Winnie, taking her journal under her arm, walks over to the remains of what use to be a couch. Sitting down, she furiously digs in her purse. Finding a pen she is satisfied. She opens to her last entry rereads, then turns to the next page.

APIRL 15, 1942.

Oh dear… dearest journal, it feels wonderful to be writing in you a long last. I thought I lost you when the ship… no must not give it away yet. If there was ever something I learned in boarding school, it was great writers never jumped into there endings to quickly.

I'm old, and have gray hair in every place. Except I feel so young when writing in you. Well. Enough of the is stuff. I had one purpose in writing in you, and that is to finish my life story. The truth. Not to confuse you, I shall start where I left off. April 14, 1912. The night when my family, and I went to "A" deck. The start of my new life………..