Chapter 8
Millie
I didn’t mean to cry in front of all these people, and I’m a little embarrassed but mostly just plain exhausted. This is way too much to think about.
“I think I’d like to go back to the room and rest.” I stand and stare at the handkerchief in my hand, now wet with tears and probably some snot. Do I offer it back to him? It’s not like I’ve ever been around a guy who keeps a handkerchief in his pocket before.
He seems to catch on. “You can keep it. I have several.”
Thank God. I crumble it up in my hand and reach down for a pocket. Of course, there aren’t any, despite the forty layers of cloth this contraption of a dress has. How were women supposed to carry anything? I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have my cell phone with no pockets. And the men probably had all the money and the keys to everything. I bet Will has plenty of pockets.
“I’ll escort you back to the room,” he says.
It finally makes sense why he’s been so convincing—because he’s exactly who he said he is. He holds out his elbow, and I slip my arm through. I kind of like that, actually. Most of the guys I’ve dated would just start walking and expect me to follow. No, they wouldn’t even walk me back to the room. It’d just be, “See ya!”
That might’ve been enough to make me laugh if I weren’t in the middle of one of the worst disasters ever. Shit, what am I going to do?
“I can see your point about the lifeboats,” he says. “They hardly seem sufficient.”
I shake my head. “They aren’t. If the deck was filled with lifeboats, who would have believed the ship was unsinkable? Plus, it wouldn’t look nice. It’s all about the luxury. They had to sell it. Not to mention the standards were different back then–now.”
“Do you honestly think that’s what it is?” Will asks me. “Selling tickets over safety?”
I’m quiet for a moment as a couple passes. “Well, that and because it wasn’t required. Why spend extra money when it messes up your whole ‘luxury liner’ vibe?”
He exhales, looking like he’s thinking about my explanation. I’m still not sure he believes me, even though he said he did twice. I can’t think of anything else that would convince him I’m telling the truth, short of the ship hitting the actual iceberg, and I’d rather have a plan before that happens.
We get to B Deck, and now it makes sense why there aren’t any historical pictures. It’s not history yet. God, this is a mess.
He unlocks his sister’s door and leads me in. No one’s here, but I hear voices next door. “Sounds like they’re both in my room. Try to rest, and I’ll meet you at dinner.”
“Okay.” I sit on the bed in my uncomfortable dress and start slipping off the shoes pinching my feet. As he turns the knob to the adjoining room, I speak up. “Will?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for believing me.” I give him a little smile. I don’t know why he’s even stuck with me this long with all the crazy things I’ve said.
“Of course,” he says. “Please get some rest. We’ll talk more later.”
I nod as he leaves, pulling off the shoes. They’re more like boots, but they have such pointy toes, I don’t see how anyone can stand them. I guess that’s just what’s available now, and they’re probably a lot easier to walk in than stilettos. I guess fashion will always be uncomfortable.
How I’m going to relax in this dress, I have no idea, but I know from getting into it that I’ll never be able to get out of it by myself, and Agatha seems more than busy next door.
“Dinner? You’re spending too much time with this woman as it is,” I hear her say. Great. She hates me already. I can imagine how she’ll feel when he tells her I’m a crazy woman who thinks she’s from the future.
“We can’t very well leave her in the room for dinner,” Will argues.
They seem to realize I can hear them because their next words are murmurs. I lie back, resigned to being stuck in my prison of a dress while I try to close my eyes and rest. The neckline is so scratchy and uncomfortable.
I wonder how I got here. There’s no such thing as time travel, right? Even if there was, it would be something people would do on purpose, like going back to play the lotto after knowing the jackpot numbers. All I did was hit my head on a swimming pool..
Wait—I’m here, and I know what’s going to happen. Does that mean I can change history? I could tell everyone we’re going to hit an iceberg and when it will happen. Maybe they’ll slow down the ship and not hit the iceberg in the first place. Or they might turn in time, if they don’t go hard to starboard, which is what made them turn slower.
Right. They’re going to listen to some crazy woman who thinks she’s from the future. They don’t even listen to women in 1912. We don’t get the luxury of dresses with pockets!
Almost two thousand people die on this ship. Maybe saving them is the wrong thing to do anyway. Every person is connected to so many other people, the ripple effects through time could change everything. Not to mention some good did come out of this disaster–like requiring a certain number of lifeboats. The weight of having to determine whether or not to try to stop this ship from going down is way too much for me to handle at the moment.
I hear Will in the other room. They’re speaking louder again, still arguing. “Do this for me, Agatha.”
“All right, I’ll get her another of my gowns,” I hear his sister say. “I just hope she doesn’t make a fuss like she did before.”
Yep, she hates me. I pull the pillow over my head trying to drown out the conversation, which thankfully quiets down again. My own family is probably panicked right now. Do they think I’m dead? I didn’t actually die–die I? Or maybe I’m in a coma or I physically disappeared from that time just like I reappeared here.
Maybe there’s no way for me to go back.
Mom, are you looking for me?
My eyes open, and I face a familiar wall. It’s the Titanic, but is it the real one or the copy in my time? I can’t tell the direction I’m facing.
“God, I hope this was all a dream.”
I hear the doorknob turn and open, the one leading to the adjoining cabin. I really don’t remember whether the room in my time had a door to the next room over or not.
“I see you’re up.”
It’s Agatha’s voice. Oh, God. It wasn’t a dream. I’m on the real Titanic!
“I’ve waited as long as I could, but I’m afraid we must get dressed for dinner,” she says.
I sit up and put my hand to my head. “Dressed? We’re already dressed.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Goodness, you really have hit your head hard. You’re wearing a day dress. We need to put on formal gowns for dinner.”
Nodding, I stand, gazing at the shoes I took off and hoping I don’t have to wear them again. I’d give anything for my worn-out Nikes. But for now, I turn around and let her unfasten the back of this itchy-collared dress, feeling like I can breathe fresh air as soon as she loosens it. She helps me out of the layers, but then I watch as she lays out even more for the new dress.
I slide the chemise on first. “This is nice. Silk?”
“Yes, thank you,” she says. “I prefer that to cotton for evenings.”
“I see what you mean.” I look helplessly at the pile of material on the bed.
“The corset is next.” Her tone is calm and patient, surprisingly. Maybe Will told her I lost my memory.
But I hate corsets, and I see what Mom was talking about when she told me how lucky I am to live in the twenty-first century as Agatha pulls on the strings. “Can you make it just a little looser?”
Despite the exasperated sigh behind me, I feel it relax slightly. It still won’t be easy to sit and eat.
“The drawers are next.”
These look like clown pants, gathered at the waist and each leg. Gazing in the mirror, I see it looks like my waist is extra small, and I have big, rounded hips. I chuckle a bit. “Early twentieth century Photoshop.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.” I know the petticoat is next, so I put it on. I have no idea what dress I’m wearing until she pulls it out of the closet. I can’t help but gasp when I see it.
“It’s gorgeous.” I’m so relieved that it has a square neckline, so at least my neck won’t be itchy. The top of the blouse is sewn in an art deco style, which is very modern for Agatha. I’m sort of surprised. A jacket of the same silky material goes over it, and it takes Agatha quite a while to adjust the sash and fasten a large cameo brooch to the center.
“There we are,” she says. “It’s one of my favorites, but I don’t wish to wear it twice in one week.”
She hands me another pair of boot-like shoes, and I cringe, but they’re just slightly wider in the toes than the other ones. They’re stiff, but I can make them work. She has me sit on the vanity bench while she twists my hair into an updo, fastens it with large gold hairpins, and attaches a large clip with flowers on it that matches my dress.
“You’re ready,” she announces finally. It’s her turn to do the same routine, and I help her fasten things in the back and lace up the corset.
“I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been without a servant,” she says. “I had to ask some of the other ladies to send me a maid to do this.”
“I’m happy to help.” I wonder why she doesn’t have a maid when she’s in first class, but I decide not to ask.
She does her hair in much the same way and looks very nice in her burgundy dress, which goes well with her blonde hair. I hope she likes me better for helping her.
“Let’s go tell my brothers we’re ready.”
I nod and take a deep breath, wondering what Will will think of me in this dress. I follow her out to the main living area, and Agatha knocks on the common door first then opens it. We step in together. Will is facing the other way, straightening his collar in the mirror.
When he turns and sees me, his mouth drops open.