said. "My papa didn't make it either."
I nodded slowly. Still didn't speak.
"I heard there were dogs on board," she added, almost like she wasn't sure if it was okay to say something not-sad. "I wish I had seen one."
"There were," I said softly. "I saw a man walking a little dog near the stairs."
She smiled a little.
We didn't say anything else after that.
We just sat.
The bench wasn't comfortable. The ship still rocked a little. But for the first time since we left the lifeboat, I didn't feel like I was about to cry.
Date: Wednesday, The Seventeenth Day of April 1912
Place: RMS Carpathia – Dining Saloon (Refugee Section)
Time: Around Eight O'Clock in the Morning
The dining room was nothing like the one on Titanic.
There were no white tablecloths, no flower vases, no warm light shining through polished glass. Just rows of plain wooden tables, benches, and chipped mugs clinking quietly against saucers.
We were seated at the end of one long table, close to a window that showed nothing but gray sky and the endless ocean.
I sat next to Anneliese, who hadn't said much since waking up.
She rested her chin on her hand and stared at her tea.
Lucie was on her lap again, dressed now in a little scrap of handkerchief someone had helped us tie into a dress.
Momma sat across from us, cupping her mug like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes looked far away.
I stirred my tea even though I wasn't planning to drink it. There was a piece of dry bread and a scoop of porridge on a tin plate in front of me.
I hadn't touched either.
Anneliese poked her bread with her spoon.
"You should eat something," Momma said softly.
"I'm not hungry," Anneliese murmured.
Momma didn't press.
Neither did I.
Around us, people whispered. Some were praying. Some sat alone, staring at nothing.
A woman across from us wiped her nose with a cloth and asked if anyone had heard how many boats had been picked up. Someone beside her shook their head.
I kept my eyes on my tea.
A steward walked past and said something in a cheerful voice, trying too hard. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
I finally took a bite of bread.
It was dry, and it stuck to the roof of my mouth. But it was something.
"Did you sleep alright?" Momma asked us. Her voice was gentle.
Anneliese shrugged. "I had a dream, but I don't remember it."
I didn't answer. I didn't want to talk about my dream.
We ate in silence after that.
Somewhere in the room, someone dropped a cup. It clattered to the floor and made me jump.
Anneliese reached for my hand. I gave it to her without saying anything.
We just sat there—three girls, sitting at the edge of a broken world, trying to eat breakfast like it was just another day.
Anneliese was still holding my hand when a woman approached our table.
She looked tired in the way that only mothers get—shoulders heavy, eyes older than her face. She wore a worn shawl and carried two mugs of tea, one in each hand.
"Mind if we join you?" she asked gently.
Momma looked up and nodded. "Of course."
The woman set down the mugs and gestured for two little girls to sit at the other end of the bench. They looked close to my age.
"My name's Mary Abbott," the woman said softly. "This is Ruth, and that's Eugenie."
"Sarah," Momma replied, her voice quiet. "These are my girls—Josephine and Anneliese."
Mrs. Abbott offered a tired smile. "It's good... having them with you."
Momma nodded once. "Yes."
"I had to leave my husband behind," Mrs. Abbott continued, staring into her tea. "He told us to go. Said he'd find another boat."
She didn't say anything after that for a long time.
Ruth and Eugenie sat close together, sipping slowly from their mugs. One of them had a biscuit she broke into small pieces.
"We were in the lifeboat most of the night," Mrs. Abbott said finally. "I don't know what kept me from going mad. I just kept touching their shoulders, to make sure they were still there."
Anneliese looked over at them. "Did your papa play piano?"
Mrs. Abbott's mouth twitched like she might smile, but her eyes shimmered. "No, sweetheart. But he was very kind. He always made sure we had a blanket before bed."
No one spoke after that for a while.
I glanced over at Ruth. She looked at me but didn't say anything either. She just pushed her biscuit crumb to the side of her plate.
"I cried a lot," I whispered.
Mrs. Abbott heard me. "So did I."
She looked right at me when she said it.
And I believed her.
The tea had gone cold by the time I finished half of it.
Ruth and Eugenie were still sitting across from me and Anneliese, their hands curled around their mugs like they didn't want to let go.
Ruth glanced up. "What's her name?" she asked, pointing to the doll.
"Lucie," I said.
"She's pretty."
I gave a small smile. "Thank you."
"She looks brave," Ruth added.
"She is," I whispered. "She made it off the ship too."
Eugenie, who had been silent the whole time, reached into her coat and pulled out a little crocheted bear. Its stuffing was coming out a bit on one side, but she held it close like it was the most important thing in the world.
"This is Fritzi," she said quietly.
I nodded. "Lucie and Fritzi can be friends."
Eugenie smiled for the first time.
Across the table, Mrs. Abbott and Momma exchanged a look. It wasn't exactly a smile, but it was something softer than anything I'd seen from either of them that day.
"Would it be alright," Mrs. Abbott asked gently, "if we stayed near you for a while? Just until we get to... wherever it is we're going next."
Momma nodded. "I'd like that."
Mrs. Abbott let out the smallest breath of relief.
Later that afternoon, the six of us found space on the upper deck.
It was cold, but the sky had cleared a little, and the air smelled less of smoke and more like salt and sunlight.
The grown-ups sat on a bench against the wall. They didn't talk much.
We sat on the floor, under our blankets, and used a biscuit tin lid as a surface to play jacks.
"Lucie can be the referee," Ruth said.
"And Fritzi can be the prize," Eugenie added.
Anneliese giggled for the first time since we left Titanic.
My heart lifted, just a little.
We didn't talk about the ship. We didn't talk about Papa. Or the lifeboat. Or the screaming.
We just played.
And for a while, it almost felt like we weren't in the middle of the ocean anymore.
Place: RMS Carpathia – Upper Deck
Time: Late Afternoon
The sun was starting to dip behind a curtain of gray clouds, tinting the sky a pale gold.
We were still playing jacks, though slower now. Our fingers were cold. The biscuit tin lid had started to dent.
Lucie and Fritzi were wrapped in a blanket, sitting side by side, like they were watching us.
A few steps behind us, Momma and Mrs. Abbott sat on the bench, speaking in low voices.
I didn't mean to eavesdrop. But it was quiet, and the wind carried just enough of their words.
"I haven't told them yet," Mrs. Abbott said. "About their father."
Momma didn't answer right away.
"I keep hoping maybe someone will say his name. That they saw him on another boat. That he's below deck or... or that I missed him somehow in the chaos."
"I know," Momma whispered.
"They don't understand yet. Ruth... she still thinks he'll meet us in New York."
There was a pause. Then:
"My eldest is like that too," Momma said. "She hasn't asked yet. But I know it's coming."
"Maybe if we keep walking forward, the questions won't catch up."
They both laughed a little at that—dry, breathless laughter. The kind you make when crying would hurt too much.
I didn't turn around. I didn't want them to know I heard.
But I felt something in my chest tighten.
Anneliese didn't hear. She was busy trying to flick a jack upright with one finger.
Ruth had stopped playing. She was just staring out at the sea.
I didn't say anything.
I just reached for Lucie and held her tight again.
Date: Wednesday, The Seventeenth Day of April 1912
Place: RMS Carpathia – Refugee Dining Area and Cabin
Time: Evening
Dinner came just as the lamps were being lit.
It was still simple—vegetable broth, bread, and stewed potatoes—but it was warm, and it filled the space with a smell that almost felt like home.
We sat at the same table as that morning—our two families side by side. Ruth and Eugenie had taken to Anneliese quickly, and the three of them shared the corner of the bench, knees knocking beneath the table.
Lucie and Fritzi had seats, too. One on either side of the plate.
The girls giggled softly when someone gave Lucie a spoon.
Momma and Mrs. Abbott talked a little more now. Not much, but enough. I saw Momma smile again—just a little.
I tried the stewed potatoes. They were mushy and plain, but I ate every bite.
"You've got some color back," Mrs. Abbott said, nudging Ruth gently. "Maybe you'll finally stop pretending to be a ghost."
"I wasn't pretending," Ruth whispered, but she grinned.
After dinner, we all moved quietly through the corridors back to our assigned cabin.
It was small—barely enough room for two beds and a trunk—but someone had brought in a second blanket while we were gone.
Momma let me and Anneliese share one bed again. Ruth and Eugenie curled up on the floor beside us, their coats used as pillows.
Mrs. Abbott laid down a blanket on the wooden floor near the door and stretched out with a soft sigh.
The room was warm from body heat. Someone had left a small oil lamp burning.
"Can we sing something?" Anneliese asked suddenly.
"Not too loud," Momma said. "People are resting."
So we whispered a lullaby. The same one Papa used to hum.
It didn't sound the same.
But it was something.
Lucie was tucked between me and Anneliese, her little stitched eyes staring up at the wooden ceiling.
"I miss him," I whispered.
"I know," Anneliese said.
Momma didn't say anything. But I heard her breath catch. Just once.
Then the room went quiet again.
Outside, the ship groaned and creaked. The ocean was still endless. But the stars had come back.
And somehow... that helped.
New Horizons -2
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Chapter Two: The First Night in America
Date: Thursday, The Eighteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Aboard Ship – Approaching New York
Time: Late Afternoon
There was a sound in the air—different than before.
Not the creak of timber beneath our feet or the steady churn of the Carpathia's engines. No, this was softer, steadier... like the hush of something immense waiting just beyond the fog. A gull's cry echoed faintly overhead—sharp and sudden—and for the first time since the sinking, it felt like the world was widening again.
Someone murmured nearby that the harbor was close. "New York's just beyond that haze," a man whispered to his wife, pointing toward the pale shape on the horizon.
I didn't know what to expect. I'd never seen America. I wasn't sure if the shore would be lined with buildings or trees or something altogether different. But something had changed in the people around us.
They stood a little straighter, eyes fixed on the distance. Some clutched their satchels or bundled coats tighter against the breeze, as if bracing themselves for whatever would come next.
We were almost there.
I stood beside Anneliese near the railing, the cold metal damp beneath our gloved hands. Momma sat on a nearby bench, her posture stiff but dignified, shoulders pressed back as though she had something to prove—even now. Beside her was Mrs. Abbott, her face pale and drawn, but calmer than I'd seen it in days. Ruth and Eugenie nestled against us, their dolls clutched to their chests like fragile treasures. Lucie was in my arms too, her cloth head resting against my jacket, a little damp from the sea air.
The sky hung low and gray, smeared with streaks of smoke and fog. Rain had come earlier, leaving ghostly rivulets along the deck and droplets caught in our hair. But no one spoke of the weather. No one complained.
Everyone was looking forward. Waiting.
Then, from somewhere along the starboard rail, a voice rang out—
"Land!"
The word rippled through the crowd like a sudden wind.
People surged forward—fathers lifting their children, women craning their necks, old men adjusting their spectacles to glimpse the outline of the New World.
Some wept aloud. Others simply stood in stunned silence.
My heart gave a hard thump—not from joy, exactly, but from the weight of it. Of what we'd come through. Of what lay ahead.
We weren't drifting anymore.
We were arriving.
Date: Thursday, The Eighteenth Day of April 1912
Place: RMS Carpathia – Docking at Pier 54, New York City
Time: Just After 9:30 PM
The ship slowed. A deep, groaning hush settled over the deck as the engines eased their labor. The familiar thrum beneath our feet faded, replaced by the creak of ropes and the sigh of steel meeting water.
We didn't see the pier at first—just vague shapes in the dark. Massive shadows loomed ahead, tall and jagged like sleeping giants against a city skyline we could barely make out. Then the lights appeared. Not stars, but manmade—burning yellow and orange, spilling from windows, swinging from poles, blinking in timed intervals. White arcs of brightness swept across the water as if searching for something.
And then came the sound.
Not the groan of metal or the whistle of sea wind.
No. This was different.
It was people.
A roar, rising from the docks like a living thing—too large to be real. It came in waves: voices shouting names, crying out for husbands, wives, children. Footsteps pounding against wood and stone. The high-pitched clatter of horses pulling wagons. Somewhere, a bell was ringing. Then another. A siren cut through the noise, long and mournful.
I felt my hand tighten around the railing. My breath caught.
The dock exploded with movement. There were banners waving, arms reaching, women sobbing, men shouting. And light—flashes of it, brighter than anything I'd ever seen. Not firelight. Not oil lamps or candles. Something harsher. Whiter.
I squinted against the burst. "What's that?" I asked, shielding my eyes.
"Photographers," Momma said quietly behind me. "Newspapers. They've been waiting."
I blinked hard, trying to make sense of the scene. Journalists leaned over barricades, yelling questions we couldn't hear. Reporters waved notebooks in the air. Some men had climbed up crates or benches for a better view.
There were so many people waiting—so many that the pier itself seemed to heave with them. Some stood like statues, locked in place, their eyes fixed on our ship. Others paced in anxious circles. A few reached their hands toward us, as though by sheer will, they could bring their loved ones home faster.
I saw a woman fall to her knees. She crumpled right there on the dock, hands clenched, face tilted toward the sky. Someone beside her knelt too, clutching her, speaking words I couldn't hear but could feel—prayers or pleas. Maybe both.
"Are they waiting for us?" Anneliese asked, her voice barely above the noise.
I swallowed hard. "I think they're waiting for who isn't coming," I said, the words tumbling out before I could catch them.
Momma touched my shoulder gently. Her hand was warm, steady. But I didn't look at her.
I couldn't.
We were told to gather our things. The announcement came with no ceremony—just a firm voice cutting through the cold morning air. Passengers stirred like sleepwalkers, blankets slipping from shoulders, bags clutched tighter, children roused from uneasy rest.
Some had already begun lining up along the gangway, moving as if drawn by something invisible. A group near the front wept softly, their eyes locked on the chaos below.
Crewmen and officers tried to keep order, but no one was really listening. Their voices—hoarse from nights without rest—rose above the murmur of the crowd.
"First-class passengers this way!" one man shouted, gesturing toward a smaller ramp. "Private carriages are waiting. No delays, please!"
They came forward in furs and feathered hats, velvet cloaks and well-pressed suits. Not many, but enough. Their faces were pale, their shoes still damp with seawater—but they moved with the poise of habit, backs straight, chins high, as if refusing to let grief make beggars of them.
"Second and third-class—please wait where you are! Red Cross assistance is on its way!"
Assistance.
That meant charity. That meant being lined up and looked at. That meant someone deciding whether your shoes were too worn or your coat too thin. Whether you looked hungry enough to deserve a blanket.
I felt Momma's grip tighten around my fingers. She reached for Anneliese's hand too, linking us together like stitches in a torn seam.
Ruth and Eugenie huddled close to their mother, one on each side, their little fingers clutching the edge of Mrs. Abbott's coat like it was the only solid thing in the world. Lucie was still in my arm, damp and wrinkled from all the holding.
"We stay together," Momma said, her voice calm but low. Her eyes were fierce. "No matter what."
All around us, the third-class survivors stood quietly, some still wrapped in the Carpathia's wool blankets, others barefoot or with borrowed coats far too large for their shoulders. It was hard to tell who had boarded from where, who had lost what. But one thing was clear—none of us had come through untouched.
The moment my foot touched solid ground, everything felt wrong.
The dock swayed beneath me, even though the ship was behind us now—tethered, unmoving. But my legs didn't believe it. I still felt the rhythm of the sea under my boots, that ghostly rise and fall that had become part of me. My ears rang with the hush of waves, and the back of my throat still tasted of smoke and salt.
We moved slowly through the crowd, hemmed in by bodies and voices. Men in navy coats—harbor officers or police, maybe both—shouted directions that echoed off the wet walls of the pier. Reporters darted in and out, waving notepads and shouting names I didn't recognize. Some held their hats against the wind; others didn't bother. Flashbulbs popped like tiny storms—white bursts that stung the eyes and lit up tear-streaked faces like ghosts.
We kept our heads down. Momma's hand never let go of mine.
And then I saw them.
The tents.
Big canvas ones, white as sails and lit from the inside with a soft, flickering yellow. They glowed like lanterns in the fog, each one marked with a crimson cross stitched onto the flaps. People moved in and out—men with clipboards, women in aprons, a few doctors in black coats with brass-rimmed spectacles.
"This way, ladies. You're being directed to aid stations."
Someone guided us—gently, but firmly—across the slick wooden planks. Rain still misted from the sky, turning the dock to a patchwork of puddles and footprints. The air smelled of horse sweat, damp wool, and coal smoke.
At the mouth of the nearest tent, a woman in a thick shawl and heavy gloves beckoned us forward. Her apron bore the Red Cross emblem, and her voice, though brisk, held a kind of softness beneath it.
"In here, dear. We've hot broth and dry stockings for the children. Just a moment of warmth."
I didn't want warmth. I didn't want clothes. I didn't want soup or tea or whatever kindness they had to offer.
I wanted Papa.
But we followed her in anyway.
The tent was warmer than I expected. Lamps hung from the poles, casting gentle light over the canvas walls. It smelled faintly of boiled oats and wet socks, but not in a bad way—just the smell of people trying to survive. Cots lined the center aisle, some occupied by passengers too weak to stand. Others leaned against the poles, speaking quietly in German, Swedish, Yiddish, and English, all mingling like a murmur of wind through trees.
There were tables with thick loaves of bread, chipped cups of steaming broth, and piles of clothes—folded neatly but clearly worn before. Blankets, mittens, dry boots. All borrowed, all precious.
"Please sit, just for a minute," the woman urged, motioning us toward a bench along the side.
Momma helped Anneliese down gently, smoothing the damp curls away from her forehead before lowering herself beside her. I stood for a moment longer, just watching.
A nurse handed an older man a chipped teacup, guiding his shaking hand with her own. Nearby, another woman knelt in the mud beside an elderly lady, removing her shoes with delicate care. A little boy coughed so hard it bent him forward, and I flinched at the sound.
Then a different nurse appeared in front of me. She knelt to my height, holding a folded wool blanket.
"You cold, sweetheart?" she asked.
I nodded.
She wrapped it around my shoulders with careful hands, the weight of it almost making me sink where I stood.
"We've got porridge if you're hungry. And cocoa. Fresh."
I didn't answer. My throat felt like it had closed around the words.
But Anneliese spoke beside me, her voice quiet but clear. "I'd like cocoa, please."
The nurse smiled, nodded, and rose to fetch it.
"Josephine," Momma said softly, patting the bench beside her. "Why don't you sit?"
I did. Slowly. The bench creaked beneath our weight.
And for the first time since the sinking, I let myself lean against her.
We were given a bundle of clothes tied with twine—brown paper-wrapped and smelling faintly of starch, lavender soap, and something older, like attic dust. Inside were hand-me-down dresses, stockings, and underthings that didn't match and didn't fit, but they were warm. And warm was enough.
My new dress was too long in the arms and tight across the chest. Anneliese's slipped off her shoulders no matter how much she pulled it up. None of it felt like ours. But then, nothing really did anymore.
"Best we can do for now," the nurse said gently. "All donated. Some from as far as Boston and Philadelphia. There's more coming in."
An older man came down the aisle with a clipboard, stopping every few steps to speak to the families. He wore wire spectacles and a clean wool coat with a Red Cross badge pinned to the lapel. He didn't smile, but his voice was calm, practiced.
"Full name, please. Place of origin. Any living relatives in America?"
Momma stood to answer, her posture firm despite the exhaustion in her eyes. She didn't let go of our hands.
"My name is Sarah Morgenstern," she said softly. "We are from Großmöllen. That's in Pomerania."
She motioned gently to us. "These are my daughters, Josephine and Anneliese."
The man nodded, pen scratching. "Religion?" he asked, barely lifting his eyes.
"Jewish," she answered without hesitation.
He paused, then made a checkmark and turned a page. "Destination?"
"We were going to stay with family. Somewhere near Chicago. But we don't know where exactly." She hesitated. "My husband—he knew the address." Her voice faltered on the last word.
He looked at her for a moment, then scribbled something. "We'll send your information to the Hebrew Sheltering and Immigrant Aid Society. They may be able to locate someone for you. In the meantime, you'll be placed under temporary care with other families."
"Thank You," Momma said quietly.
He moved on.
Next to us, Ruth held a biscuit in one hand and Eugenie's hand in the other. Neither spoke. The biscuit had crumbs down the front of her borrowed dress, but she didn't seem to notice.
Mrs. Abbott sat beside them, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her expression unreadable. Her eyes looked straight ahead but seemed to see nothing. She looked like someone who'd already run out of words to say.
All around us, the air was filled with murmured voices—English, Swedish, Yiddish, German, all tumbling over one another like streams into the same river. The tent had quieted from earlier. No more camera flashes. Just the sound of tea being poured into tin cups, the rustle of wool blankets being handed out, and tired children breathing softly as they leaned against their mothers.
Momma turned to us and crouched slightly, her voice gentle but firm in that tone that always meant don't let go.
"Bleibt bei mir, ja? Nicht weggehen. Versprecht mir."
(Stay with me, yes? Don't wander. Promise me.)
"Wir versprechen es," Anneliese and I said together.
(We promise.)
That was the first time we spoke German, since going on the Titanic up to now.
She gave us a nod—small but sure. Then she sat back down beside us, her hand never leaving mine.
Outside the tent, the city thundered on—wagons rumbling, whistles blowing, strangers calling out names into the night.
But in that moment, in the warmth of the canvas and steam and borrowed blankets, we were together.
A woman from the Red Cross came over and knelt in front of us. Her coat was damp at the hem, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but her eyes were warm and steady. She didn't ask for our names, or where we'd come from, or who we'd lost.
She just said, softly and clearly, "You're safe now. We're going to take care of you."
Momma nodded politely. "Thank you," she said, her voice formal, almost distant.
The woman touched her shoulder gently—just for a second—and then rose to continue down the line.
I wanted to believe her. I really did. I wanted to believe that someone could fix all this with a kind word and a blanket and a bowl of porridge.
But all I could think about was Papa.
Not stepping off the ship.
Not sitting here with us.
Not wrapped in any of these blankets.
Not anywhere.
I looked down at Lucie in my lap—her threadbare dress damp at the hem, her button eyes still staring up like nothing had changed. I pulled her closer and wrapped my arms around her middle.
She was still with me.
She hadn't let go.
And maybe... maybe that was enough.
For now.
A man from the Hebrew Sheltering and Immigrant Aid Society came into the tent with a clipboard in hand and a soft, tired voice. He wore a dark coat and round spectacles, fogged slightly from the warmth inside. He spoke quietly to Momma, like he didn't want the others to hear.
"We've got a room for you and the girls—just for the night. A boarding house on the west side. It's not fancy, but it's warm, and it's clean."
Momma nodded with quiet relief. "Thank you," she said, her voice still carrying that careful dignity, like someone who refused to be pitied.
Ruth and Eugenie were still clinging tightly to Mrs. Abbott, who hadn't spoken much since the afternoon. When she finally found the words to ask if they could come too, her voice was raspy but clear.
"Please. The girls—may they stay with me?"
The man nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Same house. Different room, but just down the hall." He made a quick note, then turned to the next family.
A few moments later, we were led out of the tent and into the night again. The city air felt sharper now—wet and full of coal smoke. We followed the aid workers across the dock, our shoes tapping against the slick planks. A wooden wagon stood nearby, its wheels muddy from earlier runs, its benches lined with wool blankets. A horse huffed softly, shifting its weight as we approached.
It was already half-filled—women holding babies, children curled against each other, all of us bundled in borrowed coats and silence.
A man with a gray beard helped us climb up—first me, then Anneliese, then Momma. We sat against the wooden slats, pressed close for warmth. Mrs. Abbott followed with Ruth and Eugenie, sitting on the opposite bench. No one said much. Just the sound of blankets rustling, and the creak of the wagon.
Lucie was in my arms again. I never let go of her anymore. Not since the boat. Her seams were looser now, her left button eye scratched, but she still smelled faintly of lavender and home.
The wagon rolled forward with a lurch, and we were swallowed by the city.
New York was nothing like Großmöllen.
Everything was taller, louder, brighter—even now, deep in the night. Gas lamps lit the streets in gold and shadow. The buildings loomed like stone giants—gray and endless, one pressed against the next with hardly any sky between them. The air smelled of soot and horses and something metallic I couldn't name.
We passed storefronts with signs I couldn't read and others in Yiddish. A baker's window still glowed faintly, with one forgotten loaf sitting in a tin. I saw a boy sweeping the steps of a corner shop, and an old woman hunched under an umbrella, walking quickly past the wagon without looking up.
Some people did look at us.
They passed in coats and hats, staring—not cruelly, but cautiously. Like we were part of some terrible story they'd read in the newspaper that morning. Their eyes lingered on our faces, on the blankets, on our silence.
And I suppose we were.
The boarding house was old. The kind of place that creaked when no one was moving and whispered with every gust of wind outside. The hallway smelled like soap and dust—like someone had scrubbed the floors hard, but years of footsteps still lingered in the wood.
A woman in slippers and a threadbare shawl met us at the door. Her gray hair was pinned back loosely, and she carried a stub of a candle in a glass holder.
She didn't ask us who we were. Didn't ask why we were there.
She just said, "Extra quilts in the drawer. Water basin's there. Rest as long as you need."
Her voice was soft, like she'd said those words to too many people before us.
The room was small. One narrow bed, a cracked washstand with a porcelain basin, and a wooden chair with a splintered leg. The wallpaper had once been floral, but now it peeled in curling edges from the corners, faded to the color of old tea.
The window looked out onto a blank brick wall. No sky. No street. Just bricks, stacked high and close like someone had built them to keep the world out.
But it was quiet.
Momma helped us out of our coats—her hands moving gently, methodically, like she was trying to keep herself busy. She took the Red Cross wool blanket and wrapped it around Anneliese's shoulders, then tucked it close beneath her chin.
"Can Lucie sleep with me?" Anneliese asked, her voice already thick with sleep.
I didn't argue. I just handed her over, Lucie's soft body drooping between us. Her button eye caught the candlelight for a moment before disappearing into the folds of the blanket.
Momma sat on the edge of the bed and began brushing Anneliese's hair back with her fingers—slow, rhythmic strokes that made my sister's eyes flutter and then close completely. Her breathing slowed, evened out.
I didn't sit.
I stood at the window. Not really looking. Just... standing. Breathing. Listening to the quiet thrum of the city behind the bricks. Somewhere beyond that wall, the world kept moving. Horses clopped along wet streets. Streetcars clanged. Lives continued.
But not ours. Not yet.
I pressed my palm to the cold glass. It didn't give.
I was here.
Alive.
But everything still felt like sea water and smoke.
And Papa wasn't in the room.
I didn't cry.
Not yet.
I just stood there.
Watching nothing.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Momma came up behind me and placed her hand gently on my shoulder. Her touch was steady—warm, even through the chill in the room.
"We made it," she whispered.
I nodded, slowly. But I didn't say anything.
Because making it didn't feel like the end.
It didn't feel like safety, or peace, or something we could hold onto.
It felt like something else.
Something heavier.
Something quieter.
Something that didn't come with trumpets or flags or the sound of cheering.
It felt like the beginning of something harder.
Something still unknown.
Something just beginning.
New Horizons -3
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Date: Friday, the Nineteenth Day of April 1912
Place: Boarding House, West Side of Manhattan
Time: Morning
There was a knock at the door not long after sunrise.
It wasn’t loud. Just a quiet rapping—two short, one long. Momma stood from the chair where she’d been darning Anneliese’s borrowed stockings and went to answer it.
A man stood in the hallway with a satchel and a clipboard. His coat was worn at the cuffs, and his collar had a smudge of ink on it, but he smiled kindly and removed his cap when he saw us.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Mr. Feldman,” he said, in accented English. “From the Hebrew Sheltering and Immigrant Aid Society. I believe your name is Mrs. Morgenstern?”
“Yes,” Momma said. Her voice was polite, careful. “Please come in.”
He stepped inside and glanced briefly around the room before motioning to the chair. Momma offered it, and then stood, folded hands resting at her waist.
“I know this is not an easy time,” Mr. Feldman said gently, opening a leather folder. “But we’re doing everything we can to help families reconnect. You mentioned on your intake form that you were supposed to stay with relatives?”
“Yes,” Momma replied, nodding. “My husband had a cousin near Chicago. I believe his name was Isaac Morgenstern. But my husband… he—” She hesitated, and I saw her throat tighten. “He is not with us now. And I don’t know where Isaac lives.”
Mr. Feldman nodded, writing the name carefully in neat Hebrew script beside its Roman spelling.
“Do you know what kind of work he did? Was he a tailor, perhaps? Or maybe in the garment trade?”
“Something with shoes,” Momma said slowly. “He repaired boots, I think. He wrote once to my husband from a shop on Milwaukee Avenue.”
“That helps,” Mr. Feldman said, brightening slightly. “That’s a busy Jewish district in Chicago. Many families from Galicia and Pomerania are there. I’ll send a telegram to one of our contacts—Rabbi Weisman at the Maxwell Street Settlement House. He keeps track of families like yours.”
He paused, lowering his voice slightly.
“If your husband had Isaac’s full address written down, there’s a chance it’s listed with the steamship company as part of your original ticket. We can try to retrieve that.”
“Thank You,” Momma said quietly, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I—I don’t know how to repay this.”
“There is no repayment, Mrs. Morgenstern,” he said. “This is what we are here to do.”
He stood to leave, gave me a kind glance, and then tipped his cap once more before stepping back into the hallway.
Momma stood there for a long time after the door closed.
I didn’t say anything. I just picked up Lucie from the bed and held her against my chest.
Outside, the city kept moving.
But in that small, still room, something else had started:
hope.
Later in the Morning Boarding House, – West Side of Manhattan
I was sitting near the window, trying to write Papa’s name in the fog on the glass, when the door creaked open again. But this time, it wasn’t an adult. It was a girl.
About my age—maybe a year older, maybe not. She had tight brown curls under a knit cap and cheeks that were red from the wind. Her shoes were scuffed, and she held a tin lunch pail in one hand and a folded paper in the other.
She looked at me, then at Anneliese still curled on the bed, and finally at Momma, who was finishing the last of the mending.
“Excuse me,” the girl said. Her accent sounded like she’d lived here a while—but her vowels still bent a little in the old way. “I live downstairs with my mother and brothers. We brought some rolls up for the new families. My name’s Minnie. Minnie Baum.”
Momma smiled gently and stood. “That’s very kind, Minnie. Thank you.”
Minnie stepped closer and handed over the bundle—wrapped in a clean dishcloth, still warm. She glanced at me.
“Are you from the ship?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. Just nodded.
She sat down on the floor across from me, crossing her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I heard someone say the captain went down with it. That true?”
I blinked. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “I never been on a ship. But I saw a drowned rat once after the river flooded near the Gansevoort Market. You’re braver than me.”
That made me smile—just a little.
“I’m not brave,” I said.
“Sure you are. You’re here, ain’t you?”
Anneliese stirred on the bed and opened her eyes, blinking at the light. She looked at the girl on our floor and whispered, “Who’s that?”
“This is Minnie,” I said. “She brought rolls.”
Minnie grinned. “And if you’re good, I’ll show you the dumbwaiter downstairs. My little brother got stuck in it once. Mama still makes fun of him.”
Anneliese giggled sleepily.
For a few minutes, the heaviness in the room lifted. Not all the way. But just enough.
Just enough to feel like the world might have more than just sorrow in it.
A few minutes after four in the afternoon – Boarding House Courtyard
There was a narrow courtyard behind the building, mostly dirt and broken cobblestones, but it was enough. Enough for running. Enough for laughter.
Minnie had gone downstairs for something and came back pulling two younger boys behind her—her brothers, she said, though they didn’t look much like her. One had jam on his face. The other had a shoelace tied around his head like a crown.
“We don’t got a ball,” Minnie said, “but we can play plumpsack. Or something close to it.”
“You know Plumpsack?” I asked, surprised.
“Not really. A girl from Hamburg used to live here and taught us. But we forgot half of it.”
I looked at Anneliese. Her eyes lit up. We hadn’t played Plumpsack since Großmöllen. Since the churchyard in spring.
“I remember the song,” she said.
So we showed them. We held hands and made a circle. Minnie’s brothers didn’t know the words, but they didn’t care.
Anneliese began to sing softly:
Dreht euch nicht um, der Plumpsack geht um…
Wer sich umdreht oder lacht…
We moved in a slow circle. My feet skidded a little on the stones, but it felt good. Familiar. Like something we hadn’t lost.
One person walked behind us, holding a folded rag to drop behind someone’s back—the “Plumpsack.” Minnie played first. She dropped it behind me and ran. I chased her laughing, barely missing her as she dove into my spot.
“You’re fast for a girl in boots,” she teased, out of breath.
We kept playing, over and over, the words drifting between German and English, the circle growing faster each time.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the yard. And for a little while, it didn’t matter where we were.
We were girls. Just girls. Playing.
Evening – Boarding House Kitchen
The smell of something cooking drifted up the stairs long before anyone called us down. It wasn’t fancy—just onions and something warm and stewed—but it pulled at my stomach like a rope. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then.
Minnie came tapping at our door.
“Soup’s on,” she said with a grin. “Mrs. Brenner says to bring your own spoon if you’ve got one.”
We didn’t.
But when we reached the kitchen, she handed us extras from a chipped tin pail near the stove.
The kitchen was narrow, with low ceilings and oil lamps hanging from the rafters. The table was long and worn, its surface covered with mismatched bowls and cups, some already filled, others waiting. A few of the older women were already seated, heads bent in silent prayer. A toddler in a knitted cap banged his spoon against the bench.
Mrs. Brenner, the landlady, stood behind the stove ladling soup into bowls from a massive iron pot. She had strong arms, a handkerchief tied around her hair, and an apron smudged with flour.
“It’s barley tonight,” she said, nodding us toward the end of the table. “And rye bread if you’re lucky.”
Momma thanked her and settled us at the bench. Minnie squeezed in beside Anneliese, already halfway through her first piece of bread. Ruth and Eugenie sat with Mrs. Abbott at the opposite corner, whispering quietly to each other.
The soup was thin, but hot. Bits of carrot, potato, and barley floated in cloudy broth, and the bread—though hard around the edges—was still soft enough to chew.
It wasn’t home.
But it was food.
And it was enough.
Momma didn’t speak much during dinner. She sat beside me, slowly working through her bowl, her eyes distant but calm. I watched her hands. They didn’t shake.
“Do you think Papa had dinner the night before?” I whispered suddenly.
Anneliese looked up from her spoon. Momma didn’t answer right away.
Then she said, “I hope so. I hope it was something warm.”
We all sat quiet for a moment after that. Even Minnie.
Then someone down the table laughed—an old man telling a story in Yiddish that made another woman slap the table. For a moment, the kitchen filled with warmth. Not just from the soup or the fire, but from voices, from company, from something that felt a little like life again.
Afterward, we helped stack bowls in a washbasin and wipe down the table. Minnie showed Anneliese how to fold a napkin into a rabbit. Momma thanked Mrs. Brenner again and tucked the leftover crusts into a cloth for tomorrow.
We didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
But tonight—we had soup.
We had bread.
We had each other.
After the dishes were washed and the benches cleared, a soft hush settled over the house. A woman down the hall lit two candles on a tin plate, her head bowed as she whispered the blessing in Hebrew. The flames flickered gently, dancing in the draft.
Momma paused at the door as we passed, nodding quietly to the woman. She didn’t light candles of her own—we didn’t have any. But when we returned to our room, she pulled out the scarf from her coat pocket and draped it across the small table like a cloth.
Then she whispered the blessings by heart—no match, no flame. Just the words.
Baruch atah Adonai…
Her voice didn’t waver.
Anneliese stood beside her. I watched from the chair, still hugging my knees.
No challah. No wine.
But the words were enough.
And somehow, even in this strange house, with borrowed clothes and unfamiliar voices through the walls, it felt like a piece of home had followed us here.
I looked outside the sky had gone dark. Lamps flickered in the hallway, their golden glow stretching in thin lines beneath the door. The building creaked gently as it settled in for the night.
We didn’t undress fully—just loosened our laces and pulled on extra layers from the drawer. The air had grown colder again. The walls here never held heat for long.
Anneliese sat on the bed. Momma gently unpinned her hair and brushed it back with her fingers.
“She was brave tonight,” I said softly.
“She was,” Momma answered. “So were you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t feel brave. I felt like a puddle—spilled out and spread too thin.
Momma helped Anneliese lie down and drew the Red Cross blanket up to her chin. Then she kissed her forehead and said, softly, in German:
“Schlaf gut, mein Herz.”
(Sleep well, my heart.)
I watched from the chair, arms wrapped around my knees. My eyes burned, but not from tiredness.
Momma turned to me. “Do you want to lie down?”
“Not yet,” I said.
She didn’t push.
Instead, she stepped into the hallway for a moment. I heard soft footsteps, the creak of a floorboard, then hushed voices just outside the door.
It was Momma. And Mrs. Abbott.
I leaned slightly, the way children do when they’re pretending not to listen.
“She keeps asking about him,” Mrs. Abbott murmured. “Your oldest—Josephine. You must be strong for them both.”
“I try,” Momma whispered back. “But I feel like if I stop moving—if I let myself cry—it won’t stop.”
A pause. Then Momma added, “I keep thinking about his hands. How cold they must’ve been. I should’ve held them tighter.”
Mrs. Abbott didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was broken but steady.
“My girls don’t speak of their father anymore. But I think about him each night. I imagine him holding the railing. Looking for us.”
They fell quiet then.
I turned my face to the wall and closed my eyes tight.
Not because I was tired.
But because I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. Or maybe I did, but I don’t remember.
At some point, Momma came back into the room. She didn’t say anything. She just placed a folded shawl over my shoulders and kissed the top of my head before sitting on the edge of the bed beside Anneliese.
I stayed in the chair a little longer, hugging my knees, staring at the crack in the wallpaper.
I used to think that once we made it to America, everything would be better. That surviving meant we’d be safe. That stepping off the ship meant the worst was over.
But now I knew the truth.
Surviving isn’t the end of the story.
It’s just the part where you start carrying it with you.