Sailing Close to the Wind

April 9, 1912

“Father, I beg of you. Please do not make me do this.”

I followed my father as he paced across the floor of our Southampton accommodations. We had just settled in from the long journey from London. Everything I owned was packed away in luggage and travel trunks, all of which were stacked near the window that overlooked the port. I could see the Titanic looming in the distance.

We were now mere hours away from my impending arranged marriage to Mr. James Anderson III, a wealthy banker, nearly thirty years my senior, to whom I felt no love or desire to marry whatsoever. I hardly knew the man, but I knew that he was cold, proud, and materialistic. There was something about him that gave me the impression that banking was not his sole source of income, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was that gave me that feeling.

My father, once a wealthy man himself, had squandered our family’s fortune on booze, gambling, and female company after my mother had passed. I had assumed, at first, it was in an attempt to numb the pain, but as I got older I began to wonder if that was always his true character.

When the reality of our bleak financial situation began to sink in, my father turned to Mr. Anderson and arranged a deal by bartering the only thing of any value he still had - me.

Mr. Anderson, who had never married, was moving to America and insisted that he needed a respectable wife to aid him with the start of his new chapter. He agreed to not only pay my father’s debts but also to ensure that he would be able to continue the standard of living to which he was accustomed in exchange for my hand. It seemed an outdated and heartless custom, of course, trading one’s own daughter for some form of a dowry, but I had come to realize in the last few years that my father’s selfishness knew no bounds. He desired money more than he desired for me to live a happy life, and he placed the burden of fixing his mistakes upon my shoulders.

When he had first told me that I was expected to marry Mr. Anderson and sail with him to America on the Titanic, I was in shock. But I soon realized that my only hope, my only small chance of happiness and of making it through this terrible arrangement, was to fight in whatever way I could. I would not go quietly nor submissively. I was resolved to try anything and everything to save my future from being decided by two entitled, greedy men.

Begging my father was just one plan of many. I knew in my soul that my pleas would not work, but I would try my damndest regardless.

“Elizabeth,” my father sighed. “We have been over this already. You have a duty to this family, to -.”

“Duty?” I scoffed. “Family? Was it not your duty to provide for this family? You are not asking me to fulfill my duty, you are asking me to make up for your shortcomings.”

The final syllable hadn’t yet departed my lips before my father’s hand came across my face.

“You mind your tone, daughter.” The word sounded like an insult. “Tomorrow morning, we are making your marriage to Mr. Anderson official, and upon your arrival to New York, he will secure both of our financial futures. We will want for nothing.”

“Except for love and happiness,” I said, holding my own hand to my cheek and willing tears not to fall.

“Don’t be stupid, Elizabeth. You do not know what it is to be destitute. You are as spoiled and privileged as anyone else in our circle, and you wouldn’t know the first thing about surviving with anything less than that to which you are accustomed. Would you truly rather live in poverty or, worse yet, on the streets, than to enter into this agreement with Mr. Anderson?”

I knew then that it was time to shift plans. I removed my hand, pulled my shoulders back, and looked him in the eye. “Wholeheartedly,” I replied.

He sighed again. “Then you are a fool.”

April 10th, 1912

“And do you, Miss Elizabeth Williams, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

James Anderson stood before me. The minister’s words sounded muffled in my ears, as though they were being carried across a great distance. The outline of my vision became dark and blurred. My stomach churned and knotted. Every part of my body was actively rejecting the idea of being bound to this man before me.

But yet I knew I could not break free from my father’s control while we were still on the same continent. My begging and pleading had done nothing to sway his decision to force me into marriage, and even if it had, I felt it wouldn’t have been long before he had come up with a different way to exchange my happiness for his own. I knew I had to marry James Anderson, because it was the only way I could get to America and away from my father. I would figure out how to leave Mr. Anderson once we were in New York, but for now, I had to take one carefully thought out step at a time.

And so I heard myself, in a voice I barely recognized, say, “I do.”

We traveled directly from the chapel to the port. My father and Mr. Anderson discussed the final details of their business arrangement, but I sat in silence, attempting to block out the world and focus on the tasks at hand. Escaping in New York would prove to be a challenge, but the more pressing issue would be surviving the voyage as Mr. Anderson’s wife. I clutched anxiously at the small bag I carried, taking an inventory of its contents through the outside of the fabric.

The car brought us to the first class boarding area, attendants swarming us nearly the instant that the vehicle had stopped. The hand of an attendant appeared outside the window as he swung the door open for Mr. Anderson, who then promptly tipped the attendant without so much as looking at him. He continued on to give directions to a group of bellboys about how our luggage should be unloaded. I rolled my eyes and exited the car after him, coming face to face with the attendant who was still holding the door open.

My heart pounded. He was, by far, the most handsome man I had ever seen. My eyes gazed upward toward his. The color was dark and deep, but it was the specks of gold that left me most mesmerized. His skin was tanned and had an almost warm look to it, as though he could radiate heat like the sun. His jaw was strong and chiseled, and he was muscular, but not overly so. If not for the sound of my father’s voice calling my name as he rounded the car from the other side, I might’ve stood there gaping at him all day.

“Elizabeth,” my father called again.

“Thank you,” I said to the attendant with a nod. He smiled and nodded back and then closed the door behind me. I forced my attention to my father. “Yes?”

“Well, everything is all arranged with Mr. Anderson. Upon your arrival to New York, he will finalize the new accounts, and everything will be in order.”

“Fine,” I said shortly.

He gave me a strange sort of look and then said, “A safe voyage to you then. Do write when you’re settled.”

I turned to look and see that Mr. Anderson was still occupied with the bellboys and then leaned back toward my father, clutching my bag and lowering my voice.

“You have forced me to leave the only home I have ever known, to enter into a loveless marriage, and you have robbed me of any chance of finding true love and a happiness of my own. I suggest then, dear father, that you do not hold your breath waiting for my letters. If you allow me to step onto that ship without putting your own selfish agenda aside and intervening on my behalf, then I can tell you this for certain: You will have a daughter no longer. The girl you see before you, she will be gone. For all you know, maybe she drowned to the bottom of the Atlantic. If you let this happen, then one way or another you will have no part in her life from this moment on. And,” I added noting the flash of anger in his eyes, “I suggest you do not lay hands on me again for using a firm tone, as I’m sure Mr. Anderson would not appreciate you harming that for which he has already paid.”

I watched his face for a moment. Perhaps there was a small part of me that hoped he would choose that instant to start acting like a real father. But when it became clear that he would not, I turned away from him one last time, walked past the handsome attendant who I had not realized had been standing so close to our conversation, and followed the bellboys, the man who was now my husband, and our luggage toward the gangplank. It wasn’t until I was on board, feeling as though I had been swallowed whole and was now venturing toward the belly of the beast, that I began to register the truly massive size of the great ship.

Of the thirty nine suites on the Titanic, James Anderson had reserved two of them. Knowing that he would have to have paid a king’s ransom for just one suite only serves to further confirm my suspicions that he was not a simple banker. As the bellboys were unloading my luggage into the first suite, I couldn’t help myself but to question why the two were necessary.

“Mr. Anderson?”

“James,” he corrected.

It felt too intimate to call him by his first name, especially since we had barely ever spoken more than a few words to each other, but I managed to choke out the sound nonetheless. “James. I notice it’s just my luggage being delivered to this suite.” It wasn’t a question, but I’d hoped he would provide an explanation anyhow.

“Yes, well I thought it would be best for us to each have our own space. I know our situation is… unique, to say the least, and I thought it best to ensure that we eased into our union without being too confined. You may wish to engage in… whatever hobbies you prefer to engage in, and I will be conducting some business during our voyage. Having my own suite will allow me to do so while not encroaching on your daily leisure.”

For a brief moment, I was grateful to him for having taken my comfort into consideration when arranging our accommodations. That is, until he took a step forward, brushed his hand down the side of my face, and quietly said, “But I will join you each night, my dear.”

A loud, perfectly timed thud from behind me stole Mr. Anderson’s attention away so that he did not see my shudder. I turned to see where the noise had come from to find the attendant from the car helping to move the luggage.

“You there,” Mr. Anderson hissed. “Be careful with my wife’s belongings.” The words themselves weren’t particularly jarring, but the tone in which he spoke was bone chilling.

The team of maids that had been working to empty the trunks as they were brought in scurried away into one of the bedrooms.

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Anderson,” the attendant said. He spoke with a hint of an Italian accent.

I saw an unwarranted amount of anger build in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. He stepped forward and began to open his mouth.

I couldn’t stop myself from intervening.

“Oh my, with the way the ship just lurched, I’m surprised more of the luggage wasn’t knocked over.”

Mr. Anderson stopped to turn and peer at me, a confused look upon his face.

“Didn’t you feel that?” I asked him. “Your sea legs must be sturdier than mine,” I added with a small laugh.

“Yes, well, do be careful,” he said to me, still looking confused. “Even anchored, there is a possibility for the ship to move this way and that.” He shot one more vicious look at the attendant and then turned back to me. “I’ll be along to my suite now. I want to make sure things are unloaded properly. But I will see you for dinner.” With that, he excused himself and disappeared through the door.

“Thank you,” I said to the attendant once I was sure Mr. Anderson was beyond earshot.

He smiled at me. “It is I who should be thanking you, Mrs. Anderson.”

“Please,” I said, “Do not call me by that name.”

“What then am I to call you?” he asked, still smiling.

I felt my cheeks warm. “Elizabeth.”

“Miss…,” he said quietly, glancing around the suite at the other attendants who were hard at work and not paying us any mind. “It would be, let’s say, frowned upon for me to address you so informally.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly. “I suppose I understand that.” I stood awkwardly in the middle of the parlor, looking around for the first time. It was absurdly lavish. I tried desperately to occupy my eyes with the gaudy details of the room so as not to stare at the attendant, but finally my eyes could be distracted no longer. I turned them back toward him only to find that his were locked onto me.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked.

“Oh, no of course not. I wouldn’t ask anything of you that was beyond your job description.”

He stifled a laugh and then said, “Miss, I am the bedroom steward for this suite. I am here to attend to anything you need.”

“Oh,” I said again. “But I thought… the luggage…”

“Yes, miss. You needed the luggage brought in, no?”

“No. I mean yes, yes I did. Thank you.” I had never sounded so much like a bumbling idiot in all my life. I took a deep breath and tried to regain some of my composure. “And what do I call you?” I asked.

“John,” he said quickly and with a smile.

“John?” I asked, my disbelief apparent.

He looked around again and then back at me, shaking his head. “Giovani,” he whispered.

I felt my cheeks warm again. Something about this man trusting me with his true self made him even more attractive. “It’s nice to meet you, Giovani,” I whispered.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he whispered back. “Elizabeth.”

My name had never sounded more beautiful.

I went to the deck to watch as we set sail. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt I needed one last look at my home before I could no longer call it by that name. After all, I had always loved England. It was never in my heart to leave, but no matter what the next few days and weeks brought, I knew somehow that I would never be coming back.

And so I said my silent goodbye to the land that I had loved these last twenty years. As the horn blasted and the ship pulled away from the dock, I wiped a tear from my cheek and prayed that I would find my freedom and my happiness.

By dinner time, the Titanic had made its way to France and was preparing to depart for Ireland. Meanwhile, I had thought of the perfect excuse to get out of both dinner and any wedding night expectations. Just before Mr. Anderson was expected to arrive at my suite, I locked myself in the bathroom, filled a bowl with water from the sink, and sloshed it intermittently into the toilet. I was mid-slosh when I heard him knock hesitantly on the bathroom door. I started to groan, hoping it would make the act more convincing.

“Elizabeth?” he called. “My dear, are you alright?”

“I’ll be,” slosh, groan, “okay. I just,” groan, “haven’t been,” slosh, “on a boat before,” groan.

“Do you think you’ll make it to dinner?” he asked.

Slosh, groan. “I’m afraid not.”

“That’s a shame. My business associates were so looking forward to meeting you.” He paused for a while. “And what about this evening? Do you believe you’ll be well enough to… celebrate our union as man and wife?”

I rolled my eyes. Of course that’s what he would be concerned about. The next groan was real. “I’m so,” slosh, “sorry, my dear.” I added the term of endearment for good measure, but it nearly made me truly ill to say the words.

“It’s quite alright,” he said in a tone that sounded as if it was most certainly not. “As you said, it takes some time to get one’s sea legs. Perhaps you’ll feel better in the morning. Ah, there you are,” I heard him say to someone. “My wife is ill. Please see that she gets anything that she needs. Elizabeth, the bedroom attendant is here. He will get you anything you require. I do believe that the maids are working in their quarters, as well, should you need any additional assistance. I’ve got to be off, my associates are waiting for me.”

Slosh, groan. I continued, waiting for him to say more, but the next voice I heard was not that of Mr. Anderson’s.

“Elizabeth?” Giovani whispered through the door. “Mr. Anderson has left the suite.”

I paused. “You’re sure?”

“Si,” he replied.

I set down my bowl, picked myself off the floor, and opened the door. Giovani was standing on the other side, looking even more breathtakingly handsome than he did this morning.

“You knew I was waiting for him to leave?” I asked.

He simply nodded.

“Thank you,” I said, walking past him and into the parlor to settle onto a sofa. “But as you can see, I’m fine. I’m sure you have things to do, you no longer need to attend to me.”

He smirked and followed me, “Ah yes, I do have things to do. Right now, I’m meant to be attending to the wife of one of the most wealthy and powerful men on this ship who has supposedly come down with a terrible bout of sea sickness.”

I found myself unsure of what to say. I didn’t think it was best for him to stay, but he knew about my charade. And if he was spotted elsewhere while meant to be attending to me, would that not arouse suspicion from Mr. Anderson? Or perhaps get Giovani in some sort of trouble? As I was contemplating these options, a different question came to mind.

“How did you know I was waiting for him to leave?” I asked, though I was certain I already knew the answer.

He took a few measured steps to stand across the room near the faux fireplace. “I confess, I heard you talking to a man outside the gangplank. I believe he was your father.”

I sighed. “I thought as much. I’m sorry you have to bear the burden of knowing the truth, but I do appreciate your discretion. And your help. You’ve actually helped me more than once today, if memory serves,” I noted. My fingers toyed with the fringe of a decorative pillow as I tried again not to stare too much at the beautiful man before me.

“Forgive me, Elizabeth, if this is too bold a statement, but it does not seem as though I am the one with the burden to bear. You have no need to be sorry. If I see an opportunity to help you lift your burden, well then it is not only my duty but my pleasure to help.”

I allowed myself in that moment to meet his gaze, to feel not only the intensity of his eyes on me but also the deep sincerity of his words. It made absolutely no sense for this man to put his livelihood on the line for me, or to do anything for me that was not explicitly part of his job, but my heart could not refrain from fluttering at his efforts regardless.

“You are confused by this?” he asked.

I nodded softly. “Yes, I admit I am. You hardly know me. Surely, I am not worth the risk you put yourself in by helping me to evade Mr. Anderson.”

Giovani took the smallest step forward and leaned in closer. “Just this day, you have shown me your kindness, your strength, and your bravery. And, though I know it’s not a secret you meant for me to hear, I know that you dream of more for your life. If you dream of love and passion over material things, then that is what you deserve. And,” he added, after a brief quiet moment, “I dare say, you are the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I have ever seen. I believe that you are worth the risk.”

For a long while, I am silent from shock. It is Giovani who speaks first.

“If I have offended you or overstepped, I apologize. I have never been the type of man who withholds the things he feels or who lets moments pass without seizing them. As you can imagine, that has gotten me into quite a bit of trouble over the years,” he adds with a smirk. “But I do not wish to cause you any discomfort, and so I will go now.”

It was absurd, the things he was saying. Of course he should go. The very nature of how he was behaving, alone in a room a with a technically married woman, was improper to its core.

But yet I knew that was not what I truly felt. I was taught to think a certain way, but I did not really believe it in my soul. This beautiful man before me, however short our acquaintance, however different our social status, saw my value. He saw me for who I was and what I wanted, and not what others could get from me. Yes, he was bold, but in the best possible way. Why should he withhold what he longed to say? Why should he, or anyone, let life slip by because of societal expectations? It was exactly what I was currently fighting for in my own life.

And as for my being married, well, that may have been a legal agreement, but it was most certainly not what my heart longed for. And had I not planned on running away from Mr. Anderson as soon as possible once in New York?

Even more beyond reason, and equally as difficult to ignore, was the inexplicable way Giovani made me feel.

Perhaps he was just as much worth the risk to me as I was to him.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. He was mere steps from the door. He turned to look at me. “Stay,” I said. “Stay with me.”

To be continued in part two…