She nodded, yawned and laid her head on his shoulder. “And Bridget and Betsy.”
“And Bridget and Betsy,” he said in agreement, assuming Bridget must be another doll. Elsie adored the one he’d given her for Christmas. As soon as she’d opened it, she’d named the doll Betsy and never went anywhere without her. “I’ll carry you up there now and tuck you in.”
She nodded and let out a long sigh.
The poor little thing had to be exhausted. It was after one in the morning, as the chiming mantel clock had just alerted. He turned toward the sofa. Nodded. “Miss McGowen, would you bring her dolls, please?”
Nodding, she collected the Betsy doll off the sofa and gathered the blanket in her other hand as she stood.
Assuming the Bridget doll was inside the blanket, he nodded toward the doorway. She began walking, and her slow, almost unstable footsteps showed how exhausted she had to be, too.
“You can use Mrs. Conrad’s room for the time being,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I appreciate a place to sleep tonight.”
Elsie’s hold had relaxed and her even breathing said she’d already fallen back to sleep. He nodded at Willard, who stood in the doorway and told the nanny, “Follow Willard. I’ll be right behind you.”
Willard led the way up the steps, and as Karl followed, he figured the young Irish girl must have been the only nanny Benjamin and Annette could find on short notice. That would be the only reason to hire someone so young. Over the years, Mary Andrews, Willard’s wife and cook, who also oversaw the household staff, had hired young maids. It had never worked out. The experience they’d had with some that young had been that they’d been looking to become more than a maid.
Thank goodness Mary had found Mildred Dahl. An older woman who came in, cleaned and left. He’d only seen her a couple of times in the past three years, ever since she’d been hired. The young maid before her, he’d found in his bed, waiting for him one night.
Women would do anything to get what they wanted. His mother had. For the right price, she’d sold him and Benjamin to their father. More than once. She was the reason he’d sworn off women years ago. For himself. Marriage was the last thing he’d ever need, ever want.
Willard led them directly to Elsie’s room, and Karl laid her down on the bed where the covers had already been turned down. He held out his hand toward Miss McGowen.
She handed him Betsy.
He tucked the doll next to Elsie and held out his hand again.
“This is a blanket off the Titanic,” she said. “And needs to be laundered.”
“Where’s her other doll? The one she called Bridget?”
“I’m Bridget,” she said.
His spine shivered slightly as he folded the covers up over Elsie and the doll, kissed Elsie’s head. Without glancing at the new nanny, he told Willard, “Show her to Mrs. Conrad’s room for now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Karl left the room, wondering what his brother had been thinking by hiring someone so young, so beautiful.
Chapter Three
So tired she could barely stand, Bridget locked her knees to keep herself upright as she waited for Karl Wingard to leave the room. His looks had surprised her. She’d known he was Benjamin’s brother, but hadn’t expected them to look so similar in some ways. The dark eyes and hair mainly. Karl’s eyes were just like Elsie’s. As dark as fresh brewed coffee. But he also looked different than his brother. More handsome. Older, perhaps, and most certainly more aloof.
As soon as he left the room, she leaned closer to Willard, whose very soul must be at the right hand of God, because he’d been as kind as they come from the moment he’d approached her at the dock. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to sleep here, with Elsie. The poor little poppet hasn’t slept well, and I don’t want her to be alone if she awakes in the middle of the night.” The first couple of nights, Elsie had missed her parents so much she’d whimpered for them in her sleep. It was beyond heart-wrenching.
Willard’s kind blue eyes softened as he nodded. “That will be perfectly fine, miss, perfectly fine.”
“Thank you.”
He winked one eye. “I will just go get the items my Mary has put in the room for you.”
“I’m right here,” his wife said, walking in the door with an armload of clothes.
Mrs. Andrews, Mary, had been as kind as her husband, serving hot tea as soon as they’d arrived at the house, and another cup as she’d waited for Karl to return home, in the front room, where she’d fought to stay awake. She’d promised Elsie that she wouldn’t let her go until she put her in her uncle Karl’s arms. And she hadn’t. Since that terrible, terrible night when the lifeboat they’d been put in had been lowered into the water, she hadn’t let go of Elsie for a moment. Not a single moment.
“Here, now,” Mary said. “I have a nightgown for you, and some underthings as well as a dress for in the morning. They are mine, so they might be a bit big, but they will do until we can get you something else to wear. I know you’re tired, but I will sit with the little miss while you use the water closet across the hall. You go take yourself a hot bath. You’ll sleep better afterward.”
Bridget sighed—a bath sounded so wonderful—yet she glanced at the bed. “Elsie needs a bath, too.”
“She’ll get one in the morning,” Mary said. “Now, scoot. I know you’ll feel better afterward, and I’ll be right here if she wakes.”
The workers and passengers on the Carpathia had been very kind, but the ship had already been at capacity. Adding another seven hundred people had meant there was no opportunity for bathing, or beds for that matter. She’d slept sitting against the wall in one of the corridors with Elsie on her lap the past three nights. The idea of scrubbing clean was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She just wished she could scrub clean the nightmarish memories as easily.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the items from Mary. “I won’t be long.”
The couple looked as tired as she felt. They were older, older than Da even, and had openly wept while hugging after she’d carried Elsie inside the solid, huge home of brick and thick lumber.
Karl Wingard had wept, too. He’d turned away, so she wouldn’t notice. She had, but would never say a word because men were that way. They’d rather drown their sorrows in a pint than let a tear fall.
Her heart had gone out to him, though, at how he’d held his niece so tenderly, as he’d silently wept.
She entered the water closet, a room as elegant as the ones on the Titanic. Her eyes slammed shut, closing out the memory. Help me forget, dear, sweet Lord, just help me forget some things. They don’t do anyone any good.
She gave herself a moment for the prayer to be sent and received, and then quickly undressed and climbed in the tub while the water was still running. After a thorough scrubbing, including soaping her hair twice, she rinsed, stepped out and toweled dry. Touched that Mary had even remembered to loan her a brush and comb, she removed the snarls from her hair, which took longer than she’d wished because she was worried about Elsie. Once her hair hung smoothly down her back, she dressed in the soft cotton nightgown and then left the room.
“I’ll take your dirty things,” Mary said. “Have them washed tomorrow.”
Bridget would like to never see that dull blue dress again, but knew that wasn’t possible. She had to be even more practical than ever. All of her belongings, including her crocheted pouch of money, were now on the bottom of the Atlantic, with so, so many other items worth far more.
“Thank you,” she said, once again wishing she could block her memories. Block her mind from the sights and sounds of that night. Of watching the lights on the massive ship disappear, row by row by row. Of seeing the ship break apart, then completely vanish. The shouts, the screams, had been horrific, so had the complete silence that had then followed.
&nb
sp; “You crawl into bed, now,” Mary said. “Everything is going to be fine. Just fine.”
Bridget nodded, her throat was swelling too fast to speak. For the first time since that night, she didn’t feel helpless. Hopeless.
She’d survived, but more importantly, Elsie had survived. There was guilt inside for surviving when so many hadn’t, but only for herself, not for Elsie. She was extremely grateful for Elsie’s survival. She was also very grateful that Karl had sent Willard to the docks to collect them. Stepping off the Carpathia had been overwhelming. All she could think of was to shout his name, and was so thankful Willard had heard her.
Mary waved a hand at the bed, and knowing the older woman wouldn’t leave until she was tucked in, Bridget climbed in beside Elsie and snuggled her close.
The room went dark and the door closed with a soft click. Bridget held her breath for a moment, then, unable to hold them back, let the tears flow.
It was such a relief to be here, on solid ground, off the ocean. Yet, much like boarding the huge ocean liner had been, it was bittersweet. She’d delivered Elsie home, and tomorrow would need to leave. Figure out how to get to Chicago.
She would miss the little poppet as much as she’d ever missed anyone in her life. More, perhaps. It was comforting to know Elsie had so many people who loved her, especially her uncle Karl. Bridget hadn’t known what to expect, but upon seeing the tall, broad-shouldered man kneel down and then embrace the child so lovingly, a great comfort had overcome her. She had forgiven her uncle Matt, and during the past few days she’d grown thankful that it had been her on the Titanic and not her uncle. He wouldn’t have survived. So few men had, only a very small portion of those from third class and steerage. The sinking of the Titanic had created lifeboats full of widows. So many widows.
* * *
When her eyes popped open, it took her senses a moment to catch up, figure out where she was before Bridget could let out a sigh of relief. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and it was a welcome sight. A truly welcome sight.
Carefully, to not wake Elsie, Bridget scooted off the bed and quietly put on the dress Mary had loaned her. The dress was big in the shoulders, breast and waist, and so short her shins were exposed, but it was clean and a lovely shade of orange, almost a peach color, with a lace collar.
The clean stockings felt as near to heaven as anything she could imagine. It was strange how little things, things that were so common, so taken for granted, could become such major issues. Water had splashed into the boat when it had been lowered, and her feet had become soaked through that night, so cold they still ached.
She pushed the thought aside, put on her shoes and brushed her hair while walking around the lovely room that held everything a little girl could want. There was a small painted white desk, a pink cradle for Betsy, a tiny wooden table with two spindle-backed chairs and set with a blue and white child’s tea service, shelves of books and other toys, and a closet full of colorful clothes. The walls were covered in wallpaper of tiny pink roses, and sheer pink curtains hung over two large windows.
“Bridget, we’re home.”
She turned and smiled at the little girl rubbing her eyes. “Yes, Poppet, we are.” Holding out her hand, she continued, “Come, pick out a dress to wear so we can pop you in the bathtub before breakfast.” That had become her routine the past few days, quickly finding things to keep Elsie’s little mind from focusing on her mommy and daddy and the perilous situations they’d encountered.
A short time later, with Elsie sparkling clean, wearing socks and shoes for the first time in days, and carrying Betsy, who also was wearing a clean dress, they ventured downstairs.
The big house had plastered and painted walls, dark polished woodwork, thick, colorfully patterned carpets and enough rooms that a person could get as lost as she had her first day on the Titanic, while looking for Betsy’s owner.
She pushed out a sigh, truly wishing she could forget, but knew that would take time. Some things, she doubted she’d ever forget, so learning to live with them was what she would have to do.
“Uncle Karl!”
Bridget released Elsie’s hand and watched as the girl ran across the dining room, into the arms of the man kneeling down to catch her. It warmed her heart to know that last night hadn’t been a onetime occurrence, when he’d knelt down and embraced Elsie. The poor little poppet would need him more than ever now.
“What are you doing up so early?” he asked, hoisting Elsie up off the floor.
“I had a bath,” she said. “Bridget put a bow in my hair and in Betsy’s hair.”
“I see that,” he said. “A pretty pink bow for both of you.”
“It matches our dresses.”
“Yes, they do.” He set her on a chair. “You and Betsy can join me for breakfast.”
“And Bridget,” Elsie said.
“Yes, and Bridget, too.” He grasped the back of the chair next to Elsie’s and then nodded her way. “Miss McGowen.”
The dining room, with its massive table, high-backed wooden chairs, long drawered credenza along the back wall and low-hanging light fixture with several small electric lights flicking softly was like the rest of the house. Elegant was the word that came to mind. There was a soft carpet beneath her feet as she walked to the table, and her heart thudded oddly as their gazes locked briefly before she sat in the chair he held for her.
“Thank you,” she heard herself say in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. She’d lived in a pub that was full of men on a daily basis her entire life, but something about Karl made her nervous. He had last night, too, but she’d been too exhausted to give it much thought.
Or perhaps it was the surroundings. Much like when she’d ventured into areas only for the first-class passengers on the Titanic, Bridget knew when she was out of her station in life. Whether things were different in America or not, she was still the same, and some things were simply foreign to her, in ways that had nothing to do with the country or continent.
“I hope you slept well,” he said, taking a seat at the head of the table, on the other side of Elsie.
“We did,” Bridget answered, smiling down at a nodding Elsie, holding Betsy on her lap. Delight filled her at seeing the little girl clean and smiling, but as she looked up and met Karl’s intense gaze, her delight wavered. A man like him was as foreign to her as the surroundings.
“Will you be having company for breakfast this morning, Master Karl?” Willard asked, smiling brightly as he entered the room carrying a platter.
“Yes, Willard,” Karl answered. “Miss Elsie, Betsy and Miss McGowen will be joining me. You can hold my meal and serve us all at the same time, and perhaps you can find a box for Miss Elsie to sit upon.”
“Right away.” Willard carried the platter back through the door.
“Does Elsie normally not join you for breakfast?” Bridget asked, confused.
He looked at her with a small frown tugging his dark brows downward for several moments before stating, “Children normally take their meals in the kitchen, or their rooms.”
Bridget found what he said and the way he said it somewhat terse—unusual—but refrained from questioning why.
He picked up his blue and white china cup and took a sip before asking, “I’m assuming you were hired in England, employed as a replacement for the trip home, while Mrs. Conrad recuperated?”
It was clear that he chose his words carefully as to not remind Elsie of the tragedy. Bridget appreciated that, his thoughtfulness. She too had talked around the bush while on the Carpathia and looking for Benjamin and Annette, not wanting to upset Elsie. Therefore, she simply replied, “No.”
He lifted a dark brow. “Oh? When then?”
“Never.”
His frown was back, darker, as he glanced from her to Elsie and back again. “How is that so?”
“I was never
hired or employed.” She smiled down at Elsie.
The door opened and Willard entered the room again, this time carrying a wooden box. His smile was still as bright. There was something about him that reminded her of Da. His short stature, ring of curly gray hair below his balding center, or the twinkle in his eyes. Maybe all of it.
“I believe this will work for our little miss,” he said.
Bridget lifted Elsie and held her as Willard positioned the box on the chair.
Settling Elsie on the box, she whispered, “Look at that, Poppet, now you’re as tall as me.”
Elsie giggled and set Betsy on the box beside her. “There’s room for Betsy, too.”
“There most certainly is.” Willard patted Elsie’s head.
“What do you say?” Bridget whispered to Elsie.
“Thank you, Willard, and Betsy says thank you, too.”
“You are both very welcome.” He winked one eye. “Your breakfast will be served directly.”
“Thank you,” Bridget answered.
Willard went to the credenza and promptly set napkins, silverware, cups and glasses before her and Elsie. Having waited on others her entire life, Bridget felt uncomfortable having him wait on her. While on the ship, she’d eaten at a restaurant, but that had been different—she’d paid for the service there.
“Would you prefer coffee or tea, Miss McGowen?” he asked while setting down a blue and white china cup and saucer.
“Coffee is fine,” she said, knowing that the urn on the table contained coffee.
While filling her cup, he asked, “Cream or sugar, miss?”
“No, thank you.”
He left the room, and she kept her eyes averted, feeling Karl watching her.
Willard returned a moment later, with a larger tray that held three plates and a pitcher of milk for Elsie. After serving them, he asked if there would be anything else.
“Yes,” Karl said. “Once we’ve eaten, perhaps Elsie could join Mrs. Andrews in the kitchen while Miss McGowen and I speak privately.”
A Family for the Titanic Survivor Page 4