“Miss Baxter. Miss Baxter. Wake up, Miss Baxter.”

Louise opened her eyes. Her eyelids were crusted together as if after a long night’s sleep. Her head was pounding, and her mouth felt like it was filled with bitter-tasting cotton balls.

“She’s awake! Wow, Miss Baxter, you gave us all a scare!”

A bright light blinded Louise, and she immediately closed her eyes again. Her head was killing her, the ground was spinning, and why did it sound like this man’s voice was calling her Miss Baxter? She needed to stop the spinning feeling in her head. Where was she? Louise tried to concentrate. She felt a cool breeze; the air smelled fresh and briny.

“Miss Baxter? Please open your eyes again, have a sip of water.”

Louise obeyed the voice. She was looking up at an unfamiliar man with salt-and-pepper hair, a full white beard, and rosy cheeks. He was hovering over her, fanning her face with a newspaper. A man holding an old-fashioned camera with a big flash was standing alongside him. Behind them was a crowd of concerned faces, framed by an expansive bright blue sky.

“Miss Baxter, you gave us quite a scare for a minute there,” the strange man said again, in what Louise detected was a British accent. He was wearing a white, buttoned-up uniform with gold braiding.

“Are we… are we moving?” Louise asked. She felt like she was lying on something hard and splintery.

“Well, I should hope so,” he replied with a chuckle. “If we’re ever to make it to New York City.”

“New York City?”

“Yes, we’re on our way to New York City. Don’t you remember, Miss Baxter?” he asked.

“Please stop calling me that,” Louise pleaded. “Who is Miss Baxter?”

The uniformed man whistled. “This is worse than I thought.” He once again offered Louise a glass of water and continued fanning her with the folded newspaper. Louise accepted the drink, hoping to wash out the unpleasant taste that coated her parched mouth.

“You are Miss Baxter, Miss Baxter,” he replied cheerfully.

Louise thought that if he said that name one more time, she would scream.

“And who are you?” she asked, completely baffled.

“Well, there, Miss Baxter. You don’t remember me, either, do you?”

Louise shook her head. No, she most certainly did not.

“I’m Edward Smith.” He pointed to his gold nameplate. “I’m the captain of this ship.”

“We’re on a ship?” she asked. The rocking motion started to make a bit more sense.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We left England this morning. Mr. Miller had just taken a group photograph for the Times, and as soon as the flash went off, you collapsed here on the A Deck. The bright light must have startled you.”

“England?” Louise repeated incredulously. She must be dreaming. That was the only logical explanation.

“Yes, Miss Baxter. Don’t worry, though; we’ll be picking up Mr. Baxter at the next port in Cherbourg, France.” Omigod! There was a Mr. Baxter?! This was worse than she thought. She needed to wake up now. Louise closed her eyes tightly and pinched herself, hard, on her right arm. It hurt.

Looking down, she saw that she was lying on a slatted wooden deck chair. She was wearing a pink evening gown and no shoes; her painted red toenails peeked out from under the fabric. Louise tried to prop herself up, becoming a bit self-conscious about the small crowd staring at her.

“Please don’t move, ma’am. We don’t want any more fainting spells. And I don’t want you to cut yourself on the broken glass,” the captain said, gesturing to the floor next to Louise’s chaise. “William! Get someone to clean up this glass immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” a voice from the crowd answered.

Louise glanced to her left and saw a shattered champagne flute in pieces on the blond wood deck.

“William will help you back to your stateroom just as soon as you feel strong enough.” The captain nodded with authority. “I must get back to my post.”

“Ummm… Thanks… Captain…” Louise whispered, squinting her eyes to try and make out the name, which she had already forgotten, on his polished shiny nameplate.

Confused, Louise grabbed the newspaper from the captain’s hands and unfolded it to the front page.

The Times of London

   APRIL 12, 1912   

And with that news, she promptly fainted once again.