Course Correction Studio

Category: The Journal

All posts related to the Fumbling Toward Ecstasy sequel The Journal.

  • 2. April 19, 1912

    April 19, 1912

    Waldorf-Astoria hotel

    11:15 P.M.

    We arrived in New York last night. As expected, there were throngs of reporters waiting for us at pier 54. Senator William Alden Smith was there waiting for us, as well. Before we even set foot in the terminal, one of his aides presented us with a summons to appear before a Senate hearing at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel this morning.

    We were both called to testify before the Senate Committee on Commerce and spent nearly the entire day there. It was circus. The meeting room was full of spectators, including the media. Senator Smith certainly hadn’t helped matters. It was a difficult day for all involved. I’ve never seen Tom so angry.

     

    –

     

    “It’s nothing but a giant farce,” Andrews said, slamming the door closed behind him as he stepped into the hotel room after Brynne.

    “They just want to get to the bottom of it all,” Brynne said. She removed her hat tossed it to the bed.

    “They want someone to blame,” Andrews countered. “It’s a witch hunt. I cannot believe the audacity of that Senator Smith. To even suggest that somehow you were responsible … it’s ridiculous. I had half a mind to reach across the table and give him a piece of my mind. He tried to use your relationship with me to discredit the firm’s work.”

    “I know. He tried to depict me as some inexperienced ditz with too much influence and responsibility. He basically said that I compromised your judgment, which led to design flaws.” Brynne walked over and sat on the loveseat near the window.

    “There were design flaws, but you didn’t cause them.” Andrews sat down beside Brynne on the sofa.

    “No,” Brynne concurred. “Ismay did.”

    “Some of them, yes, but there were others that he had nothing to do with.” Andrews looked at Brynne. He didn’t have to say aloud that he was worried. It was in his eyes.

    “I know,” she said. “This has the potential to turn out quite badly for the firm, doesn’t it?”

    “For us, too,” Andrews added. These hearings didn’t carry any legal ramifications, as they weren’t courts of law; but the social and professional consequences could be devastating. If this committee determined that the firm was largely at fault due to faulty design by the Harland and Wolff, the firm might never recover. Even if the firm survived, the men responsible for the Titanic’s construction were unlikely to come out of it unscathed. Their reputations would be irreparably ruined Andrews’s career would likely never recover.

    Brynne sighed and took Andrews’s hand. “Well, one thing’s for sure – sitting up and ruminating over it isn’t going to get us anywhere, is it? It won’t solve a thing; it’ll only make us feel badly. It might be what Smith and the others want to do, and it might be what they want us to do, but we’re not going to play that game.”

    Brynne stood and took a few steps over to the bed. She held out her hands to him, beckoning him to come to her. Andrews obliged. He stood and walked over to her, taking her hands.

    Brynne gazed into Andrews’s brown eyes. “If Ismay had listened to you in the first place, no one would be in this mess,” she said. Then she kissed him. Her lips still within an inch of his, she added, “You’re the last person who would ever be at fault. I hope you know that.”

    “I don’t know what I would do without you, Brynne,” Andrews said. “I can’t believe how close I came to losing you.”

    ‘You have no idea,’ Brynne thought, for if she’d succeeded in her mission and traveled through the link, she would’ve disappeared from his life forever.

  • 1. April 16, 1912

    April 16, 1912

    R.M.S. Olympic

    12:15 p.m.

    I have no idea where to begin. I suspect I’m in shock. The Titanic sank, but I expected that. What I didn’t expect was for it to sink an hour early, or for several ships to come to our rescue, or for the loss of life to be a fraction of what it had originally been. These and a lot of other questions continually circulate through my mind as I realize that they may never be answered to my satisfaction.

    Tom and I ended up on the Olympic. The Titanic’s sister ship wasn’t carrying the maximum number of passengers, fortunately, but once Titanic passengers were taken aboard, conditions quickly became crowded. I insisted that the passengers take priority over me for cabin space, especially beds, but both the Olympic’s doctors and Dr. O’Loughlin insisted that Tom and I accept a cabin because of my injury. Speaking of which, I still have a mild headache, but I’m much improved from yesterday.

    From almost the moment we boarded, Tom, Ismay, and the senior officers from the Titanic have been working to piece together the events of the night in an effort to determine what happened. What caused the damage? What was the extent of the damage? That’s where he is right now, Tom, I mean. Of course, I wanted to join them, but everyone insisted that I rest. It’s likely for the best; they’re asking questions I probably already know the answers to.

     

    A knock at the door interrupted Brynne’s writing. She turned in her seat to face the door. “Come in.”

    The stewardess entered with a loaded food cart. “I’ve come with your lunch, Mrs. Andrews,” she said, carefully guiding the cart into the room.

    Brynne closed her journal, rose from her seat at the table, and walked over to the bed. As she deposited the notebook on the bed, she asked, “Have you, by any chance, run into Mr. Andrews today?”

    “I did, ma’am,” the stewardess replied. She began to prepare the small table for lunch, carefully positioning drinking glasses and plates on the table. She neglected to lay out a table cloth, which didn’t surprise Brynne. With everything that had happened, and with all the extra bodies onboard, she could think of other, more useful ways to use clean linen.

    The stewardess continued. “He’s planning to take lunch with you here in the stateroom.”

    Brynne reclaimed her seat. Before she was even settled at the table, the stateroom door opened, and Andrews entered. “I was hoping I was on time,” he said with a grin.

    “It looks like you’re right on time,” Brynne said.

    Andrews leaned down and kissed Brynne before taking his seat across from her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

    “Much, much better, thank you,” Brynne replied. “I really do think you’re making too big of a fuss over me.”

    “Brynne, you suffered a serious injury,” Andrews said. “You need to rest.”

    “But I feel fine now,” Brynne insisted, and she did. At the same time, she knew that Tom was right. She was at the mercy of 1912 medicine. She’d only undergone physical examinations from Dr. O’Loughlin and the Olympic’s physician. Without the benefit of a CAT scan, she couldn’t know how serious the damage had actually been.

    Resigned, she plucked her napkin from the table and spread it across her lap. “How has your morning been?” she asked.

    “We’re still comparing notes, trying to figure out where everything started to go wrong,” Andrews said.

    “Have you made any progress?”

    “Some,” Andrews said. “We’re trying to determine whether the ship actually did break in two. There have been numerous reports and observations that she did.” He sighed. If they found evidence that the Titanic had broken in half, Brynne knew Tom would take it a black mark against his design and possibly even his skill as a designer.

    Even in the 21st century, experts who’d studied the Titanic for years disagreed on what exactly had caused the break-up. Before the discovery of the wreck, there was a healthy debate about whether the ship had even broken up at all. One reason for the lasting debate was the fact that none of the people onboard who were in a position to authoritatively explain what happened that night survived. The other reason was that the ship was 2 ½ miles below the surface of the Atlantic. Despite the fact that the important authorities survived, the ship was still at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, and without examining the ship, no one would ever have all the answers.

  • The Journal, Volume 2, Chapter 4

    From Becca3:

    “It’s so sad that you stopped writing about andrews and brynne 😦 .. I really liked this pairing and you are a really good writer..”

    Response:

    Becca3,

    Thanks a million for reading and reviewing!  I’m so glad that you enjoyed it.  The thing about “The Journal” is that it has the potential to go on and on forever, like a soap opera.  There’s so much that could be covered.  It’s tempting to want to write more stories about Andrews and Brynne, and I may very well if I get a compelling idea at some point in the future.  But it was never my intention for “The Journal” to be a comprehensive chronicle of Brynne and Andrews’ life together.  It was meant to be a snapshot of their life, to give readers a glimpse into what happened after the Titanic sank.  I’m not ruling out possible future additions to the series, but there aren’t any immediate plans for stories in the near future.

  • All Done … Maybe

    I’ve posted what is, for now, the final chapter of the “Journal” series.  I say “maybe” in the title of this post because there’s a possibility that I’ll write another story for this series sometime down the road, but I can’t promise anything.  I said this in my author’s note, but I’ll say it again here:  there will probably be a sequel to Fumbling, but it will not be about Titanic.  Thanks for reading, readers!

  • The Journal, Volume 2

    I’ve posted the first chapter of “The Journal, Volume 2” over at Fanfiction.net.  While “Volume 1” dealt mainly with Brynne adjusting to her new life, “Volume 2” will offer a few glimpses of the new challenges Brynne must face as a resident of the era.  FYI in advance, this one may not be as long as “Volume 1”.  The goal of these “journals” is to get a glimpse of her life, not create complete record of her life.  Regardless, I think you’ll like them, though. (I hope you will, at least.)