After they left, I slid down under the bedcovers and tried to remember the details of the dream. The ship must have been the Titanic—Mrs. Shaw had told me about the sinking when I was still in the hospital—but this was the first time I’d had an actual image of it. It could have been something I’d made up, of course, but I knew in my heart the image had been real. It was my first memory of that night.

A cold fear came over me. What if I remembered who I was and it was someone awful? What if I was an escaped prisoner, a murderer, or worse, a prostitute? No, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that. What if, on the other hand, I was married or had a child? What if I had left a poor, helpless infant somewhere? Was someone looking after it, or was it left defenseless. Was it even still alive? What if I had a husband desperately searching for me? What if my family was destroyed with grief, thinking I had died? What if they were poor and penniless and depending on me to help them? In my fear, I fervently prayed that my memory would come back soon.

* * *

For the next few days after my nightmare, I refused Mrs. Shaw’s invitations to join her on one outing or another, afraid that something else would spark my memory. But my boredom grew, and I began to overcome my fear. I was delighted, then, when Mrs. Shaw announced that her nephew and his friend were coming to visit.

“Sinclair and his friend, Ben, are just a couple of years older than you, my dear,” she said, “so you should all get along well. It will be nice for you to have young people around for a change.”

My heart jumped when she told me the news. I was even more delighted that it was two fellers who were coming. Two girls would have been all right, but two boys would be much better craic. I was dying to ask Teresa what they were like, but she and I hardly said a word to each other now, ever since the “stray” comment.

I passed the time until they came making rosettes for Mrs. Shaw’s group—I’d finally learned how to pronounce the word “suffragette.” When I got bored, I began picking out what dress I would wear and fiddling with my hair so that I would look my best when they arrived. I also practiced extra hard on my table manners and my accent. I didn’t want them thinking I was a poor Irish country girl just off the boat.