Chapter Text
“ I know that there are ghosts that haunt my mind. And sadness is a comfortable sublime. I'm sure that there's so much out there to find. For now I know these monsters aren't so kind.”
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Antoinette sighed, pushing the stray wisps of her dark curls off her forehead. And though it was a typical windy, cold wet day. Today was destined to be anything but ordinary, everything was changing around her. She could feel it now, omnipresent, pressing like bricks on her heart. Tightening and suffocating her within the terminal of fear of unknowing. She bit her lip, tasting the tin of her blood. As the wind seemingly blew right through her. Frigid. Pure. Biting. Yes . A perfect day to set sail on an adventure, her mind said. A promise of a better tomorrow upon a distant shore awaited. Somewhere in all the great wide and sweet beyond.
She was as exhausted as she was anxious. Able clearly to see her past and the uncertainty of her future. Her gloved hands barely kept her warm. But she was no stranger to the cold, having been born in the highlands of Scotland, at the northernmost point of Inbhir Theòrsa. A shortly idyllic time, one she’d never known as such happiness. Childhood in the wildness of the hill and heather. The sound of the sea, upon the rocks, the smell of sand and sea, the wind, both gentle and wild. So many lullabies, never the same twice. Her mother's language, songs she’d taught her young Antoinette - whispering in the firelight. The stories of the silkies, seal women, her favorite stories. And the lilting voice of her mother, her soft and gentlest of touches. She missed her so much, especially now with child. Lost too soon, could she ever hope to be ready.
She was feeling apprehensive and emotional thinking of the birth of her unborn child. Or she wouldn’t be remembering - thinking - on such memories. She felt tears burning her eyes. The images of misty buildings covered over in ash. This day mayhaps the last she these cobbled streets. And this would be a blessing, but still, she shivered, motherhood made her guarded.
Again she sighed, swallowing her unlady-like sobs of frustration, tears mixing with the rain. This was no existence for a widow, like herself. It was almost laughable - calling herself such. Hell, she’d barely been a bride or a wife. It was a marriage of convenience and financial dependency. Antoinette, having been dealt a bad hand in the game of life. She was the first to admit it. Her mother was gone, before ten, lost to fever, her laughter gone, their home quiet and icy. Her grandparents a few years later, they’d died in a house fire with most of the little mementos she’d saved. She had her mother's letters from her uncle, she’d treasured these for the stories he’d told and the cursive handwriting of her mother. And carried them in her pocket so they had not been lost. The return address was from a faraway place in America.
At fourteen, with no kin left, she’d been forced to become a worker in a London textile mill. The conditions were so deplorable she’d nearly died; she’d even have welcomed it at moments. But she’d never succumbed. She’d been brave, strong, keeping her mother's memory burning in her heart. The avoidance of the lechory of men, the injury, the starvation - the sadness, hopelessness. She’d been there until she’d married, living in the barracks with the other women. Her friends and her family are all gone. Death just seemed to follow her. Never welcoming her to the sweet hereafter.
It shouldn't have been more surprising than when Amos died from influenza. They’d been married only a few months before she’d fallen pregnant. And then well she was burying him. Gone before she’d even experienced motherhood.
Now alone again and pregnant Antoinette didn’t have many options. The most obvious now was to write to her cousin, her only surviving family member. She knew she should have done so before. But having never known him, he’d gone to seek his fortune before her birth. She’d never felt at ease and comfortable contacting him before. But now she’d had no choice; she couldn’t raise a baby here.
She had been so worried - waiting many months to see her letter answered. What if he’d never received it? Her mother’s letters were old; he might have moved. Thankfully when she was no longer able to hide the growing bump, a letter came. She’d become the subject of ridicule and gossip, back in the barracks working pregnant. Her cousin had been generous enough to send her a ticket to come to America. He would welcome her to his farm in Greendale. He explained he was now married with two boys and one girl. She’d have a family to help raise her baby. She wouldn’t be alone. He promised to make the trip to New York to fetch her. He promised he’d be there April 17. She packed everything in her pearl-handled valise and left home to begin this next big chapter.
The wind was picking noticeably when she saw two ladies coming up the first-class gangplank. Her thoughtfulness interrupted for a moment since she’d never seen such finely dressed women. The youngest seemed to be talking intensely to the older. And though she wasn’t near enough to hear, she could see the protective way the older acknowledged her presence. It made her smile as inwardly she felt the prick of loneliness at just how alone she truly was.
The Blossom sisters couldn't believe their eyes. Cheryl gave her best impression of disinterest. Rose, who wore all her emotions on her sleeve bounced up and down. Cheryl wanted to scold her, but she didn’t have the heart. Rose found this trip a grand adventure with none of the underlying anxiety Cheryl carried. Rose was a young nine her sister one and seven, which gave the illusion that Rose was her daughter, not her sister. The age difference meant nothing, no closer bond did sisters have.
Cheryl looked into her excited sister's blue eyes. Her gloved hand clasped the little purse and her sister's right hand. The Titanic was elegant, stately, her entire visage blotting the horizon. And the two young women felt nothing but awe. Though the eldest Blossom presented indifference, having been on many ocean liners since traveling is so important for her father’s business. And this one didn’t appear bigger than Mauritania.
She turns to Rose, giving her a gentle smile. “Come along Rose,’ she said pulling her along swiftly. ‘We shan’t be eyesores for commoners and ragamuffins.” And she meant it.
Rose doesn’t object. It does no good to say anything against her older sister. She wouldn't listen anyway.
As Titanic begins to sail away, Cheryl watches Rose wave to all the people who are screaming and wishing they could exchange places. And she thinks now how lucky she should feel. But all she knows is dread, her stomach turned painfully at the thought of what came at the end of their journey.
They’re not alone; Veronica Lodge has joined them. And Cheryl wants to scowl. She’s never liked Veronica, her father's business partner's daughter. She’s such an elitist, Cheryl feels, letting her soft lips distastefully turn down. She turned away leaning on the ship’s railing, noticing Antoinette for the first time. She stiffened and felt an old something stirring. Blushing she turned away quickly. Rose did not; she continued staring at the young woman who seemed so sad. And something in her wanted to comfort her somehow.
Suddenly, the woman's hat blew off and up onto the deck beside her as though by some kind of magic. She leaned over to pick it up while Cheryl and Veronica were distracted discussing the various fashions of the women in first class. With only one thought in mind. She opened the gate and descended the steps careful not to fall or drop the hat.
“Excuse me," she said softly, "but I think you lost this..” she held the hat out to Antoinette, smiling. There was no pretense in her voice, and her expression was open and attentive. Antoinette, couldn’t help but smile at the pretty girl who was dressed in a fancy sailaway dress. Her cheeks red kissed by the cold.
“Why thank you, darling,” she said gently, taking the hat and glancing from left to right, making sure she wouldn’t get into trouble. “I must thank my lucky stars that a little angel flew down from heaven to retrieve my hat for me.” She smiled softly, putting it back on her head. It was old and tattered in some places, but it was her very favorite black hat with fake roses on it. She’d been quite upset when she’d felt it blow away and turned to see it land on the first-class deck. And this little angel was so polite and kind to return it. She’d simply spoken in kind, managing to hide her Scottish accent behind the guise of her years in London.
Rose had never cared about social standing or climbing the ladder of New York society. Her big eyes were patient and kind. Rose glowed under this woman's praise giving her a soft smile “It’s no trouble,” she said. She was about to say more, her kind heart wanted to, but she heard the haughty voice of her sister.
“That’ll be ruffian; step away from my darling baby sister. Come sissy,’ she said, her voice razor sharp. ‘She isn’t even worthy of the air you breathe. Not her or her unborn baby.”
Antoinette caught herself staring, mouth agape. This lady was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her life. Her heartbeat fluttered like a desperate bird locked within its gilded cage.
Veronica is right behind Cheryl, Rose notices and leans on the railing between first and third class. “Rosie, you heard your sister, let’s go. Your mother and father will be worried. It’ll be nearly time to dress for dinner.”
“Sorry, Miss. Your sister was just returning my hat,” Antoinette explained softly. She didn’t even flinch at such cruel words. She’d heard worse from her own husband, who had never been kind to her.
The sound of the horn blared through the busy Southampton shipping yard as the grand ship began to be pulled away by three tugboats.
Rose looked at the women sadly. It pained her to hear her sister talk in such a way. She wasn’t always this cold and unkind, so uptight and proper. She’d once been so carefree and fun-loving. But after their brother's death, everything had changed. The family had become a shell of their former self. A haunted gothic story that chilled young Rose Blossom to her core.
She came away and took her sister's gloved hand, on her own as she looked back just one more time. She never imagined this young woman was about to change her life forever.
Standing by the railing, the wind ticked her cheek. Her eyes captured chocolate, the full cherry red lips, the smell of vanilla drifting through the gathering twilight. She watched them go until they were gone from view. She’d lost herself. Or had she found something in those captivating eyes that would haunt her dreams?
Pulling her wrap tightly, she left the deck as the lights disappeared on a foggy April night.