The Ship of Dreams

11 April, 1912

In my wildest dreams I never imagined that today could have happened. It seems almost more than a dream…..

Sorcha was eager. Eager and excited, with a fair amount of nerves. She had barely ever left her home town and here she was in Queenstown waiting to board a small tender the Ireland in order to cross water to the floating Titanic in the distance. It was awe inspiring and Sorcha felt as if her heart was going to explode in her chest. 

“Exciting, isn’t it?” she turned to face a young woman standing beside her. Her dark hair was piled onto her head in an intricate braid and she wore a deep blue gown of moderate quality. She had an almost apprehensive smile on her face which Sorcha returned easily. 

“I suppose it is.” she replied and then offered a hand. 

“Ailbhe Nic Conshaimha.”

“Sorcha Ni Donaill.”

“Pleasure, Sorcha. What brings you to America?”

“My fiance.” she beamed, a smile the other woman returned easily. 

“Oh! Congratulations! Is he an American?”

“He is. He was born here in Ireland, but his family moved across the pond when he was a young boy. He visits his grandparents often and that is how we met.”

“Romantic!”

Sorcha blushed and shrugged. “I suppose so. What about you?”

She shrugged. “I need a clean start. The man I was supposed to marry turned out to not be who I thought. My parents are angered for me not following through with the engagement. My aunt purchased this for me,” she waved a second class boarding pass, “and I am leaving without my parents knowing.”

“I am, too.” she admitted in a soft voice. “My parents do not approve of Joseph, as his family is Protestant. They didn’t care that he would be baptized before our wedding.”

“Oh, Sorcha. I am so very sorry.”

“As am I, Ailbhe. Do you have anyone in New York?”

She shook her head sadly and Sorcha reached over to grip her hand. “Well, you do now.”

Ailbhe blushed. “You just met me.”

“And I have decided you are my friend.”

“You are a peculiar one, Sorcha.”

“I have been told that before.”

A man was suddenly approaching from where the other charter was being filled with what looked like hundreds of parcels. He called over the excited murmuring surrounding them, “If you have all gone through the health check, you may begin making your way onto the Ireland so we may approach the Titanic.”

Sorcha gripped the handle of her suitcase in one hand and squeezed the boarding pass in the other. This was it. She was about to leave her home land, likely to never see it again. It was almost unnerving, but she could do this. 

She and Ailbhe fell in line with the six other second class passengers, a family of three, a young couple and a single man. She glanced over towards the much longer gathered third class and whispered to Ailbhe, “I feel like an imposter. The only reason I have this ticket is that Joseph’s grandparents purchased it. I feel as if I should be with them.”

“I feel the same.” her new friend replied quietly. “We have only recently begun to gain influence, and my marriage was a large part of it.”

The couple before them shot an annoyed look, and when they spoke to the officer’s admitting them to the boats it was with flawless American accents. Ailbhe sighed and whispered, “I had thought that the American’s dislike of the Irish was an exaggeration.”

“I was unaware that the American’s had a dislike of the Irish. Joseph never mentioned such a thing.”

The officer turned to them then and asked in almost a sneer, “You speak English, right?”

“I do.” Sorcha replied, attempting to not frown angrily at him. She hoped Ailbhe was wrong and these American’s were an outlier. 

“And you’ve passed your health examination?”

“I have.”

“Boarding pass and name.”

She handed over the greyish paper and said, “Sorcha Ni Donaill.”

He hummed, studied the paper and then handed it back. “Welcome aboard, ma’am." 

She stepped aboard the small ferry ship, and turned to wait for Ailbhe. When her friend joined her she beamed and once more switched to Gaelic, “I’m unsure if this is really happening.”

Ailbhe laughed and reached over to hold her hand. “Me either. May I see your pass? I’m curious how close our cabins are.”

Sorcha handed it over and the brunette squealled. “We share a cabin!”

“Truly!” she bent over her shoulder to see the identical number stamped into the cabin slot. “What a coincidence!”

“I imagine they didn’t want new passengers to disrupt the ones that have been onboard since yesterday afternoon.”

She nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.”

“What do you think they will be like?” Ailbhe asked and Sorcha shrugged. 

“So much more than I could possibly imagine.” 

The other woman nodded in agreement and they stood side by side and silently watched as they left the Irish shore. The closer they got to the towering ship anchored before them, the more intense Sorcha’s feelings of awe and nervousness expanded. This was the Ship of Dreams. The Queen of the Ocean. What was a poor Irish recently graduated nurse like her doing going onto a vessel like this?

The awe only grew as they climbed onto the deck. The floor beneath her feet was more intimidating than pressed wood had a right to be. She glanced over to Ailbhe who had an equally impressed look on her face. 

“This is beautiful.” she whispered, her eyes roving upwards. She gasped then and lifted a finger. “Look!”

She wasn’t the only one drawing attention to the closest steam stack, and when Sorcha looked up she could see why. Peering from the top of it was a soot covered face. 

“Heavens! What is that man doing!” she gasped. The single man that had joined second class with them let out a huff and spoke in their native language. 

“Haven’t a clue lass, but if you ask me; its an ominous sign.”

Sorcha and Ailbhe turned to face him and the latter raised a dark brow. “You truly think so?”

He shrugged. “Looks like a face of death to me.”

The man walked away then and the two women shared an incredulous look. “Do you believe in superstition, Sorcha?”

“I believe in God, Ailbhe, and that he always has a plan. I’m sure He gives us signs of those plans when needed.” she lifted her head to look back at the large stack above them. The man was gone already and she shrugged. “Unfortunately, it isn’t as if He straight up says that they are signs.”

“And this?”

Sorcha shook her head. “This is the Ship of Dreams, Ailbhe. Of new beginnings. I’d like to think that such a thing would not be tampered with.”

She nodded and glanced away from the edge of the ship to the doorways welcoming them in. “Should we find our cabin?”

“In a moment.” she turned and rested her hand on the railings. “I’d like to say goodbye.”

“I’ll meet you there, then.”

Sorcha gave a small nod but her eyes were latched onto the land in the distance. At the corner of her she caught sight of brightly colored movement and turned her head to look. A man was pulling the hoisting of a flag, the distinctive stars and stripes of the American flag snapping in the air as it was raised. It felt almost like symbolism to her. Especially as the ship began to slowly move. The flag of her new home bringing her to sea as she said goodbye to the only land she had ever known. 

…….even as I write this I am surrounded by more finery than I have ever known. The chair I am sitting on is mahogany! Mahogany! Despite my apprehension I am more eager than ever to see the harbor of New York. Joseph has told me of the majesty of Lady Liberty. I am eager to see her with my own eyes. To see my Joseph. I do not think that I could be more grateful to be aboard the Titanic. I feel truly blessed that she is the one to bring me to my new home. 

Sorcha Ni Donaill

Steve was wrong. He couldn’t handle this. Not on his own. Not without Bucky. The first time he had read these words was shortly after his Ma’s death and reading them once more was bringing him back to that mindset. He needed to read it again, to feel that connection he has missed for so long. He just couldn’t do it alone.

So he carefully gathered the journal to him and climbed from his bed. He made his way through the tower and to the one person in this century who he knew would support him completely. 

Natasha opened the door and gave him a surprised look. “Steve. Is everything okay?”

“Uhm,” he hesitated and contemplated lying and running away. He couldn’t though so he took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. I need your help with something.”

“Anything.” she said easily, swinging the door open and allowing him in. He carefully moved past her and dropped onto her couch. She folded herself up beside him and reached out a hand, placing it gently on his knee. “What is wrong?”

“I uhm. I went with Tony to his dad’s safe to get my mom’s journals that Howard had ended up keeping. I wanted to read them, to feel connected to her again. I just, I miss her so much.” his voice wavered at the end and she squeezed his knee. 

“What brought this on, Steve?”

“The movie we watched.” he admitted quietly. “Not yesterday, but last week.”

“The Titanic?”

He nodded and opened up the journal. Very carefully he handed her his mom’s boarding pass. “My mom was onboard the Titanic. She never told us about it. Ever. I didn’t even know until she died and I read this. Buck was with me then and I just,” he swallowed and looked up to meet her soft eyes. “I can’t do it alone, Natasha.”

“Steve.” her voice was as soft as her expression as she very gently sat the pass onto her coffee table and gripped his hand between her smaller ones. “Why did you not tell us? We never would have made you watch that movie.”

“I don’t know.” he shrugged and looked back down to his mom’s writing. “She explains everything that happens in here. I want to read it again, to remember her. To pretend that she’s telling me. But after that movie, I keep picturing her as one of those people. As one of the frozen bodies that was just left to die and I can't…-” 

His voice cut off with a surprising sob, Natasha surprising him even more as she pulled him into her arms. “You don’t need to be alone, Steve. I am right here. I can read it for you, if that would help?”

“Can you read Gaelic?”

“No.” 

Steve sighed and shook his head against her shoulder. “Then I have to read it.”

“Read to me.” she ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me the story of Mrs. Rogers.”

“Sorcha.” he said quietly. “She was Sorcha Ni Donaill before she reached Ellis. She was the strongest woman I have ever known. You would have loved her.”

“Then tell me.” she reached to where his hand was still delicately holding his place to his ma’s April twelfth entry and gently guided it open. “Let me be here for you.”

Steve gave her a beyond grateful smile before lowering his head and beginning to read.