Swimming Home

by Mary-Rose MacColl

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, you don’t need a reason. You’re in New York because it’s New York. And because you swim. Isn’t that enough? Louisa will be here soon. She’s sure to have you busy rolling bandages in Baltimore or something.’

  They’d had their boiled eggs and toast for lunch as the weak sun crept over the top of the building and into the window.

  Andrew drank coffee with everything now—a thoroughly Continental sensibility, he called it. He’d lit a cigarette, offering her one and then withdrawing the offer. ‘I keep forgetting you’re so young,’ he said. ‘You are growing up before my eyes. Do you want to try one? I’m sure you could now. It’ll help you relax.’

  Catherine was wearing a light blue sweater and grey skirt. She needed to gain weight for the Sandy Hook swim. Mr Handley had told them they’d need a good layer of body fat, that the swim would be cold even in May.

  She shook her head no about the cigarette. ‘I’m not as good as the others,’ she said, her mind still on swimming. ‘When we race, I come last. I hate that stupid tank.’

  Andrew shrugged. ‘When I first came to Baltimore, they all hated me because I’m English and I was forced on them by Black. They got over it, and now I’m the star.’

  ‘They don’t hate me,’ she said, ‘although there’s a couple who really wonder why I’ve been picked for the race.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean, darling? You’re a marvel. Everyone says. Anyway, who cares about the silly WSA? You could swim for England. You’re our marvel, not theirs.’

  ‘Am I?’ she said. She didn’t feel like a marvel. She felt like a freak. She wasn’t even that good a swimmer, she thought now. She’d beaten the other children from Thursday Island, but who said they were fast? She was a good swimmer in London because she was the only swimmer. How did she come to think that swimming would help her? ‘The only one I can beat is Aileen, and she’s a diver not a swimmer.’

  ‘Well, Mr Black must think you’re a winner. He told me he’s put a thousand dollars on you to win.’

  ‘He’s what?’ Catherine was shocked.

  ‘He says you’re a sure thing. He’s wagered a thousand on you for a win. If you lose, he’ll give the money to the Association. If you win, well, I don’t quite know. But anyway.’

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ she said. ‘That’s just awful. Why did Mr Black do that?’

  ‘Faith, he told me. You gotta have faith, Andy.’

  She shook her head and sighed. This was harder than she’d thought it would be. ‘Do you miss home?’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘I miss Mama, and my dog. And I wish I’d brought my ukulele. But I love America. It’s so exciting and so real. You can touch it, the mood here. It’s not all covered over. When I was at Oxford, it was like I wasn’t really alive, or like I was observing everything from a long way away. With Mr Black, everything came to life. I just worry about Mama. She’s so lost without me there.’

  The waitress came over to the table. ‘You folks all done?’

  ‘Yes, the check, please,’ Andrew said. After she’d left, he continued, ‘You have to be picked for the Channel.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because then Mr Black will find a reporter to go with you. And I hope it will be me. I can visit Mama and Papa, to keep them happy, and then have a month in France.’ He smiled again. ‘You really are in the doldrums today, aren’t you?’

  She looked at him.

  ‘You’re like the ugly duckling in the fairy tale,’ he said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’re becoming a beautiful swan but you don’t know it. You think you want to be a silly old duck.’

  24

  NEW YORK HARBOUR SMELLED OF PEANUTS AND DIRT. London smelled of the cold, Louisa had often thought, a rather clean smell, one she liked. But peanuts and dirt made her think of childhood, the few times they’d gone to fairs, the smell of the hay for the animals, the roasted peanuts their father would treat them to. That’s what America was, she’d thought the last time she’d been here, an almighty fair from which no one seemed to want to go home.

  She thought of Harry, who’d come here all those years ago too. He’d gone to Johns Hopkins before Louisa did. And then Alexander had hooked him up with Black and then he’d met Julia.

  Louisa looked towards the dock where people waited for their loved ones and felt a pang of loneliness. It was the first time she’d taken a break from work since she’d gone to bring Catherine home, and that was hardly a holiday. She couldn’t remember when she’d last taken time for herself. She didn’t have much use for holidays, she’d said to Ruth Luxton when she told her she was going to America. ‘I don’t know quite what I’ll do.’

  ‘You’ll find something,’ Ruth had said, crisply but kindly. They’d survive, Ruth Luxton said. They really would.

  ‘It was easier when I didn’t have time to think,’ Louisa said to herself now, causing the young man beside her to look at her askance.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just talking to myself.’

  He smiled. ‘I usually don’t admit it,’ he said. ‘First time?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘New York. Is it your first time in New York?’

  Louisa looked at him. He was young, perhaps middle twenties, with sandy hair and blue eyes. He wore a long coat made of some sort of animal hide and a broad-brimmed hat. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But the first time in a long while.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he said. ‘Anything can be possible here.’

  Louisa looked at him squarely. ‘It’s attitudes like that that see people disappointed by life,’ she said.

  Catherine had wired Louisa that she would come to meet her at the dock and, look, there she was. What a sweet girl, Louisa thought, although Catherine didn’t look like a girl anymore. She’d grown in just these few weeks. How long had it been? Two months, now that Louisa thought about it. Catherine had come over in March and now it was May. She shouldn’t have left it so long, she thought, but there had been so much to do in the end to set up for the trip, and she’d wanted to stay through the health inspector’s visit.

  Catherine was wearing a pair of long trousers and a cotton jumper. She was back in those silly trousers, Louisa thought. Her cheeks were ruddy and she grinned as she threw her arms around her aunt.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Louisa said, trying to hold Catherine at arm’s length then wishing she hadn’t.

  But Catherine didn’t seem to care. She held on to Louisa and hugged her warmly.

  Louisa put her arms around the girl and embraced her lightly.

  ‘Oh, I missed you, Louisa.’ Catherine laughed and her aunt joined in.

  ‘I missed you too,’ Louisa said, finding tears in her eyes. The girl was dear, even if she was so much trouble.

  ‘Mr Black’s coming,’ Catherine said. ‘He’s going to take us out to some fancy club. He came to see me, and he shouldn’t have done this but he’s bet on me to win a race, Louisa.’

  ‘He can afford it,’ Louisa said. ‘But I didn’t realise he’d been to see you. You’ve been seeing Andrew too, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but I do want to do well for Mr Black, Louisa, and I’m very worried that I won’t.’ Louisa looked at her niece. She did look worried. What did it matter? It was just a swim. Louisa would talk to Black, make sure he wasn’t putting pressure on the girl.

  Catherine took her aunt to Allerton House on East Fifty-seventh Street where they’d stay together before Louisa went on to Baltimore. Catherine had already left her suitcase at the front desk, she said. The hotel had been recommended by Charlotte Epstein as one of the new women-only hotels in New York. Catherine talked all the way in the taxi, about the awful tank she had to swim in, the trains that were so much more efficient than in London, the wonderful diners with their sandwiches, and her new friend, Aileen, who had all these made-up words.

  The hotel had a simply furnished lobby and a lounge off to one side where g
uests could entertain. They took an elevator to the twelfth floor. Their room looked over the park across the street. On the top floor was a gorgeous little roof garden, Catherine told Louisa, and a solarium. ‘And there’s a tank, Louisa. It’s small, but bigger than the one we train in, so I’ll swim while I’m here.’

  That afternoon, Andrew came on the train from Baltimore and took them for tea, on the basis that Louisa wasn’t yet ready for an American diner experience. He was affable as ever, if slightly removed from the world. Louisa had gone to see his mother, Ada, after he left for America. She was a strong woman, and she’d loved her two boys so fiercely. And now she’d lost them both, Donald to the war and Andrew to life. There was not much happiness in motherhood, Louisa thought. Ada had told Louisa that Andrew was engaged to be married to an English girl, a girl his older brother had known. Louisa wondered had he told Catherine this. They were close, she could see, and she worried for her niece, who seemed to be keen to find her moorings in New York.

  In the evening, while Catherine was at the YMCA pool, Louisa had dinner with Charlotte Epstein in the hotel dining room. Charlotte was exactly as Louisa expected, smart and strong of character. She also had a lovely laugh. She’d been a chaperone for Catherine in New York, although, she said, Catherine was so well behaved she didn’t need much in the way of guidance.

  Charlotte was clearly less enamoured of Catherine’s swimming than Black was, and her view matched Catherine’s self-assessment. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Louisa,’ Charlotte said. ‘As you’ll quickly learn, I don’t know how to be any other way. Delightful young woman, but Catherine isn’t the swimmer we’d hoped she’d be. She’s welcome to stay, of course, but, really, she needs a lot of work before she’ll be at competition level.’

  They were eating fish in a white sauce; overcooked, Louisa had thought. Nellie was good with fish—good with everything.

  ‘Black’s wrong then,’ Louisa said. Why the devil bring her all this way? she wondered. ‘Frankly, I can’t say I’m terribly disappointed.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘You’re not a fan?’

  ‘Of swimming? I suppose I don’t see where it leads. I think you’ve done a marvellous job to make a place in sport for women. But for Catherine, the water represents something of her past. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for her having this time. But after that, I’d love to see her back in school. She’s bright.’

  ‘I know you were very active in the women’s suffrage movement,’ Charlotte said. ‘So were my swimmers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Swimming isn’t all that different from any number of things women have been shut out of.’

  Louisa thought about this. ‘We’re also shut out of bars. But I don’t intend to campaign any time soon to have us instated there. Some things don’t matter.’

  ‘Yes they do, Louisa,’ Charlotte said. ‘They do matter. Until 1920, there was no Olympic swimming for women. We changed that. Us, the WSA—we did that.’

  ‘But that’s not why your swimmers get their pictures in the newspaper.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘You don’t? It’s lascivious.’

  ‘Well, it’s lascivious of the fellows who ogle the girls, but it’s nothing to do with my swimmers.’ Charlotte regarded Louisa.

  ‘Black.’

  ‘What about him?’ Charlotte said, a little smile at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘He intrigues me.’

  ‘He intrigues us all, honey.’

  ‘Not like that. I mean his interest. He seems terribly interested in Catherine. He wired me about all this, said he’d had to intervene so she can swim in some race. I am sorry he did that.’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘Oh, that didn’t worry me. He’d probably give us the money anyway if we needed it. You don’t have to worry on Black’s account. It’s the swimming. He’s brought us many Catherines over the years.’ There was no hint of scandal in Charlotte’s voice, Louisa noticed.

  ‘He has? Why?’

  Charlotte took a sip of her wine. ‘Did he ever tell you about the Slocum?’

  Louisa shook her head.

  ‘It was a passenger ferry that caught fire in the East River twenty years ago. The General Slocum, one of the last big paddle steamers. It was a terrible accident. A thousand died.’

  ‘Oh, how awful.’

  ‘And it was because they couldn’t swim. I remember the Slocum,’ Charlotte said. ‘They were pulling bodies out of the water for days. My family were … I’ll never forget it.’

  ‘And what does that have to do with Black?’

  ‘His mother and sister were on board. They were with him. He was separated from them. He survived. They didn’t.’

  ‘Oh,’ Louisa said. ‘So he supports women’s swimming as a way of atoning?’

  ‘Yes. You see, a boy like him would have been taught to swim but not his sister and not his mother.’ Like Louisa herself, she thought. ‘It’s a tragic story. His father had died not long before and so he lost his whole family in the space of a year. Once the association started attracting attention, he came to see me about helping. We couldn’t have survived without his support. For him, perhaps it gives him comfort to see that girls swim.

  ‘It was his lawyer who told me about his mother and sister. We were drawing up the contracts. It was a warning, really, that we shouldn’t take advantage of Black.’

  That night, when Louisa was alone in the hotel suite—Catherine having gone back to the Ryan house from the YMCA—she thought about what Charlotte had told her. Poor Black. To lose your family like that.

  She poured herself a scotch. Black had been so young when it happened; Nellie’s age. When Louisa was that age, she’d had everything to look forward to. Oh, later, she’d had her fair share of pain but at twenty-one, she was invincible. Poor Black. The world could be cruel.

  So, did he see Catherine as his lost sister? Was he trying to help his sister to swim? Is that why he wanted to believe in Catherine? That was all very well for Black, but it might not be the best for Catherine. Louisa was relieved to hear Charlotte say that Catherine wasn’t a strong swimmer. It would make it easier to finish up in America and make their way back home. Catherine would surely be more ready for school now. The girl had forgotten about the island altogether. From here, Louisa was sure that everything would be fine.

  25

  IT WAS A CRACKER OF A DAY ACCORDING TO AILEEN RYAN, who thought everything was a cracker: the beach, the sun, the sea, the trolley car they sometimes caught to the place that had the best ice-cream. It was her favourite word, Catherine said.

  ‘So?’ Aileen said. ‘It’s better than saying everything’s dull.’

  ‘Do I say everything’s dull?’ Catherine said.

  ‘No,’ Aileen replied and laughed. ‘I just meant I’d rather be positive than negative.’

  ‘I agree,’ Catherine said.

  Meg Ederle joined them. ‘How’s it looking?’ she said, a frown on her face.

  ‘It’s a cracker,’ Catherine said. ‘An absolute cracker.’

  Meg looked at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Catherine looked at Aileen.

  ‘I give up,’ Aileen said. ‘Let’s get ready.’

  The sun was up but the day wasn’t yet warm and Catherine knew the water would be cold. The swim would take them from the Battery at the south end of Manhattan to Sandy Hook at the north end of New Jersey. The tide would be against them for the start of their course, Charlotte had told them, but not to worry; it would soon be in their favour—although, depending on their timing, they might have a struggle at the end.

  The dories were lined up along the pier. Each would follow a swimmer. And there they were now, the thirty-four young women, including Catherine Quick, ready to race. There were half a dozen from the WSA. Other swimmers had come from Florida and Texas. Catherine knew she was only swimming because of Mr Black, but Mr Handley had acted as if it had been his decision. He’d said they changed their minds and decided t
o give her some experience of open-water swimming after all. He looked happy about it, Catherine thought. She and Aileen had been swimming at the beach every weekend, and they’d swum together in the harbour a few times too, but this was Catherine’s first race.

  Catherine had never grown to like the tank. Every morning there was that foul smell of chlorine. The other swimmers were faster, and Catherine wondered why she was there at all. Charlotte Epstein all but ignored her now, as if she didn’t matter. And Mr Black had bet money on her.

  A light breeze blew and the tide ran the way of the swimmers, not against them, Catherine thought, watching the water. It would be a day to set a world record, she’d heard someone say in the morning. ‘You’re our best hope,’ Charlotte had said to Meg Ederle. Trudy was the better swimmer, Catherine knew, but Trudy was sick today.

  They stood along the pier together in the early morning light. There were newspaper photographers and a small crowd of onlookers. Aileen and Meg Ederle posed for the cameras, giggling in their swimming suits. Then the starter told them to take their marks and they lined up again. He fired his gun. Catherine dived in with the rest, into the blinding cold, emerging to sunlight on the water. Even in this cold, it was beautiful. There was nothing about the water that was not beautiful, Catherine thought.

  She knew the race would be long—twenty-two miles on a straight course, and the waters might be kind or otherwise—but she felt more ready to swim than she’d ever felt. Her body opened up to the sea and welcomed it.

  As long as she cleared each buoy, she could take whatever course she wanted, Aileen had said. The other swimmers, she knew, were planning to swim through the Buttermilk Channel past Governors Island, but Catherine had decided to swim to the right, towards Liberty, and then come back in towards Sandy Hook. Partly it was because she wanted to go close to Liberty, but it was more than that: the way the sea looked, Catherine thought, it wanted them to go that way. When you swam in the sea, the sea made most of the decisions, Catherine knew.

  She settled into an easy pace. Arm up and over, breathe, arm up and over, breathe. After a while, she couldn’t see the other swimmers, and she had to look to find the dory that was accompanying her. She became oblivious to time, nothing but swimming now and the occasional correction when she stopped to check the next buoy. The water was cold, the light was soft, but she could be home on the island instead of here in New York Harbor. The sensation of leaving herself behind, of being nothing but her body and the sea, was still the same. ‘I swear you came from the sea, Waapi,’ Florence always said.