here i am, chipping away at my to-do list for fics!
...
APRIL
APRIL 13TH, 1912
The sun shone all day today, which means I spent it on the promenade with Jackson and my sisters. We played cards, told stories, and watched dolphins race the ship - something that never got old for Lottie.
Dinner came and went, and by the time the sun goes down, my little sister is swaying on her feet and can barely keep her eyes open. The sun, salt air, and activity has worn her out, and before she collapses onto the pine deck, I cradle her close and hold her as she begins to drift off.
"I should see her to bed," I say to Jackson, who lingers by the railing. "It's been a long day."
He looks at Lottie's drowsy face, her slow-blinking eyes and dreamy expression. "It's for the best," he says.
"Gracie," Lottie says, wrapping her arms tight around my shoulders. "Don't go. Lay down with me. Please?"
"Mopsy, you have my letter…" I say, rocking her in time with the boat and the waves.
"I want you," she says. "I want you to sing me to sleep and be next to me. Please, Gracie?" She sniffles and I realize she's begun to cry with her face pressed close to my neck. "I need you."
I lock eyes with Jackson and he gives me a warm look. "Go," he says. "You and I, we have the whole future." He leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to the top of my head. "Take her to bed," he whispers. "I'll see you all in the morning."
Lottie clings closer and I give Jackson a nod, knowing that his words make sense. I do want to be there for Lottie, but I also want to spend every waking moment with Jackson, and right now, it's impossible to have both at once.
When we get off the ship, it will happen. It will be the easiest thing in the world, having my worlds converge in the way I know they will. We'll create a beautiful life with my family and start one of our own. All of that is waiting for us on the shore; I can handle being apart from him for an evening.
"See you in the morning," I say, then stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek while keeping Lottie close. "Meet us here for breakfast."
"I'll do that," he says, grinning. "I love you."
"I love you," I whisper in return.
Lottie pipes up then, saying, "I love her more," while hiding her face beneath my hair. Jackson and I share a laugh, one more kiss, then finally part until morning.
…
APRIL 14TH, 1912
The next morning, I wake as the cabin is quiet and still. I hear Cecelia breathing rhythmically above me and Lottie is entirely still beside me, resting on her back with her arms thrown above her head. Her bonnet has slipped to the side, exposing a few curly locks of her fiery hair, and I pass the time by running those curls between my fingers.
I remember when her hair came in - she was bald as anything when she was born, just like Cecelia and I were - and when her hair came in red and curly, we were overjoyed. Of course, it was doubtful that she'd be endowed with anything else, as mine and Cecelia's hair is just the same. But still, when we saw it, we felt our trio was complete.
I nestle close and press my nose to her soft, round cheek. She still smells like she did as an infant, like linen and sweet milk. I hope she never loses the baby quality that she still has, though one day I know she will. One day, she'll be composed of sharp angles and beauty instead of gentle slopes and purity. But today is not that day. Today, Lottie is still my baby sister, the one I carried close and warm against my chest. In the future, I'll be proud of the amazing woman she'll undoubtedly become. But for right now, I wrap my arms around her little body and feel grateful that she's small.
"Gracie," she says, her voice creaky from sleep. She turns on her side and tucks her head below my chin, burrowing nearer like she loves to do on chilly mornings. Her breath evens out again as she's impossibly close to me, and I let her doze off while dragging my fingernails up and down her spine. We have nowhere to be this early, so I fall back to sleep, too.
…
When we wake again, the sun is higher and our cabin-mates have left. Lottie sits up and smiles just as I'm rubbing my eyes and says, "We have to meet Jackson!"
She stands up on the thin mattress to peer at Cecelia on the top bunk. "Wake up, Ceci!" she says, then kneels back down to my level. "Can we bring something from the Dining Saloon up to Jackson's deck?" she asks.
"We'll have to sneak it," I say, tracing my collarbones to make sure the diamond necklace still lies there. Much to my comfort, it does. "Should we?" I ask, and Lottie nods with conspiratorial excitement.
Once we're dressed, washed up, and presentable, we slip into the decently unpopulated Dining Saloon. It's past peak time for breakfast, so not many people are milling about, but that makes it easy for us to slip a few rolls into the deep pockets of our skirts and be on our way.
Giggling, I take my sisters' hands as we traverse the route that we know well by now. Once we make it to the stairs, Lottie takes the lead and gasps when she sees something - or someone - just out of our range. I know who it must be.
"Jackson!" she says, clambering to meet him.
Cecelia and I reach the top of the stairs just as Lottie attacks Jackson with a big hug. She wraps her arms around his waist and places her tiny feet atop his large ones, and he walks her in a big circle around the deck. "Good morning, Lady Lottie," he says.
She laughs, high and musical. "Good morning, Sir Jackson!" she squeals, as he holds her hands and lifts her arms high above her head. "We brought breakfast." She looks over her shoulder towards where Cecelia and I are watching. "Bread!"
"Bread, is it?" Jackson says, and I unearth it from my pockets while Cecelia does the same.
"I'm starving," Lottie says, freeing Jackson's hands and walking over. "May I have one?"
"Of course," I say, then hand her a roll.
"And me?" Jackson asks, coming up to me after Lottie does. He smiles and cups my jaw, softly murmuring, "You look beautiful today."
"So do you," I say cheekily, then hand him an especially large roll.
"No butter, I'm afraid," Cecelia says.
"No butter?" Lottie repeats.
"How do you suppose we would have snuck butter out of the Dining Saloon?" I ask, playing with her.
She chuckles and says, "I don't know."
Jackson pretends to be shocked. "Are these stolen rolls?" he asks, eyes wide.
"Yes!" Lottie says, taking a big bite from the end of hers. "And they're delicious!"
"Lottie," I scold gently, "don't talk with your mouth full."
"Sorry," she says, but the look in her eyes glints with mischief. "Look, Jackson," she says a few beats later, "Look what Gracie's wearing."
She climbs onto my thighs and sits forward on my lap, dipping her fingers below the high neck of my dress to pull out the diamond necklace that I haven't taken off since the night it was given to me. When he sees it, Jackson beams with pride.
"I don't take it off," I say, feeling Lottie's little fingers trace the jewels.
"I'm glad," he says, then lingers as he kisses my cheek. "I love the way it looks on you."
"Are you going to marry my sister?" Lottie asks, still chewing her bread as she leans against my chest.
"As soon as we reach the shore," Jackson says, taking my hand while keeping his eyes on mine. I grin and he grins back, then gives my fingers a squeeze.
Lottie hops off my lap and tears the last of her bread into small chunks, tossing them towards the small group of seagulls that are perched on the railing of the deck. The salty breeze blows her hair behind her shoulders and her skirt tangles around her ankles, but she doesn't pay any mind.
"Look!" she says, more entertained by the gulls than the romance between Jackson and me. They swoop down to grab pieces of the bread she throws, and she laughs every time they do. As she continues to throw crumbs, the birds get braver and braver, and are soon almost upon us.
"Lottie, move back," I say, leaning against Jackson on the bench, one arm resting around his middle. "You'll get bitten."
Lottie throws the rest of her bread and skips back to us, humming a nonsensical tune as she goes. "When we get to America, I want a pet bird," she says proudly, lifting her chin. "I'll train it to love me and I'll name it Harold."
"Harold, huh?" Jackson says.
"Harold!" Lottie says, nodding for effect.
I squeeze Jackson a bit closer and run the fabric of his shirt between my fingers. "You'll have to ask Mama before you adopt any street birds," I say.
"No, I won't!" she says.
"And why's that?" I ask.
"Because," she answers, "I'm going to live with you." She stands in front of me and places her palms on both of my knees, leaning close when she says, "I'm your baby."
I drop a playful kiss on her forehead. "Is that so?" I say. She nods. "What happens when Jackson and I have our own babies?"
Lottie raises her thin eyebrows. "You're going to have babies?" she asks.
"That's what married couples do," I say. "Don't you want nieces and nephews?"
"Yes…" she says, but she's a bit puzzled. She screws up her lips and frowns, tapping her foot as she ponders. "But maybe they could be my sisters and brothers, and we could pretend I'm your real baby, not just your sister."
Placating her, I smile and say, "Maybe."
"In America, will you have a wedding, Gracie?" Lottie asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Can I come?"
"Of course, you'll be there," I say. "You and Ceci both. Who else will give me away?"
"I'm not giving you to anybody," Lottie says, pitching forward to bury her face in my stomach with her arms around my waist. "You're mine."
"Can't we share her?" Jackson asks, lightly tickling Lottie's neck.
She lifts her head and pretends to pout, but a smile sneaks its way through. She's halfway to grinning when she says, "Hmm. Maybe."
…
As Cecelia and Lottie play a game of invisible hopscotch, Jackson and I take a walk around the deck. I hold onto him and keep my violin case under one arm as I look out to the sparkling water, so calm and flat you could flip a coin off its surface.
"It's amazing out there," I say, and I'm about to say more before I run right into a lifeboat tethered to the deck. I take a few stutter steps backward, shake my head, then laugh. "Oops," I say, then steady myself with my hands on the little boat's edge.
While holding onto it, I take a look down the promenade, making note of all the white lifeboats.
"Only 16?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows.
"Plus four that are collapsible," Jackson says.
"That hardly seems enough for everyone on board," I say.
"About half, actually," a voice says, coming up behind us and startling me.
"Mr. Andrews," Jackson says, pulling me subtly closer by wrapping an arm around the small of my back.
Mr. Thomas Andrews is the designer of the Titanic. I can scarce believe he's standing in front of me right now.
"Forgive me," I say, blushing over the fact that he heard me criticizing his ship.
"Young lady, you don't miss a thing, do you?" Mr. Andrews says with a congenial grin. "In fact, I put in these new type davits which can take an extra row of boats inside this one. But it was thought, by some, that it would look too cluttered. So, I was overruled."
"Oh," I say softly.
"I don't think I've seen you here before," Mr. Andrews says.
"Oh no, I…" I glance at Jackson, who doesn't look worried - and Mr. Andrews seems kind enough. "I'm not from here."
I wonder if he understands what I mean. It seems he does, though I don't elaborate further.
"My name is April Grace."
He touches my forearm gently, then says, "Sleep well, young April Grace, for I have built you a good ship. Strong and true. She's got all the lifeboats you need."
"I will," I say, looking to Jackson with wide, amused eyes once Mr. Andrews strolls away.
"Seems you've made a friend," Jackson says, "he's never been so convivial with me."
I lift my chin much in the same way Lottie had done earlier. "Wonders can happen when you're seen with me," I say, and with Jackson's arm resting low on my back, we both laugh - but the sound is lost over the roar of the Atlantic Ocean.
…
As the day goes on and turns into early evening, Cecelia and Lottie head to the General Room on F-Deck and I stay up top with Jackson. We find an alcove meant for just the two of us, with open air and sounds of the sea, and he made quick work of snatching a bowl of strawberries from the First Class Dining Saloon just after dinner.
He's sitting up with his back against the railing now, and I've got my head on his lap. I can't decide whether I should watch the stars or his beautiful face, so I trade between the two as he feeds me strawberries.
"Open," he says, and I part my lips. He slips the cool fruit between them and I close my mouth around the pads of his fingers, biting softly to separate the strawberry from its leaves. He tosses the greens over the side of the ship then wipes the juice from my chin with his thumb, and I keep his hand before he can move it. I tuck it close to my neck and press his fingers to my cheek, leaning into him as he strokes my skin.
"How can I love you so much when I barely know you?" I ask, dragging my fingernails over his hand and up his arm.
He shakes his head and traces the bow of my lips. "I already know you by heart," he says.
I kiss the pad of his thumb and close my eyes, inhaling deeply before letting it all out. I've never smelled air like this, so fresh and clean and crisp. I know I'll miss this oceanic lifestyle when we dock.
"Can I have another strawberry?" I ask.
"All out," he says.
I sit up halfway and tuck my hair behind my ears. "You barely ate any," I say.
"I enjoyed feeding them to you," he says.
I lower my eyebrows. "You've got to be hungry," I say, then stand up. "Wait here. I'll get some more and bring them back."
Quickly and quietly, I make my way across the promenade and do my best to slip unnoticed into the First Class Dining Saloon. There are still a few groups of people milling about, chatting and laughing with each other, but they're so caught up in their conversations that they don't notice my presence. I'm sure they won't notice a few berries gone missing, either.
I pick up a bowl from a nearby table and collect fifteen or so strawberries inside it, then leave the way I came in. But, just after I make it through the doors, a barrel chest stops me and forces me backwards - almost onto my rear end. I crane my neck and find the last person I wanted to see - Milnard, the Averys' security detail.
"You," he says, his lip raised in disgust. "Stealing food like the vermin you are." He grabs a fistful of the fabric of my dress, right at my chest, and twists it. As he takes a firm step and forces me against the nearest wall, my heels lift from the ground and I drop the bowl with a clatter. The strawberries roll away, and Milnard's bony hand digs into my sternum. "Just wait until I report you to-"
"To whom? To me?" Jackson says, coming out of nowhere. "Let her go."
Milnard doesn't budge. He seems just as surprised to see Jackson as I am.
"I said let her go!" Jackson bellows, and Milnard releases his grip. Having not expected him to do that, I topple to the ground with my legs folded under me, the skirt of my dress lifted to reveal my knee socks. Quickly, I make myself decent and wipe the tears from my cheeks as I watch Jackson shoulder Milnard into a pillar and shove him to the ground with a good, sturdy push. "Never lay hands on her again," he growls, his jaw clenched. "If you do, I'll kill you myself."
Milnard, on the ground much like I am, stares at Jackson while wearing a dumbfounded expression - but he only wears it for a moment.
"Your father will find this rich," he says.
"He might," Jackson says, then turns towards me. He doesn't just extend a hand, instead he lifts me from the ground and makes sure I'm steady on my feet. "Are you all right, my love?" he asks, dusting me off. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I say, though I'm still a bit shaken. I haven't been handled in such a way since the streets of New York City. I never thought I'd feel like that again - so powerless and small… and deserving.
On the street, I was a beggar, and now, I'm a Third Class citizen sneaking around the First Class deck. Is there a difference?
Jackson smooths my hair and kisses my face, then my lips. He casts Milnard one last poisonous glance, then kisses my fingers and knuckles like I'm something precious.
The dichotomy isn't lost on me - how he treats me compared to how I've been treated my whole life, as someone lesser, someone dirty, a lowlife simply because my family doesn't come from money.
Jackson doesn't care about that. He's made it clear again and again. He shows me that, no matter the amount of money in my pocket, I deserve to be treated with care and kindness. That's what I have to hold onto, not the unjust, cruel hands of those who surround him.
"Let's go," he says, guiding me away from Milnard by the small of my back.
As we walk towards B-Deck, I can practically hear the thoughts whirring inside Jackson's head. "Are you all right?" I finally ask, waiting as he unlocks the door to his cabin.
He opens it and ushers me inside, locking it behind us. "I'm angry," he says. "I'm angry that he manhandled you. I'm angry that he thought he had the clearance to do it. I'm angry that…" He closes his eyes tightly and exhales. "I'm angry that my family thinks they can tell me who I can love, and who I can't."
I step closer and hold his wrists, both of them, then run my hands up and down his arms. There's not much I can say, nothing that could make this better. We just have to dock, get off this ship, and create a life all our own.
He opens his eyes right into mine. "I love you," he says. "I love you. And that's not going to change. No matter what they say, or what they do. If they excommunicate me, if they threaten me, I don't care. I don't care. I love you."
I nod, first slowly and then more sure. "I love you," I whisper in return. "We'll make a life together. Me and you, and my sisters too. In New York City, we'll figure it out. We'll figure it all out together."
He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes for a long beat. "We have each other," he says.
I reach up and caress both sides of his face, running my fingers over his light facial hair. "We have each other," I repeat, like a prayer.
…
The night passes deliciously slowly as Jackson and I remain in his stateroom. We find a few odds and ends for dinner, but don't spend much time eating - instead, we concentrate mostly on undressing and climbing into his gorgeous, kingly bed.
We're both naked as he pulls the covers over our warm bodies. "Will you stay tonight?" he asks, running his fingers through my hair.
I nod and, as I do, the tip of my nose traces his. He smiles at my answer and tilts his head to kiss me, and I let my eyelashes flutter shut as his lips part and his tongue slips inside my mouth, and soon I roll onto my back to welcome his body on top of mine.
He's pleasantly heavy as he maneuvers to rest between my legs. I enjoy the weight of his chest on my chest, his torso on mine, and the tangle of our legs woven together under the sheets.
Jackson cradles my face and kisses me deeply, so deep that I lose my breath and am forced to inhale with everything I've got. My chest rises as I do, my straining nipples grazing his skin, and one of his hands wanders lower to cup my breast and lightly squeeze it.
"These…" he murmurs, kissing down my neck until he reaches my clavicle. He glances up at me, just for a moment, then sucks my left nipple into his mouth. "Are perfect."
"Oh…" I whimper, scratching his scalp as his jaw works. He sucks hard, eyes closed as he's lost in the action, and massages the free breast as he goes. "That feels… so good," I breathe, arching my back to press myself closer to him.
He drags his tongue in a circle around my nipple, hardening it further, and rests one hand between my legs. He holds me in that hand, the heat of me, and teases the outside of my body with the pads of his fingers.
"You're ready for me," he murmurs.
"Mm-hmm," I whine. I've been thinking about this since that door locked behind us; I can't tell a lie.
I make a bold move and slide a hand between us, between our sweaty, naked forms, to loosely grip his penis. "And you're ready for me," I say, running my thumb over the tip as I feel warm liquid there. I stroke him a few times, slowly, languidly, and he loses the rhythm he'd found at my nipple and quietly grunts against my neck. He doesn't tell me to stop, though, so I don't. I keep going.
At a steady and defined rate, I tighten my grip substantially and pump him, enjoying the feeling of his velvety skin. He's got his face buried in my hair now, his hips working in tandem with the motion of my hand, and when he comes, he does so under the covers - all over my thighs.
"Oh, god," he moans, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to my pulse point. He licks my skin, licks the sweat and salt away, and sucks on my earlobe so slowly that it makes a jolt of damp electricity rocket to the throbbing space between my legs.
As he recovers, I wrap my legs around his waist and make sure my core is pressed flush to his torso. I need friction, and his hot skin feels good against mine, especially when I oscillate my hips at a certain rhythm. When I start doing that, he lifts his head to kiss me on the mouth, threading his fingers deep into my hair.
"Baby… baby…" he sighs, then flips us. Now, he's on his back and I'm sitting, thighs open, on his stomach. His eyes roam over my face, my chest, then lower as he says, "My god, look at you."
I'm completely bare, save for the necklace. As we're positioned like this, he takes the opportunity to lift a hand and trace the shape of it, his finger bumping along every precious gem. I stay still as he touches me, and touches the diamonds, then I take his wrist and bring his hand to my mouth.
I kiss the tips of his long, masculine fingers, letting my lips linger on each one. With my eyes closed, I move my hips - subtly, slowly - as I slip his pointer finger into my mouth to suck on it.
His eyes drift shut and his lips part, then he presses his other hand flat to my bare stomach. He rubs my skin with his thumb then shifts his grip higher to hold my breast, pinching the nipple until it's puckered and flushed.
I slip his finger out of my mouth, and that hand runs over my chin and down my neck until it anchors on my other breast, leaving a trail of cool saliva in its wake. He squeezes my breasts together, thumbs deftly manipulating the buds in the middle, and I whimper as I continue to grind on top of him.
He sits up to kiss me on the mouth, full and heady, while firmly gripping the back of my neck. "I need to be inside you," he whispers against my lips.
I nod desperately and say, "Please," I sigh, breath shuddering as it escapes me. "Please."
He solidifies his hands at the points of my hips and lifts me slightly, then lets me choose how fast I want to sink down and bury his body within mine. I go slowly, savoring every inch of him, and when we're fully conjoined, I collapse with my chest pressed to his and kiss his neck with an open mouth.
He wraps his arms around my back, dragging his nails all the way to my rear end, then up to my shoulder blades. "You feel so incredible," he murmurs in my ear, lifting his hips and making me whimper.
I nod shakily, my eyebrows lifting to my hairline as I sit up and start to move. I pump my hips much in the same way I'd been doing earlier, except this time the delicious feeling of friction is joined by a fullness that I never want to let go of.
As I support myself with both hands braced on his chest, the necklace falls from where it had been slack around the back of my neck to sway near my breasts. Between us, it's a reminder of what I am, who I am to Jackson, and it only makes the fire in my belly burn brighter.
He sits up and leans against the headboard so I'm pressed tight against him while sitting on his lap. He twines his arms around my back, keeping me close, and presses his lips to mine in a firm promise of a kiss.
"I love you," he tells me earnestly.
I kiss him again, holding onto the solid wood headboard as I rock my hips against his. "I love you," I whisper in return, and he kisses my neck and breathes warm air all down the column of my throat and lower to my breasts, which he can't keep his mouth away from.
He makes me come while he's sheathed inside me, sucking on my nipple heartily as his jaw works - and he never looks anywhere but my eyes as it happens. Even with his mouth attached to my breast, he looks up through his eyelashes and weakens me with his expression.
It's an expression that tells me, without words, that he'll never look at another woman in either of our lives. For him, it's me. And for me, it'll always be him.
I make desperate sounds as my muscles flutter and twitch around his penis, and I clench his hips between my thighs as my orgasm pulses through me. I drape myself over him, my sweaty body on his sweaty body, and soak up every last second of his heat coursing through me in sensual, powerful spurts. That sensation intensifies my orgasm and sends me back up as I was coming down, and by the time I catch my breath, I'm quivering with raw feeling and I never want to be any further apart than we are right now.
I rest my cheek on his shoulder and he stays inside me, holding my body in his arms. He pets my cheek and presses his lips to my forehead, allowing them to remain there as he closes his eyes and rocks us back and forth, and it doesn't take long for our breathing to slow down and match pace.
"The night we met," I say a few moments later, "you said you were going to jump."
I feel him nod, his head moving against mine, before he swallows hard. "I was," he says, "and because of you, I didn't."
I rest a hand on his cheek, using my thumb to trace the apple of it. "I would've saved you," I whisper.
He looks me in the eyes. His expression turns my insides to warm, gooey mush. "You did," he says, and seals his words with a long kiss.
…
Jackson and I stay up talking about everything that we're going to do once we dock. We have so much ahead of us that it's both overwhelming and exciting to consider.
My eyelids are drooping when I ask him, "Where will we live?"
"Anywhere you want," he says.
"Close to my sisters," I say, "but in the country. On a farm."
"A farm," he says. "We'll have all the land you want. We'll have horses, chickens, ducks, cows, pigs…everything."
"We'll grow a garden," I say softly.
"A garden with big, round pumpkins and bright red tomatoes," he says.
"And lavender," I say, "and tulips."
"Anything you want."
"We'll teach our babies how to play the violin," I say, tucking myself close as he smooths his hands over my hair. Right now, both of our cases are safely below us, hidden under his bed.
"Of course," he says. "All of our daughters will know how to play."
"What about our sons?" I ask.
He shrugs and looks bashful when he says, "I always hoped to have a daughter one day."
I smile sweetly, then touch the tip of his nose with mine. "You will," I whisper. "I'll give you a daughter." I smile again. "I'll give you ten."
He kisses me gently and pulls me to his side, and I rest on top of him as I close my eyes and go slack. "Go to sleep, my love," he says, kissing the side of my head as he traces feather-light shapes on my back and arms. "Go to sleep."
I'm about to say something about how it's our first full night together and I love that it is, but I drift off too quickly. I feel the first twitches of sleep come, and I'm about to float completely away when something stirs me - a sound I can't place, but something similar to the tearing of calico. A rip of some sort, a shudder that I only notice because the room is so still.
I lift my head. "Did you hear that?" I ask.
Jackson opens his eyes. He'd begun to fall asleep, too. "Hear what?" he says.
"I don't know," I say, then sit up further. The sheet falls and pools around my waist, and I'm still nude as I perch at the edge of the bed and wait for something more to happen. "Did you feel that… that shudder?"
"A shudder?"
I slip out of bed and my feet hit the cool hardwood floor. "I felt the ship quake," I say.
"Maybe the waters are rough," he says.
"They aren't," I say. "It was calm today." I go to the window to try and see out, but the night is black and endless. Not even the moon shines to improve the image of what's out there.
"I'm sure it was nothing," Jackson says, sounding groggy. "Come back to bed, baby."
"No, I think it was something," I say. "Can we go to the deck and look?"
He agrees halfheartedly, climbing out of bed to put clothes on. I find a brand new, unworn nightgown in the wardrobe and pull it on over my head, wishing I had time to relish the luxurious silk swirling around my body. It's loose and light and airy, and I've never worn something so lovely to bed, but I'm not so concentrated on it now.
I find the shoes I had been wearing earlier and put them on, though they don't much pair with the nightgown, and reach for Jackson's hand as we make our way through the hall, across B-Deck, and up to the promenade.
When we get there, I'm taken aback. There are a few men milling about the deck holding drinks, looking backwards like they're trying to see something the ship has just passed. I follow their eyes, but I can't see much - not through the darkness, anyway.
Something else catches my attention before I can look harder. Huge chunks of ice on the deck, some the size of boulders, some bigger, some smaller, sliding about like sentient creatures.
"Jackson, look!" I say, amused. I approach a smaller piece and kick it with the instep of my foot, which sends it careening across the pine.
He looks at the ice with his eyebrows set low, but he doesn't respond.
"Did you hear, mate?" a man asks Jackson, coming up beside him like they're old friends. "She hit an iceberg just now. Did you hear it?"
"That was the sound I heard!" I say, hurrying over. The chilly air bites my skin through the thin nightgown and whips the fabric around my legs, but I don't take much notice. I'm too interested in the conversation. "I felt it, too."
"Well, I'd like to get back to my brandy," another man says, then picks up a tiny piece of ice - a shard from the iceberg, undoubtedly - and plops it into his short glass. "Are you coming, Astor?"
The man called Astor leaves with his friend and Jackson stands there, staring ahead - but his eyes don't focus on much of anything. I kneel down and pick up a piece of ice, trading it between my hands as it slowly melts, then spin around to kick another larger piece.
"Should we play?" I ask, sending the ice towards Jackson, who still hasn't moved.
He doesn't say a word. He's entirely still, the expression on his face placid and unreadable.
"I'm sure everything's all right," I say. "Nothing can sink the Titanic. You know that."
I watch Jackson for a long moment, until he finally shakes his head - just a tiny, minute shake. "No," he says, then takes my wrist. Though he hasn't touched the ice, his hands are cold and trembling.
"No, what?" I ask.
He meets my eyes, and only then do I notice how afraid he is. Before he responds, voices come from both the crow's nest and the bridge, quick voices in tones of high alert. I can't understand what they're saying, but they don't seem calm.
Suddenly, the air on the promenade has changed from something playful and amused to something much, much darker.
"No," Jackson says again, "I don't think everything's all right."