The Girl Who Came Home

by Hazel Gaynor

  You looked mighty pretty so you did with your curls all blowing in the wind and the petals falling about you. You were sitting on the grass with your back leaned against the tree, and you closed your eyes. I wondered if you were thinking of me.

  Then Peggy Madden came up and she gave you a fright and you were after almost leaping off the ground! She said something to make you laugh before she went on her way, swinging her basket from her arm, the fellas all gawping at her as they do.

  I thought to myself, “They can gawp away, I’ve a girl lovelier and prettier than any other in the whole of Ballysheen—in the whole of Ireland,” and I was so pleased that you were waiting for me under that tree and not just taking a rest or waiting for some other fella.

  When you saw me walking over to you, you smiled, like you always do, getting those dimples in your cheeks. We went strolling then, down to the lake, and threw stones and you picked some flowers for me to take back to Da. When we walked back, you put your arm in mine and leaned your head on my shoulder and told me that this had been your favorite day and that you wished all days could be like this; warm and happy and the blossoms blowing in the breeze. I thought I would burst I was so happy at that moment, and if I could make that day happen for you again and again, Maggie Murphy, I truly would.

  Yours,

  Séamus

  As with the previous three letters, he had ended with the words I will wait for you under our tree until the day you come back.

  Maggie held the letter for a few moments longer, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Then she folded it carefully, placed it back among the other letters, and returned the packet to her coat pocket. She would read another letter tomorrow.

  She turned to write in her journal then.

  Private Journal of Maggie Murphy

  April 14, 1912

  Day 4 at sea

  I can hardly believe that this is already our fourth day at sea. I sometimes feel like we will never be off this ship or away from the gray ocean—the lush fields of home seem far distant now. I’ve been wondering what my legs will feel like when they’re back on dry land. They say that sailors sway in their sleep for a while after returning from sea. What a strange feeling that will be!

  There was to be a lifeboat drill at eleven o’clock today, but it was canceled. Jack Brennan says it must be because of the cold—“probably too cold for the rich folk to be up on deck,” he said. Aunt Kathleen has asked a steward for extra blankets for the beds tonight after we were waking up cold last night. Harry told me that most of the spare blankets are being used by the first-class ladies to keep their knees warm while they sit on the decks in the sunshine. I suppose we will just have to make do with what we have.

  After Mass this morning, Harry took us up a special crew ladder to the upper deck. He’s so bold—he could have got himself into a right bother of trouble if anyone had caught us, but what a sight we saw from our hiding place behind a lifeboat: the ladies taking tea and the gentlemen smoking their cigars. I think it took Peggy every bit of control in her body not to run straight up to one of them and ask them to marry her then and there. They really do live among such luxury up there, I wouldn’t wonder if some of them never want to leave the ship at all.

  I watched a little boy for a while who was playing with a spinning top. He was dressed all nicely in a cap and jacket and short trousers with long black stockings to keep his legs warm. A white teddy bear was on a deck chair near to him—I think it must have belonged to him. A few men stood about the deck and watched him—he made quite a sight being so engrossed in his little game, but I didn’t see his parents anywhere nearby, only a lady who seemed to be his nanny, but she was occupied with some friends. I should think his parents were too busy taking their tea and talking with their rich friends to pay much attention to his little games. I felt sorry for him and would have liked to play with him myself for a while. He had a nice little face.

  I have given Harry my message to Séamus. He says he’ll make sure it gets sent today. He reckons on it reaching Séamus within a week—imagine what he’ll think, a message from a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean! It’ll be the talk of Ballysheen without a doubt.

  Hearing the unmistakable voices of Peggy and Katie chatting enthusiastically as they came toward the cabin, Maggie put her pen down and closed the book. Her few moments of solitude were over.

  CHAPTER 19

  New York

  April 14, 1912

  It had been a hard day’s work for Frances Kenny, and her plans to head to Macy’s to buy a birthday gift for her Katie now seemed thoroughly unappealing.

  Her employer, Emily Walker-Brown, was in full flow preparing for the homecoming of her daughter, Vivienne, and Vivienne’s fiancé, Robert, after their vacation in southern Italy, where they had spent the past two months. Robert was a film financier Vivienne had met through her theater contacts, and after the run of her latest show had ended in January, he had proposed over tea in the Waldorf. They’d taken themselves off then to enjoy a little winter sunshine on the Continent, the Italian Riviera seeming to be the perfect spot for a young, well-connected American couple.

  As Frances was well aware, having overheard many a conversation in the Walker-Brown household, Vivienne was greatly interested in anything European, finding the ladies so elegant and the countries so interesting. “New York may boast the highest buildings and the finest jewelry store and department store in the world,” she’d heard Vivienne proclaim over tea one afternoon, “but that is nothing compared to the beautiful cobbled streets of a medieval Italian town or the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. So much more culture. So much more elegance than this stinking hellhole.”

  Vivienne was a well-traveled, well-connected young lady who had educated herself in European culture and prided herself on the fact. She found most of New York’s other society ladies dully misinformed and tired easily of their endless talk of millinery and couture. These things interested Vivienne as passing diversions, but they didn’t engage her for long. When the chance of a winter in Italy came along, she’d grasped it with both hands and had literally dragged her new fiancé to the docks to board their steam liner. That they were unmarried and traveling unchaperoned had produced quite the society scandal—a fact that caused Vivienne great amusement and caused her mother to suffer from a terrible migraine for an entire week.

  According to Mrs. Walker-Brown, whose conversations Frances also frequently overheard as she went about her business in the house, the theater bosses had contacted Vivienne by telegram, stating that they required her back in America to star in a new revue as soon as possible. Forced to cut her holiday short, Vivienne had been preparing to be quite furious about it all until the opportunity arose for her and Robert to travel back to New York on the White Star Line’s new ship, Titanic, and on her maiden voyage too. This opportunity to mingle among America’s richest and most influential businessmen and social elites was not to be missed.

  Robert had booked their first-class tickets immediately; they would travel from Cherbourg along with the Astors and the Guggenheims, who had also been vacationing on the Continent. They had sent a telegram immediately informing Mrs. Walker-Brown of their plans to return home and boasting of their having secured tickets for Titanic.

  “Imagine it,” Mrs. Walker-Brown had declared as she recounted the story to one of her luncheon friends. “They will be the first to ever sail on Titanic, and amid such luxury! They say her bedrooms are finer than the Waldorf-Astoria’s and that she has the best of modern conveniences, a heated bathing pool, and six-course dinners every evening. The ladies are even permitted exclusive use of the gymnasium for several hours a day. I fear Vivienne may have good cause to visit the gymnasium if she is dining so well for seven days at sea!”

  Anyone who was anyone in New York society was talking about Titanic that week. With so many influential businessmen and so much wealth aboard, people felt distinctly envious if they were not a part of it and distinctly delighted if they were.


  For herself, Mrs. Walker-Brown was enjoying the chance to boast of her daughter’s involvement in Titanic’s maiden voyage, making reference to it at every possible opportunity: while lunching with the ladies, while having her hair styled, and while informing her domestics of their duties for the day. Frances Kenny had heard so much about Titanic through Vivienne’s many telegrams to her mother that she sometimes felt she was onboard the ship herself. She had ventured to tell Mrs. Walker-Brown that, as far as she was aware, her own sister, Katie, was also traveling on the ship, along with thirteen others from her hometown in Ireland.

  “Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it,” her employer had responded, barely acknowledging the fact. Frances suspected Mrs. Walker-Brown felt that there was little comparison to be made between the luxury with which her daughter would be surrounded during her journey on Titanic and the distinct lack of luxury surrounding her sister’s own Titanic experience.

  Frances knew that Emily Walker-Brown was extremely proud of her daughter’s achievements and hoped that she and Robert would settle on a date for their wedding soon after returning to America. Vivienne was Emily’s only daughter, and Emily was so thrilled about the impending wedding that she’d already settled on the hat she would wear as the mother of the bride. She’d shown it to Frances in the pages of Harper’s Bazaar magazine. The hat was being worn by the First Lady, Helen Herron Taft, while she planted a cherry blossom tree in Washington.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Mrs. Walker-Brown had enthused in a rare moment of personal communication with her employee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hat quite as exquisite, and all those blossoms falling around her feet remind me of confetti. As soon as I saw that picture I knew that it was this very hat I would wear at Vivienne and Robert’s wedding.”

  True to her word, she had tracked down the designer and ordered the exact same hat. It was waiting for her to pick it up in Bloomingdale’s. All she needed now was the occasion to wear it, and it was her intention that before the summer was out, a wedding date would be fixed, and before the year was out, the hat would finally be introduced to her head.

  Mrs. Walker-Brown had kept her domestics busy all that week, and with Vivienne having sent a telegram message to inform her mother that they now expected to dock in New York in just two days’ time, the house was a hive of activity.

  Being a widow, Emily Walker-Brown placed more emphasis than some other mothers might on her daughter’s presence in the family home. She busied herself now, planning for welcome home parties and bridge evenings with the ladies and dinners with influential business executives and their wives and other socialites of New York’s elite families. Having been socially dormant over the winter months, she felt a renewed vigor, which ensured that after a day’s work, her home was left gleaming and her employees were left exhausted.

  Before she finished up for the day, and sensing that her employer was in a more jovial mood than usual, Frances decided to ask Mrs. Walker-Brown’s opinion about a suitable birthday gift for Katie.

  “I’m thinking it would be nice to buy her something small from Macy’s,” she explained. “This being her first time in New York, and it being the largest department store in the world. But I was wondering, since you have such impeccable taste yourself, what you might suggest as a nice gift for her.”

  Clearly flattered, Emily Walker-Brown suggested gloves. “No lady should be without a decent pair, and Macy’s has a wonderful selection of the finest styles. You are aware, of course, that Isidor and Ida Straus are traveling on Titanic also.” Frances looked blankly at her, having no idea who Isidor and Ida Straus were. “The owner of Macy’s department store and his wife!” Emily Walker-Brown continued condescendingly. “So, I think, considering that your sister will have celebrated her birthday aboard the very same ship that the owner of the store is sailing on himself, a gift from Macy’s would be entirely appropriate. Entirely appropriate indeed. Yes, I should settle on gloves.”

  Frances resisted the temptation to inform her employer that she was sure Katie couldn’t care less whether the owner of Macy’s was sailing on Titanic or not, and thanked her for her advice before requesting permission to leave for the day. It was given.

  Despite her exhaustion, Frances set out in the direction of 151 West Thirty-Fourth Street. A short while later, she emerged from the store, delighted with her purchase of a pair of white cotton gloves, elegantly presented in the traditional Macy’s packaging, a white box with a red star in the center of the lid.

  RMS Titanic

  April 14, 1912

  Katie Kenny looked at her dinner plate, admiring the White Star Line emblem on her otherwise plain white dish: a red swallowtail flag with a white star in the center. The same by-now-familiar detailing appeared on her coffee mug and soup bowl. It was little things like this—the logo of the ship’s owners stamped onto every knife, fork, and spoon; the woven blankets on their beds, red with white detailing and the distinctive White Star Line star and lettering—that continually surprised and delighted her. It was a level of attention to the absolute last detail that she had not encountered before and certainly had not expected on a steerage ticket.

  As Peggy started up another chorus of “Happy Birthday,” encouraging half the passengers to join in (having done the same at breakfast and lunch), Katie smiled, delighted at the fuss and attention she was getting. She’d already had a good gawp at the first-class passengers and some of their fancy rooms, and Harry had brought a tray of cakes to the cabin a little earlier, the like of which Katie had never seen before, exquisite little tarts and buns and delicate slices of Madeira cake.

  “They were for some fancy woman’s afternoon tea,” he’d explained, clearly delighted with himself. “They were sent back to the galley because the lady isn’t partial to these particular types of cakes.”

  His exaggerated upper-class accent had sent the girls into a fit of the giggles as they scarfed all the cakes in a hurry and then felt sick.

  And yet for all the day’s amusement, and the plans for dancing and singing that evening, Katie wished that her family was there to celebrate with her. She thought of them back in Ireland, her mam and da and her brothers, and wondered how it must have felt for them to watch the travelers leave a few mornings ago—such a sight they must have been clattering out of Ballysheen. She thought of her sister, Frances, waiting for her in New York, and wondered how she would look after all these years of city living. She had heard that it could turn your face pale, what with sitting indoors a lot of the time and the fumes from the motorcars making you cough.

  If she knew her sister at all, Katie imagined that she would be happily occupying herself getting ready for her arrival. She would have the house spotless from top to bottom and would no doubt have taken to getting extra pillows and bedding for her comfort after this strenuous journey stuck on board a stuffy ship with barely a board to sleep on. How she’ll laugh, Katie thought, when I tell her of the luxury we have known, of the knives with the White Star Line flag on the handles, the electric lighting and fresh running water in our cabins. Katie’s stomach flipped slightly at the thought of seeing her sister in just a few days.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Peggy, who was fussing at her to hurry up and eat her dinner.

  “For the love of God, Katie Kenny, would you ever stop daydreamin’ and eat that bloody corned beef and cabbage. We’ve a party to be havin’, and we can’t start it until you’re there, what with it being for your birthday an’ all.”

  Katie laughed. She was so fond of her friends Peggy and Maggie and so glad of their company. It had made the journey so much easier traveling all together.

  “Right so, I’m hurryin’. Oh, and will we be expectin’ the pleasure of young Lucky Harry for the hooley tonight?” she asked, winking at Peggy, fully aware of the affection she had formed for the steward.

  “Might be,” Peggy replied coquettishly, “Might not. I might have other men asking me out tonight for all you know. I saw that rich milliona
ire one lookin’ at me upstairs!”

  The girls laughed then as they finished their meals and rushed off to wash before starting their evening’s merriment.

  “D’you know what, girls?” Katie added as they neared their cabin. “I think this is my favorite birthday ever. When I’m an old lady, I’ll tell my grandchildren how I spent my birthday on the grandest ship afloat, right in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They’ll never believe me, sure they won’t!”

  CHAPTER 20

  Private Journal of Maggie Murphy

  April 14, 1912

  Day 4 at sea

  2:30 P.M.

  Katie is having a fine birthday altogether what with Peggy singing endless rounds of “Happy Birthday” and Harry bringing posh cakes and showing us the first-class decks, and now we’re just back from another huge lunch. Lord, my stomach aches. I think Mr. Durcan was right about the forty ton of spuds being on board—I feel as if ate half of those for lunch alone.

  It’s a clear, bright day, so we’ve all come up on deck to walk off some of the food and get some wind in our hair. I’m sitting on a chair looking at nothing but endless ocean as far as my eyes can see. Peggy and Katie are leaning over the white iron railings around the side of the ship. They like to look over the edge and try to catch the spray on their faces. I daren’t at all. It makes me feel dizzy being so high up and it’s such a long way down and with the waves crashing and booming against the ship it’s enough to scare the life out of you just looking. I don’t even want to think how far down that ocean goes—it sends a shiver down my spine.

  Katie was fretting for a while earlier when she thought she’d lost the piece of string she’d used to take the measurement for little Ailís O’Donoghue’s finger. She’s promised to send a ring back from America to Ailís and was careful to measure her finger with the string before we left home, so she could be sure of the correct size. The string turned up under her mattress of all places. Peggy had her on that a rat must’ve taken it and was planning to use it to make its nest in her bed. Peggy is so wicked sometimes.