Welcome back and thank you for reading. And if you're new, here's a link to previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
What's in an orange antimacassar? Well, orange for one (although rumor has it that the Coyne family of OKC actually uses tangerines) and cloth of some sort. And starch. Lots of starch. Fortunately, the orange antimacassar below which you will find Chapter 3 is not only low carb, it's also gluten free. So join our time traveling heroes as they begin a trans-Atlantic voyage in real time.
Otis and Evan: a serialized novel by jabney:
...
""HMS Mauritania?" Otis said in a nervous sounding voice, "Isn't that the one the Germans sank right around this time?"
"Shhh" I whispered, "You're thinking of the sister ship, the "Lusitania," it's not due for several years and you are talking too loud."
"You mean "Loudly" mister perfectionist? I'll have you know I did pay attention to things other than technology and computing in school."
"Well "Brother" you should pay closer attention to our current situation. We have traveled back to 1907 and we are actually on Earth, neither of which either of us can lay claim to having any degree of expertise as to."
"Evan, I appreciate that you want to fit in as unobtrusively as possible, but that syntax? Talk about stiff."
"It goes with the stiff collars," I said. "Who the Hell invented starch?"
"Mr Ferg and Mr Ferg?" said a voice that interrupted our conversation. Otis Ferg looked in the direction of the voice and Otis Ferg's elbow alerted me that I should too. This "Brother" act would take some getting used to.
We were escorted to a large, comfortable looking stateroom, and I whispered to Otis, "I believe they used to tip back in these times. Any idea how much?"
Otis literally scratched his head and put on a puzzled look. The steward must have had very good hearing, because he answered, "It is customary for first-class passengers who choose to leave a gratuity to do so only at the end of the voyage. Will there be anything else before I unpack your luggage?"
Otis said, "Oh you don't need to unpack..." I gave him an unobtrusive kick.
I quickly said, "Please excuse my brother, Otis, as he recently left the monastery and is still adjusting to life without a vow of poverty."
The steward's gaze softened a bit and I detected the hint of a brogue which hadn't been there earlier and he said, "Ah, as dear old Father Toomey used to say, "Stories of the riches of the frugal life are often inflated." Of course, judging by the size of his cassock, so was Father Toomey. Rest his soul." The steward smiled wistfully and made the sign of the cross. I did likewise and, after another unobtrusive kick, so did Otis. "Your seating is the first seating at dinner, gentlemen. If you are no longer committed to holy orders, Mr Ferg," he said looking at Otis with what now was almost a roguish smile, "I believe you will appreciate some of your table companions."
Otis said, "'Tis mostly in the hands of the Lord. The future I mean."
"Mostly? Mr Ferg."
I said with a laugh, "My dear brother did not succumb to lures of Calvinism, I assure you. Now, can you direct us to the smoking lounge?"
We got the directions, which included a ride on the ship's elevator, "The first one ever at sea," said the steward with just a touch of pride, and eventually we found ourselves in room with stuffed armchairs. Across the back of each chair was a stiffly starched antimacassar.
"A monastery, Evan? What made you think of that?"
"Clever, no?"
"No, not clever at all. Considering I was brought up an agnostic. How am I supposed to play the part of a de-frocked monk?"
"Not de-frocked, simply an initiate who realized that the monastic life wasn't his calling."
"But what if I'm called on to administer, what do they call them, 'last rites' or something?"
"Look as solemn as you can and say you are not worthy. Besides, the steward doesn't seem all that sanctimonious if you ask me. The man was practically arranging a date for you and we haven't even had our appetizers. And before you chide me about leading you to the smoking lounge, it's one of the few places we can talk furtively without drawing too much attention to ourselves."
"Seriously Evan, how could so many people have done something so unhealthy as smoking tobacco?"
"It's supposed to be relaxing. So light a cigar and rest your head against the antimacassar. Like this: I trimmed the end of a cigar, following the lead of a distinguished looking gentleman across the room, struck a match and inhaled a shallow breath. Not that bad, I thought to myself, and leaning my head back on the gleaming white antimacassar said, "Ouch! What did these Edwardians see in all that starch."