“You sank me? Who are you? A frozen piece of ice?”
“No, not I, that was a good friend from the north whom I called south and nurtured after he had done my bidding. You think yourself mighty, but still you haven’t guessed who I am and yet you languish here.”
“I am Titanic, you can never take that away from me but who are you, tell me please, I beg you?”
“Beg? Did I hear beg? My how the mighty have fallen, don’t you recognize me? I am Earth’s ocean and don’t ever you or any other vessel claim to be unsinkable again, or you will incur my wrath.”
“I am Titanic and…I am sorry.”
The Lace-maker’s Gift
“Be sure to show the best pieces first and ask a good price.”
“And you’re not for changing your mind and coming with me?”
“No Bridie, that new ship’s too big to berth. They’ll be using the little boats to take out the migrants and places for sellers will be scarce. It’s best you go. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be and those rich folk are more likely to buy from a pretty face like yours.”
“Let’s hope they do, Gran. There’s been a lot of talk about this giant Titanic. I’ve heard she’s the biggest ship in the world.”
“Aye Bridie, but don’t believe everything you hear. Doubtless there are a lot of good Irish folks off to New York on her hoping to make their fortunes. Don’t you wish you were one of them?”
Bridie wrapped another piece of the delicately crocheted lace in a square of linen and placed it in her basket. Then she looked back at her grandmother. “Seamus asked me if I’d go with his family, but I didn’t like the idea of travelling so far. I know he keeps coming around to our cottage whenever it takes his fancy, but I never encourage him.”
“Aye, I had noticed.”
“Seamus is a friend, I’ve known him all my life. He’s more like a brother.” Bridie bit her lower lip.
“So, you’ll not be missing him too much when he’s gone, then?”
“Looks like I don’t care, doesn’t Gran? But it’s not like that, I do care about him, honest I do, but I don’t want to marry him. I can’t spend the rest of my life with him.”
Mrs Glynn grasped her granddaughter’s hand. “No need to explain to me, you’ll find the right man, one day, just be patient. Now off you go, you mustn’t be late on the dock. But should you see Seamus tell him not to wait when he gets the chance of a boat.”
Bridie thought her grandmother’s words were odd, she was about to ask what she meant when a knock came at the door.
“That’s your lift to the quay, now get on with you girl. Sell as much as you can.”
Bridie grabbed the wicker basket, thrust her arm through the handle and hurried through the open door. She nearly ran into Seamus, who was waiting by the cart.
“Top of the morning to you Bridie,” he said. “I’ve managed to save a place for you next to me.”
Her mouth dropped open and her heart sank, was Seamus hoping to get some kind of pledge out of her before he left? She hoped not, she couldn’t allow him to sail across the Atlantic on a false promise that she knew she could never keep.
“I knew you’d be getting to the quay on Johnson’s cart,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me waiting for you.”
“Won’t you be late for the embarkation?” She asked as he helped her up on the cart.
“No, don’t be troubling yourself about that. I asked what time we had to be ready. There’ll not embark us steerage passengers until the other classes have boarded. We’ll be the last, that’s for sure. I’m just hoping those Frenchies and other foreigners haven’t bagged all the best bunks.” He took the seat next to her, his knee nudging hers.
“I’ve heard the accommodation aboard is very good, so you’ll surely be very comfortable.”
“I’d be much more comfortable if you were coming too.” He edged closer to her.
“Now Seamus, you know what I’ve said about going to America. There’s Gran and her eyes are going. She can’t do the fine lace work anymore, just the raised roses. She needs me to finish the lace.”
“Aye, you and your Irish crochet. I bet they’ve got machines in America that can work lace as fine as any made in Ireland.”
“Seamus McFadden, I’m ashamed of you. To be saying such a thing. There’s no finer crochet lace in the world than that made by an Irish woman’s hand. Why even the great Queen Victoria had the Christening robe for her first born worked in Ireland.”
“I’m sorry Bridie, here I am saying all the wrong things again and firing your temper. Forgive me, I just wanted to ask if you’d consider...some sort of understanding between us, before I sail?”
She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. She had been avoiding that question for weeks, ever since she had heard of Seamus’ plan to sail to New York. At first he had been full of the voyage, the experience of being at sea for the first time in his life. Then she had listened to his plans to settle in New York, where he had a cousin who could look out for him, but despite his tales of fortune and hopes for the future, she knew she could never give him the promise of her hand in marriage.
“Have you no answer for me?” he asked taking his cap off and wringing it in his hands.
“Seamus,” she grasped the handle of the large basket balanced on her lap until her knuckles were white. “I cannot make any promises. I have my work here and you are going to America. You’ll meet new people and you’ll need to be free to grab every opportunity that comes your way. It’s better not to be tied to a promise back home.”
Disappointment etched its way across Seamus’ face. He put his cap back on his head. “You’re a sweet colleen Bridie, to be sure you’ll be married to some rich man and living in Dublin when I come back with American gold jingling in my pockets.”
“I’ll not be going to Dublin, Seamus.”
“Why not? All the rich people live in Dublin.”
“And the streets of London are paved with gold.” She laughed, but he wasn’t laughing.
“You’re turning me down, aren’t you Bridie?”
They passed through the dock gates. Soon they would be at the quay where the tenders for the great liner would be loading. “Yes, Seamus, you are emigrating and I’m staying at home. I can’t promise to wait for you, it’s not fair to either of us. We’ll be worlds apart.”
The cart stopped, the driver tethered the horses and started to help the passengers down. Bridie stood up, turned and found Seamus at her elbow.
“Here, at least let me help you down.” He took the heavy basket, jumped down, placed it on the ground and held his arms out for her.
Obligingly, as the rest of the passengers watched, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His hands went to her waist, swung her down and pulled her towards him. His lips descended on hers and stole a kiss. The group of onlookers cheered.
Struggling, she tried to push him away. She shivered in his arms. His lips felt cold and from somewhere lost in an ocean of time she heard him call her name.
When he released her, she stepped back, shocked by what she had felt and imagined. “Who gave you leave to be kissing me?” But she gave him no time to answer. “I need my wares. I have to queue with the other sellers, only a few of us are allowed on board. I’m sorry Seamus. I wish you well and Gran said you’re not to wait when you get the chance of a boat.”
“What in God’s name did she mean by that?”
“I don’t know Seamus McFadden but God be with you.” She stooped and grasping the handle thrust the heavy basket onto her arm. Without looking back, she scurried to the iron gates where the souvenir vendors had gathered.
“I do hope Mrs Glynn’s not suffering with her eyes again,” an elderly woman asked.
“She’s managing as best she can,” Bridie said as the first tender disgorged its passengers, luggage and mail bags. Once those disembarking at Queenstown had passed through the gates and the mail bags had been collected, the sellers pushed their way towards the ten
der.
“Hold fire there!” shouted the man in charge of the craft. “Wait your turn.”
Bridie stood in silence, the strange experience of Seamus’ kiss weighing heavy on her mind. But soon she was aboard the open tender, crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with the other sellers as they bobbed up and down over the waves towards the giant ship.
“She’s a sight to behold,” the elderly woman said.
Bridie’s mouth dropped open at the sheer size of Titanic as they drew closer to her side which seemed to rise out of the water like a cliff face, dark and foreboding. She followed the others through the ship onto an open deck area, where a row of tables had been set up.
“Aren’t you excited to be standing on the biggest ship in the world?” the same elderly woman asked.
Bridie paused for a few moments, everything she had seen of the new ship looked amazing. She was as they had christened her, ‘a ship of dreams’. “It would be a very poor soul who didn’t find magnificence aboard this lovely ship, but I’m glad I’m not sailing on her.”
“Are you now and would it be asking too much for you to say why?”
“She’s too perfect, too sure of herself,” Bridie answered.
“And that’s a bad thing is it? Well, if it is, perhaps someone ought to tell all those rich folk who have paid to sail on her. I’ve heard the richest man in America’s on board with a new wife, less than half his age.”
Bridie smiled. “Well if he is the richest man in America, I’m sure there have been lots of women wanting to be his wife. So, you can’t blame the man for wanting a young one.”
“Aye,” the old woman sniffed, “but he’s got himself one of those divorces so he could marry her. It’s not right to set an older wife aside. He’ll get his comeuppance to be sure.”
They rushed for the best spot. Bridie brought out her finest piece, a delicate lace collar and displayed it on the dark cloth Gran had insisted she take with her. The collar looked exquisite, even the old woman admired it.
Passengers wanting to examine the Irish goods started to gather around the tables. Several ladies picked up the lace collar and admired it. But when they heard Bridie’s price, they moved on.
“You’re asking a fearful price for the collar. When I heard you talking to that lady in the green hat, I thought you might come down a bit. I’m sure you’d have got a sale, if you had,” the old woman said, “I only do lace edging now. It’s easier on the eyes, but hard on the fingers.” She stopped talking as a middle-aged, distinguished looking gentleman approached with a pretty young lady on his arm.
“Why JJ isn’t this the most beautiful lace collar you’ve ever seen?” the young lady said in an American accent.
“I’m no judge of lace,” he smiled beneath his well-groomed moustache.
Bridie looked at their clothes and decided her price has just gone up.
“It would look so lovely on my new house gown,” the young lady smiled lovingly up at the gentleman.
House gown! Bridie bit her bottom lip. Was this lady, who was no older than herself, planning to wear the delicate piece of lace around the house? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She didn’t want to scare them off.
“Would you like the lace, my dear?” he said.
The young lady blushed and nodded her head. As Bridie scanned the young woman’s lovely eyes, delicate nose and full passionate lips, she realised the woman was with child, but she had no idea how she knew. If only she and Gran had worked a Christening Robe. The pretty lady might have persuaded her very wealthy husband to buy that, but no, she had to sell them the collar, whether it was going on a house gown or not.
The gentleman took his wife aside. Bridie worried that perhaps they were turning away. She needed to offer them something else, something to win back their trade. Fortunately, he returned.
“How much is the lace?” he asked.
“Five pounds, sir.”
“We’ll take it.” He reached inside his coat pocket and drew out his wallet. He handed Bridie a brand new five pound note. It was the first five pound note she had ever seen. Taking the money from him, she wrapped the lace in linen, tied it with a silk ribbon and handed it to him. “Is there anything else? Perhaps something for the new child?”
The gentleman looked at her sharply, his forehead creasing. “How could you possibly know?”
Had she gone too far? Would he return the lace and demand his money back? “It’s in her face. I can tell from her face,” Bridie said.
“Madeleine,” he called over his shoulder and beckoned his wife. Dutifully she returned to his side and clung to his arm. “This young Irish girl knows our secret. Boy or girl, can you tell that too?”
Bridie didn’t know what to say, except the first word that came into her head. “Girl.”
“Really?” the lady smiled.
“Perhaps you’d like some lace edging for the Christening robe or nightgowns when she comes?”
“What do you have?” the lady asked.
Bridie turned to the old woman. “I don’t have any edging but this lady works the finest lace in the West of Ireland.” She pointed to the lace wrapped around cards.
The lady smiled, “I like it. Can we take it all back to New York, JJ?”
He lifted his eyebrows, “If that’s what you’d like my dear.” Madeleine stepped aside as JJ took out his wallet again.
Bridie nudged the old woman with her foot under the table to silence her and smiled up at the gentleman, “Five pounds, sir, for all the cards on the table,”
The gentleman paid over the money as he had done before and Bridie helped the woman wrap the cards in linen. Tying them all together she presented them to the lady. As she did so, she touched her hand briefly and felt a presence.
“I want to thank you for the bottom of my heart,” the old woman said when the couple had gone. “I’ve never had such a good day’s sale. Have these folk got more money than sense?”
“Perhaps,” Bridie replied, “but I’m glad she has taken the gift of lace for theirs is not to be a long union.”
“So they’ve troubles ahead?”
“Yes, he might be the richest man in America, married to a less than half his age bride and expecting a child, but there’s something ahead and it’s not too far off.”
“You mean he’s the one who’s set his old wife aside and—“
“Aye, the one you said who deserves his comeuppance. I felt something, I think it’s just around the corner.
Later that day Bridie and the old woman stood on the quay at Queenstown and watched Titanic sail for New York.
“Wouldn’t you like to have gone with her?” the old woman asked.
Bridie shook her head. “She might be the ship of dreams, but I sense her future will be more than that. A young man wanted me to sail with him to New York on her, but I knew he wasn’t the man of my dreams. Madeleine has found her JJ but her dream will be short-lived. I wish I didn’t sense these things, especially when I don’t really know what will happen but I’m resting easy now I have my feet on dry land.”
“And I’m resting easy with a five pound note in my pocket, thanks to you.” The old woman smiled a toothless grin.
The night I grew up
Mama had put us to bed early, at least I thought it was early. It was Sunday. The twins slept in the adjacent bed. “Two peas in a pod,” the stewardess called them when she tucked them in. It surprised me that the grating noise along the starboard side of the ship didn’t wake them.
I wasn’t asleep. I heard it and sat bolt upright. Without arousing my eight year old brothers, I jumped out of bed, made for the door and opened it. I looked up and down the well-lit corridor, but no one was there. Then I heard another strange sound, like a huge engine blowing off steam. Surely that would wake the boys?
I closed the door quietly. Light came through the porthole into our stateroom, so there was no need to switch on the electric light as I could see well enough. My brothers slept on, but I sensed so
mething was wrong. I unscrewed the port hole fitting and pushed the window open just a few inches. A bitingly cold draught of air rushed in. It smelt odd, but I closed my eyes and inhaled. Ice...the ice cave on the Eiger where my grandfather had taken me to celebrate my thirteenth birthday last year. There must be ice near, an ice-field perhaps, or icebergs?
Jack stirred and I thought he was about to wake Joe, so I shut the porthole. I willed the twins to carry on sleeping because I wanted to go outside and find out what was happening. They turned over, and then settled together once more.
I pulled on my trousers, pushing my nightshirt into them and slid my arms into my bracers. A thick sweater and my gabardine coat and school cap, socks and boots and I was ready. My housemaster would have been proud of the speed I got dressed. I took another look at the boys and opened the door quietly.
There were more people in the corridor, some hurrying, an officer walking away from me and a steward carrying two of the white canvas life-preservers. Our staterooms, mine and my parents were only a few yards from the stairway. I hesitated at my parents’ door, my fist clenched ready to announce myself. I lent my ear close to solid wood but heard nothing. If they were inside, then they were asleep.
I climbed the stairs. Up, up and up I went until I reached the Boat Deck. Maybe I could see something from there?
One gentleman stood alone. He looked at me and I thought he was about to tell me to go below and that I shouldn’t be about the ship by myself so late at night.
“Can your young eyes see what struck us lad?” he shouted in a soft American drawl.
From the ship’s rail I scanned the blackness for any clue of what was out there. Behind me the roar of steam from three of the ship’s funnels persisted. I cupped my hands around my mouth in an attempt to make my voice carry over the din of the steam. “We’ve been hit, haven’t we sir?”
He turned towards me, his expression stern, and his penetrating eyes searching my face. He, too, cupped his hands around his mouth before speaking. “Yes lad, I reckon we have.”
I watched as he turned from me and hurried along the deck. He rounded a lifeboat, looked out to sea again, then down the side of the ship. We were on the starboard side. I followed in his wake, disappointed that I saw no ice or icebergs. I was beginning to doubt my sense of smell, when the American gentleman stopped and faced me. “You’d best go below son. Find your mother and look after her.”
Titanic Twelve Tales - A Short Story Anthology RMS Titanic Page 2