The Heart's War

by Lucy Lambert

  That little spot by the rail became my favorite part of the ship. Certainly, I went to see the grand staircase and found myself in awe of its grandeur. I saw the smoking rooms (where several older men frowned at me over their papers) and the gymnasium with its pool. But it was there, leaned against the rail staring out across the ocean that I felt a harmony within myself.

  Every time Mrs. Montag let us go, I'd grab a bit of food and go there. I would squint ahead of the ship, and imagine I could see the cliffs and beaches of England rising out of the water.

  It was on the fourth day that I saw the most curious thing far off the right (or "starboard," I'd been told) side of the ship.

  Something glinted in the distance on the water. I shielded my eyes with one hand to try and get a better look.

  A few of the men leaning against the rail also saw it, pointing out.

  "What in blazes...?" one man remarked.

  Then the water turned white, churned to a froth in a narrow trail that raced with frightening speed towards the great bulk of the Olympic.

  "Torpedo! Torpedo off the starboard bow!" a man wearing a naval uniform screamed, waving his arms at the man in the crow's nest. That man grabbed a pair of field glasses, sighted in on the projectile, dropped them, then grabbed his telephone.

  A klaxon sounded, screaming out in strident urgency. Men rushed around on the deck, coming to the rail beside me, shouting and pointing.

  At first, I felt no fright. I merely stood there at my spot by the railing, gripping it with one hand as I watched that pointed finger in the water draw closer and closer. Somewhere in my mind, I found myself wondering if this was the end. Would the Olympic get a hole blown in its side and find itself resting on the bottom of the Atlantic, slumbering forever under the waves with Titanic, its sister?

  Then the great liner turned, and the deck thrummed beneath my feet.

  "What in the hell is happening?" said a young soldier to my left.

  The man in the naval uniform who'd alerted the officer in the crow's nest spoke without looking away from the oncoming torpedo.

  "The captain's brought the ship up to flank speed, and he's turning us into it!"

  The Olympic turned sharply to the right, so hard that the ship began to roll.

  The white water split by the vessel's prow churned higher and faster. It seemed like the captain intended on ramming the torpedo, though I had no idea how that would help. That klaxon hammered into my ears like an ice pick.

  I held my breath. All I could think about was how I would never get to see Jeff now. How I'd never make amends with my mother, or take a walk down Victoria Park to see the swans.

  But I felt no fear. Oddly, there was a sensation of peace. I'd tried. I'd made it all the way to Halifax and had even boarded the RMS Olympic. It had been an incredible journey.

  We drew close enough to see the long shape of the torpedo as it raced along just under the surface. It seemed like it would catch us right on the prow, not far from where I stood.

  Many of the soldiers yelled and ran back towards the stern, but I couldn't move. My eyes didn't blink as I watched it come closer and closer. Everyone ran until only myself and the sailor stayed to witness the explosion.

  Just as I thought it would impact, the torpedo slipped by the side. I watched as it sped by the hull, no more than a few feet away. The wash of its wake slapped against the waterline.

  The sailor beside me cheered, grabbing me and hugging me against his side.

  "We dodged it! The bastards can't sink us! Look, we're going to ram the sub!"

  It was true. I looked forward. The U-boat looked like some large shark, its central fin sinking out of the water. I saw a big gun on its front deck. A man watching from atop the fin went inside and closed a hatch, and the U-boat began a simultaneous dive and turn.

  The lumbering Olympic must have seemed like some great whale swooping in to swallow the smaller vessel.

  For a few moments, it seemed like we would collide. The U-boat left a light spot in the water where it was, thousands of tiny bubbles rising up as it sought to dive as quickly as it could.

  Then we slipped over the spot where it had been.

  "Did we hit it?" I asked. I returned the sailor's hug, and we clutched each other in mutual fright and elation at our survival.

  "No, don't believe so. Olympic's a big girl, but we still would have felt the crash."

  No one was allowed on deck for the rest of the day and evening. Since the sub hadn't resurfaced, the captain kept the ship at its maximum speed as long as he dared. We wove a haphazard course, trying to throw any pursuers off our trail.

  Even the laundry room was silent of conversation, the only sounds the slosh of water or the hiss of steam. Mrs. Montag didn't have to admonish us to keep working. Despite the heat, we all looked pale. The Irish girl who'd teased me earlier especially so, her red hair looking like a blazing fire atop her snow-pale face.

  The ship ran extra dark that night, all interior lighting that might be seen from outside extinguished. We all sat or lay in our bunks, waiting for and dreading the sound of that awful klaxon that signalled another attack.

  My ears still rang with it, and my fright exhausted me so that my eyelids kept drifting down. I started awake every few minutes, that ringing sound having grown so loud in my head that I thought it had begun again in earnest.

  All I could think about was that the Mauretania followed this same course. Had this sub encountered and sunk it? Was my Jeff even now floating on the ocean waiting for rescue, or entombed on the seabed with thousands of his fellows? I hoped and prayed that wasn't the case.

  Despite my earlier sense of harmony and enjoyment of the journey, I wished that we could go even faster. That we could arrive in Liverpool within the hour.

  I had actually seen the enemy. That man who watched us from the U-boat, tracking the torpedo and waiting for the hit, he was a German. Again, I thought of how I was now part of this war, and had very nearly become a casualty.

  It meant that it wasn't over yet. I wouldn't arrive in Liverpool only to find Jeff and take him back home with me. I'd get there and be able to only wish him well and pray for him as he shipped across the Channel.

  The attack was a sobering experience for everyone onboard. No longer did soldiers frolic and tan on the deck. Laughter returned slowly, and I started taking my meals in the mess with everyone else. We all looked at each other as though in wonderment that we still lived. Only the tink of spoon or fork against glass dishes sounded in the room.

  Chapter 13

  On the eighth day, Lawrence Marsh found me. I had come out to my old spot, staring at the bit of railing with more than a little distrust. It felt like if I leaned against it to stare out across the ocean again, I'd look out and spot another of the those man-made sharks hunting us, as though it were all my fault that the first one had found us.

  "I wondered when you'd come back here, dear Eleanor."

  I turned to see Lawrence, the buttons on his uniform glinting and that ready smile under his cap, looking at me.

  "I didn't think you had any interest in seeing me anymore," I said.

  "Oh, Eleanor! I saw you every day. I waited up above," he said, pointing to an observation deck on the superstructure, "And watched for you. You were so happy and beautiful, watching the ocean roll away beneath us. Don't let the Germans frighten you."

  "Don't they frighten you?" I asked, remembering his face on the train when he'd broken down for those few moments.

  Lawrence came up beside me and leaned against the rail. After a second, I went over to my spot and peered over the side to watch the prow cut the water some more.

  "Do you know what the Germans call the Canadian soldiers?"

  "No," I said.

  He got that faraway look again, and his knuckles went white as he gripped the railing.

  "They call us Sturmtruppen—Storm Troopers. Do you know why?"

  I shook my head. I knew what the word meant. Having grown up in New Ber
lin, from a German-descended family, I could speak and read a bit of the language. But I didn't know the context.

  "At every battle, the Canadian Corps lead the charge. We're the first ones out of the trenches when the artillery and bombs stop falling. We're the shock troops, meant to destabilize their line."

  I nodded. It sounded awful. The first into the barbed wire and machine guns. It was no wonder our casualty lists grew so long.

  Lawrence continued, and he had a look on his face like he'd forgotten I was there.

  "But the Germans aren't stupid, dear. No, quite the opposite. As soon as they confirm there are Canadians on the field, they concentrate their defences and train their guns on us. We face the heaviest resistance."

  I looked out across the gleaming Atlantic. Our voyage thus far, aside from the attack, had been quite docile. Poseidon, it seemed, favored us. Aside from where the Olympic sliced the water open with its prow, the entire surface was as glass. The water took on the color of the sky and deepened it to a navy blue.

  What lurked beneath that serene surface?

  I looked from the water to Lawrence's face. Once more, I caught him in a pensive mood. His lips pressed tightly together, and the muscles in his cheeks worked.

  Then he reached inside his jacket and produced that flask again.

  "Why are you telling me this, Lawrence?" I asked.

  He jerked as though I caught him stealing. That flask disappeared back into his jacket and he turned his smile upon me. Those teeth were especially blinding in all that ocean sunlight.

  "Why, Eleanor, I tell you so that maybe you'd find some pity within yourself for this poor soul, destined for the muck and the constant artillery blasts."

  "Of course, Lawrence," I said. He gripped the rail so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Against my better judgment, I put my hand over his. His skin felt taut, and the muscles stiff to the touch.

  "Then, perhaps I could interest you in seeing what a first class cabin looks like on the inside? You know, my dear, that they bring dinner directly to the room, if you wish? And, despite the war, I know that the captain keeps a small store of champagne..."

  I took my hand away. Of course this was all some plot to get me alone with him again. Well, if he thought that all it took was the promise of some bubbling alcohol and furniture designed for only the wealthiest passengers, he was wrong.

  When he saw me turn away, his hand lighted on my shoulder.

  "You know, some women might feel some gratitude along with that pity. After all, I did arrange for all of this. Why, I expect a place of honor at your wedding with dear old Jeffrey. That is, if you're still his after all of this..."

  I stiffened. I dreaded this moment, this accounting of debts. For a few days there, I thought that maybe I escaped his notice, or that he became too busy with his duties. Or that, and I acknowledged this as the least likely of the outcomes, he had done all this out of a sense of romance and sympathy.

  His fingers squeezed my shoulder appreciatively. The touch brought back the memories of his hands on the flat of my stomach, travelling upwards.

  Breaking from his grip, I rounded on him. His smile faltered when he saw my face.

  "Yes," I said, "You did me a favor, getting me about the Olympic. It's a favor I don't know I'll ever be able to repay, because you're helping me see my fiancé one last time before he goes to fight in this war you're constantly talking about."

  I jabbed my finger against his chest. Lawrence backed up so that he butted against the rail, leaning back and gripping it with both hands as he bore the full brunt of my assault.

  "And don't think that I can't see your coyness. I'm not a dimwit; I know what you want in return. You speak continually of getting my pity. Well, what about Jeff? Suppose you got the payment you wanted, and Jeff discovered it. Would you have that young man going over to fight in France with that knowledge hanging over him?"

  My heartbeat quickened so that I could feel it in every extremity, and my skin flushed with blood. I jammed my finger harder into Lawrence's chest, and he nearly lost his cap to the ocean as he jerked back once more.

  "Eleanor, he doesn't have to know a thing. He's not aboard the Olympic. How would he ever find out?"

  "Because I would tell him."

  I tried injecting as much venom into my voice as I could. My body trembled, and I hope Lawrence took it as anger. But really, it was a cold fear and uncertainty. Oh, I wasn't about to let Lawrence press himself on me. But he was a captain, with no small amount of power.

  What if he chose to take his frustrations out on my poor Jeff? What if he told Jeff about his favor, and then lied to him about my method of repayment?

  And through all that I felt the guilt as a heavy ball and chain, latched to the bottom of my heart and going down through the pit of my stomach. How could I ever repay Lawrence for what he'd done, despite his ulterior motives for doing so?

  With that, I let my finger drop. The knuckle ached where I bent it back. I didn't let my eyes leave his, though. Not until he tried to say something, but couldn't, and instead let his gaze fall from mine.

  With that, I turned and left with my back stiff and straight. I hoped that none of the other girls were in our shared room. I just wanted to be alone.

  Chapter 14

  We reached Liverpool the following day. I had been so excited that I neglected my washing. Mrs. Montag chided me several times, but even that couldn't lower my spirit. The look on her face when I told her that I would be leaving my post when we docked also helped in that respect.

  None of the other girls were leaving, and they seemed satisfied with taking out their frustrations by telling me to not add a third man to my itinerary.

  "Why, it'd be a love quadrangle!" the Irish girl said. She still hadn't gotten all her color back from her shock at the attempted torpedoing, and the threads of red hair that came loose from her bun looked like little lines of fire across her forehead.

  I smiled and returned to my folding. They could have their little jokes and jabs. But they'd be the ones departing on the Olympic when it went back for another load of soldiers.

  And I would be in England. Liverpool wouldn't have been my first choice for a visit (I would have much preferred London) but it was still a place I never thought I'd get the chance to visit.

  Finishing with my duties, I rushed straight back to my room. My bed I left in order, with my plain work clothes folded on top of the pillow. I changed into a much more comfortable dress (only a little short at the hem, with fancy stitching across the bodice) and pulled on the flats that had taken me from Kitchener to Halifax.

  I checked my suitcases and found everything intact (with an eye for the money in its plain manila bank envelope).

  Grabbing up everything, I rushed to the deck.

  The morning fog hadn't yet lifted. The stuff shifted and roiled just over the surface of the water, and hung as a haze in front of my eyes.

  But when we got closer, it dissipated. I dropped my bags to the deck and leaned against the rail, my eyes widening to take everything in.

  The city of Liverpool sprawled out before me. Tall brick smokestacks belched black clouds skyward from every corner. By the harbor were many warehouses and factories. Beyond that, I thought I caught a glimpse of the city that lay beyond the industry. Gold statues glinted from the top of some of the buildings, and some even appeared to have columns.

  For a moment, I caught a view straight down one street as it lined up before me. A trolley made its way straight down the middle, and I could practically hear its bells ringing.

  Flocks of gulls flew through the air in dirty white clouds, calling and screaming at each other. Ships blew their horns and a general cacophony of industry filled the air.

  Tugboats came out from the harbor and bumped against the hull. And a warship as well, coming into what I figured was a protective posture. It was tall and aggressive, with massive batteries of cannons fore and aft.

  This close to civilization, the smells of the
city mingled with the salty air. There was that faint scent of old wet wood, and the more pungent aroma of fish and bird leavings.

  Sailors came out on the decks of both ships to wave at each other.

  The tugboats angled the Olympic for a berth along the pier. Big green army trucks already waited in long lines to convey the soldiers to their barracks.

  And there, at the berth ahead of ours, was the Mauretania. My breath caught when I saw her. Her stern faced us, and she was painted in a dazzling scheme much like the Olympic. Sailors moved around on her, some leaning against the rails or waving to their comrades aboard the Olympic.

  Men rushed about on the deck and on the pier below, securing the ship with massive chains. I waited impatiently at a spot on deck where a gangway would come up. A sailor already waited by the area, ready to secure everything and make sure everyone exited in a formal manner.

  More and more soldiers spilled out on the deck, and I caught their conversations in snippets.

  It seemed they'd be headed to an encampment just outside the city limits, waiting their turn to be shipped across the Channel.

  Many of them spoke about the attack. They talked about how the sub had launched a score of torpedoes at us. One or two mentioned how they'd heard dull thumps against the hull. Clearly, shoddy German engineering making dud bombs.

  I smiled at their embellishments. But the event hadn't needed any more fantasy to be harrowing. Had there really been a score of torpedoes aimed at us, we'd be resting on the bottom of the Atlantic at that moment, instead of waiting to set foot in England.

  Slowly, the men below brought the gangway up.

  It bumped against the hull, and the sailor standing by the railing secured it. A moment later he had the gate open. Men jostled for position, all wanting to be the first down onto English soil.

  It was all still a great adventure to most of them, I could see.

  "Hey there! You lot! Stand aside; women first, you brutes!" the sailor called out, betraying his English heritage with his thick accent.

  Then he pulled his cap off, waved down the gangway, and looked at me expectantly.