December 1911.

The cold pinched his cheeks, causing the bright apples to glow red under the winter sun. James had been dreading this all week but his family at home had been itching to see him in his White Star Line uniform. His older brother, Christopher, mentioned multiple times in letters that poor Jim must have been drowning in love letters as women do tend to flock to men in uniform. That only made James roll his eyes. Who in their right mind would look at him and think anything other than, 'What a poor sod'? He trudges through the harsh wind, his woolen overcoat wrapped tightly around him. The sky is spitting frosty rain that collides in his face. He thanks God that these photos will not be in color else they see how horribly the cold has done him.
The photographer's was tucked between a grocer and the local solicitors. Thankfully, it was quite easy to find. He did fail his master's exam in navigation after all. When he opened the arsenic green painted door, the brass bell hanging above dinged loudly. For a photographer's studio, the parlor was dark and almost depressing. A stout man, probably as old as his father, descended the old, creaky stairs.
"The name's G. W. Smith. Mister Moody, is it?" Asked the aging Yankee in a curiously enthusiastic fashion.
"Yes, sir. I have an appointment."
The man walked to the desk at the far back wall, opening a small leatherbound journal. From the distance, James could see a long list of appointments in the man's scratchy handwriting. "Ah, here you are. I've done portraits for your type before. My father was in the navy. He served on the USS Kearsarge in the War of the Rebellion. I have a soft spot for sailors."
"You must be proud of his service," James commented, trying to make idle conversation. "What has brought you to England?"
Mister Smith walked past James, telling him to follow him up the stairs. "I saw pictures of London in a magazine and thought I would try my hand here. I don't regret it so far."
The pair walked up the stairs, though it was excruciatingly slow. Mister Smith cussed his old knees, though James did not think his age had anything to do with it. He would never say that out loud though.
James expected the studio to be just dim as the parlor but the difference was like night and day. The ceiling was tilted with several large windows spanning it, filling the room with gorgeous natural light. From the outside, you could never tell the building had this sort of architecture. This eased his nerves, but only slightly.
"Have you ever had a portrait done before?" Mister Smith's brash voice echoed off the walls.
"Many times, but I must admit that I am not very photogenic." There was lingering anxiety in James' voice that seemed to perk up the photographer's ears. James had always been around a camera. His family owned a box camera all of his life and they never missed an opportunity for a good portrait. He never showed any sign of self-consciousness until he reached his twenties. Then, he became more aware of his appearance, his societal status, the importance of duty. He never let those hidden anxieties stand in his way, much less make them at all noticeable to anyone else. He felt as if it was seeping out this time, even though he desperately fought to keep it inside of him. Everyone at home was looking forward to this photograph. He knows that many people would want copies of it.
To the back of the room, there was a large backdrop mocking a room and a rather large selection of both furniture and props.
"Since you are not a senior officer, we'll keep the photograph fairly simple. How does that sound?" Mister Smith walked to the future heap.
"I think a simple photo would be best. I am not looking for anything fancy." James confirmed. "I will think of something more grandiose when I am promoted a few times more."
"I agree… now, let's see," Mister Smith turned and looked over James. He was clearly deep in thought. James stood stark still under the photographer's studious gaze. Typically, he was not so awkward. In fact, he always felt like he could make good of an intense situation. It was clear that the young officer was completely out of his element.
"Help me lift this table, we are going to set it down slightly to the left of the center point of the backdrop."
James obliged, helping him lift the ornate table. When they got to the correct spot, Mister Smith told James to set the table down. Once again, James obliged. He could tell G. W. Smith was American. He had a very confident way of carrying himself. He knew exactly what he wanted - but the true test would be coming shortly.
James quickly straightened his coat. Almost immediately after, he felt his body being pulled and pushed into position. It took him for a surprise at first, stumbling slightly at the first pull. After a moment, he was easily molded into the position that the photographer was after.
"You're a quick learner." Commented Smith as he walks to the box camera.
"You have to be when you are in my line of work. It's not always smooth sailing."
"I know it well. Now," Smith's tone morphs into something more authoritative and instinctively, Moody is stood tall at attention as if the photographer was a superior officer. "I want your hand closest to the table to rest upon it."
James lifted his hand, resting his long, thin fingers splayed on the cold wood. There was a brief pause.
"Relax your hand slightly. It looks like a forced movement."
At the command, he eased his hand, thought felt even more unnatural.
"This is not going to work," There is an air of frustration in the Yank's voice. "Knuckles down. Try that."
James was beginning to not like being commanded in such a way but had no intentions of arguing. He wanted this done. He lifted his hand, curling his fingers to the palm before resting his knuckles onto the table.
"Much better, Mister Moody. Now, tuck your other thumb into your front leg pocket. Make sure you are looking at the back door where we've just walked in." With that, Smith disappeared behind the large box camera, throwing the black sheet over his head.
James stood tall, his clear blue eyes fixed on the door to the far side of the room. He sucked in a breath just as a camera goes off. There was a long pause as the camera is fiddled with.
"Try not to move." Smith's voice cuts through the air. James could only nod and try again. He imagined he was a statue, looking off in the distance. The camera clicks again followed by another long pause. James tried desperately not to move.
"I think, that was the ticket." Smith announced. "I'll take your payment promptly."
James did not realize that he had held his breath. As soon as the photographer told him he was finished, his chest deflated, giving a relieved sigh. James followed Smith back down the stairs and handed him the payment.
"I will start developing right away. Will you come by later this afternoon? I should have your prints ready by then."
With that, James headed back out into the cold December air. He survived but he felt like it was only by a hair. He started down the pavement, letting the relief wash over him. He was glad that he didn't let his nerves overtake him. It felt like a weight had been lifted and that relief showed as he carried on throughout the afternoon. He stopped by a local café for some coffee and a sandwich before he strolled through the town center. It is a joyous time. Shopfronts were decorated with Christmas garlands and holly. Carollers dotted the street corners. He felt as if nothing could bring him back down as he wore that cheeky bright smile that was so typical of him - that was until he picked up his prints on his way back to the boarding house.
When he walked back into the photographer's, Mister Smith handed him the tightly sealed envelope. "Make sure you give a print to a pretty girl, won't you?" Smith said with a chuckle. James smiled in return, tucking the envelope on the inside pocket of his coat.
"If I like them, I will be sure to," James returned before thanking Smith again for his service. The bell rang for the last time when the young officer exited. He could barely wait any longer. He wore an anxious, tight-lipped grin as his anticipation rose. He took out the brown envelope and tore into the flap. Reaching in, he swiped the first picture with the pad of his thumb, pulling it out. He flipped it over to see himself stood in the most awkward sort of way he could ever imagine. The smile he had worn vanished in the blink of an eye as he quietly groaned to himself.
"Oh no…" He muttered. "These are absolutely horrid."
For a moment, he wondered if he should go back and tell Mister Smith he was not satisfied with the quality of the picture. But, studying the image further, he decided there was nothing wrong with the camera work but more so his posture, his demeanor, how incredibly uncomfortable he looked to be in front of the camera. He could not fault Mister Smith as he found the blame placed directly on himself. He would have to send the portraits off to his family and deal with the embarrassment.

11 December 1911

My dear Maggie,

Enclosed in this letter, please find those portraits you and Chris have been so keen on.

I'm afraid it is very poor, but it is the best the camera could do with its difficult subject. So you must hang it in a poor light or else stow it away altogether. I have sent two if you would care to have one each, but they are really so ugly that I don't inflict them on more people than possible.

I wish you both the best of health.

Yours,
Jim

17 December 1911

Dear James,

I will begin by saying that there is nothing wrong with the portrait. I think you look very handsome in your uniform and that seems to be the popular opinion. I showed the ladies in the parish, and they all agree that you look quite sharp. The consensus is the photo is very flattering, although I did mention your distaste for it. They were even inquiring on if you had any intentions of marrying anytime soon as they all have eligible daughters who could use a fine officer such as yourself.
Please, come visit soon. Your smile always warms up this cold house of ours. We all miss you very much when you are not at home.
If I do not see you before then, I wish you a very happy Christmas.

All of my love,
Your doting Sister

27 December 1911

Maggie,

I am sorry I had not the time to visit this year for Christmas but I expect to be visiting you within the next couple of weeks. I hope you both have a joyous holiday and will go on to have a grand new year. I hope next year I may join you for the holidays. I would like that very much.
As for the portrait, I am sure all of your friends at church have all found the photo flattering but I know even more so that they would be disappointed to meet the original.
If you hear from our dear brother John, give him a nudge and tell him to send me a line sometime. I do not hear from him as much as I would like.

Lovingly Yours,
James

20th April 1912.

The Moody family could all agree that the world is dimmer with James gone. He could fill an entire room with light as he always seemed to be the embodiment of starlight. Why did God choose him? Why did God choose any of the innocent people who died in the wreck - but most of all James ?
Margaret sat on the settee. She had cried all of her tears but now sat numbly as she looked down at the portrait. Her dear young brother... gone far too soon. She hears the front door open and only a moment after, her brother Christopher walks into the parlor.
"You have a letter here from a Mister Herbert Pitman. Wasn't he an officer on Titanic ?" Christopher asked as he handed her the white envelope. Margaret took it and set the portrait down on the side table.
"Yes, the third mate if I read it correctly in the papers," Margaret said, as she opened the envelope. Inside was a short letter in a thick, elaborate hand.
"Well?" Christopher asked after allowing her to read for a moment. "What has he got to say?"
"He gives his condolences and says that James was both a fine man and a fine sailor. He describes him as one of the best White Star Line had to offer which is why he was chosen for Titanic. " Margaret carries on reading for a moment. "And, he wants a photograph of him so he can always remember him. He was a dear friend."
"It seems like everyone wants a photograph of him. It goes to show how many lives he's touched when he was alive." Christopher looked down at the photograph, which laid neatly on the side table. He picks it up, studying it for a moment.
"I am going to get more of that portrait printed. When Jim sent it to me, he told me he wished for me to stow it away as he thought it was so ugly. I hope now that he is but a star in the sky, he realizes how capable he was…"
Christopher hands the photo back to Maggie who in turn places a gentle kiss on the smooth paper. "Bless you, Jim. God bless you. "
She stands, placing the portrait on the mantle. She goes to get her jacket. She hopes that with every print, nobody forgets her darling Jim, his humor, his smile, or his story.

A/N:

This is my ode to my most favorite historical figure, Sixth Officer James Moody. I hope you enjoyed this work. Obviously, not everything can be historically accurate but I did do my very best to make it as close as I can. I was not there when he got the portrait taken. I do not know who took that portrait so G. W. Smith came from my brain.
I want to stress that this is based on the real James Moody and not the Titanic 1997 portrayal of him which is not in the slightest accurate.
I would like to take the time to give credit where credit is due. The photo included and some of the quotes were provided by my queen, Titanic historian Inger Sheil. The quotes that were directly taken were:
1. "I'm afraid it is very poor, but it is the best the camera could do with its difficult subject. So you must hang it in a poor light or else stow it away altogether. I have sent two if you would care to have one each, but they are really so ugly that I don't inflict them on more people than possible."
2. I paraphrased "...have all found the photo flattering but I know even more so that they would be disappointed to meet the original." I know that he did say something along those lines but the exact quote was not given.
3. The line about giving his brother John a nudge is also paraphrased but he did ask his sister Margaret to do something along those lines.

And yes, Third Officer Herbert Pitman did ask for a picture of James to keep.

Also, dates are fairly loose. Please, keep in mind while this story is inspired by things that actually happened in his life, I obviously cannot tell that this is exactly how it went.

Thank you so much for reading nonetheless.