Page 55 of The Missing Pages

THAT LAST AFTERNOON ON THE TITANIC—I COULD WRITE a book about every detail.

I could tell you about the meaningful conversation I had with young Jack Thayer, the seventeen-year-old son of my parents’ dear friends, who confided in me his excitement and nervousness about graduating from the Haverford School that spring and leaving the comfortable nest of his parents’ home for college.

I remember thinking I wanted to grow old with Ada just like the Strauses. To look into her eyes and always see her beautiful and evergreen. Abraham looked at Ida like he was seeing her for the first time, young and anew.

The fact was that morning and afternoon were full of small snippets of life on that magnificent vessel, which had promised us all safety and top engineering along with luxury and good cheer.

My mother was aflutter with all the details of her soiree.

She was positively giddy with the anticipation of throwing a party for Captain Smith.

I, however, was just looking forward to it being done.

I hated not being able to enjoy Ada’s company more publicly.

I wanted to take her to tea at the Palm Court or lunch at the Titanic’s Parisian Café.

It was our dinner tomorrow that I was nervous and excited about.

My parents thought I might be bringing a school chum or a new friend to dinner. They had no idea it would be Ada.

The plot was twisting inside my head, and with each passing hour on the ship, Ada and my story began to become more complex.

“I have something I want to show you.”

“Please.” I playfully opened my hands.

“I’ll show you after your mother’s dinner party. What time does it begin?”

Ada’s mysteriousness only intensified my curiosity.

“Eight o’clock.”

“So let’s meet at the library a little after ten o’clock,” she suggested.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Almost as much as dinner tomorrow,” I said.

I looked into her eyes and saw my future. I saw children. I saw old age.

But I said none of that. I only uttered, “I’m excited for my parents to meet you.”

In the compact elegance of my cabin, I prepared for my mother’s party.

Edwin, my father’s valet, had ensured our tuxedos were pressed.

My leather vanity case with its silver comb and brush, nail file and scissors, and ebony-handled razor had everything I needed at my fingertips.

While Father preferred to have Edwin shave him, I enjoyed doing it myself.

I applied the layer of shaving cream, tilted my head, and drew the blade across my face and jawline, ensuring the steel edge scraped away any bristle. I braced my cheeks with my favorite cologne. My black hair, I combed back and smoothed with pomade.

In the small mirror I saw my reflection. At Harvard, I had always seen myself as shy and awkward, particularly in contrast to my roommate, Ed, who was always the life of the party. But this evening, a new sense of confidence had taken hold of me. I felt like I was finally comfortable in my skin.

“We’re so honored you’ve joined us tonight!” Mother stood up to greet Captain Smith, who arrived several minutes later than the rest of Mother’s dinner party.

“Mrs. Widener,” he said, standing tall in his crisp navy uniform. He took her hand in his. “You have outdone yourself here.”

Mother smiled.

“All satisfactory on the bridge?” Major Archibald Butt jested with the captain as he sat down. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen when the captain was away from his crew.”

Marian Thayer slapped Archibald’s wrist. “Stop teasing the poor man.”

Father waved down the waiter to fill Captain Smith’s glass.

“We are in the most capable hands and we need to make a toast to him! I hear from my friends at the White Star Line that you’re retiring after we reach New York.” Father lifted his flute of champagne. “To your final voyage!” he said, his smile spread across his face.

Everyone lifted their flutes in his direction. “Thank you, the captain said. “It’s been an honor to serve the White Star Line for so many years.”

Lucile Carter leaned in and asked the captain something I couldn’t hear, while her husband eyed the clock. Both of us, it seemed, had other places we wished we could be.

It was just after ten when I met Ada in the library.

Entering the room, I caught sight of her in profile.

Her dress was a repeat from the first night, her hair simply arranged in a bun, but to me she was as ethereal and beautiful as if she had stepped off one of the canvases of Frederic Leighton’s paintings.

“How was dinner?” I asked her after I tapped her on the shoulder.

“It was lovely. I dined again with Mr. William Stead and Mrs. Stonington, a widow from Boston. The conversation was again rather riveting,” she shared. “Afterward, I went and checked on the Rubaiyat in the ship’s safe and it’s still there. So everything is as it should be.”

“Almost,” I said. “After tomorrow, they should be better. I don’t want you to have to eat one more dinner here with strangers.”

“They’re not strangers to me anymore, Harry. They’re new acquaintances.” She corrected me. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for some time now.”

I quieted. I realized at that moment one of the reasons I was so drawn to Ada.

She wasn’t like any other woman I’d ever encountered before.

As strong and adventurous as my mother appeared to me, she still had grown up in a world that provided everything she needed and more.

She had gone from the Elkins mansion to the Widener’s, each transition graced by an abundance of comfort and protection.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” I asked. I had been curious since she’d mentioned it hours before.

“I know it’s scandalous to suggest.” Her face flushed. “And perhaps it’s the wine I had during dinner, but I have a bold request. I prefer to show you in private. If we promise to be careful, do you mind meeting me in my room?”

Indeed it was scandalous, and I knew I had to take every precaution not to be seen. Luckily, I was also braced, having had a pre-dinner drink with my father.

Ada left the library first. I waited fifteen minutes before getting up and heading toward her cabin.

Sangorski had purchased for her a single berth not a stateroom, which would have been far too expensive.

But for thirty pounds, she was still afforded her own private room with a shared bathroom down the hall.

Ada’s room was on the E deck, far from the staterooms of my parents or their friends.

I knocked on the door quietly and she invited me in.

Inside the immaculate room, I found Ada holding a wire. “I wanted you to read it here so I could see your face.”

Possibility to extend your stay in New York. Private collector interested in us representing him at auction. Please wire when you arrive. B.A.Q.

My face transformed while reading Quaritch’s telegram. When I looked up, Ada was standing so close to me, I could inhale the traces of her fragrance.

“This is wonderful news!” I exclaimed. My mind was already rushing, thinking of how a longer stay could transition into an official courtship.

I came closer. Our faces were inches apart.

“Yes, it is,” she said, as she let me kiss her.

My hands reached to touch her hair. Then the velvet of her earlobe.

I kissed her neck. I kissed the knob of her collarbone. Everything about Ada felt new. Her lips tasted like fresh peaches. The rhythm of her breath felt like song.

“Harry.” She said my name so softly I could barely hear it.

I wanted to inhale every part of her. Breathe her deeply into my lungs. And for once, I was at a loss for words, as her silk dress fell to the ground.

It was barely an hour later when we were both startled to discover the boat shuddering. The lampshade next to Ada’s bed began to vibrate, and I felt the boat suddenly dip to one side.

“What’s happening?” Ada was nestled beside me, her hand resting on my chest.

I wasn’t sure what to tell her.

“Have we stopped?” Ada’s face reflected alarm as she pulled the covers closer to her body.

“Stay here,” I said, trying to hide my concern.

I picked up my pocket watch from the side table and noticed the time.

It was almost 11:45 p.m. I reached for my clothes and slid the watch into the silken pocket next to my miniature Bacon.

“Let me go and see what’s happened,” I said quickly as I put on my shoes.

I took one last glance at myself in the mirror above the porcelain wash sink and then slipped out the door. I wasn’t more than a few feet from her room when I ran into a porter.

“Why have the engines stopped?” I asked.

I wasn’t alone noticing the sudden change in the ship’s lack of movement, the abrupt halting of the engines. Other men began coming out of their cabins asking the same question. We had all gotten used to the sound of them constantly running. But now the quiet felt eerie and alarming.

Before the porter could answer me, the engines began starting up again, but this time very slowly. It sounded more like a car that was struggling through a malfunction than an enormous ocean liner. Then, just as quickly, they ground to a halt again.

I saw the porter’s expression also momentarily flicker with concern. “Sir,” he said, choosing to remain calm and confident in the Titanic’s engineering. “All is well. You needn’t worry.”

His slight hesitation, however, did concern me, so I continued to walk briskly in the direction of my parents’ stateroom.

As I wound through the hallways, I noticed men exiting their cabins in their slippers and robes.

I ran into Major Butt, who told me he was trying to find out what sort of mechanical failure had occurred.

“I just saw your father go up on deck,” he announced with a military man’s authority. “When you find him, stay together!” he cautioned.