Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
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The ship's officer and the emigrant burst out of the door into the cold night, still laughing.
"Where to now?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.
"The stern," he said decisively. "Other than the bridge, it's my favorite place on the ship."
"Why is that?" She gazed up into his eyes, curious.
"Because it's always the closest place to home - at least, on the voyage out. And because it's the most dimly lit, it's best place to see the stars."
She was touched and a little surprised by his sentimentality. "You miss home?"
"No matter how far I travel, my heart always calls me back," he said, a note of melancholy entering his voice.
"After tonight, I can most certainly relate," she confessed. "It made me miss Ireland something fierce, and here I thought I had not a single sappy bone in my body."
"And yet you're leaving it all forever to go to America," he said, bemused.
"Because I like a grand adventure - just like you," she reminded him teasingly. Deciding that it wasn't the best idea to discuss such a serious topic after a night of revelry and flirting, she changed the subject. "Come on then, let's see those stars," she said, smiling.
"Are you sure you won't be too cold?" he asked, concern furrowing his brow. "I can go back for my greatcoat-"
"No," she quickly reassured him. She couldn't feel the cold at all, she realized. Her blood was still running hot from the dancing - and his nearness. "I feel quite warm, actually."
He took her hand again, and she felt her heart skip a beat; it felt so natural, so right, to be connected to him in this way. He led her up the steps to the poop deck. Once at the top, he flicked his eyes upward and tensed slightly. Pulling her close, he whispered in her ear, "There's a quartermaster on the docking bridge. We have to be quiet."
She was so distracted by his presence that she barely registered his request, but nodded anyway. "Will you be recognized?" she asked, belatedly remembering to lower her voice.
He shrugged. "Not sure. If I keep to the shadows, maybe not. I certainly don't look like myself," he reminded her, gesturing to his half-undressed state, "and anyway, most of the crew don't even know my name, much less my face."
"Well, try not to sound like a toff, then, and you should be fine," she teased.
He chuckled. "Right, just for tonight I'll disguise myself as an impudent Welsh lad, out for a nighttime stroll with the best damn dancer on the ship." His eyes glowed with mirth in the dim light, and she saw that he had relaxed a bit, as if his fears of alerting the quartermaster to his presence were put at ease.
