Thursday, April 11, 1912
When Elizabeth awoke on her second day at sea, it took her several moments to realize where she was. There was no noticeable bobbing to tell her she was on the ocean, and the warm wood paneling was much like that of any hotel room. She could have been safely on land in London, Paris, Zurich, or New York.
But she wasn’t. That realization dawned on her as she recalled the last thing Max Whittaker had said to her last night. After listening intently for over an hour to his tales of Paris, Elizabeth had been summoned by her father. “It’s after eleven,” he had called from the first-class entrance. “Come along, Elizabeth.” She had politely, if reluctantly, thanked Max for the stimulating conversation, and as she walked away, hugging her arms around her to keep warm, he had called, “Smooth sailing, Elizabeth!”
Remembering now where she was, Elizabeth yawned and stretched slowly. As entertaining as Max’s stories had been, she knew herself well enough to realize that living in a garret somewhere, without heat or hot water, as Max had done this past year, was not for her. Max might not care a great deal about ready access to a long, soothing hot bath, but Elizabeth was painfully aware that she would be miserable without it. If her parents refused to pay her tuition at Vassar, she wouldn’t be able to go. Even if she were willing to live in a hovel and work to pay her own way, what sort of work could she find? She had no experience, no training, no qualifications.
It’s not my fault, she thought as she dressed in a long, white knife-pleated skirt and a white long-sleeved middy top.
But Max had been raised the same way she had. And yet he had spoken of eating week-old vegetables discarded by restaurants, and lighting his room by candlelight, and painting with fingers so cold, his knuckles ached. He had spoken of these hardships as if he had dealt with them all of his life.
But I’m not Max, Elizabeth told herself. I don’t want to freeze in a garret. All I’m asking for is an education! My parents shouldn’t have told me “yes” throughout my life to everything any girl could want, if they were going to turn around and tell me “no” to the one thing I really want. That isn’t fair of them.
She wasn’t very good company at breakfast. In spite of the bright, cheerful atmosphere in the dining room, which was nearly full, Elizabeth barely touched the grilled ham and tomato omelet her father ordered for her. She slid down in her chair, arms folded across her chest, and watched as he cheerfully relished every bite of his grilled mutton kidneys and bacon. Last night’s argument was never mentioned. Instead, her mother asked about Max.
“Your father tells me you were deep in conversation with the Whittaker boy last night. Whatever did you find to talk about for so long?”
Elizabeth seized this opportunity. “He was telling me how hard it was for him, living in Paris with no money, since his parents refused to send him any. It’s surprising that he didn’t fall ill, living under such desperate conditions. I find it hard to believe his parents really love him,” she added pointedly, “if they could let him suffer like that.”
“He chose to suffer like that,” her mother said, and her father added, “He didn’t look to me like he’d been suffering unduly. Seems like quite a happy chap, if you ask me. Could use a bit more meat on his bones, that’s clear. Probably hasn’t been eating sensibly.”
“He didn’t have enough money for food!” Elizabeth responded.
Her father shrugged. “As your mother pointed out, that was his choice. At any rate, he’s seen the light now and is on his way home. I’m sure Jules and Enid will be quite happy to see him.”
“Maybe he won’t go home,” Elizabeth said. How could they be so insensitive? “Maybe he’ll live on his own in New York, in a garret, just as he did in Paris. And become a world-famous artist with no help from anyone. Then his parents will be sorry for the way they treated him!”
Her father laughed as he lifted a scone to his mouth. “Elizabeth, you’re not fooling anyone. Your mother and I are not quite as dense as you like to think. It hasn’t escaped us that you are not actually talking about the Whittaker boy at all, but yourself.” His eyes twinkling with amusement, he added, “I wasn’t aware that you aspired to live in a garret and become a world-famous artist.”
Elizabeth blinked back tears of frustration. The tables around them were crowded. She couldn’t bear it if someone saw her crying. “Please don’t laugh at me. I don’t want to be an artist.” Her voice lowered to an insistent whisper. “I just…want…to go…to college! Why do you want me to be stupid?”
Her mother daintily forked a bite of baked apple. “What would be stupid,” she said calmly, “would be letting a fine, secure gentleman like Alan Reed slip out of your fingers and into someone else’s. It’s not as though you aren’t already educated, Elizabeth. We’ve spared no expense sending you to the finest schools.”
“But there is still so much to learn,” Elizabeth cried. Curious glances from people sitting at the tables around them turned her cheeks pink. She lowered her voice again, but the intensity in her words didn’t lessen. “I’ve learned how to do needlepoint, how to entertain forty guests at a time, how to calculate well enough to pay the servants. I know how to write a lovely thank-you note and how to judge the finest fabrics, jewelry, and furniture. I can play the piano adequately, I’m not atrocious at tennis, and I can swim and ride horseback.” She stared at her mother, her eyes begging. “Is that it? That’s all you want me to know throughout my entire lifetime?”
“It seems adequate to me.” Nola Farr lifted a coffee cup to her lips. Before sipping, she added, “If you insist upon learning more, you can always take up reading. As long as you employ adequate lighting, and don’t overdo. Eyestrain causes forehead wrinkles, dear.” She sipped, then added, “But as the wife of a prominent businessman like Alan, I daresay you won’t have much time for reading.”
Jumping to her feet and leaving, which was what Elizabeth wanted to do, would have created a stir in the dining room. She forced herself to stay in her chair. She couldn’t bear the thought of over four hundred pairs of eyes on her as she escaped. But she clamped her lips together and refused to say another word, even when Denver millionairess Mrs. J. J. “Molly” Brown stopped at their table to congratulate her father on his winnings at cards the night before. The woman clapped him on the back and said in a loud voice that she hoped he’d play again that night, “so’s I can take another crack at relievin’ you of some funds.” She smiled a broad grin. “Lighten your wallet a little, give you less to lug around on board.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” Elizabeth’s father said dryly, smiling in return.
When the woman had gone, Elizabeth’s mother murmured, “Now, there is a woman who is independently wealthy and completely in charge of her own life. She is also coarse, loud, and vulgar, particularly unattractive qualities in a woman. Is that who you would pattern yourself after, Elizabeth?”
“If she is allowed the luxury of making all of her own decisions, yes,” Elizabeth answered. And couldn’t resist adding, “So, if Molly Brown were a man, it would be acceptable for her to be coarse, loud, and vulgar? Is that what you’re saying, Mother?”
“Vulgarity is not acceptable from anyone,” came the stiff reply. Elizabeth’s mother, looking offended, touched her lips with the fine linen napkin. “But I do believe it is much more unseemly coming from a woman, and I do not apologize for thinking that. You would do well to think the same.”
Elizabeth fell silent again. She was despondent at the turn the discussion had taken. But she was only giving up for now, not for good. She would try again…and again…and again.
Still, she could hear the clock on the Grand Staircase ticking away the minutes. She willed the great ship to slow down, take its time, give her more hours in which to think up a new strategy, and more hours in which to employ it.
But the Titanic continued to speed smoothly across the water, making its way along Saint George’s Channel toward Queenstown, Ireland, where more passengers would board.
After breakfast, Elizabeth decided to go up on deck to watch the embarkation. She had never seen Ireland. She had heard that the country was beautiful, and while she might not be able to see that much of it from the ship, which she had been told would be anchored offshore, it would be foolish to stay inside and see nothing.
When her mother stopped on the way out of the dining room to say hello to the Widener party, Elizabeth’s father said quietly, “You might think about apologizing to your mother. Get on her good side. You’re not doing yourself any good taking this attitude.”
Elizabeth lifted her head to look straight up at him. “I don’t want to apologize,” she said clearly. “I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s hard to be polite when someone is arranging your entire life for you.” Her father was right about one thing: She wasn’t endearing herself to either of them by what they saw as her constant disagreeability. But how can I be agreeable, she asked herself as she left the dining room, when I don’t agree with what they’re doing to me?
When she was on deck, she glanced around for Max, the only other person she knew on board. She was eager to hear more about his adventures in Paris.
But when she found him, he wasn’t alone, which both surprised and disturbed her. He was strolling toward the bow along the promenade, and on his arm was a tall, very thin girl wearing clothes that Elizabeth considered odd. Her long, black skirt was much too full by the standards of the day. Her brightly colored jacket of crimson and green in a gaudy flower pattern appeared garish in contrast to the sedate tans and grays and navy blues of other women on deck. Her hair, darker than Max’s, hung loose and free around her shoulders, the sea breeze tossing it into a dark cloud around her oval, olive-skinned face.
She looks like a gypsy, Elizabeth thought. But Max was smiling down at the girl as they walked. And she, almost his height, was gazing at him with interest, as if she were hanging on his every word.
If the girl was traveling first class, someone—a mother, an aunt, a close friend?—should have given her lessons in what to wear while at sea. Elizabeth felt a sudden, sharp stab of shame. That was exactly what my mother would think, she thought, disgusted. Am I becoming like her? What difference does it make what that girl is wearing?
Others strolling the deck were not so tolerant. There were many questioning glances sent in the direction of Max and the girl. Neither took any notice.
Finding the sight of the apparently happy couple unsettling, Elizabeth turned away and strode to the rail. Perhaps the girl was someone he’d known in Paris, someone who had boarded with him at Cherbourg.
Just a short while ago, she had willed the ship to slow down, give her more time. Now, as she strained to see the approaching shores of Ireland, she found herself wishing the trip were already over and Max Whittaker had disembarked, out of her life forever.
Elizabeth’s blue eyes were bleak as she stood at the rail staring out across the sea.
In Queenstown, waiting at Scott’s Quay to board the small tenders that would carry them out to the Titanic, Katie Hanrahan was so excited she could hardly contain herself. She strained to get a look at the ship itself, anchored in the distance, but all she saw was a great white lump sitting near the Light Vessel standing guard over Cobh Harbour. It looked enormous, but Brian had already warned her that its size would seem intimidating. “You’ve never been to sea before, Katie-girl,” he’d said as they made their way down the hill to the quay. “I’m warnin’ you, if the advertisin’ ain’t a joke, the size of the Titanic is goin’ to be a bit of a shock. Don’t be frightened of it, girl. ’Tis only a ship, like every other ship.”
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Paddy, whom Brian had had to drag from his nice, warm bed, said hoarsely,” ’Tisn’t like every other ship, or there wouldn’t be all this fuss about it. And ’tisn’t its size I’m worried about, ’tis the weight of it, man. Shouldn’t be floatin’ atall, somethin’ that big.”
“Hush!” Brian had ordered, his eyes on Katie. “You’ll be scarin’ the girl to death. It got here from London, didn’t it? Didn’t sink on the way, did it? I tell you, the Titanic is unsinkable. If you really have a need for somethin’ to trouble yourself about, trouble yourself about how you plan to support yourself in America.”
Brian had a trade. He was an experienced dairy farm worker. Everyone in Ireland knew that America had the largest, grandest farms in all the world. His plan was to travel from New York to Wisconsin, where he would hire out on a dairy farm, save his money, and one day buy his own small farm.
Paddy, on the other hand, had never stuck to any one trade long enough to learn it well. He had tried fishing with his father, farming with Brian at the Hanrahans’, where he’d met Katie, and had even waited tables briefly until a customer had aroused his anger to the point where Paddy had deliberately upended a cup of coffee in the man’s ample lap.
Now, he claimed that once in America, he was going to become a famous writer. Which worried Brian no end, since he was of the mind that it took many years to become a writer, and what was Paddy to live on during those many years? “Here’s the truth of it,” he’d told his younger brother in the jaunting cart while Katie listened. “If you had it in your mind to become a writer, why is it that you didn’t pay more attention to your grammar lessons from the good nuns?” Paddy’s excuse was that he hadn’t known then that a writer was what he wanted to be.
Although Katie found his grammar deplorable, she had learned during the long trip to Queenstown that Paddy told a good story. Perhaps in America there would be some kind person who would put Paddy’s stories to paper for him, doing the spelling and the grammarizing, sparing Paddy the effort.
Brian continued to express his concern throughout the trip. Katie finally decided two things: One, Brian felt responsible for his younger brother in the absence of their parents and two, Brian was the only one worried about Paddy’s future. Paddy himself seemed a stranger to worry. He remained lighthearted and laughing even when a sudden, chill rain soaked them all to the bone. He seemed to have not a care in the world.
How lovely to not let worry trouble you. However did Paddy manage? They were all facing the unknown, she most of all. Men with strong backs and quick minds, like the brothers Kelleher, could make their way in the world without too much trouble. But it was different for a girl, she knew that. She hadn’t even told anyone in Ballyford, except Brian, to whom she told almost everything, what it was she wanted to do with her life. Everyone had assumed she would become a governess, a “nanny” as they called it in England. She “had a way” with the little ones, they’d said.
She had a true fondness for children. But that wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to sing. She wanted to go on the American stage, in the city of New York, and have people pay to hear her voice soar through a big old theater. She had been singing all of her life, had even sung on the stage of her school. Still, she had never been paid for it. She wasn’t even sure anyone would pay. But she was determined to find out. Brian said they would, that she sang “with the voice of an angel.” But Brian knew little about music, and himself couldn’t carry a tune in a bushel basket. Best not to take his opinions too seriously.
If her ma and da had known what she intended, her ma, at least, would have tied her to the bed to keep her from leaving. “The stage?” she’d have screamed in that voice she used to call the wee ones in for supper. “The stage? With painted ladies and scoundrels? Over me dead body, Kathleen Hanrahan!”
Da wouldn’ta liked the idea, neither. But he sang, too, in a big, booming bass that shook the rafters of Our Lady of Sorrows Church, and he loved music as she did. If she’d promised him she wasn’t aiming to sing in pubs or vaudeville, only the respectable stage, he might have come round. She could get around her da. Her ma was a stone wall no one got around.
The tender pulled up to the dock. As dock-workers heaved the huge sacks of mail in, embarking passengers marched past the doctor who was to inspect them and hand them their health certificates before boarding. When they had their certificates in hand, Brian helped Katie into the tender America. There were over one hundred passengers, and the America filled so quickly, Paddy, who had lingered to talk to some of the workers, was forced to take a seat in the Ireland, the second tender.
The trip from dock to ship took less than half an hour. The last seven or eight minutes of the trip found Katie in a stunned daze, her eyes riveted on the enormous, sparkling ship they were fast approaching. Nothing Brian had said had prepared her for its size. It was bigger than the grandest, finest hotel. And it looked so…so new, everything shiny and spanking clean.
Hoping she would know how to behave properly on such a grand ship, Katie turned to glance over her shoulder one last time at Ireland’s shores, wondering with a mixture of excitement and sadness if she would ever see it again.
Seeing the look on her face, Brian put a hand on her shoulder and told her quietly, “Say goodbye now, Katie. Say good-bye to the old life. Sure and once you board the Titanic, you say hello to a new one.”
Under her breath, so softly she was certain even Brian couldn’t hear her, she whispered, “Good-bye, Ireland. Good-bye, Ma and Da. Good-bye, Moira and Sean, Mary and Siobhan.” Especially Siobhan, who Katie loved to sing to sleep at night. “Good-bye, Granda.” Then, because tears were threatening, pinching at her eyelids, she added in that same whisper, “Maybe I’ll be back someday.”
Then she blinked twice to clear her eyes, and turned toward the great ship Titanic, ready to begin her new life.