by Lisa Shea
He shook his head. “No. My dreams always ended there.”
I nodded. “All right, then. So what happens here probably will happen soon. We need to be ready for it.”
He ran a hand tenderly through my hair. “I have only just found you. Will I lose you again so quickly?”
He took in a breath and a shadow crossed his face. “Will you and I survive the sinking?”
My throat went dry. “I don’t know.”
His brows drew together. “But I had the sense that you had visions of the future.”
“I know the broad strokes. I know when the Titanic hits the iceberg. I know the tragedy that ensues. I know a few of the names of those who lived and died.”
His gaze was heavy. “But not ours?”
I dropped my eyes. “No. Not ours, nor any of our family members. I just don’t know.”
He looked back toward the main part of the ship. “Maybe if we warned the captain and the crew –”
I shook my head. “You remember the dreams. We won’t be taken seriously. And I don’t think we can change what is to come. We can only ensure that our part is done properly. That we do our best to help where we can.”
Robert took my hands in his. “You knew, in Warsaw, to seek out Irina. Who should we seek out here?”
I looked out over the sea of humanity. At all the people who would soon die. Many of them would be trapped behind locked gates, struggling to get free. Others – hundreds of others – would simply sit in their common rooms and wait to be told when it was their turn. They had become so beaten down by their governments that they did not think to risk acting for themselves.
My voice was tight. “I don’t know … I just don’t …”
There was a scoffing noise from behind us, and we turned.
Anna and Sofia were standing there, staring at me as if I were a cockroach discovered on a fine linen tablecloth. Sofia’s voice was high. “Good grief. Her again? Robert, don’t tell me you actually know her.”
Robert moved protectively in front of me, his eyes flaring. “I’ll advise you not to speak of Elizabeth in that manner.”
Both pairs of eyes blinked in surprise. Anna found her voice first. “You mean you’ve actually met her before?”
Robert’s face hardened. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s a human being – one with more tenacity, courage, and grit than I’ve ever seen before in a person. She deserves to be treated with respect. If you’d spend even five minutes with her you’d realize that.”
He took my arm. “Come on. We’ll go down to the Palm Court and get some food into you. We’ll figure this out. Together”
I went with him, down the elegant staircase, and into a beautiful lounge area with pale wicker chairs, black-and-white wall décor, and towering palm trees.
I remembered the scene from the movie.
I shook my head. This was real. This was real, and live, and over a thousand people would die.
My vision became blurry again, and Robert guided me to a chair. He spoke with a waiter and in a moment a cup of tea was placed before me, along with a cucumber sandwich.
I ate the sandwich mechanically, then drank some of the tea. Calm began to flow back into me, and Robert gave me an encouraging smile. He held my hands in his across the table. “That’s better. The color’s returning to your cheeks. Just take a few deep breaths.”
I looked around me at the beautiful vases of flowers; at the delicate china and the quiet murmurs of other patrons. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s so much like the movie. It is other-worldly.”
He blinked in surprise. “They made a movie about this?”
My face shadowed. “You know how movies love to market despair. Romeo and Juliet. Hamlet. Maybe it helps make people feel better about their own lives, to see what others have suffered.” I glanced to an elderly couple at a table in the corner; they were tenderly holding hands. My vision wobbled. “Except that right now, it is these innocents … these helpless innocents …”
“We are here to do something,” stated Robert, his voice encouraging. “We just have to think. You said you saw this movie?”
I could only nod.
He leaned forward. “Then close your eyes. Remember the scenes. You said you cannot prevent the tragedy. But perhaps we can help to save some. I know we can.” He gave my hands a squeeze. “Think of what happened in the story. Movies like to triumph how human spirit overcomes all odds. Surely there was something in the movie that brought hope in the darkness?”
My mind raced through the scenes, discarding the personal interactions between Rose, Jack, and the others. Those had been added to bring personal interest to the story. I was looking for something more authentic. Why had boats gone out half-loaded …
I looked up to Robert. “The gates.”
His brow creased. “The ones that separate first class from the others?”
I nodded. “The movie made it seem like it was snobbery which had those gates closed. But I remember discussing it in my history class. The separation of classes was more an immigration issue.”
I waved a hand at those around us. “The first class passengers have clean bills of health and can disembark without any additional processing. But here, in this time period, the third class passengers need to go through proper health screening before they can be accepted on shore. Otherwise there could be horrific outbreaks of cholera, the plague, and even trachoma. Heck, even polio used to kill a half million a year until the vaccine was developed.”
He stared at me. “They’ll have a vaccine for polio?”
I nestled his hands in mine. “So much of what you fear right now will soon be a distant memory. But today, and now, they are enormous threats that the border officials are correctly keep an eye out for. That’s why those gates exist. So that the potentially contagious and unchecked passengers can be examined and treated before they descend into the nearly five million people of New York City. Just look at Typhoid Mary.”
“I did read about her,” murmured Robert. “It was in a research article, four years ago. She carried the typhoid bacteria but didn’t have symptoms herself. She worked as a cook and infected family after family with her illness. Even though she was repeatedly told to stop cooking for people, she just didn’t understand the threat. She thought the government was inventing the connection. She made over fifty people sick and at least three died.”
“That’s it. And that’s what the gates are meant to prevent. They are to keep the not-fully-health-checked passengers in a quarantine of sorts. That way they can be evaluated one by one before they enter the United States. The classes weren’t just about elegant dining rooms. They were about segregating health risks. Those paying for first class were paying to stay in the healthier part of the ship. Sort of like paying to stay in non-smoking. And the gates were the way that those healthy passengers were kept separated from the potentially unhealthy.”
“So where does that leave us?”
I looked into those tawny eyes. “When the ship runs into the iceberg, it’s not that the crew members locked the gates to keep the lower classes down. It’s that the gates were simply already closed for health reasons – and they weren’t opened. The crew didn’t realize there was a serious problem and that the normal quarantine procedures needed to be overridden.”
My gaze shadowed. “By the time the ship really did begin to sink, those same crew members were frantic trying to deal with lifeboats. All thought of opening gates was forgotten.”
His eyes held mine. “So those other passengers were trapped behind them?”
“There was a way around them. Stories tell of a steward who helped some of the third class passengers navigate the maze of hallways to make it up onto deck. It’s true that nearly all first-class women survived but only half of third-class women survived. Still, the fact that a half of the third-class women made it to safety made it means they had help. If we can’t get those gates open, we can map out the routes. And, when the
time comes, we can guide them out.”
His gaze held mine with that strength and courage that I knew so well. “Let me learn the routes. We’ll make sure you get onto one of the first lifeboats. Then, I promise you, I’ll do whatever it takes to get as many innocents out as I can.”
I gave a wry smile, looking into those tawny eyes. “What do you remember, from those dreams of yours? Will I run away while you face the danger alone?”
For a moment he was lost in the distance, lost in those hardships we had faced together. Then his gaze steadied and he nodded. “Whatever you choose, I will be there by your side.”
The look in his eyes took my breath away. I could barely put voice to my words. “I know you will.”
I drew to my feet. “Time is short - let us begin now. We have just a few days to prepare.”
He took my hand in his. “It will be enough.”
We moved out onto deck. Robert stepped to the railing. He looked out at the sea. “It seems so tranquil. And to think …”
He turned to me. “And to think we have only just met.”
I stepped to him. My mouth quirked into a soft smile. “Pompeii was a long, long time ago.”
He ran a hand along my hair. “You risked your life to save me, then.”
“You risked your life for me in Scotland,” I reminded him.”
We looked out at the laughing, joyful people below us in the second and third class decks. His gaze firmed. “And now, together, we will do what we can for these innocents.”
An older couple in their sixties drew to a stop beside us. The woman, her face creased with wisdom, smiled at us as she nestled more closely into her husband. “Ah, Isidor, I remember when we were that age.”
His eyes twinkled. “Twenty-two you were, and a beauty. And now we have seven fine children.” He looked over at Robert. “May you two have the same fine fortune we did.”
I looked at the couple with growing understanding. “You are the Strausses. You own the Macy’s chain.”
He nodded. “Yes, that is us.”
My gaze went to her. “And you – you adore Isidor. You would refuse to leave him.”
She laughed at that. “Absolutely. Where he goes, so do I.”
I drew against Robert, my eyes on the couple before us. “You have had forty wonderful years together. If Robert and I have but three days of that same heartfelt love, I will count ourselves fortunate beyond all measure.”
She grinned. “Start with this moment. And then the next. Life can be fickle. What matters is how you live each breath. How you act with honor.”
I could not hold back. I impulsively stepped forward to embrace her. This was the woman who had a seat in a lifeboat – and she gave it up to remain on board with her husband. And he would not go until he was sure every child was safely away.
They died, together, in each other’s arms.
Her eyes were shining when she stepped back. “You are a good lass. Go, enjoy your time with your love. This will be a trip to remember.”
“We will treasure every moment,” I vowed to her.
They faded into the crowd, and I turned to Robert.
His eyes were fathomless, the unknowable depths of the ocean, and they held mine. “Where do we begin?”
I stepped to him. “Just hold me.”
His arms came around me, I breathed in his scent, and I closed my eyes. I knew without question we would be lost when the Titanic went down. I also knew, without question, that we would be together. And that we would do everything in our power to put every last innocent we could onto one of those lifeboats.
I would treasure every second I had with him by my side.
A noise sounded from the distant deck, and I felt the tremor of motion run down his arm – but he stayed in place. He sheltered me, protected me, and held me close.
A tear ran down my cheek.
It was all right.
It was time.
The jolt was gentler this time. Less a wrenching loose of all my atoms. More a swirling of a waltz. A spinning … a spiraling …
Blackness …
*
Someone was shaking me awake. I blearily opened my eyes. “What is it?”
My stepmother’s face was above me in the darkness. Her hair was disheveled and she wore a long, white nightgown. In her eyes was an emotion I’d never seen before.
Stark fear.
Her voice was a tense whisper. “They’ve come. We’ve got to get you to safety. Your father is downstairs at the door. Quickly.”
I threw off the blankets and climbed to standing. The wood plank floor was cold beneath my bare feet. I was dressed in a white nightgown similar to hers. A pair of windows looked out into a starry night. I could see a row of buildings across the street, but I couldn’t make out details in the moonless night. My room seemed to have the bed, a dresser, a bureau – but what time was I in? What location?
A loud slamming noise came from below, and my stepmother grabbed my arm. “Run!”
We fled through the door and into the hallway. Tiny details glinted at me as we raced. Framed portraits along the hall. Polished wood on the bannister as we skipped down the curving staircase. The house was a large one, and seemingly well appointed, judging by the larger furniture in the downstairs entryway.
My father stood by the door, flanked by a pair of servants. He held a flintlock pistol in his hand, the curved handle and gleaming wood barrel shining in the light of the candles along the side table.
My mind scrambled. When were those popular? Sixteen hundreds? Seventeen hundreds?
Where were we?
He spun to us, his eyes haunted. “God, Elizabeth, get to safety, I don’t know how long –”
Crash.
A rag-tag collection of men tumbled into the door, waving flintlocks, swords, and rifles. Many had fabric laced around an arm or waist in the colors of red, white, and blue. The one at the front aimed a flintlock at my father’s head, and the rest swarmed in to grab a hold of me, my stepmother, and the servants.
A taller man stepped in, his hair grey, his eyes drilling into us with cold dismissal. His mouth snapped out the words.
“Liberté. Égalité. Fraternité. You Parisian aristocrats have lived off innocents for far too long.” His tone became icy. “You shall be made to pay for your crimes.”
I sagged against the soldier who gripped me in an iron-tight vise.
I was in France.
The French Revolution had erupted.
And the Reign of Terror had unleased its full awesome power on the world.
9 – Paris Destiny
My heart hammered against my ribs as the revolutionary soldiers yanked me out into the dark streets of Paris. The high, stone buildings around us were silent, the windows tightly shuttered. Undoubtedly all other residents wanted to draw as little notice to themselves as possible. To avoid the wrath of the Terror.
I knew their safety was short lived.
A tall, covered wagon waited on the street, four horses harnessed to it. The older soldier with grey hair pulled open the door on the back and I was roughly pushed inside. I made my way to the front of the bench and sat down, wrapping my arms around my nightgown. In a moment my stepmother was at my side. My father took the spot opposite us both.
He reached out and took each of our hands in one of his own. His eyes were tense with worry. “I’ll get us out of this. I promise you, I’ll keep us safe – somehow.”
My stepmother’s voice rose high. “We have money. Lots of it! Surely we can bribe our way out. We just have to figure out how much they want. Maybe that silver candelabra that your mother gave us. That might get us back home again.”
I looked to my father, and I saw the same bleak knowledge in his gaze. Whatever we had owned, it was now in the hands of the revolutionaries. They didn’t need our permission to take it. As far as they were concerned, it was already theirs.
My voice was tight in my throat as we jerked into motion. “The Bastille was stormed and dis
mantled before the round-ups began. Where do you think they are taking us?”
He glanced out of the barred window in the rear door, watching the passing buildings for a long moment. The horses’ clip-clop echoed into the far reaches of Paris, the city otherwise as silent as a tomb.
At last he wearily sighed. “The revolutionaries have been killing priests, confiscating the holy relics, and using the churches for all manner of abomination. I imagine we might be held in the Church of Saint Robert. It’s the closest one”
My heart quickened. “Saint Robert?”
He nodded and pointed. “Look. We’ll be there in just a minute.”
Indeed, it wasn’t long before we were pulling up to a small but well kept church. A pause, footsteps, and the wagon’s door was wrenched open. The soldiers climbed in and reached toward my stepmother.
She stood, her eyes haughty. “I can walk out on my own.”
To my surprise, they stood back and let her step out of the carriage. I followed behind her, and my father emerged last. Once we were together on the cobblestone street, we made our way up the church’s wide stone stairs to the open wooden doors.
The pews within had been piled to either side like children’s toys abandoned after a day of play. There were no candelabras, no decorations of any kind. The stained glass windows had been splattered with dark paint of some kind, obscuring whatever scenes they had once depicted. Only tall pillar candles guttered in various corners, offering flickering lights and shadows.
The grey-haired leader nudged his head toward a door in the far wall. “Take them down to the storage room. We’ll keep them there until the tribunal convenes in the morning.” His cold eyes grew hard. “And then the tricoteuse shall have their show.”
I swallowed. The tricoteuse were the knitting women. Those who took the front seats at the executions, knitting their liberty caps, enjoying the decapitations as a pleasant day’s entertainment.
Tomorrow it could be my family which was marched up those grisly steps. My family who would kneel and place our heads in the guillotine’s maw.