Hey, everyone! Sorry for my absence over the past month-and-a-half. Admittedly, I got a bit distracted with other stuff, but now I've returned! As always, thanks immensely for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! -PB

Chapter Eleven

Friday, April 12, 1912

As Charles Lightoller made his rounds throughout the ship, Will appeared on the Bridge. At ten o'clock, night had long since descended over Titanic, leaving a sort of hush over her crew as passengers retired for the evening, or smoked one last cigar, or took one last swig of whisky. Boxhall and Moody stood still as statues on either side of the Navigating Bridge, their hands clasped behind their backs, and Will made his way from one end to the other before going to the Chart Room and checking on the ship's position and navigation. There was an always an eerie sort of calm over the whole area at this time of night, one that seemed to prevent the officers from speaking much.

"All in order," said Lights when he returned, straightening his right glove. He walked with Will back into the Chart Room, away from the two junior officers and the quartermaster. "Keep an eye on Moody," he said quietly, glancing out through the door and through the glass of the Wheel House, though they could see neither of the other officers from where they stood. "He seems about ready to drop, poor fellow. I don't know if he's slept at all today."

Will's interest was piqued, first out of concern for Moody and then, though he tried to suppress it, suspicion. He nodded and, when Lights bid him a good evening, went back out onto the Navigating Bridge. Indeed, looking more closely at Moody, though he stood almost perfectly still, he wavered a bit and, every so often, brought a gloved fist to his mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Are you quite alright, Mr. Moody?" Will asked, standing beside the wheel.

James jumped, appearing to break from a deep trance. He looked at his superior, dark circles visible under his eyes even in the dim light.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, nodding shortly, "quite alright."

Will wanted to press the matter, almost like he would if it was Catey or Lilly who looked so fatigued, as if he should scold Moody for not sleeping enough, but he was cut off by Captain Smith's arrival onto the Bridge. Will turned immediately toward the skipper with respectful attention, though the latter seemed quite relaxed in comparison. Will relayed what Lights had told him, informing the captain of the ship's position, the temperature of the air and the water, and everything in between, and Smith nodded.

"All is well elsewhere?" he asked, walking past Moody and peering down the long Boat Deck down the starboard side of the ship. "No problems?"

"None, sir," said Will. "Mr. Lightoller informed me of an ice warning received about an hour ago, but nothing other than that."

Smith nodded again. They talked for a bit, noting the colder weather, how it would become even darker as the moon continued to wane.

"I've just come from sending a message to my daughter," said Smith with a smile. Will knew that the captain had a young girl, Helen, at about thirteen or fourteen years old. He had once joked to Will, knowing that his First Officer had two girls of his own, asking if raising a daughter would become any easier; Will had informed him that, no, it would not. "And how is your charming young lady? Catharine, isn't it? Mr. Andrews mentioned that he dined with her our first night out and quite enjoyed her company."

"Yes, sir, Catharine," said Will, smiling at the mention of her. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Do you see much of her on your time off?"

"Not much, no," Will admitted. "She's quite busy, as you can imagine, with the other passengers. But I know she thinks the world of your ship."

Captain Smith smiled again. "I'm glad. Bring her up to the Bridge again, if you like. I'm sure these young lads' spirits could do with some bolstering from the presence of a lovely lady. Isn't that right, Mr. Boxhall? Mr. Moody?"

Boxhall chuckled and agreed, while Moody managed a stiff jerk of the head that might have passed for a nod before turning back to face the front windows. Captain Smith seemed to have missed his discomfort, but Will hadn't. Although, perhaps he was imagining it; perhaps Moody was simply too tired to engage in any light-hearted banter at the moment.

After the captain retired for the evening, all was quiet once more on the Bridge. The officers went about their business, speaking here and there, but for the most part remaining silent. Will's mind wandered to the conversation he had had with Catey that morning… she had so readily lied to him—for he was certain that she had lied—but did that mean James was lying, too, when he said he hadn't been with her? Cate had said she was with some first class passenger whose name Will couldn't even remember; even if she had been lying about that, it didn't necessarily mean that the only other alternative was that she had been with Moody, and Will most more inclined to believe him than his own daughter, who could barely look him in the eye whilst withholding the truth. Cate's lies about where she had been, coupled with Moody's day-long fatigue made Will more and more concerned. Yet he wasn't sure how he could get the truth out of either of them.

As Will walked into the Chart Room, he looked down at the log of the ship's position. It had been consistently entered from the moment they had left Southampton, the signatures alternating between all four junior officers over the days. The most recent one, however, caught his attention. It was scrawled untidily and, though it was unremarkable at first glance, a quick look at the position before, written by Third Officer Herbert Pitman, told him that it was impossible for Titanic to have traveled so far in such a small amount of time. It didn't take him long to realize that, while the previous entries seemed to be perfect, the last one was far from one it should be. Written beside the incorrect position was the sloppy signature of James Moody, just before Will had come on duty.

"Mr. Moody, could you come in here, please?" Will called through the open door.

"Yes, sir." Immediately, Moody turned and trooped obediently into the Chart Room, looking steadily at his superior officer, though Moody was a couple inches taller than he.

"How did you come up with this position?" Will asked, nodding at the navigation chart.

Moody blinked slowly, as if trying very hard to focus. Up close, the dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced. "Sir?"

"The most recent position," said Will. "How did you calculate it?"

"Dead reckoning, sir," said James. "As usual, after the evening celestial calculation."

"I'm afraid it's incorrect," said Will. "Your calculation is off."

James blinked again and moved closer to the chart, looking down at it. He stared for a while before, finally, comprehension dawned on his face. For the first time, emotion broke his cool, officer's façade, and he groaned, passing a hand over his face.

"I apologize, sir," he said, quickly writing in the correct calculation. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

"It's alright," Will assured him. "You just need to be more careful: if there was an accident, the most recent calculation is where we would look to find our position in order to send for help. But you know this."

"I do, sir," Moody said with a nod. "I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

Will studied him. All of the junior officers, working four hours on and four hours off, were tired. It was natural with such a difficult, strict schedule. But Moody was beyond the other three in terms of fatigue, as if he wasn't sleeping at all or very little during his off-hours. It seemed as if he and Lowe often had hushed conversations that they quickly ceased when anyone came near, but Will wasn't about to approach the Fifth Officer and ask why Moody, who was probably his closest friend on board the Titanic, wasn't getting any sleep and was having difficulty functioning. Yet Will couldn't stop his suspicion; if Moody wasn't sleeping during his off-hours, then what was he doing?


Monday, May 2, 1904

New York City was loud and dusty: that was the impression Cate always got whenever she visited the bustling metropolis. She walked dutifully beside her twin sister, their eyes on the back of their grandmother's hat and not on any beggars huddled against buildings or horse-drawn carriages clattering by on the dirty streets. Normally, when the Altons traveled to their home in Manhattan, Cate and Lillian were either left behind in Philadelphia or remained inside the New York mansion—though slightly smaller than the one in Pennsylvania—for the duration of the trip. This week, however, Lord Cowanshire had important business in New York, and because the girls' governess, Madame Tremblay, was back home in Drummondville, Québec due to the death of her sister. So Beth, immensely annoyed, was forced to bring her two granddaughters along while she went shopping and visiting.

Passersby smiled and tipped their hats at the two young ladies in their matching lavender dresses, their golden hair hanging in waves down their backs. The weather was warm, reminding them that it was almost time to return to Scotland… almost. Until then, it was quiet, somber meals with their grandparents, being snapped at to stand up straight, or to practice their French, or suppress their native Scottish accent more than they were already doing. That was life day in and day out, rarely diverting from lessons unless there was some sort of garden party or if the Altons received the rare invitation with their "charming granddaughters" included. Both Cate and Lillian longed to attend a prestigious day school nearby for young ladies in upper class so they could meet others their own age, but Beth refused: what if they should tell one of their classmates their true parentage, that their real father was a penniless Scottish sailor, and ruin everything? So they were, for the most part, kept shut away unless under strict supervision.

"Vite!" Élisabeth snapped, throwing her head back to glare at the girls for a moment.

It occurred to Cate, for one wild moment, that she could run; she could seize Lillian's hand and they could run far, far away from their grandmother and this country where no one seemed to love them or want them like they were loved and wanted at home. They could run across the ocean into their father's waiting arms, and they could stay with him forever.

While Lillian hurried to catch up with their grandmother, Cate became distracted by a man selling bouquets of flowers. He had bunches of cornflowers, and freesias, and gerberas, and vivid purple irises, and daisies, and red, white, and pink roses, and sunflowers, Cate's favorite. Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at the vast array of colors and smells. The man, catching her staring, smiled at her.

"Hello, little missy," he said. "Care to buy a flower for your mother?"

"My mother's dead," Cate said calmly, "and I don't have any money."

Cate's longing to have a mother had long since evaporated, and for years her father had been all she needed. At not quite eleven, she found that her sister was exceeding in becoming a young lady fit to be a debutante, while all Cate wanted to do was hide under her bed back in Dalbeattie. Soon they would be wearing corsets, lengthening their dresses, and, eventually, turning up their hair and debuting in society. Lillian couldn't wait, but Cate was terrified. And as she looked up at the beautiful flowers, she felt like a little girl again, entranced by the pretty colors.

The man rolled his eyes. "Well, move along then."

"Now, that's not a way to speak to a lady."

A young man had approached; the first thing she noticed about him was that he was British. He was older than Cate, but much younger than the man selling flowers. Cate couldn't guess how old he was, only that he was probably a teenager. He smiled brightly at her.

"Which flower would you like, miss?" he asked kindly, looking down at her with sparkling eyes.

But Cate was frozen with fear and anxiety; she hated talking to strangers more than anything, which made outings with Beth while she shopped and made calls unbearable. But the teenager didn't press her. He looked at the vendor.

"One daisy, please," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small number of coins.

The vendor rolled his eyes and plucked a small daisy from the bunch and handed it to the teenager, who gave him one of the coins. The young man turned to Cate and smiled again, holding his hand out to give her the pretty white and yellow flower. It wasn't a sunflower, but Cate was pleased by the boy's generosity and the beauty of the simple flower. Timidly, she took it.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly.

"Anything for a lovely lady such as yourself," said the boy, bowing. As he did so, he reached out to take her hand and kiss the top of it quickly.

"Catharine!" Cate heard her grandmother's screech and winced. She turned to see Beth dragging Lillian along behind her, spots of angry color visible in her cheeks. "T'es allée où?" she demanded. "Come! Now!"

The young man looked fairly alarmed, but not as alarmed as Cate felt. She wanted to hide behind him, despite knowing how childish it would be to do so.

"I am very sorry for my granddaughter," said Beth in the thick accent she had never been able to shake, often incorrectly placing a word's inflection on the final syllable. "She is often running off. I am sorry that she has bothered you."

This was a lie: Cate never ran off; it was Lillian who usually did that. But perhaps Beth had forgotten who was whom, as she so often did.

"Oh, she was no bother at all," the young man insisted.

But Beth wasn't listening. She released Lillian and seized Cate's upper arm before dragging her in the opposite direction without another word to the young man or the flower vendor. Cate kept a tight hold to the small daisy, hoping that Beth wouldn't notice it and take it away from her.

Cate managed to make it to the bedroom she shared with Lillian that night without Beth or Adam noticing the daisy, keeping her hands behind her back. However, the moment the door was closed behind her, Lillian whirled around from where she stood beside her four-poster bed.

"Where did you get the flower?" she demanded, crossing her arms imperiously.

"Nowhere," Cate muttered. She crossed the room to the small vanity where her Chinese sewing box lay closed. But Lillian watched her, her eyes narrowed.

"If you got it from nowhere, then why are you saving it?" Lillian pressed as Cate opened the lid to the box and shifted aside some of the contents one of the compartments.

Cate ignored her, but Lillian continued to press the issue until, finally, she confessed that a young man had bought it for her at the flower stand before Grand-mère had shown up to drag her away.

"Aw, are you in love, Catey?" Lillian cackled, dancing around the room.

"No!" Cate snapped, slamming the lid of the box closed. The flower, its stem too long to fit in the box, rested on the surface of the vanity. She turned her back to it as her sister continued to tease until, finally, the head housemaid, Mabel, came in to tell them to go to sleep. Cate turned over in her bed to face the wall, listening to the sounds of the city far below their window. Who had the man been, she wondered. He had been handsome, she admitted to herself, with his light blue eyes and brown hair. But what she had especially liked best was the dimple in each cheek.


Saturday, April 13, 1912

The daisy. Cate's eyes snapped open as the memory of that day nearly nine years ago washed over her. She lay in bed, staring up at the top of her four-poster bed, the pale hangings shut tightly around her to block out the light of the bright morning. She had woken a while ago, but had allowed herself to drift from daydream to memory, as if she was a piece of paper floating down on the wind. She was awake earlier than normal, and she knew Esther would be in at any moment to draw her bath, but until then, she dozed and drifted in a blurred world.

Cate hadn't thought about that day in Manhattan in years. She had woken to find the daisy gone, and she never had learned what had happened to it. Lillian insisted that she had done nothing, and so Cate had been left to deduce that it was either Beth or one of the servants who had done away with it. She had been distraught, but after a while, she had forgotten it. And that summer, back in Dalbeattie, when Will had asked what adventures she had had in America, Cate hadn't thought of the handsome young man with the daisy, the one with the blue eyes, and the easy smile, and the dimple in each cheek. It couldn't be… could it? It didn't seem possible.

When Esther did come, she was surprised to see Cate already awake and hurried to draw her bath. Cate went through the motions of getting ready for the day, but her mind was stuck on that day in New York. She wished she could remember it more clearly, that she could remember what had happened after Beth dragged her away from the flower vendor, but all she could bring to the forefront of her mind were bits and pieces of the image she was trying to conjure. Cate remembered spinning the small daisy in her hand that night as she sat on the edge of her bed before, finally, setting it down beside the Chinese sewing box on the vanity. Then it had disappeared. She hadn't thought about that day in years, so why had the memory come to her once more as she was slowly returning from her dreams?

"Do you think," Cate began as Esther began styling her hair in front of the vanity once she had bathed and was laced tightly into her corset and pale blue dress, "that everything happens for a reason?"

If Esther was confused or taken aback by the question, she didn't show it. She continued to adeptly swirl Cate's honey-colored hair up and pin it into place, her fingers working deftly.

"I think so, Miss Cate," Esther replied after a moment. "I'm not sure that I believe in coincidences."

Cate wanted to press her: did she believe that it was possible for her to meet a man by chance and then fall in love with him nine years later? Did Esther think that the handsome teenaged boy who had bought her the daisy could indeed be James? Cate was desperate to find him and ask him outright if he remembered a young girl, or if he had even ever been to New York before. They had agreed to meet at eight-thirty that morning, right after he went off duty. Cate had tried to insist that he should sleep, instead, but James had refused, saying that he would rather spend time with her while he had the chance.

"Will you be eating breakfast, miss?" Esther asked after a silence.

Cate shook her head, reaching for the pair of gloves that rested on the vanity.

"Breakfast doesn't usually agree with me," she said as she pulled them on. "I think I'll just take a stroll around the ship until I find someone interesting."

Esther smiled and picked up the wide-brimmed, blue hat topped with white ribbon and blue and cream-colored flowers. For the most part, what she had said was the truth; she and James would meet one another at the stern again, but until then, Cate had nothing to do and no one to see. It was a very freeing sensation. She would be eating lunch with Helen Newsom and several other young ladies that her new friend had gathered, such as Emily Ryerson and Mrs. Madeline Astor, but all Cate could focus on was seeing James.

True to her word, Cate did wander around the decks for a bit before going to the stern. As she strolling along the promenade on A-Deck, she came upon the Hockley party, as she often seemed to do. Rose looked positively radiant in a brilliant yellow dress, her vivid hair uncovered and pinned perfectly. She smiled when Cate approached and, for a moment, Cate wished they could retire to the Lounge and continue their discussion on Dracula.

"Good morning, my dear," said Cal.

Cate smiled and took his offered hand so he could kiss hers before kissing both Rose and Ruth on each cheek. Both the Hockleys and the Dewitt Bukaters were extremely prominent families in Philadelphia; more often than not, if there was a function held by a well-to-do family, Cate would see at least one member of each there, whether it be Cal representing for his parents and three siblings, or all of them together. Likewise, Rose and Ruth were very present at various events, and so too had been Mr. Charles Dewitt Bukater until his death just over a year ago. As for Cate and Lillian, the moment they had turned up their hair and lengthened their skirts, they had been thrust into the spotlight of every event imaginable from dinners, to galas, to parties, to polo matches, and luncheons, and sports games. Though their parlor suite was just a few doors down from Cate's cabin, she was surprised that she saw them so often, realizing that it was not beyond the realm of possibility for Beth to have asked Ruth to keep an eye on her.

"We've gathered a large group for dinner in the saloon tonight," said Cal. "Andrews and Ismay, Lady Rothes, the Duff Gordons… would you care to join us?"

"I should be delighted," Cate replied, simultaneously wishing that she could instead be with James, though she knew he would be working then and that, even if he wasn't, she would insist that he should be sleeping.

After they parted, Cate continued on her way down the promenade deck. What would she do, she wondered, if she did not receive an invitation for either luncheon or dinner one day? Would she go down to the reception room on D-Deck and mill about, hoping that someone would take pity on her and invite her to join them? While Cate didn't exactly enjoy long meals and talking about nothing to people she scarcely knew, even she knew enough that it would be "social suicide," as her grandmother called it, not to be invited to dine with someone whilst on a voyage. Beth would die of shame if she were to receive word that Cate had been seen dining all alone, perhaps in some shadowy corner of the saloon. Her mind turned to Ruth Dewitt Bukater, a close friend of Beth's: it was possible—probable, even—that she and Cal invited Cate to dine with them so often because Beth had asked them to do so. The thought was embarrassing, but at least Cate didn't dislike either Cal nor Rose… but it was disconcerting, the thought that Beth still could have a hold on her even whilst she was in the middle of the north Atlantic.


The aft B-Deck corridor was deserted, save for a blond stewardess backing out of one of the cabins, her arms laden with linens. Though he was the First Officer and had every right to be there, Will felt almost like he was a small boy who had been caught doing something he shouldn't when the stewardess, whom he knew vaguely as Lucy, caught sight of him. But she smiled and bobbed her head in a short nod before continuing on her way. He was just on his rounds, that was what she probably thought. It was, after all, a logical explanation.

From what Will could remember, his daughters were expected to be out of bed no later than eight o'clock whilst they were with their grandparents. And while he knew Cate hated being awake any earlier than noon, he had distinct memories of her shuffling out of bed on her own, much earlier than she would like, because she had become so used to waking up early. He was fairly certain that, at nine o'clock, Cate would have left her room and, though he knew she wouldn't eat breakfast, that she was perhaps wandering about, socializing or reading. Despite the fact that he knew his daughter would not be there, Will continued toward the cabin.

The door to B-76 loomed before him, and Will knocked quickly and softly, lest Esther should be inside, or he should be wrong and Cate was, in fact, still asleep or getting ready. There was no answer though, and, after a moment of waiting, he tried the handle and found it unlocked. The cabin was empty, as expected, with the rectangular window opened and letting in a billowing breeze, ruffling the curtains of the bed. Will's mouth was dry and his heart was pounding, and he hated himself as his eyes fell upon the Chinese sewing box resting on the writing desk, and he remembered what Cate had told him last Saturday, just over a week ago, when he had asked her what she kept in it. "My diary, for one thing," she had said with a smile. And neither of them would ever have dreamed what Will would do with this information.

Catey had always been an avid writer. Always. She was always coming up with stories and poems, and when she wasn't making up tales, she was recounting her own life in countless diaries that she bought for pennies at marketplaces or that Will brought for her. Catey always insisted that she had no talent for writing, but Will knew otherwise. He believed, however, that she squashed her desire to be a writer because there was no point in hoping for such a thing. His insides twisted even further, yet he continued to step forward and remove open the lid of the beautiful, ornate box.

There, nestled in one of the compartments, was a small, leather-bound book. It was too small to be a novel, and bore no title nor signature. He saw the other trinkets she had mentioned, but he could only focus on the diary. Will sighed and passed a hand over his face before removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. How could he have stooped so low as to come into Cate's cabin to read her diary? But, he reminded himself, he had to know. It was his right as her father to know, and she was bent on not telling him the truth. It wasn't as if Will wanted to hurt her—far from it—but he knew that if she had a relationship with James Moody that it would not, could not work out. He needed to protect her from that.

It's for your own good, lass, Will thought, thinking of the look that would appear on her beautiful face if she were to find out what he was doing—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger. The girls always looked so much like their mother when they were angry. Swallowing, Will sat down at the writing desk and picked up the diary.

The first page was dated the first of January that year. This is the first time I am beginning a new year without Lillian, she had written, her handwriting elegant and slanted. Sometimes I feel that I miss her, and others I feel like I am lucky to be without her. Uncle Sam is coming to take me to his cottage so that I might see Gwen today—I simply can't get through the mountain of snow. Will skimmed ahead, stopping when he caught the word"Father" written that February.

Sometimes I miss him so fiercely, I feel that I should buy a ticket to whatever ship he's on and sail with him. Not that that's even possible, but sometimes I like to dream about it. I received a letter from him yesterday, telling me that he is to be the Chief Officer aboard the RMS Titanic for her maiden voyage in April. No one mentions the great ship here, but it's all anyone can talk about back in Philadelphia. Here, it's all simple things—the crops, the market, which cousin is having a baby when. In America, people actually plan to board the grand, luxurious liner just for entertainment and to say they did. Perhaps I shall write to one of them to tell my father "hello," since I will be unable to do so myself until Lillian's wedding in June.

Will shook his head quickly. Why was he reading entries from so long ago? He flipped through the pages until he reached the fifth of April, the day of her arrival in Southampton. He was immediately engrossed in his daughter's life—her thoughts, her feelings, and the immense sadness she felt. Will felt his guilt return in waves. He'd known she was melancholy, but he'd had no idea as to the depths of her sadness from leaving Scotland. Wasn't that what she had been trying to tell him from the beginning? Yet he had brushed her off because he had not wanted to deal with the guilt of forcing her into this life.

He read of her meeting with Moody, but she only mentioned that they had talked at a café, one she used to take coffee at with Lillian. Then again in the park. Cate wrote that he was funny and handsome, but nothing other than that. Will continued to read. Then, under the entry of the previous Thursday, he found it: "James. I think I have feelings for him."

Cate wrote that she was meeting him on the promenade deck that night. Then—anger swelled within Will has he read it—"Hopefully Da will not give Esther too much trouble when he realizes that I have purposefully avoided him. But I have years and years to argue with Da… as far as I know, I only have a few days with James."

Though Will had known—or at least suspected—it all along, he could not help but feel renewed fury at her lies. As he read on, though, his anger only grew. Though, this time, it was accompanied by sadness. "My father would surely explode if he knew that James, the man he's forbidden me from seeing, and I have fallen in love and that he kissed me the other night. And, admittedly, several times since then." There it was. His proof that what he had believed all along was true: Cate and Moody were courting secretly and had been for several days now. It was the final entry in the diary, and it did not seem as though the two had been lovers—if they had, Will wasn't sure he could keep himself from throttling the lad. But he had been right: Cate was in love with James Moody and wanted to throw away everything he had tried to give her. And there was certainly no way that Will could let that happen.