Chapter Four
The next morning Charlotte woke me up early, at Rose's request. Rose had already selected something for me to wear, a sapphire-colored dress with a relatively low neckline, complete with lace and a white sash. She had even instructed Charlotte how to do my hair, and when I left my room that morning I looked like a princess.
"You look beautiful," Rose said as we went to the promenade deck for my meeting. I laughed.
"You're only saying that to be nice," I retorted. "Everyone knows I'll never be half as beautiful as you."
The Robinsons were sitting in chairs by the railing, conversing with another young man handsomely attired, who didn't have a bad face, either. He had dark hair and blue eyes that shone with intelligence, and there was none of the high-society airs about him, such as Cal possessed. The three of them looked up when we arrived, Mrs. Robinson smiling expectantly.
"This is Rose and Margaret DeWitt-Bukator. Margaret, this is my son James," Mr. Robinson said imperiously. I glanced at Rose, who was smiling. I took it she didn't think James was bad-looking, either.
"Enchanted," James said, taking my hand and kissing it. "So you are the infamous Miss DeWitt-Bukator my mother has spoken of so often?"
I smiled and blushed.
"I should say so, though I don't know if that is a compliment or a criticism," I admitted.
"Miss Margaret, would you mind if we took a stroll about the deck?"
I looked at Rose, who nodded.
"Not at all, Mr. Robinson. In fact, I look forward to it," I said, taking the arm he offered me.
"They seem to like each other," I heard Mrs. Robinson tell her husband as we walked off.
"Thank God, now I can dispense with the fancy language," James said once we rounded the corner. I laughed.
"I know exactly what you mean," I agreed. "So, where are you going on this grand Ship of Dreams?"
"New York. My grandparents live there, and unfortunately my mother hopes my grandmother might know of some eligible young ladies for me to marry," James told me.
"I have a similar predicament. My sister Rose is getting married, and we're going back to Philadelphia for the wedding."
James raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"And who, may I ask, is the lucky husband?"
"Caledon Hockley," I said, choking back an "unfortunately".
"I don't much like him. We met in the men's lounge, he's very proud. His pride is about all he has. I would hate to think of what might become of him if he lost his pride," James mused.
"I have often asked myself the same question," I said before I could stop myself.
"Do you like the Titanic?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"It's very nice, though it is a bit lacking. I much prefer land," I said. "Not only is it sturdier, but you can hide from unlovable people." James laughed. "It's true!" I said defensively, slightly hurt by his reaction.
"I know it is, that's why I'm laughing," he explained.
"The gentlemen seem to be proud of it, though. Almost as if they'd built it themselves," I commented.
James said nothing in response, and I was beginning to feel uncomfortable when he spoke.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I stopped and stared at him, taken by surprise. It was not a question I was usually asked, indeed one I had not been asked in years. Rose and I used to play that game, imagining what fabulous things we would do with our lives. I had wanted to be in the circus, and Rose had once wanted to be an actress. Things had turned out so very differently than we had once hoped they would.
"I'm not sure," I said, blushing.
"How can you not be sure? You must have stayed up some night, unable to sleep, and thought about your future. Even now, you must be wondering how far our relationship will go. I am simply asking what you would want to be when you are older, if any profession at all were allowed."
I turned and walked to the railing, leaning on it and staring straight out to sea. I had never thought of it lately, and now that the question was once again asked of me, I was unsure of what to say.
"I suppose I would want to be a great writer," I said. "Writers can say anything they want, dream anything they want, and write it all down on paper. And millions of people would read their words and be touched by them, take them to heart and keep them there for years, taking them out whenever they were needed. Such a profession is magical, and those who have the opportunity to be a writer always take advantage of it, and never savor it."
He looked out to sea, and I watched him for a moment, watching as the emotions ran across his face as he thought about what I had said.
"That's profound. I never thought I would ever meet a society girl with such deep thoughts." I laughed.
"And yourself? What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I hope to be a lawyer, but I doubt my parents would approve. They think that such a profession is for middle-class people, and that I shouldn't lower my position by involving myself in such a trade. My father wants me to continue his lumber business, but I don't want to. I don't want to be the fifth generation in the lumber business. It's boring, and though it may bring in money, it doesn't bring glory, or fame. And it doesn't make you feel accomplished. You can't save a person's life by selling lumber."
"Yes, you can. Imagine you sell lumber at an affordable price to a family who has just lost everything in a fire. Don't you think they'll be grateful? You've just returned their dream to them. There is an opportunity to do good in everything. It's what you do with this opportunity that matters," I said, reproaching him.
He studied me for a moment, then offered me his arm and we started walking again.
"I've never met a girl with such interesting views before. Where did you learn all this?" he asked. I shrugged.
"My mother forbids me to read literature that puts ideas in my head. She thinks I'll end up as stubborn and troublesome as my sister. But often I borrow books from Rose and read them late at night. I'm fascinated by the Enlightenment thinkers. They think of everything which was beforehand forbidden them to think. A bit like myself, really," I confessed. He laughed.
"You are hardly what a lady should be, you know that?" he teased.
"And yet I don't care. Say what you will about me, Mr. Robinson, I care little about your criticisms," I said imperiously, holding my head high. He laughed.
"It wasn't a criticism, it was a compliment. I like that you're not a lady. You make me think, and laugh. You're the first girl my mother introduced me to who hasn't put me to sleep with her conversations already approved of by her mother," James said, staring at me as he spoke in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, but pleasantly so.
"Thank you," I whispered, touched by the compliment. It was the first compliment I had ever received that truly delved into my very nature, one that was a much milder version of Rose's, yet still turbulent but controlled by years of training at the hands of my mother.
We had arrived back at our point of origin, and our respective family members were staring at us, eyes wide with curiosity. Looking at Mrs. Robinson, I thought she would faint from excitement and anticipation.
"Would you mind, Miss Margaret, if I asked you a rather forward question?" James asked, resuming his manners.
"Not at all, Mr. Robinson, you may be quite frank with me if it so pleases you," I said, resuming my own manners. It wouldn't do to have Mrs. Robinson telling my mother of my over-familiarity with her son.
"May I escort you to dinner tonight?"
I flushed but smiled, happy for once to be asked to be escorted.
"You may, Mr. Robinson. I am quite flattered by your request," I said, the polite answer I had been taught when I reached the age to be presented to society. "And now, if you don't mind, my sister and I must take our leave, though we regret it terribly. I confess that I have rather enjoyed your company, Mr. Robinson."
And with that, Rose and I left to return to our rooms to rest a while before lunch.
"Well?"
"He's perfect, Rose! He's handsome, you must admit, but he thinks just like me! He is far from being the type of suitor Mother would approve of, but he has some station, which I am sure would endear him to her. Oh, Rose, isn't it heavenly? He's the nicest, most perfect man I've ever met, and I'm quite sure he feels the same about me!"
We giggled together like little schoolgirls, and though Rose seemed genuinely happy for me, I knew there was sadness lurking behind her blue eyes, though why I wasn't quite sure. I didn't ask her about it, though, not wanting her to freeze me out the way she had the night before, and we continued to speak of James, Rose making me describe our entire conversation in detail. I knew she enjoyed hearing me speak of my own happiness, but I could tell that she herself derived only sadness from my tale.