Distant Waves: A Novel of the Titanic: A Novel of the Titanic

by Suzanne Weyn

  “I see him!” Cousin Agatha cried, nearly screaming. “He’s there in the ball.”

  I leaned forward, peering into the glowing ball. In the center, a shape of dark silver wavered. I squinted at it and saw how it could be interpreted as the shape of a tiny man.

  “Reginald, it’s Agatha. Are you all right?”

  The shape kept wavering and Agatha looked to Mother for guidance.

  “Reginald is telling me he is fine,” Mother said.

  “Can you hear him?” Agatha asked urgently. “He had a rather squeaky voice for a man.”

  “It’s a little squeaky, yes,” Mother confirmed.

  Was she being honest? Would she deceive her own cousin?

  “Is he in the ball?” I asked Mother.

  “His essence is inside the glass,” Mother replied. “He does not choose to speak through me but rather to me.”

  “He always was such a gentleman,” Agatha remarked, as if this was something gallant she was proud of Reginald’s spirit for doing.

  “He’s being very polite,” Mother confirmed. “He’s keeping his distance somewhat so as not to burden me.”

  “No doubt he doesn’t want to tax your strength too much.” Agatha leaned in until her nose almost touched the glass ball. “Reginald, do you know if there will be a war coming?”

  Mother cocked her head to one side as though listening intently. She frowned, and then pursed her lips in distress, listening to Reginald speak to her in a voice that only she could hear. “Do you mean naval ships?” Mother asked Reginald. “No? What kind of ship?”

  “Navy!” Agatha cried. “Then there is a war!”

  “No,” Mother said. “No war—at least, he doesn’t know for sure. He’s warning me about danger from a ship, but I’m not sure what he means.”

  “Mimi might be on a ship,” Blythe offered.

  “Oh, dear,” Mother said with a gasp. “She might be. Reginald, is Mimi in danger from a ship?”

  At that moment, a face appeared above the glass ball. Underlit from the ball below, it seemed to hover there, disembodied and glowing.

  “It’s Mimi!” Blythe shouted and then screamed.

  She was right. It was Mimi.

  I sprang back and groped the walls in the darkness, desperate for a light switch. I overturned a vase that splashed water on me as it crashed to the floor. I found a switch, and the room was once again ablaze with light.

  “You’re not dead!” Mother cried in an emotion-filled voice. “You’re not dead.” A tremble ran through her and she began to cry with relief.

  “I’m very much alive,” Mimi assured us. “I’m so sorry to scare you all. I was waiting quietly in the dark but I only meant to stick my head into your circle to say I was not on a ship and quite all right.”

  “Are you really all right?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  It turned out that Mimi had traveled to France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Holland—in that order—and had just arrived in England with Benjamin Guggenheim and Ninette Aubart and their entourage of about fifteen other servants and friends. “I telephoned Aunty Lily at the hotel and she told me you were here,” Mimi explained.

  Blythe ran from the table and threw her arms around Mimi’s waist. “I’m so glad to see you!” she shouted, squeezing tightly as Mimi stroked her yellow curls.

  I was also ecstatic to see Mimi, but unresolved resentment kept me frozen where I stood.

  It took Mother only minutes to switch emotional tracks from the most joyful relief at seeing Mimi alive to a white-hot fury. “Has it never occurred to you in all these months to write to us to tell us that you were alive!?” she shouted.

  “I sent a telegram from France when I arrived,” Mimi defended herself.

  “We never received it!” Mother shouted, turning red.

  “The nearest telegraph office is in Buffalo,” I offered. “They might not have bothered to deliver it.” I felt the same mix of relief and anger as Mother was expressing, but an instinctive sisterly bond compelled me to come to Mimi’s aid. “You should have known it wouldn’t reach us,” I added, ambivalent about exactly how much help I was willing to offer.

  “Well, at first I planned never to come back,” Mimi blurted.

  “Never come back?” I echoed, outraged.

  “What?!” Mother hooted in a voice more shrill than any I’d ever heard her use. “If I had known that insanity was playing in your head, I would have gone to Europe myself and dragged you back personally.”

  “Mother, I’m a grown woman,” Mimi said in a dignified voice.

  “Then behave like one!” Mother shouted. “Do grown women run away from home like Huckleberry Finn?”

  Mimi threw herself into one of the chairs despairingly. “I thought it would be better for all of you if you could be rid of me,” she admitted in a voice choked with tears.

  “Whyever would you think that?” Mother asked incredulously.

  “You know why,” Mimi shot back.

  “I do not,” Mother insisted.

  “Because I’m a person of black descent.”

  Agatha gasped at the news.

  “No one knows that!” Blythe pointed out.

  “But I don’t want to live a lie,” Mimi said passionately. She dropped her head and began to cry. “I’m so confused.”

  Mother came and sat in a chair beside Mimi. “Has something happened, Mimi?” she asked gently.

  “No. Well…” she replied, wiping her eyes. “Only that I’ve fallen in love.”

  Mother threw her arms wide. “We knew it! Emma and Amelie predicted it months ago!”

  “Fallen in love!” Blythe shrieked happily. “Then it’s true! With who? Is he a prince? A duke? Tell!”

  “He’s Mr. Guggenheim’s valet, Victor,” Mimi told us.

  “The valet?” Agatha echoed, clearly chagrined.

  “With all those rich people around, you fell in love with the valet?” Blythe could not hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “How old is this Victor?” Mother asked.

  “Twenty-three,” Mimi answered.

  “Does he love you, too?” Blythe asked.

  “He says so.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” I asked.

  “It’s the issue of race,” Mimi revealed. “What if we marry and have a child with dark skin?”

  “Have you told him about your background?” Mother asked.

  Mimi shook her head and began twirling a curl that had escaped from the elaborate, upswept style she now wore. “I’ve been too frightened.”

  “You must tell him,” Mother advised firmly. “If he is a man of character and truly loves you, it won’t matter to him.”

  “Mother, that’s naive,” Mimi argued.

  “It’s not,” Mother disagreed. “Not everyone in the world is a bigot. You can come live in Spirit Vale where people are open-minded about such things.”

  “I don’t want to live in Spirit Vale. I’ve been living in the real world and I like it there. I want to stay there.”

  “Even when this so-called real world is so cruel as to deny true love because of its own small-minded bigotry?” Mother shot back.

  Mimi slumped lower on her chair. “Even then,” she said.

  The conversation came to one of those natural lulls where no one knew what to say next. Finally Agatha turned to Mother. “I suppose Reginald is gone,” she said. Mother nodded, causing Agatha to sigh sadly. “That’s a shame. He was always a good problem-solver. I wonder what he meant about the ship being dangerous.”

  “Speaking of ships, I have some exciting news,” Mimi told us, brightening a bit. “I’ll be traveling home on the maiden voyage of the most fabulous ship ever to cross the ocean—the Titanic!”

  Chapter 19

  That night Blythe and I stayed up deep into the next morning, talking with Mimi, who curled up with a quilt in one of Agatha’s overstuffed armchairs. The twins had woken up earlier and weren’t nearly as surprised as the rest of us to
see her. Then they returned to bed with Agatha and Mother, who made Mimi promise not to run off again without saying good-bye.

  “Tell us everything about Victor,” Blythe requested eagerly now that the adults were asleep.

  Mimi sat forward in the chair. “Jane has already seen him. Do you remember, Jane?”

  I did, and I told her so.

  “Who could forget him?” Mimi went on. “He is so handsome with large dark eyes. He’s slim with broad shoulders. For some reason Mr. Guggenheim assumes he’s Egyptian.”

  “But he’s not?” I asked.

  “No! He thinks it’s funny that Mr. Guggenheim just jumped to that conclusion by looking at him, so he doesn’t tell him otherwise. But Victor was born in England and his ancestry is Italian.”

  “Will you continue traveling with the Guggenheims?” I asked, trying to keep tones of disapproval from my voice and not completely succeeding.

  There was tension in the air as Mimi looked me in the eyes. “I know you don’t approve of Ninette,” she said after a long pause.

  “Have I ever said so?” I replied.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” she snapped.

  “That’s your business. I only asked if you’d be traveling with them.” Really, I didn’t want to fight.

  “Mr. Guggenheim is here in England. We left Ninette behind in Paris with her maid so she could see family and friends. She’ll board the Titanic when it docks in Cherbourg to pick up passengers. It looks better.”

  I scoffed. “Who do they think they’re fooling? Everyone knows what’s going on between them.”

  “There’s a fortune in money involved, so Mr. Guggenheim doesn’t like to leave any proof that his wife’s lawyers could get ahold of,” Mimi explained evenly, as though it was a mere legal consideration.

  “When did you become so worldly?” I asked. She had changed—she seemed older, more sophisticated—and I didn’t like it.

  “I’ve been traveling the world for over half a year, Jane, and I’ve been with Ninette, who was a cabaret singer in Paris before she met Mr. Guggenheim. So yes, I am worldlier than when I left. I don’t think that’s so bad.”

  “Well, I do!” I said, raising my voice. “You’ve been dazzled by Ninette and her crowd. You think the way they live is all right just because they’re rich. I don’t think they’re happy or good. You never used to care so much about money. What is it you think money will do for you?”

  “Ha!” Blythe laughed. “What won’t it do?”

  “I’m not talking to you!” I snapped.

  “Money protects a person from the world,” Mimi replied forcefully.

  “Why do you need protection from the world?” I demanded.

  “Why can’t you get this through your head, Jane? Because I’m black!”

  “No, you’re not,” Blythe insisted.

  “I am!” Mimi shot back. “I have been to Europe and even to Northern Africa. It’s not like America. Although I did observe instances of racism in France and other places, people of color are not second-class citizens everywhere in the world.”

  “Then why are you worried about telling Victor about your background?” I asked.

  Mimi sighed deeply. “Because he wants to live in America, and so—”

  “I don’t want to talk about all this,” Blythe said insistently, clasping her hands over her ears. “They fought the Civil War before we were born. Slavery is ended, and everyone should treat everyone fairly.”

  “You’re as naive as Mother, Blythe,” Mimi commented.

  “I don’t care. All I want to know is how Mimi intends to get me on the Titanic with her,” Blythe said.

  “What are you talking about?” Mimi asked, startled.

  Blythe threw off her blanket and crossed to Mimi, perching on the arm of her chair and grabbing hold of her hand. “You have to; you must get me on that ship. It’s my dearest wish in the whole world.”

  “Since when?” I challenged.

  “Don’t you remember? I told you how I longed to be on that ship, Jane. Mimi, you said Ninette has a maid; I’ll be the maid’s assistant—as long as I don’t have to wear a uniform. I wouldn’t like that. Better yet, I’ll be your assistant! I’ll be the companion of the companion. I’ll sleep on the floor. It doesn’t matter as long as I can be on the Titanic. Did you know they call it ‘The Ship of Dreams’? I read that in a magazine.”

  Mimi gazed down at her thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re old enough to be a mother’s helper,” she considered.

  “Yes!” Blythe cried. “I love helping mothers!”

  “When have you ever helped a mother with anything?” I countered.

  “I help our mother.”

  “Ha! Barely! You have to be prodded and reminded just to pick your petticoats off the bedroom floor.”

  “Well, this would be different,” Blythe replied. “I could do it.”

  “In France I spoke to a woman who was very nice. We met at the ticket office of the White Star Line there when I was picking up our tickets. She had been sent tickets for the liner La France but when she learned that her two little girls would not be allowed to take meals with her and her husband, they changed the La France tickets for ones on the Titanic. Her first-class tickets on the La France cost the same as second-class tickets on the Titanic.”

  “That’s nice, but what does it have to do with me?” Blythe asked, a touch impatiently.

  Mimi smiled. “I’m getting to that. Juliette—that is her name—asked if I knew of a nanny who might want to take care of her two little girls for the duration of the trip because she is pregnant with a third child. I said I didn’t, but I took her name and address just in case I heard of anyone.”

  “I’ll do it!” Blythe exulted.

  “You’re only thirteen,” I reminded her.

  “Nearly fourteen, and Mimi will be there. Can you phone her, Mimi?”

  “I have no phone number, but I could send a telegram.”

  Emma appeared in the room, rubbing her eyes, her long hair in her face. “What’s going on?”

  Blythe leaped from the chair onto Emma, hugging her happily. “I’m going on the Titanic with Mimi!” she revealed. In the moonlight her face glowed, luminous with happy excitement.

  Emma scowled. “We should all go home together on the boat we came over on.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I agreed. “We can get Mimi a ticket.”

  “I don’t want to be on that old tub,” Blythe said. “We should all go on the Titanic.”

  We debated this for another half hour, but clearly no one was going to change her mind. Emma returned to her guest room on the second floor. One by one, Mimi, Blythe, and I drifted off to sleep.

  Some hours later, I was roused from sleep by the repeated banging of a shutter outside the window. A howling wind had risen while we’d been sleeping. Once awake, I needed to use the bathroom, which was on the second floor, and so I got off the couch.

  When I came out of the bathroom, I noticed that the door to the room Mother, Amelie, and Emma were sharing was open. Mother and Emma slumbered, but Amelie was not in her bed. Looking down the dark hall, I saw no sign of her.

  Hurrying down the stairs, I checked the kitchen but she wasn’t there. It was only when I came back to the living room that I noticed the front door was slightly ajar.

  Had Amelie gone out? But where? Why?

  I grabbed my coat from the stand and threw it over my nightgown. Moving fast, I slipped, barefoot, into my high-button boots by the front door, not even bothering to fasten them.

  Out in the dark, empty street, the ocean wind blew my hair in front of my eyes and made my coat flap open until I clutched at it. Looking in every direction, I saw no sign of her.

  Not knowing what else to do, I headed down toward the beach and crossed the road to the boardwalk. The ocean gusts were fierce there, whipping my hair and clothing. Thankfully the full moon illuminated the beach, enabling me to spot Amelie’s lithesome silhouette down at the shoreli
ne.

  Was she crazy? What was she doing there all alone in the dark? It was certainly far from warm.

  With my head down, I set out across the beach, treading with determination despite the sand pouring into my boots. In the middle of the beach, the sand made it too hard to walk, so I stopped to pull off my footwear.

  At the moment I pulled off the second boot, I looked over to Amelie. In the next second, I flung the boots and raced across the beach at full speed.

  The lunatic was walking into the ocean!

  By the time I reached her, she was thigh deep in the crashing, white, foaming surf.

  “Amelie!” I screamed. “Amelie!”

  She never turned. Was she ignoring me? Was the howling wind carrying my voice away?

  “Amelie!”

  She continued forward and was quickly to her waist.

  Tossing off my coat, I headed into the white foam. The freezing water sent a painful shock from my toes to my head. It sucked the breath from my lungs.

  I forced myself to move forward through the crashing surf, dancing about to avoid being knocked over. “Amelie!” I called.

  She kept going.

  I couldn’t swim, but neither could she. There was no choice but to go after her. Pushing my way through the wind and the water, I hurried toward her. “Amelie, you’re going to get us killed!” I shouted, desperate to get her attention.

  It was impossible to make headway with the wind and water pushing me back.

  Finally…finally, I got close enough to yank her arm. With physical strength I’d never experienced before, I pulled her back to shore, though she resisted me every step of the way, her back to me, pulling to go out to sea.

  When we were knee high, I pushed her forward so hard, she fell down. I stumbled onto her, falling into the frigid water.

  “Amelie! What are you doing?!” I screamed.

  A freezing wave hit us both in the face.

  When I shook off the water, I really saw Amelie up close for the first time that night. Her eyes were wide and she gazed at me without recognition.

  The sound of a voice crying out made me turn to the shore. Blythe was there, also in her nightgown, jumping and waving her arms. Mimi was racing down the beach, blankets bundled in her arms.