by Diane Hoh
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.
Chapter 6
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 pre
tty 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.
Seeing her curiosity, a nearby steward said, “Third-class smoking room. For the gentlemen, you know. That other room”—gesturing with a wave of his hand toward a larger room with white enameled walls framed in pine, furnished with what Katie regarded as fine furniture—“is called the general room. Got a piano. You folks can have yourself some good times in there.”
It was nicer than any of the pubs back home. Katie would have thought he was mistaken if he hadn’t been wearing a uniform. She would have thought such fine rooms must be reserved for the first- and second-class passengers. She kept the thought to herself, not wanting to appear unsophisticated. Sure and the steward’s word had to be good as gold.
The second painful moment came when, to Katie’s consternation, she learned that an entire ship would separate her from the brothers Kelleher. Single women were housed near the stern of the ship, single men near the bow.
“No one told me!” she cried to Brian when this piece of information was announced. “I thought you’d be close at hand.”
Brian’s eyes twinkled. “That wouldn’t be proper, Katie. Not to fret. The gathering room is just above your quarters. We’ll be spendin’ most of our time there. You can’t get rid of us that easy, you’ll see.”
Paddy hesitated, looking down at Katie with what looked like concern in his eyes. “You’ll be missin’ Brian somethin’ sore, I’d say by the look on your face.”
“I’ll be missin’ both of you,” she answered, touched by his concern. “But Bri is right. We’ll just settle ourselves in our cabins and then meet in the gatherin’ room. You’ll both hurry back here?”
“We will,” Paddy assured her, awkwardly patting her shoulder as he turned to follow Brian.
Then Katie had no choice but to follow the stewardess to her quarters. She felt very much alone, a feeling she was not at all accustomed to.
She had expected to be sleeping in one large cabin filled with bunks. Instead, when they got below, she was directed to a group of rooms containing two, four, or six berths each, all with fine, new, red-and-white bedspreads. Some of the rooms, Katie noticed as she passed in a delighted daze, were larger than the tiny bedroom under the eaves she shared at home with Moira and Mary.
“’Tisn’t a ship,” she told a young woman holding two small children by the hand. “’Tis a grand floating hotel. And a fine one, at that.” Seeing the confused look on the woman’s face, Katie asked, “Are you lookin’ fer your husband, then? Is it himself you’ve lost?”
“I don’t have a husband.” The young woman, who looked no older than Katie and had a headful of frothy blond curls, led each of the children to a berth and motioned to them to sit down. Her dark eyes cleared some then, and she turned back to Katie to extend a hand, saying, “Eileen O’Keefe here. These two”—pointing to the quiet, motionless children—“are Kevin and Bridey Donohue.” She lowered her voice. “They’ve just lost their parents to the influenza. I’m takin’ them to America to live with an aunt in Brooklyn. That’s in New York City,” she added knowingly. She unpinned her wide-brimmed straw hat and dropped it on one of the red-and-white bedspreads. “I’ve got the willies about goin’ to sea on a ship that hasn’t never sailed before atall. But the money they’re payin’ me is fair, and it’s a chance to see America.?
“You’re comin’ back then, to Ireland?”
“That I am.” Eileen’s fair cheeks turned rosy. “Engaged to be married, I am.” She held out a hand again, this time to display a gold band boasting a small pearl. “To a fine young lad name of Sean Murphy. An April wedding, though this time of year, rain is almost as sure as the dawn. Me ma wanted me to wait till June. But”—the flush deepened and her eyes twinkled—“Sean says waitin’ till June would be the worst kind of torture. So ’tis an April bride I’ll be.” She turned back to her two charges, still sitting mute on their bunks. “I plan to use the money the aunt is payin’ me to buy me trousseau.”
“It sounds lovely,” Katie said politely, though she couldn’t imagine getting married at such a young age. “And it’d please me to give you a hand with these two little ones,” she added. “I’m a fair hand with youngsters. It’d give me somethin’ to do.” And it would be nice, with Brian and Patrick so far away at the far end of the ship, to have a friend right here.
“I could use the help,” Eileen admitted. “You might want to help me get their outer garments off now. I was afraid we’d be cold down here, but it’s warm as toast.”
“Sure, I’d be glad to. Then maybe we could hie ourselves up to the common room,” Katie suggested as she untied the string on the little girl’s hat. “I’ve some friends I’d like you to meet. And ’tis my guess,” smiling at Bridey, who almost smiled back, “there’ll be other children up there for these two to play with.” There had been families on board the tenders, and as she helped the little girl slip free of the red coat, she could hear mothers nearby calling to young ones, and fathers’ deeper voices echoing the call. Families were permitted to remain together, which she thought must have come as a relief to mothers traveling with a pair or trio of lively little ones.
“Didja catch a glimpse of the common room, Eileen?” she asked. “’Tis lovely. Like a giant pub, only much nicer. I believe there’s a piano, even. A sing-along would be nice of an evenin’. Do you sing, then?”
Eileen laughed. “When I sing the hymns at mass on Sunday, Sean says if Saint Patrick hadn’t already chased all the snakes out of Ireland, my voice would do it. But,” she added cheerfully, “I do love to listen. A musicale might be a treat.”
“Well, then,” Katie said briskly, “I’ll keep the little ones entertained while you change out of your traveling clothes, and then I’ll hand them over to you while I do the same.” She was anxious to see Brian and Patrick again, and was sure they’d have made their way to the general room by now. Thinking the new white middy with the linen collar her mother had sewn for her for the trip might be nice, Katie opened her satchel.
Elizabeth had watched the tenders disembark their passengers from Ireland. It seemed to her, looking down from above, that most of them were probably destined for third class. She had hoped to find another young companion among these new arrivals. But no one seemed dressed elegantly enough for first class.
Elizabeth was disappointed, and was about to turn away from the rail when someone caught her eye. A young girl…perhaps her age…sat in the tender, her own eyes wide with awe as she looked up at the huge ship. Fiery red hair spilled down her shoulders instead of being confined in a proper do, and her traveling clothes looked wrinkled and dusty. But she had a beautiful face, and there was something about her, an electrical air of excitement that Elizabeth found herself envying. What would it be like to still become so excited about something new? She herself hardly ever did anymore.
Sitting beside the girl was a tall, dark-haired young man in a worn wool jacket. Although he seemed much more restrained than the girl, who was waving wildly at another dark-haired young man arriving in the second tender, Elizabeth was certain the first two were traveling together. Married? They seemed young, but they could be embarking on a honeymoon voyage. But then, who was the second young man? She heard him shout, “Katie!” and saw
the red-haired girl wave in response. Katie. Short for Kathleen?
The three held her interest for several moments. She would have continued watching them had not a voice at her elbow said, “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet someone.” Max’s voice. Elizabeth sighed in irritation. He was actually going to introduce her to that gypsy person? But she had no desire to meet the girl!
Unwilling to let him see her annoyance, she pasted a polite smile on her lips, and turned around. “Oh, hello, Max. I was just watching the Queenstown passengers arrive. It’s great fun. They all look so interesting!”
Max gave her a wry smile. “You sound a little like the queen gazing down upon the peasants.” The girl at his side, her wild, dark hair windblown, smiled, too.
Elizabeth flushed. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”
“This is Lily Costello,” Max interrupted, smiling at the girl in the brightly flowered jacket. “We met in Paris. She’s traveling to New York to go on the stage.” The smile broadened. “But she’s already an actress. And a very good one. I’ve seen her in a number of plays.”
Elizabeth shook the girl’s hand. “Costello doesn’t sound French.”
“I’m Italian,” the girl said, with barely a trace of an accent. “We moved to France when I was eight. When my parents were killed in a train crash, I had already been on the stage for several years, so I decided to stay in France, where I was known in the theater community.”
An actress. That explained the odd costuming, the wild hair. Lily Costello wasn’t a gypsy at all, she was only an actress. “Your parents allowed you to go on stage as a child?”
Lily’s fine, delicately arched brows rose. “Allow me?” She shrugged. “They saw that I had a special talent and that I was determined to use it, and that it would do them no good to stand in my way. I do not understand what you mean by ‘allow.’ And you? What is it that you do in America, Elizabeth?”
