The Sea Remembers Its Own

Come Josephine in my flying machine
Going up she goes! Up she goes!
Balance yourself like a bird on a beam
In the air she goes! There she goes!

Cold water is the most efficient thief of heat she knows. It takes what it does not need. The water surges around her, rising up as the waves whirl and toss her in every direction. Her blood is almost frozen in her veins, making her skin rough with goosebumps, pointless as they are. It hits her like a thousand knives all driving into her body at once. She can't breathe, she can't think - it hurts.

She doesn't want to consider that her muscles will give up in this frigid temperature. Her hair is no longer brown but white with crystals as the initial shock wears off, she takes in her surroundings.

Yellow flames flicker and dance with no thought to the oxygen or the fuel they consume. Unfettered, they hungrily devour, lick and lap at the air, twisting and swaying in a dance without rhythm. Blackened bodies, charred bones, unsettled souls, all snatched from the earthly plane before their time.

She looks up. Under a sky of perfect midnight velvet, under stars so brilliant they draw the eyes heaven bound, the lyrics play softly in Elena's mind. As the light twinkles and the unheard music plays, her thoughts drift to him.

Elena doesn't expect to marry for love, to even entertain such a notion is folly. Hers is a world of money, class, appearances and trophy wives. Ladies such as herself are supposed to decorate their husband's arms and remain silent unless spoken to and to simply accept it when their men take a mistress.

Staring at herself in the vanity as she finishes getting ready for the evening meal, she - despite her parents ideas about what's best for her - is determined that her life will be different - that it'll mean something and that she'll make her mark somehow. When her time to leave this mortal coil arrives, she'll go knowing she accomplished something...

"Elena dear," she meets her mother's eyes through the mirror. "We must do something with your hair," she looks over her shoulder, "Nora, come here," she summons their maid.

"Yes, mam," the younger woman approaches.

"Please do something with this mop of hair," Miranda picks up a strand with a scowl on her face. "Dinner will be served soon."

Nora looks at Elena as she takes the brush and runs it through her chestnut colored locks. The most trendsetting style of the day is piling up the hair on the head in the form of braids with curled locks. With many neoclassical details, her hair is all about waves, puffs and curly locks by the time the young woman finishes.

"How's that, mam?" Nora asks, nodding to Elena.

"Very nice, Nora, thank you," Elena reaches for the rouge to dot her cheeks and lips. Her dress is a deep burgundy red, low square neckline with black chiffon tiers, beading and a train.

"Oh Nora, you have the magic touch. She looks lovely," Miranda Gilbert runs her eyes over her daughter. "Your father is waiting, let's go," she takes one last look in the mirror herself then urges Elena out of their first class cabin. Her father lights up a cigarette as they walk along the promenade deck.

When they reach the entrance they begin descending the grand staircase, she can't help but marvel at the structure. It's an opulent, lavish staircase that spans six decks. It's crowned by an extravagant wrought iron and glass dome with a large chandelier at the center.

As they reach the foot of it, a bronze cherub holding an electric torch catches her eye, she raises her gloved hand to touch the wing, admiring the simple beauty of it.

"Gilbert, over here," she looks up to see someone waving at her father as they enter the dining room.

Grayson gives a nod and they approach that table. The men stand and shake her father's hand.

"Dear, this is Giuseppe Salvatore and his sons, Damon and Stefan," Grayson makes the introductions. "Mr. Salvatore is the founder of Salvatore Steel in Pittsburgh."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Damon takes Elena's hand, holds it for a long moment before letting it go with a press of his lips.

Elena smiles, feeling as giddy as a school girl inside...

"I'm ready to go home, aren't you dear?" Miranda looks at her daughter.

"Yes, mother," Elena replies dutifully. As the car approaches the port, she peers out the window, looking up at the monstrosity and the throngs of jubilant people. She clenches her fists discreetly until her nails dig into the palm of her hand. The only thing she is really aware of, is the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest.

As they near their departure dock, she grips the arm beside her as she stares at the ship that will take them back to New York. Dread creeps over her like an icy chill, pushing against her like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse her steps.

Something ominous hangs in the salty sea air, a darkness and trepidation that matches her mood as the large, bold letters on the side of the ship come into view.

TITANIC

Chapter title: Far Across the Distance.

We hope you liked the first chapter. I watched a documentary on you-tube with Dr. Ballard, the man who found her final resting place. It inspired me. Eva and I went back and forth and finally settled on a plan. Thank you so much Eva for everything. We also have "The Night We Met" which posted a couple of years ago if you like stories set in the wealth and grandeur of the Edwardian era. It also takes place on an ocean liner...

Anxious to hear your thoughts.

We'll see you next with chapter 9 of WTBHTB. Have a terrific day and stay safe all.