“Few get that on first try,” he said. “You’ve been practicing with more than Anna.”
“I haven’t. This is my first time on a formal dance floor ever.”
“Well, then,” he said, turning me backward for eight steps. “You are a quick study.”
“In more ways than one,” I said.
He smiled at me. “I’m understanding that more and more.”
Embarrassed at his praise, and irritated that I lapped it up like a stray kitten coming across a bowl of milk—from Hugh Morgan, of all people—I lost track of the music and stepped down on his toe.
Caught, our knees cracked together, and we both winced. If he hadn’t responded immediately, we might have ended up falling. But he quickly took command, easing me back into the dance. “Let me amend that…” he teased with a gentle smile.
“I’ll get it in time.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, Cora,” he said in my ear. Did his hand at my back caress me slightly as he spoke those words? Or was it merely me, becoming more aware of him touching me? I shifted, uncomfortably clear that he was now pressing a new advantage. I’d cracked open the gates…
And yet, as Lillian danced past us in the arms of a handsome young man, then Nell, giggling in Andrew’s arms at something he’d said, I remembered the water fight in Montana, when I’d glimpsed what having siblings would feel like, and felt a measure of it again. Not begrudging half siblings suffering my presence, but whole siblings who wanted me there. What is it, Lord? What do You want me to take from this summer?
I would’ve missed this, I thought, as Hugh led me about the dance floor, had we had the resources to fight Wallace Kensington. I would’ve missed knowing how to dance more than a square dance in the Grange Hall. Knowing about things like fine gowns and gloves and etiquette and food like I’d never dreamed of and ships with dining rooms that sprawled as big as eight houses.
I liked knowing about these things. Learning. Growing into something more, something far grander than I’d ever imagined. And then I felt a stab of guilt, thinking about Mama and Papa. Had they not raised me to be everything fine? Regardless of what I looked like on the outside and ate, were they not the ones who taught me to be loyal and strong and forgiving and honest and hopeful? Had they not shown me that true worth came from my life in Christ, from who He’d made me to be? Yet here I was, becoming quickly as shallow as Lillian, as superficial as Vivian, allowing Hugh’s hand to drift ever so slightly downward…
The stab of guilt shot straight to my heart.
Oh, Lord, I sighed even as I danced, forgive me. In many ways, I am as self-centered and shallow as they are. The song ended, and I smiled empty thanks up at Hugh. I saw other young women send lingering glances his way and knew he would dance as long as the musicians played.
“Don’t go far, Cora,” he said, kissing my gloved hand as the last note ended. “I’d like another dance.”
“Perhaps another evening,” I said. “I do think I’ll retire now.”
He looked me in the eye, then dipped his head. “Very well. I’ll regretfully allow you to escape,” he said with a nod. Then he turned away and approached the prettiest girl on the far edge of the floor. So, he’d been scouting his next dance partner even as we danced, even as he made me feel like I was the only girl he had eyes for. I laughed at myself, wondering at my foolishness. I didn’t even care to flirt with Hugh! But I’d been drawn in like a silly twit. I’d have to keep my mind stalwart when he came around. There was something subtle about him—something like the tiny tropical vines I’d read about, those that grew inches in a day, gently winding, entwining around objects, until they were engulfed. Lord, I’m going to need Your help, I added to the prayer I’d uttered before.
I left the dance floor and moved to the deck door, suddenly eager for some fresh air. Here in the Grand Saloon, it was suddenly warm, thick, close. My dress felt sticky, more clingy than ever. A steward opened the door for me. “Care for an escort, miss?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” That was something else I’d discovered about my new first-class life. People believed a woman incapable of making it minute by minute without assistance. As if she had to be watched every second. Was that part of what drove Andrew and Hugh to watch over Nell, without their mother in attendance? A shiver ran down my back. I rather liked my independence. I didn’t need Felix or any other man considering what step I should take next.
I moved to the deck rail and inhaled a long, deep breath of the cold night air. It instantly steadied me. I glimpsed stars and moved to a portion of the deck free of lifeboats, where there was nothing but sea and sky before me. The lights of the ship reflected in the waves far below. I continued walking toward the bow, loving the feel of the wind on my face and the sound of the water as we cut through it. I grabbed a blanket from a deck chair abandoned by someone who’d paid the steep dollar rental for the day, knowing that while the air felt good to me now, in minutes I’d be chilled.
An officer walked by me, giving me a slight bow with his hand on the brim of his hat, as if he intended to take it off but didn’t. “Good evening, miss.”
“Good evening.”
I kept going, skirting the wide deck in front of the bridge, until I was at the very front of the ship. No one else ventured here this night, perhaps electing for the more sheltered walkways, protected from the elements. But I welcomed the fierce wind whipping at my gown, plastering it across my legs, between them. I pulled the blanket closer around my shoulders like a shawl, glad I had it when I was finally at the front of the ship. Here I could feel the rise and fall of the giant Olympic as she crested each massive wave. I sensed no weakness within her and wondered again at her sister failing her passengers just a year before. She felt strong enough to slice through ten icebergs.
I was glad I’d yet to suffer seasickness, but here, feeling the rumbling, submerged power of the ocean, my stomach flipped. Dark skies, littered with a canopy of stars between banks of clouds, met the sea ahead, building on the front end of a storm that the captain had warned us of at dinner. I reached out to grab the cold metal railing with each hand, my feet splayed for better stability, and watched as the dark waves rolled near and we conquered each one. Climbing, cresting, cascading down the far side.
It came to me then.
With God’s help, I could conquer the seas ahead. Whatever storms I encountered on the path before me. I was not alone. My God traveled with me. What I’d learned from Mama and Papa was with me still. God makes me strong, I thought, capable.
Yes, the storm was daunting, but I had only to take each wave as it came.
CHAPTER 14
William
From the concerned look on his face, it seemed Uncle Stuart had been shaking his shoulder for some time when Will finally came to and sat up, reaching for the bedpost to steady himself. Somehow he had been able to sleep even as a storm railed against the Olympic.
He and his uncle had been through rough seas before. But this storm was clearly different.
“They’ll need us,” said the elder man. “Get dressed. I’m heading up.”
Will nodded and watched as the portly older man made his way to the second-class cabin door. It slammed behind him.
How would Nell and Lillian fare in the face of this storm? After all the talk of the Titanic? And Cora? A girl of the plains?
He’d watched her leave the dance floor after dancing with Hugh, exiting to the deck. Trailed her to the bow, where she stood at the very front, like the masthead of a pirate ship, her hair unraveled and flying behind her, along with her skirts. He thought about approaching her, escorting her in, but he sensed she needed the moment alone.
So he’d kept to himself, leaning against a wall in the shadows, keeping watch over her but not interrupting. Observing as officers and deckhands passed, each eyeing the lady at the bow in curiosity and appreciation. Rubbing his hands as the evening’s chill seeped into his bones. But still she stood there, as if she had become one with the shi
p. He didn’t leave, her father’s entreaties to watch over her ringing in his ears, until she turned from the rail.
He’d slipped down the deck and between two lifeboats, waiting until she passed within ten feet of him, looking magnificently windblown, alive, and chilled, and then disappeared inside like an apparition, a mermaid who’d sprouted legs, claiming an ancient human heritage.
If this keeps up, we might all wish we were mermaids and mermen tonight, he thought, trying to pull on his trousers and landing painfully against a post as the ship lurched from one side to the other, out of rhythm with its previous cadence. A rogue wave? Outside his door, he heard men shout and women scream—one nearby. The cabin across from me? The big ship slowly returned to its previous climb and sway.
Quickly, he finished buttoning his trousers and went to the door, his shirt hanging out, his feet bare. He reached for the door, timing his movement with the next wave, moving forward as he held out an arm to either side of the hall walls when the following wave rolled through. He looked upward, thinking of his clients and his uncle, but he couldn’t ignore what he’d heard. He knocked on the cabin door across from his.
An older man, balding and gray, swung the door open with the next wave. He lurched back with it.
“Whoa,” Will said, reaching out to steady him. “You all right, sir?”
“We’re…we’re hurt. One of the beds wasn’t bolted down right. It fell over. My wife…”
Will peered in. The electric lights flickered. But he saw her leaning forward in her nightgown, with her head in her hands. Long gray waves of hair flowed on either side of her face. Her head was bleeding. And the man held his belly, as if he, too, was in pain. “Let’s get you two to the doctor,” Will said.
He moved in. “I’m Will McCabe,” he said to the man.
“Oscar Welch,” said the husband, giving his hand a tentative shake. “Think we’re going down?”
“Twice for the White Star Line? No chance.” Will forced as much confidence into his voice as possible as he made his way, step by step, the waves rolling under them, to the woman. “Can you stand, ma’am?”
She looked up at him with a puzzled expression, as if she sensed his presence but couldn’t hear what he’d said. “What?”
“Can you stand, ma’am?”
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed. Will caught her and lifted her easily into his arms, then looked back at Mr. Welch. “Sir, can you follow me? Hold my shoulder, if you can. I’ll lead you through.”
“I’m with you, son.” Mr. Welch reached up and touched Will’s shoulder. Will bit his lip, looking down at the woman. Was she breathing? He managed to open the door, then held it against the wall with his hip as he considered where to go. The doctors and their offices were on the fourth deck, below them. But with that big wave, others might have fallen, been hurt. Will closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. If the first-class passengers were ailing or suffering, the doctors would attend to them first.
“We’re going up,” he said to Mr. Welch.
“But the doctors—”
“The doctors will be on the top deck.” He eyed the old man over his shoulder. “With the first-class passengers.”
Mr. Welch paused a second and then nodded. “Go, son. I’m right behind you.”
Will and his uncle were almost directly beneath the staterooms that housed their clients. He assumed, as they painstakingly climbed the steep metal-and-wood stairs, that this had been by design. Wallace Kensington’s design. Did the man not think of every detail? And would he fire him when he found out that Will had gone to the aid of this elderly couple rather than his own children?
At that moment, Will didn’t care. He did what his mother and father had raised him to do—help anyone in need. He’d look after Cora and her siblings—as well as the Morgans—as soon as he reached the doctor.
Their progress up the stairs was perilously slow. Will looked in alarm to the woman in his arms, so terribly unresponsive, and then back at Mr. Welch, halfway up the stairs behind him. “Sir,” he said. “I need to get your wife to the doctor. We’re going…” He paused as another rogue wave washed by, and now that they were out in the stairwell, they could hear its accompanying roar. It sounded like the ship was brushing past a submerged sea monster. “We’re going too slow.”
“Go. Go, son. I’ll be behind you,” said the old man. Will had no idea how dire Mr. Welch’s injuries were. All he could think was, I need to take care of this woman first. If she wasn’t already dead in his arms.
The lights died for a moment. As he held his breath, waiting, hoping, Will prayed, Please, Lord. Let her live. Don’t let her die here, now. Let us all live through this night. Memories of Felix’s stories of the Titanic cascaded through his mind. He found himself inhaling through his nose, trying to detect the scent of minerals in the air.
The lights flickered back to life. Will took an awkward, gasping breath, then stumbled upward, not knowing if the lights were soon to go off forever. He reached the top, fumbled with the latch, and then burst through as the lights flickered again.
The Kensingtons and Morgans lined the hallway, seated on the floor of either wall as they’d been instructed to do. His uncle was handing out life vests, and the young men were securing their sisters. All eyes moved to him as Will’s eyes locked with Cora’s. She was all right. Pale, plainly frightened. Without a life vest yet, but all right. He sighed in relief, surprised that he’d been worried about her.
“The doctor—we need the doctor,” Will said, nodding to the woman in his arms.
“I think I saw him head down there,” Andrew said, gesturing along the hall. He stood and braced himself for the next wave. “I’ll go with you,” he said, moving toward him.
Cora watched him, as did Will. It was the first he’d seen Andrew move on behalf of anyone but himself or Vivian, and Will felt a surge of gratitude. “Get a life vest on, Cora,” Will grunted, already stepping away from her. Andrew moved to the front, offering apologies to the passengers he had to step over as he opened doors, and gradually they made their way to the Grand Saloon.
It was already full of bleeding and groaning passengers. Two ship doctors—in crisp white coats—moved among them, examining each of perhaps thirty patients. “Doctor,” Will called. Were any of the patients in as dire straits as the woman he carried? He doubted it. “I need a doctor over here!”
The nearest turned toward him, and then slowly, lurchingly, made his way over to them. Andrew put a strong hand on Will’s shoulder to steady him, his other hand on the wall. And Will was grateful for it. As light as the old woman was, his arms grew weary, his steps less sure.
“Put her down here,” said the doctor, pointing.
Will carefully lowered her to the carpet. When she was settled, he turned to Andrew. “Stay with her. I have to fetch her husband.”
Andrew gave him a swift nod, and Will was off, feeling strengthened that he’d gotten at least one of his clients to help. He moved through the doorway and down the hall, trying to catch the rhythm of the waves as he had the rhythm of the dance the night before. But it kept changing.
He reached the Kensington-Morgan hallway, and all eyes again turned to him. They all had life vests on now, at least. Even Cora. He was glad to see that the maids and valets had made it up to join their masters and mistresses too. “You are all right?” he asked.
They all nodded, eyes wide, but none appeared the least bit all right.
“Any word from the captain?” Hugh barked.
“None that I’ve heard. Stay tight. They’ll call us to the lifeboats if needed. I’ll be right back.” He glimpsed Cora beginning to rise, but he motioned her to stay seated as he turned and moved through the door.
He headed down the steep stairs, frowning when he saw the old man crumpled at the bottom. He rushed to him. “Sir! Sir! Are you all right?”
The old man only groaned.
Will glanced up as more light flooded the stairwell from abo
ve. Cora was there, her hair loose and flowing around her ivory life vest. She was in her nightgown and appeared as an angel to him. An angel in a nightgown and life vest, he thought, laughing at himself.
“Bring him!” Cora called. “I’ll hold the doors. We’ll get him to the doctor too.”
He nodded, his vision clearing, then bent and lifted the old man as easily as he had the woman. Neither of them can weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, he thought. He leaned against the railing, catching the cycle of the wave, timing it in his head, then pushed upward and past Cora. The ship rolled, and Cora cried out, but all Will could do was fall against the far wall and wait for the wave to pass. When it did, he looked over his shoulder, panting. “Cora? Are you well?”
She nodded, eyes wide with fear. “Are we going down?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. It’s a fierce storm. But she’s built to encounter such storms.” He gave her a wry smile. “And there are no icebergs within miles, I’d wager.”
She smiled back at him gratefully, then moved past him, reaching out an arm on either side to steady herself as more waves rolled past. As she walked, she reached down to touch a whimpering child’s head, a frightened woman’s shoulder. Dispensing hope, courage, even when her own was in short supply.
When they made it into the Grand Saloon, Will saw Andrew cradling the old woman’s head, blood seeping onto his trousers, as the doctor carefully bandaged her. The measure of care and selflessness made him pause. Perhaps I’ve misjudged him. Before this night, he’d doubted the man would turn to aid anyone for fear someone would leave dirt on his hands. He sensed Cora pause beside him, perhaps wondering over the same thing. Or simply waiting for him to move forward.
His eyes moved to the doctor as he gently laid the old man beside his wife.
“Another?” the doctor said, as if discouraged that Will would burden him so.
“Sorry. Husband and wife,” Will said. “Their bed tipped in the storm.”
“A bunk?” The doctor’s eyes narrowed as he bent to examine the man.
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