The next morning, after I wired Da to say I was alive and coming home, I wondered what sort of greeting I’d get. Surely Ma and Da would be happy I was alive. I tried to picture the scene, but my memories of Donegal and the people in it faded, like ghosts.
I stood on the dock looking up at a gigantic ship called the Olympic, my heart beating a mile a minute. I was terrified at the thought of setting foot on it, let alone sailing out across the open Atlantic for days. I was a far cry from the girl I’d been the day I boarded the Titanic in Queenstown. Back then I’d marched up the gangplank, full of myself and ready for anything. And I’d had the time of my life all right, right up until the boat sank.
I assumed the ticket Ben had given me was for steerage, so when the porter started to lead me up the stairs to the first-class deck, I was irritated and asked him where he thought he was going.
He grinned at me. ‘Ah now, girlie,’ he said in his Irish brogue, ‘either ye’ve a great sense of humour, or you can’t rightly read. Look at your ticket.’
I peered down at the ticket. I read it twice and looked back up at him. He was grinning like a monkey.
‘But how . . .’ Ben? I didn’t know whether to cry or squeal.
‘Come on now,’ said the porter, ‘let’s get ye settled.’
The Olympic was another ship owned by the White Star Line. Along with the Titanic and the Britannic the three were supposed to be the jewels of the White Star’s fleet. So much for that, I thought, after what happened to the Titanic. I prayed this ship would not end up at the bottom of the ocean as well. The closer the porter and I came to the first-class section of the ship, the more anxious I became. I couldn’t even look around and admire the plush carpets, brass fixtures and fine furniture, or the view over the sea. I wanted to push the porter to move faster so that I could get into my cabin and lock the door.
I was relieved to find out I had a cabin all to myself. I bowed my head and silently thanked Ben again. I was in no mood to be talking to anybody, so the arrangement suited me. I set down the bag carrying what few clothes I’d salvaged from Mrs Shaw’s house, and lay on the bed. I thought of the old Nora. She would have been over the moon in a cabin like this, filled with luxury beyond her wildest imagination. She would have flung her bag on the bed and rushed out to the deck to see what young men were out there. She’d have attached herself to one or more of them, sizing them up as prospects, if not for marriage then at least for a good time. But I wasn’t the old Nora. I knew I wouldn’t be able to look at any of them without seeing that bastard Sinclair. I’d had me fill of rich young men, and maybe even of men in general. I was sad to think that all the fire had gone out of me.
That night, I fell into a deep sleep. My dreams were filled with gushing, freezing water and drowning people trying to pull me under. Their faces were skeletons and they moaned and clutched at me with bony fingers. I woke up terrified and drenched with sweat. It took me a while to realize where I was, and when I did my fear overwhelmed me. I prayed to God to spare me on this journey and let me arrive safely in Ireland.
I ate only lunch in the dining room, taking my breakfasts and dinners in my cabin. After lunch I took a walk around the deck for some air and a bit of exercise. When young men smiled at me, I looked away and pretended I hadn’t seen them. They probably thought I was a stuck-up bitch, but I didn’t care.
One afternoon I went down to the third-class deck. I couldn’t tell you why I went, but something seemed to be pulling me down there. As I walked through the near empty General Room, I fancied I heard the music and laughter of the young ones and saw myself in the middle of them, dancing and flirting. They were ghosts now. I heard their screams again as they jumped off the deck into the dark water. The Ship of Hope had turned into the Ship of Despair. I spun around and fled back up the stairs.
When we finally docked at Queenstown, I was first in line to get off the ship. I couldn’t wait to set my feet on solid ground. When I did, I made the sign of the cross and vowed there and then never to board a ship again. I picked up my bag and made my way to the station to begin the train journey to Donegal. I settled on a bench to wait. As I sat shivering in the February cold, I was struck by how quiet the station was compared to New York. The faint smell of manure and turf wafted around me bringing old memories with it. Even the people looked different – Irish faces and Irish accents. I was home. The crowds grew as more passengers arrived. When the train steamed into the station there was a mad dash for the third-class compartments.
On the spur of the moment I bought a first-class ticket using some of the money Ben had given me. I knew rightly it was a rash thing to do, but I didn’t do it to show off. Instead, I did it in honour of Mrs Shaw, the woman who’d been so good to me. In a first-class carriage I’d have the peace to think back over all that she’d taught me and feel for one last time the comfort of her love.
As I sat in the empty carriage, steaming through the Irish countryside, I fingered her locket and let myself weep openly for her and for the future that might have been. By the time the train pulled into Donegal, my tears had dried. My mourning was over, and my memories were stowed away deep inside me. I squared my shoulders and stepped down off the train.
I saw Da before he saw me. His tall, gaunt figure looked out of place amongst the hordes of people streaming past him on the station platform. There was a stillness about him, like a man used to waiting, a patient man in an impatient world.
‘Hello, Da,’ I said.
He looked down at me, his shaggy eyebrows knitted together as if he wasn’t sure who I was.
‘It’s me, Da, Nora.’
He nodded then. ‘Aye, it is surely,’ he said.
Awkwardly, he reached over and took my bag.
‘Is this the lot of it?’
‘Aye, Da. Not as much as when I left. ’Twill be easier to carry, so.’
I was aware of my brogue already becoming stronger.
He reached awkwardly towards me as if to give me a hug, but he patted me on the arm instead. Then he turned around and began to walk away. I followed behind him, sharp tears stinging my eyes. I don’t know what I’d expected as a welcome, but surely more than this. In the past I’d believed Da never loved me, and I knew he was never one for showing his emotions, but still I’d hoped for a change. I’d just come back from the dead, for God’s sake, could he not have done more than just give me a pat on the arm? I fought back the tears and marched on. ‘America made you too soft, Nora,’ I said to myself. ‘You’re going to have to harden yourself up.’
We climbed up into the pony and cart and Da shook the reins. ‘Your ma is back at the house, so,’ he said. ‘She’s cooking a big dinner for ye.’
The old horse began to plod his way forward. It was late afternoon, and the February day was drawing in, but it was still light enough to see around me. Memories bubbled up of my young childhood, out playing with Delia on the hills behind the farm. Delia! We liked each other’s company then, before Ma put the wedge between us.
A sudden, fierce wind came up and with it sheets of driving rain. I shoved my hands into my sleeves to keep them warm and bowed my head to shelter my face against the storm. The sound of the wild fury of the Atlantic thrashing against the cliffs filled my ears. Donegal was giving me an angry welcome.
As we neared the cottage, I started to get nervous. What kind of a welcome would Ma give me? Would she be angry I’d stayed away so long or, worse, that I’d not stayed and tried to get Aidan O’Hanlon to marry me? Would she treat me like the prodigal daughter, or would she make me turn on my heels and go straight back to America?
I needn’t have worried. She was waiting at the gate, a scarf around her head and her hands clutched to her chest. She looked smaller than I remembered. When she saw us, she ran through the gate, her arms outstretched, screeching like a mad woman.
‘Ah, Nora. Is it really yourself, darlin’?’
She almost pulled me out of the cart and stood pawing me all over as if making sure I was fl
esh and blood.
I laughed. ‘I’m not a ghost, Ma. ’Tis myself, large as life and twice as ugly!’
She began to cry. ‘Nora. My beautiful Nora. Ye’ve come back to us. Thanks to be God. My prayers have been answered.’ She turned to Da. ‘Don’t just be standing there, Peadar, get her bag and bring it in.’
She led me to the cottage, her arm tight around my waist as if afraid I would disappear. She chattered on, half talking, half weeping. Suddenly all I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep, but I knew there was no chance of it this night. When we came through the door, my old cat came hobbling up to me, mewing to beat the band. I picked her up and held her in my arms.
‘Ah hello, puss, sure I thought you’d have forgotten all about me,’ I whispered, stroking her soft fur.
‘Sure none of us forgot you, daughter,’ said Ma. ‘Even after we thought you were dead.’
She crumpled in a flood of tears. I put my free arm around her and pulled her in close. ‘Don’t cry, Ma,’ I said. ‘I’m here now.’
She dried her tears with her sleeve.
‘I’ll go and heat the kettle.’
I went back to stroking the cat. ’Tis going to be a long night, I thought.
Ma had a thousand questions. They poured out of her so fast she gave me almost no time to answer them. The kitchen table was loaded down with bowls of stew, a big plate of soda bread, and my favourite apple pie was sizzling in an iron pan which Ma was after taking out of the turf fire. I was famished with the hunger and dived into food. There’d be plenty of time to answer Ma’s questions later. Da sat in his chair by the fireplace watching us but saying nothing.
‘We gave you a lovely wake, darlin’,’ Ma said, her tears flowing again, ‘didn’t we, Peadar?’
Da nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘Everybody in Kilcross was here, Father McGinty himself, and that lovely teacher of yours. We had your bed laid out in white lace with candles all around it. People said they’d never seen the likes of it.’
As she described it, I remembered the visions I’d seen in my dreams back in New York. I saw again the weeping woman and the bed and the candles. A shiver went down my back.
‘Of course, we could have no burial without your body,’ Ma said, ‘so we planted a wee bush up on the hill beyond in your memory. Father McGinty and a bagpiper came as witnesses. Ah, ’twas a sad thing all right.’
Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of the ticking clock and the wind rattling the windows. The old cat sat purring in my lap as I petted her.
‘I’m dead tired, Ma,’ I said. ‘I’ve been travelling for days and I’ve hardly slept.’
Ma nodded. ‘God bless you, daughter, sure ye must be worn out after such a long journey. Ah, but ye’ll sleep well in your own wee bed tonight.’
I set the cat down on the floor and stood up.
‘Goodnight, Ma,’ I said. ‘Goodnight, Da.’
My bedroom was much smaller than I remembered. I looked around at the old familiar things – the dresser mirror with the crack in the corner where I’d flung a hairbrush at it; the shelf crowded with wee gifts from boys who said they were in love with me that I’d saved as trophies; the wardrobe stuffed with clothes I’d made Ma buy for me and then dropped like rags as soon as they went out of style. It was as if I was standing in a stranger’s room. I didn’t know the girl who’d lived here.
I crawled into bed beneath sheets that smelled of bleach and turned out the lamp. I lay there in the dark. I was home. For better or worse, I was home. I was too weary to think beyond this moment, not even to tomorrow, let alone to the weeks and months stretching ahead of me. All I wanted was to sleep.
The next morning, for the first time in my memory, Da stayed home. He’d been up early to feed the animals, but instead of spending the rest of the morning up the fields, he sat at the kitchen table sipping tea. Ma bustled around him, frying rashers and eggs for my breakfast and tending the loaves of bread baking in skillets on the turf fire. The kitchen was so hot, and the smells so strong, I thought I might faint. I got up and opened the back door to let in some air.
Ma looked up at me. ‘Are ye all right, love?’
I nodded. ‘I’m just a bit warm, Ma.’
‘Ye’re not taking sick, are ye?’
I shook my head. ‘Not at all, Ma. I’m grand.’
‘Sit down and eat your breakfast, so. You’re skin and bone. Whatever happened to the fine, lovely girl we knew?’
I was sorry I’d opened the door. The last thing I wanted was Ma fussing over me even more. She was already starting to suffocate me. She stood now with a plate of sliced bread in her hand, as if deciding whether to say something. I knew it wasn’t like her to be silent for long.
‘What is it, Ma?’
‘Well, young Dominic Donnelly was here for his sister Maeve’s wake.’ She blessed herself. ‘Poor child drowned and they buried her somewhere out foreign.’ She paused. ‘Well when he got back to New York he wrote to your da and me.’ She looked directly at me. ‘He said he’d run into Delia, and that she was alive and well.’
I stopped eating and tried to take in what Ma had said. I was sorry to hear that young Maeve had drowned, but delighted that Dom was alive. I hadn’t thought to look for either of their names on the list of the missing or the survivors. I’d only been interested in Delia’s name. I supposed Dom had written to them to ease their minds that she was well.
‘Aye,’ I said. ‘After I got me memory back, I looked on the list of survivors and found her name. But I couldn’t go and find her because I didn’t remember the name of the house she’d been sent to.’ My face flushed with embarrassment as I finished the last sentence.
Ma pursed her lips. ‘It would have made no difference. She never went to the house. Father McGinty got a letter from them. And he wasn’t happy about it, I can tell you that.’
I looked at Da, but he kept his head down.
‘So where did she go?’
Ma shrugged. ‘Only God knows.’
‘Well, did Dom say where he met her?’
‘Just that he’d seen her at a dance, and that she looked well. If he knew any more, he never said.’
Ma sat down and began sipping her tea. ‘I can’t understand why that ungrateful chit never wrote to tell us she was alive, not to mention telling us where she was.’ She looked at Da who sat with his head down. ‘I can see rightly why she might not write to me, but you’d think she’d have dropped her da a line. Don’t you think so, Peadar? Ye never heard a word from her, did ye?’
Da looked up. I couldn’t read his face at all. ‘I’m after telling ye a hundred times, Mary, no I didn’t.’
There was something about the look Ma gave him, I knew she didn’t believe him. I didn’t know what to think. If Delia had sent a letter ’twould have been hard to get it past Ma. She would have grabbed it off the postman and Da wouldn’t have got a look-in. I shrugged. Anyway, it was Delia’s business.
I knew Ma was setting me up for the raft of questions that were lined up in her mind, now that I was here to answer them. It was the last thing I wanted to do at the minute. I knew I’d have to face her eventually, but right then I needed to get away from her before she started. Da gave me the excuse I was looking for when he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He put on his cap and turned towards the door.
‘I’ll be away, so,’ he said.
I jumped up. ‘Wait, Da, I’ll come with you. I’d love some fresh air.’
He nodded and held the door open for me.
‘But ye haven’t finished your breakfast, love,’ said Ma. ‘And I have so many questions to ask ye.’
I forced a smile. ‘Ah, sure, I’m only going for a bit of a walk, Ma. I’ll be back before long.’
She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said.
I caught up with Da, relieved to get out of the cottage. How was I going to be able to stand this? I wondered. I used to welcome Ma’s attention, but now it threatened to choke me.
>
‘She’ll not stop till she knows everything.’
I looked at Da in surprise. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him say a full sentence to me.
‘Aye, I know,’ I said.
We walked on up the hill at the back of the cottage. Images of Delia sitting reading among the white rocks came into my head. It had been another one of the visions I’d seen in New York. Again, a shiver crawled down my back.
‘Aren’t you curious too?’ I said.
Da shook his head. ‘Only to know if yez were alive or dead. Now I know yez both are safe. What you did or didn’t do in America is none of my business.’
He walked on ahead of me, and I knew those were all the words I was going to get out of him. I let him go and sat down on one of Delia’s rocks. I thought about what might have happened to her, but Dom had written that she seemed well and happy. I shrugged. As Da had said, it was none of my business.
Last night’s storm had passed, leaving the landscape clean and fresh as if it had just been laundered. I sat on the rock for a long time thinking over all the things that had happened in New York, from waking up in the hospital, to being thrown out of Mrs Shaw’s house by Sinclair. I wondered how much of it I’d tell Ma and how much I’d hold back. Then I realized that she’d not stop until she’d prised it all out of me. Well, I wasn’t having it, I told myself, no matter what she tried, they were my secrets and they’d stay that way.
The next few weeks were full of merciful distractions, so that Ma and myself were hardly ever alone. The villagers, hearing about my return from the dead, crowded the house day and night, one minute on their knees beating their breasts about the miracle that was in it, the next minute pressing me for every detail. Father McGinty was there every night leading the rosary, thanking God, Mary and all the saints for my safe return.
The Titanic Sisters Page 18