“Good God! It says the Titanic is sinking by the head and they are putting the women off in lifeboats.” He turned to the copy boy. “The first thing we have to do is get a list of names of Winnipeg folks on that ship. There might be a mention in one of the society news columns somewhere in a recent issue. Go!” he yelled at the copy boy.
“Alderman Willows is on Titanic with his wife and daughter and a maid.” Isaac said, worry etched on his face.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. The maid’s name is Maisie Rosedale. Also Mark Fortune is on it with his family. There are five or six of them, I think.”
“Good God. I know Robert Fortune, the oldest son. He curls at the Granite Club. I’ll call him on the telephone. Do you know the alderman’s son Alfred? And there’s another son who moved to Ontario. The doctor. I can’t remember his name.”
“James,” said Isaac. “Dr. James Willows. He lives on the Lake of the Woods.”
“Do you know them?”
“No, I don’t know them, but I have a home telephone number for Rupert Willows.”
“Well, you hot dog. You’re always full of surprises.”
“Want me to call?”
Jim stopped for a moment. There were at least two prominent Winnipeg families on the Titanic. Always after the story, he made an instant decision on how the Star would beat the Manitoba Free Press.
“No. Just give me the number, and I’ll do it. Isaac, I want you to go to Halifax for the Star.
“Halifax?” Isaac’s heart raced.
“It’s the closest port. We need a good reporter out there to talk to the survivors, if there are any. The train east is pulling out in one hour. Get your stuff and meet me at the station. I’ll look after your ticket and bring you some cash.”
“What about the front page?”
“Screw it. We’ll bring in Jack from shipping to take over here. Get a move on.”
“Yes, sir!”
The train was not crowded, and Isaac was thankful. He paced up and down the aisle restlessly until the first stop that would be long enough for him to telephone the paper for fresh news on the disaster. The most recent update he had was encouraging, and he was hoping to hear confirmation that it was true. The owner of the Titanic, the White Star Line, had issued a statement saying that all of the passengers had been taken off by several ships that had arrived at the scene. It also said that the crippled ship would be towed to Halifax for repair. When the train finally chugged to a stop hours later, Isaac leaped out of the car and found a phone. Then he spent an agonizing amount of time waiting for a long distance connection.
“All aboard! All aboard!” The conductor shouted as Isaac finally got his telephone call through.
“Hello, hello, Jim!” He shouted into the phone “It’s Isaac. Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” Jim’s voice came faintly through the wire.
“They’re calling us. The train is about to leave. Tell me quickly.” He heard garble in return. “Say again! I can’t hear!”
“I said it sank, Isaac! The Titanic is lost!”
“Any survivors?” Isaac shouted past the knot in his throat.
“Yes, a few hundred people were picked up by the Carpathia. They confirmed they are going to Halifax.”
“Last call! All aboard!” The conductor bellowed and Isaac saw him getting ready to close the door.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you from Toronto!”
He counted the hours down until the arrival in Toronto. He’d be able to pick up a newspaper, and more importantly, he would be able to call Jim again at the Star to see if they had anything new on the disaster.
As the train headed out of the station, Isaac worried about how the news would hit his family, especially his mother. She adored Maisie as if she were one of her own.
When Isaac got off the train in Toronto, the station was in a frenzy as newsboys hawked their papers and shouted out the headlines.
“Titanic sinks! Eighteen hundred souls are feared lost!”
He snatched up a paper and tossed a coin into the newsboy’s hand as he made his way to the telephones. It was beyond belief. People were weeping at the shock. Others screamed with relief at seeing a name on the survivor list. James had read through the copy twice, but the list that was printed had barely a hundred names; almost all were identified as first class passengers. He headed for the telephones with his head in the paper. So engrossed was he in his reading, that he bumped into a man and almost knocked him off of his feet.
“Oh, I beg your pardon! I wasn’t paying attention,” he said to the bespectacled man.
“Not at all. I think we’re all in a daze.” The man looked as if he had not slept in a week.
“I wish they were faster in putting out names of survivors,” Isaac said.
“So do I. Your family was on Titanic?”
Isaac nodded. “My cousin. And you?”
“My parents, my sister and their maid.”
“I’m so terribly sorry.”
“I’ve heard nothing of them.” The man was close to choking with emotion. “At this rate I probably won’t know anything until I get to Halifax. When I got on the train in Kenora, I had heard they were all being transported to safety.”
Isaac reached out to shake his hand. “I’m from Winnipeg. My name is Isaac Zigman. I’m a reporter with the Winnipeg Star and I’ll let you know what I learn when I get through to the paper.”
“I’m James Willows. Please go ahead of me, Mr. Zigman.”
“You’re the alderman’s son.” Isaac’s heart started to pound, and he fought down the urge tell this distraught man about his cousin.
“Yes. If you could please ask about my parents and Emma Willows, my sister, and their maid, Maisie Rosedale, I would be grateful.”
Isaac was all business. He soon learned that Carpathia had been redirected to New York. The two men made a wild dash and succeeded in making the connection they needed, catching their breath as they settled into their seats. There was an outside chance that they would be in New York in time to meet the ship.
The information they were able to get was terribly inadequate. Isaac and James were hardened to the idea that they needed to expect the worst while hoping for the best. It appeared they would learn nothing of the safety of their loved ones until the Carpathia docked.
When the two got off the train in New York, they learned that it would be several hours before the Carpathia would arrive in port. They also learned from a telephone call to Jim McGraw that Alfred Willows had reserved rooms for them at the Belmont Hotel. They checked into the hotel, and James was finally able to get a telephone connection through to his brother at home in Winnipeg.
“A wire? From Father!” James shouted and lit up with hope as he motioned to Isaac to come closer. “I didn’t hear that, read it again!” Isaac watched as darkness came over his face. “Could you write this down, Isaac? I have someone else here with family from Winnipeg, Alfred. “Family fine Stop Chas. and Mr. F. lost. RJW.” Dear God, Alfred! Charles and Mr. Fortune missing! There is no mention of Maisie? Alfred, are you there, Alfred? Hello, hello, Alfred?” James slowly put the telephone down, and slid into a chair, dropping his head into his hands. “I lost the connection.”
Isaac’s eyes flew open. No mention of Maisie? Family fine. Did that include his cousin? He was dying to ask, but could hardly show his interest without revealing her identity. The waiting for news was nothing short of torture.
“James, I’m going to the dock. I know the arrival is hours off yet, but I have a story to do, and there might be something to learn.”
“Would you mind, Isaac? That is, could I come with you?” James was on his feet with his hat in his hand. “I’ll go mad waiting.”
“It’s pouring rain.”
“So? I don’t see you worrying about it.”
“Sure, James,” Isaac admired his companion’s pluck. “I’d like you to come. Here, give me your hat,” Isaac said.
James lo
oked puzzled, then immediately understood as Isaac pulled out a spare card marked “Press” and stuck it in James’s hat band. “You are now unofficially working for the Winnipeg Star. This way, we won’t get separated.”
On the way, the two made a stop at the offices of the White Star Line. Lists had been posted in the windows and they joined the mob in front of the office and carefully scanned the names. Isaac was quick to pretend to be examining the bottom of the list to see Zigman. But not only was there no Zigman on the list, neither was there mention of Willows, Fortune or Rosedale. Of course knowing that Mr. Willows had sent the message from the Carpathia gave them comfort that they had been rescued, but had not yet been added to the list.
A shout went up from the crowd as a new list was posted in the window. James fought his way through the group and emerged with a look of relief. “Oh, thank God! My parents and my sister are on the list. Also, Alice Fortune, but there is no Zigman mentioned, as yet. I’m sorry.”
“Rosedale?” Isaac asked and James cast his eyes down and shook his head.
“No. No mention.”
“Well, then, let’s get over to the pier. It’s number fifty-four.”
Pandemonium was the only way to describe what they found at the pier. Thousands of people had assembled, crowding their way to edge of the dock. Police set up lines to hold the onlookers back. The City of New York was trying to help the survivors’ families to get to the waiting area where they would be reunited with their loved ones, but was instead beleaguered with members of the press who appeared thick as bees swarming the waterfront. The press was everywhere. Several had jumped onto a fishing trawler and headed out to meet the tugboats bringing in the Carpathia.
Luck was on their side, and James and Isaac ended up standing in an ideal location. The rescue ship came in, and the first class passengers were whisked off. Within minutes, James spotted his father talking to a reporter and in the next instant he was reunited with his family.
“Are you all right?” James rushed to embrace his parents and then to wrap his arms around the pathetic figure that was his sister. So small and sad was Emma that she seemed to barely recognize him, and the thought immediately occurred to James that she was literally dying of a broken heart. He hugged and consoled her in her silence and eased back as his mother enveloped Emma to shield her from the newspapermen. James searched the faces in the crowd.
“Mother, where is Maisie? Is she safe?” James asked.
“She’s here with us. Yes, yes, she’s fine.”
On the other side of the gangway, Isaac too, was anxiously searching for the assurance that Maisie was safe. Finally, he spotted her and waved. She looked on in amazement before it registered that it truly was her cousin coming to meet her, and she cried for joy.
“Isaac, Isaac!” She had expected there would be no one for her, and here was her cousin Isaac, all the way from Winnipeg! She started making her way through the throng toward him, when James spotted her. He was about to wave his hand and call out to her, but to his astonishment, Isaac was shouting her name and pulling her close into his arms, both of them laughing and crying with relief. James felt as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. Maisie had a beau! How could this be possible? Maisie and Isaac? Look at them crying and hugging. He couldn’t bear it but it was impossible to tear his eyes away from them.
“Isaac, I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.” Maisie hugged her cousin again with all of her might.
“Maisie, James Willows is here, too and he’s frantic to find you.”
“James?”
Isaac craned to see over the crowd and found James looking back at him. He waved madly at the doctor and shouted out for him to come.
James felt his heart was breaking but he had to see her, to know with certainty that she was alive. He pushed his way through the crowd, and there she was with tears streaming down her face, clutching the knot of her kerchief under her chin.
“Maisie is my cousin,” Isaac said, “also known as Malka Zigman. I couldn’t tell you before. Maisie will explain it all to you, in time.”
“Cousin? Maisie is your cousin?” James looked stunned. His emotions scrambled, he searched for the truth in her face.
“Dr. Willows!” She stood and stared at him, then her shame overcame her. “Yes. I’m a fraud. Your father never would have hired a Jewish maid,” she said softly.
“Maisie, dear Maisie. The only thing that matters is that you are here. It’s a miracle.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Letter to Mary
April 19, 1912
Belmont Hotel, New York City
Dear Mary,
So heavy is my heart that when I open my mouth to speak, I cannot form a word. It is so hard to think. I must tell you that truly, from one minute to the next, I don’t know whether to feel the relief of being spared or the utter anguish of being crushed beneath the pain of loss.
Every day, I keep hoping to hear that Charles and his father were found, but it is not to be. The horrible truth is that only those of us who made it to the lifeboats will be counted as survivors. The others have all perished. There were so many people and so few boats. I am horror struck at the memory of it.
I am ashamed to tell you I put up a terrible fuss because I did not want to get into the lifeboat. Charles was very insistent. We had but a quick glance and hug before I was on board. So much is a blur, now.
The sea was calm and we were ordered to row hard to get away from the ship. I searched the darkness to find Charles, calling out to him. Just minutes later the Titanic gave itself to the sea. Mary, I could not take my eyes from the dreadful spectacle.
The lights were extinguished one deck at a time as the back of the ship rose up from the water, showing the great propellers as it climbed up and up toward the sky. In absolute terror we watched and heard as people were falling, hitting the railings and walls and then there was the roaring sound of the boilers and metal twisting apart. It was utterly shocking when the ship broke apart and slipped away, leaving the sea awash with the litter of death; deckchairs and carnage intermingled with those buoyed by the life belts, the dead bumping up against the living. It seemed impossible that the ship was gone.
What remained formed something of a horrible funeral wreath, to mark the very place where the Titanic plunged into the sea. Then we could hear only the death cries of those in the freezing water. There were hundreds of them, fighting to stay alive, screaming out in the night, beseeching those in the boats to come back for them. I am haunted by the sounds. I imagined Charles swimming hard to get to a boat, and ours, just half-filled, had so much room to take on survivors. I screamed out his name until I had no voice left at all. I pray to God that he didn’t suffer.
I fear you won’t be able to read through the smudges in this letter as my falling tears ruin the page. I just cannot stop weeping. I am so bewildered. Poor Mrs. Fortune. She is prostrate with grief at the loss of both her husband and her youngest child. She is anxious to return with her daughters to the family in Winnipeg and believes that once home they will have the will to move forward. I am so ashamed of my weakness. Moving forward is the last I can think of at this time. My darling Charles is never to hold me again. I am wracked with the pain of his loss.
Tomorrow we will board the train for our journey home. It brings me great comfort to know that you are there, dearest Mary.
Your loving friend,
Emma
Chapter Fifty-Six
Homeward Bound
April 22,1912
The journalists had descended on New York and were relentless in their pursuit of survivors, dogging every move of the heartsick widows and orphaned children. The newspapers had a particularly strong appetite for the wealthy passengers, but were also interested in the stories about destitute immigrant families who had traveled in steerage on the ship. Three quarters of the women on board survived, but only one in five men made it to the lifeboats. Their husbands lost, many of the women were left str
anded in a new country with no money. Molly Brown, one of the first class survivors, immediately stepped in to champion their cause and started fundraising.
Rupert, ever quick to recognize opportunity, had overheard Mrs. Brown arranging to meet with a group of reporters in his hotel. Within the hour, the newsmen gathered and the room assigned to them instantly filled with onlookers.
Rupert slipped into the crowd and found a place to stand near the front. Molly Brown proved to be a passionate speaker and great motivator. She told the story of the harrowing night and the dreadful hours in the lifeboats while they awaited rescue. She talked at length about the women survivors, and the pitiable state of their lives, following the tragic loss of more than thirteen hundred men. As the reporters scribbled and the camera lights popped and flashed, she made her plea for money to help the women get home to Europe. Rupert smiled to himself as he reached into his money vest and pulled out a hundred dollars. Mrs. Brown tied a baby’s bonnet to a basket and held it out to the crowd. Rupert stepped forward, but the hotel manager beat him to the front of the room.
“I have two hundred dollars for you,” the manager said with great dignity, and Mrs. Brown shook her head, feeling pride in humanity. The camera lights flashed again and the reporters rushed to learn how to spell the manager’s name.
Others came forward, with tens and twenties, and the occasional fifty dollar bill to drop into the basket. Rupert was angry with himself for not having moved faster. He watched the scene and considered how best to win the attention he was after. He hated to part with the money, but it was, after all, gambling winnings. He reached back into his money vest and eased his way through the throng.
When she finally turned to him, he bowed and said in a clear and cultured voice, “Mrs. Brown, as a fellow survivor and one who has been greatly blessed to have been rescued with my both my wife and daughter, I humbly wish you Godspeed in your quest to help these unfortunate people. Please accept my gift of a thousand dollars.”
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