Charlotte Elizabeth Duvall stood at the steamship railing, looking at the vast ocean beyond. The water was dark gray, as was the sky, and before long, the two would blend on the horizon. The wind had picked up and made a mess of her hat, and then her hair. The long, auburn tendrils blew back from her face, and she knew she must look like a red medusa from behind.
In one hand, she held her hat, which she absently registered as having been important to her when she purchased it six months earlier upon graduation from medical school in Pennsylvania. She’d been so happy that day; the only sad spot was that her family had been unable to attend the commencement celebrations. In her other hand was the telegram the ship’s purser had handed her an hour ago. Her father was dead.
The last letter she’d received from her father had unsettled her enough to take an extended leave of absence from her new job in a New York women and children’s clinic and book passage on the next available steamer.
But she was too late.
She clutched the telegram in tight fingers, her wrist braced against the railing. Two weeks earlier, she’d been in her New York City flat, debating whether she ought to make her new residence there a permanent thing. Aunt Sally wanted her to return home to England, as did her cousins, her father, and her friends. But she’d spent four hard years attending one of the most rigorous medical schools in the world—one established by women who insisted a medical education ought to consist of more than the few months of training required for a simple medical certificate. Charlotte’s professional colleagues and contacts were in America, as were her prospects for a promising career.
Then she’d received word from her eldest brother, Thomas, that their father was ill, that he’d suffered a heart issue—angina pectoris—and the prognosis was not promising. If she wanted to see him alive, she must return home immediately. Not two days later, the strange letter from her father arrived, and her thoughts began spinning in confusion and concern. She’d quickly settled her affairs, made arrangements at St. Anne’s clinic, pre-paid a few months on her apartment lease, and contacted her friends and acquaintances to alert them of her changing circumstances.
It had all taken time. Too much time. And now he was gone.
The tears in her eyes were a combination of grief and the result of wind that whipped and swirled around her in biting gusts. Rain began to fall, cold and sharp. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t see through blurred vision that obscured the definition of the waves. The ship dipped, and she fought for her balance, grabbing the railing and losing her hat in the process. She looked behind her as it flew across the deck and disappeared over the other side.
“Miss!” a purser shouted at her, waving to catch her attention. “You’ll be wanting to get below deck! The storm promises to be a bad one!”
She nodded, brushing her flying curls away from her forehead and around her neck. “Of course.” She didn’t move, though. She couldn’t think of where to go, of how to get there.
Charlotte was never at a loss for something to say or a plan to put into action. Death was permanent—she’d seen that firsthand. She’d spent four long years learning to combat it. She couldn’t fix her father.
There was nothing to be done. He’d sent that cryptic letter warning of danger and secrets, and now he was gone. She wondered—if she threw her arms wide, would the wind carry her away like the hat?
The purser gestured. “Come, I’ll escort you.”
She took his arm, noting the absence of any other living soul on deck. How long had she been standing there? How long would she have remained there? She attempted to gather her hair in her free hand as they turned toward the stairs. Her fingers, threaded through the man’s arm, still clutched the telegram that by now she’d crushed into a ball.
They reached the stairs, and she paused. The purser frowned at her as she pulled her hand free, turning with the wind. She opened her hand, and the telegram shot from it, hitting the far railing before disappearing into the dark water below. Fighting for breath, she reached again for the man’s arm and descended.