A/N- As I (attempt) to write this I am watching the beautiful Mr Ioan Gruffudd in Amazing Grace saving the world. Abolishing the Slave Trade and making the world a better place. SQUEES I LOVE THIS FILM!! Sorry got a tad bit hyper there, anyways! I am going to try to write this and not get totally distracted by the movie...
So lets try to get through this! Hopefully the stars will meet in this chapter...I'm gonna try for that!
XX
Chapter 3
"Well, gentlemen, join me for a brandy?"
Harlean looked up from her empty plate to Bruce Ismay who was standing up now, looking to the other men at the table.
With the exception of her uncle and Thomas Andrews, the few men at their table stood up.
"Thank you ladies, a very good night to you all," Bruce said with a creepy smile on his face.
A shiver went down Harlean's spine as he eyed her, she turned her head away sharply and looked to her Uncle.
"Good night men, I am going to escort my niece to her room and I will be off to bed. Enjoy what's left of your evening," the Captain said as he stood up and held his arm out for Harlean's.
Harlean rose from her seat and took his arm, "Good night and thank you as well for your company," she lied to everyone at the table.
The truth about Harlean Carpenter was the first class was not her scene. She would rather pour over maps and blue prints of ships. Anything to do with the water, she would rather be there.
Everyone else that was at the table politely wished each other a good night and then Harlean left with her Uncle.
"Well, Harlean, my dear, I will see you in the morning when it is time for breakfast," her uncle said a few moments later once they were inside her suite.
"Alright Uncle, thank you for your company tonight," she said politely.
He kissed his young niece on the forehead, then after bowing he left the room.
"Holly?" Harlean called out a moment later.
The young maid came rushing in, "Yes, miss?" she asked.
"I require assitance," Harlean said with a giggle as she pointed to her hair and dress.
"Oh, yes, miss, of course. Just come right into the bedroom," Holly replied as she held her arm out towards the bedroom.
Harlean smiled and walked into the room. They quickly undid her hair, letting it fall softly onto her shoulders and then they got her out of her dress and corset, then putting her night gown over her head.
Harlean crawled into bed with her book and smiled as Holly began to put her clothes away.
"Did you have a good evening miss?"
"Yes, I did, except for when I met Mr. Ismay. He was the rudest man that I have ever met. Uncle was talking and then the man interupted him! Then he started to overreact to a spot that was on the White Star Line logo on his plate. I felt so bad for the poor waiter who had to face the wrath of that man. The fellow was terrified!" Harlean explained.
Holly tsked in disaproval, "Of course it is not my place to say but that is a shame. You would think that his parents had taught him better. Did he make a scene?" she asked with intrest.
"Oh, yes, everyone in the dining hall was staring at him. It was quite a fiasco, then Mr. Andrews, the ship builder, had to calm the man down!"
"Well, at least Mr. Andrews was there to stop it. Who knows what could of ensued if someone had not been there to stop him."
"Oh I think Uncle might have tried," Harlean said as she replayed the evenings events in her mind.
"Well, that is just what I think, but I am sure that your uncle would of gotten the man to calm down," Holly paused then looked around at the spotless room.
"Well, I will be in the other room, if you need me just call. Good night miss," she said a moment later.
"Good night Holly," Harlean replied as her mind then began to race through possible adventures she could go on after breakfast in the morning. But then again, the first thing she needed to do was write a note to her mother and have it taken up to the messenger room.
She turned the lamp off, set her book down and closed her eyes, allowing sleep to take over.
XX
"Alright, that's it!" Jack threw his hands up in the air, completely fed up with his younger co-worker.
He turned to the desk, not having to walk to it as a result of the room's miniscule size, opening up the top drawer, beginning to rummage through it, throwing various office items across his shoulder. Chalk. He had a plan and he knew it would make his situation better and in turn, his personality would be much brighter. He had to make it through the voyage in one piece, and one piece of chalk would provide him with this type of sanity.
"What the hell are you doing?" Harold asked.
"I am," Jack stopped.
He slammed the top drawer, now almost completely empty and the desk's content cluttered on the wooden floor, and went for the middle, forgetting in his haste to treat the equipment kindly and any damage would be deducted from his salary. He carried on, hoping there was indeed chalk in the room, although at that moment he was so fed-up he would steal some if he had to.
"Looking for something!" he answered, finishing his statement and slamming the drawer with more force than with the first.
Kneeling down, he pulled out the third drawer and proceeded to yet again throw everything out of it until he saw it. The chalk. There it was, a small box of chalk, laying there at the bottom, a-midst a pile of other junk he'd surely never use. Pushing the other thingamabobs aside, he pulled out the box, quickly took out a piece and threw the box back into the drawer, kicking it shut.
"I was looking for this." Jack held up the chalk as if it was the Holy Grail and Harold merely raised an eyebrow.
"Chalk?" he asked, skeptic, "You tore the room apart for chalk?"
"Not just any chalk," Jack explained, "The chalk of freedom," He hesitated. "And the chalk of sanity."
Harold, unconvinced, placed his hands on his hips, "What're you going to do, eat the chalk?" he asked.
Jack merely shook his head, going towards the edge of the room, opposite the doorway.
Kneeling down, he began to draw a line, a line he continued to the doorway, a line that split the room up.
"This is my side," Jack said simply, pointing to the ground around him before standing up to his full height. "And that," He gestured to the other side, where Harold stood. "That's your side."
"Wh-what?"
"I'm splitting the room up," Jack answered, stuffing the piece of chalk in his front pocket for future use, "For sanity's sake."
"But, but," he stammered, shaking a finger at the Marconi equipment, "Your side is larger than mine and, how in the hell am I supposed to get to the equipment for my shift? It's on your side!"
"When you're on shift, we change sides. It's quite simple, actually."
"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Harold exclaimed, "and I'm not doing this."
"Oh, yes, you are! I can't take dealing with you for this entire voyage! Friends or not, I can't, I'll kill myself!"
"I'll help you," Harold offered, "where's the rope?"
"This is the plan," Jack stated, "and if you don't like it, well that's just too bad."
"I don't have to take this shit from you!"
Never a fighter, Harold didn't know what else to say and didn't want to get into a fist-fight with his friend. He sighed heavily, weighing what he could do and he had no other ideas in mind as to how to resolve this conflict.
"Jack, understand, I--"
"I'm not going to pull my hair out because of being in such close quarters with you!" Jack cried.
This was statement, not fact.
"Give me that chalk," Harold commanded, holding out his hand for the piece, "I'm going to have some say in this!"
When Jack merely shook his head, holding his ground, Harold went for him, managing to pull the piece out of his co-worker's pocket with a slight jerk. Jack, not about to go down as a result of a younger man, no matter the slight age difference.
The chalk fell to the floor and as both of them went to reach for it, the chalk having fallen right on the newly-drawn floor divider, the door swung open, slamming both operators in the head, quick roughly, in fact, knocking them down with quite a loud bang in the process.
"My head," Jack groaned, rubbing his forehead.
He glanced up at Harold, also rubbing his frontal lobe, looking to be in quite a state of pain.
Concerned, and the battle of the wits practically forgotten, he asked, "Are you alright?"
"Besides seeing stars?"
Jack nodded.
"I think so,You?"
"Yes."
"Oh, my, did I come at a bad time?"
An unfamiliar voice echoed in the small cabin and both operators looked up, and were able to make out somewhat of a human figure.
Because of the bump, everything was still oddly blurry and the lights around them seemed to be only a source of eye pain.
"No, no," Jack said, shaking his head, pulling himself on his feet.
He was a tad woozy, but grabbing the doorframe, remained steady and held out his hand for Harold.
Unsure, Harold hesitated.
"Go on," he urged, "Take it, I'm not going to knock you out."
Harold, unconvinced but wanting to get off the ground, took his friend's hand and with his aid, managed to stand. Glancing down at the floor, what was the amusing part of all of this, at least in Harold's mind, was the fact that even with the collision with the door, they had both managed to stay on their own respectable sides! He forced a chuckle to himself.
"Is there anything we can help you with?" Harold asked the figure he still couldn't make out. He blinked his eyes repeatedly, shaking his head, before the figure was able to be seen without too much difficulty.
"I hope so," the figured said, alarmed.
When she spoke, Harold was finally able to see who had knocked both of them over and his jaw practically dropped. Standing in the doorway of their cabin, was a lovely young woman, with red hair tucked neatly under a rather large hat for such a small cabin.
"Oh, I hope I didn't hurt either of you. I do apologize."
Harold smiled and Jack, raising a curious eyebrow at his co-worker, shook his head, "Nothing a brandy can't fix," Jack said, with a small laugh.
She smiled, "Well, if there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask. But," She pulled out a folded piece of paper from a clutch hanging from her wrist, "I did have a telegram I wanted to have sent out."
Harold and Jack hid their groans. It was only day two of the voyage, as they both counted down the hours when they would dock in New York and be away from both the ship and one another, and already, the machine was being overused and overheated for frivolous messages from the rich to the richer in America.
"To my mother. You see, I promised her I'd write and she'll be angry if I don't before we reach New York," the girl explained.
"Of course, we'll send it out right away," Harold said, trying to be kind as the red head handed him the piece of paper.
He hesitated, suddenly realizing his predicament. Having them both gained their vision and balance back, the line had to be crossed for Harold to send out the telegram and Jack would have none of it. It wasn't even his shift, but...He glanced at the young girl still smiling in the doorway and was torn. If he had thought Jack would let him submit the message, even when not on shift, he obviously knew differently from the look on his partner's face.
Blow to the head aside, Jack Phillips was intent on keeping the room divided and since it was his shift, he planned on ripping that telegram out of Harold's hands and being the good fellow in the room.
The battle of the wits, round two, had just begun and neither of them were in the lead. It didn't matter to Jack who the person with the telegram was; in his mind, it was a telegram and it was a telegram he would send out even if it killed him.
Whilst Harold wanted to merely impress the girl with his vast knowledge in all things concerning this form of communication, he now knew his dreams of that were shattered, and stepped on, by the man with the piece of chalk.
"Here, friend"Jack muttered between clenched teeth, "Let me."
"But, the coffee," Harold lied, gesturing to the door. "I can do this, I don't mind. It's great practice, after all."
"Yes, but it's my shift."
"Yes, that's true, but you need--" Jack reached for the telegram and managed to catch a piece of the paper, while Harold still held on.
And they proceeded to begin a tug of war, with the girl watching.
In shock, she gestured behind her nervously, knowing that in times like these it was better to flee than battle, "If there's a better time, I can come back," she said.
"No, no," Harold argued, "stay."
"Let me just get the--I'll send it out and you can go," Jack told her, not letting loose of his grip.
With one final tug, the telegram shredded into two and their guest was left jaw agape.
Quickly gaining back control of her mouth, she shook her head.
"Well, I suppose I can write another one," With that, she turned, knowing a telegram tomorrow from her would make her mother happy and they'd still be in transit to the United States.
"No."
She turned back to the operators to see Harold shaking his head.
He smiled, embarrassed, snatching the ripped half of the telegram from Jack before unfolding it.
"We can piece it back together and get it sent out."
He attempted to piece it together, but between the girl's script handwriting, which was very difficult to read and the ink pen she used that had not dried before she had tucked into her bag, made it all seem like gibberish to Harold.
"Well," He held up the connected pieces to Jack. "Can you make this out?"
He shook his head.
"I can re-write it," she offered, "Do you have a pen?"
"Can you read it?" Harold suddenly asked, showing the dripping ink mess to the writer.
She stared at it, confused, before shaking her head. "Oh, I didn't let the ink dry! I always forget about that! I do not write much with ink pen's, but my mother requests that I start." She sighed,
"Well, then. I'll write a new copy, and let this one dry, and I'll have it back to you before the day's over. How's that?"
"You could always dictate," Harold suggested, "Jack or I could," He gestured to the equipment,
"We could manage and get it sent out. Right now."
"That is, unless you're supposed to be somewhere," Jack added, picking up the piece of chalk from the floor, sticking it into his front jacket pocket, where it belonged.
"No," she answered, "I suppose that'll be alright.
Jack smiled. "Wonderful, follow me." They walked maybe two feet from the doorway to the operator's table, Harold wanted to say something, but still stuck on his side, thinking it better to keep his mouth shut and continue his argument with Jack once the young woman left them.
He decided to watch the spectacle, and see if Jack lost his patience, which he always seemed to do when it concerned the two of them. More than not, he wanted to watch the girl, intrigued with her, wanting to know why she chose the hat she wore compared to the dozens he was sure she was able to buy, and why she was wearing elbow-length tan gloves rather than the white gloves he had seen other passengers of the same age sporting on the Southampton docks. In the midst of Harold's wondering, Jack sat down in front of the equipment, placing his earphones around his neck and on one ear, with the other fully alert to hear what the young woman had to say.
"Ready?" he asked, turning the machine on with a flick of a switch.
"Well, no."
"Please, write down the address you want this sent to."
Jack, after his kind request, took a piece of scrap paper and a rather small pencil and sliding towards her. She quickly scribbled down an address, sliding it back to Jack, who began to make the necessary arrangements. "Is that right?"
Jack nodded.
"Alright, well, I need the letter." She glanced over her shoulder at Harold, still behind enemy lines, shredded note in hand.
"Here," Harold, although he didn't want to hear about this later, took the first step over the chalk line towards them and handed the woman the ripped letter. "We apologize for that," he noted aloud.
"Of course," She pieced it together and began to slowly read from it, "Dearest Mother."
Jack began to tap away.
"Sailing has been fine."
"STOP," Jack interceded.
"Excuse me?"
"Just for myself," Jack answered, "Keep going."
"I said the sailing bit, didn't I?"
Both men nodded.
"Uncle is grand, he knows exactly what to do with such a large ship. "Um," She cocked her head at the letter, squinting to read the rest of the note. "He really is going to miss the excitement of ships."
Harold, intrigued, raised an eyebrow, grabbing a cup of his coffee to take a quick sip, practically lethargic from the small shouting he had done.
"Is your Uncle an officer?" he asked, trying to be nicer than Jack, as if vying for this girl's affections was a competition. If it was, Jack wasn't aware in the least.
"Oh no. He's the Captain."
Harold choked down his coffee and tensed,"Really?"
She nodded.
"Can we continue, please?" Jack asked, annoyed.
"Oh yes. Will be in New York soon. Having a grand time. Harlean."
Harlean's smile dropped, but she placed it back at once. "Of course, forgive me I do not want to keep you from your work. Thank you again for sending out my message!" She said happily before taking her leave out of the room.
Harold watched out the door as she wandered up the deck, and soon he could just faintly make out her large hat, among all of the other women's hats.
He then brought his head back in the room and looked at Jack.
"You know... you were slightly rude to her." he said.
"I was not," Jack snapped.
"Yes, you were!" Harold cried.
"Well, she was aggravating me!" Jack shouted.
"Did you not hear who she said her Uncle is?!"
"Some officer?" Jack guessed.
"Not just some officer! The highest ranking officer on this entire ship! Captain Edward Smith!"
"He does not have a niece! Even if he did, why would she be on the ship?"
"You don't know if he has a niece or not!"
"Well, you don't know if he has one or not either!" Harold shouted.
"Oh, just shut up!"
"If I lose this job I will never forgive you," Harold muttered.
"You are not going to lose your job, because that girl is a nut case and more than likely not related to the Captain!"
Round Three had just begun, and Harold had no idea why but he felt the need to defend the beautiful girl that had just left their presence.
He reached out to try to punch Jack squarely in the nose but Jack moved and instead Harold's hand hit the desk, but thankfully missing any of the impertive machines. Jack went for Harold and pulled him into a choke hold.
It was then that a man walked by the door quickly but then slowly came back, he looked in the room at the two. Jack and Harold had stopped moving, but Jack's hand was still wrapped tightly around Harold's neck.
"Oh...hello, Mr. Andrews," Jack said cheerfully.
Harold managed a wave, even though he was slowly loosing air in his lungs.
"Do I even want to know?" the Shipbuilder asked.
Harold shook his head and so did Jack.
"Nope," Jack replied.
"Do you realize your friend is sort of...well choking?" Thomas inquired.
Jack looked down at his friend then back to Thomas, "Yes... yes I do," he replied.
"Very well," Mr. Andrews then continued on to walk.
Jack then dropped Harold who fell to the floor, gasping in air.
Both men looked at each other for a moment and then began to laugh. Jack reached down and helped his friend to stand up.
"Hey, let's not fight anymore, I still can't feel my neck," Harold said slowly with a smirk.
Jack smiled back, "Deal."
XX
A/N- Okay the ending was a bit off...I had something more and I don't think that last bit was just what Gina and I had discussed...oh well. I tried my best I finally got this chapter done...sorry for taking long. Gina wrote the entire fight scene, so kudos to her. Much love to ya darling dear. Yea and our stars have now met, I've just gotta work on them getting to know each other some more...so yea...Much love.
Please review, because reviewslove.. 3 And remember love to my beta, Kel Bell