-This is written in first person, the view point alternating between the two main characters, the well known Jack, and my character, Elisabette. Every time you see ' ', the viewpoint has changed. Try to guess who is who!-
I sit, tired and alone. The words they speak wash over me like icy water, chilling me to the bone. Yet I cannot truly hear the words; they are like a foreign language to me. I put my hands over my ears and hum, trying to drown out the sorrow that consumes me.
"He died," they murmur.
"He went down with the ship," they whisper. Yet, even as their voices confirm my suspicions, I have the feeling they are wrong. He could never die. Never.
"You're wrong. You're all wrong!" I cry, shoving their warm and sympathetic hands away from me. "He's still here!"
"No he isn't. This must be hard, you were so attached," they say, trying to console me. My mind tries to block them, to shut them out, but without success.
They must be lying, oh they must be! He promised me he would live; he swore it! I feel the tears begin to form behind my eyes, and I start to cry.
Not for his death, which is a lie. Not for the sinking, which could have been helped. Not for the thousands dead, which will come to pain me later. No, I cry for what the others think.
'Attached', they said, but how wrong were they again. For we, we were more than attached. More then anyone will ever know.
They say true love, soul mates and such, are only in fairy tales. But I don't believe it. Not one bit. For I had found true love, my souls mate. And he is gone.
' '
I stand on the bow of the ship, smaller, much smaller, than the R.M.S. Titanic, but still large enough to hide my one true love from me. She promised she'd live and meet me on the savior ship, but where is she? She couldn't have died, not her! A lady, she was, and ladies went first, with children, into the lifeboats. A first class lady like herself couldn't have drowned.
"You'll find her," a voice says next to me. "I know you will."
My friend stands behind me, his hands on the railing, gazing at the ocean. The destruction.
"I hope so," I say quietly.
"She's your soul mate. You can never lose her. Never," my friend walks away, head held high. And I stand, drained of emotion, gazing at the desolate sea where I know my beloved has perished.
' '
"Elisabette, hurry yourself!" Mama called. "We leave soon!"
"Yes Mama," I shouted down the stairs. I flung on my white shawl and glanced in the mirror a last time. All right, so it was only the hotel's mirror, but still, in the four years we lived at The Royal Hotel, I had gotten quite fond of my little gold edged mirror on the wall. Its quality was very minor compared to my own pure gold hand mirror. But all the same, since I had moved here at age eleven, it has shown me my appearance and helped me shape my day. Odd, but I was a little sad to be leaving it.
"Bye mirror," I whispered, lest anyone here me bidding farewell to an inanimate object, a mirror.
"Elisabette!" Mama called again.
"Coming!" and this time I took off downstairs without a look back at the small room I had called my home for four years. Now it was off to America, my true home. Without a look or thought back, Mama and I waltzed out of our suite and into the lobby to meet Genevieve and Papa.
"Good-bye, dear Hotel Royal!" Genevieve said. Tears formed in her clear blue eyes. I giggled. "What?" she snapped.
"Saying good-bye to a hotel like that. Sobbing! Honestly Genevieve," I said, then immediately regretted it. I had been sad to bid farewell to my mirror. "Sorry."
"It's all right, little sister. I understand," Genevieve said, wrapping her arm protectively around my shoulders as we walked out the doors into the bright London sunlight. Genevieve, nineteen, looked around with a sorrowful smile at the sights.
"You all right Genevieve?" I asked. She nodded slowly.
"It's just…I'm going to miss all the London noise and the hubbub of the city. On a ship, it's all serene water. No excitement!" Genevieve sighed.
"America will have the racket and hullabaloo also," I tried to console her. Genevieve frowned.
"But how long until America? Days, weeks, months, even years?"
"Years I doubt, months maybe, weeks probably," I said. She nodded and a small grin came onto her pale face.
"If I could work in the basements or something of the ship, I could be among all the work and noise…" Genevieve drifted off into her own world, giving me time to think.
Genevieve and I…so different yet so similar. Genevieve was the pretty, delicate girl who oddly loved hubbub and excitement. She wanted to work in a coal mine and get dirty and dusty. With her clear, sapphire eyes and porcelain skin, she hardly looked the working type. Her attractive blonde hair was usually hidden by a big hat or scarf. She was always with an attractive, serious look on her cherry mouth that gave you the impression she was a pretentious, superior debutante. Mama always said Genevieve would make a wonderful society lady.
I, on the other hand, looked like, as Mama put it, a coal miner's daughter. I had thick, wavy crow colored hair and pale skin that stood out against the darkness of my hair. My nose and cheeks were dotted with freckles, and my eyes were a dancing emerald. My face was always bright, despite its paleness, for my light ruby lips were always drawn in a smile over my white teeth, which I classified as far too large. I was gangly, tall for a fifteen year old, and looked very much like a tomboy. Truth be told, I was slightly tough and boyish. I enjoyed games and physical activities, but not working like Genevieve. I was dreadfully excited to hear that our ship, the R.M.S. Titanic, had a squash court and a gymnasium.
Genevieve and I were both born in September, Genevieve in 1893, I in 1897. We were both born in America, but given French names. Our Papa, you see, was born in Paris, France, and thought we should have names like his people. We can always Americanize our names to Elizabeth and, well, Genevieve can't really, truly be Americanized. Oh well, at least she likes her name! In 1900, when I was 3, Mama and Papa decided it was time Genevieve and I saw Europe, since they are both from it. Papa, as I said, from France, and Mama from Ireland. That's where I get my freckles and green eyes. Papa has black hair, and Mama has red, so how Genevieve got blond, we will never quite know.
So, we went out to Europe when I was 3. We went to France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Greece, Scotland, Ireland, and lastly, England. We stayed a year in each place, getting to England and staying there when I was 11. The boat tickets to America were too expensive in 1908, so we stayed in England, in the Royal Hotel. Papa got a job in a work yard, Mama became the most well known baker in London, and Genevieve and I went to the London Academy for Girls. When we had enough money, Mama and Papa bought tickets for the R.M.S. Titanic, and we were going to America! Back home, to America!
Genevieve and I followed our parents as we all walked down the street to the harbor. Genevieve pointed out all the buildings we were never to see again in England, as she did everyplace we went. I just nodded, not really paying attention to the buildings, but more to the people around us.
There were tall, thin men and women, jauntily dressed in finely tailored suits and dresses. There were short, squat men and women, finely dressed as well. There were the properly dressed middle classmen and women, and the lower class of people. I found myself strangely attracted to the poorer people, one chap in particular.
He was tall and handsome, with sandy hair and, from what I could see, a jovial grin that lit up his whole face. I couldn't see him very well, for we were walking quite quickly, and the crowd soon swallowed him. I gazed behind me, but saw not another glimpse of him. Genevieve hurried me along.
"Come on Elsie," Genevieve used my nickname, "we haven't all day!"
"I'm coming Genevieve," I said, speeding up so I was next to her. As we neared the harbor, Papa waved to a small black carriage. The driver maneuvered towards us, and tipped his raven-colored top hat.
"Mornin' ta you, sir. I be Charley McHannon, happy ta be o' service ta you, sir," Charley gave a startlingly white smile. Papa nodded.
"I was wondering if you know which carriage is carrying the luggage for the DuMois family," Papa asked the young man. Charley nodded.
"That'ad be me, sir. I have your luggage for you, sir, it's in the back o' me carriage. Let me get it for you sir," Charley grinned and jumped down to get our luggage. We stood and waited, and when he had it all, we thanked him and walked the last block to the harbor. And there she was. Standing before us like nothing I had ever seen, was her.
The R.M.S. Titanic.