Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic by Lynda Dunwell

 
    Twelve Titanic Tales
     
    *****
     
    A face at the window: a face from the deep
     
    I am...
     
    The lace-maker’s gift
     
    The night I grew up
     
    Lover boy
     
    Dealt a bad hand
     
    My own darling Ted love Lizzie
     
    Trapped !
     
    The statue
     
    Third-class souls
     
    Graveyard Gang
     
    Matrix Titanica
     
    A face at the window: a face from the deep
    April 11 th 1912
    I peered inside the gymnasium on the ship at an odd machine where a young man appeared to be rowing, but there was no water. His muscular arms flexed as he pulled on the oars and his face grew redder as he picked up the pace. He wore a white singlet and shorts, just like the men in Papa’s scrapbook of newspaper pictures.
    “Some men collect stamps, others butterflies, I collected sporting events,” Papa had said. I hadn’t realised the significance of his interest as he pasted newspaper cuttings into his scrapbook. “These fine young athletes have represented their country in track and field events at the Olympic games.” He had explained to me as he pointed to the pictures.
    I had no idea what he meant, but to call something Olympic had seemed very grand at the time. “Papa, how do men become athletes?”
    “They hone their muscular skills though daily training, thus building up their bodies until they can perform at the very highest level.”
    Perhaps the man in the gymnasium was an athlete in training? He stopped rowing and mounted the bicycle fixed to the floor. He started to peddle and steadily increased his pace until the wheels span so fast the spokes disappeared. Mesmerised I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him and his rosy red cheeks.
    “Come away Edith,” Mama prodded me, “come along.”
    I looked up and dutifully followed her but I couldn’t forget the man on the static bicycle peddling to nowhere.
     
    On Sunday, Mama and Papa took me to the service in the dining room. It seemed odd to be singing hymns in the same place we would soon be sitting down for luncheon. I didn’t say anything to Mama because she had scolded me once that morning when I complained about wearing my black boots.
    “They’re too small,” I cried.
    “Nonsense child, tight boots are good for a young lady’s feet. We don’t want yours growing too large, do we?”
    She didn’t explain what my feet would be too big for, surely cobblers could make shoes and boots in a variety of sizes. My black laced ones felt so tight when we stood up for the hymns my toes tingled and having sung three verses, my feet were numb.
    After Sunday service we walked by the gymnasium. I gazed through the window but couldn’t see anyone inside. A young man approached the door and tried the handle. The door was locked and he hurried away.
    “What could that ill-mannered young man be thinking of?” Mama shook her head. “Did he expect to enter the gymnasium on a Sunday?”
    Papa didn’t reply as he usually agreed with Mama, especially where matters of etiquette were concerned. Mama always knew best. She knew the correct clothes to wear and instructed me accordingly. My numb toes started to tingle and I began hopping from one foot to the other.
    “Stand still,” Mama said.
    “I’ve got pins and needles in my toes.” Her sharp look silenced me. How I yearned to unlace my boots and run free in my stocking feet, just like the steerage children I’d seen on the lower open deck the previous day. I wondered if they were there now, enjoying their games, the girls skipping and the boys kicking their football. Perhaps not, it was Sunday.
    Later that day we were in our stateroom. “There’ll be no dancing tonight,” Mama said, “and quite rightly.” Papa looked up from his book and nodded his agreement. “I’ve arranged for the stewardess to look after you Edith, whilst Papa and I attend the concert.”
    I didn’t mind going to bed immediately after dinner that night, at least I could take off my tight boots. When I was in bed, my parents kissed me good-night as