Tom wrote a furious letter to the magazine, sternly reminding them that no ship was unsinkable. They printed his letter, but never actually made a retraction, and the newspapers that received a copy of the letter never printed it at all.
~~~
Despair numbed Casey, as if part of that Atlantic iceberg had settled in her chest. She moved through the days automatically, feeling alive only when Tom was around. Now, on the patio at Ardara House, she picked up the fussing baby and settled into a rocker, surrounded by the other women. Bees buzzed behind her in the surprising October heat, providing accompaniment to the squeals of children and the shouts of their fathers as they all played football on the lawn. As she nursed Terry, Casey closed her eyes and let the women's conversation drone overhead.
She hurt. Not in any specific part of her body, and certainly she had no injury. She just hurt everywhere, inside and out. Fear seemed to be an unavoidable companion. I don't want to be alone. The thought came again, as it had every day for weeks, filling her with chills. Tom will die with Titanic and I'll be alone in this century. She knew this wasn't true, that she had her children and Sam, and Tom's family would always include her. But none of them could provide the love and companionship she had found in Tom. It was not fair to him, it was wrong to place such responsibility on him, but it was true.
Her misery was interrupted as the children were herded inside for drinks and naps. The men began a rougher game of football. Little Jamie had escaped the women and stood at the edge of the patio, watching the game. At three, he was still too young to be in a game, and he had only played on the sidelines for a few minutes.
Casey laid her sleeping daughter on a mat and moved to stand behind Jamie, picking up another ball from the ground. He didn't notice her, his eyes following the men on the grass as they dashed back and forth. She could practically feel his longing, and she dropped the football in front of him, reaching to halt its movement with her foot. She didn't look at him, so that when he glanced up at her, she was searching for something several yards away. She motioned with her chin. "See those two birches beyond the roses?" He nodded and she looked at him appraisingly. "Right between them is our goal. Whoever kicks the ball through first, wins."
She kicked the ball, not hard. When his glance went briefly back to his father and uncles, she went after it, skirts lifted in both hands, feet nudging the ball quickly toward the trees. Not about to be left behind, Jamie forgot the men and raced after her, reaching the ball just as she prepared to give it an exaggerated, but gentle kick. He kicked hard, sending the ball to the right. Casey let go of her skirts in surprise as he ran to catch the ball. She took a long moment to lift her skirts out of her way before following.
He kicked it again, with more control. He kept up with it, instinctively moving in the direction of his goal. She caught up with him, but he turned to block her. The ball started down a slope toward the creek and he threw himself in front of it, blocking it with his stomach, then scrambled to his feet and kicked hard toward the trees. Casey whooped, and ran toward it, but it rolled haughtily through the goal and continued its interrupted trek to the creek.
He was right behind it, fishing it out before Casey reached him. He looked up, his face bright with joy that changed suddenly to alarm, as he shouted, "Look out, Mum!"
She turned in time to see the ball from the men's game heading straight for her. Briefly aware of Jessie's scream from the patio, and shouts of dismay from the men, she jumped to meet it. It bounced off her head, dropping a few feet from her. She lifted her skirts to run with it toward the nearest of the men's goals, defying their chivalrous concern for her safety.
Tom recovered first. He raced in, shouting to John to block the goal. He spared her no quarter, or at least not much, and the two of them wrestled with the ball to gain or keep control.
Exhilarated, Casey nudged them nearer her goal, occasionally using her long skirts to good advantage; Tom could not see the ball when she let them drop a bit, but she could always feel where it was. He laughed a bit in frustration, then took a chance and kicked where he thought the ball was. It escaped them both, but Casey was closer and she kicked it hard, startling John, who had not taken Tom’s order seriously.
As it sailed an inch above John's outstretched arm, accompanied by yells and whistles from the spectators, Casey's melancholy returned in full force, slamming her to a complete standstill, heart racing and lungs unable to fill with air. Tom touched her shoulder in alarm.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
She looked up into his anxious face, twitching once at the concern in his eyes, and her own fear. "Don't go."
"What?" He looked confused.
Her eyes flashed in sudden rage and she moved back a step, away from his arm. "On Titanic. I don't want you to go."
If she had turned him to stone, he could not have been more frozen. They faced each other, the breeze dancing through the trees and through Casey's hair, which had come loose from its pins. Willie's voice came to them just as a shaft of sunlight lit the ground at their feet: "Everything all right? Is she hurt?"
Tom raised an arm, keeping them all at a distance, as he continued to stare at Casey. The others drifted away, taking Jamie with them, mystified, but giving the couple space. Casey's chin quivered a moment, then she lifted it defiantly, returning Tom's stare; the course was committed and she couldn't take back her words.
"I have to go." His words sounded hollow, somehow.
She shook her head, slowly and carefully, her eyes still on his face. "You don't. We need you, Tom. I need you." Her voice was brittle.
"Casey." He licked his lips, holding his hand out in an attempt to be reasonable. "For five years, we've planned this. I've done everything you and Sam suggested, I've made every change I could, I've made every contingency plan. Would you have me send someone else?"
Guilt tugged at her. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. But her lips tightened when he spoke again. "Should I send George? Or Ed?" He searched her face. "They have families, too. Would you have me send them off, with no warning of what's to happen to them? With no knowledge of what needs to be done?"
He reached for her hand; she didn't pull it away, but made no effort to hold his. He continued. "You and I and Sam have worked out the best method for unlatching the lifeboats, for loading people onto the boats. We've worked out how to get the third class people up to the boat deck. I'm taking an extra pair of binoculars and I know to give them to the lookouts. I can make sure Captain Smith gets all the ice warnings. If I have too, Casey, I can sabotage the engines. Sweetheart, there isn't anyone else who can go."
Tears trickled down his face. She knew what this was costing him. He stepped toward her, putting his arms around her and she felt something loosen in her heart. She slid her arms around his waist. "I know you have to go," she whispered, not sure if he could hear her. "But I don't want you to. I will never want you to. I don't know how to live without you."
He tightened his hold on her. "There's never a guarantee about that, sweetheart, you know that. We always assume I won't die before April fifteenth, but we don't know anything about after that. It's that way for everybody."
"I know."
He began to stroke her hair, urging her to look up, but she wouldn't. So he just held her, and she listened to him whispering that he could never express how sorry he was for what he was asking of her.
Chapter 39
November 1911–April 1912
Tom had just arrived home and was in the library with Casey and Sam, when Mrs. Pennyworth appeared in the doorway, her arm resting lightly on the shoulder of young lad of about ten, who stood twisting his cap nervously in his hands. His gaze took in the three adults before he ducked his head and stared firmly at the floor.
"This is Johnny Peake," Mrs. Pennyworth said, her face tight. "He just showed up at the back door, sayin' he needs to speak with ye, sir." Her eyes flicked briefly to Casey. "He told me what it's about and I know ye'd like to hear him."
Johnny looked the question to Mrs. Pennyworth, whom he had evidently decided was his ally. The corner of her mouth turned up for a moment as she returned his look. "All of ye, I think, sir. T'would be best."
Tom nodded and held out an arm. Mrs. Pennyworth gave the boy a gentle shove into the room, before turning to leave.
"Perhaps some hot cocoa, Mrs. Pennyworth?" Tom asked. She nodded as she walked away. Tom eyed the nervous boy. "Sit ye down, Johnny." He held a hand out to Casey. "This is Mrs. Andrews, and this gentleman is Mr. Altair, my wife's guardian."
Johnny perched on the edge of a chair, his wide eyes going from one to the other, hands continuing to twist his cap. He was pale, freckles visible on his face. His foot shook, as if he were prepared to dash from the room at any moment. Casey sat across from him, and Tom let her speak first, hoping the boy would be less afraid of her. "You're out late, Johnny. Do your parents know you're here?"
Johnny shook his head, back to gazing at the floor again. "Nay, ma'am. I told 'em I was down the street at my mate's. They don't know anythin' about it, I swear."
"About what?" Tom asked.
Johnny was trying valiantly not to cry, but tears sparkled in his eyes as he looked up. "About that letter. After the riot. They don't know my little brother was 'ta one who wrote it."
Tom froze, seeing Casey slowly lift a hand to cover her mouth, as if to hold back a scream. He placed a hand on her arm, not taking his eyes off the boy. Sam stood next to him, silent.
The boy continued. "Was Sloan made him do it. He didn't know what it was, sir. He were only seven last year. Can't spell right or nothin'. He said Sloan spelled the words for him to write." He looked over at Casey, at the tears rolling down her cheeks, and his lips tightened. "It was in the paper. Our Da' brought the paper home and read it out loud to Mum. Said whoever wrote that letter should be skinned alive."
Johnny's whole body was shaking now, but he seemed determined to finish. "My brother never said anythin' to anyone. But he's been sick all year, his stomach hurtin' all the time and he stays in bed a lot. An' he keeps havin' bad dreams. Wakes me up all the time with his yellin'."
Johnny stretched the twisted cap, playing it like an accordion. "He finally told me about it last night. He's afraid Da' will skin him if he finds out." He looked up, his face earnest. "Da' wouldn't. I told him that. Da' meant the man who made the boy write the letter should be skinned, but my brother didn't know that. He's been scared all year. He said Sloan made him promise to never say he wrote it and he was real afraid to tell me. Sloan's mean, sometimes. I don't know what to do."
"Ah, lad." Anger, regret, and triumph warred within Tom as he stood and pulled the boy into a hug, holding him tightly. "'Tis a miserable world where our children are used as pawns in adult games." He stared at Casey over the boy's head, seeing all her emotions play across her face--compassion for the children, fury at Sloan, fear. He was filled with uncertainty. What was their next step?
"We can't pit a child against Sloan, in court," he said. Casey nodded.
"Aye," Sam said. "With no other proof, it would be the lad's word against Sloan's. Not good enough, I'm afraid."
"My brother's no liar!" Johnny was indignant.
"Of course not, lad," Tom said, letting him return to his chair. "But Sloan could say an adult had put him up to it. It wouldn't be fair to your brother." He studied Johnny for a moment. "Did your brother say if anyone else was there when he wrote the letter?"
Johnny nodded. "Aye, the usual men who help Sloan. Teddy Clotworthy, John Cone, Billy Irwin. He said they were waitin' by the door."
Casey rubbed her eyes. "I know what it's like to deal with them."
Tom sighed. "Yes. The same men who were helping Sloan when he confronted you at the shipyard." He shook his head. "But we already knew they would've been involved. They'll never betray Sloan."
Mrs. Pennyworth came in with the cocoa and they were all absurdly glad to see it. Johnny drank it as if it were liquid gold. Tom made a decision. "We need to help you, Johnny. This could put your whole family in danger. You may need to leave town. Do you have relatives outside of Belfast?"
He nodded. "Some have gone to America. My Mum's brother lives in Cobh. But my Da' has a job here. He works at the rope factory. He won't want to move away."
"I'll need to talk to your father, Johnny. He needs to know about this and decide how to protect all of you. I'll help in any way I can."
Johnny looked frightened. "If Sloan sees you talkin' to Da'…"
But Tom was shaking his head. "Nay, lad he won't. The owner of the rope factory is a good friend, and he'll arrange a safe place for us to talk. I'll do it tomorrow. In the mean time, ye should head on home. You'll have to let the grown-ups handle this. It won't be easy, I'll tell you. But you and your family will be safe. I'll make sure of that, myself."
Johnny nodded and stood. "What should I do?"
"Nothing." Tom slipped an arm around the boy's shoulders and led him toward the door. "It's best if you don't say anything. By tomorrow, this will be taken care of. But you don't want to scare your brother any more than he already is. Let me handle it."
Johnny nodded, with one longing look toward his empty cocoa cup before leaving.
~~~
The next day, Tom and Ham made their way to the rope factory and called Johnny’s father into the chairman’s office. “Ach, my poor lad.” Billy Peake rubbed his face, then curled his fingers in front of him. “If I could just get my hands around that Sloan’s neck…”
He looked at Tom, his eyes haunted. “My poor lad’s been so sick. My wife was afraid he was dyin’, it was so bad sometimes. All because of Sloan usin’ him like a grease rag!”
Tom’s cheek quivered in empathy. He knew how Peake felt. “We want to catch Sloan, Mr. Peake. We want him prosecuted and we want it made clear to these fanatics that we won’t tolerate them threatening our wives and children. But we need good, solid proof to do that, and I won’t put your son in danger, without it. You’ll have to decide: are you safe here? There’s a danger Sloan will find out your son told the tale. Or he’ll continue to use him for other things. He may even use the letter as blackmail, telling your son he’d be in trouble if anyone found out about it.”
Billy Peake was a big man but right now, he looked beaten. “I’ve got a good job here, sir. If I go somewhere else, how will I support my family?”
“I’ll see you have employment, wherever you decide to go,” Tom said. “I’ll see you’re moved safely and I’ll cover the cost of it. It’s my family that was the target, sir. I would not have your family suffer because of it.”
Peake nodded. “I appreciate it, sir. ‘T’wouldn’t be possible, otherwise.” He ducked his head. “I’ll have to talk to my wife.”
~~~
Two days later, Tom came home at three in the afternoon. He sat at the dining table with Casey and told her why he was home early, alternating between laughter and awe. “Those boys took matters into their own hands.”
“What boys? What do you mean?”
“Johnny Peake and his brother, little Willie.” Tom rolled his eyes. “If he’s anything like our Willie, he probably thought of the whole thing himself.”
“What did they do?” Casey was torn between concern, and amusement at Tom’s behavior.
“They got together with a troupe of older lads in the neighborhood. They all hid themselves in various spots and little Willie stopped Sloan on the street at the exact spot where they’d have a good ear. Told Sloan he was looking to earn some extra money so he could buy a bike. Since he helped Sloan with that letter last year, he was wondering if Sloan might have other uses for him.”
Casey stared at Tom in horror, her mouth hanging open, but she didn’t interrupt. His lips kept twitching.
“Seems they had an amia
ble conversation on the street. Sloan didn’t mind talking because he didn’t see anyone around. He told Willie he’d done a fine job with the letter but he hoped he remembered to never mention it to anyone. That if he had other work for Willie to do, Willie would have to keep it secret.”
“Willie was very assuring, saying he’d kept it a secret for nearly a year and could keep anything else a secret, too.” Tom paused. “He actually told the truth with that statement. He did keep it secret for nearly a year, but he made it sound like it was still a secret. Clever…”
“Thomas Andrews!” Casey’s voice carried a hint of threat, and he laughed again.
“I’m telling you! Willie even managed to mention my name and the fact the letter was written to me. So there’s no doubt at all. The boys went straight to the police. They arrested Sloan this afternoon. Came right into the Yard and took him and his cohorts to jail.”
Casey was breathing in deep gasps, unable to speak.
“Ah, lass.” Tom stood and pulled her into his arms, holding her until she calmed down. “It’s almost over, sweetheart. This is a big nail in their coffin. I don’t think the fanatics will recover from this.”
She gave him a gentle shove. “You’re proud of those boys, aren’t you? They could have been hurt, Tom!”
“Aye, it was dangerous. But they didn’t want to move away from Belfast. They’d have to leave their mates, you see.” He was looking at her earnestly, to see if she understood.
She shook her head, a small smile tugging her lips. “I can just picture you and your brothers planning something similar and trying to pull it off. Hell-raisers, I bet you were.”
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