TITANIC -8

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.