A Family for the Titanic Survivor

by Lauri Robinson

  “Were you and Elsie invited to sleep inside one?”

  She turned, looked out her side of the automobile. She may have nodded, but may not have. He couldn’t tell. “Were you?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I declined.”

  “Why?”

  She turned from the window and glanced at him with apprehension in her eyes, yet pursed lips, as if irritated. “Because of who provided the invitation.”

  He was instantly irritated for her. “Why? Who was it?”

  “I don’t know her name. She was an elderly passenger, with a maid. A young girl whom she didn’t treat very well.”

  That didn’t surprise him. The Carpathia was designed to haul immigrants and cargo to America, and over the years, to maximize on profitability, they’d began to carry American vacationers to the Mediterranean. Tickets were relatively inexpensive and catered to older, frugal clients.

  “Is that why you said no?”

  “No.” She huffed out a breath. “She’d heard me asking about Annette and Benjamin and told me to bring Elsie to her cabin. I’d said no, because lifeboats were still being unloaded. Still being spotted. She’d found me again later, toward evening, and told me that I needed to give Elsie to her. That her parents weren’t on the ship. Elsie was missing her mommy and daddy greatly by then, and that woman wouldn’t stop talking about how they’d...they’d perished. Elsie was crying and I was so mad that I walked away from her, but she found me again later.”

  Her breasts were rising and falling with every hard breath she heaved in and out, displaying her annoyance. He’d seen it before from her.

  “And?” he asked.

  “And she had a steward with her, from the Carpathia, and said that I needed to give her Elsie.”

  His anger was easily aroused, and became so again. “Why?”

  “She said she knew Elsie’s grandmother and that she’d take care of the child until her grandmother could be contacted.” Bridget folded her arms across her chest. “I knew Elsie didn’t have any grandparents. That she only had you. Annette had told me that her mother died when she was very young and about her father and your father dying, and that she’d never met your mother.”

  His gut churned as his anger hit a boiling point. He’d already thought about his mother and how, as soon as she got word of Benjamin, she’d show up. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. Since his father’s will had been read. She hadn’t been at the funeral, but had been there for the reading of the will and to receive her payment. He’d told her to be satisfied with what she’d received because now that his father was dead, she wouldn’t be getting any more.

  “The steward asked who I was, how I knew Elsie,” Bridget was saying. “I told him that I was her nanny. A crowd had gathered and the steward that you met, the one who told us to leave the cabin, who rowed the boat, arrived and said that I was Elsie’s nanny, that he’d seen me with Elsie on the Titanic.”

  His back teeth were clamped so hard they stung. “What happened then?”

  “The woman said she was going to speak to the captain because I was trying to steal Elsie.” With a sheepish expression, she bowed her head. “I avoided her from then on, and when the captain questioned me, I told him I was her nanny and that the only person I’d deliver her to was you. I’d promised Elsie that already, but now that I think about it, it does explain why my name was on the deceased list. I never told him my name. I just said I was her nanny.”

  “I’m very glad you did exactly that,” he said, whilst knowing full well he had to warn her about an occurrence that could happen at any time. Any moment. It was also the last thing he needed right now. His mother would know that, and that was exactly why she’d show up now.

  He waited until they arrived at the hospital and turned off the Packard. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  He held in the heavy sigh pressing at his lungs. Making every breath burn as if his lungs were on fire. That’s what even a thought of his mother did to him. “Elsie does have a grandmother. My mother. Harriette Apperson.”

  Her eyes grew wide and her chin dropped. “I—I didn’t know. Annette said—”

  “That she never met her,” he interrupted. “That is correct. Benjamin made sure that didn’t happen. Our mother left when we were young. Benjamin was an infant. She remarried, but returned every year while we were growing up. To see our father.”

  “Why?”

  There was no reason to hide the sordid details. “For money.”

  Frowning, she asked, “What about you? And Benjamin? Didn’t she want to see her children?”

  “She pretended to. She made those visits on our birthdays.” His anger kept growing. “But we weren’t children to her. We were products. Something she expected to be paid for. And I will not allow her to have anything to do with Elsie.” Fury was now living inside him. “That much I can do for my brother.”

  * * *

  Bridget watched him climb out of the automobile and walk around to her door. She’d heard of bringing out the beast in someone, but she’d never seen loathing like she had on Karl’s face. It made her tremble. Inside and out.

  He opened her door, took her hand and helped her out of the automobile. After closing the door, he took her elbow, but didn’t take a step. Instead, he stood still before her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my wrath out on you,” he said.

  His hold on her arm was light. His words sincere. Her trembles eased. “You didn’t take it out on me,” she said softly, honestly. “But it certainly came out.”

  He laughed, and she could practically see the tension leave his face. “You certainly aren’t afraid of calling a pot black, are you?”

  She shrugged, then shook her head. “I’ve seen a lot of black pots.”

  He nodded. “Working in the pub?”

  “Yes.” She was thinking of him, not the men from the pub when she answered, “Men are interesting creatures.”

  “So are women.”

  “I suspect so,” she agreed.

  He took a step sideways. “Let’s go see your friends now.”

  Although he was no longer blocking her way, she didn’t move. “Will your mother want to see Elsie?”

  Looking at her, he lifted a brow. “I suspect so.”

  Any woman who thought of her children as products, something to be paid for, didn’t deserve to have children, or grandchildren. If this woman did return, did want to see Elsie, someone needed to be there. To protect Elsie. Lifting her chin, Bridget made a solid decision. “I will work for you. If you still want to hire me to be Elsie’s nanny.”

  He laughed. A real, happy-sounding laugh. “I do. You’re hired.”

  Bridget made another decision while walking into the hospital. Karl wasn’t like other men she’d known, and for that alone, she liked him. If Da was alive, he’d completely agree with her decisions. She would still go to Chicago, still open a boardinghouse. It would just take a bit longer.

  * * *

  They met with Catherine first, and Bridget was happy to note that there was more color in Catherine’s face. With her curly red hair and freckles, she was pale to begin with, but aboard the Carpathia she and Sean had been a ghostly blue-gray. Sean had fair skin with red hair, like his sister, and, also like Catherine, looked better.

  Brother and sister shared the same story with Karl as they had her. That a man stating he was representing the White Star Line had visited them, asking them to sign papers. He wouldn’t leave the papers behind, but had visited with all of the patients in the hospital who had been on the Titanic. Sean went into more details, explaining how the man had said the papers were from the insurance company, that the twenty-five dollars they would receive was reimbursement for their tickets. He went on to explain that between the two of them, their tickets had cost more than that. His had been twenty dollars
and Catherine’s had been forty.

  Bridget confirmed her ticket had been forty, as well.

  By the end of the visit, Karl had not only said they shouldn’t sign anything, he assured Catherine and Sean that they were both entitled to more than twenty-five dollars and that he would help them. Bridget didn’t remember a time she had been so proud to be at someone’s side.

  “Thank you so very much,” she said as they were leaving the hospital, after he’d spoken to several hospital workers about not allowing any patients to sign papers presented by representatives of the White Star Line.

  Holding the door for her to exit, he said, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  Another wave of pride, or affection for him, filled her. “You like helping others, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never really done it before.”

  “Yes, you have. You’re a banker. You help people all the time.” Annette had told her that, along with other things about him and his brother.

  “I do offer solid investments for clients, so I guess I do,” he said. “I never thought of it that way before.”

  This time, when she looked up at him, she allowed herself to think about how very handsome he was. She’d realized that before, with his dark eyes and hair, his straight nose and somewhat pointed chin, but hadn’t let herself dwell on it because it shouldn’t matter. He was Elsie’s uncle. That was how she’d told herself to think about him, but right now, she was thinking about him as her friend. A very nice man. A very handsome and nice man whom she was proud to know.

  A sense of quiet, of peace, filled her. It may have been because she shared so much about the sinking with him, or simply because of him. How he was helping Catherine and Sean, and her.

  * * *

  That evening, after putting Elsie to bed, Bridget wrote several letters home, apologizing for her name mistakenly being on the list of deceased. She explained that she was in New York, but would be traveling to Chicago as soon as possible and would write again when she arrived there. She then penned a letter to cousin Martha, explaining the same thing.

  As she sealed the envelopes, she found herself reflecting on the fact that a mere week ago, right now—Saturday night—the Titanic was still afloat, steaming toward America. It seemed like a lifetime ago. As if too many things had happened for it only to have been seven days.

  She sighed, leaned back in the chair that matched the writing desk in the bedroom. This wasn’t Mrs. Conrad’s room. Hers was next to Elsie’s. This one was across and down the hall a short distance from Elsie’s room. Large, with pale green and white striped wallpaper that shimmered like silk in the overhead light and plush dark green carpet that was as soft to walk on as the thick grass on the hills behind the pub back home.

  The bed, big enough for two—if not more—and covered with a flowered quilt, was the softest she’d ever slept on, and the number of pillows was close to outrageous. Four large and two small. There was also a dressing table with a mirror and stool, a wardrobe, bookcase and the writing desk. The curtains over the two large windows were sheer white, with heavy green drapes to pull across and block out any drafts, and there were two lovely paintings of roses and tulips hanging on the walls.

  Each room in the house was fully furnished and stylishly decorated, just waiting for occupants to settle in. She would make sure that was how her boardinghouse was. Stylish. Welcoming.

  Karl had said a boardinghouse would take hard work. She wasn’t afraid of that. Everything worth doing took effort. However, she did wonder about living with strangers. They wouldn’t be strangers for long, just as she’d said, but how would she know if she wanted them in her boardinghouse?

  She’d told Karl that he hadn’t been a stranger for long, but that was different. Annette and Benjamin had spoken highly of him, and Elsie had been anxious to get home to him.

  Then again, she hadn’t known Catherine before becoming berth mates, and they’d gotten along very well upon meeting.

  She shook her head and picked up the envelopes. All this pondering was unneeded. As soon as she had the means and the way, and Mrs. Conrad had returned, she’d go to Chicago and open her boardinghouse. Truly begin her new life in America, just as Da had wanted.

  Pushing away from the desk, she stood and determined she would miss Karl. With a shake of her head, she corrected that she would miss Elsie. She sighed. And Karl. She would miss him, and she did like him. Not just because he was helping her, but because he was likable. Just like Willard and Mary. She would miss them, too.

  However, just like she and Annette had talked about, she could travel back to see them. The trip would be much shorter than Martha’s trips all the way back to Ireland to see family. Karl and Elsie weren’t family, but they had become dear to Bridget. They had become a part of her life that she’d never forget.

  Chapter Seven

  Karl released a yawn as he pulled into Roy Whitney’s drive. He’d had a very restless night. His mind hadn’t wanted to stop. Benjamin, Annette, Elsie, his mother, the inquiry, the hospital full of patients, all had vied for his attention as he’d lain in his bed, staring at the soft shadows the moon had cast upon his ceiling. But front and center, taking up the most time and space, had been Bridget.

  Her blue eyes, dark hair, the tiny scar on her cheek. Never had a woman taken over his mind like she had. He should be glad that she’d agreed to allow him to hire her as Elsie’s nanny. She’d proven her abilities during the tragedy, but he’d also seen other skills, mainly how deeply she cared. That worried him. She’d gotten under his skin in an unexplainable way.

  He’d care about Elsie, but no one else. It had to stay that way.

  While lying there last night, thinking about her, he’d found himself comparing her to women other than his mother. That was a first. It had made him recall how shocked he’d been when Benjamin had returned home from his first trip to England with Annette in tow. They’d already been married. Benjamin hadn’t written, hadn’t warned him, because he’d wanted to tell him in person. Assure him that Annette was nothing like their mother.

  His brother had been right. Annette had been loving, kind, generous, and a wonderful mother to Elsie. Right from the start.

  Karl pushed out a sigh.

  But even if she hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have said anything to Benjamin, because his brother didn’t remember the day their father had spanked him for not wanting their mother to leave. Karl had made sure Benjamin never knew about it, either, and he had also made sure that their mother never got her claws into Benjamin. He’d been so young when she’d left that he’d never had any memories of her. Karl had, but in one day, he’d wiped any positive ones away for good.

  Movement, a door opening, jarred his attention and he killed the engine of his automobile and opened his door.

  “Good day, Mr. Wingard,” the butler greeted. “Mr. Whitney is waiting for you in his library. I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you,” Karl replied, walking around the Packard to follow the man into the old brownstone home in New York’s Cobble Hill neighborhood. Whitney was the chairman of the marine company that ultimately owned the White Star Line.

  “Aw, Karl,” Whitney said as the butler opened the door to his library. “Come in, come in. I’m glad you telephoned.”

  “Hello, Roy,” Karl greeted, walking into the room lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. A thin swirl of smoke twirled in the light shining through the one window. “Thank you for agreeing to see me today.”

  “I can’t say it came as a surprise.” Whitney, a man of considerable age, one life had been good to, waved the pipe in his hand toward a chair next to the one he sat down in. “Weinstein from the White Star Line offices called me yesterday, said you’d been at the office.”

  Karl sat. “I had been.”

  “Tragic. That’s what this has been. Tragic. I’m sorry for your loss.” Roy
took a draw off his pipe. “I only met your brother once, but he appeared to be a fine young man.”

  “He was,” Karl agreed, controlling his emotions. Why couldn’t he do that when it came to Bridget? Control his insides, his heart, his mind.

  “His wife was with him, I understand,” Roy said. “As well as his daughter and her nanny. The two of them survived, am I correct?”

  “Yes, you are. Elsie and her nanny are both fine. No injuries.”

  “There is that, then, isn’t there?” Roy’s thick, white brows rose.

  Karl leaned back and crossed a foot over his knee. “Yes, there is.”

  Roy knocked the ash out of his pipe into an ashtray and set the pipe on the table between them. “Several ships have been deployed to recover bodies, and instructions have been given to search for specific remains. Your brother and his wife are on that list. The ships have morticians aboard, with supplies and ice for the bodies so they can be delivered to families rather than being buried at sea or in Nova Scotia. If you brother and his wife are found, you have my promise they will be returned to New York.”

  Karl nodded as his thoughts went to Bridget, to what would have happened to her body had she not survived. “How are they identifying people?”

  “They have been provided pictures, descriptions.”

  “For first-class passengers,” Karl said. “What about second-and third-class? Steerage?”

  Whitney shook his head. “There are too many.”

  An ugly knot rolled in his stomach as he recalled how upset Bridget had been about her family learning her name was on the list of casualties. “They have families. Homes.”

  “There is only so much anyone can do,” Roy said. “I’m sure you understand that, Karl.”

  “I do.” He kept his temper in check. “The White Star Line issued a statement that all bodies are being treated equally. That the more prominent citizens are not being separated or being given any special considerations.”