Titanic: The Long Night (6 page)

“It seems adequate to me.” Nola Farr lifted a coffee cup to her lips. Before sipping, she added, “If you insist upon learning more, you can always take up reading. As long as you employ adequate lighting, and don’t overdo. Eyestrain causes forehead wrinkles, dear.” She sipped, then added, “But as the wife of a prominent businessman like Alan, I daresay you won’t have much time for reading.”

Jumping to her feet and leaving, which was what Elizabeth wanted to do, would have created a stir in the dining room. She forced herself to stay in her chair. She couldn’t bear the thought of over four hundred pairs of eyes on her as she escaped. But she clamped her lips together and refused to say another word, even when Denver millionairess Mrs. J. J. “Molly” Brown stopped at their table to congratulate her father on his winnings at cards the night before. The woman clapped him on the back and said in a loud voice that she hoped he’d play again that night, “so’s I can take another crack at relievin’ you of some funds.” She smiled a broad grin. “Lighten your wallet a little, give you less to lug around on board.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Elizabeth’s father said dryly, smiling in return.

When the woman had gone, Elizabeth’s mother murmured, “Now, there is a woman who is independently wealthy and completely in charge of her own life. She is also coarse, loud, and vulgar, particularly unattractive qualities in a woman. Is
that
who you would pattern yourself after, Elizabeth?”

“If she is allowed the luxury of making all of her own decisions, yes,” Elizabeth answered. And couldn’t resist adding, “So, if Molly Brown were a man, it would be acceptable for her to be coarse, loud, and vulgar? Is that what you’re saying, Mother?”

“Vulgarity is not acceptable from anyone,” came the stiff reply. Elizabeth’s mother, looking offended, touched her lips with the fine linen napkin. “But I do believe it is much more unseemly coming from a woman, and I do not apologize for thinking that. You would do well to think the same.”

Elizabeth fell silent again. She was despondent at the turn the discussion had taken. But she was only giving up for now, not for good. She would try again…and again…and again.

Still, she could hear the clock on the Grand Staircase ticking away the minutes. She willed the great ship to slow down, take its time, give her more hours in which to think up a new strategy, and more hours in which to employ it.

But the
Titanic
continued to speed smoothly across the water, making its way along Saint George’s Channel toward Queenstown, Ireland, where more passengers would board.

After breakfast, Elizabeth decided to go up on deck to watch the embarkation. She had never seen Ireland. She had heard that the country was beautiful, and while she might not be able to see that much of it from the ship, which she had been told would be anchored offshore, it would be foolish to stay inside and see nothing.

When her mother stopped on the way out of the dining room to say hello to the Widener party, Elizabeth’s father said quietly, “You might think about apologizing to your mother. Get on her good side. You’re not doing yourself any good taking this attitude.”

Elizabeth lifted her head to look straight up at him. “I don’t want to apologize,” she said clearly. “I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s hard to be polite when someone is arranging your entire life for you.” Her father was right about one thing: She wasn’t endearing herself to either of them by what they saw as her constant disagreeability. But how can I be agreeable, she asked herself as she left the dining room, when I don’t
agree
with what they’re doing to me?

When she was on deck, she glanced around for Max, the only other person she knew on board. She was eager to hear more about his adventures in Paris.

But when she found him, he wasn’t alone, which both surprised and disturbed her. He was strolling toward the bow along the promenade, and on his arm was a tall, very thin girl wearing clothes that Elizabeth considered odd. Her long, black skirt was much too full by the standards of the day. Her brightly colored jacket of crimson and green in a gaudy flower pattern appeared garish in contrast to the sedate tans and grays and navy blues of other women on deck. Her hair, darker than Max’s, hung loose and free around her shoulders, the sea breeze tossing it into a dark cloud around her oval, olive-skinned face.

She looks like a gypsy, Elizabeth thought. But Max was smiling down at the girl as they walked. And she, almost his height, was gazing at him with interest, as if she were hanging on his every word.

If the girl was traveling first class, someone—a mother, an aunt, a close friend?—should have given her lessons in what to wear while at sea. Elizabeth felt a sudden, sharp stab of shame. That was exactly what my mother would think, she thought, disgusted. Am I becoming like her? What difference does it make what that girl is wearing?

Others strolling the deck were not so tolerant. There were many questioning glances sent in the direction of Max and the girl. Neither took any notice.

Finding the sight of the apparently happy couple unsettling, Elizabeth turned away and strode to the rail. Perhaps the girl was someone he’d known in Paris, someone who had boarded with him at Cherbourg.

Just a short while ago, she had willed the ship to slow down, give her more time. Now, as she strained to see the approaching shores of Ireland, she found herself wishing the trip were already over and Max Whittaker had disembarked, out of her life forever.

Elizabeth’s blue eyes were bleak as she stood at the rail staring out across the sea.

In Queenstown, waiting at Scott’s Quay to board the small tenders that would carry them out to the
Titanic,
Katie Hanrahan was so excited she could hardly contain herself. She strained to get a look at the ship itself, anchored in the distance, but all she saw was a great white lump sitting near the Light Vessel standing guard over Cobh Harbour. It looked enormous, but Brian had already warned her that its size would seem intimidating. “You’ve never been to sea before, Katie-girl,” he’d said as they made their way down the hill to the quay. “I’m warnin’ you, if the advertisin’ ain’t a joke, the size of the
Titanic
is goin’ to be a bit of a shock. Don’t be frightened of it, girl. ’Tis only a ship, like every other ship.”

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Paddy, whom Brian had had to drag from his nice, warm bed, said hoarsely,” ’Tisn’t like every other ship, or there wouldn’t be all this fuss about it. And ’tisn’t its size I’m worried about, ’tis the weight of it, man. Shouldn’t be floatin’ atall, somethin’ that big.”

“Hush!” Brian had ordered, his eyes on Katie. “You’ll be scarin’ the girl to death. It got here from London, didn’t it? Didn’t sink on the way, did it? I tell you, the
Titanic
is unsinkable. If you really have a need for somethin’ to trouble yourself about, trouble yourself about how you plan to support yourself in America.”

Brian had a trade. He was an experienced dairy farm worker. Everyone in Ireland knew that America had the largest, grandest farms in all the world. His plan was to travel from New York to Wisconsin, where he would hire out on a dairy farm, save his money, and one day buy his own small farm.

Paddy, on the other hand, had never stuck to any one trade long enough to learn it well. He had tried fishing with his father, farming with Brian at the Hanrahans’, where he’d met Katie, and had even waited tables briefly until a customer had aroused his anger to the point where Paddy had deliberately upended a cup of coffee in the man’s ample lap.

Now, he claimed that once in America, he was going to become a famous writer. Which worried Brian no end, since he was of the mind that it took many years to become a writer, and what was Paddy to live on during those many years? “Here’s the truth of it,” he’d told his younger brother in the jaunting cart while Katie listened. “If you had it in your mind to become a writer, why is it that you didn’t pay more attention to your grammar lessons from the good nuns?” Paddy’s excuse was that he hadn’t
known
then that a writer was what he wanted to be.

Although Katie found his grammar deplorable, she had learned during the long trip to Queenstown that Paddy told a good story. Perhaps in America there would be some kind person who would put Paddy’s stories to paper for him, doing the spelling and the grammarizing, sparing Paddy the effort.

Brian continued to express his concern throughout the trip. Katie finally decided two things: One, Brian felt responsible for his younger brother in the absence of their parents and two, Brian was the
only
one worried about Paddy’s future. Paddy himself seemed a stranger to worry. He remained lighthearted and laughing even when a sudden, chill rain soaked them all to the bone. He seemed to have not a care in the world.

How lovely to not let worry trouble you. However did Paddy manage? They were all facing the unknown, she most of all. Men with strong backs and quick minds, like the brothers Kelleher, could make their way in the world without too much trouble. But it was different for a girl, she knew that. She hadn’t even told anyone in Ballyford, except Brian, to whom she told almost everything, what it was she wanted to do with her life. Everyone had assumed she would become a governess, a “nanny” as they called it in England. She “had a way” with the little ones, they’d said.

She had a true fondness for children. But that wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to sing. She wanted to go on the American stage, in the city of New York, and have people pay to hear her voice soar through a big old theater. She had been singing all of her life, had even sung on the stage of her school. Still, she had never been paid for it. She wasn’t even sure anyone
would
pay. But she was determined to find out. Brian said they would, that she sang “with the voice of an angel.” But Brian knew little about music, and himself couldn’t carry a tune in a bushel basket. Best not to take his opinions too seriously.

If her ma and da had known what she intended, her ma, at least, would have tied her to the bed to keep her from leaving. “The stage?” she’d have screamed in that voice she used to call the wee ones in for supper. “The stage? With painted ladies and scoundrels? Over me dead body, Kathleen Hanrahan!”

Da wouldn’ta liked the idea, neither. But he sang, too, in a big, booming bass that shook the rafters of Our Lady of Sorrows Church, and he loved music as she did. If she’d promised him she wasn’t aiming to sing in pubs or vaudeville, only the respectable stage, he might have come round. She could get around her da. Her ma was a stone wall no one got around.

The tender pulled up to the dock. As dock-workers heaved the huge sacks of mail in, embarking passengers marched past the doctor who was to inspect them and hand them their health certificates before boarding. When they had their certificates in hand, Brian helped Katie into the tender
America.
There were over one hundred passengers, and the
America
filled so quickly, Paddy, who had lingered to talk to some of the workers, was forced to take a seat in the
Ireland
, the second tender.

The trip from dock to ship took less than half an hour. The last seven or eight minutes of the trip found Katie in a stunned daze, her eyes riveted on the enormous, sparkling ship they were fast approaching. Nothing Brian had said had prepared her for its size. It was bigger than the grandest, finest hotel. And it looked so…so
new,
everything shiny and spanking clean.

Hoping she would know how to behave properly on such a grand ship, Katie turned to glance over her shoulder one last time at Ireland’s shores, wondering with a mixture of excitement and sadness if she would ever see it again.

Seeing the look on her face, Brian put a hand on her shoulder and told her quietly, “Say goodbye now, Katie. Say good-bye to the old life. Sure and once you board the
Titanic
, you say hello to a new one.”

Under her breath, so softly she was certain even Brian couldn’t hear her, she whispered, “Good-bye, Ireland. Good-bye, Ma and Da. Good-bye, Moira and Sean, Mary and Siobhan.” Especially Siobhan, who Katie loved to sing to sleep at night. “Good-bye, Granda.” Then, because tears were threatening, pinching at her eyelids, she added in that same whisper, “Maybe I’ll be back someday.”

Then she blinked twice to clear her eyes, and turned toward the great ship
Titanic
, ready to begin her new life.

Thursday, April 11, 1912

By the end of that day, Katie’s eyes ached fiercely from the effort of taking in so many wondrous sights so quickly.

The most difficult moment came when they first boarded the ship. Eugene Daly, who had been a passenger on one of the tenders, took a moment to stand on the aft third-class promenade and play on his pipes the mournful melody “Erin’s Lament.” Though Katie was anxious to see where they would be housed during the trip, the sad strains brought her to a halt at the third-class entrance. Tugging on Paddy’s sleeve, she said in a hushed voice, “Should we not go and say good-bye to Ireland?”

He shrugged her hand away. “I’ve said me good-byes.” Turning to look at her, he asked, “You’re not fixin’ to blubber?” Then, to Katie’s surprise, he put an arm around her shoulder right there in the middle of a milling, excited crowd and said quietly, “It’s okay if you want to, y’know. ’Tis a sore thing, leavin’ family behind.” He tapped the shoulder of his navy blue peacoat. “Here’s the spot. Lay your pretty head right there and blubber all you like.”

It was the sort of thing Katie would have expected from Brian, not from his brother. The surprise of it distracted her from the song and her pain, and she found herself laughing. “Now why would I be wantin’ to blubber when I’m here on this fine new ship and on my way to America? But,” she added hastily, “it was fearful kind of you to offer a shoulder and I’m thankin’ you.”

She thought for a moment that Paddy’s cheeks reddened, but told herself that had to be the way the light was hitting his face. Paddy Kelleher was not a blushing sort of man.

Through open doors flanking the entrance, Katie could see a roomy area with patterned linoleum on the floors, paneling on the walls, and wooden benches, tables and chairs. Everything was new and, to her eyes, beautiful.