The Lifeboat by Charlotte Rogan Page B

her feet and clamber over our legs to cower in the bottom of the boat next to where Isabelle and Mr. Preston sat. She clutched at their sleeves and said, “Saw what? What did you see? Which lifeboat did she get into? She didn’t get into the very next one, did she, the one that dumped all of those people into the water?” Mr. Preston looked nervously from Mrs. Fleming to Mrs. Grant and held his tongue.
    “Tell me, damn you! You can’t stop there!” screeched Mrs. Fleming, her injured hand flapping unnaturally at the end of her arm. “The next boat is the one that turned upside down. I saw it with my own eyes. Were Emmy and Gordon in that boat or weren’t they?”
    “It wasn’t…,” began Mr. Preston.
    “Go ahead and tell her,” said Mr. Hoffman. “I hear you’re famous for your accuracy.”
    “Yes, tell me!” she screeched again, rising from the damp bottom of the boat, where water continued to pool and slosh no matter how industriously we bailed. I grabbed at her, trying to assist her, but it was Hannah who ended up helping her to squeeze in between Mary Ann and me, and it was Mrs. Grant who reattached her sling and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, for she was shivering and her dress had gotten wet.
    “The harm is already done,” said Mr. Hoffman. “You may as well tell her the rest.”
    “You saw her too?” Mrs. Fleming’s lunatic eyes now seized on Mr. Hoffman, who said, “Yes, as a matter of fact I did.” Nobody said a word. Even the deacon seemed to shrink inside his loose coat from the scene of desperation before us.
    Mr. Hoffman spoke without a trace of emotion. “She was hit by this boat when they raised it back up. She was knocked off the deck. I saw her fall into the water. She probably drowned.”
    “We don’t know that,” said Hannah. “We don’t know that at all.”
    “Maybe she was rescued,” the deacon suggested gently, and I knew we were all thinking of the child with the bow tie and how Hardie and Nilsson had beaten the men away from the side of the boat with their oars. Mrs. Fleming was trembling uncontrollably and kept repeating, “Thank you, it’s best to know,” but I wondered how, in the confusion, Mr. Hoffman’s word could be taken on faith.
    Inexplicably, just before dark, two of the Italian women, who had until then remained mostly silent, shrieked and repeatedly crossed themselves as well as they could while still clutching on to each other. It was Mr. Sinclair, the cripple, who translated and told us that they had prayed and received a revelation that half of us would not survive. “That means half of us will,” pronounced Mrs. Grant, making it clear with a look that this was the last word on the subject.
    Mrs. Fleming seemed to have recovered her composure somewhat, and I prided myself that it had something to do with my attempts to calm her by holding her hand and saying, “It’s just a story they’re telling you. It might not even be the truth.” Then I told her of my short but happy married life with Henry and how we were planning a wedding celebration when we got home, so it greatly surprised me when she announced, “Since we’re all being honest, it really should be mentioned that Grace shouldn’t be in this lifeboat at all.”
    “Nonsense,” said Mary Ann in the soothing tone of voice she had been using with Mrs. Fleming all along.
    “Perhaps you didn’t see it, Mary Ann, but I did. Grace is the reason this boat is overcrowded. Did you hear what Mr. Hoffman said? How they lowered the boat and then raised it back up a fraction before continuing to let it down? Mr. Hardie was helping people into the boat and had already started lowering it into the water when Grace and her husband appeared and said something to him. What was the conversation about, Grace? We’d all like to know. I saw it because I was expecting to see my Emmy get into the boat. She was right behind me. They told me to get in first because of my hand, but I never would