Margaret gasped and pulled at the wet railing of the listing Diamond, feet slipping on the bow. She cried out for John, but could not see him, and the ship lurched dangerously again, soaking her skirts and causing her to scream, desperate for John. No one else was there; or at least she did not notice them for her terror. Desperate, she grappled her way along the side of the tilted vessel calling for John as she went. Her stomach hurt terribly, and she tripped over an overturned lawn chair, sliding and scraping her palms on the deck.
Waves crashed mercilessly upon her, and she felt her eyes stinging with sea water. She began to lose her grip, and screamed one last time for John as she tumbled into the black water, eyes wide with terror.
She awoke, bathed in sweat, in John's arms. His eyes were worried, and he was holding a cold cloth to her forehead.
"Maggie. Thank goodness. You had a bad dream."
Margaret barely heard him, shaking violently, focused on his handsome face. She forced herself to breathe, to recapture herself, but her eyes still felt raw and when she reached up to touch them she found they were damp from crying, though she did not recall ever doing so.
To console herself, and save her sanity, she took the cloth from her forehead, put it on the night stand, and smiled weakly.
"Thank you, John," she said stiffly, "I think I will be alright now."
"Are you sure?" John replied, concern in his eyes and the way his mouth curved in a sceptical frown, "You aren't sick, darling?"
"No, no," Margaret scoffed, all bravado,"I suppose I am just nervous about going home. I did not much like such a long journey."
John's face relaxed, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I did not much fancy it either, Maggie. What happened in your dream?"
"I..." Margaret wasn't sure how to proceed. Her husband did not seem a superstitious man, but she did not wish to worry him. "The ship, it was called the Diamond, I think—hit some rocks. Its absurd, of course. Just a little nonsense."
"Yes, indeed," John replied, "Especially since we are going home on the Kismet with a straight route. There will be no rocks like on the coastline." Margaret knew that John did not understand what he was saying, but appreciated his attempt to comfort her.
"Quite right," Margaret had stopped shaking, "and anyways, its time to leave!"
John looked as if he had only noticed the clock in the corner of the room, chiming to alert them that it was six in the morning, the time when they had to drag themselves out of bed and prepare for the day, and their voyage.
With little kisses they stood, dressed, and after a rushed breakfast, found themselves at the pier, the dream all but forgotten. Fred and Dolores gave them a box of food for the journey, as well as a small mounted photograph of them as a family, the day they went to the beach. Fred shook John's hand and Dolores burst into tears as she handed Margaret a small package wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief with the orders not to open it until she was safely home.
Margaret thanked her, and handed the little Spanish woman her own gift. It was a bonnet she had found as they were shopping in town, and Dolores had admired it, but not bought it, for account of wishing to spend the money on the baby. Dolores cried out in delight when she saw it, and gave her sister in law another delicate embrace.
Margaret turned to Fred when she and Dolores broke apart, and saw that his eyes were dry, but barely. He embraced his sister with the warmth he had when he had come to see their mother, and he kissed her hair.
"Safe travels," he murmured into her curls, letting her go when John tapped her on the shoulder, reminding her that he must board. Margaret would not allow herself to be annoyed, and with one last kiss to her brother and his wife, she followed her husband onto the Kismet, and to their cabin.
Margaret saw Fred and Dolores leave the docks, and turned back to John, taking a seat on their bed. They waited for the great beast to leave port, but when after an hour nothing happened, John swung out of the room to check on their status. He came back in a couple of minutes later, and began to pick up their things, slightly annoyed expression on his face.
"They are transferring us," he said by way of explanation, "Something about the engines."
"We'll still leave today?" Margaret asked, worried.
"Oh sure," John paused and smiled, "our accommodations are not as nice, and the ship is older, but they said the Diamond is as good a ship as any, and can take us today." A shiver ran up Margaret's spine when he mentioned the new vessel, but, her dream forgotten, did not understand why.
She followed John back outside, and with much wrestling in the crowds, figuring out where their trunks had gone, and finally, boarding the new boat, they were settled into their smaller, darker cabin and John stretched out on the bed, hands behind his back.
"We should go out and see everything," Margaret commented, squinting through the tiny porthole.
"When we are out to sea the corridors will be more open," John replied, not even opening his eyes. "For the time, come here, woman. I haven't had a proper minute alone with you since our honeymoon." Margaret turned sharply, and saw that John wore a wolfish grin.
Loath to deny him, she went to his side and curled up beside him, closing her own eyes against his strong warmth. He peppered her hands and arms with kisses, and soon the ship, and the exploration thereof, was thoroughly forgotten.
She awoke to the sensation of rocking, and felt herself side off the bed. Grappling madly, she pulled at their sheets, and John awoke with a start, catching her arm as she slipped onto the floor.
"Oh!" Margaret huffed, the cabin still as calm as a dervish. John leaned over and pulled her back into bed as yet another wave roared mercilessly against the thin metal of the hull.
"Margaret! Are you alright?" John's voice was hoarse as he spoke up against the noise, "What's going on?"
Margaret could not reply so she shook her head in response and attempted, on wobbly legs, to stand.
"Stay here," John said, sitting up on his knees, and retrieving his coat. He laced up his shoes with rushed fingers, and was soon gone, leaving Margaret to stare after him, a bruise blooming on her bottom from where she had fallen.
She herself slipped on her dressing gown, her slippers, and hastily pinned up her hair, ready to flee. She stuffed a carpet bag full of her and John's belongings, and peered out the tiny porthole, where beyond the sea was black and the waves rolled white and vicious against the window.
Feeling sick, she remembered her dream with a jolt, and, with one hand braced against the wall, used the other to clutch her stomach. She was about to go out and search for her husband, but with a bang the door opened again and John reentered, looking considerably less concerned. When he noticed Margaret's white face and the bag at her feet, his face softened.
"We're just into a storm, Maggie," he explained, "the captain has assured me, there is nothing to worry about." Margaret nodded shakily, forcing herself to quell the nausea that had begun to rise in her stomach. "Here, come with me to the upper deck. You might feel better in the dining room." He offered his hand, and she took it, following him out of of their cabin and out into the hall, where other couples and people had begun to leave their own quarters in various states of undress.
Numbly, she went with John, and they climbed the stairs with unsteady feet. Once above decks, they were seated in the dining room where the chairs and tables were bolted to the floor. The patrons there looked cheery enough, and a server came around with bowls of mashed potatoes and chicken.
Margaret waved off her portion, and John only picked at his.
"Where do you think we are?" she asked, bracing herself against the chair as another wave rocked her sideways.
"I can't be sure," John replied, "but we must be off the coast of France."
"Oh," Margaret replied, "do you think we will be forced to make landfall if this continues?"
"I hope not," John replied, glancing out the thick windows to the sea, "the sooner we are home, the better."
"Oh, I forgot," Margaret said, surprised her husband hadn't shown any further signs of sea sickness, "how do you feel?"
"Like rubbish," John grinned back, and Margaret noticed the fatigue around his eyes and mouth. He looked exhausted, and his skin had a slightly green appearance.
"You didn't sleep?" Margaret asked.
"Oh no," John replied ruefully, "you fell asleep and I stared at the ceiling hoping the rocking wouldn't get worse. It did when you fell off the bed, and then I went to see what was wrong. The walking helped though," he pressed her hand over the table.
"You must stay with me," Margaret very nearly begged, her premonition coming back to her in a rush.
"I will," John replied, frowning to see the fear in his young wife's eyes, "this will all right itself, you know."
There was a loud crashing, and the windows on the port side were blown inwards, showering the occupants with briny sea water and razor-like glass. John pulled Margaret under the table, and they huddled together in the semi-darkness.
Someone called, and suddenly Margaret was being ripped away from John. She tried to struggle, but could only thrash against her captor as she was drug to the lifeboats, the sound of "women and children first" ringing in her ears.
"John!" she screamed, "John!"
She could not see him, and her stomach dropped to her toes, fear making her eyes large and her breathing laboured. "John!" she tried again.
This time she heard him through the fog of noises and people.
"Margaret! I love you!" He called back against the din, "Its alright! I'll meet you in Dover!"
The lifeboat descended into the murky blackness, and she could no longer hear her beloved, though she searched frantically for him on the listing Diamond.
"Dover!" she screamed, one last time, for the hope that he would hear. If she had to wait years there she would. She would see him return. Or die waiting.
AN: sorry for the incredibly long delay... yarp, I'm evil. R&R to determine John's fate, its in YOUR hands (Muahahaha!)