A Family for the Titanic Survivor

by Lauri Robinson

  A half smile formed on her lips as she sat quietly for a moment. When she lifted her eyes, met his gaze, she asked, “Truthfully?”

  “Yes, truthfully.”

  “If my uncle hadn’t stolen my money, and if I hadn’t had to get it back, I wouldn’t have left when I did. I would have stayed, ran the pub for a while.”

  “Your uncle stole your money?” He needed clarification before becoming too angry.

  “Yes, the money my Da had saved for me to come to America. It was over five hundred dollars. I heard Uncle Matt talking about buying a ticket on the Titanic, and knew he’d taken it.” She shrugged. “Sure enough, it was gone. I felt bad confronting him in front of customers, but I had to get it back.”

  He was irritated that she’d been treated so, but had to grin. She had more grit than men he knew. “And you did get it back.”

  “Yes, I did. And I left the next day.” She let out a sigh. “I haven’t thought much about it, because so much has happened since I left, but at times, while on the ship, I regretted leaving. Uncle Matt doesn’t know anything about running a pub. Da left half of the pub to Matt and the other half to me, so that I’d have something in case I wanted to return to Ireland. I’d promised Da I would go, so I did, and I bequeathed my half of the pub to Uncle Matt.”

  “Why did you bequeath your half to him?”

  She pinched her lips together and glanced down at her cup before saying, “Because I probably wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t.”

  “You didn’t want to come?”

  “Yes, I did, but I knew everything would change, and I wasn’t ready for that.”

  His thoughts went quiet. Strangely quiet. He’d known what she’d gone through on the ship, but she’d been through so much more than just that. “Everything has changed for you.”

  “Yes, it has.” She was staring at her coffee cup again. “Going to Chicago, opening a boardinghouse is all I have left of my Da. Of all we had together.”

  Karl remembered that feeling. The first day he’d walked into his father’s office after his death, he’d had that same thought. Dispelling others from coming forward, he said, “You must still be angry at your uncle.”

  “No. He’s family. I forgave him.”

  Not wanting to think about forgiving family members, he pulled out his billfold and laid several bills on the table. “Time to go home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bridget sat on the swing, watching Elsie play with Copper in the backyard, keeping a close eye that neither of them got too close to where Sean and the other two men were building the playhouse.

  She wondered if someday she’d be able to think about things other than Karl. That’s where all of her thoughts were centered. Including the opera last night.

  A grin tugged at her lips. He truly had been miserable, but had sat through it because of her. That scared her. She could learn to live with the fact that she’d fallen in love with him, but the idea that she may have stolen his heart was frightening.

  Pushing out a sigh, she picked the envelope off the swing seat beside her. The letter from cousin Martha. It had arrived today and included a train ticket as well as traveling money for her to go to Chicago as soon as possible.

  Martha’s letter held condolences over Da’s death, and the tragic accident, but also excitement about having family living with her, helping her with the boardinghouse, and said that she’d expect Bridget by the end of the week.

  A tiny groan rumbled in her throat. She couldn’t be in Chicago by the end of the week. Mrs. Conrad wasn’t here, yet, and though Catherine helped with Elsie, she also helped with other things around the house, which didn’t allow her to dedicate time to being Elsie’s nanny.

  That was still her job.

  Karl had left for Washington, D.C., again this morning, too. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. That would be rude after all he’d done. Furthermore, she’d agreed to help him with the trust fund he was setting up.

  Yet, she had promised Da, and Martha, before she’d promised Karl.

  Still, she’d learned long ago that what she thought, what she felt, wasn’t as important as what others thought and felt and needed.

  That’s why she couldn’t let Karl fall in love with her, because then he’d want her to stay here forever, and she couldn’t do that.

  “Excuse me, Bridget,” Willard said, stepping out of the back door. “Mrs. Apperson is here and has requested to speak with you.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. “Karl’s mother? Why would she want to speak with me?”

  “It’s about Elsie.”

  Oh, dear. Karl harbored a lot of pain because of his mother. She’d seen that yesterday when he told her about the trust fund. She was curious as to why, and what could be done about it. “Could you please ask Catherine to come watch Elsie?”

  “Yes, right away.”

  When Catherine arrived, Bridget instructed her to keep Elsie outside, and then entered the house. At the doorway to the front living room, she pressed a hand to the butterflies in her stomach and squared her shoulders before walking through.

  Karl’s mother was standing near the fireplace, fashionably dressed from head to toe in olive green, even the hat decorated with a single silk flower. There was no veil today, and Bridget could see where Karl and Elsie received their dark brown eyes.

  “Miss McGowen, I believe it is,” the woman said.

  “Yes, Mrs. Apperson.”

  “Harriette, please.” She waved a hand. “Can we sit?”

  Bridget gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Willard said you wanted to speak with me.”

  “I do.” Harriette gracefully lowered herself onto the upholstered armchair. “You are in charge of Elsie?”

  There was no hostility in her voice, or on her face. Her dark eyes held more of a pained, saddened glaze. Bridget sat on the sofa. “Yes, I am, but I’m only her nanny.”

  “Lucky child,” Harriette answered dryly, with a hint of a grin. “When will Sarah Conrad return?”

  “You’d have to speak to Karl about that.”

  Harriette nodded. “I assume he told you that I asked to see Elsie, and that he said no.”

  Bridget held her breath for a moment. He hadn’t, yet, so she made no comment or sign of agreement.

  “I owe you an apology, Miss McGowen, for a friend of mine you met on the Carpathia. Wilma Fredrickson has been a friend for years, and she knows I’ve never seen my granddaughter. Except from a distance. She truly didn’t mean any harm.”

  Once again, Bridget chose to remain silent.

  “I had hoped that after Gerald passed away, both Karl and Benjamin would be interested in learning my side of the story. A part of me had even hoped that Gerald had taken a portion of the blame, especially once Elsie had been born. But he hadn’t, and the boys still believed everything was my fault. Gerald did, too. Karl’s grandfather had told Gerald that he’d married beneath himself. I’d run away from home when I was sixteen, determined to have a better life. I met Gerald a year later and fell in love. Just like that. He was so handsome, and yes, rich.”

  Bridget questioned if Karl’s mother was searching for empathy, or truly wanted her story told. She sounded genuine. Not cold or bitter, but rather casual.

  Harriette removed her olive-colored gloves one finger at a time as she spoke, “I’m sure Gerald loved me in the beginning, until his father threw acid on that love, convinced him that I wasn’t worth the ground he walked on, all because I’d been a sharecropper’s daughter. A peasant. I don’t know why that old man was so bitter, so hateful, but he was. All of his other sons left home, moved far away, except for Gerald. The old man had ahold of him, just like Gerald did Karl and Benjamin. I did everything I could to become a lady. Learned to walk, talk, act, like I was above everyone else. It didn’t help, and I can tell you that I felt no remorse w
hen Gerald’s father died. That, too, drove a wedge deeper between Gerald and I, and for that I will take the blame. Karl was just a baby.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I’d never known such love, such undying affection for someone until I held him in my arms.”

  Goose bumps prickled Bridget’s arms and she clasped her hands together to keep from rubbing her forearms. Oddly, though, she didn’t want Harriette to stop talking. She wanted to know more.

  “I remember leaving here once.” Harriette paused to swallow, press a hand to her throat. “It still breaks my heart. It was Karl’s eighth birthday—the only days I could see my sons were their birthdays. Karl ran after me as I was leaving, wrapped his little arms around my knees, begged me to stay. Gerald grabbed him, spanked him, told him to behave or he’d never see me again.”

  Bridget covered a gasp with one hand and had to blink at the tears forming in her eyes for Karl. His eighth birthday. That was the day, the reason he stopped caring about his mother.

  “It’s the truth,” Harriette said. “The God’s honest truth. Willard saw it, so did Sarah Conrad, but they knew where their loyalties had to lie. They could have been ordered out of this house as easily as I had been. Four years before that, shortly after Benjamin had been born, Gerald had handed me money and keys to a house in Boston, and told me to leave. I refused. I couldn’t leave my children, but ultimately, I had no choice. Gerald threated to have me committed, put in the asylum.” She sniffed and wiped the corner of one eye. “I knew I’d never see my children again if that happened, so I left, but not before I insisted that giving birth to them had to be worth something. Gerald agreed it was, and that I could visit them once a year, on their birthdays.”

  Instinct, and her life of hearing one man after another exaggerate, sharing unbelievable tales, told Bridget that Harriette wasn’t lying. Her heart ached for Karl, for all the pain he’d experienced, and for his mother. “Why...” Her throat burned, as if it was coated with shards of glass.

  “Why am I telling you all this?” Harriette wiped at the tears on her cheeks with an embroidered handkerchief. “Because I’m desperate,” she whispered as the tears continued to fall. “I’ve lost one son forever and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have my other son and my granddaughter in my life, even if it only means once a year again.”

  Bridget could feel the other woman’s pain yet shook her head. “There is nothing I can do. I can’t go against Karl’s wishes.”

  “I understand that, but I’m hoping you might be able to plant a suggestion that Elsie should be allowed to see her grandmother.”

  The pleading in Harriet’s eyes nearly gutted Bridget. “Karl’s not in town. He’s gone to Washington, to the inquiry.”

  “I know.” Harriette shook her head. “My sons never knew how closely I followed their activities throughout the years, and I’ve learned to be patient, to take whatever I can get when it comes to them, their lives. It doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow. I know it will take time for Karl to agree, if ever. His father filled him with as much hate toward me as Gerald’s own father had instilled in him.”

  There was truth in that. Bridget had seen the scorn on Karl’s face both when his mother had arrived after the funeral, and the day at the hospital, when he’d said his mother was alive. Despite how she might feel at this moment, she shook her head. “It’s not my place to plant any types of suggestions.”

  “You are Elsie’s nanny. Your job is to see she has everything she needs. Don’t you believe that should include her grandmother? The only other family she has.”

  In every other circumstance, Bridget would agree, but she felt a strong loyalty to Karl. To his happiness. She didn’t want to jeopardize that. She didn’t want to jeopardize Elsie’s, either.

  “I married again, over ten years ago, to Sylas Apperson. A very loving and kind man,” Harriette said. “One who taught me how to love, how to forgive, and how to not forget myself in the process. For years I’d been empty inside. Thought of nothing but the calendar, the dates I would see my sons. When those days rolled around, and they’d look at me with scorn and hatred, I’d forgive them, and their father, and would look forward to the following year, hoping it would be different. I’d completely forgotten who I was, what I’d wanted out of life. Sylas pulled me out of that trap. Out of that dark, hopeless cavern, and I hope that someday someone can do the same for Karl. It’s an ugly place to live.”

  Bridget couldn’t help but compare what Harriette had said to what Karl had said yesterday about not wanting Elsie to live in an uncaring world.

  The other woman stood. “I will leave now.” She opened her purse and withdrew an envelope. “Would you please give this to Karl? It’s for the trust fund I hear he’s setting up.”

  Bridget stood and took the envelope. “Yes, I will see he receives it.”

  “Thank you.” A faint smile appeared as Harriette gave a slight nod. “I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position, Miss McGowen, but I must be honest. I will return.”

  Bridget had to be honest, as well. “I would do the same, if I were in your shoes.”

  Harriette nodded again. “I don’t wish my shoes on anyone, therefore, let me say, don’t let anyone force you down a path you don’t want to take. Your happiness is as important as theirs.”

  * * *

  The clatter of train wheels, the vibration of the seat beneath him as the train pulled out of the station had never excited Karl before. It did today.

  It was only Tuesday afternoon, but he’d left the inquiry when it broke for lunch. A day and a half had been too long to be away from home. To be away from Bridget. She’d been on his mind the entire time. Every hour. Every minute. Since he’d left yesterday morning.

  The inquiry was no longer a driving force inside him. Bridget was. The dream of opening a boardinghouse wasn’t hers. It had been her father’s, not hers. Karl had no idea what it might take to convince her of that, but seriously wanted to. His home, his life, would be empty when she left.

  If he’d needed proof of that, he’d gotten it the last day and a half.

  Furthermore, Mrs. Conrad was getting old, as his mother had pointed out. His mother. Willard had said she’d stopped by the house, but that Bridget had kept her from seeing Elsie. That was what Elsie needed, what he needed, someone young, sturdy, stubborn enough to stand up to even his mother. That was Bridget.

  He had to convince her to stay. Stay until Elsie no longer needed her.

  He needed her, too. Word of the trust fund was spreading fast. The paperwork should be filed by now, as well as the accounts he’d asked Julia to set up ready to receive and distribute funds. There were people who weren’t happy about it. More than one senator had questioned him about the precedent he was setting.

  He’d told them that he hoped the precedent he was setting spread far and wide.

  He did hope that. Of all the investment deals he’d worked on, all the banks he’d opened and expanded, this was the one that excited him beyond all others. He wouldn’t have believed that. That something could ever be more important than Wingard’s.

  Karl rested the back of his head against the hard seat, wondering exactly what that meant. What it meant for him to have changed so much, without meaning to, or even realizing that it was happening.

  He didn’t find any answers on the long ride, but his excitement about returning home grew with each mile that rolled beneath the clanging iron wheels. When the train pulled into the station in New York, he nearly ran to his car.

  * * *

  The evening sun cast a golden glow on the house as he pulled into the driveway. He stopped, stared at it, convinced it had never looked so welcoming. Laughter filtered on the air, as did a few barks. Leaving the Packard in the driveway, he got out and walked to the backyard, peeked over the fence.

  Exactly as it had looked on paper—except that it was painted blue and white—a playh
ouse stood in the backyard, complete with scalloped eaves and a gabled roof, with a matching doghouse beside it. People were admiring both little houses. He grinned, realizing the group of people all lived here. Sean, John, James, Catherine, Mary, Willard, Elsie and Copper.

  He frowned, looked from person to person again, searching for Bridget.

  His heart shot into his throat and he opened the gate. Halfway across the yard, his feet stalled when the door of the playhouse opened and Bridget, ducking to keep from bumping her head, stepped out of the miniature house. Something that ran far deeper than relief filled him.

  “It’s ready, Poppet,” she said, stooping lower to look Elsie in the eyes.

  “Yippie!” Elsie shot around her and into the house, squealing louder.

  Copper ran into the playhouse barking.

  The others all laughed, and were so interested in whatever was inside, they still hadn’t noticed him. He walked up behind the crowd, all peeking in the door and the windows.

  Bridget was near the rear of the group now, wearing a pale purple dress, her long hair tied back with a matching ribbon.

  Quietly, he walked up behind her and whispered over her shoulder, “What are we looking at?”

  She jumped and twisted, looked at him. Her smile lit up her face. “You’re home!”

  He had grasped ahold of her elbow when she’d jumped, and he rubbed a thumb over her soft skin. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” It took him a moment to pull his gaze off her because the desire to kiss her was nearly impossible to get past. Finally, he managed to glance at the playhouse. “What are we looking at?” he repeated.

  “The playhouse was just finished today,” she said. “I put the table and chairs from her bedroom inside and set up a tea party for her and her dolls, as a final surprise.”

  The others had finally noticed him, including Elsie.

  “Uncle Karl! Come see! Come see!” she said, waving at him from inside the playhouse.

  He stepped forward and stuck his head in through the door. “This is a very nice house you have here,” he said.