Waiting For the Sun to Rise Part One

In memory of the RMS Titanic, which sank 101 years ago this weekend, I will be posting parts of the novel that I began last year, Waiting for the Sun to Rise. I got the inspiration during my insane Titanic obsession, which is still there but not as much, and still haven't finished it. The Titanic sank in the wee hours of the morning on April 15th, 1912, but at this exact moment, 101 years ago, it was still the ship of dreams, beginning its legendary transatlantic crossing. The whole world held its breath as the largest moving object (unfortunately never given a proper send-off) pulled away from its Belfast port and made its way into the open sea (after a few stops). The passengers, from the British aristocrats to the American millionaires to the Irish in the steerage, all buzzed with excitement. They were really on the fastest ship in the world! In the past year, I've read countless books, watched many documentaries, and visited the exhibit in Mystic, Connecticut, so my information is mostly accurate. However, I did take some artistic license on the character of Madeline Astor, since there wasn't that much known about her, at least that I could find. Anyway, enjoy reading and if you've gotten through this then maybe you'll stick around to read the rest. Sorry it's so long.



“Oh, Mama, look!” I cry, hanging out the window of the automobile.
“Mama, you can see it from here! All of the funnels, the decks,
thousands of windows, and even the name, all spelled out in little
white letters!” I lean back into the car to grin at my mother. After
all this time, we’re finally on the way, and she couldn’t be less
enthusiastic. Her hands are folded primly in her lap, and she sighs as
she stares out her window.
“You’re looking the wrong way,” I say, turning back to goggle. For
almost an hour, we’ve been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but
the ship only just came into view. From my seat a few hundred yards
away, I can see everything; the freshly painted walls, the gleaming,
scrubbed decks, and even the people who were already milling around
it, wearing their uniforms and checking to make sure the equipment
worked.
Around us, the whole world seems to be sharing my excitement.
Uniformed workers wearing hats and matching shirts push around
luggage, newsboys run past holding their papers, and passengers line
up for inspection. A little ways away, I can see the inventory being
loaded up the gangway. I’ve never seen so much food in my life. There
are cartons filled to the brim with bottles of spirits, and bins
overflowing with fresh vegetables. More and more just keep on coming,
and it seems that there’s enough to supply us for a year, rather than
a few days.
“Oh, dear,” says Mother from behind me. “ I do hope it’s not too much
of a wait. All of those millionaires will take up our time, I
suppose.”
I smile. “Oh, but it’s the ship of dreams, Mother! And we’re going
home! We’ll see Papa again!”
That puts a lighter expression on her. “Well, that could be rather
nice,” she says. “If only we could just get out of the car, and onto
that ship before the sun goes down. “
As if he heard her words, the cabbie lowers the glass separator and
tips his hat at us. “ This is where you get out, Ma’am,” he tells us.
“Just go right through the maze of cars and into the crowd. I’m afraid
you’ll need to take your own bags, though.”
“That’s fine,” I say immediately, hopping out of the car and going
around to the back. Mother is getting out on the other side, muttering
slightly under her breath about how much the ride would cost, but I
don’t care. Tipping the cabbie and with one bag in each hand, I take
her arm and begin to walk towards Titanic.
The streets are more crowded as we get closer. I can see a mix of all
different people; young, old, poor, rich, and the ones in the middle,
like us. Most of them seem to be European, and I feel oddly superior
as an American, like I already know what lies ahead. Little boys chase
each other around, wearing little caps and knickerbockers, while women
wearing gowns and holding parasols stand at the other end, gazing at
the ship and making small talk. I lead Mother through the hordes of
people, and eventually stop at a sign that says “Second Class.”
“Is this our entrance?” I ask, holding out the tickets. The man
standing next to the sign looks over them for a second, and then nods.
I let out a little leap of excitement, and then practically run up the
gangway. We are stopped again at the doors, but I practically shove my
ticket at the officer, and leap over the threshold.
The ship is even more grand on the inside than it was from the dock. I
stop short as soon as my eyes adjust to the light, and Mother almost
crashes into me from behind. The walls are shining, positively
radiating glory, the chandeliers are sparkling, and there seem to be
mirrors everywhere I look. I turn my head and catch a glimpse of my
eager face, streaked with dust from the car ride, and my hair braided
loosely around my head. I don’t belong in this beautiful room, with
all of the riches and formal-ness. And this is just the entryway!
We quickly go down the corridor, what with the flood of people coming
in, and I can’t help but goggle as we walk. The lights, the
floorboards, the emergency axes; they all seem like they’re from a
fairytale. And I’m the princess, returning to my kingdom in this
magnificent chariot.
“Look, Mother!” I say as we near the cabins. “It’s unsinkable, see?” I
hit my hand hard on the white walls to prove my point, and get several
disapproving looks from passing people. “Sturdy as the Brooklyn
Bridge!”
“Lillian,” says Mother in a low voice, coming up to me. “You’re acting
like a child. Control your emotions, will you? This is the fanciest
ship in the world. You don’t go hitting the walls.”
I give her the bug-eyed look that always got me into trouble when I
went to school in London. Luckily, before she can come down on me,
cabin fourteen comes into view.
“Here we are,” says Mother, setting down our luggage and opening the
door. “Home sweet home.”
The room is lovely, even though it’s smaller than the parlor suites.
It’s a room the size of a hotel room, with a few beds and a washbasin
in the middle. There are some lamps hanging down from the ceiling, and
a small writing desk in the corner.  I flop down on one of the beds
and touch the wall. It’s smooth, white, and clean. The whole room
smells nice, like it was just cleaned.
“Well,” says Mother, setting down her suitcase and looking into the
mirror. “It’s nice enough for us, isn’t it? We got one of the best
ones, and we don’t have to share it, either.”
I stretch out on the cool, clean blankets and yawn. We still have
plenty of time until the ship leaves, considering that we were one of
the first ones on. I think about my father, and how happy I will be to
see him again.
There’s a knock at the door, and I turn my head to see a young maid
standing there, wearing her crisp, starched uniform. “Everything
gettin’ settled all right, then, miss?” she asks Mother in a thick
Irish accent.
“I think so, “ answers Mother, glancing at me on the bed. “It’s a fine
ship, you know.”
The maid smiles shyly. “ Well, let us know if there’s anythin’ you
need. And keep an eye out for mice and rats.”
I sit up. I didn’t think about that.
“Rats?” Mother asks incredulously, and I can detect a hint of dismay
in her voice. “You mean there are already rats onboard?”
“Well, they usually are in the steerage if they’re here at all, but
they can sometimes sneak up, so make sure you don’t go around leavin’
doors open. If they get upstairs, then we’re in big trouble.”
       “All right,” says Mother politely. “Thank you for the notice.”
The maid curtsies and leaves.
“Well,” says Mother, raising her eyebrows at the retreating black
skirt. “That was reassuring.”
“Oh, Mama, you heard her. It’s just the steerage.” I stand up and look
out of the small porthole that we have. The gangway has lost its line
of people, and the crowd is now filled mostly of onlookers. I realize
with a jolt that we’re leaving.
“Mother, come on!” I cry, grabbing my shawl and darting out of the
room before my mother can protest. I have no idea where I’m really
going, but I take a few turns and find myself out in the open, with a
railing in front of me and crowds of people looking up at me, waving.
“Goodbye!” I shout to no one in particular, leaning over the side. The
water is so far down it makes me dizzy, and this isn’t even the top
deck. There are people all around me, spilling out of door and
windows, waving their arms in delight.
There’s nobody for me to say goodbye to but my friends in London, and
I know for a fact that none of them are here. Instead, I just wave my
arms and shout myself hoarse, making onlookers wonder why a girl my
age is acting this way. I’m bidding good riddance to the country of
England, which was my home for a few years, and facing back towards
America.
“Is it really going to move now?” I look down and see a curly-haired
little girl in wrapped in a shawl tugging at my skirt and looking up
at me with big brown eyes.
“Of course,” I tell her, smiling. Over her head, I see a woman
standing at the railing, watching us, and I decide this must be her
mother. “We’re going to America, and you’re going to love it there.”
I pick her up in my arms and lean over the railing, waving with my
free hand. She holds on tight to me, and shouts her goodbyes as well.
There’s a loud rumbling noise, and I see lines being cast from the
dock. The cheering gets louder as we gradually start to move, slowly
at first, but then picking up speed. The wind blows my hair around,
and the little girl in my arms tenses. It’s almost scary now, how fast
we’re going, and I can’t look down without worrying about falling
over. I set down the little girl, and he runs off to join some other
children. We’re going so fast that the crowd on shore is rapidly
disappearing, and soon all I can see is the faint outlines of the
coast. I’m really going home.