“Hellish news to receive on a Monday morning,” Daniel said.
Karl nodded, still not believing what he’d heard. It was impossible. “Telephone me as soon as you hear more.”
Daniel planted his tweed hat on his head, still wet from when he’d run through the rain to knock on the door. “I will.” Nodding, he glanced at the floor and shook his head. “It’s days like this when I don’t like owning a newspaper.”
“Thank you again for coming over,” Karl said while crossing the room and opening the door.
Willard was right outside it, waiting to escort Daniel to the front door, just as he’d escorted him inside a short time ago. To the dining room, where Karl had been eating breakfast and thinking about Benjamin. That’s what had awoken him this morning, thoughts of Benjamin.
His brother had been in Europe for over a month, along with Annette and Elsie. Annette’s father had been ill, and had died while they’d been in London. Benjamin’s last letter had said they’d be returning home on the Titanic, and that his firsthand account of traveling on the luxury liner was sure to impress clients who had invested in the line.
Karl grinned recalling Benjamin’s letter as he walked across the room and sat down behind his desk. His little brother always found a way to make everything sound like he was working, doing his share. From the time he’d been little, following in Karl’s every step, Benjamin had always wanted to do his share. Karl had caught on to that way back then, but had never let Benjamin know.
Benjamin was his little brother. Taking care of him had been his job for as long as he could remember. Father had been busy building the investment banking company that had made a fortune—and continued to—and their mother, well, she’d given birth to both him and Benjamin. That’s the most credit he’d give her.
“Master Karl?”
He let out a breath and lifted his head, looked at the doorway of his office, the room he’d brought Daniel to when the newspaper owner had said he needed to speak with him. He’d never in a million years have expected Daniel to deliver the news that he had. Swallowing, Karl answered, “Yes, Willard?”
“Is it true?” Willard asked, his normally stiff shoulders sagging. “The ship Master Benjamin, Mistress Annette, Miss Elsie and Mrs. Conrad were traveling on board sank?”
“That is the report as of right now,” Karl answered, his throat burning. Willard used to carry Benjamin, and him, on those square shoulders when they were little. Without Mrs. Conrad knowing, of course. “After midnight last night. Mr. Brock doesn’t know more than that. He will keep us informed. Telephone as soon as he knows more.”
Willard’s shoulders drooped even more. “Oh, dear Lord.” Then as if remembering his role, he straightened. “We will hope for the best.”
“Yes, we will,” Karl replied. “The ship was equipped with lifeboats. I’m certain Benjamin and his family boarded one before—” He couldn’t say more because he refused to believe it was possible. There were numerous ocean liners crossing the Atlantic from England to the United States. It could have been another ship and the reports were merely saying it was the Titanic because her maiden voyage was so popularized.
“Yes, sir, they most definitely would have.” Willard put his hands behind his back and assumed his butler stance. “Will you be returning to the dining room to complete your breakfast?”
“No.”
“Very well, sir.” With a bow, Willard backed out of the room and shut the door.
Karl stared at the door for a moment, thinking about all the roles Willard had played in his life over the years. Playmate. Disciplinarian. Confidant. Far more than simply a butler. He and his wife, Mary, were far more than employees.
Just like Benjamin had been far more than simply a younger brother. With their father working and their mother gone, they’d only had each other.
Karl closed his eyes and fought against the odd feeling inside him, as if something was missing.
He’d felt that before, when his father had died just over a year ago. Heart attack. Just like that. His heart had been beating one minute and not the next.
That’s how it was with death—here one minute, gone the next—but Father’s had been so unexpected. No illness. No nothing. He’d been on the sidewalk, walking to his office at the bank building downtown.
That was Karl’s office now. He’d taken over the chairmanship role. Just like this was his desk now, here at home. A lot had changed this last year, even the company name. It was now Wingard Brothers instead of Wingard and Sons. The name couldn’t change again. Benjamin had to be fine. Had to be. Along with Annette and Elsie and Mrs. Conrad.
Karl pushed away from the desk and, needing a way to release the tension inside him, to stop the wild roaming of his mind, he left the office, making his way through the house and out to the woodshed behind the carriage house.
That had been his job as a child, chopping wood to keep the fireplaces in the big house glowing with warmth during the long winters. He still maintained that job. The wood he purchased could be delivered spilt, but he requested logs.
Ignoring the rain dripping off his hair, he stepped beneath the outstretched roof of the woodshed, tugged the ax out of the chopping block and grabbed a log.
Swinging the ax made him focus. Not think, just focus on the logs, on splitting them in twos, then fours and tossing them into a pile.
He continued, even as his biceps began to burn, his back began to sting, his legs, and knees throbbed. He kept swinging the ax, splitting the logs, tossing aside the wood and repeating the actions, all the while refusing to think of anything else.
Anything else.
When his entire body ached and the physical pain consumed his thoughts, he planted the ax blade deep in the cutting block and stepped out from beneath the roof, letting the cold April rain wash over him. Wash away the sweat pouring down his forehead, his back, his arms.
There, standing in the cold wet rain, he wanted to, but couldn’t deny that deep inside, past his aching and burning muscles, he felt something else.
An emptiness.
Like a part of him was gone.
* * *
That feeling hung with him throughout a day that became a living nightmare.
The telephone rang practically nonstop. Other newspaper owners called, besides Daniel. Some reported that there had been no casualties, that everyone aboard the Titanic had been rescued; others reported that there were no survivors, and others had numbers that went from one survivor to two thousand.
He placed calls, too, to the White Star Line offices and other investors, not caring about the financial aspects—he needed real numbers, real names. Benjamin hadn’t been the only millionaire on the Titanic. Moguls, tycoons and entrepreneurs from around the world had booked passage on the ship’s maiden voyage. Someone had to know something.
Their answers were as obscure and different as the newspapers. Special editions of newspapers up and down the coastline were being printed and distributed with headlines about the ship, all wanting to be the first to break the news to the world.
Karl’s nerves became frayed, his gut churned harder and his anger built throughout the day.
It was after midnight and he was still sitting at his desk when the phone rang again. The only solid, continuous report he’d heard all day was that an ocean liner bound for the Mediterranean, the Carpathia, had responded to the distress calls of the Titanic and was returning to New York with survivors on board.
Karl grabbed the earpiece of the candlestick telephone with one hand and the speaker with the other. “Hello.”
“Karl, it’s Daniel. The captain of the Carpathia has refused all contact from the press, but has transmitted a list of first-and second-class survivors to the White Star office. It’s being sent to me on another line as we speak. My secretary is writing them down.”
Karl squeezed onto both piece
s of the telephone harder. “How many?”
“Over six hundred,” Daniel said.
Hope rose inside him, but he held his silence, assuming the list would be alphabetical and it may take time to get to the W’s.
“I’ve decided that we won’t publish the list until the Carpathia arrives in port,” Daniel said. “But I will contact any relatives in the interim.”
“It’s appreciated, Daniel,” Karl said. Of all the phone calls he’d made and taken today, Daniel had been the one most dedicated to only providing verified information. “Very appreciated.”
“Wingard! It’s says Wingard, Karl!” Daniel’s shout echoed in the earpiece. “Right here! Elsie Wingard! Plus one!”
Karl’s heart soared at hearing his niece’s name, even as he asked, “Plus one? Who is the one?”
“It says, ‘nanny.’”
“Mrs. Conrad,” Karl said, still hopeful. “Elsie’s nanny, she’d traveled with them to England.” He held his breath for a moment. “Any other names?”
Daniel’s silence said more than words ever could. Karl’s throat grew thick, burned, and he clenched his teeth in response to the burning in his nose behind his eyes.
“They are on second class now,” Daniel said humbly. “They could have the...”
Karl lowered the earpiece and speaker as he drew in a long breath of air and held it against the pain encompassing his chest.
After a moment, knowing there was no use listening, waiting, he put the earpiece back to his ear, and the speaker to his mouth, “Thanks, Daniel.”
“I’ll call once the list is complete, if I have more news,” Daniel said somberly.
“Thanks.” Karl hung the earpiece on the candlestick holder and set it on the desk, then he bowed his head, pressed a hand to his forehead and no longer tried to stop the pain. The loss.
* * *
Over the next few days, Karl had moments of hope that Benjamin and Annette had survived, but those moments were completely shattered when he received a telephone call from the White Star Line office. Benjamin and Annette’s bodies had been recovered and would be brought back to New York.
Elsie then became the sole subject of his thoughts. He was the only family she had left, and he couldn’t help but believe she would also have perished if not for Mrs. Conrad.
The Carpathia was due to arrive in New York by nine o’clock that night, and at seven that evening, he instructed Willard to drive to the docks. Karl assumed others would be there for the ship’s arrival and wanted Willard to be there in plenty of time to see Elsie and Mrs. Conrad as soon as they stepped off the ramp.
By ten-thirty, Karl was pacing the floor, and by eleven, he climbed in his automobile to go see what was taking so long.
A mass of traffic and people appeared well before he reached the docks, filling the streets and sidewalks. He turned around, searched for other ways to get to the dock, but couldn’t get any closer for the crowds of people. “You there!” Karl shouted out his window at a constable. “What is the meaning of this?”
“The Carpathia has arrived!” the man shouted in return.
“Hours ago!”
The constable walked closer. “No, sir. She went to Pier Fifty-Nine first, to drop off the lifeboats and employees of the White Star Line. She arrived at Pier Fifty-Four about an hour ago. Her passengers disembarked first, then the survivors.”
“Good Lord,” Karl muttered, glancing at his watch. It was after midnight now! He waved an arm at the sea of people as far as he could see. “Why are all these people here?”
“To meet the survivors! By the thousands!”
Karl shook his head, stunned by the crowd and also flustered. He shut the automobile off, left it in the middle of the street and proceeded on foot, searching for Willard, Elsie and Mrs. Conrad.
At first, he excused himself while shouldering around people through the massive crowd, but soon that was getting him nowhere and he resorted to pushing his way forward, block after block toward the docks. He could smell the seawater—see the flags atop the masts of the ship—when someone grabbed his shoulder.
“Karl?”
Pivoting on one heel, he was relieved to see a familiar face. A friend he’d known since school. “Reggie! Have you seen Willard?” He had to shout over the noise of the crowd.
“Yes! Some time ago! He was in your Studebaker, taking Elsie home!” Reggie then clamped his shoulder harder. “He told me about Benjamin and Annette. I’m so sorry.”
Karl’s heart lurched, and he held his breath to hold in the pain. He’d have to get used to the loss, just as he’d gotten used to his father’s death. “We all are,” he replied, putting his thoughts toward his niece. “Did you see Elsie? Was she all right?”
“She was in the back seat, wrapped in a blanket,” Reggie said. “I walked ahead of him, clearing the street so he could head home.”
“Thank you!” Karl said, desperately hoping she wasn’t ill. Desperately hoping.
He squeezed and pushed his way back through the crowd to his automobile, climbed in and laid on the horn, warning people to step out of the way as he maneuvered along the street and around the block until he was headed away from the docks. When the street before him was finally clear, he pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, anxious to get home.
The carriage house doors were open, the Studebaker parked inside. Karl pulled his Packard next to the Studebaker and climbed out.
“I’m sorry it took so long that you felt the need to go look for us,” Willard said, appearing at the carriage house door. “It was so crowded. I’ve never seen so many people.”
“I saw that,” Karl replied, and quickly swung the left door closed as Willard did the right one. “I’m glad you found them.”
“I wouldn’t have if Miss McGowen hadn’t been shouting your name,” Willard said.
“Elsie?” Karl asked, his focus still on his niece. “Is she ill? Why was she wrapped in a blanket? I saw Reggie Peters.”
“No, she’s not ill,” Willard replied, as they hurried to the house. “Miss McGowen kept her wrapped in a blanket to protect her from the rain.”
Rain. It was misting. Karl hadn’t taken that into consideration. It had been cold and raining all day. All week. Inside him as well as on the outside. “Where is she? In her bed?”
“I knew you’d want to see her,” Willard said, holding open the house door. “She and Miss McGowen are in the front room, near the fireplace. They were both chilled to the bone. Miss McGowen—”
“Who?” Karl asked as the name Willard had used several times struck his hearing. He froze then. “Where’s Mrs. Conrad?”
“She’s still in England. She’d broken her foot and stayed behind,” Willard said. “Miss McGowen took care of Elsie on the ship.”
“Oh.” He removed his coat and handed it to Willard. Karl hurried down the hallway to the front room, his footsteps faltering as he spied the woman sitting on the sofa, cradling Elsie in her lap.
Her head was down, one cheek resting on Elsie’s head, eyes closed. Dark, nearly blue-black hair was tied back, or had been. The wind and rain had released several long strands from the restraint, leaving it to fall in thin clumps from her temple.
As if she heard his footsteps, or the creak of the old floors beneath the carpet, she slowly lifted her head, opened her eyes.
His steps nearly faltered again as thickly lashed, dark blue eyes settled on him and a soft smile formed on her lips. She looked tired and worn out, but could still very well be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
It took effort to pull his eyes away and get his thoughts in order. He’d expected someone like Mrs. Conrad, not a young... He cleared his throat as he quietly crossed the room. “Miss McGowen, I assume.”
She nodded, her smile making her high cheekbones more prominent. “And you are Uncle Karl. You and your brother fa
vored each other.”
The pain inside him sharpened. “We did.”
After folding back the blanket covering Elsie, Miss McGowen used one knuckle to softly rub Elsie’s cheek. “Poppet, wake up. Wake up. There’s someone here to see you.”
Karl’s heart tumbled as Elsie lifted sleepy lids and smiled. He stepped closer to the sofa, knelt down.
“Look, Poppet,” Miss McGowen whispered softly, pointing her finger at him. “Look who is here.”
Karl would never have considered himself a sentimental man, but the way his niece softly cried out his name and flung her arms around his neck, brought more than a sting to his eyes. Picking Elsie off the woman’s lap, he held her tight, stood and turned around as moisture formed in his eyes. The pain inside him was greater than ever because she’d lost so much, endured so much. There was also thankfulness inside him, because she had survived.
Her hold around his neck tightened. “I dropped Betsy off the boat,” she whimpered.
“That’s all right, darling. We will get you a new doll,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.
“Bridget saved her.”
He grinned. “That’s good.” Although he had no idea who Bridget was, he asked, “So you don’t need a new dolly?”
She shook her head and then leaned back, looked at him.
Her rosy face was so precious, so cute. He kissed her forehead. “I’m happy you’re home.”
“Mommy and Daddy weren’t on the new boat.” Her tiny lips quivered.
His heart constricted. “I know, sweetie.”
A tiny frown formed as she looked at him seriously. “It was dark. And cold. And there was no bed.”
The stinging in his eyes intensified. “You are home now.” If there was a way he could erase her memory of the past few days, he would. “Where it is warm and you have your very own bed.”
A Family for the Titanic Survivor Page 3