Read Online Titanic by Ellen Emerson White - Free Book Online

attempted to divert by looking around as though I, too, were searching for the dastardly crumpling culprit.
    A broad-shouldered man with kind, clean-shaven features stopped next to our desk. I had noticed him walking around, seemingly observing everyone for about twenty minutes, and he must have noticed my sketching struggles. He leaned over and examined my discarded drawings before I had time to cover them with my hand. My face felt hot with embarrassment, as they truly were inept.
    â€œPlease excuse my causing a disruption,” I said. “I am trying to send a picture to a little girl of whom I am terribly fond.”
    He smiled, and said he would be happy to put together a quick diagram for me, if I would like. I thanked him, but explained that to Nora, my having drawn the ship myself would mean more to her than the quality of the rendering.
    â€œAh,” he said. “Well, in that case, may I suggest that you angle the funnels more? Then just try for very clean lines. Long strokes, instead of attempting so much detail.”
    I gave that a try, and my next effort showed some small improvement.
    â€œThere you go,” he said. “I think you’ll do very nicely now.”
    I thanked him again, and then he said, “Good day, ladies,” and went on his way.
    â€œMy goodness, that was Mr Andrews!” Mrs Carstairs said in an awed voice, once he was gone.
    â€œA nice fellow,” I agreed, drawing intently.
    â€œHe designed the ship,” she said.
    Startled, I stopped drawing. “Then I suppose he would have done quite an accurate illustration,” I said finally.
    Mrs Carstairs shook her head, seeming exasperated. “You are a most curious child, MJ.”
    MJ. “I thank you, Mrs Upstairs,” I said.
    â€œAnd a very difficult child,” she said, sounding much more exasperated.
    I nodded, sadly, and we both returned to our letters.

Later
    Â 
    Â 
    I am in my stateroom now, getting ready for bed. Once our letters were completed this morning, we went up to the Boat Deck to watch for Ireland. Mrs Carstairs did not see the urgency of this, but elected to humour me and come along. The sky was bright blue, and nearly cloudless; the sea, flowing in smooth, dark swells. There was an invigorating breeze, and I took several deep breaths of the wintry air.
    Mrs Carstairs looked uneasy. “Where is your coat, I ask you?
    I assured her that I was quite warm, with my pullover thrown over my shoulders. It is not a fashionable garment, so I knew she would prefer that I not put it all the way on.
    How jarring it was to look in every direction, and see nothing but the ocean. Given the implications of that, too much thought would have made me apprehensive, so I decided it would be far better to praise this phenomenon.
    â€œ ‘Oh ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired,/ Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea,’ ” I said.
    â€œBrowning again?” Mrs Carstairs asked, after a pause.
    I had only meant to be jovial, not put her in an uncomfortable position. “Keats,” I said, after a pause of my own.
    She nodded heartily. “But of course.”
    From now on, I think I will refrain from spontaneous quotations.
    The wind was increasing, and more and more people on the deck were retreating to the warmth of the Promenade or one of the public rooms. Shortly thereafter, Mrs Carstairs decided that she, too, would prefer to go back inside. I promised to join her when the bugler announced luncheon. We were going to try the Cafe Parisien this time, instead of the dining saloon.
    As she left, I observed that I was cold, so I gave up and shrugged into my pullover, watching the horizon intently the entire time. If Ireland appeared, I did not want to miss anything. Then I saw grey shapes rising up out of nowhere. Hills? Mountains? As we drew closer, the land grew more distinct. There were steep, stark cliffs, grey and barren, with extraordinary green pastures and