In their cabin on E-deck, Alma and the other nurses stowed their belongings in the Lusitania’s ample drawers and closets. Having gotten past the hoodlum on the promenade, they felt they could relax. Their four-berth cabin was tastefully appointed, each mahogany bunk hung with flower-patterned drapes for privacy. The room had a sink, and the lavatory was only a short distance away down the passage. Their space was cramped by the addition of a foldaway cot; but with no larger cabin available in the overbooked Second Class, Alma found this preferable to sharing a two-bed cabin in steerage with some stranger.
Alma Brady—that was the name she must think of herself by, now and perhaps forever. She felt relief mixed with sadness as she put away her luggage. She had only these few belongings left, and most of them came with memories that were far from pleasant. Apart from this and her new friends in the stateroom, every shred of her old life had fallen away–the boarding school, the music, all of the art and refinements. Those months spent with Jim Hogan had been a mistake, a dream that turned into a nightmare. In escaping from it, all of her past hopes were gone, poisoned by Jim’s unguessable hostility over what she had done.
Now she was forced into the timeworn role of the wronged woman, cruelly deceived, her virtue tarnished–but she had to play out the melodrama in secret, hiding from Hogan’s mob. There was no one to forgive her sins, and it didn’t help that she’d been orphaned three years ago, at seventeen. Thank goodness for the United Nursing Service League and the busy weeks of training at the charity hospital, where Hildegard kindly hid her out. And thank God for this war, too–dreadful as it was, it could be a new start.
As evident from Knucks’s vigilance on the docks, the heat wasn’t off. And so, for the future, this was it. Family name, friends, social expectations and cherished truths all were gone, along with the whole world she’d been bred to. Instead she must discover what beliefs and values held constant from one side of the Atlantic to the other, from peace to war, from the penthouse all the way down to the gutter, or the trenches.
This real world seemed a pretty dismal place. For now, the best she could do was listen to her new friends’ light-hearted chatter.
“What a delightful stateroom,” Florence was bubbling over. “Just look at the bedspreads. There’s Cunard’s symbol embroidered on all of them, a British lion gripping the world. How darling! This is going to be such a jolly cruise after all!”
“And what about the men?” Hazel mused aloud. “What did you think of that dashing reporter, Mr. Vane?”
“Handsome!” Florence rolled her eyes dreamily.
“But Flash, the red-haired one, is cuter,” Winnie said. “A little young for my taste.”
“Young but willing,” Florence added in a worldly tone.
“Now girls, you beware,” Miss Hildegard scolded them. “Reporters are men of the street, to be avoided. They claim to be interested in our work, but if I know them, they’ll end up trying to take advantage.”
“Well, I should certainly hope so,” Winnie declared, winking and being intentionally scandalous.
“It seems that U-boats aren’t the only danger on this voyage,” Hazel sagely added.
The elder woman harrumphed while emptying her satchel and clothes-press. As she stepped outside to dispose of some fruit peels, Winnie whispered, “Frankly, I don’t think Miss Hildegard has a thing to worry about.”
“Why not?” Hazel asked.
Florence piped up, “You mean, because no man is going to torpedo her?”
Even Alma had to laugh at that, and she couldn’t quite stop in time. When the head nurse returned, it was to a muffled storm of giggles. She took it in with a stern look but didn’t scold them. Alma thought she must secretly be pleased at her crew’s good morale.
“Well, that’s it,” Winnie announced a few minutes later. “I’m all unpacked. What to do next? Shall we go topside and wave goodbye?”
“Oh yes, we have to!” Hazel cried, putting an arm around her sister. “Our parents said they’d be waiting on the pier to see us off.”
“If they made it in time,” Flo said. “I suppose we must go.”
Alma would have much preferred to keep out of sight below decks, but none of the others seemed inclined to stay behind with her. Hildegard obviously felt it necessary to chaperone the group, probably to keep any of them, and Alma in particular, from falling prey to males or jumping ship. So all together they gaily dressed one another in what finery was available. After decking out their nurses’ garb with the best hats, jackets, shoes and gloves from their luggage, they set forth to conquer the ship.
The corridor was busy, and as they climbed toward the open decks, the bustle of passengers in the stairwells increased. The gong ordering all visitors ashore had sounded some minutes ago, so they could safely assume Knucks was out of the way.
Even so, to avoid being seen close to their room before sailing, Hildegard led them forward again toward the First Class section, which was not closed off as yet or noticeably restricted. The traffic on the way was brisk and somewhat confused at departure, with bosun’s whistles shrilling and tugboats hooting. Deep throbbings in the deck underfoot told them the ship was coming to life.
They emerged onto the Shelter Deck on the port side, facing the pier. Where the crosswise passage opened onto the promenade, a crewman was handing out miniature American flags. They each took one, eager to be part of the brilliant sailing spectacle. Alma, though, used hers as a fan to hide behind while discreetly watching for danger.
The rail of the promenade astern was jammed with passengers, so the nurses began to edge their way forward. Before long, an elegantly accented male voice sounded at their side.
“Good day, lovely ladies. Might I offer you assistance?”
The speaker was a plump, mustached man, his accent sounding Northern European. He addressed himself to Hildegard, gallantly raising his low-cut sable top hat. For once, the chief nurse didn’t lead her flock right past; she paused, with a less disapproving look than usual. They all took in the man’s fur-lined green frock coat over striped trousers, matching green spats, and elegant silver-topped cane. Here, Alma thought, was a man of means.
“Surely you want a place at the rail,” the foreigner said, speaking exclusively to Hildegard. Turning away from her to some cigar-smoking loungers nearby, he tapped the deck sharply with his cane tip. “Gentlemen, make way, please,” he declared. “These ladies need to see, and be seen,” he added to the men, who tipped their hats appreciatively. Falling back, they let the nurses take their place along the waist-high barrier.
The European lingering next to Hildegard introduced himself. “Madam, I am Dirk Kroger, fur merchant of the Netherlands.” After an elegant bow, he produced a calling card from his vest pocket.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kroger,” Hildegard said. Accepting the card and sliding it into her velvet drawstring purse, she fell into polite conversation with him.
“Oh, look, there they are!” Hazel suddenly cried out. “Mama, Daddy, goodbye!”
She leaned from the rail and waved, fluttering her little American flag. Her sister did the same—though, amid the waving crowd on the dock, it was hard to pick out the two they recognized, and harder still to tell if anyone below noticed them, in all the flapping and fluttering of gloved hands, pennants, and fashionably oversized bonnets spread out along the ship’s seven hundred feet of hull.
From the long Cunard transit shed on the pier, summer-skimmer straw hats waved in the air and cameras glinted and flashed right opposite the nurses’ place at the rail. Against the rising sea breeze, some of the ladies were already tying down their hats with the yards of pale chiffon fabric they had wreathed about their heads.
“How splendid,” Winnie said. “It’s all so bright and cheery!”
“Yes,” Hazel sighed. “If there’s any such thing as a festive goodbye, this is it.”
“Parting is such a sweet sorrow,” Florence quoted, wiping a tear from her eye.
They saw much last-minute activity, the gangplanks re-lowered and people hurrying on and off the ship. Perhaps it had to do with the U-boat warning, and with passengers changing their minds. The young ladies watched in serene wonder…all except Alma, who felt it necessary to look over her shoulder for enemies. One face gave her a start of recognition, but surprisingly, she found it a pleasant sensation.
* * *
Matthew Vane made his way along the crowded deck, scouting for news. The ship’s departure spectacle was too lush to ignore. He planned to keep busy on this voyage, even though there was no chance of wiring copy back to New York, much less sending any photos before the Lusitania docked in Liverpool in a week. Still, if things worked out as he hoped, this would be no idle pleasure cruise.
Cunard Steamship Lines didn’t seem to make any provision for journalists at sea, least of all in wartime. Very likely they didn’t want their celebrity guests being hounded by reporters. And now there were military secrets for them to keep, plenty of those.
But there must be a way in, or so Matt figured. No luck so far in getting a look at the passenger list. But if he could find the crewman who’d stood at the head of the First Class gangplank, he’d learn something.
Then he saw a striking face. This one he would’ve gone after even if she hadn’t been familiar.
“Alma, hello!” Smiling assuredly as he edged through the crowd, he saw her look of wary alertness turn to relief…and was there deeper interest in those snazzy blue eyes?
“Hello again—Matt, isn’t it? How nice to see you! But no pictures, please,” she added to Flash, as the redhead showed up at Matt’s side.
Florence spotted the men and pivoted under her large straw chapeau. “Why, Mr. Vane, back so soon?”
“Hello, Flo, whadda ya know?” As the girl giggled, Matt tipped his bowler hat to all the young nurses. He took a place behind Florence and Alma, even as Flash moved in between Winnie and Hazel.
“I’m glad you’re not missing all of this,” Matt told Alma confidentially, glancing around to indicate the leave-taking spectacle around them. “Being up here shows real spunk. Even Big Jim can’t keep you down.”
“Thanks for handling Knucks,” she said. “I saw you cornering him. Did he say much?”
“Nah, he wasn’t gonna spill anything to me. Knucks and I’ve locked horns before, and his boss Hogan doesn’t like me any better. But it doesn’t matter now, Flash swears he saw him leaving the ship.”
“You didn’t see anyone else…?”
“None of Hogan’s crew, no,” Matt reassured her. “But you might keep an eye on that steward. Knucks could have slipped him a few bucks to make trouble. I can try to find out—”
His words were drowned out by the sudden rumbling bass of the ship’s steam horn announcing final departure. In the stillness that followed, they could hear a brass band strike up a tune from the bow—It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, the British–Irish marching ditty.
As the cables were cast off, they felt the slightest lift underfoot. Then a sputter of small engines rose as tugboats began to muscle Lusitania away from the dock.
The moment brought most everyone to a brief silence, followed by a sea-swell of cheering from the ship’s decks and the dockside. Over that same interval, a space of water opened out between hull and pier, as if their mutual cheers were driving the ship on its way.
“Hurray, we’re off!” Florence cried out with the others, tears still gleaming on her sweet young face.
The crowd’s enthusiasm had something brave and carefree about it, echoing the Lusitania’s past departures when the great ship hadn’t been heading off to a terrible war overseas. Regardless of modern-day reality, everyone seemed to join in the bon voyage spirit.
Then, gradually, the docks and loved ones receded and became something remote, just part of the scenery. The cheering along the rail subsided, and faint currents could be seen among the land-dwellers ashore as they turned to go home.
The huge vessel backed out into the Hudson and swung downstream, aided by valiant little tugboats snubbing at her bow and vigorously tooting their whistles. The passengers were left with a broad view of Chelsea Piers and the lower Manhattan skyline. The day was bright at noontime. A fresh breeze carried away the black smoke from the boilers as river currents hurried them along. Then came the full throbbing of the steam turbines below decks, the pulse-beat of their journey.
“There’s the Woolworth Tower,” Hazel said, pointing to the tallest building jutting up from the city spires passing before them. “The five-and-ten-cent store empire! Just think of how many nickels and dimes it took to make that.”
“Yes, and there’s the Singer building,” Winnie called back, pointing. “Easy to remember—it looks just like a big sewing machine needle, doesn’t it?”
“Singer’s used to be the tallest in the world,” Alma said to Matt, “before Woolworth’s came along.”
“You’d know that all right, if you’re a New York girl,” Matt said approvingly. “But see that one there, the big double one that’s almost finished? That’s the Equitable Assurance Company. It’s going to be the biggest building in the world—not the tallest but the largest, 45 acres of floor space.”
“Just like this ship, the Lusitania,” Florence said. “Biggest in the world when she was made.”
“One of the two biggest, you mean,” Hazel put in. “Along with her sister ship the Mauretania,” she added, sticking up for sisterhood.
“Largest, fastest and most luxurious,” Alma sighed. “I remember the celebrations with fireworks, and the aeroplanes flying over when the Lusitania first came to New York.”
Matt saw that, now that Alma was safely at sea, she seemed to be enjoying the conversation. “Right,” he agreed. “And Lusi stayed number one for years, didn’t she, until the Titanic came along…a shame about that.” Hoping to impress her, Matt saw his remark fall flat as Alma turned abruptly aside.
“Yes, and then Titanic sank right away,” Florence volunteered. “On her maiden voyage, with all those people drowned.”
“The Germans have launched bigger steamers since, the Imperator and Vaterland,” Matt added, trying to liven up the conversation. But Alma kept her gaze averted, not seeming cheerful anymore.
Hazel was lamenting, “Yes, but all those really huge liners have been converted to warships in disguise. Now they’re shooting and sinking each other, like the Cap Trafalgar last year. Or kept interned in port.”
“Oh yes, isn’t it just awful?” Florence said.
Matt let his little group fall silent. Conversations, it seemed, could run into rocks and icebergs, just like ships.
But Flash still happily chattered with Winnie as the engines and tides swept them rapidly to sea.
“Look, there’s the Statue of Liberty,” the photographer said. “Seems like she’s waving goodbye.” He raised his camera for a picture.
Leaning out and looking forward, the others could see the giant effigy facing out to sea, until it was obscured by the ship’s turning bow.
Matt decided to get back into the conversation. “Who’s that fellow talking to your head nurse?”
“Oh, he’s a Dutch trader who helped us find this spot,” Hazel said. “He seems to be partial to Miss Hildegard.”
“Dutch, eh?” Matt said, taking in the man’s dapper appearance. “I’ll have to try and make his acquaintance. Holland is another neutral country. They could help out a foreign journalist.”
“Can anyone really be neutral in this war?” Winnie asked. “I know America is supposed to be. But the Dutch are probably just praying the Germans won’t attack them, the way they did poor Belgium.”
“Is that why you became a nurse, to stop Germany?” In his reporter’s way, Matt answered her question with a question.
Winnie replied tartly, “Last I heard, the British Expeditionary Force wasn’t taking women. Nursing is the next best thing.”
“Anyway, someone has to do something,” Hazel put in. “There’s so much suffering over there! What could be more useful?”
“Yes,” her sister added. “So many nice young men could lose their eyesight, or a limb, without good nursing. Or even die! We can do so much good.”
“As long as the lousy Huns don’t try to rape us, the way they did Brussels,” Winnie said sharply.
“A nurse is a close as you can get to being an angel,” Hazel declared. “That’s what our father said, after reading about Clara Barton in the Franco-Prussian war.”
“An angel? Yes, I suppose so.” Getting his chance at the interview he’d wanted, and seeing the young women’s innocence, Matt hesitated. “I’m sure there are ways to get closer. Plenty of ways to become one,” he added, echoing some of Winnie’s bitterness—until at last, his reporter’s instincts took hold.
“But please, ladies, tell me more about yourselves….”