April 11, 1912
RMS Titanic
Dear Diary,
Well, today was…interesting for a lack of better terms. It all started early this morning. I rose very early, as I said I would. It must have been 5:30. No one else, not even Trudy or Madge (our other maid, a dull elderly woman), was awake. I dressed in a plain, yet very pretty white dress with short sleeves and a very low cut neckline. It had a white sash around the waist and I wore it with a matching sweater and with my hair (which I have failed to mention is red, thick, and curly) down loose upon my shoulders. I ran the service bell in my room and asked the steward to bring me some scones and coffee, which he did promptly. I ate the scones and took my coffee with me to the deck. I'll tell you, I had the loveliest time. No one else was about. They were all still asleep. I sat by the rail and stared at the sea lost in thought for the longest time. I thought about so many things I can't even begin to list them. I had my diary with me and considered writing it, but took out my Grandmother's old copy of Utopia and read for a bit.
Well, actually, it was longer than a bit because when I looked up it was much brighter out and I rushed inside, alarmed. It was 8:15! I rushed into the dining saloon, knowing well that I was late for breakfast. I had at least been smart enough to button up my sweater, but Mother was dismayed (that's her favorite word—dismayed, next to disgusted, all which are used toward me) because I was not "properly attired" and was 15 minutes late. I suppose she would not have cared as much had we not been invited to dine with Captain E.J. Smith himself!
Mother just sat there and gave me that "cold as ice" stare. I hate it. It's like she is looking right through you and it gives me chills. It's not right for one to get chills from one's own mother. Anyway, she just looked at the captain and said, "I do apologize. Rose is not feeling well, which is why she was so late. I'm afraid she doesn't have her sea-legs yet."
I rolled my eyes and sat down, whispering angrily, "Oh please, Mother, it was 15 minutes. Your food hasn't even come yet."
She pinched my arm from under the table and told me to watch my mouth and mind my manners carefully or I would be "sorry." Well, I have to wonder what exactly "sorry" is supposed to mean. It's not like she's going to take out the dog whip and give me 40 lashes! She must have sensed that I was not afraid, for she then said, her voice low, "I will take away your favorite books, even that tattered Utopia and your works of Shakespeare." Now I knew she meant business, even though I sensed that it was just a bluff. Cal paid good money for most of those books and wouldn't just get rid of them. Although Utopia is one he didn't buy. As I mentioned, it was my Grandmother's. She read it as a girl and it was her favorite, and then passed it on to me when I was 10. Grandmother was the only member of my family who I could talk to, aside from Joseph. I was the favorite of all of Grandmother's kin. She loved me and I loved her. She was my father's mother and treated me like her equal. Not some silly girl who knew nothing of the world. Why, it was she that convinced my parents to send me to St. Thomas Moore's School for Girls (which thank God was a boarding school). Mother and Father wanted to put me in a different one that focused more on etiquette than education. And even though Grandmother lived farther away from the school than my own family, she visited me almost every weekend while I was fortunate (more like unfortunate) to see my parents maybe every other month. She died when I was 13 and I have never stopped missing her.
Joseph was my older brother. I loved him very much as well. He was my parents' favorite child, you see, because he was a boy, and boys are more valued than girls. But Joseph would shield me from their scolding and could always make me laugh. He taught me how to read only days before my 4th birthday and I was the only one he allowed to call him Joe. But Joe had hemophilia. Only boys can have it and they inherit it from their mothers. (Something Father never forgave Mother for). It means his blood couldn't clot, and because of this, he would be in terrible pain every time he bruised or cut himself. There was no way to stop the bleeding, internal or external. So one day, he was riding his horse with me and mine bucked me off. I was fine, of course (I was but 10 at the time, Joe was 15) but I suppose Joe's mare was spooked. He got bucked off as well. Because of his hemophilia, there was no way to stop the bleeding and his superficial wounds would not heal. He died in agony 2 days later. Though it was not my fault, my parents never forgave me. While it was unspoken, I knew they both wished me dead instead of Joe. Grandmother was the only one who told me that this was none of my doing, and I love her forever for that. Dear God, I miss them both so much. They are the only people who ever loved me.
But my mind is wandering and I should get back on topic. After breakfast, Mother ordered me to my cabin to change into a more "appropriate" (by which she means fancy) dress. I put on the white and green one, covered in lace. Ornate, but still pretty, and refused a hat. By lunch, mother seemed to have forgotten her threat, but I still knew I needed to be on guard.
Much to Mother's dismay (her favorite word again) we were seated with Molly Brown. Her mood was brightened when Titanic's owner, Bruce Ismay, (whom I find to be pompous) and the ship's designer, Mr. Andrews, were seated with us as well. But when time came to order our food, Cal took the liberty to order for me, without even consulting me! This is something I found quite offensive. He also put out my cigarette when Mother made a comment about it. (The only reason I smoke is to annoy her). My God, he is so controlling! He told the server that we both wanted rare lamb, with very little sauce, or something to that effect. Then he turned to me and said, "You like lamb, right sweet pea?" I don't mind lamb, but I DESEST it rare and wanted lots of sauce. He is so clueless! Molly Brown, who never fails to be entertaining, said, "You gonna cut her meat for her to there Cal?" in her thick Southern accent. Then she turned to Ismay and asked him if it was he who thought of the name "Titanic."
Acting egotistical, though prudently downplaying himself, he said, "Well, yes actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and above all strength."
Well, I just couldn't resist! Smiling, I turned to him saying, "Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?" He looked quizzical. "His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you." Molly laughed, Mr. Andrews choked on his breadstick, Cal looked nervous, and Mother appeared dismayed, as she would put it.
"What has gotten into you?" She whispered angrily.
Overly annoyed with the rich an arrogant people who surrounded me, I excused myself from the table just as I heard Mr. Ismay saying, "Freud, who is he; A passenger?" I walked to the boat deck and stood along the rail, which was a deck or two above the bow. I couldn't help but be proud of myself. That was my best comeback in weeks!
I stared into the sea, trying to forget about the misery that is my life, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy, as if someone was watching me. I looked around, and 100 feet away or so, I saw a young man looking intently at me. I averted my eyes, but could control myself and met his gaze. Our eyes met and locked. Until, that is, Cal broke it by grabbing my shoulder, turning me around, and scolding me. I didn't feel like getting into an argument, and I just brushed him aside and stormed away. I write this at the desk in my cabin now. I have written so much, my arm hurts. I'm glad I started keeping a diary. I haven't had any confidents since my Grandmother passed. But I'm going to take a bath before dinner. I need to unwind.
Your friend,
Rose
