FAGE 11: Are You In?
Title: My Heart Will Go On
Written for: That's-So-Alex
Written By: Razztaztic
Rating: T
Summary/Prompt used: Titanic-based period fic

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The wharf was an overwhelming hive of activity, bustling with carriages and buggies discharging late-arriving passengers, crowded with wagons and carts loaded with the last of the provisions meant to feed more than 2,000 people for the seven days it would take to cross the Atlantic. The noise was just as overwhelming, a babbling jumble of indistinguishable shouts and raised voices, mixed with the crack of whips and the braying of horses and donkeys as they struggled to pull the multitude of conveyances through the crowd.

Standing at the railing of the first class deck, preternaturally-sensitive hearing made the sounds below just as loud to the man who watched from the ship lashed to the pier a hundred yards away. Shadowed beneath the brim of a grey fedora, his face was expressionless as he gazed out over the scene - a scene that, to be truthful, he barely saw. His thoughts were of London, miles away from the crowded docks of Southampton and the warehouses stacked like kindling that filled the horizon. London, where almost six centuries ago, he'd been a young boy watching the spires of Southwark Cathedral rise into the sky. London, and the teeming slums where he'd fled as a young man after a night of horror, condemned, or so he believed then, to an endless life of violence and evil. Now, with a family to care for and facing an eternity that looked decidedly less bleak, he felt a bittersweet pang as he wondered if he would ever see the city again.

Slender fingers wrapped around his arm, cool and hard as marble, as a woman stepped up to the railing beside him.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Carlisle covered Esme's hand with his own but continued to stare into the horizon. "I was saying goodbye."

She turned her fingers over to twin with his. "Not goodbye. Farewell, perhaps. We will return some day, I'm sure of it."

"Perhaps," was all Carlisle said. "How is everyone?"

"They're settling into their suites."

Carlisle did look at her then. Worry carved a thin line between his eyebrows. "And Jasper?"

Esme sighed. "He's finding it more difficult. The ship is so crowded. So many people. So much . . . life." She met Carlisle's eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. "We all fed well last night, remember? He'll be fine. It's only a week, remember? Emmett and Rosalie are with him. And he has Alice."

Carlisle wasn't convinced. "And how is Edward? I worry about him as much as Jasper."

One shoulder rose in a dainty shrug. "You know Edward. He compensates for being able to hear everyone else's thoughts by not sharing his own. He's reading one of those immensely boring volumes of that Encyclopaedia Britannica that he insisted on bringing with him."

"Well, at least he'll have something with which to occupy himself during the voyage." Carlisle laughed, then grew somber. "I would feel more confident if Alice had seen a glimpse of the future. Still nothing?"

Esme smiled at a group of fellow passengers who took up a place only a few feet away. Carlisle made no objection when she led him on a slow, casual walk along the deck, out of earshot of anyone else. "Not yet," she said quietly, "but you know her visions are unpredictable. And her concern for Jasper has occupied all her thoughts. She's scarcely had the opportunity to free her mind for other uses."

"I suppose." Carlisle stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "Have I made the right decision?"

Esme touched his cheek lightly. "Carlisle, this wasn't your decision. It was ours, as a family. We discussed it for months, weighing every possible outcome. The choice to leave England does not rest solely on your shoulders."

His jaw set in a stubborn line that was all too familiar. "It was my idea to move to America."

"Yes, it was," Esme admitted. "But we all agreed . . . eventually."

The teasing glint in her eyes soothed Carlisle's last-minute misgivings. A surge of renewed enthusiasm flooded his senses. "It will be good for us, Esme. It will! The western country is far less settled than anywhere in England. When the ship docks in New York, we can head north into Canada to feed, and keep traveling until we see the Pacific Ocean. We can settle where there are no humans. We might have decades of freedom before anyone else arrives! Just think! No more moving away and returning as our own children! We'll be able to hunt without fear of being seen! We can-"

Laughing, Esme threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat. "I'm convinced, my love! We're all convinced! America is the land of opportunity, even for our kind."

Carlisle wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her into his side. Together, they looked out at the bustling wharf as the gangways were unhooked after the last crew hurried on board. "It is meant to be, Esme. I knew it when I was fortunate enough to secure tickets for the Titanic. What could be more fortuitous than traveling to our new life on board a ship that cannot sink? The fates are smiling on us."

Esme sighed, and laid her head against his shoulder. "Yes, they are."

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Far away from the luxury of the first class deck, Bella Swan stood nervously as a rail thin, severely-dressed older woman, who had introduced herself as Miss Trickelbank, circled around her, silently studying the neat shirtwaist and simple navy skirt she wore. Bony fingers brushed against her elbow when they slid under the lace-trimmed edge of one sleeve and tugged roughly to test the stitching.

"You made this yourself?"

Bella nodded, and kept her eyes trained straight ahead. "Yes, miss."

"I expected Madame Joubert to send someone older." Miss Trickelbank's frown hinted at a lingering suspicion of the glowing reference from the London modiste. She came to a stop facing Bella. Her sharp gaze scanned the young woman from the thick brown hair piled on top of her head, to the pointed toes of the shoes that peeked out from under her hem. "You understand that your passage to America will be the only payment you receive for your work over the next week? You will not receive any additional wages."

"Yes, miss." It took every ounce of self-control Bella possessed to remain still. The ship's engines vibrated beneath her feet, feeding into the almost overwhelming sense of anticipation and excitement that pulsed through her veins. A new life was almost within reach . . .

One last heart-stopping moment of silence passed before the grey head dipped in the barest of nods. "I suppose you'll do. Come with me."

Relief flooded through Bella in such a rush, she was a split second late following the woman out into a narrow corridor. Heart pounding, she grabbed the heavy canvas bag that contained all her worldly possessions, and hurried to catch up.

"Your quarters are on the first class deck." Miss Trickelbank didn't bother raising her voice; clearly, she expected Bella to stay close enough to hear her as they made their way along the passage. "That is purely a convenience for our guests," she added, just in case Bella might be tempted to think herself worthy of first class status. "Most of the ladies will have brought their maids, but those who haven't or those whose maids are too busy for minor repairs, will be told they can bring their mending to you. You're to make yourself available during the day, up through the late dinner sitting, in case any of the ladies' dresses need attention."

She turned the corner into a wider corridor that was obviously for passenger use, as the floor gleamed with polish and a series of paintings hung on the walls between doors set within ornate frames, and marched straight to a much plainer door near the end of the hall. A tiny plaque set at eye level read Seamstress.

Miss Trickelbank ushered Bella inside. The room was small, with one tiny porthole looking out to sea, and furnished with a dressmaker's dummy, a glass-fronted cabinet filled with threads and other supplies, and sitting just under a plain light fixture hanging from the ceiling, a brand new pedal-operated Singer sewing machine. Bella gasped in wonder and hurried over to examine it more closely.

"You do know how to use one of these, I presume."

"Oh yes, miss." Bella traced the colorful design painted on the black enamel. "We had one in the workshop at Madame Joubert's, although it wasn't nearly so nice."

"Hmmpf. Well, see that you treat the machine with care. I understand that it can be very delicate." The haughty sniff held a world of opinions on the quality of the dressmaker's shop. "You will be expected to spend the majority of your time in this room, until we arrive in New York. Your sleeping quarters are there," she added, with a nod toward a small chamber just off the main room. "You may join the staff for breakfast at 6:00 am. A dinner tray will be brought to you here at 4:30. f you require anything in the meantime, this bell - -" She looked at a button set into the wall near the door, " - rings in the Head Steward's office. Do you have any questions?"

An unending stream of questions begged to be asked but Bella shoved them all away, and clasped her hands together neatly at her waist as she looked at Miss Trickelbank calmly. Only the over-bright glitter in her eyes hinted at the eagerness and impatience rippling through her. "No, miss."

"Hmmpf." The old woman sniffed again, before her eyes turned steely. "The first class decks are out of bounds to staff. If you feel the need to take the air, you may go down to the second class decks. Or . . ." Her gaze raked over Bella's simple attire one more time. ". . . the third class decks. If that's all, I'll leave you to settle in."

After one last scalding glance, Miss Trickelbank turned to go. When the door closed behind her, Bella stood unmoving, staring at it for a silent count of ten, until, finally sure the old woman wouldn't return, spun in a circle, laughing and hugging herself tightly. Slightly dizzy, she raced to the porthole and raised on tiptoe to look out over the vast, undulating waves of the ocean. On the other side of that endless expanse, America waited for her.