There were abilities that Kipp had demonstrated that were, well, unheard of except in history. For one, he could implant thoughts. We’d found references to that talent in old documents, but to date I’d not been able to mimic it. Of course, I’d not really tried, either. Kipp also could enter my dreams and manipulate the outcome. In that case, I’d found I could do the same, much to my surprise. Only Fitzhugh and Philo knew the full extent of Kipp’s abilities, and we’d privately stretched some boundaries to see where we could go. Maybe it was time to share more of these things? But it wasn’t my call alone.
“Elani, there are things that we–Kipp and I–are learning about our species.” She wagged her tail. “When we get back, there needs to be a discussion between all of us–including Fitzhugh and Philo—about where to go with some of our knowledge.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s not my decision to make to share, one way or the other.”
Elani smiled, as lupines do. “That’s fair enough, just knowing we can have the discussion. But in the meantime, is there something Peter and I can do that will expand our relationship?”
“Yes, I think so. Tell Peter you want to drop some of the polite boundaries and move towards the type of bond that Kipp and I share. If you do that, you will be reversing some of the arbitrary rules and move towards a natural, unfettered style of communication.”
She wagged her tail again. “I like the sound of that.”
“Go get some rest, sweetheart.” Leaning forward, I kissed her on the top of her furry head. “And you’re right…sometimes Kipp can be a booger,” I whispered, as she giggled in response.
Kipp was waiting for me in our room, which was darkened with curtains drawn. As I stripped down to my chemise, I glanced at Kipp, who still looked irritable, like a cranky old codger. He’d jumped up on the bed, sighing mightily as he made a big production of getting comfortable.
“And what’s eating you, might I ask?” I inquired, arching an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, staring at the wall.
“Well, you were pretty rough with Elani, Kipp, and that’s not like you.”
“She’s such a kid and I, well, I don’t know,” he answered, grumbling again.
“You’re worried about her,” I said, trying not to smile but failing miserably. “You should be and that’s okay.” At least I had the good sense to not tease him. “Peter and Elani are more than friends to us, now. I feel like they are part of our family, just like Fitzhugh, Juno and Philo.”
“Don’t forget Lily,” Kipp replied, licking his paw as if to indicate he was bored with the discussion.
I knew by his tone that he was relaxing. After a moment, I joined him, stretching out on top of the luxurious red brocade spread that covered the large bed. It was difficult to image in less than forty eight hours, this room in which we rested would be at the bottom of the Atlantic.
“It’s tempting, isn’t it, to want to change the time line and save these people as well as this ship.” Kipp’s moist nose brushed the side of my face.
Yes, it was. And years later, it still feels that way to me.
Our steward, Charles, delivered a note sent by Margaret Brown, inviting me to join some of the other ladies after dinner in the Reading and Writing Room on the Promenade Deck. The note made certain to invite Kipp, who had not crossed that threshold before. Peter would be with Elani in the lounge with the gents, so it seemed a good time for me to venture out. I’d thought of visiting steerage again, but since Margaret Brown broke the timeline and ship’s rules to make the invite, I felt compelled to go. Since the ladies would be dressed in their finest, post dinner, I pulled out the watered blue silk gown that would pass as the fanciest thing I had. Managing to get it buttoned, fastened and settled appropriately was a two person job, so after cursing and muttering to myself, I called for Peter. Kipp stared up at me, his eyes bright. I glared back at him, knowing he was enjoying the moment.
“Hey, can you lend me a hand?” I called out.
“With what?” he yelled back.
“Just come here.”
He knew I was getting dressed, so he cautiously tapped on the half closed door to the red room. At my invite, he slowly pushed the door open; I tried to not giggle at the apprehensive look on his face. Really, where had his mother been hiding him all these years? Kipp, in the meantime, was not helping by laughing softly in the back of my mind.
Peter’s face turned a lovely shade of pale crimson as he approached. “Uh, what do you need?”
“I can’t get the back fastened.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m not that flexible,” I added, smiling.
He reached forward and, after fumbling for a moment, managed to get started. The dress was made to fit close to the body, and he was forced to grab both edges of the fabric and pull while I sucked in my breath.
“For goodness sake!” he finally exclaimed. “How do you stand this?”
“And you get my point,” I replied. “This is why I don’t wear corsets. The fit of this dress is bad enough as it is.”
“I understand now, more than ever, why you dressed as a man during our trip to the General,” Peter muttered.
After he finished, I guess he was feeling very familiar and comfortable since he’d helped to dress me, so he went over and sat on the edge of my bed upon which Kipp was resting. Casually, he scratched the top of Kipp’s broad head, finding that favorite spot between Kipp’s ears.
“Tomorrow, I think we need to hang out near the bridge and see if we can pick up on the crew’s discussions about iceberg warnings,” Peter remarked. “There has been much said over the years about Captain Smith’s response to notifications, so I’d like to know what the crew was thinking.”
“Good idea,” I replied.
“We haven’t really talked about what will happen after we hit the iceberg,” Peter said, as he studiously examined his fingernails. “I just want you to know you can trust me to do whatever you tell me to do.” He glanced up. “It won’t be like it was on the General.”
Our eyes met. I realized he meant what he said and smiled. “I know, Peter. I trust you.” I was somewhat surprised to find that I did.
I’m not sure how Margaret Brown managed for Kipp to get a pass into the Reading and Writing Room, but she had, and the steward at the door looked away, humming a soft tune while pretending not to see the massive lupine glide past the aperture. Margaret, dressed in her post dinner finery, came to greet us, towering over me, making me feel tiny and dull in the midst of her charismatic lure. With a hand at my elbow, she pulled me to a far nook where she had a table prepared. I was pleased to see the Countess of Rothes, Madeline Astor, and Helen Candee, all of whom I’d met before. This time, Madame Aubert, the mistress of Benjamin Guggenheim was present, also.
“We enjoyed our visit with you the other day,” Margaret was saying. “And we realize you’re pretty much stuck in your cabin because of Kipp, so we planned an evening here,” she added, pleased with herself and her generous gesture of inclusion.
“How kind,” I responded, meaning it.
The steward rolled in a caddy that carried a large, insulated container filled with hot lemonade. Since the other ladies had just finished dinner, there was no need for food, but the steward brought a platter of after meal treats.
“So, Miss Keaton, how are you finding your accommodations?” Noel—the Countess—asked, smiling.
I, of course, was reading her underlying meaning, and she had no intent to be snarky. For a moment I envied her perfect oval of a face, with its blemish free complexion and dark eyes that invited trust and the sharing of confidences.
“Why, to be honest, it is a little embarrassing,” I responded. As nice as the ladies were, and they really were kind to me, I realized they enjoyed taking care of the American bumpkin who had inherited some money but didn’t know which fork to use at a fancy dinner. Yes, symbionts play a role, much like an actor. We don’t find such deception to be a character defect but rather a necessary part of our e
xistence. My acting innocent and humble invited them to want to watch over me. “My brother and I are not accustomed to such finery,” I added, my eyes rounding shamelessly.
“Well, it’s good to shake up the establishment,” Margaret Brown remarked. “Look at me,” she added, laughing loudly and not too ladylike. Leaning down, she gently rubbed her hand along Kipp’s back. She liked dogs.
Helen Candee hid a smile behind her napkin. She found Margaret to be a bit uncouth but at the same time admired how she pushed and shoved her way to the top of society. Helen pushed, too, but with a different style and in a much less noticeable manner.
I glanced at Madame Aubert, who sat quietly. Despite all my research, I never followed what happened to her after Benjamin Guggenheim died during the tragedy. He famously went below, when he realized he could not be saved, dressed in his finest wear, and was reported to be drinking brandy and smoking a cigar, alongside his valet, who I suppose had no say so in the matter, as the ship sank. He uttered brave last words but had to have been terrified as the water began lapping at his feet.
As the ladies chatted about societal functions and gently gossiped about people they knew, I listened and nodded my head politely when anything remotely came my way. Finally, Helen mentioned Colonel Gracie, who was her self appointed caretaker while she was on board.
“The Colonel mentioned that he played squash with your brother this morning,” she said, picking up the goody tray to offer me a taste of something sweet.
I selected a tiny tea cake frosted with confectioner’s sugar and placed it on the small plate I’d been given. It was probably a bad choice since I’d end up with sugar all over my lips, chin and the front of my fine dress. Kipp giggled, knowing I’d make a predictable mess.
“Yes, he did. And he sent me a copy of his wonderful book, too,” I replied. “Such a very nice man.”
“But, my, how he goes on about the war, if you get him started,” Helen remarked. “I am not versed on such things and usually ladies really don’t engage in discussions about war.”
Kipp glanced up at me, wagging his tail as Margaret handed him another tea cake. “I guess we know where you stand,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not a lady.”
“Nope, I guess not.”
In the manner of our kind, I engaged in the gentle flow of conversation, occasionally spiked with some sassy gossip that was considered discrete and high brow, as I simultaneously monitored the thoughts of the other patrons. The general discussion surrounded the cold weather which precluded outdoor walking, as well as the excellent time that the Titanic was making as she steamed at maximum speed towards New York.
“I have it directly from Bruce,” Margaret said, as she sipped her hot lemonade, “that Captain Smith thinks we might make it to New York early. He is hopeful, of course, since it will profile the ship to people put off by worry that she is not fast enough to compete with the Cunard ships.”
My ears perked up. Of course, that statement did nothing to advance the oft repeated theory that Ismay had forced Smith to take unnecessary chances in an ocean dotted with icebergs. To get to the truth, we’d have to be focused on the bridge during the hours before the actual collision to determine the facts. Perhaps Ismay was just showing off by talking large to Margaret Brown?
“Tomorrow will be our critical day,” I remarked to Kipp. “And a difficult one,” I added.
Kipp gazed up at me and blinked his eyes, once.
“We’ll face it together,” he replied.
Chapter 24
Sunday arrived, and while Peter joined Colonel Gracie to play an early morning game of squash, I decided to prowl about the ship once again. I’d only made the one trip to steerage, and after breakfast had been served, I wandered down to the great common room in the hopes of finding Katie. Sadly, I didn’t see her, but a group of small children who were playing with a ball were attracted to Kipp, who dutifully chased the ball and returned it to them, much to their delight. The children didn’t speak English–or any of the other languages in which I was fluent—but since I knew their thoughts, it didn’t matter, and I enjoyed watching their expressions as Kipp did his dog routine, making them laugh. The probability was that those children didn’t survive; I forced my thoughts elsewhere.
“Why did I let Philo and Fitzhugh talk us into this?” I asked, feeling my mood drop down somewhere dark and low, as I watched the children run their fingers through Kipp’s thick fur. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the touch of the small fingers scratching his pelt. Although I’d agreed to come, I obviously wanted to find someone to blame for my choices. It was not an attractive quality, I admit.
“You could have declined,” he replied sensibly. “Isn’t it too late to worry about it?”
“No, it isn’t. We could leave right now and miss the last moments,” I said, feeling my bottom lip poke out. His attempt to be reasonable and shift the impact for my decisions back on me was, well, irritating.
“But we won’t, Petra. We’ve come too far.” Kipp opened one eye to stare at me. “Let’s go to the Boat Deck. Being around these children is making you moody.”
There was one little blonde girl with bright eyes the color of the blooms on a stalk of delphinium who reluctantly let Kipp leave. I still see her, in my mind’s eye, sometimes at night when I’m trying to drift off to sleep. Her clothing was not fine, but her mother had taken pride in the neatly braided hair and freshly washed skin that was pink and clean. She looked like a little doll.
Taking our time, we made our way upward, stopping on the D Deck, where Captain Smith was conducting a service since it was Sunday. The First Class Dining Room was full and the sounds of people singing a hymn rang out to us. Kipp cocked his head as he paid attention to the words, since he’d not heard a religious song before. I knew he was still working out his thoughts on a higher power and didn’t weigh in.
“I like the lyrics,” he remarked. “They sound hopeful.”
“I think they are meant to be so,” I replied simply.
Taking the Grand Staircase, we emerged on the Promenade Deck and walked aft, so that we wouldn’t be protected by the steel and glass barrier erected on the forward section. I wanted to feel the cold and experience the pain of having the freezing air strike my face in all its brutality, hoping the image of the happy children in steerage would be forced from my mind. We walked until I felt tears burning my skin as the dropping temperatures caused my eyes to water unrelentingly. After I felt I’d tolerated enough of the harshness, we retreated forward, seeking respite in the enclosed section of the Promenade Deck and paused, near the bridge, so that Kipp could eavesdrop. Yes, I was close enough that I could do the same but felt lazy and still irritable and more than a little willing to let Kipp do the heavy lifting.
“Well, there’s discussion among the bridge crew about icebergs. There have been more than one warning sent by wireless from other ships, describing sightings of bergs as well as flow ice. But no one seems extremely concerned, since visibility is good and there should be plenty of time to avoid a collision.” Kipp looked up at me. “From the perspective of the crew, who are experienced, continuing to steam at full speed is not unusual.”
“Future analysts fault Smith for not moving more slowly at this point. But as we know, since we shift through different periods in time, you can’t take a perspective a hundred years after an event and apply it to the standard of the day.” I nodded as Second Officer Lightoller passed me, tipping his hat as he did so. He was a serious man dedicated to his craft, but he managed to smile at Kipp. I took a deep breath. “So at this point, we don’t get the impression that Smith is acting outside of what is customary or that Ismay has forced the issue.” Shrugging my shoulders, I added, “We’ll continue to watch and listen.”
“Ismay’s name didn’t come up,” Kipp said. “Captain Smith is making remarks that he’d like to get to New York early, just to show the Cunard folks that the White Star Line has created something amazing in the Titanic. It seems to be a
matter of personal pride with him.”
It was early afternoon by the time we returned to our parlor suite. Peter and Elani were already there and showed great patience and self control by waiting for us, since the steward had rolled in a cart with luncheon for our pleasure. The minute we hit the door, Elani started to eat, her muzzle deep in the bowl Peter had prepared. Smiling at Kipp, who began to drool, Peter set one down for him, too.
“Colonel Gracie beat my butt in squash,” Peter admitted, his shoulders slumping sheepishly. “I’m glad you missed my humiliation.”
“While you were receiving your lesson in the art of losing gracefully, we went to steerage again where Kipp played with a group of children before we hung out near the bridge,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. There was really no need for Peter and Elani to know the degree to which my exposure to the children had affected me. After all, it was my job to be the steady, mature symbiont in the room…if I could manage it. As we ate–I really nibbled, not having any appetite–I shared Kipp’s impressions from eavesdropping on the bridge crew.
“So far, we don’t find anyone who committed a gross error in judgment, do we?” Peter asked. Not a vegetarian like me, he was busy cutting apart a chicken breast covered in a delicate white sauce. Only the best for the Titanic, I thought wryly.
After the meal, we decided to rest, since we’d have to be in top condition to deal with the emotional stress created once the disaster began. I gripped Peter’s forearm lightly, squeezing it gently. “Get some sleep,” I advised. He knew better than to argue, and he and Elani both prepared to lie down, while Kipp and I retired to the red room for the last time.
Kipp hopped up on the bed, his thoughts quiet and guarded from me. After I’d stripped down to my chemise, I curled up next to him, using his warmth against the temperature in the room, which was slightly cool. He put his muzzle against my shoulder, his breath caressing the side of my face. Pulling him closer, I buried my face in his fur, smelling his lupine wildness, so foreign to me but yet a part of my existence.
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 27