Seven Days in May

by Kim Izzo

  “We’s just playing, sir,” the boy with the yo-yo answered. “I’m not tossing it.”

  “It ain’t yours to toss, Mickey,” the other boy yelped. “That’s my yo-yo, and you know it.”

  “It’s not yours. It’s Molly’s,” Mickey said.

  Edward grinned. “Then I suggest you find Molly and return her yo-yo.”

  The boys grinned back sheepishly, then tore off down the deck. Edward’s easy bearing with the children touched Sydney. She had thought him too uptight to have fun with children and toys. Then again any man who could make animal sounds couldn’t be as stuffy as all that. Perhaps Edward was going to be a pleasure after all. There was only one way to find out . . .

  “Edward, I can stand the suspense no longer,” she said impatiently. “I know you don’t approve of me and the things I believe in but it’s my life. And quite frankly I love third class.” This wasn’t entirely true but surely deceiving oneself wasn’t the same as lying to another?

  She expected him to react, even overreact to her defiance. She assumed his view of the world would echo her sister’s. She was wrong.

  “I know you are well versed in the work of Margaret Sanger. I feel foolish for not guessing you were a suffragette when we spoke in New York,” he answered calmly. “After what you said about my sister I should have known.”

  Sydney bit her lip. “I feel badly about what I said,” she admitted. “I suppose I can’t help myself. There is no reason why Lady Georgina can’t go to college and make something of her life. A woman’s role doesn’t have to only be marriage and babies. She can be useful in so many ways. Contribute to society.” She stopped talking when she noticed that Edward’s gaze had returned to the ocean. For a brief moment she had hoped he would see her side. She waited and listened to the sound of the ship as it cut through the waves.

  “I love my sister,” he said after a few minutes. “I never imagined her living anywhere but Rathfon Hall, spending her days in that damn chair, reading, sewing, playing the piano . . . My home has never been a prison to me but after what you said at the Plaza, I wonder if perhaps Georgina feels caged. You’ve given me much to think about.”

  He smiled at her and she smiled back despite wanting to drive home that she hoped to give Georgina much to think about. But seeing that he was willing to listen and not stomp away gave her patience. England was still five days away and she could be very persuasive.

  “I envy you and Georgina. Your closeness,” she said sincerely. “Brooke and I have never been close, which I’m sure comes as no surprise.” His expression said it wasn’t. “Growing up without a mother should have made us thick as thieves.”

  “That is unfortunate,” he said.

  The breeze picked up again and a fine mist sprayed across the stern. Sydney decided that since he was determined to marry into her family then he should know everything. “The truth is, I’m staying in third class because Brooke and I quarrelled the morning we sailed and I—”

  “Wanted to teach her a lesson?” he asked.

  She stared at him. He knew how to read women better than she expected. “Yes, I suppose I did,” she admitted.

  “So you never had a headache or seasickness or malaria or whatever illness you both concocted?” He teased and waited for her answer.

  She felt dreadful. Lying had seemed the right thing to do at the time. But the dishonesty made her and Brooke look, well, dishonest. “I tend not to get ill, except for a little bit of seasickness,” she confessed. “We were wrong to lie. Brooke didn’t want to upset you. It was a spat between sisters and unfortunately you got in the way.”

  She felt silly admitting to their ruse. Here she was trying to come off as a sophisticated and worldly young woman with a serious cause to champion and instead she was confessing to what amounted to telling fibs with her sister to avoid a spanking. Edward suddenly seemed parental to her. She didn’t like the way the power had shifted between them.

  “Shall we walk?” he asked, and held his arm out for her. She took it and they walked along the deck.

  “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Why are you pursuing a life that will only result in scandal, ridicule and spinsterhood?”

  She glared at him. The parental figure was now replaced by a titled and entitled boob, wit or not. Her power flooded through her once again just as the wind picked up and the seas turned rough. Overhead the clouds blew about like ashen cotton. If the weather hadn’t turned for the worse she would have yanked her arm free of the man. Instead she had little choice but to cling to him as crewmen scurried about securing deck chairs and suggesting politely that they and other passengers nearby retreat inside. Men and women alike grasped their hats and pulled their coats tight as they scrambled for the doors.

  “I know a quiet place for us to continue talking,” Edward suggested.

  Sydney could think of few things she wanted to do less. He led her up a flight of steps into the Observation Room, a narrow companionway lined with portholes that overlooked the ship’s forecastle. It was as he’d said it would be, quiet and solitary. The only sound was the wind whistling overhead. Sydney had not seen this part of the ship and forgetting for a moment how annoyed she was, she darted toward a porthole to watch as the keen-edged bow cut through the waves like a swordsman on the battlefield. And a female swordsman at that.

  “The Lusitania’s a powerful girl,” Sydney said, watching the sea lift the ship, clutching her in its grip as though it would strangle the life from her. Then, as swiftly, it dropped her down, plunging her bow beneath its frothing surface. And again the sea raised her, but the Lusitania would not relent. “She’s like a mermaid. A beautiful, glistening sister of the sea,” Sydney said, her voice tinged with emotion. “It’s as though she is playing a game with the ocean.”

  From so high a vantage point Sydney felt the immense sway of the Lusitania beneath her. As though channelling the strength of the ship she cast her eyes at Edward. “The Lusitania is such a valuable and treasured ship in England, to the Royal Navy, even the Germans haven’t underestimated her.”

  Edward cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “It gives me hope,” she said.

  “What does?”

  “Ships are considered female, aren’t they? To my mind that means men are capable of valuing women as equals or on certain occasions as superiors.”

  Edward pursed his lips. “I don’t think it’s a reasonable comparison.”

  She returned to the porthole. There were clearer skies ahead. “I feel it is my duty to help women lead healthier and more independent lives.” She paused. “I think you would want the same for your sister.” Edward bristled at the mention of Georgina but remained silent. “I think it’s a human right to control access to our bodies, to control how we use our bodies. It should not be up to a man or men to tell a woman how she should feel, or what she should do. In fact when I return to New York I am enrolling at Bryn Mawr to earn my doctorate in social work.”

  He began to pace back and forth. She concealed her pleasure at having got to him with her words. Scandal. Ridicule. Spinster. You asked me to explain myself . . .

  “Sydney, you’re missing my point. What I’m after is, why do you care about this? Help me understand,” Edward interrupted. “Surely with your family name and wealth you never have to worry about being told what to do with your body or anything else for that matter.”

  He stopped pacing and waited. Sydney took a deep breath. If this man truly wanted to know then she would tell him. “You know our mother died when we were very young, I was only five,” she said. He nodded. “Do you know the circumstances of her death?” His face told her he did not. “Brooke doesn’t like to talk about it, nor do I really. She died in childbirth.” She paused; the years had done little to dull the pain. “After I was born she wasn’t supposed to get pregnant again. The doctors told my parents that another baby would most likely result in heartbreak. But she found herself with child a
nyway and with few options open to a woman in her position. I remember my father being very upset when she told him we were to have another sibling. I lay on her lap crying and shaking but no one explained to me why everyone was so distraught.

  “Then the birth came. It wasn’t a long labour. And as the doctor had warned, my mother perished, as did the son she had given her life for. You should have seen my father. The guilt. He disappeared into his study. Weeks turned into months as he tried to drink himself to death. To this day I can barely stand the smell of liquor. ‘I am to blame. I should have left her alone,’ he said over and over. He spent the rest of his life trying to make it up to us. Of course you can’t make up for a mother’s absence.

  “As I grew older and read about other women who found themselves pregnant, some against their will, and how few options were available to them I knew I’d found what it was I was meant to do. Contraception is a viable option to all women, yet too many people, men and women, find it disgusting and insist it should be banned. Of course most of these people are upper middle class. They haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” She stopped, thinking she’d gone far enough.

  “But your parents must have wanted to take that risk? Surely you can’t compare a poverty-stricken woman with nine children at her feet or a young girl taken advantage of with your own good mother?” he asked.

  “You’re right. They aren’t the same. But the issue of a woman’s choice is a personal one. I don’t want another child to lose its mother for a reason that could easily have been prevented. In any event, Edward, I believe you have your answer.” She smoothed her skirt, waiting for an argument.

  Instead Edward stepped closer to her, his hand reaching to her cheek. She froze, unsure what he was about to do.

  “A loose pin,” he said, holding the offending item between his fingers. “You really do need to consider a hat when outdoors, especially on such a breezy day as this.”

  She took the pin from him and unceremoniously shoved it back in her hair. She felt flushed.

  “I’m sorry about how you lost your mother,” he answered, and without warning reached out and took her hand. “You are a brave woman.”

  She swallowed. Her hand was wrapped up in his. She could feel the warmth, the firmness of him. Why hadn’t she worn gloves? Hat and gloves, were there no simpler parts of a woman’s wardrobe? They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment longer than was respectable. He smiled again. “And I must say that I envy you.”

  His words caught her off guard. “Envy me?”

  “Very much,” he explained. “Not only have you found your passion, however sad its origin, you are dedicating your life to it. I do not have such luxury.”

  Sydney understood him to be talking about his marriage to Brooke and she gently removed her hand from his, a gesture not lost on him.

  “You must find it difficult to respect me,” he continued. “I’m not sure I respect myself.”

  He had gone too far and this time Sydney grabbed his hand and held it. “Please do not imagine what I feel or think.”

  Edward stared down at his hand held firmly between hers and smiled. “Come, can you honestly say my marrying Brooke and taking her share of the family fortune sat well with you? If nothing else you must have thought me less than masculine.”

  Sydney pondered this. She had bared her soul to him moments before and not been ridiculed. He deserved the same. “You are doing what you have to in order to help your family. And you are off to fight in a war in which you might die. In my opinion both are sacrifices that only a true man could choose to make.”

  Edward bowed his head and presented his elbow. “Shall we continue our walk? Or would you prefer tea?” he asked.

  They made their way out of the Observation Room in silence. Dusk was settling in as the sea roiled like a grey blanket billowing up and down on a clothesline. All along the deck, crewmen lit the gas lamps and from somewhere in the ship the band had started to play.

  “Tell me, Edward, what is your passion?” she asked him. “I really want to know.”

  She watched his face. He was looking up at the sky. She followed his gaze to the darkening clouds overhead.

  “Flying,” he said. “I would love to fly an aeroplane. The Royal Flying Corps has a small squadron that is being used for aerial reconnaissance. I have friends in the military who contend that before long there will be battles fought in the sky. I’d like to be part of it.”

  Sydney was impressed. There was much more to Edward Thorpe-Tracey than a fancy title and ancestral land. “You are a patriot then? Or an adventurer?”

  “Can’t I be both?” He smiled.

  They reached the stairway entrance that led to her berth.

  “So have I convinced you to return to the Regal Suite?” he implored her.

  Sydney smiled. She didn’t want their time together to end. “I’m afraid not, but I enjoyed our conversation very much. Good day, Edward.” Then instinctively she placed her hand over his once more and squeezed gently.

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said.

  Sydney sensed a note of urgency in his voice and wanted to tamp it down.

  “You mean with Brooke?”

  “Of course, with Brooke,” he agreed. “I would like to know more about your work and tell you more about flying machines.” He was grinning now. His face was brighter and happier than she’d seen it before and he was far more attractive because of it.

  “I’m sure Brooke would love to hear about it—” she began.

  “No she would not,” he interrupted.

  Sydney was feeling uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken. She would not be drawn into a negative discussion about her sister. “Maybe not, but once you are wed she will likely buy you an aeroplane if you ask nicely.”

  Edward recoiled, hurt. Sydney regretted her harshness at once. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she said but the damage was done. Edward backed away and bowed once more.

  “Have a lovely evening, Sydney.” He turned and walked away from her. She watched his tall, lean figure march away until he disappeared into the dim light.

  Isabel

  The other girls in the boarding house had clattered down the stairs and off to their jobs hours ago. When she had returned home early she had feigned a migraine to Mrs. Ogilvie and said she was taking the day off from work.

  Up in her room she undid her hair, letting it fall in loose waves below her shoulders. She even traded in her studious grey skirt for a pretty summer dress—the only one she’d kept and one she would never dare slip on for work. She placed the day’s papers she’d bought to occupy her mind on the bed. The newsagent had shouted at her as usual when he thought she wasn’t looking. She was accustomed to reading the dailies during her breaks in Room 40, happy to be able to discuss the stories with the men as an equal just as Mr. Chambers had treated her, and not shy and retiring like so-called respectable girls. All this trouble that Mildred had created made her think of Mrs. Chambers. If Mrs. Chambers saw her amongst the men chatting about submarines and destroyers she would have a fit. Isabel smiled at the thought.

  She went to her vanity and picked up a lipstick. Staring intently at her reflection she swiped the colour across her lips. It was a deep red. The bright colour gave her complexion new life. Isabel studied her face. Then she got onto her knees and pulled a box from under the bed. Inside was the pair of red shoes George had given her. She sat on the bed and slipped one onto her right foot with all the care of Cinderella. Making circles in the air with her foot her initial reaction was joy at the memory, but with each spin of her ankle joy turned to wistfulness and then to sadness before stopping at anger. She ripped the shoe off. Shoved it back in the box with its mate and wiped the lipstick off with a handkerchief. I’ve no time for foolishness.

  She unfolded the Times and perused the endless coverage of the endless war. Battles and casualties on the Western Front, reports from the Eastern Front and the Russian armies, anti-German sen
timents, tips for homemakers in England to help with the war effort, all stuff that had become routine. Then she saw it: an article about the German warning given to merchant ships and ocean liners crossing the Atlantic and entering the war zone, just as Norton had told her. The Times had reprinted the warning that was in the New York papers on Saturday. The reporter had connected the warning to the RMS Lusitania.

  According to eyewitnesses several of the ship’s prominent passengers, including millionaire Alfred G. Vanderbilt, received anonymous telegrams warning them not to sail on the Lusitania because “she was doomed,” the implication being the great ship was going to be torpedoed. Of course this could all be rumour and fear mongering. Everyone, including those in the highest ranks of the Port of New York Authority, is aware that the wharves are crawling with German spies. According to Cunard the German warning did not lead any of the passengers to cancel. Cunard’s New York manager, Charles Sumner, was quoted in the New York Times saying there was no need for passengers to be overly concerned about the war zone as “There is a general system of convoying British ships. The British navy is responsible for all British ships, and especially for Cunarders . . .

  Taking a deep breath, she quickly checked the other papers. They all carried similar accounts of the warning and the Lusitania. It was too much to imagine. She cursed Mrs. Burns then and there. Isabel wanted desperately to be at Room 40, to be part of the solution in any way she could. Then the sound of the doorbell drifted up to her room.

  “Isabel! There’s someone here for you!” It was the landlady.

  “Coming, Mrs. Ogilvie!” she called down.

  “I’m sure your visitor can’t wait all day!” Mrs. Ogilvie shouted again.

  She looked at her wristwatch. It was after three o’clock. Isabel descended the stairs slowly so as not to appear as if she was fit as a fiddle. Mrs. Ogilvie was waiting at the bottom, eyeing her in her usual disapproving way.

  “Who is it?” Isabel asked meekly.

  “I put her in the sitting room,” the older woman barked.