by Diane Moody
Kate scooped the child from Gigi’s arms. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry! Joss? Jocelyn? Breathe, sweetie!” Kate patted Joss on her back. “Oh, Joss, BREATHE!”
A split second passed before the baby’s hysterical wail filled the cabin.
“Kate, is she all right?” Anya shouted.
“I don’t know! I should’ve left her in the hammock, but I—”
The ship slammed hard again, sending mother and child rolling across the floor. The bedlam continued, and with each jolt, more cries and groans and hysteria. Helen crawled to the door and opened it.
“HELP! We need help! Somebody—”
“Helen, go find help!” Anya shouted. “I think Agatha’s unconscious!”
Helen turned back. “Everyone’s rushing down the corridor! I don’t even know where to go or who—”
Joss screamed again, her blood-curdling cry obliterating all other conversation.
Helen grabbed one of the girls running down the corridor. “Please help us! We need a doctor!”
“No! There’s no time!” The girl pulled her arm free. “They’re lowering the lifeboats! Get out now! Get out!”
“What?!”
“We have to get out before—”
The ship banked hard again, knocking the girl to the floor and sending them all sprawling.
“You have to GET OUT!” she screamed as she got to her feet and tumbled out of sight.
“Oh God, save us!”
“We have to go!” Helen cried. “Anya! Gigi! Kate! We have to go before it’s too late!”
Suddenly, the ship rolled back the other way, rolling them again before pitching hard the other direction.
“Oh God! Oh God! Please help us!”
Part IV
42
6 February 1946
Chicago, Illinois
Danny leaned into the bitter cold wind gusting off Lake Michigan as he hurried to catch the train. A heavy snowstorm had blasted the state overnight knocking out power throughout the greater Chicago area. He’d awakened with a start, almost an hour late thanks to his lifeless alarm clock. After hustling to get ready, he almost collided with his mother downstairs as she padded her way toward the kitchen.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make some coffee in time before you go, Danny.” She tightened the belt of her chenille robe. “Power must have gone out hours ago, so my alarm clock didn’t go off. The house is chilled from top to bottom.”
He pulled on his snow boots and quickly laced them. “No problem, Mom. I’ll get some on campus.” He climbed into his coat and placed a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Gotta run. See you tonight.”
“All right, honey. Have a good day. Be careful out there. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
He hurried, shuffling his way carefully along the snow-covered sidewalk. Out of habit, he glanced across the street at Mrs. Martello’s house and her sister’s next door. A lifetime ago, on snowy days like this, he cleared the sidewalks for the two elderly ladies and most of the others on his street. He could hardly remember the kid he’d been back then, so young and naïve. Back then, his life revolved around school, the Cubs, his part-time jobs, and his dog Sophie. Then came college, the war, and Anya.
After a quick trolley ride, he arrived at the crowded station to wait for his train. Apparently his wasn’t the only dead alarm clock on the south side. He squeezed onto the next train, grasping the leather strap to keep his balance as it pulled out of the station. He closed his eyes and tried to regroup. Once he chased away the fog, he relaxed, thinking of Anya and how soon he would see her again.
Three days. Just three more days.
He could hardly believe it, after all these months. Eight long months. An eternity. They’d had so little time together in England, but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined it would take so long for her to join him here in America. He’d kept his focus on his studies, trying to bury his restlessness. He’d worked as many hours as the campus library would give him, and filled in the gaps by helping Joey at the theater. But staying busy only kept his thoughts of Anya at bay for short snippets of time.
I should never have left her behind.
How many times had those words trampled his mind over the past eight months? He should have stayed until she could travel to the States with him. Charlie pulled strings and remained in Framlingham. Why hadn’t he?
Surely there was some loophole he could have uncovered to either stay with her in England or fly back over to get her? The regrets stockpiled themselves on his heart again. He shook his head, too tired to think about it.
Later, he dashed across campus, aggravated that he’d missed his first class and anxious to make his second. As he took the steps of the classroom building, he noticed the sign on the door: CLASSES CANCELLED DUE TO POWER OUTAGE.
“Well that’s just great.” It never occurred to him the campus might be affected. He’d been so preoccupied, he hadn’t even noticed the sparse clusters of students milling about.
“Danny?”
He turned at the sound of Beverly’s voice, grateful that it no longer gave him pause. He rarely saw her anymore. He’d intentionally avoided her since that strange night a month ago when she broke down. Life was too short to risk another of her emotional meltdowns.
“Hello, Beverly.”
“Kind of strange, the campus all but deserted, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I didn’t even notice until I saw the sign on the door.”
“We’re working by lantern light in the admissions office. A bit surreal. They keep telling us they should have the power restored any time now, but here we are.”
“Does that mean I should hang around for my other classes?”
“No, it’s an official snow day so classes are cancelled.”
“Library closed too?”
“Yes, everything but administration. Lucky me.”
“Then I guess I’ll head back home.”
She caught his elbow. “I’m glad I ran into you, Danny. I’ve never apologized for my horrible behavior that night—”
“That’s okay, Beverly. No need.”
“I feel awful about acting like that, but I want you to know I’m sorry, and I’m also doing much better now. Mostly, I just wanted to thank you for being such a gentleman. I truly appreciate that.” She gave a funny smile, obviously embarrassed, but he could tell she was sincere.
“Not a problem. It’s forgotten.” He turned to go, and she fell in step with him.
“I heard about those war bride ships, and thought about Anya. But she’s already here, right?”
“No, her ship is scheduled to arrive on Saturday in New York. In fact, I’m heading there as soon as classes are over on Friday.”
She started to say something, then stopped.
“What?”
“Uh,” she paused again, offering a tentative smile before glancing away. “Did you see the paper today?”
“No, I was running late and—why do you ask?” He stopped and stared at her.
Something flickered in her eyes. “I … well, you should probably find a copy and—”
“Beverly? What is it? What do you know?”
“I just assumed you knew already. There was an article about some of the war bride ships hitting some pretty bad storms—”
Relief washed over him. “Oh, you must be talking about the Argentina. It ran into some bad weather and was a day or so late arriving in New York.”
“No, not that one. These are some that hadn’t arrived yet. The article said a couple of ships—or maybe it was three. I can’t re—”
“What ships? Did it give the names or where they were sailing from?”
“No, the article said the Army Transport office wouldn’t divulge the names of the ships until all the next of kin were notified.”
He felt sucker punched. “Wh—what? Next of kin? You mean the ships are lost at sea?”
Beve
rly reached for his hand. “No! I just meant … well, I don’t really know. That’s all it said. But I’m sure you would have heard by now if—”
He pulled his hand free and left her mid-sentence, racing back the way he had come, careful not to slip on any patches of ice. When he finally made it to the train station, he bought a copy of the Chicago Tribune and found the short article just under the fold on page one. There wasn’t much beyond what Beverly had told him. He ripped the article off the page and dumped the rest of the paper in a trash bin.
Ten minutes later, he found a seat on the train bound for home. The slow burn in his gut volleyed with the images floating through his mind. The Titanic sunk more than a decade before he was born, but he’d learned about the disaster in school. How well he remembered reading about the horrors some of the survivors lived to tell about. Is it possible the Wisteria hit an iceberg? Had rough seas caused the ship to capsize? If not, were there enough lifeboats? Anya was a fighter. He knew she’d never go down without a fight. Never.
He’d been staring at nothing in particular as the thoughts wrestled in his mind. He noticed both of his knees bouncing faster than he thought possible. He stilled them, dropped his head in his hands, and closed his eyes.
God, no. Not this. Please, not this. Not after everything Anya’s been through. Whatever’s happened, wherever she is right now, at this moment, please hold onto her. Give her courage. Give her strength. Whatever she needs, please give her. Oh God …
He would have sworn the ride back home was twice as long. By the time his train arrived at the 59th Street Station, he was standing at the door, ready to bolt the minute the doors opened. After a quick ride on the trolley, he sprinted home, and carefully rushed up the porch steps. His mother opened the door, her face etched with concern.
“Oh Danny! I’ve been praying you’d come back home. Did you hear?”
“Yes. Has anyone called?” He stomped the snow off his boots before pulling them off. “Anything on the radio about the ships?”
“No, nothing. Our paperboy was late this morning, so we just saw the article about an hour ago. About the same time our power came back on. I tried to call the campus to see if there was any way to reach you, but the switchboard said—”
“Classes were cancelled. I know, Mom.” She closed the door behind him as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the hall tree, then dropped his satchel beside it. “I need to find a telephone number to call. I’ve got to find out if one of those ships is Anya’s.” He took the stairs two at a time, pulling his sweater over his head.
“How can I help, Danny?”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “Just pray, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been praying since the moment I read the paper.”
“Good. Then just keep them coming.” He continued up the stairs just as Joey opened his bedroom door.
“Danny! Thank God you’re home. So you heard?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to find the contact information and start making calls.”
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know yet. Give me a minute, okay?”
“Coffee?”
“That would be great.”
He yanked open his desk drawer and found his folder of forms and letters from the Army Transport Company. He tucked the folder under his arm and hurried back downstairs where he pulled up a chair by the telephone in the front hall. He shuffled through the papers, wishing he’d kept them organized. When he finally found a number for the Army Transport Company, he dialed it. Busy tone. He dialed again. Another busy tone.
An hour later, he slammed the receiver down and banged his fist against the wall. “This is madness! How can the line stay busy this long? How am I ever going to get through?”
His mother appeared at the kitchen door, drying her hands on her apron.
“Danny, honey, just take a moment and relax. I know you’re frustrated, so why not take a deep breath and—”
“Mom, I can’t! I have to get through. I have to find out where she is right now. Right this moment. I can’t just sit back and relax, don’t you see?” The tone of his voice shamed him instantly.
She said nothing, just watched him, but Danny could see the concern in her eyes. She was only trying to help. A troubled sigh deflated his angst as he walked to her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mom. That was out of line.”
“It’s all right, Danny. I know you’re upset. We all are.”
“Even so, I had no reason to snap at you like that. And you’re right. I need to take a giant step back and try to think what else to do.”
“What about that fellow at the embassy?”
They both turned toward the family room where Dad sat in his favorite chair, hidden behind the newspaper. Joey joined them as they drifted into the room.
“Who do you mean, Frank?” Betty asked.
He lowered the paper just enough and glanced at them over the top of his glasses. “That fellow who helped Anya and her friends. The one who was there on Christmas night when they almost burned down the house.”
“Oh yeah,” Danny said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What was his name? Paul? No, that’s the other girl’s husband.”
Joey joined them in the living room with Millie and Jimmy right behind.
“Phillip!” Danny snapped his fingers. “His name is Phillip, but I have no idea how to find out what his last name is.” He raced out of the room and started up the stairs. “Maybe Anya mentioned it in one of her letters.”
“Can you call the embassy?” Millie asked.
He stopped and turned toward his sister-in-law. “You mean the American Embassy in London?”
“Just a thought.”
“Good idea. I’ll keep dialing. You go up and see if you can find his name.”
Danny turned again. “Right—”
“They can’t call in if you keep the line tied up.”
They glanced back at Frank, hidden again behind the paper, then stared at each other as the truth registered between them.
Danny froze. “Oh, good grief. It never even dawned on me. All this time, if they tried to call, they’ve been getting a busy signal just like I have. “I’m such a—”
“Joey, why don’t you run down to Aunt Lara’s house and use her telephone,” Millie suggested.
“That’s it!” He gave her a loud kiss on the lips. “Another brilliant idea from my gorgeous wife.” He dashed back to the hall and reached for his coat.
Danny held it up for him. “If you get through, just say you’re me and find out what’s going on, okay?”
“Right.” He pulled his cap over his head and wound a wool scarf around his neck.
Danny clapped him on the back. “Let us know the minute you hear anything, okay?”
“Will do. Same for you.”
Danny hustled back upstairs and pulled the cigar box from the lower shelf of his bedside table. When he found Anya’s most recent letters, he scanned them for mention of the American lieutenant who worked at the embassy in London. In her letter of 29 December, he found it. Powell. Lieutenant Phillip Powell. He stuffed the letter back in its envelope and slipped it into his shirt pocket.
A few minutes later, he knocked on the Zankowski’s door then updated Joey and Lara. After a long series of dead-end calls, he finally got a number for the embassy in London.
“Yes, I’m trying to reach a Lieutenant Phillip Powell.”
“Hold, please.”
For the first time that day, Danny felt a sliver of hope as he waited for the connection. He would gladly reimburse Lara, but at the moment he didn’t care how much the calls were costing; he just needed to talk to someone—anyone—who might be able to tell him what was going on.
“Lieutenant Powell,” he answered.
“Lieutenant! This is Danny McClain, Anya’s husband, calling from America.”
“Yes, Mr. McClain—I mean, Lieutenant McCl
ain, right?”
“Yes, but please just call me Danny. I’m hoping you can help me concerning news of the ship Anya’s on—”
“Yes, we’ve been monitoring the reports of the Wisteria and the other vessels caught in the storms. I was actually about to call you, when I was called into two back-to-back meetings.”
“So it’s true? Anya is on one of the ships?”
“I’m afraid so. We lost contact with the Wisteria late on Sunday eve—”
“Sunday?! Why wasn’t I notified? That’s been three whole days!”
“Lieutenant—I mean, Danny. I understand your frustration. But please understand, we’ve tried to make absolutely sure we had all our facts straight as there have been so many unfounded rumors and unsubstantiated newspaper stories covering these ships. Case in point—the rumors that one of our war bride ships was attacked by a German sub drowning all souls aboard. Utter nonsense, but it took massive amounts of manpower to put out the firestorm it caused. Which is why we have to—”
“I understand, Lieutenant. That makes perfect sense to me. I had no idea that sort of thing was going on. But is there anything you can tell me about Anya’s ship? How can a luxury liner lose all contact? Aren’t these boats equipped with telegraphs?”
“Yes, but their range only covers a few hundred miles to the nearest vessel. Then those vessels pass along information to other vessels. A relay system, if you will. The last message from the Wisteria reached a Canadian ship called the Newfoundland that was approximately 350 miles from them. The Wisteria issued a CQD wire at 11:30 that night—”
“CQD?”
“It’s the British version of SOS. A Morse code signal alerting ‘All Stations, Distress,’ requesting all other sending and receiving be stopped in order to leave the wireless channel open. The Newfoundland responded that they too were fighting treacherous storms. The Wisteria telegraphed them saying they’d had a fire in the engine room and needed assistance. Unfortunately, the message was cut off before Wisteria gave her coordinates, and they have not been heard from since.”
Danny felt a knot tightening in his gut. He turned around to look at Joey and Lara and noted the worry etched on both their faces. He slid down the wall, landing clumsily on the hardwood floor.