by Tonie Chacon
“May I present my daughter, Frances,” Fletcher Cheswick said. “These fine people are the Westbrookes, Emily and Ethan. Twins. Can you see the resemblance, kitten?”
“Yes, it is nice to meet both of you,” Frances said. “Is Pennsylvania in the United States? In America?”
“Yes. I must say again that you and your family should join us on holiday back to the States and see for yourselves that what I say is true,” Ethan said. “A bit of a voyage into New York and then off to Pennsylvania, down the Allegheny on one of our ships. Westbrooke Shipping would be at your service.” Ethan turned to Frances. “Since your name is Cheswick, you would be most interested in this bit of news I shall share with you now. Not but ten years ago, our little community of Lincoln had to be renamed. It seems that there were others in the state that had chosen that very same name, so we had to choose another. Too many Lincolns in the few states surrounding became very confusing. So we chose the name Cheswick after a village in Britain.”
“That could have been after us,” Frances said. “Isn’t that a strange little fact? And you are inviting my father and our family to go to this place called Cheswick, in the Americas? Oh, Father, I would love to go to America, to a city with our name. Please Father. Please.”
Ethan nodded. “I have been trying to talk your father into the idea, but was unsuccessful. That is, until you arrived, young lady.”
Fletcher Cheswick answered Ethan quickly, “That does sound like a splendid idea, now that I have thought about it. Yes, I am inclined to go on holiday to see the Americas. I’ve never been, and I know the family is getting tired of going to the Canary Islands each year. Yes, we should try for a bit of variety. When does that ship leave again? Is there any chance of gaining passage for the family this late? Where is Helene? That wife of mine is never where I want her to be. She, too, will need to hear of this splendid opportunity. One we must jump upon before she sails. Frances, go and fetch your mother. I’m sure she will have a thing or two to say about all of this.”
“Oh, Father, that sounds marvelous. And you, sir, are the answer to my prayers. I shall go fetch Mother.” Off she went in a scamper to the adjoining room, as fast as she possibly could in the confining long skirt she wore that only let her step a short way, ever so daintily. Her long, black hair bounced along as she hurried. She felt light and happy as she turned back to look at her father. Again, she noticed the handsome woman seeming to dissect her with just her eyes. She had such penetrating eyes.
“Alice, come with me and talk to these people. You won’t believe it. They want us to go to America with them, and Father is agreeable. I am supposed to find Mother, but you go over there first, and Mother and I will catch up. Oh, this is so exciting. Go on now.” Frances scurried off again.
WHY DID FRANCES still insist on telling Alice what to do? Despite the fact that Alice was five years older, Frances had never gotten it into her mind that Alice did not need to be mothered. After all these years, one would think she would outgrow meddling into her affairs. Lord knows Alice had to sneak out of the house already when she had her little evenings out. She suspected Frances had the same leanings for dalliance as herself, but it would not be with her. No matter how hard Frances tried, Alice would make sure that never happened.
Alice gathered her glass of rum punch and wandered over to where Fletcher and another couple stood conversing. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman. Had Alice seen her before? Her mind searched for some more details. She’d seen the woman somewhere, Alice was sure of it. She just couldn’t find the incident or the setting in her mind.
Did Franny say they were going to America? Why, Alice hadn’t been back there in ages. It had been at least, yes, eleven years to be exact. So much time that Alice thought she must have forgotten everything there was to being an American. That was a different lifetime ago, with different rules.
Now don’t go and fall for another one of Franny’s schemes, Alice reminded herself. They always seemed to end badly for her. Alice walked over and stood near Fletcher, her hands folded in front of her, waiting.
The familiar woman stared at Alice for a long moment and then a slight smile broke out on her face. She leaned over to whisper something to the gentleman standing next to her, never taking her eyes off Alice. It was unnerving.
EMILY WESTBROOKE HAD taken notice of the attractive young woman with the beautiful, dark, voluptuous hair cascading down her back. She had such nice possibilities. She was awfully young, but that had never stopped Emily before. She liked the black hair that tumbled down the girl’s attractive backside in the bouncy, flouncy way it had. Oh my, what a handful that would be. Emily all but purred right then and there. She was careful to reveal nothing on her face, though she couldn’t prevent a flick of her eyes. Composure, Em, she reminded herself.
She did need to find a playmate for the voyage home. Someone light and receptive to her innuendos. She really must go trolling as soon as she hit the ship. These parties were getting to be so humdrum. Same party, same people.
The parties did delight her brother, though. He had a way at these types of gatherings, whereas it was so hard for Emily to do the same. Ethan’s little saying popped into her head. A dance is a chance at romance. So far, all she’d had was the one this trip. But it was enough of a tumble to remember, even now, as she thought back.
Oh Lord, there she was. It was that beautiful woman she had dallied with in the garden at the Sterling Castle, which had ended with a slight encounter in the cloakroom. How interesting. Emily had just been thinking about her.
Emily watched her approach. Didn’t she just see this beauty with the young woman with the dark hair a moment ago, before she came over to them? Tonight the woman was wearing a red frothy dress, silken and layered, tight in the middle with a belt of flowers. It fit her hips to perfection, then spread all the way to the floor. She moved so elegantly in it. Her lovely golden-brown locks formed ringlets beside her ears. Emily tried to catch the woman’s eye to see how she responded. Emily looked directly at her, into her eyes, and nodded. The woman responded by also discreetly nodding her head at Emily.
Where was this conversation going? She wondered if it was really a coincidence that this man’s last name was Cheswick, when that was where she and Ethan hailed from. But if this was another daughter, then Emily had died and gone to heaven.
The beauty stood beside Fletcher and turned as Helene and Frances arrived.
“Please,” Emily said to Fletcher, but she let her eyes roam to the rest of the family. “Join us on our voyage across the Atlantic into the wonderful, beautiful New York City in the United States of America. How I have missed the feeling of the city. There is nothing like it. The scenery is divine. Oh, the time we could all have, on board. And this is the rest of your family, I presume?” She turned to the beauty. “Hello, I don’t recall your name, but I never forget a face. Didn’t we meet at the Sterling Castle Ball a few weeks ago?”
The woman blushed but had no reply.
“This is Alice, and may I present my mother, Helene,” Frances said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Emily replied. “What fun we shall have on this voyage, if you do decide to join us, that is. I don’t wish to press you, but the ship does sail in a few days.”
She could explore the ship with the Cheswick girls as her companions. The lessons she could teach in those days of the voyage. Oh my, the things she could learn, as well. Emily, ever so slightly, licked her lips, and smiled.
“You will find that Westbrooke Shipping has very high standards,” Ethan was saying, “and we would be most delighted to show them all to you. The benefit of our two companies together would upend the shipping world.”
How delightful. This might be the best voyage yet. It just might live up to its name as the greatest ship of all. Emily almost purred again.
Chapter Three
06 April 1912 — Southampton
JACOB DARCY TOOK a break from moving coal and concealed himself in the stack
room, his favorite on-board hiding place, to re-read the letter. His mind reeled.
How had she found him? Boy, after all this time, he could still remember. Those memories took him back. First times are like that. How could this be? After all, it had been at least eighteen some years, give or take a few months. Now she had the audacity of asking too much from him. But a daughter? He read it again.
Dear Jacob, I pray that this letter finds you to be in good health because I am not. I have somehow contracted tuberculosis and am dying. You have a daughter named after my father. Her name is Alexandria. We live at 1050 Le Franc d’ le Sperrino, Cherbourg, France. Please, I beg of you, come and save Alexandria, for she needs you now, more than she ever has. My faith in you is strong, Jacob. Do not fail me or your daughter. I loved you briefly, she can love you forever. Yours, Marchant’e.
Jacob threw his hands into the air, letting papers flutter all around him. Aye me, he thought, I have a daughter. What to do? What to do? A mostly grown woman, come to think of it. Why would she want him to come fetch her? She couldn’t know anything about him, except what her mother told her, and she didn’t know much. A daughter? What was he supposed to do about it? He shook his head. Only with Marchant’e.
He had not seen or heard from her since that day she boarded the clipper ship bound for France. Was he to believe that this child was his? On a note drafted by a woman that he’d had relations with? She said that this Alexandria was his. He’d been but fifteen and a virile young chap, if he did say so himself. Strapping. He had already been working in the yards in Belfast for two years by then. He’d become a welder by trade later on, and now the White Star Line had him supervising the mucking out of the ore to shift the coal from one giant ship to the other. There was a coal strike going on. Of all times. Bloody hard work, Jacob thought, but the ship was a thing of beauty. He had been watching all the comings and goings, the loading of furnishings and glassware, and the trunks of the crew all preparing to leave on the maiden voyage of Titanic. The craftsmanship was outstanding and the layout superb.
Shovelful after shovelful, a worker filled the steel boxes to be hauled on board by the giant cranes. After the last shovelful Jacob jumped on board the coal and maneuvered the four heavy chains over the S hook before yelling to the crane operator, “Take 15 up.” In a few moments he heard the repeat of “15 up,” and then, “15 up” from farther away. The chains yanked taut and Jacob held on with both hands firmly around the chain, nothing through the loops. Could bust a finger clean off if it’s cold enough and you’re too stupid to not put your fingers into holes that don’t matter. So he’d been told, anyway. He had been there too long for that to be him.
The load went through the cargo hold opening and was transported down to the coal room beside the reciprocating engine room that led into the turbine engine room. Jacob jumped off the load. It had been a long hard day, but he thought he still had enough time to be able to tour the engine rooms and stacks before he was supposed to get off the ship for the next shift.
He left the boiler room, taking a small metal walkway leading toward the last two stacks. The final stack felt cool to the touch. He’d discovered early on that the last stack was only for ventilation and aesthetic purposes, not for heat. He’d claimed a small portion of the empty space inside as his own and had been using it as a getaway and sleeping place between shifts for the past seven months. No one had ever, to his knowledge, given close inspection to the door he’d welded into the pattern of the last eighty-foot stack. Given that he was the master welder, he’d welded and riveted the door into the bottom of the stack to fit his purposes, making it aesthetically correct so it was a part of the stack. Upon further inspection, the hinges and such were visible, but Jacob had been at his job a long while. No one was going behind and checking up on his welds. It took him seven months of working on his own, doing things just right, and here it was. A thing of beauty, if he did say so.
As a senior member of the crew of Titanic, Jacob often had the ship basically to himself, especially at night. When he’d volunteered to be the night watchman, way back in November, he was just looking for an extra job. He’d been the night watchman as well as the lead welder during the day. Now it had become a godsend. Clever, he thought. Here he was, on the eve of the launch, one of the twelve security guards walking deck by deck looking for what? People like him, that’s what. Who is watching the watcher?
Now, before the launch, there were a few things he had to do. He’d need to “requisition” a deck chair and a small table to make the room more comfortable. Who would have thought when he made this room that he would actually get to use it and no one would be the wiser? Now he was going to try to bring his daughter on board in Cherbourg, France, and hide her in the stack room. If she was willing, that is. He’d have to see first if she even wanted to join him. All he had to offer her was this trip to America on Titanic. She could mingle with the passengers all day and sleep in the stack at night. It was such a short voyage. They said it would be the fastest crossing ever, faster than the Lusitania even, and with more tare weight too. The Lusitania could only do twenty knots at top speed where Titanic was expected to do a crisp twenty-three.
He checked Deck C, the Palm Room, walked through the standard passenger lounge and up the stairs onto Deck B, then on up to Deck A and the First Class suites. Wandering the halls, checking door after door, he was still astonished at the sheer beauty and elegance of each stateroom. There were huge airy bedrooms with fireplaces, tables with linen and dishes smartly set, ready to be filled with beautiful bouquets of flowers. He had seen them in the flower shop, getting all prepared for this voyage. The teak and cherry side tables added flavor to the rooms. Each was beautiful, in a home away from home that floats. Stupendous.
The next morning, Jacob sat in the telegraph office awaiting his turn. Over and over he repeated in his head what he wanted to write on the telegram.
Landing in Cherbourg Titanic ship Ten April at 730pm Stop Join me Going to America Stop Pack Light Wear Red scarf Stop Jacob Darcy
Whew, the telegram was gone. He needed to calm down and think. There was so much planning left to do. The first task was to figure out how to get Alexandria on board in Cherbourg without a ticket.
THE LINE FOR jobs on Titanic stretched along the pier farther than the ship was long. Colin could see the offices of the White Star Line from where he stood. He wondered if Megan could see him from there. What a view she had of the ship every day. Lucky girl.
Colin was trying to be positive. Maybe he could gain employment in a coal room like Lucas and play music with the boys in the dining room when they were short a string or needed a spot to be filled in. He could be handy in a crisis.
“The best of the best she is,” Colin said aloud to the others standing in line. “Mark my words, the best ever. She is the most marvelous ship that sails the seas.” The line shuffled forward. “And I want on it,” he added softly.
This day, the sixth of April, 1912, was going to make history for him, he swore it. But the long line he had been standing in for the last four hours seemed to be slowing down even more.
“What are those guys in the white suits doing up there?” Colin asked the man behind him.
“Dunno,” the man answered.
Colin’s brain hurt. Why had he kept drinking with those lads at Donovan’s last night? And Catherine? Poor, poor Catherine. She would be devastated when she realized he was really going this time. He was finally off on a voyage. Ho, ho, and what a voyage she would be. Beyond anything he could even imagine. All this while, he’d been busting his bum playing at the pub twice a week, for ages it seemed. He’d tried to follow all the rules to be a professional, but here he was, still stuck in line, waiting, waiting.
Poor, poor Catherine. He prayed he would not break her heart. She would get over him. He hoped she would realize he was really not that great a catch.
Colin’s thoughts were interrupted by a man wearing a white steward’s jacket with very smart but
tons. Right, pay attention.
“Stick out your tongue, lad, and hold it a bit.”
Colin stuck out his tongue. The man in the bowtie poked a stick in Colin’s mouth and moved it around, then peeked in his ears and eyes and ruffled his hair all about and then finally scratched at Colin’s short, thin line of a beard that scraped below his jaw. Without a word, the steward’s hands fell below the waistline of Colin’s pants. Colin gave a start. If those hands got any closer the steward might be finding them bound behind his back and being told to leave Colin’s privates alone. They weren’t called private for no reason.
“What’s your job experience?”
“I’ve been in the news printing business, sir.”
“How long?”
“Seven years, sir. But my real talent is music. I play the violin.”
”How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight, sir.”
“Do you have any children?”
“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” Colin said, and the man chuckled.
The next thing Colin knew, he was shoved a piece of paper. No, it was not just one piece of paper, it was a stack of papers.
“Sign these papers and take them over to Titanic Deck E, for further instructions. You are now a printer’s helper.”
What? That was it? Colin glanced through the stack while walking down the pier to board the greatest ship ever. The closer he got, the bigger it seemed. He could hardly believe it. He had made it. He had lived a good life up ’til now and it was bound to get only better from this day forward.
Let’s see, gangplank four. He’d probably need these luggage tags and stickers for his trunk. Apparently some would be put in storage, not to be touched until they hit New York City. There were vouchers for embarkation and deportation and immigration papers to be signed and filled out before reporting to a meeting at 4 pm on the Stern Deck E in the Third Class general room. Bow Deck E, Cabin E59, berth 3. That would be his new address for the next seven days. It was very confusing. He’d always found that putting things to music helped him remember better.