An Ocean of Bright Stars

Staring up at the behemoth of a ship, Andrew Winters felt small and insignificant. He tugged at the stiff starchy collar of his freshly pressed suit. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold spring air blowing in from the port. His nerves seemed to run rampant before embarking on such long journeys, especially across the Atlantic. The vast unknown of the North Atlantic Ocean both intrigued and worried Andrew. The ocean had an ominous beauty he couldn't quite understand.

He had made the trip back home to Oxford a few weeks earlier to visit his parents and collect gifts for his wife, Catherine, who was expecting their first child. He was reluctant to leave her in New York so close to the end of her term, but he knew she would be cared for by her parents in his absence.

Nevertheless, Andrew missed Catherine enormously and anxiously awaited to board the most luxurious ship of the North Atlantic. His father, Jonathan, insisted that he pay for his son's first-class ticket, a ticket that Andrew would not have been able to afford otherwise. Despite Andrew's efforts to refuse such an unnecessary grand gesture, his father won and claimed that the first-class ticket was a gift to celebrate the birth of his first grandchild.

"What better way to celebrate than to travel on the grandest ship in the world!" His father had exclaimed.

Walking up the steep plank heading up to the first-class cabins, Andrew felt out of place. He was surrounded by men and women of royalty, celebrities dressed in elegant clothing and expensive jewelry. He did not normally associate himself with these people. He was just a normal citizen, making the journey back home to his modest apartment and his loving wife.

The tension in his chest increased as he continued to climb higher. Against his better judgement, Andrew looked down at the crowd beneath him. A sudden light-headedness overcame him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away before he lost his balance.

"Sir?"

The voice of an officer pulled Andrew back to reality. Andrew cleared his throat in an attempt to erase his vulnerability.

"Ticket, sir?"

The officer held out his hand in waiting. Andrew blinked.

"Yes, of course."

He presented his first-class ticket, and the officer smiled.

"Welcome to Titanic, Mr. Winters."

-

Impatient and unable to contain his excitement, seven-year-old Donal Caughey bounced up and down as if his shoes were made of springs. He danced at his mother's side as they waited in line to board the PS Ireland, the tender that would ferry them across the harbor. They had just passed the mandatory health inspection and Donal tugged on his mother’s overcoat. He pointed out into the distance.

“Mum, are we really getting on that giant ship?” Donal asked in pure amazement, his bright blue eyes dazzling.

“Yes, love. Aren’t we lucky?”

Maeve smiled at her son despite the uneasiness inside her, tossing in her stomach in unpredictable waves. She stared out into the Queenstown Harbor. A light fog rolled in over the surface of the water and the ship radiated a kind of heavenly presence. The Titanic truly looked like a floating palace.

Maeve was awestruck, still in disbelief that she was able to afford two third-class tickets aboard the most magnificent ship in the world. She managed to scrape together whatever money she could. She sold most of her belongings and Donal's old clothes. They didn't have much, but she sold anything of value. None of it meant much to her now that her husband was gone.

The ugly wrath of consumption claimed Niall just months ago, although Maeve's unrelenting grief warped her concept of time. Slowly rising out of the depths of depression since Niall's death, Maeve decided to pursue the dream she had shared with her husband: to sail to America.

Now, mere kilometers away from beginning the journey of their dreams, Maeve's heart longed for Niall. She wished he was there beside her, accompanying his family to a new and exciting life.

Keeping her tears at bay, Maeve closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, letting the saltwater air tickle her nose. Then, she opened her eyes and looked down at her eager son, a true image of his father. She squeezed Donal's hand, as if to prove to herself that they were really standing on the pier. He looked up at her with a smile so bright it melted away all of her doubts.

***

Author's Note: I started writing this story almost three years ago for the Ship of Dreams challenge but never got around to finishing it. I continued writing since I've always had a strong interest in the Titanic and the stories of the passengers. I figured I would try something different and give this story some light as a multi-part series. Hopefully I can keep it going! Thank you for reading!