Friday, April 12, 1912
“If you eat all of that,” Katie commented at breakfast on Friday morning, addressing Paddy, “even this great unsinkable ship will be dragged down beneath the weight of it.” She was staring in disbelief at the dishes before him, containing an assortment of foods that included a steaming bowl of oatmeal, a hearty portion of Irish stew, strips of liver and bacon, and chunks of French bread. “The whole Hanrahan clan doesn’t eat that much food in a day.” Unperturbed by Katie’s comments, Paddy slathered a layer of marmalade on a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. When he had finished chewing and swallowed, he grinned at Katie. “I’ll not be sinkin’ the ship. But I’m mindful that soon as we’ve landed in New York, food will be a scarcity until I’m earnin’ a livin’ wage, so I’d best eat while I can.”
Katie laughed. “You’re stocking up, is that how you’re lookin’ at it? Like a squirrel storin’ nuts for the long winter ahead?”
“Aye. Bri’s right about one thing. Could be many a year before I sell any of me writin’. And since I’m not goin’ to be on a farm like Bri, I won’t be gettin’ free food.” He was serious now.
Katie had never told Paddy her true ambition in life. She was afraid he’d laugh at her. She had no experience as a paid performer, none at all. He’d think she was reachin’ for the moon.
Yet she found herself wanting to tell him. She wanted to share her dream with him. Brian knew, and he hadn’t laughed at her. And being free-spirited himself, Paddy should applaud her ambition. Why did she think he wouldn’t?
Paddy sent a dark glance in the direction of Brian, sitting further down the table, his head bent in response to a question Marta had asked him. “What is it that he’s up to with that Swedish girl?”
Katie kept a straight face. “He’s heard there are many Swedish people in Wisconsin, and so he’s asked Marta to teach him her native language.”
Paddy scowled at her. “That’s what he’s been tellin’ you?”
Laughing, Katie said, “Paddy, I was jokin’. Anyways, Brian isn’t you. He doesn’t flit from one female to another, makin’ up stories as he goes along.”
An expression that on anyone else Katie would have seen as hurt appeared on Paddy’s face. But since she hadn’t meant anything unkind and was simply speaking the truth, she didn’t see any reason why Paddy should be offended. “Marta’s very nice,” she added. “They’re both interested in farming. Maybe that’s what they talk about.”
She decided not to suggest again that Paddy become acquainted with the Swedish girl. That could be a mistake. Not that Paddy had ever stolen any of Brian’s girlfriends. He wouldn’t do such a thing. But Marta herself could be drawn to the handsome, charming rascal. Katie knew of at least one instance where that had been true, and Brian had been despondent afterward for weeks. Not Paddy’s fault, of course, and Brian hadn’t seemed to blame him. What had surprised her was Paddy blamed himself, walking around with his head hanging down in remorse, his eyes full of guilt. He’d bought Brian a book Bri had been wanting, had even done his household chores for him, as if by doing so he could make up for the girl’s fickle heart.
Yet he himself broke hearts all over County Cork.
Katie didn’t understand. Her ma said, “’Tis the code between brothers. Paddy feels he took somethin’ of his brother’s, though it was the girl herself who was foolish. And he takes it to heart, as he should. Betrayin’ blood leads to a bitterness of the soul that ’tis eternal. There’s no forgivin’ it.”
Katie wondered if Paddy resented the girl because his brother was spending so much time with her instead of keeping his brother company during the voyage. Not that Paddy lacked for companionship. Still, Katie decided it might be a good thing to stay by his side, seeing to it that he wasn’t interfering with Brian and Marta. It was the least she could do for Brian, who had been kind enough to help her get to Queenstown and the Titanic.
Elizabeth, her ankle swollen, spent most of Friday in bed. Sometime that afternoon, Max, Lily, and Arthur came to extend an invitation. They wanted her to join them in the Parisian Café. Elizabeth let her mother decline on her behalf. She needed to think, and she couldn’t do that in the café surrounded by people.
But she kept reaching a point in her “thinking” where there seemed to be no answers, only questions. There was nothing left to do then but doze off. Her long nap made a tangled mess of her hair, which then required washing, finger-curling, and a thorough brushing before dinner. She felt she had wasted most of the day. She had thought to plan, and had planned nothing.
Max came back late in the day to invite her to dinner. He knocked at the door to her cabin rather than her parents’, and Elizabeth was forced to answer the door with her hair only half dried and curling wildly around her face.
His response was a delighted laugh. “So you decided to let your hair down, after all? About time. I like it.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing, too. She knew perfectly well how she looked. “If my mother knew I’d answered the door like this, she’d need smelling salts. You’re here early. Anyway, I have to eat with my parents.” This was one thing she had thought about. She had anticipated Max’s invitation and had decided it would be wiser to attempt a peaceful, pleasant meal with her mother and father. Her mother would be delighted that Elizabeth seemed to be avoiding Max. She could always see Max later, after dinner.
He looked disappointed. “You’re eating with them? Why?”
She didn’t want to tell him the truth: that her mother didn’t want her associating with someone so “unsuitable.” He might not understand that his money and position weren’t worth much to Nola if he wasn’t going to follow the path his parents had laid out for him.
“Because I need to talk to them, and dinner is the best time. They’re always in a good mood then.”
Max looked skeptical. “I hope you’ve planned some really clever strategy. Because if you haven’t, there’ll be a scene, and your mother will blame you for it.”
Elizabeth bristled. “How do you know? You’re not exactly an expert on my parents.”
Leaning against the door frame, his hands in his pockets, he said, “Sure I am. Because they’re just like mine. And I’ve been where you are now. I know exactly what it’s like. If you bring up a serious subject like college at dinner, there will be a scene.”
Elizabeth knew he was right. Because that annoyed her, she snapped, “Thank you for the advice, but I think I can handle a meal with my parents. I’ve been doing it for years.”
He smiled. “Ah, yes, but the question is, have you done it well?” He then added, “Unlike me, I mean. Meals at the Whittaker homestead were often an exercise in indigestion.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I could meet you later,” she offered, feeling a delicious twinge of satisfaction at behaving so boldly. “On the boat deck. If you want.” She could use the sore ankle as an excuse to return to the cabin. Her parents would be out and about, entertaining themselves until late. They wouldn’t even know she wasn’t in her bed. But she’d have to make sure to return before they did. Her mother would check on her before retiring for the night.
“I want. Nine o’clock?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Unless,” she added hastily, suddenly afraid she had been too forward, “Arthur and Lily have other plans.”
Max laughed. “I sincerely hope they do.” He moved away from the door frame. “I guess you’ll have to put your hair up in a proper do again. Too bad. I really do like it like that. Lily wears hers like that and no one’s thrown her overboard.”
Stung, Elizabeth replied, “I’m not Lily,” and closed the door.
When she did arrange her hair, she stabbed the hairpins into place ferociously, as if it were Max—or perhaps Lily—she was pinning into place.
She hoped, as she dressed, that by the time she and her parents arrived in the dining room, Max and his friends would have eaten and left. Just in case Max was right about dinner erupting into a “scene.”
He was right. And he and his friends were there, sitting only two tables away from Elizabeth and her parents. Thus, she had to suffer the added humiliation of knowing Max was watching as his prediction came true.
Dinner had begun pleasantly enough. Elizabeth was determined to avoid a repeat of their last dinner together. Remembering Max’s comments, she initially kept her contribution to the mealtime conversation cheerful and harmless. The food was delicious, she said, and ate heartily. The china pattern was lovely, she commented, and smiled at her mother. The soft rose of her mother’s dress matched the carpet in the à la carte restaurant, she pointed out, and got a smile in return. Her father beamed approval.
And just when Elizabeth was congratulating herself, thinking, I can do this, this is not so hard, her father ruined it all by saying, “I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses, Elizabeth, and are doing your part to make this a pleasant voyage by not tormenting us with your notion of going off to college instead of marrying Alan.” He sipped his wine before adding warmly, “I want you to know your mother and I appreciate it. Perhaps we’ll stroll down to a shop later and buy you a lovely souvenir of the trip. I understand they have some exquisite commemorative plates.”
Elizabeth darted a sideways glance at Max, to see if he’d heard. He had, in spite of the loud hum of conversation in the dining room. She could tell by the expression on his face. And his eyes warned her…Don’t, Elizabeth, don’t do it.
Too late. She had tried, hadn’t she? Tried to be pleasant. Tried to pretend that they were as amiable a family as any in this huge, luxurious, crowded dining room filled with amiable families on this most majestic of all ships. And now her father was talking about buying her a plate! Like a good little puppy being given a bone? “I am to be rewarded for behaving properly?” she asked in a strained voice.
Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes toward the embossed ceiling.
Slowly, deliberately, Elizabeth dabbed at her mouth with the white linen napkin. Then she put the napkin down beside her plate and stood up. “If you want to give me a reward,” she said distinctly, and knew that Max heard, “give me what I really want. Give me the right to make my own decisions. Forget about marrying me off to Alan Reed, and send me to college. If you will do those things for me, I will never say another unpleasant word again.”
Her father did not call after her as she left the room.
She didn’t realize that Max was right behind her until she had to stand aside in the corridor to let a waiter with a dining cart pass. As she turned, her back to the wall, she saw him standing there. “If you say I told you so…” she said heatedly. She began moving swiftly down the corridor again, limping only slightly on the injured ankle. She did not glance over her shoulder to see if he was following.
“I’m not going to say it.” He caught up with her and grabbed her hand. “Slow down, will you? No one’s chasing you.”
“You think I’m stupid for losing my temper. That I’ll never have what I want because I can’t control my anger. Why don’t you just say so? That’s what you’re thinking.?
“You read minds now?” Tugging on her hand, he stopped her, turned her around to face him. People passing them smiled, perhaps thinking they were one of the honeymooning couples on board. They didn’t see the pain in Elizabeth’s eyes.
“I wasn’t thinking you were stupid. And I wasn’t thinking you won’t get what you want. I was thinking exactly the opposite.” He put a hand under her chin, tilted it upward so that she was forced to meet his eyes with hers. “When I heard what you said and watched you march out of the dining room, your back as straight as the mast on this ship, I knew you’d get what you want, no matter what it takes.”
Elizabeth relaxed a little, leaning into the wall. “You did? That’s really what you were thinking?”
Max nodded. “You bet.” He smiled and took a step forward, so there was almost no space between them. “But that’s not what I’m thinking now.”
“It’s not?”
“No, ma’am, it’s not. What I’m thinking now is, your parents are still back in that dining room, and there isn’t anyone around to stop me from kissing you.”
Then Max’s lips were on hers, and she couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to.
She didn’t want to.