his office burning the midnight oil or out on the town somewhere. With God knows who, she thought grimly.
The sea began to swell again, throwing them from side to side. For a brief second she felt panic, to be close and yet so far from safety. Would she ever see her little boy again? She watched the girl next to her hugging her child, moaning from the chill, calling out the name of her lost husband over and over again. Pain was etched on her stricken face.
At least Celeste’s new coat was keeping them both warm, and the fox fur tippet was now wrapped around the girl. She’d pinned her purse into her coat lining alongside her rings and the photos of Roddy she’d brought to show to Papa. How futile possessions seemed now, she reflected.
She looked at the pathetic procession of lifeboats. Why were so many only half full? She’d assumed earlier that other passengers had been on the other side of the ship being loaded up, following behind them but now she realized just how few survivors there appeared to be. So many must have been trapped, so many of the Third Class passengers left to fend for themselves. It wasn’t right.
At least their crew had eventually had the heart to linger, pulling out three swimmers before the poor girl whose agony tore at her heart. The young mother was about her own age, a tiny thing, her accent northern. It would be Celeste’s duty to see them safely aboard the rescue ship. She would also see that she got good treatment for her frozen hands. A clergyman’s daughter knew her responsibilities. It would take her mind off her own sad thoughts.
Mother’s funeral seemed far off now. At least she’d been laid to rest with dignity, unlike all those poor frozen souls thrashing in the ice until they thrashed no more and gave up in despair. She hoped what they said about drowning was true, that it was like sleep in the end.
The steerage passengers had been called up too late, anyone could see that; one rule for the rich and another for the poor. It was shameful.
What were her meagre problems now compared to the women who had watched their husbands drown? She must grit her teeth and return to Akron, to the smell of its chemical factories, back to darling Roddy, back to Grover and the difficulties of their marriage. Her brief respite was over: a funeral and a shipwreck, not much of a holiday.
She had been spared for a purpose. She must swallow any discontent and fear for herself. Shocked as she was, she knew she must bear witness to what she had seen and ask for answers. Why had this disaster happened? How many had died needlessly? Who would be accountable for all this slaughter? But first she must take these two survivors under her wing. It was the proper thing to do and would take her mind off an unholy thought growing inside her.
Celeste looked back to where the Titanic had sunk. If her husband had accompanied her, he would now be resting fathoms deep under the ocean. Grover liked to think he was a gentleman. Would he have stepped back like the other husbands and done his duty? She couldn’t be sure. How could she be thinking such a terrible thought at such a time? But it was there in her mind and would not be dislodged.
‘It’s the Carpathia ! She’s come for us.’ A weak cheer went up as the big liner steamed to their rescue. Soon they would be safe. Celeste turned to her companion, wondering how on earth they’d get the children and the injured up the ladders to safety. She knew she would stay with her two charges until they did.
17
May sat by the railings on board the Carpathia , looking out across the silver expanse of water, alongside the other widows, praying there would be more boats to come. They’d been hoisted up in nets like cargo. She had been too weak and too cold to climb the ropes. Some were frozen in shawls and nightclothes, others dressed in furs clutching bedraggled, bewildered children, wrapped in blankets. All were equal in their suffering here.
There was an eerie
The sea began to swell again, throwing them from side to side. For a brief second she felt panic, to be close and yet so far from safety. Would she ever see her little boy again? She watched the girl next to her hugging her child, moaning from the chill, calling out the name of her lost husband over and over again. Pain was etched on her stricken face.
At least Celeste’s new coat was keeping them both warm, and the fox fur tippet was now wrapped around the girl. She’d pinned her purse into her coat lining alongside her rings and the photos of Roddy she’d brought to show to Papa. How futile possessions seemed now, she reflected.
She looked at the pathetic procession of lifeboats. Why were so many only half full? She’d assumed earlier that other passengers had been on the other side of the ship being loaded up, following behind them but now she realized just how few survivors there appeared to be. So many must have been trapped, so many of the Third Class passengers left to fend for themselves. It wasn’t right.
At least their crew had eventually had the heart to linger, pulling out three swimmers before the poor girl whose agony tore at her heart. The young mother was about her own age, a tiny thing, her accent northern. It would be Celeste’s duty to see them safely aboard the rescue ship. She would also see that she got good treatment for her frozen hands. A clergyman’s daughter knew her responsibilities. It would take her mind off her own sad thoughts.
Mother’s funeral seemed far off now. At least she’d been laid to rest with dignity, unlike all those poor frozen souls thrashing in the ice until they thrashed no more and gave up in despair. She hoped what they said about drowning was true, that it was like sleep in the end.
The steerage passengers had been called up too late, anyone could see that; one rule for the rich and another for the poor. It was shameful.
What were her meagre problems now compared to the women who had watched their husbands drown? She must grit her teeth and return to Akron, to the smell of its chemical factories, back to darling Roddy, back to Grover and the difficulties of their marriage. Her brief respite was over: a funeral and a shipwreck, not much of a holiday.
She had been spared for a purpose. She must swallow any discontent and fear for herself. Shocked as she was, she knew she must bear witness to what she had seen and ask for answers. Why had this disaster happened? How many had died needlessly? Who would be accountable for all this slaughter? But first she must take these two survivors under her wing. It was the proper thing to do and would take her mind off an unholy thought growing inside her.
Celeste looked back to where the Titanic had sunk. If her husband had accompanied her, he would now be resting fathoms deep under the ocean. Grover liked to think he was a gentleman. Would he have stepped back like the other husbands and done his duty? She couldn’t be sure. How could she be thinking such a terrible thought at such a time? But it was there in her mind and would not be dislodged.
‘It’s the Carpathia ! She’s come for us.’ A weak cheer went up as the big liner steamed to their rescue. Soon they would be safe. Celeste turned to her companion, wondering how on earth they’d get the children and the injured up the ladders to safety. She knew she would stay with her two charges until they did.
17
May sat by the railings on board the Carpathia , looking out across the silver expanse of water, alongside the other widows, praying there would be more boats to come. They’d been hoisted up in nets like cargo. She had been too weak and too cold to climb the ropes. Some were frozen in shawls and nightclothes, others dressed in furs clutching bedraggled, bewildered children, wrapped in blankets. All were equal in their suffering here.
There was an eerie
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