The words burned into her mind as she stared at the letter. Quivering, she rubbed her eyes, looking at it closer. Did it really have her name? Impossible. Tracing over every word with a trembling finger, she reached the end of the letter. She looked over the name again and again just to see if she had been dreaming or not. The name was Dora Harding, and the person who had written the letter had been on the Titanic. She frowned at the thought of the ship's sinking, there were so many things about the Titanic that she had heard about from her father who considered himself somewhat of an amateur historian, but she never really paid much attention to what he had to tell her. Maybe she should have because what if there was someone named Dora Harding on the ship? The only thing that she really knew about it was the 1997 film with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, and even then, she knew that the story between the two of them was fictionalized.

To Dora, that was the one thing that David had always complained about. Was the lack of real life love stories then. She usually clocked out when he would drone on and on about things regarding the film, but it was something that the both of them usually watched together when he would come over to visit on rainy Sunday afternoons.

She pinched herself. She thought of everything that could have contributed to this. Wine. She had wine earlier, of course. Dora bit her fingernail. When would this crazy reverie end? She looked at the clock. It read close to eleven-thirty PM as she turned the lamp on her desk to a dimmed setting, and tried to lay down on her bed. There was no way that she was going to go to sleep tonight. Dora's mind began wandering back to the letter. The writing said Ravensdale on it. Ravensdale, of all names. The same last name as Tilly's, well, her married last name. She didn't know her maiden name. She began to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to contact Tilly in the morning and see what she could do, especially since the name Ravensdale was thrown into the letter.

No matter how hard she tried to keep her mind off of it, the letter kept coming to her mind. She grabbed it and looked over the words again. And again. Until she was certain that her name was really on it. She paced around her room, her mind spinning in different directions. She bit her nails as she ruminated on going back to the letter to see if the name somehow would be different. That perhaps she had been dreaming after all.Dora found herself becoming increasinbly agitated with the light coming from the street outside. Instead of pale shards of moonlight, the orange glow of streetlamps shone on the floor of her bedroom. She hated the color, always did. When she would close her eyes, she liked to imagine that instead of artificial lampglow, she saw the pale light coming from gas lamps. In her mind, sometimes it was such a vivid picture, that she almost felt like she was in a different time altogether.

Dora entertained the impossible thought, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. Was she the person that was being addressed in the letter? She laughed and shook her head as she hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. Of course it wasn't her. It couldn't have been. The woman existed in 1912 and here she was in 2012. She lived in the time of cell-phones and microwaves, not carriages and massive ships destined for the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

As soon as she touched the letter, a jolt went through her, coursing through every part of her body. When she closed her eyes, she saw something bright, like a bright light. It made her feel weak, almost as if losing her breath and she almost let herself go completely, but the sound of knocking on the door brought her out of her reverie and with deep breaths, she brought herself back to the center of her room. Panting, she took a step back and put a trembling hand over her raging heart.

​"Dora," a voice called out. "Are you still awake? I made some cappuccinos if you want some."

"Okay, Dad," she said, her voice raspy. God, her throat hurt as if someone had just punched it. "I'll be right down."

"You okay? You sound hoarse," he said. "You need a lasso?"

God, my dad and his corny jokes.

"I'm okay, I just need some water. I'll be downstairs in a sec!"

She was fearful to touch the letter again, but she grabbed it anyway because she wanted to show her father what she had just discovered. What had happened just a moment ago was something similar to when she touched the desk. It was strange, but she tried to remember exactly what it was that she saw when her eyes were closed, but she couldn't remember a single thing. Dora shook off the cobwebs from her mind and closed the door, making her way downstairs.

As she made her way down the steep stairs, she overheard distant conversations going on in the living room. She walked closer to the source of the sound and was surprised to see David sitting at the couch, sipping from one of her dad's corny mugs that said World's Best Father on it. She laughed and he jumped, but then smiled upon seeing Dora standing in the open doorway. She set the letter down on the end table by the couch.

"David," Dora said, sitting next to him. "You're still here? I thought you would have left by now."

He smiled, wiping some froth off the top of his lip. "It's your dad. He kept talking to me about the Titanic documentary that's on the tv right now. Hey, are you okay? You look pale, like you've seen a ghost. Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Um, David," Dora shifted her position. "I, uh, found something."

"Oh? What did you find?" He leaned in closer. "Tell me."

"You know the desk," she said, taking in a deep breath. The air tasted like coffee beans. "God, this sounds so stupid."

"No, it doesn't sound stupid at all. Tell me. I want to know. The suspense is killing me."

"I found this," she said, taking the letter off the end table. "It's really, um, weird. But you should read it. I found it in the part of the desk that you said was supposed to be sealed shut. It opened with no problem for me. It even had a false bottom, and this is what I found in the bottom. It's wild."

She watched as David opened the envelope and began reading over its contents.

"This was written on the Titanic," he said. "Wow, that poor bloke Looks like he had a hard time writing the letter. Ah, poor, poor sod. Looks like he lost a friend. Oh my God. Does that say what I think it says? Dora, this says Dora Harding on it. It actually says Dora Harding!" He laughed, the boisterous sound resonating through the living room.

"I know, I have trouble believing it. Don't you think it's strange, David? That the letter has my name on it, of all people in the world. Dora Harding?"

She had to admit that it was a little bit peculiar, and for a moment, began thinking that perhaps it was a cruel joke. But David wouldn't have done something like that to her.

"Did you do this?" she asked. "Is this some kind of joke, though? I mean, it's kind of strange that the desk that I wanted to buy just happens to have a letter addressed to me in it."

"I swear," he said, nodding. "Cross my heart, prepare to die. I did not play a joke on you. I wouldn't do something like that to you anyway. I really thought that that part of the desk was sealed shut. I had no idea about false bottoms."

"Okay," she said, with a nod. "I'm sorry for asking."

"It's just a coincidence," David said, shrugging. "I mean it's a really cool coincidence, so I get it. I would be a little freaked out if I found a random letter addressed to me in it. But honestly, you've got a really great piece of Titanic memorabilia here. You ought to think about presenting it to the Titanic Society. They're always looking for things like this."

"Wait," Dora said. "You think I should just give it to that society? I mean, I'd like to keep it. After all, my name's on it. It could be an inside joke between you and me. You know, someone was in love with me in 1912 and wrote a sad love letter on the Titanic. Honestly, it is a little sad, when you think about it. The person who wrote the letter may have drowned..."

"I guess you could keep it, but don't you think it would be good idea to give it to the society? After all, these things are rare. Letters, especially love letters that are in great condition, they are so popular among enthusiasts."

"I'm going to talk to Tilly about it."

"Why Tilly specifically?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Because of I miss seeing you in Ravensdale. I'm sure it's connected to Tilly somehow. I've got to talk to her. She told me earlier today that she was going to England... I think I'm going to have to go to England."

"Dora," David said, shaking his head. "England is really a big trip. Are you sure that you want to go all the way to England?"

"You know what, on second hand, it's probably not a good idea. But I've actually been thinking..."

"About?" he asked.

"What if this letter is actually ​​​​addressed to me? I know it's silly." Dora chuckled. "But wouldn't that be insane if it was?"

"It really is just a strange coincidence," he said. "Look, you know that genealogy site, MyGenealogy? You can search anyone in the world and their details will show up. I'm sure we'll probably find it. I can look up Dora Harding and Titanic and see what comes up." He took out his phone and began typing on a website.

"The ancestry site will probably have something, even if it is a long shot. I can't type on this thing! Touchscreens need to die."

Dora couldn't help but laugh at David. He glared at her for a moment before smiling.

"There are tons of Doras on here, even with the word Titanic. I can't find any good stuff. None of them have any images, either. There's one right here that probably could have been around during that time period. The rest are either too young or too old."

"There's no picture on the one you found?"

"Nope." He shook his head. "But it's right for the time period. She died in 1999 but she was born in 1884. Good God! She was 115. What a life she must have led. But there's nothing beyond that. You're out of luck."

"I see." She nodded, swallowing hard. A part of her was disappointed that David didn't find anything good.

Her father stepped in the living room, holding two mugs in his hand and set her mug down, filled to the brim with delicious perfectly frothed milk.

"Your cappuccino," he said. "I was waiting for you in the kitchen. Guess you found David."

"Dad, I have to tell you about something I found inside my new desk."

"Oh," he said. "Tell me."

As she stood up to grab her cappuccino from the end table, the pain in her body was like needles poking all around her. She attempted to draw in deep breaths but was unsuccessful. The image of a man walking down a beaten path flickered in her mind. Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Rain, so much rain. Then, a tombstone.