by Hazel Gaynor
Finding the business card he was looking for, he stood up with the folded sheets of neatly typed paper in his hand and dialed the number for Bill O’Shea’s office. After a few rings, it was answered.
“Bill, how are you? Peter Andrews here.” He paused, waiting for Bill’s response, chuckling intermittently as they exchanged pleasantries. “I’ve got something here that I think you might like,” he continued. “A student of mine has finally got around to writing a feature article for a slot you offered to her two years ago.” Again he waited for his colleague’s response. “Yes, that’s the one. Grace Butler. Yes, that’s right, her father died very suddenly. Well, it turns out Miss Butler is the great-granddaughter of a Titanic survivor!”
At this he paused again, preempting the reaction he knew he was going to get. He could sense the excitement at the other end of the phone, knew that Bill O’Shea would realize he was onto a scoop.
“I know, I know,” he continued, “and it’s one heck of a story—written beautifully as well. I’ll get Sandra to make a few copies and send it over to you.”
Replacing the receiver, he picked up the smaller envelope that had come with the typed pages. Jimmy Shepard, fourth-year student of journalism . . . Private and Confidential. Please deliver if possible or return to sender.
He smiled and walked out of his office to his secretary, asking her to make three copies of the article and have them couriered to Bill O’Shea at the Tribune right away and to deliver the other envelope, in person, to a Mr. Shepard, who was a senior. He instructed her to say that it was an important message from Professor Andrews.
Although very tempted, he considered it best not to call Grace at home—not yet. He was a wise man, preferring to wait for the responses from the two men to whom he had just forwarded the documents. His sense was that Bill O’Shea’s would be more than favorable. As for the Shepard boy, he had no idea, but he hoped that Grace got the response she was hoping for.
The following day, Peter Andrews heard from Bill O’Shea that the article submitted by Grace Butler, “The Girl Who Came Home,” would be published in two weeks. Since Bill didn’t have any contact details for Miss Butler, he asked if the professor could be so kind as to contact her and ask her to call Bill’s office with a brief author bio that they could run with the piece. Bill suspected that once the story went out, there would be quite a bit of interest in Grace Butler and her great-grandmother.
Professor Andrews also received a visit from Jimmy Shepard that day. Jimmy thanked him for forwarding the envelope and assured him that he would attend to the very important matter without delay.
CHAPTER 26
RMS Titanic
April 15, 1912
It was the stars Maggie saw first as she clambered up on deck. The millions and millions of twinkling stars, illuminating the sky like the magical lands of her childhood imagination, the very same stars she used to look at in Ballysheen, captivated by their beauty and unfathomable distance.
The vast empty space of the sky above her now seemed to make this ship, which she had gasped at in wonder and awe just a few days ago, feel very small and extremely fragile. At that moment, as the noise and confusion on the deck engulfed her, she longed, more than anything in her life, to be back in her humble stone cottage warming her fingers over the glow of the fire as Séamus sat by her side.
She looked around wildly, standing on her tiptoes to peer over the heads of the masses of people swarming around her. Where was Aunt Kathleen? She had to be here.
“Aunt Kathleen!” Maggie shouted as loudly as she could. “Aunt Kathleen! It’s me! Maggie. I’m over here. Aunt Kathleen! Where are you?”
She’d never felt so far away from home, so lost and terrified.
“Maggie! Maggie, over here.” But it was Harry’s voice, not Kathleen’s, that called her name. “We have to go up again,” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the noise of the panicked passengers and the continual hiss of steam from the funnels high above them. “There’s a few boats left on the upper deck.”
Maggie stood in a daze, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. All around her, people were running, some carrying deck chairs, some holding wooden crates or empty trunks, others clutching life rings—everyone desperately searching for something they might be able to hold on to in the water—something that might mean the difference between life and death.
Masses of bodies crowded around the next lifeboats to be lowered. Men were being prevented from getting in while women and children clambered in reluctantly, almost as frightened about the prospect of drifting endlessly through the freezing black night as they were about staying on the sinking ship. Maggie watched with heart-wrenching helplessness as several women climbed back out of their lifeboats, unable, in the final moment, to leave without their husbands, fathers, and brothers. She had never witnessed such a terrifying sight and stood frozen in fear.
Men called to women, encouraging them to take to the lifeboats without them. “Be brave; no matter what happens, be brave and keep your hands in your pockets, it is very cold weather,” she heard one man say to a woman Maggie presumed was his wife. Another woman was lifted, kicking and screaming, into a boat. “Go, Lottie!” a man called after her. “For God’s sake, be brave and go!”
Maggie watched in horror as another woman, who clearly refused to leave her husband, lifted her young daughter and baby into a boat, entrusting them to the care of their nurse before collapsing on her knees on the deck, clinging to her husband’s ankles as the boat was lowered over the side. Maggie could barely move as she watched these scenes of grief unfolding in every direction she looked, each more distressing than the last.
There were already several lifeboats rowing away from the ship, the tiny dots of white from the life jackets worn by the occupants reflecting back off the lights from the ship, which still lit up the water all around them. Other boats were being lowered down the side of the ship, the crewmen shouting instructions to each other to make sure they were lowered evenly while the women inside screamed and sobbed. She saw one woman clamber out just as the boat was being lowered over the edge, and watched her run back to a man on the deck, who embraced her as they both wept desperate tears.
“There are no more boats on this deck,” Harry shouted. “Follow me.”
He took the group toward another ladder, which led up to the boat deck, the highest point on the ship. This ladder was already teeming with bodies, people of all ages and classes trying desperately to get up to the remaining boats as they felt the forward compartments of the ship sink farther and farther under the water. Large, burly men pushed past Maggie in an attempt to secure their own escape, or to help women and children who were with them get a foothold on the ladder. Maggie recognized Father Byles, the priest who had celebrated Mass the previous morning. He was reciting prayers to a group huddled at his feet, their heads bowed. She scanned the group for a moment, wondering if Aunt Kathleen might be among them. She wasn’t.
It was a frantic scene that frightened Maggie to her core. She knew that Harry, Maura and Jack Brennan, Eileen Brennan, and Michael Kelly were ahead of her. Behind her were Peggy, Katie, and the rest of the girls, with Pat Brogan insisting he follow the last of them up. Struggling with all her might against the surge of bodies behind her, she eventually got a foothold on the ladder and started to climb.
“Oh, Jesus! My hat! My hat.”
Maggie knew immediately it was Peggy’s voice and, craning her neck around, saw her friend scrabbling about on the deck for her hat, which had been knocked off her head. In the confusion, others climbed up ahead of her, forcing Katie and the others back.
“Peggy!” Maggie cried. “Peggy, leave it! We have to go! Katie! Katie!”
“Peggy! Leave it. You’ve got to get up the ladder!” Harry’s voice joined Maggie’s, but his words, like hers, were lost amid the panic and confusion as Peggy was lost among the crowd.
Maggie looked at Harry; the wild, desperate gaze in his eyes seeming to spe
ak her own terrible thought: that they would not see Peggy again.
Pushed along by the crowd behind her, Maggie had no choice but to keep climbing, emerging onto the boat deck terrified, shivering uncontrollably with the cold, and separated from everyone from her group other than the four who stood with her. The emergency rockets being fired into the sky sent a bright red light across the ship, which was now audibly creaking and groaning under the strain of the water flooding the lower compartments.
Maura Brennan stared wildly at the unfamiliar faces emerging from the ladder behind them. “Maggie, where are the others? They were right behind us.”
“They got pushed back. I don’t know. I don’t know where they are.” Maggie’s fear developed into gasping tears then, the enormity of what was happening suddenly hitting her. “I don’t know where they are, and I don’t know where Aunt Kathleen is either.”
Grabbing her arm, Harry pulled Maggie and the others he had managed to bring up the ladder toward a lifeboat. “It’s women and children first,” he told them. “The men will follow.”
Maura Brennan grasped Harry’s arm. “What in God’s name d’ye mean, women and children first? Can we not all go together?”
“Officer’s orders, miss. Women and children first.”
A terrible silence fell over the group then. Maggie looked at all their faces as an officer manning the boat started shouting at them urgently.
“Everyone in, miss. Come on, everyone in, right now. There’s room for a few more.”
Seeing that Maura was pregnant, he ushered her toward the boat, pushing Eileen and Maggie with her. A surge of passengers behind them caused them all to be pushed forward, their legs crushed momentarily against the hard edge of the lifeboat. Some men tried to clamber aboard. A shot rang out. Maggie turned to see the officer waving his gun in the air.
“Get back, men. Get back and wait your turn.”
Amid the confusion, Maura Brennan stood perfectly still, a determined composure and certainty about her. “I’ll not go,” she whispered. Maggie stared at Maura, who stood at the edge of the boat. “I’ll not go without Jack. I will never go without Jack.”
Next to her, Eileen started to sob desperate tears. “I’ll not go either, Jack. I’ll not leave my brother standing here. I’ll not leave you to drown.”
As the women hesitated, their seats were gladly taken by others.
The officer pushed Maggie forward. “Miss, one seat left. I would take it now if I were you, before it’s too late.”
Maggie hesitated, looking wildly from one face to the other, at Michael Kelly’s face streaked with tears.
“Let the boy in,” she said to the officer, pushing Michael forward. “Let him go in this boat. He has a mammy at home.”
“Women and children first, miss. He can go in the next boat.”
“But I can’t go alone,” she cried, clutching at Maura’s thin coat. “I can’t leave you all here. And what about the baby?” she added, conscious of the life growing within Maura’s belly.
“We’ll take the next boat, Maggie,” Maura replied calmly, taking Maggie’s hand and gently prizing it from her coat sleeve. “When all the women and children are accounted for, they’ll let the men take their turn. Peggy and Katie and the others will have made their way up by then, and we’ll all come together. If I know your aunt Kathleen, she’ll have been helping others get into the boats and will be on one herself by now, probably rowing the blessed thing herself.”
Harry moved forward. “Maggie, you have to get in. They’re starting to lower the boat.” He stared earnestly into her tear-filled eyes. “Remember who’s waiting for you back home,” he added, reminded of the message she’d been so keen to send.
Maggie relented then, no energy left in her body to protest. She allowed Harry to lift her gently into the boat.
“You—steward twenty-three.” Harry turned to the officer who was addressing him. “Man this lifeboat, and when you get on the water, row away from the ship as quickly as you can or she’ll take you down with her. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I understand. You’ll bring the others in the next boat, will you?”
Harry looked into the officer’s eyes, where he saw fear the like of which he had never seen before and hoped he would never see again.
“This is the last boat,” the officer replied, lowering his voice. “There are no more.”
Climbing into the boat, Harry heard the orders for the lifeboat to be lowered over the side and closed his eyes to the tragedy unfolding on the decks above them.
Maggie’s heart felt as if it had broken in two as she stared up at the faces of Maura, Jack, Eileen, and Michael where they stood together, watching her, Eileen and Michael weeping desperate tears, Maura clutching her rosary, all four of them holding hands as they leaned over the railings. There was simply nothing anyone could say. Maggie watched them, isolated among the chaos and despair, until their faces finally disappeared from view.
Maggie gripped the edge of the lifeboat, which jerked violently as it was lowered roughly down into the black ocean. As she stared numbly at the scene around her, something stirred within Maggie, an incredible will to survive, a desire to live a long and happy life.
“I will not die here,” she whispered, her teeth chattering with the cold that had penetrated every inch of her body. “Not here. Not now. I’m coming home, Séamus,” she repeated over and over again. “I’m coming home. I’m coming home. I’m coming home.”
Searching the frantic, panic-stricken faces on the decks they passed, and among the boats that were already lowered, Maggie prayed that she would see her friends or her aunt. But she saw nobody she recognized.
“Séamus,” she sobbed into her hands. “Séamus, Séamus, Séamus—I should never have left you.”
An elderly lady placed her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, assuming that, like all the other women in the boat, she was sobbing for a man she had left behind on Titanic.
“You have to be strong now, my love. You have to believe you will see him again. If not in this life, then the next.”
Maggie stared up at the unfamiliar, wrinkled face, barely able to see through her tears.
“But I love him,” she cried, clutching the woman’s frozen hands and gasping though her sobs. “I love him and I want to go home.”
CHAPTER 27
Ballysheen, Ireland
April 15, 1912
Maggie! Maggie! It’s all right. I’m coming.”
Séamus woke in a cold sweat, unsure whether it was his own voice he’d heard calling Maggie’s name or someone else’s. She was drowning, calling out desperately for him to help her as she slid under the water. “Séamus! Help me!” she kept shouting. “Help me!”
He sat up in the bed, grabbing for his pocket watch to check the time. Lighting the candle by his bed, he looked at the glass face. It was just past 2:00 A.M.
The dream had shaken him. Knowing that he wouldn’t fall asleep again, he got up to check on his father. He’d taken a bad turn in the last few days and the doctor had told Séamus to be prepared for the worst. Séamus stood for a moment, watching the frail old man’s outline until he caught the definite signs of the blanket moving slowly up and down with each labored breath. He walked over to the dresser then and cut himself a slice of bread.
“Séamus! Help me! Help me!”
The words kept replaying in his mind. He could see Maggie as clearly as if she were standing in front of him now: her small heart-shaped face, her lustrous curls falling naturally around her face, her wonderfully soft blue eyes and her small mouth, which formed into a perfect Cupid’s bow.
Trying to put the images of the dream out of his mind, Séamus turned to wondering whether she’d read his letters. He’d been unsure what to say when he first sat with the blank sheet of paper in front of him, but when his aunt Bridget suggested that he write about what he remembered most from each month of his relationship with Maggie, the words had flowed freely, openly. There was so m
uch he wanted to remember about his time with Maggie that he hadn’t struggled to fill the pages. But as he’d reached the final letter, the month they were in now, it had become harder to express his feelings about her going away. He knew she desperately wanted him to go with them, but it was impossible with his da so sick.
He’d pondered for many nights, wondering what to say to her in that final letter, until it had suddenly become very clear. How would she feel, he wondered, when she read those final words? Would she be pleased, or angry maybe that he’d made it impossibly difficult for her? Would she write to him from America with an answer? Would she write to him at all? He wandered back to his bed, closed his eyes, and tried to push the disturbing dream from his mind. He just wanted to be with her, wanted to protect her.
For an hour he lay in the darkness, unable to shake his troubled thoughts. Eventually he got up, dressed, and did what he always did when his mind was troubled; he went outside, to nature.
The pitch black that fell across the landscape at night was always dramatic but something Séamus found exhilarating, especially with the mass of Nephin Mór looming over everything—its brooding silhouette just visible against the dark sky. A light rain had fallen, bringing the distinctive smell of the wet, peaty earth from the ground around him. There wasn’t a sound as he walked, with a small lantern to light his way, down the narrow track that led from his father’s cottage to the Holy Well. He hadn’t intended to go there but felt somehow drawn to prayer. He knelt, crossed himself, and prayed for Maggie, and for all those she was traveling with.
He sat then in silence, staring up at the stars, imagining those same stars illuminating the sky above the vast Atlantic Ocean, where Maggie would be sleeping now. He closed his eyes and thought about her, willing her, wherever she was, to hear his voice. “I’m coming,” he said out loud into the silent night air. “I’m coming, Maggie.”