Queen of the Waves

by Janice Thompson

  With the growing sunlight, Iris could finally see. Truly see. The gray skies gave way to an eventual flood of light, and the morning sun shimmered over the icy waters.

  “Oh, Jessie!” Iris looked around, stunned to find that they were surrounded on every side by icebergs, brilliantly white and as solid as stone. Huge mounds of ice, many taller than she. Others, as tall as a building. They glistened under morning’s light, a shimmering spectacle.

  Their seaman began to row toward the mighty ship, slipping around the icy mounds. When they reached the ship’s edge, a little sling-like contraption was lowered, and Iris looked at Jessie.

  “You go up with Annie first. I need to tend to Tessa.”

  Jessie reluctantly agreed. The lifeboat’s seaman did all he could to help, and within minutes Iris found her feet safely planted on the deck of Carpathia. All around her people rushed to help, many offering hot cups of coffee, others coming to their aid with warm blankets and clothes.

  She took a steaming mug of coffee from a young steward about her age and then turned her attention to Tessa, who was lifted onto a chair and covered with a blanket. Iris offered her a few sips, but she could not seem to drink it. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and she glanced at Iris as if to ask, “Where are we?” before drifting off to sleep again. Anguish merged with relief, and Iris collapsed into the chair next to Tessa, where she wept until she drained herself dry.

  Every bone in Nathan’s body cried out in pain as he boarded the Carpathia. His head still ached from the fall he’d taken hours prior, and his shoulder, wrenched when he’d hit the water, caused unbearable pain. Still, he was alive.

  Alive.

  And though he longed for sleep, he could not think of himself right now. He must find Mother. And Tessa. Winding his way through the hundreds upon hundreds of people—many still in wet clothes—he searched for familiar faces. Some of these poor people were dressed only in their nightclothes or wrappers. Others wore even less, particularly the children. Oh, how he longed to stop and offer assistance, but what could he do? Thank goodness for the good people aboard Carpathia, who worked feverishly to provide what they could to meet the vast needs.

  His heart lurched when he saw a woman in a dress like one of Mother’s, but she had red hair. On he went, searching through the mob for a sign of someone he loved. Just when he thought the chances had dwindled, he caught a glimpse of Jessie Leitch and her little niece, Annie. They stood in tattered dresses, their hair matted and dirty. But they were very much alive and appeared to be searching through the crowd, as well.

  Nathan rushed their way, pressing his way beyond the mass of people. “Jessie!”

  She looked his way, her tearstained face awash with pain. “Nathan! Oh, Nathan, I’m so glad to see you. Have you seen my uncle John? We’ve searched everywhere for him.”

  Nathan felt his heart drop. He hated to give her this news but had no choice. He reached out to put his hand on Jessie’s arm and spoke in a strained whisper so that Annie would not hear. “There was a fellow in our lifeboat. He told a story of a preacher who prayed for him even as he faced death in the water.”

  “Uncle John?” Tears rolled down Jessie’s cheek.

  “From his description, yes. He said that your uncle took off his life belt and gave it away.”

  “No!” Jessie gasped.

  “Yes.” Nathan’s heart warmed as he remembered the story the fellow had told. “He said, ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not going down, I’m going up.’”

  “Sounds like Uncle John,” she whispered through the tears.

  Nathan nodded. “According to this fellow, your uncle jumped into the water as the ship began to sink and then went from man to man, preaching the gospel till the end.”

  “Really?” Tears ran in rivulets down Jessie’s cheeks. “Yes. Apparently many prayed with him, so I’ve no doubt he has carried them off to heaven with him. I’m sure they are enjoying a worship service even now.” He trembled just thinking about it.

  “Papa’s in heaven?” Little Annie’s voice sounded, and Nathan realized she had overheard.

  He knelt to her level. “Yes, sweet girl. He’s in heaven now, celebrating with the angels.” When the youngster began to cry, Nathan consoled her with a hug. “Your papa was a brave man, Annie,” he whispered in her ear. “A man you can be proud of. One of the fellows in my lifeboat was saved because of your daddy.”

  As he spoke the word “daddy,” Nathan could not help but think about James Carson and their final conversation, and he began to tremble with the memory. Those few words from James had changed everything.

  Annie began to cry, and within minutes an older woman approached with a blanket and hot tea, which she offered to the youngster.

  Nathan turned to Jessie. “Where are the others? Tessa? Iris?”

  “Let me take you to them.” She gripped his arm. “But Nathan, Tessa is…”

  “What?”

  “She’s not well. The doctor said she’s in shock, but I believe she’s very ill as well. She has a fever. We’re very concerned about her.”

  Fear gripped Nathan’s heart. He had nearly lost her once, to the mighty Atlantic. He would not lose her again. Not if he had anything to do with it.

  Through the haze, Tessa felt angels wrap her in their arms. All around her she heard the cries of those in need. So strange, how the sunlight rippled off the water in the distance so beautifully. Mesmerizing, even. And those lovely bits of ice! How they twinkled under the early morning sunlight, happy beacons of hope.

  Before she could give them another thought, Tessa found herself lifted and carried to a new place—a warm place, one with a nice, soft bed and soothing voices of people all around her.

  Still in a dreamlike state, she settled back against the softness and allowed herself to sip the warm liquid that a host of compassionate angels pressed to her lips. She would have to remember to thank them later.

  Would there be a later?

  Her eyes fluttered closed and she saw her brother’s face, his handsome, loving face, and she wept for joy. When she opened her eyes again, he disappeared from view. Now she cried in earnest.

  And then, through the fog, a familiar voice came, one that caused her heart to leap for joy.

  “Tessa!”

  Nathan’s face came into view. In that moment, she knew she must have died. He must surely be an angel, come to usher her into God’s presence. If so, she would go willingly, never looking back. For to spend eternity with Nathan would be to spend it fully loved.

  Monday Morning, Just after Dawn, April 15, 1912

  Southampton, England

  Jacquie was awakened just after dawn by the sound of weeping in a nearby room. Moments later, she heard a stirring in the street below, followed by the sound of voices raised in high-pitched screams.

  She rose in a hurry and glanced out of her hotel window onto the scene below, mesmerized by the sudden flurry of activity near the dock. Her pulse quickened as she pondered what might have happened. She dressed quickly and made her way out of the room and down the stairs to the lobby below.

  One glance at the desk clerk’s face was all it took to convince her that something horrible had happened. And the sobs from a woman in a nearby chair only added to her confusion. Jacquie rushed to the counter to speak with the clerk, who appeared dazed and pale.

  “What is it? Why are they crying?”

  For a moment he didn’t answer, but his wide eyes shared his grief. “It’s Titanic, miss.”

  “Titanic?” Jacquie’s heart sailed to her throat. “What about Titanic?”

  The fellow shook his head, his eyes growing misty. “She’s gone down in the middle of the Atlantic. Most everyone onboard is feared dead.”

  Jacquie felt the room begin to spin. She cried out, “No!”

  The clerk’s eyes misted over. “I’m so sorry. But I’m afraid it’s true.”

  Outside, people rushed by, many crying out in anguish, others shouting to be heard. None of thi
s made sense. Surely she would go back to her room, doze off, then awaken again to learn that she had dreamed all of this. One final look in the desk clerk’s eyes convinced her otherwise.

  “We’ve been asked to hold steady for a few hours,” he said. “Later today, or perhaps tomorrow, the White Star Line will post a list of survivors. Or maybe a list of the dead. I’m not sure which.”

  “So there are survivors?”

  “Yes. But no one knows how many. More dead than alive, I’m afraid.”

  The words “more dead than alive” shook Jacquie to the core.

  “I will send word to your room if I hear anything. How would that be?”

  She could only nod in response. No words would come.

  Jacquie fought back tears as she ran down the hallway and up the stairs to her room. Once there, she prayed as never before. She would go on praying, too, until news came of the young women she had placed aboard the Titanic. In the meantime, she would beg the Almighty for forgiveness…and plead for mercy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Monday, April 15, 1912, Noon

  White Star Line Offices, Southampton, England

  After several hours of fretful prayer, Jacquie could wait no longer. Just before the noon hour she made the decision to go to the White Star offices. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, fighting her way through a mob of people. Tears flowed with such force that she had to stop to catch her breath several times along the way. Surrounded by a large crowd of people, she could barely see which way to go. All of them moved en masse toward the offices, their cries mingled with shouts and rushed conversations.

  Along the way, she tried to collect her thoughts. She also attempted a prayer, but the words “God, please!” were truly all she could manage. After that, bile rose to her throat and she felt sick.

  Getting close to the White Star Line offices was impossible in this crowd. She pressed her way through as best she could, but there was no list to be found. Not yet, anyway. The tears dried up and then just as quickly started again. She thought about Tessa. Poor, sweet Tessa. Then her thoughts shifted to Iris, and she remembered the young woman’s dreams to become a fashion designer. To think that those dreams might have been cut short ripped Jacquie’s heart out.

  All around her, the newsboys called out to would-be patrons, offering sensational headlines about Titanic’s demise. Jacquie bought a copy of the London Herald and read every word, her heart aching and her throat tight as she took in each line. Still, she found no real answers there. Until Carpathia docked in New York, there would be no solid answers for anyone. How would she survive until then?

  Survive.

  Tessa.

  Iris.

  Oh, God!

  By midafternoon, the crowd could only be described as frenzied. Jacquie backed away as several people took to quarreling. She understood their emotional outbursts, of course, but now feared for her safety, as well. These feelings were all mixed up with the shroud of guilt that wrapped her in its embrace. If the worst had really happened to Tessa and Iris…

  No, she wouldn’t let herself think like that. All would be well.

  At two o’clock, a fellow in a White Star uniform made his way through the crowd, urging people to remain calm. How could they? She leaned against the wall of a nearby building and waited, silent prayers rushing heavenward at lightning speed. When she opened her eyes, she saw a familiar face in the crowd. For a moment she thought it a mirage. Just as quickly, she realized it was not.

  “Peter!”

  She ran his direction and flung herself into his arms, tears flowing. He held her close and ran his trembling fingers through her hair, his nearness bringing the only comfort of the day.

  “Jacquie. Have they posted the list yet?”

  She shook her head.

  He grabbed her hand and they made their way through the crowd to a quieter spot. Peter sat on the edge of the street, buried his face in his hands, and wept with abandon. “I put Tessa on that ship to save her life. Now I’ve sent her to her grave.”

  “Y–you don’t know that.” The words caught in Jacquie’s throat. “We haven’t seen the list of survivors.”

  “I pray she’s on it.” He used the back of his hand to swipe at his eyes. “If not, I will never forgive myself. I’ll be to blame—”

  “No.” Jacquie sat next to him and grabbed his hand. “I’m the one at fault here. Don’t you see? I’m the one who set the original plan in motion. You had your reasons for wanting her to go, but I had mine, and my voice was the persuasive one. If we’ve anyone to blame, it’s me.”

  Peter looked her way and raked his fingers through his messy hair. “We were both at fault. And we are both to blame. And I pray to God she is alive. Otherwise—” He blanched. “I don’t know what I will do.”

  Jacquie flung her arms around Peter’s neck and held him close, allowing him to grieve. When he finally calmed, she continued to hold him tight.

  Until she saw, out of the corners of her eyes, another familiar face.

  “Mother!”

  Jacquie rose, hiked her skirts, and ran straight into her mother’s arms.

  Monday, April 15, 1912

  Aboard the Carpathia

  Iris worked onboard the ship alongside Edith and the Countess of Rothes. The women became friends in a short period of time. Together, the trio did what they could to ease the burdens of all who remained, particularly the children, who desperately needed food, clothing, and hugs.

  Iris’s heart was touched by a duo of little French boys who had been dropped, nearly naked, into one of the lifeboats just before Titanic met her awful fate. No one seemed to know where they had come from or where they were headed. New York? Elsewhere? With no parents to be found, she could not say.

  They enlisted the help of a woman named Margaret Hays, who was fluent in French. She spoke with great tenderness to the boys, who looked to be about two and four. The little curly-headed waifs did not seem to have a care in the world. In fact, they rather enjoyed playing with Miss Hays’s Pom pup, which offered the perfect distraction.

  Of course, there were hundreds of others with similar stories. Mothers without babies. Babies without fathers. Sisters without brothers. All around Iris, people grieved their losses. She did her best not to weep in front of the others, though she felt emotion welling up inside of her many times over. Pressing it down was the only thing that made sense, especially with so many others needing her help. She must keep going, no matter how she felt on the inside.

  “I’ve heard that many haven’t given up hope,” the countess said as she dished up bowls of soup for the survivors. “Some are saying that another ship has surely come to fetch the rest of the survivors.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?” Iris asked.

  Edith shook her head. “No, my dear, I do not. If there had been another ship, don’t you think the captain of Carpathia would have informed us by now?”

  “But someone has to go after those poor souls,” the countess said, still filling bowls with soup. “Surely.”

  The conversation continued, and before long several others nearby had joined in. A couple of them took to arguing about it, emotions higher than ever. Iris decided to escape the bedlam for a few minutes. She turned to Edith, determined to move on.

  “I really must go and check on Tessa. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.” Edith gave her a compassionate look. “How is she this morning?”

  “From what I’ve heard, she’s still feverish, but the ship’s doctor says that she will recover. They have turned the second-class dining room into a hospital to care for the injured. She is still there, along with dozens of others.” Iris shuddered, remembering some of the injuries she had seen in that room. So much pain. If only she could do more to ease it.

  “Everyone onboard has been so kind,” the countess said as she handed a bowl of soup to a woman with two little ones. “Giving up their rooms, providing clothes… And did you hear that Margaret Brown
has started a campaign to raise funds for the survivors?”

  “No.” Edith looked intrigued by this. “Already?”

  “Yes.” The countess nodded.

  Edith squared her shoulders. “Well, I must find her so that I can contribute. It’s the least I can do. The very least.”

  Iris wondered at Edith’s generosity. After all, the entire Elrose line had gone down on the Titanic. All nineteen trunks, filled with lovely clothes and other items she had gathered in Europe.

  But Edith bore it well. In fact, many of the survivors appeared to be of sturdy stock, more concerned about the needs of others than their own woes. There were a pitiful few who could not cease their mourning, but Iris’s heart bled for them, particularly the young mothers who could not locate children or husbands. Whatever she could do to be of service, she would do. Truly, helping others was the only thing to take her mind off of what had happened.

  She made her way to the hospital, where she visited with Tessa and then assisted the doctor as he offered food and drinks to his many patients. She tried not to cry aloud at the sight of those who were wounded but found it difficult to hold her emotions in check, particularly where the children were concerned. Many of the older ones were simply overcome with grief and emotion, but the children tugged at her heartstrings in a different way. Their cries made her want to run from the room, to escape the pain.

  As the hours wore on, Iris found herself working alongside a young man about her same age, a Carpathia steward named William Kenney, who hailed from New York. The amiable fellow found any number of things to keep her busy and always managed to lift her spirits whenever she would get down. He served as the perfect distraction, his lighthearted approach to work admirable.

  Now, if only she could somehow get word back to England, to Jacquie. Then perhaps she could draw a breath without feeling sick inside. Until then, she would just keep moving. One foot in front of the other.