Stanford had a small headache. He was no lightweight, but he had consumed a lot of beer last night. It seemed like when the glass was empty, another would be put into his hand, and who was he to deny a free drink? Still, the coffee was helping, and after some food and a quiet morning of studying, he was sure he would feel fine. Stanford already felt much more comfortable in his sweater-vest, dress-shirt, and trenchcoat with dress-pants. Stanley must have felt the same threatening hangover, because he rubbed his eyes and forehead with each yawn at the breakfast table, nicely dressed in a suit with a red tie. Pa was behind a newspaper, his usual morning routine, and so it was easy for his sons to exchange looks and talk without a word. One thing was clear between the two: they hadn't had that much fun since Stanford's studies had increased.

Pa let down his newspaper with a harsh crinkle and his sons knew what that meant; he wanted to talk. "You two were out late last night."

Stanford garted his eyes to his twin and then down to his cup of coffee before sipping it nervously, trying to mask his rising anxiety.

"Huh. I didn't know this ship had a curfew." Stanley said sarcastically in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. "Did you, Ford?"

"You two were with that Negro, weren't you?" Pa growled. "That ex-slave down at the third-class bunkers."

"So?" Stanley asked in a quieter tone, on the line between respectful and questioning his father's reasoning. "What's wrong with making friends? What's wrong with going to a party?"

"What's wrong is that you two are deliberately backtracking from all of our hard work!" Pa snapped. "We've worked too hard to get here and are on the verge of becoming something greater, and you two wanna throw it all away for some beer and a worthless Negro!"

"Hephzibah is not worthless!" Stanford said. He could take the insults, he was used to them, but Hephzibah should never be insulted like that, even if she wasn't in the room. "She's intelligent, courageous, and beautiful."

Pa glared at his son behind his sunglasses. "Stanford Pines, all of your life I've tried to shape you up into the man I knew you could be and give you the best chance at a successful life. You have too much potential to settle for so little. Not only do you owe it to yourself, but you owe it to me and your family. It's because of your mother and I that you and your worthless disappointment of a twin even exist. We're so close to getting it all and making millions, so don't you think for one second that I'm gonna allow either of you to ruin this. You two aren't allowed to even see that Negro anymore, and if you know what's good for you, you'll obey me like your life depends on it, because it does. Am I clear?"

Stanford and Stanley were silent and still, the only sound being the crashing of the sea against the boat and the only movement being the breeze flowing the curtains thanks to the open windows. Neither of them had an argument. They knew this was the protocol from the beginning; the lesson that they owed Pa their lives had been shoved down their throats since they were children. There was no point arguing with Pa, so they both nodded solemnly and said at the same time, "Yes, sir."

Pa then stood up, rolled up his newspaper, and left, the room ten degrees colder now than when it was at the beginning of the meal.

Stanford didn't know what made him do it, but he looked for Hephzibah, again. He should be in the library and studying, he should be in his room and writing in his journal, he should be watching the sea or playing pool in the game room or even joining Stanley in the gym, but Pa's threats at breakfast only further drove Stanford to see Hephzibah again. He was hooked, and he couldn't just walk away.

He should. Moses knows Stanford should walk away and leave Hephzibah behind. Get off the Titanic when it docks and forget Hephzibah and Fiddleford and the fun he had and the talks he shared with Hephzibah and the dreams they exchanged and the way his heart pounded when she kissed him, but how can someone just forget something like that? There are just some things you can't walk away from, because there are some things that only happen once in your life. Hephzibah said to live each day like it's your last. Well, if the unsinkable ship does sink and they all die, Stanford wants to die knowing he lived his last day to the fullest. That mind set, and the unspoken challenge to disobey his father, sent Stanford out looking for Hephzibah.

Stanford checked the third-class section first, all but the living quarters, but he never saw her. He then checked the section in which all passengers were allowed. He even checked the library, but she wasn't there. He searched that large vessel all day for her, but didn't find her, even as the sun started to set into the afternoon. Stanford collapsed into a bench on the first-class section when he had wandered back. It seemed like having Stanley cover for him had been a wasted request. Stanford held his head in his polydactyl hands. Where the hell was Hephzibah?! His heart skipped a beat. Had Pa somehow…

"Lemme go!"

"Ma'am, please, you're not allowed here."

"I know, but I just need to see someone! It's important!"

"Ma'am, I have to see to it that you're back where you belong!"

"No, please, just lemme…"

Stanford looked up from the floor and down the dock. Just outside the gate that cut off the first-class passengers from the rest of the boat, Hephzibah was being held by the wrists by two crew members and a third was barking orders. Stanford jumped up and ran. "Hey! Let her go!" He yelled and joined them as they calmed down and stared at Stanford.

"Stanford…"

"Mr. Pines, I…"

"It's fine. She's with me." Stanford opened the gate and walked out of the first-class only section and motioned for Hephzibah to join her. "Let her go now."

The two men obeyed at the nod of the third and Hephzibah hurried with him. She was back in her dirty, puffy white shirt, brown pants, and black boots, her jacket and shawl missing for it was too warm in the Spring day to wear the extra clothing.

"Where the hell have you been?" Stanford hissed.

"Lookin' for ya, ya idiot." Hephzibah growled quietly. "We need to talk."

"I agree. Follow me."

Stanford walked quickly with Hephzibah behind him. They went back to the library and closed the double-doors behind them, then they went deeper into the library, all the way to the back wall, which was lined with books. When they were sure they were alone, Hephzibah spoke first.

"I saw Stan. He told me what your father said. Is it true?"

Stanford swallowed. This was certainly not what he expected to hear from her. He hesitated. "I… what did he tell you?"

"A lot, actually." Hephzibah said quietly. "Then again, I kinda milked him for all he's worth when he got to the details. Did your father really tell ya ya owe him?"

Stanford tried to stand his ground with a straight back. "Yes. It's true. He's said that to us since we were children. While he is wrong and I know I don't owe him anything…"

"Do ya?" Hephzibah dared to ask. "Do ya know that? Or has he brainwashed ya into thinkin' ya have no way out n' that's why I found ya danglin' off the edge of the Titanic?"

Stanford's heart threatened to stop. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Follow your own orders."

"Hephzibah," Stanford sighed in an exasperated tone. He ran a hand through his brown hair, making it even more fluffy and frizzy, and then he added, "Look, when you found me, I… a few minutes prior I was tempted to let go, but by the time you found me I had convinced myself not to. Being crushed against the Titanic or freezing is not an ideal way of dying. Not to mention the fact that I can't leave my family like that, especially Stanley."

"But what made ya even think 'bout it to begin with?" Hephzibah asked.

Stanford sighed again, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, and sat on a velvet couch that was hidden in the little corner of books the two were talking in. "It was… a combination of things. There is so much pressure on me, Hephzibah. It's suffocating. It constantly feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest. My family is depending on me to make it big, to make millions, and to continue to do things like this." He gestured a hand to the whole library, indicating this luxurious trip on the Titanic. "I… I started to crack under the pressure, but I managed to be stronger than all of the pressure and I talked myself out of it before you even showed up."

"I know what that's like." Hephzibah said quietly and sat next to Stanford, on his right side. "I was freed when I was eight-years-old. I still remember what it was like before. I know what it's like to be enslaved, to be without freedom. It's enough to kill, if ya let it."

"I'm not a slave."

"No, but you're still not free."

Stanford opened his mouth to retaliate, but Hephzibah had hit the nail right on the head. He held his head and allowed the silence to ligner, that is until Hephzibah broke it.

"Look, Stanford, I'm not an idiot, okay? I know how the world works. I know I shouldn't even be in the same room as ya. I was born a slave n' am only standin' here out of sheer luck. I have ten bucks in my pocket, no family, no redeemin' qualities that men usually look for in women when wife-huntin' like a nice piece of furniture, but…" Hephzibah was stumbling over her words. Stanford stared at her, completely shocked by what she was hinting at, but before he could ask for clarification, she resumed her monologue. "But I can't leave. I won't leave ya until I know you'll be okay. I care 'bout ya too much to leave. I can't even… I… I know you'll hate me, n' ya should, n' I know ya have no reason to want me 'round, but… but the fact is… I… I love ya too much to let ya go so easily, Stanford."

Stanford was floored. It was a miracle he hadn't fainted. He had hardly known her for two days, and now she… and now he had… "Hephzibah, I… you… I... My IQ is 125. I've passed exams that some college professors can only dream to achieve a D on. The best universities in the world are competing for my attendance as we speak for this upcoming fall. I know that I… I… if I keep this up, I could have anything anyone has ever wanted, but the truth is… I don't want it. Maybe I did or maybe I thought I did, but… but not anymore."

"Well, there's a simple question ya gotta ask yourself, Ford. What do ya want?" Hephzibah asked solemnly.

Stanford swallowed gingerly, worrisome of rejection, but apparently, so was she. The light-skinned young man took in a deep breath and answered the most important question he had ever been asked. "Above everything else, I know with the most certainly that you make me happier than any amount of money or any award or any recognition ever could. I know I shouldn't and I know I could have more, but I don't want more. I want you. Hephzibah Cece… I… I want to spend every day of my life loving you like it's my last day with you."

Now it was Hephzibah's turn to be nearly speechless. "Stanford…"

The man blushed. "It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

The woman smiled and slowly raised a hand to the side of his face. Stanford allowed Hephzibah to cup his cheek into her hand and she gently rubbed his skin with her thumb. "No. That's why I trust it. I love you, too, Stanford."

Stanford slowly put his hands on her waist, not having a clue what he was doing, but he must have been doing something right, because they both leaned forward and kissed.

This wasn't like their first last night, a quick peck on the lips in order to win a game. Hephzibah had done it all. This time, it was slow, gentle, and they were both part of the act. They overlapped their lips again and again, sweet and gentle but with powerful emotion behind each movement. They slowly pulled away and opened their eyes, still holding each other. They were afraid of the outcome, but they couldn't turn away. They just couldn't.

They heard footsteps and jumped away. Hephzibah laid on the couch and grabbed a nearby book, pretending to read, while Stanford stood by a shelf and pretended to browse. Running footsteps promised them that someone was looking for them, and sure enough, Fiddleford appeared and breathed in relief when he saw Hephzibah.

"Hephzie! We need ya in one of the bunkers!" Fiddleford yelled in a state of panic.

Hephzibah stood up. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mrs. Mary Walsh! She's in labor! She started havin' pains a little after lunch n' prayed it was nothin', but it's not!"

"Lead the way!"

Stanford followed Hephzibah and Fiddleford out of the library and down to the third-class bunkers. "You know how to deliver a baby?"

"I helped Grandma deliver babies all the time back on the slave-ran farm." Hephzibah explained as they hurried. "I've delivered dozens more on my travels. I wanted to be a doctor, but that was out of the question."

"Just down here." Fiddleford elaborated. "Everyone's in a state o' panic! Men are freakin' out n' the women are too busy helpin' their children calm down t'help Mrs. Walsh!"

"Alright, alright, we'll sort this out, Fidds." Hephzibah said and followed him down the hall for a lien of bedrooms.

Fiddleford opened the bedroom door for the three of them and they were greeted by a yell of pain from Mrs. Welsh. Her daughter was by her side and trembling, holding her mother's hand and trying not to cry. Mrs. Welsh was lying in bed and trying not to yell, but clearly she was going through a contraction and it was hard to contain her pain.

"Mrs. Welsh, I'm Hephzibah. We met a few days ago." She said and sat on the foot of the bed. "I'm gonna do everythang I can to help ya. I've done this before many times. You're gonna be just fine, I promise."

Mrs. Welsh swallowed as the contraction ended and nodded weakly. Her daughter kissed her hand.

"Leah, sweetheart, why don't ya go with Mr. McGucket. I bet ya two can play a fun game while ya wait for your little brother or sister to get here." Hephzibah suggested calmly.

Fiddleford smiled and took the girl's hand. "C'mon, Sweet Pea. Where's that ole top we found the other day?"

The two left the room and Hephzibah turned to Stanford. "Can ya get me a big bowl of water, soap or disinfectant, some towels or cloth, n' a pair of scissors or a knife?"

Stanford nodded, eager to help but he also didn't want to be in the room. "I'll be quick." He swore and left the room.

He bolted down the hall like a rocket, out of the third-class section, and into his own living quarters, which was more like a small apartment than a lavish suite. Short of breath but wasting no time, Stanford grabbed a stack of fluffy towels from the bathroom and also found a dish full of tiny hand soaps and a pair of scissors for haircuts. He pocketed the scissors and soaps in his trenchcoat. Stanford threw the towels in an armchair when the door opened and Stanley walked in, wearing boxing shorts and shoes, clearly having just left the gym.

"Whoa, what in Moses's name are you…"

"Stanley! There isn't much time! I need your help!" Stanford yelled as he rummaged through the cabinets for a bowl. He found more towels in a big, nice, wooden bowl, dumped the towels out and put them on the shelf, and ran with the bowl to the sink.

"Uh, sure." Stanley said with a shrug. "What's got your underwear in a knot?"

"Take this!" Stanford said and shoved the large bowl of water in his twin's hands. "We need to get down to the third-class living quarters quickly!"

"Uh, okay." After a lifetime with Stanford, Stanley had learned that sometimes it was best to just go with it.

The twins hurried back to the room Stanford had just left and found that two other women had joined Hephzibah and Mrs. Welsh. Clearly it was easier to be on board with helping if someone was around to take charge.

"Good, you're back." Hephzibah said and took the stack of towels. "Mrs. Taylor get some drinking water, n' Ms. Evans get plenty of warm blankets for the baby."

"The WHAT?!" Stanley gasped, finally realizing what he was in the midst of.

"Y'all need to go." Hephzibah said to the two men.

"No, Hephzibah," Stanford said firmly. "We can help! Just tell us what to do."

"I'll need more hands when the baby gets here, but for the sake of Mrs. Walsh's privacy n' your innocence, please wait outside."

"No problem!" Stanley yelled and ran out of the room.

Stanford rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. Stanley was sitting by the door, his eyes scrunched up closed and his hands over his ears like a child. Stanford laughed and sat next to him. "Stan, what are you going to do when you get married and your wife has a baby?"

"I'll be in the next room passing out cigars like every other man in the world." Stanley answered, opening his eyes and letting his hands drop. "Don't tell me you're going to be high and mighty and be in the room when your kids are born. Oh, wait, you're never having kids." He said mockingly. Stanford had always claimed that he would never have any children of his own.

Stanford shrugged. "Maybe I will."

The conversation was paused when Ms. Evans ran back with a stack of folded blankets in her hands and Stanford stood to open the door for her and close it behind her. When he sat back down, Stanley punched his shoulder.

"Well, look like someone's finally gonna make me an uncle!"

"What about Shermie?"

"That loser is never gonna get me a niece or nephew."

A loud scream came from the room and the men jumped. They didn't even realize until it already happened that they were hugging each other, but they were shaking too much and they were alone, so who cared? They held each other tightly as more screams came from the room.

Stanford breathed out deeply to try to steady his racing heart. "It's funny. Men are always portrayed as heroes for women, but when it really counts, we can't do anything."

Mrs. Taylor came back with a pitcher of clean water to drink and Stanley stood up to open the door for her. He accidently had a look inside the room, yelled, slammed the door, and sat back down next to Stanford and wrapped his arms by his knees, resting his forehead on his joints.

"Holy Moses, what was that baby doing to that poor woman?!" Stanley moaned.

Stanford rubbed his back and listened.

It seemed like a few minutes of silence came upon them. If Stanford really strained to listen, he could hear moaning and heavy breathing, and then nothing. Stanley even lifted his head and listened carefully. They heard nothing. Their hearts threatened to stop, silently praying to God to hear the blissful sound of…

They heard a small slapping sound and then a weak cry that grew stronger with every passing second. The men both sighed in relief once they heard that newborn wail and they smiled at each other. There was a new passenger on the Titanic.

Hephzibah opened the door and looked down at the twins. "Guys, you'll wanna see this."

Stanley and Stanford stood up and entered the room while Hephzibah got back to work. Mrs. Welsh laid on the bottom bunk, coated in sweat, but she was glowing with joy as she grinned at her baby, who was crying and being washed gently by Mrs. Taylor. Hephzibah then took the baby, who was a boy, and wrapped him in a towel to get dry and handed him to his mother. Mrs. Welsh kissed his forehead and cradled the baby boy in her arms while Mrs. Taylor took the bowl of bloody water out of the room and Ms. Evans was folding dirty towels and stacking them, but the men were blind to the blood, their eyes glued to the newborn baby.

Hephzibah smiled and said, "He's perfect. He's healthy n' a strong fellow. Leah's got a wonderful baby brother."

"A boy." Stanley breathed and held his head. "Sweet Lord, a boy…"

"Thank you very much, Ms. Cece, for your help." Mrs. Welsh said shakingly. "If there's anything…"

"No, ma'am," Hephzibah interrupted. "All life is precious n' worth protectin' n' helpin'. I just wanna know the fellow's name."

"Walter, after his father. Walter Welsh."

Hephzibah smiled at the sound of the handsome name and then turned to leave the mother alone with her baby and tell Leah and Fiddleford that the baby had been born and that the mother would be fine. Stanford and Stanley lingered for a moment, mesmerized by the scene before them. Stanford knew why Hephzibah wanted them to see this. It was a great reminder that life is precious, that every life should be lived to the fullest, and that all life should be protected and cared for in any way possible.

Stanford and Stanley had to make way for Fiddleford, Hephzibah, and little Leah when they arrived and the girl hopped to the side of the bed and awed at his baby brother.

Fiddleford smiled. "Sweet Sarsaparilla, he's beautiful, Mrs. Welsh."

"Thank you."

"C'mon, boys, let's leave 'em alone." Hephzibah said and led the men out of the room.

Once they were out in the hall Fiddleford sighed with relief and thanked Hephzibah a million times for taking care of the situation. She waved the gratitude away and claimed that she was happy to help. When he knew he was no longer needed, still in his boxing shorts and having no shirt on as the Arctic atmosphere got cold as the sun went down, Stanley went back to his living quarters for a bath and Fiddleford needed a drink. Hephzibah and Stanford, however, walked around the boat and talked some more.

They eventually sat on a bench in the second-class area of the Titanic, watching the sun set, and Hephzibah shared her dream to be a doctor and help women deliver babies safely. "If I'm bein' honest, though, I'm happy to travel the world n' see n' do more."

"You've been everywhere." Stanford admired. "Where else do you plan to go?"

"I'd love to see America, travel the whole country. Really, any place new I'd love to see it." Hephzibah sighed happily, at peace with the idea of a life of adventure, and she asked as she leaned on her hand, her arm resting on the back of the bench. "So, Ford, what're your plans?"

Stanford shrugged. "My plan was to go to a university and make my own discoveries that would put me in the ranks of Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin, but now… I don't think I want that."

"Well, what do ya want?"

Stanford looked out to the sea, watching the sun sink into the ocean like a fallen toy. "I love boats. I love sailing."

Hephzibah smiled and chuckled a little, amused but encouraging of his passion. "Really?"

Stanford nodded with a soft smile. "When we were children, Stanley and I dreamed of sailing around the world, hunting for treasure and being an unstoppable team or adventurers. Discovering new lands and new creatures, waking up to a salt air and a soft breeze, feeling the sun every day… that dream started to die when Pa enrolled me in the classes and started to put myself out there, but I think I still want that. I want to see the world, using the ocean as my road, and be as free as the wind that pulls my sails."

"That sounds amazin'." Hephzibah said, as soft as silk, but then snickered. "Though, ya don't seem like the sailor type to me."

Stanford was used to this kind of teasing, growing up with Stanley. He smiled and decided to let Hephzibah shoot him. "How so?"

"For one you're too much of a girl."

"Excuse me?!" Stanford gasped mockingly and put a hand over his heart.

"Oh, c'mon, you're tellin' me you'd be willin' to swear like a sailor?"

"Fucking right, miss."

Hephzibah snorted a quick laugh and sat up on the bench, covering her mouth to muffle her noise. Stanford also laughed and allowed Hephzibah to proceed. "How 'bout smoke tobacco like a sailor?"

"I don't care for tobacco."

"Or spit like a sailor?"

"Now that I can do exceedingly well." Stanford said proudly.

"Show me." Hephzibah challenged.

Stanford grinned, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to the rail of the ship. Hephzibah and Stanford both held the white rail and looked out to the setting sun. Stanford pulled back, cleared his throat, and then pulled forward and spat into the ocean.

"That was pitiful." Hephzibah laughed, and spat into the ocean, a little farther than Stanford.

He laughed and said, "I was being a gentleman and going easy on a lady."

"What, you're sayin' ya can spit farther?"

Stanford leaned back, holding the rail, cleared his throat and built saliva in his mouth, then pulled forward and spat much farther than the previous spit-takes. Hephzibah spat, but didn't make it as far as Stanford. She growled and tried again, but was smiling too much to do an accurate spit.

Stanford laughed, holding his ribs for a moment, and then decided to give her a hand on how to spit like a sailor. "Here, first get some leverage to it, use your arms, and arc your neck, then launch!" And he demonstrated.

Hephzibah followed Stanford's advice and managed to spit farther than him. They competed playfully like children to see who could spit the farthest into the orange and pink sea. In between spits, they laughed and smiled. At one point, Hephzibah overlapped Stanford's left hand with her right, their hands still on the white railing, and all Stanford found he could do was smile. They looked at each other, smiling, and it looked like they might kiss again, but Stanford's eyes caught something ahead: a familiar pair of sunglasses and a fedora.

"Shit." Stanford hissed and let go of Hephzibah and backed away from her. "Pa."