Chapter 1
Tommy
Belfast
January, 1912

Tommy had to move carefully amidst the cobblestone streets, cursing his flimsy shoes as they were sloshed with water. There had been hardly any snow since Christmas, only ice storms with freezing rain. The last time it had sleeted like this he had nearly stumbled into the street and had cut his hand. Remembering, he flinched and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. They were the one part of him he had to protect at all costs.

He normally wouldn't risk the trek to the local pub in this dangerous weather, but it had been one hell of a week and he needed a few pints to help diminish the pain of the aching muscles in his arms. Besides, the pub sat along the port and he was eager to get a glimpse of the progress of the new liner that was being constructed by The White Star Line.

As it was a Saturday evening, the pub was bustling nearly to capacity despite the dreary weather outside. It was mostly young men like himself, weary from a long day of work, but there was always a pretty lass among the riffraff he could whistle at, including the servers. He managed to grab a glass and a bottle of gin and squeeze himself into a table by one of the large windows overlooking the waterway. Belfast was in the heart of winter and it had been dark for hours already, but he was able to make out the outline of a mighty ship against the dark water.

"Back again, eh?"

He looked up to see one of the server girls standing at his table, her hair messy and head tilted to the side. There were plenty of other lasses in the pub who were far prettier than she, but that didn't bother Tommy just as long as she was willing to flirt.

"Aye," he said, draining his glass and immediately pouring himself another. She raised her eyebrow at him, her freckles on her forehead seemingly dancing from the movement. He winked and grabbed her apron, pulling her closer. She playfully smacked his hand away before blushing and taking out a pen and a small notepad.

"What'll it be for ya, you cheeky devil?" she asked, biting the edge of the pen. "We've got a good lamb stew and the cook just finished some bacon and cabbage."

"The stew," he replied, taking another gulp of gin. "And you better be the one to bring it to my table."

"Who else would it be?" she replied, rolling her eyes. "No one else but me here on a Saturday night." As she walked away, Tommy chuckled, enjoying the warmth that was spreading through his body thanks to the gin. As he poured himself a third glass, he caught the eye of a group of men sitting at the adjacent table. They were looking at him carefully and he raised his glass, smirking at their stoic expressions.

"I've seen ye here before," one of the men said to him. He must have been the oldest in the group, with his beard sprinkled with gray. The man downed his own glass, looking over it at Tommy. "You're a carpenter, ain't ye? I've seen ye at the port by that monstrosity liner the English dumped on us."

Tommy looked back out the window at the great ship. "Barely. I only make cabinets."

"A fine skill," the man replied, nodding his approval. The other men grunted in agreement. "We work in the shipyard."

Tommy suddenly turned back to them, his eyes sparkling. "Are you working with The White Star Line?"

The men all nodded together. "We've been contracted, if that's what ye mean, to help build that vessel outside yer window," another man said. "Nothing but work for The White Star Line since the end of the summer."

"How much longer until the Titanic's completed?" Tommy asked, leaning so far forward in his seat that his chair nearly toppled beneath him. The men beckoned him to join their table and he happily obliged.

"I knew ye'd been here before," the older man said. "Ye're always at that window, staring at that ship like it was yours."

Tommy couldn't help but feel his ears begin to burn. It was true, he came to this pub almost every Friday and Saturday night to see how the mighty ship was getting on. The cabinets he'd made in the shop with his own hands had been contracted to be installed in this ship that was deemed to be a floating castle in the Atlantic. He had fantasized about how many of them would be used by some of the most famous and richest people in the world.

"No shame in curiosity," the man said, slapping Tommy on the back and nearly causing him to spill his drink.

"Ye're stew's ready."

The table of men turned to see the red-headed server from earlier, clumsily placing a steaming bowl and a hunk of bread in front of Tommy. "Will there be anything else?" she asked, eyeing Tommy up and down. He had to hold back a laugh seeing how the others were looking at them with jealousy. He knew he wasn't bad looking. He purposefully grew out his curly, strawberry blonde hair and knew that the muscles in his arms gave him more benefits than just cabinetry. It had taken less interaction than this to bed an Irish lass.

"We'll see," he answered with a wink. "If just to see your pretty face again."

The girl smacked him with a rag she'd hung over her shoulder, causing the surrounding men to erupt in laughter and wolf whistles. From the smile she wore as she walked away, Tommy could tell he hadn't really offended her. In fact, he might actually want to see her again. Maybe during closing hours…

"Ye're from Dublin, ain't ye?" another man at the table said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "What're ye doin' this far north? Ain't ye all too busy fightin' for yer independence from the King?"

Tommy immediately stiffened. He absentmindedly reached for the pocket watch tucked inside his vest's pocket, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingertips, calming him. The man with the cigarette was watching him carefully while another spit on the floor.

"Who do these Dubliners think they are?" he growled. "Trying to turn our motherland into another America."

Some of the men at the table waved his comment away. "You don't want a free Ireland?" the eldest man said, worry lines creasing his already wrinkled forehead.

"All they manage to do is blow one another up," the other man said, crossing his arms. "Let them all kill each other and leave the rest of us alone."

Tommy's fist was clenched so tightly around his glass that he was afraid he might break it. He downed his glass of gin before devouring his stew, praying they would leave him alone and drop the topic. The older man seemed to sense the tension around him, for he turned to Tommy once more and said, "Are ye plannin' on being on that ship?"

Tommy wiped his mouth with his sleeve before gazing longingly out the window. "If I do, I'll be a passenger."

"See? Another one off to America. Soon there will be no Irishmen left to rebel, leaving this place to the English!"

A heated argument broke out at the table and Tommy gladly took his food and gin back to his original table by the window, grateful to eat in peace. He clutched at his pocket watch once more, its presence reassuring.

He had finished the entire bottle of gin by the time the pub had cleared out and the owner began stacking chairs on top of tables.

"Not too drunk to walk home, I hope?"

Tommy tore his eyes from the great ship outside to see the red-headed server again, dressed in her coat and gloves. He brushed her aside, but when he stood he stumbled into her arms, moaning.

"There you are," she said, supporting him with one of her arms. "Alright lad, where do you live?"

"Just down the street," he said, the words only slightly slurred. He was doing his best to keep his composure.

"You'll never make it in this state with the weather outside," she said, hiding a laugh as he attempted to put on his hat. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

"Did he pay?" the owner asked as they made their way to the front entrance.

"I've got this one," she said, dropping a handful of coins into the owner's hands. "Night, Charlie."

"Night, Cara."

"You didn't have to do that," Tommy grunted as they made their way outside. As his boots made contact with the slippery pavement, he lost his footing, nearly taking the girl down with him.

"It's not trouble," she said, steadying him. "I saw the way those men were treating you. There's no shame in being from the south."

Tommy didn't respond, merely gritting his teeth.

"Me mum's from Dublin," she said as they made their way down the street at an agonizingly slow pace. "I's have many happy memories from spending me school holidays there." She suddenly stopped, nearly making him fall once more. "Oh, me name's Cara by the way."

"I heard," he panted, trying desperately to keep from slipping on a large cobblestone. Would it ever stop sleeting? "Tommy Ryan."

"Pleasure," she said, continuing forward. "There's only one reason why a man would leave Dublin and come to a place like Belfast. Ye're runnin' from the revolution."

Tommy stopped, causing both of them to nearly fall for the third time.

"Blimey," Cara said, nearly letting him go. "I'm about to leave ya out here to fend for ye'reself, ya know that?"

Tommy grunted and shrugged off her arm, stumbling forward. "Oi!" he heard her cry. "Don't think I'm not worth ye Dublin boys. The lot of us here in Belfast are a bunch of cowards."

He turned back to her, nearly rolling an ankle in the process. "I don't like to talk about the revolution."

She held her hands up in surrender before coming to his side. "That's alright, no need to be so flighty. I was only trying to make conversation."

Tommy grunted again, causing her to chuckle. "Are we at your place yet?" she asked as they made a few more slippery steps down the street.

"S'right here," he said, nodding to the building to the left.

"Well, glad to see you made it home safe and sound," she said, patting him on the shoulder before wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Her lips and cheeks were red from the cold and the bits of hair that were sticking out from under her hat were wet and dripping around her face. Her freckles stood out along her cheekbones and her eyes fixated on his as they caught the lamplight's reflection. Even though she had seemed so ordinary in the pub, she was enchanting now. Tommy wasn't sure if it was because of the gin, the freezing rain, or her words to him which had touched a part of him he hadn't felt in years.

"Aren't you going to come and see?" he asked, doing his best to appear seductive. Cara looked at him for a long moment before bursting out in laughter.

"Very well," she said, helping him up the steps to his door. "But I have to leave early in the morning. Me mum will kill me if I miss mass again."

Tommy woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, but was happy to see through the opening in his curtains that the freezing rain had gone. As he got up to relieve himself, he was surprised to see a mass of red hair sleeping on the pillow beside him.

He smiled to himself, vaguely remembering his drunken seduction and his passionate night with Cara. He stretched, regretting sleeping nude as the bitterly cold morning air caused him to shiver. He quickly threw on a shirt and a pair of pants before stoking the fire in the small stove in the kitchen. Tommy laughed to himself before going over to the table by his bed, carefully taking the small, silver pocket watch from on top and tucking it into the pocket of his shirt.

He drew back the curtains from his window and gazed out to the pier where he was able to see one of Titanic's finished smokestacks looming over the rooftops of Belfast. He would be on Titanic when it left for America, and if Cara didn't come with him, he would start a new life on his own, far away from the shadow of Dublin.

This story is heavily based on the book "And the Band Played On" by Christopher Ward. If you haven't read it, I would definitely recommend giving it a read if you're a Titanic fanatic, especially if you're interested in the aftermath of the ship's sinking!