you all right?’ she whispered to May. ‘Shall I take the baby?’
‘Thank you, but no. You have been so kind. I don’t even know your name.’
‘My name is Celestine Parkes. I was on my way home. And this little one?’ she asked, touching the baby’s arm.
‘This is Ellen and I am May Smith. My husband, Joe, will be on another lifeboat. We’re heading out to the Midwest and he’s got the address and everything.’
The poor girl was not taking in what had happened to them at all, Celeste realized. The chances of her husband being picked up would be slim. ‘How will you manage?’
‘We’ll get by,’ May Smith whispered to the baby in her lap. ‘We’ll be all right.’
Only as the dawn light brightened and the ship on the horizon loomed large did May relax her grip of the blankets that swaddled Ellen so securely. She was so tiny, she thought, as if she had shrunk in the water, and still she slept on. Better not disturb her. When Joe met up with them she’d have such a story to tell him: how she was dragged from the water half dead and the baby rescued not five minutes later. She felt so tired and weary and her whole body ached as she shivered. One glimpse of her daughter would bring her back to life.
As the light flooded into the lifeboat she pulled back the blankets framing her tiny face to see if she was awake.
The eyes staring back at her shone like coal. Eyes she’d never seen in her life before. Ellen’s eyes were blue. Swallowing the scream that rose in her throat she pulled the blanket back down over the face again to blot out the discovery, her heart thumping with horror. This isn’t her, she thought in horror. It’s not my baby!
15
No one was taking any notice of May; they were too busy cheering on the rescue ship. She looked again, only to see those strange eyes peeking out from a lace bonnet, piercing her soul. She examined the baby’s face minutely to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. From what she could see of its clothes under the swaddle of blankets, they were different from Ellen’s too.
May sat back shaking as the great ocean liner steamed towards them. This wasn’t right. This was not how it should be: The Lord gives and the Lord takes but not from me. Is this His idea of a joke, this gift of life from the sea? Was this the captain’s last act of courage, to put a stranger’s baby in my lap? Where is my own baby? I want her back.
She stared behind her to all that was gone, to the murderous sea so calm and treacherous and then at the face staring up at her, wide-eyed, questioning: Who are you? This baby was all there was, this child of the sea, someone’s daughter or son.
What do I do? Oh, please God, what do I do now?
16
Celeste watched the ship racing towards them with mounting excitement. She sighed with relief that their ordeal was almost over. If she lived for a hundred years she would never forget what she’d seen this night. Her escape had been smooth, plenty of time to pile on warm clothes on top of her nightdress, a walk over planks into a descending lifeboat. They’d been warned early by the stewards in First Class, handed life jackets and ushered quickly to safety. She had seen the look in the stewardess’s eyes that made her obey her orders, a grimace of a smile and that hesitancy when she asked what was happening.
But what she had just witnessed was obscene, unspeakable suffering. This was the greatest ship on earth on its maiden voyage and yet a hazard of nature had ripped it apart. Amidst the horror had she really seen a baby restored to its mother’s arms by the captain? She’d seen a silver beard and white hair – was it really him? Poor man, whoever he was. How could she ever forget him tugging away the arms that would have rescued him? And those final words?
Thank God she hadn’t brought Roddy. How she longed to have him in her arms now but he’d be back home, tucked up in his bed, with his nursemaid, Susan, in the next room. Grover would be in
‘Thank you, but no. You have been so kind. I don’t even know your name.’
‘My name is Celestine Parkes. I was on my way home. And this little one?’ she asked, touching the baby’s arm.
‘This is Ellen and I am May Smith. My husband, Joe, will be on another lifeboat. We’re heading out to the Midwest and he’s got the address and everything.’
The poor girl was not taking in what had happened to them at all, Celeste realized. The chances of her husband being picked up would be slim. ‘How will you manage?’
‘We’ll get by,’ May Smith whispered to the baby in her lap. ‘We’ll be all right.’
Only as the dawn light brightened and the ship on the horizon loomed large did May relax her grip of the blankets that swaddled Ellen so securely. She was so tiny, she thought, as if she had shrunk in the water, and still she slept on. Better not disturb her. When Joe met up with them she’d have such a story to tell him: how she was dragged from the water half dead and the baby rescued not five minutes later. She felt so tired and weary and her whole body ached as she shivered. One glimpse of her daughter would bring her back to life.
As the light flooded into the lifeboat she pulled back the blankets framing her tiny face to see if she was awake.
The eyes staring back at her shone like coal. Eyes she’d never seen in her life before. Ellen’s eyes were blue. Swallowing the scream that rose in her throat she pulled the blanket back down over the face again to blot out the discovery, her heart thumping with horror. This isn’t her, she thought in horror. It’s not my baby!
15
No one was taking any notice of May; they were too busy cheering on the rescue ship. She looked again, only to see those strange eyes peeking out from a lace bonnet, piercing her soul. She examined the baby’s face minutely to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. From what she could see of its clothes under the swaddle of blankets, they were different from Ellen’s too.
May sat back shaking as the great ocean liner steamed towards them. This wasn’t right. This was not how it should be: The Lord gives and the Lord takes but not from me. Is this His idea of a joke, this gift of life from the sea? Was this the captain’s last act of courage, to put a stranger’s baby in my lap? Where is my own baby? I want her back.
She stared behind her to all that was gone, to the murderous sea so calm and treacherous and then at the face staring up at her, wide-eyed, questioning: Who are you? This baby was all there was, this child of the sea, someone’s daughter or son.
What do I do? Oh, please God, what do I do now?
16
Celeste watched the ship racing towards them with mounting excitement. She sighed with relief that their ordeal was almost over. If she lived for a hundred years she would never forget what she’d seen this night. Her escape had been smooth, plenty of time to pile on warm clothes on top of her nightdress, a walk over planks into a descending lifeboat. They’d been warned early by the stewards in First Class, handed life jackets and ushered quickly to safety. She had seen the look in the stewardess’s eyes that made her obey her orders, a grimace of a smile and that hesitancy when she asked what was happening.
But what she had just witnessed was obscene, unspeakable suffering. This was the greatest ship on earth on its maiden voyage and yet a hazard of nature had ripped it apart. Amidst the horror had she really seen a baby restored to its mother’s arms by the captain? She’d seen a silver beard and white hair – was it really him? Poor man, whoever he was. How could she ever forget him tugging away the arms that would have rescued him? And those final words?
Thank God she hadn’t brought Roddy. How she longed to have him in her arms now but he’d be back home, tucked up in his bed, with his nursemaid, Susan, in the next room. Grover would be in
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