Dear Diary

April 10, 1912

Dear Diary,

Forever feels like far too long. I know I should be happy, after all it’s the first day of my new life as Ms Mrs. Greta Hughes. Nathaniel is a nice man. He has kind eyes like orbs of fresh ground cinnamon, curls that frame his face and a strong chiseled jaw like my father. All the girls were excited when he proposed, and they were even more excited as they tossed the rice above our heads as we exited the chapel yesterday. He’s a provider, set to take over his family business when his father retires. It was nothing for him to spend the money to buy two tickets for the maiden voyage of this ship as our honeymoon. I’ve never been on a ship before, but Nathaniel says that the RMS Titanic is special. My mother didn’t want us to go on the boat, seeing as how I never learned to swim. I told her she worries too much, and Nathaniel reassured her that he would take care of his blushing bride. As I write in you now diary, we are watching the crew bustle about filling the ship with cargo and luggage. We haven’t even boarded, and I am abuzz with excitement, but I’m afraid I’m not excited like I am expected to be. You see, I am not excited because this will be my first night with my husband, but rather I am excited about the prospect of adventure. I have never left England before, so the thought of traveling to an entirely new country fills me with a flutter of butterflies that until now I thought was only reserved for schoolgirl crushes.

Despite the excitement of new food, sights, and the hum of a new city once we reach New York, I am also filled with dread. I do not know the source of this feeling, just that it sits heavy upon my chest like once of those elephants that I saw with father at the circus. Right now, Nathaniel is talking with some of his friends near the water’s edge while I sit here, indulging in the breeze dancing across my cheek. I declined his invitation to accompany him. I appreciate that Nathaniel isn’t crass with me like the husbands of some of my friends. I really am very lucky woman…yet I cannot shake this feeling that something is not quite right.

Until tomorrow

-Mrs. Greta Hughes

April 11, 1912

Good morning, Diary,

Last night was eventful. When we boarded the ship, we were directed to our first-class room. The room is beautiful, and I can’t wait to tell my mother about it. My room in my childhood home has been the same drab shades of pink since my birth which is fitting for a child but not a newly married woman. Instead, I would much rather the shades of mint green that adorn the bedroom on the ship. Nathaniel was right, this ship is special. I can feel it as I walk and explore every inch of this massive city on the water. Even now I am sitting in the reading room, awash in the light of the morning sun that filters through the massive windows all around me. I am the only one here, save for an elderly gentleman that informed me he was writing to his granddaughter who would meet him on the docks in New York. Everything feels so different on the ship. The air feels lighter, it even smells different. Nathaniel says that it is the result of the saltwater that kisses the side of the ship as we make our voyage, but it feels like more than that. There is a sweetness that is difficult to explain, but the other ladies I spoke with last night agreed with me. The worst part of being on the ship is the boredom. Nathaniel is much more of a socialite than I and wasted no time in finding a group of men to play poker with. He was gone most of the evening, allowing me time to wander the ship alone. The other women said that this was not a good sign, but Nathaniel and I do not mind spending time apart.

We met up later at the Veranda café. As we entered, we were transported to an island paradise, complete with palm trees. Our server said that they were imported for the ship, a fact that seemed a bit frivolous to me. Diary, you know that I have never wanted for anything, and I know that I am fortunate in that, but the amount of grandeur that surrounds me feels overwhelming. There are over two thousand passengers aboard this ship, but I have only seen the same handful of people so far. Nathaniel explained that our tickets afforded us some amenities that others did not have, but I would like to see the entire ship, not just the first-class areas. While he supported me in my adventure to see the lower floors, he insisted on joining me in the endeavor. Although he will not admit it, he is excited to venture with me, like how we explored when we were children. Time had taken the bright spark out of his eyes as he was taught the facts and figures needed to run the family business; however, at the mention of adventure I saw that light once more, fleeting like sparks from a piece of struck flint.

After dinner, we made our way out to the deck for a late-night stroll. The sun was almost set, setting the waves ablaze with shades of purple and orange that I have never seen before. When the final rays faded away, nightfall swaddled us from all directions. The darkness was then spotted with the stars that seemed to rip out of the veil of the sky above, but even their light did not pierce the inky blackness of the night. It was startling at first, seeing…or rather not seeing much from the ships side. The lights from the decks outlined a small stretch of water just on the other side of the ship.

Later in the evening, as I lay safely in Nathaniel’s arms, I shared with him that the darkness outside the boat was unsettling. He said that we have nothing to worry about, explaining that the crewman he spoke with at the port in Southampton had briefly explained that they used special devices to “see” through the darkness.

As you know, dear diary, I have not been afraid of the dark since I was a young child, but now, I feel that same foreboding I once did while I hid under the covers in my room. However, there is nowhere to hide this time, and I cannot help but feel like the monster is out there waiting for us.

-Mrs. Greta Hughes

April 13, 1912

Dear Diary,

I apologize for my absence yesterday, but there is so much to tell you. I felt it, the surge of overwhelming bliss that my mother talks about when she speaks of my father in his younger days. Nathaniel held true to his promise to explore the lower floors with me. It is so much different than the upper floors. I do not know how to explain it, but the lower floors feel alive. As soon as we stepped foot into the dining room of the lower deck, the din of laughter and voices filled our ears and wrapped us in warmth like a blanket. Before we could even find a seat, a young gentleman offered us drinks from a half-empty bottle. It burned like fire, but I couldn’t resist taking another drink. Nathaniel did the same, and before long he was singing along with the other men that danced around the room. I haven’t seen him so happy in a long time, not since were very young. It was nice to laugh, to hear people tell stories about themselves, rather than their latest investment.

When Nathaniel kissed me as we stood at the bow of the ship, I felt the fluttering of butterflies again. That was us, not the long boring conversations over poached salmon, but that moment with our foreheads pressed together, his hands at my sides as the salty sweet air tickled our faces. I think I understand now, marriage is about these moments. These moments of immeasurable bliss that I cannot imagine experiencing with someone else. It may be another day or two before I write again. Nathaniel and I have made plans with some of the third-class passengers, but I cannot wait to tell you all about it.

-Mrs. Greta Hughes

April 14, 1912

Diary,

The monster was real. It was worse than I could possibly have imagined. A monster made of ice looming in the darkness, ready to devour us all.

We hit the iceberg thirty minutes ago, and the entire ship seems to be holding its breath. Nathaniel says that the crew has a plan to save everyone, that they prepare for situations just like this, but there are so many of us. To say I am afraid does not seem fitting. I am not afraid for myself, but for the lower-class passengers. We have ventured out to the side of the ship, and I understand we are sinking. What will they do? Why are we sitting here eating eclairs and drinking wine?

Nathaniel went to get answers. Before he left, he helped me put on a life vest.

Nathaniel is not back yet, and now they have begun ushering us towards the lifeboats. The crew aren’t as nice as he made them seem, they are adamant that I get onto the lifeboat with the other women and children, but I refuse to leave without him.

He made me go. When he reappeared on the deck, he had one of the women from the third-class section in tow, dressed in one of my gowns. Her name is Mary and we met her yesterday along with her twin boys and the little girl still growing in her belly. He whispered to me that there wasn’t enough room for everyone and that some people would need to brave the cold waters until help arrived. Once Mary was on the boat, he turned to leave me again, and I tried to stop him. I can still feel his hand in mine as I write this huddled next to Mary in the lifeboat.

He had turned to me, his eyes alight with a joy and determination that I have not seen before. He pulled me close, our faces a breath apart just as we had stood on the bow the night before. I wanted to go with him, to help him sneak as many people onto the lifeboats as we could, but he wouldn’t let me. I had to make sure no one found out about Mary and help her keep the children safe. I knew I could not stop him and a part of me feels guilty for even trying. We kissed before he disappeared into the crowd of people once more.

It's gone. The city on the water, the massive boat is gone. My Nathaniel is gone. Mary has tried to convince me that he survived, that he is on another lifeboat, or fighting to stay alive in the frigid waters that surround us, but I felt him go. I felt the fire burning in his chest go out, snuffed by the unforgiving waters. It is quiet when just hours ago my ears were filled with the sounds of laughter and life, but now there is only silence and soft sniffling. I do not have any tears for Nathaniel because I know he died knowing he made a difference. Rather I have only selfish tears for myself. Maybe if I had been more adamant about my fears. If I had listened to my mother. If I had forced him onto the lifeboat with me.

I do not know the next time I will write in you dear diary. For now, I would just like to sit in the silence.

-Ms. Greta Muller