“They're not coming back,” Cora said to Ioan. “We'll have to wait for a ship to rescue us.”
Ioan's mind raced. His eyes darted up and down the deck. “Ioan,” Cora called. “Did you hear me?”
“This way,” he said. “Keep up.” He dodged crewmen and frantic passengers, fixed on some destination. Cora ran to match his pace. He led her back to the promenade on A deck. Lifeboat 4 descended near the windows.
“More passengers for you, sir!” Ioan called to the seaman in the boat.
“Here, miss! Quickly!” the seaman called, reaching for Cora. The boat paralleled the window. She could easily climb through into it.
“Go,” Ioan urged Cora. She didn't like what she saw in his eyes. “Aren't you coming with me?” she asked.
“No,” Ioan replied gently. “Not this time, love.”
“You'd better hurry, miss!” the seaman called as the boat lowered.
“Don't be stupid. You're coming with me,” she insisted.
“I can't keep running. I gotta stand my ground sometime,” Ioan told her. “It's just like you said.”
“Miss, give me your hand! We got to get a move on! I can't hold this boat for you any longer!” the seaman called to her.
“This isn't what I meant!” Cora declared. “Stop fooling around and get in the boat!”
“Miss!” the seaman snapped.
“Ioan, please,” Cora begged tearfully. “Come with me.”
“It's my responsibility to stay,” he told her. “I will find you. I promise.”
Cora never saw so much uncertainty in his eyes. She knew he said what he did to comfort her. He pulled off his coat and placed it over her shoulders. “Go on. Don't keep them waiting.” He pushed her toward the railing. Cora pushed back. “No,” she persisted.
“Right.” Ioan nodded. With one swift motion, he swept her into his arms and handed her to the seaman. The seaman swung her into the boat.
“Ioan, please!” Cora cried. “You don't have to do this!”
Ioan stepped away from the boat. “I love you, Cora. I always have,” he told her, and turned away.
“Please sit down, miss,” the seaman called. The boat dropped pass the window promenade. It wouldn't stop.
* * *
The ship tipped dangerously by the stern. The calm confusion turned to hysteria as the waves washed onto the deck. Frantic mothers scrambled the deck and shouted for their lost children. Not everyone got a boat, so the rest of them jumped.
Collapsible A and B remained attached to the officer's quarters. Officer Lightoller and Moody desperately tried to pull the frantic crew together and coax down Collapsible B. Ioan helped grab some spare oars and spars. They settled them under the boat like a ramp. “Cut the ropes! Quickly!” Moody ordered to the seamen on top. The water danced at their feet. Ioan tossed up his pocket knife but the ropes wouldn't cut fast enough. The sea snatched men in all directions. Finally the ropes snapped. “Steady!” Officer Lightoller cried as they pushed the boat forward. “Steady, I say!” The crew was panicked. They shoved the boat off the roof. The makeshift ramp snapped against the weight. The boat crashed onto the deck and trapped a man in his watery coffin. “Turn it over! Turn it over!” The men stumbled to lift the boat, but the ocean took them too. The waves yanked the lifeboat into the sea. Ioan held his breath as the water dragged him after it.
He seized a rope hanging from a davit. The icy waters tired his muscles. He shakily fought against the pull and dragged himself back on deck. The waves swallowed him again and a rush of adrenalin sent him running back to dry deck. His hat teetered away in the abyss. The waves would find him again. It was only a matter of time.
The band abandoned cheerful tunes. A violin sobbed “Nearer My God To Thee”. A cello and viola joined its lament. Passion burned out the cold. They didn't hear an ocean. Their eyes shut to a world ripping apart. Ioan didn't understand how they did it. They instilled valor in losing yourself to history. These were the mates he wanted to die with.
Ioan shivered tremendously and supported himself against the railing. He thought a lot about jumping. He estimated how many seconds it'd take to reach the bottom. A chef tripped and stumbled by. Ioan stared at him as he tackled deck chairs like a rugby match and threw them overboard. It was all good sport. “Wah! Take that you bastards!” he roared victoriously, hurling each chair overboard. He leaned over the rail and shouted, “You folks catch hold to that! Keep you afloat!” He rewarded himself with another shot of whiskey from his canteen.
“May I have a glug?” Ioan asked.
The chef slammed the canteen against Ioan's chest. Ioan took a swig. “This is shameful and unforgivably repulsive,” he winced “I like it.”
“Made it myself.”
“Disastrous,” Ioan gulped a mouthful down. “What's in it?”
“Don't matter. It hits you like soap, dun' it? You keep that one,” the chef told him. “It'll keep you afloat out there.”
Ioan grinned. He wouldn't bet on the chef's faith, but at least he was an optimistic dying man. “Good luck to you, sir.”
The chef saluted him. He stumbled on his way, hurling deck chairs as he went and guzzling down a spare canteen. “Folks, I got your chairs coming right up! Get your chairs while you can get 'em!”
Ioan chugged a few more swallows. “God,” he choked in disgust, but it was oddly effective. He drained the canteen as the band played on. He felt jittery and blissful, so much so that he wanted to play deck rugby too. The alcohol was quick. The chef left no more chairs behind so Ioan decided he better go get one.
He launched the canteen into the ocean. A deck chair floated about 5 yards away. He yanked his tie off and balanced on the edge. He felt like a circus girl, and beamed and nodded at his pretend audience. The ocean rolled over the deck. He whistled at it. “Come on. This way, this way!” he coaxed it. It lapped at his feet. He took a deep breath and jumped.
The freezing water gutted every inch of his body. It was beyond anything he'd ever felt. He kicked to the surface and gasped for air. He couldn't think for moments. He panicked as his hands searched desperately for anything to grab hold to. The veins in his hands constricted and blood pulled away. He kicked for the deck chair, which drifted steadily away. His arms and legs numbed but he knew he couldn't stop.
Finally, it bobbed at his fingertips and he pulled it beneath his chest. His blood churned by the screams in the air. The devil was at work. Ioan saw the ship's hull lift slightly above the water. Deck chairs and people slammed into each other, and bodies met solid metal. He would never forget the sound it all made. Never in his lifetime. He pushed the deck chair forward. He had to escape the ship's suction, but his body was shutting down. He approached his limit in the inexorable ocean.
A lifeboat floated indecisively nearby. The crewman at the rear pointed him out. “There's another one there!” he cried. “We have to go back!”
“Are you mad? We'll be swamped! Leave him be! If you want to save him, go swim for him yourself! It's our lives or his!” another shouted at the oars.
“But there's plenty of room! We can spare room for one more!”
“Do as the man says!” a woman spoke up. “There's no reason why we should watch that man die! How can you live with it?”
“Shut up all of you! We are not going back! Do you see what's happening back there?”
“All the more reason to go back!” the woman cried.
“This boat is going nowhere near that ship!”
The lifeboat pulled away. “Wait!” Ioan cried. His voice sounded strangely slurred. His vision doubled and dragged. His head felt heavy. It was agony to move any further. He was so tired. If he could just close his eyes for a moment, he knew he could make it to the boat. He just wanted a moment's rest. His head spun dizzily as the waves toyed with his deck chair. He thought of Cora. “If you take me this night,” he whispered to no one in particular. “'Least finish me off so my body is never found. She shouldn't have to remember me like this.”
Suddenly, the waves broke around him. He floated in midair then slammed roughly into a lifeboat. “There!” the crewman snapped. “The man is saved! Now will you shut up and bloody pull before we're all at the bottom of the Atlantic!”
“He's an officer,” the second crewman recognized Ioan's uniform. He hit Ioan's cheek to get him to come to.
“A dead one by the looks of it. Is everyone happy now? We've rescued a dead man. Go on and throw him back over. Only breathing people on this boat.”
“He's still alive!” the other crewman defended. “Just barely is good enough for me.”
Ioan couldn't move. He couldn't hear them shouting at each other. He did nothing but breathe. A woman took charge of him. She threw whatever blankets they could spare over him. Her fingers touched his cheek gently. “It's going to be alright, sir. Hold on just a little longer,” she whispered.
Ioan couldn't feel her. Her lips moved lazily in his vision.
Her gentle eyes turned away. The rest of the occupants followed her gaze. Ioan saw little behind her shawl, but what he did see haunted him thereafter. The ship ripped in half. The lights erupted and suddenly they were all in darkness.
“She's gone lads!” a crewman shouted. “Row! Row like hell!”
Chapter 2
“And now you, miss.”
Cora blinked. She stared at the seaman's pale hand. It was so bright and dreamlike. She thought she died over night. She realized she was the last person in the boat. Her knees still trembled. “I don't think I can climb,” she said.
“Not to worry, miss. You'll take the swing then.” He stood her up and sat her in the sling. “Hang on tightly,” he told her. The swing jerked and Cora clenched the ropes. “Easy, lads! She's a light one.” The waves swirled hungrily beneath her feet. She longed for the ladder instead. She closed her eyes tightly. “Hurry, hurry, hurry. Get me up,” she whispered to the crewmen reeling her in.
Sunlight chased away the perplexing night. Many prayed for morning, but no one knew it quite the same. A second class passenger perched on deck with a cold cup of tea. He escaped Titanic by offering his services as an oarsman. He'd felt lucky back then. He counted the remaining passengers rescued by the Carpathia. The lack of numbers disturbed him. Even scarcer were the men. He stiffened, realizing he'd be welcomed by shame and ridicule when they reached New York. He watched the last passengers stumble onto the deck. Survivors, but ghosts all the same.
He never saw a sight so tragic as a young woman pulled from the last boats. She'd seen all fire and brimstone. She was bad news to the women refusing to surrender hope. She was Titanic, a rare beauty transformed into a hollow skeleton. They draped a blanket over her shoulders. She never thanked them. She never moved a muscle. He saw the ruin of the ship again in her eyes, from the moment it struck the ice berg to the moment it was swallowed in two. He saw it all and it broke his heart. He could never imagine what loss she must endure and figured she needed assistance until she was well.
“Something hot to drink, miss?” he offered. Her haunting eyes turned on him. They were so glossed over and horrific that he was sure she'd cracked. A crewman approached them with pen and clipboard. “Could I get your names, please?”
“Blaze Eastman,” the man replied.
“And yours, miss?”
She stared blankly at him. “Madam, he will be requiring your name for the passenger list,” Blaze told her.
“Cora,” she whispered. “Harlow.”
“Thank you.” He turned away.
“Sir,” Cora called. She hesitated but proceeded carefully. “Are...are there any more boats, sir?”
“We've not accounted for all of the twenty. There are reports that two were overturned during the night but there were no passengers inside,” he told her.
“And of the crew? Are there any officers on board?”
“Only four officers accounted for. Their names are here.” He showed her the list. Cora's eyes scanned it over and over. Saier was not among them.
“What about Beatrice Luckett? Anyone by that name on board?”
“No, ma'am. No Beatrice Luckett on my list.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I am very sorry, miss.” He gave his sympathies and continued taking names.
The only way to watch a ship sink into the Atlantic was to hope. Hope that Ioan would keep his promise and meet her when morning broke. She never allowed herself to explore the alternative. Ioan didn't belong with the lost. She couldn't handle the idea. “I am here for you, Cora. I will take care of you,” Blaze comforted her.
“Another one in bound!” a crewman shouted. Deck hands rushed to the ladder and dropped the ropes. Cora scrambled to her feet but her knees were still shocked. Blaze took her arm over his shoulder to support her. “He needs immediate medical attention!” someone shouted from the water. “Have you a doctor aboard?”
“Grab the hammocks! Quickly! How many are there?”
“Two dead! One dying!”
Cora forced herself to the rails. “Miss, please stand back,” the crewman instructed. He didn't want to encourage other passengers to imitate her, but she wouldn't hear him. The hammock swung on deck. Her heart sped. She barely got his name out. “Ioan!” She frantically felt his face for warmth. “Ioan, you're so cold!” she declared. “You're like ice!”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You don't understand the meaning of it.”
Cora's teardrops rolled onto his face. “I don't know what to do,” she said. “Do I laugh or cry? I want to kill you.”
“Miss, please step back. This man needs a doctor,” the crewman told her.
“He needs someone to look after him,” she persisted. “So he won't fall asleep.”
“Get him below decks so he can warm up,” the crewman instructed his men. “The ship doctor will refer him to a hospital in New York.”
“God, I'm going to America,” Ioan said reluctantly. “Really, blokes, that isn't necessary. Patch me up with a bandage and put me on a ship back to England. I'll be better off there.”
“Stop complaining and be grateful they're taking the trouble,” Cora told him.
“And they leave me to the gobby American girl,” Ioan remarked.
“You're not doing such an awful job yourself,” Cora answered. His eyes blinked heavily. “Don't fall asleep. Keep talking to me. What do you plan to do in America?”
“I'm not going back to America,” Ioan said.
“Don't be such a baby.”
“You do recall the last time I was in America,” Ioan reminded her.
“I can't forget it,” she said.
“I'd like to forget it,” he said. “In fact, I was doing an excellent job forgetting prior to this inconvenience.”
“Then try harder to forget. Anything to keep from falling asleep,” Cora answered. Simpler to say than do. Forgetting hadn't been an option. Ioan was cursed to remember every detail regarding summer of 1901. It proved an awkward season, to say the least. Two adolescents shoved into a big fancy room, the best the girl's family could reserve. She was beckoned by her nanny through one door, and her reluctant visitor was shoved by his father through another. The girl took her seat delicately by the fireplace and waited, impatiently, but with the politeness demanded of her sex. The boy kept his silence. He looked everywhere around the room. He observed the maroon velvet drapes, the expensive Mediterranean carpets, the shapely chairs, the dark wooden tables carved with cherubs and harps, the teacups, and anything but at her. He stood aloof and distracted himself from her gaze, fiddling with the handle of an ancient colonial sword put on display. He was fascinated by the history and noted that Massachusetts was the heart of the American Revolution. He liked the thought of seeing Boston if ever he could spare the time.
The girl scowled at him. She would not tolerate invisibility. “Mhm?” she cleared her throat, which was astonishing manners for a lady. He turned to face her as if suddenly realizing she was in the same room. “Do you have the time?” she as
ked. He hesitated before pulling out a silver pocket watch from his coat. “3 o'clock.” He snapped it shut again.
“We've been here an hour?” she groaned. “It's pass tea time.”
“I can order you tea if you'd like. The attendants here are excellent. Or so I've heard,” he told her.
“I suppose we must say something, Mr. Saier,” she sighed, ignoring his suggestion. “We won't leave this room until we do.”
“What do people say when they are engaged?” he asked quietly.
“Ha!” Even her laugh was unbearable. “Don't you read, Mr. Saier? In the novels, after the gentleman asks for the lady's hand and declares his undying love, he carries her away on a horse and takes her to far away places for a romantic honeymoon like France or Africa.”
“You want me....to take you to Africa....on a horse?” he replied in disbelief.
“The horse is negotiable. I can not be seen on those hideous things. They have a murdering stench,” she complained.
“I like horses,” he told her. “My father used to own some.”
“Well I'm surprised you don't stink like them. I can't stand to be around the beasts,” she giggled. He couldn't stand that unnerving laughter. He took his silence again, turning his attention back to the painting of a colonial ship leaving port.
“So you're English?” she asked, competing for his eyes. “You don't talk like anyone around here.”
“Actually, I'm Welsh. Well, half. My father's English, but I prefer my mother's side.”
“Oh. My father forgot to emphasis just how much. You're speech is drenched in the accent. You sound like an attendant. 'May I take your order, ma'am?'” She laughed at her private joke. “If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought you were a manservant.”
“There are plenty of respectable persons, manservant and lord alike, who carry my accent, and they are all very good people,” he defended himself.
Once We Were Page 2