CARPE DIEM
Chapter Eleven
At this time of night, the
corridors were usually empty, ghostly in their solitude. Most passengers retired
at an earlier hour and those who did not were inclined to linger in the smoking
room or the Palm Court, where their political rantings and philosophical
musings could be heard in company. This night was not so, and we passed more
than one passenger clad in a nightgown or robe, peeking out of their staterooms
or wandering in the halls, speculating amongst themselves about the sound that
had awakened them not long before. Thomas retained possession of my hand as he
led me through the hallways, calmly but insistently commanding all those we
passed to get up to the boat deck immediately.
The electric lights in the
corridor were too bright, and I held back more tears, this time tears of pain,
as I felt the impending presence of that familiar dull aching on either side of
my head. I lowered my eyes, focused on Thomas’ footsteps, one after the other,
steady and even. I drew strength from his strength, from the feel of his
fingers interlaced with mine. We met Molly Brown, gin and tonic in hand, coming
down the stairs near the Palm Court. She was in high spirits, seemed pleased to
see us there together, gave me a knowing glance, smiled broadly, seemed
perplexed that neither one of us returned the gesture.
"Why, Tom, you look like
someone’s canceled Christmas," she teased him jovially. He didn’t indulge
her, not even momentarily. Just told her she needed to be on the boat deck
directly.
"That’s what the boy
upstairs said, but listen, son, this is April," she stated, still
retaining her felicitous disposition. "I’m gonna need more than this if
I’m goin’ up on any boat deck." She pointed to the almost sleeveless,
gauze-like evening dress she was clothed in. "Your Mary-girl there could
use a jacket, too, Tom. She’ll catch her death. She’s pale as ashes as it
is."
"Mary Catherine will be
fine…" He spoke adamantly, momentarily squeezed my hand tighter as he did,
without facing me. He sighed and walked past the woman, dragging me along with
him, turning back only briefly. "Get something if you must, Mrs. Brown,
but get it quickly!"
Seamen and some of the
lower-ranking officers were already on the boat deck, sent earlier to uncover
the lifeboats, loosen them from their fastenings. Steam poured from the funnels
overhead, falling in filthy clouds to the deck, where ice like shattered glass
had been strewn down the length of the ship. Above the deafening roar of steam
came the calls of frantic, disorganized men, voices raised in an intelligible
manner as they struggled with the lifts. Thomas approached the nearest sailor,
leaving me by the railing, as the boy fumbled with the mechanism of one of the
Wellin davits.
"Turn to the right!" he
shouted above the noise, impatience unmasked. "Pull the falls taut before
you unchock. Have you never had a boat drill?"
The young sailor moved to the
opposite side, positioned himself to pull the falls. "No, sir!" he
answered simply. "Not with these new davits, sir!"
No, no, no… my thoughts were
becoming a mantra, devoid of anything but an unconscious denial of this night.
Thomas shook his head, disgusted, moved down the deck swiftly, directing the
sailors.
The air had turned frigid. I
crossed my arms against the cold, glancing away from the men, looking out
across the water as I did. Night had long since settled on the sea, its blue
waters now black and murky. The sea remained calm, possessing an ungodly
stillness that betrayed no sinister divinations, but neither took notice of the
vessel drowning in her midst. Fickle mistress, I thought, remembering my
impromptu speech at lunch days before, would sooner leave ice in your veins,
would sooner drown you while you slept.
A fluttering of movement back on
deck caught my attention. A few men and women, dressed in suits and formal
evening gowns, coming out onto the boat deck, hesitantly, slowly, unnerved by
the racket and the coolness of evening. Mr. Murdoch pushed his way past them,
towards Thomas and the sailors still struggling with the boats. His expression
had resumed a stony façade, a blankness I much preferred to the shadow of doubt
and despair that had passed over his features in the chartroom. He met my gaze
briefly on his way by, held it evenly, but said nothing as he passed. I would
not have heard his words in the surrounding din anyway.
Mr. Guggenheim and his mistress,
Madame Aubert, were among the passengers wandering out onto the boat deck. I
knew them both, though neither well. During this voyage, they’d been a fixture
at my brother’s dinner table, and Mr. Guggenheim’s reputation was
well-established, but I had yet to have a conversation with either.
Nevertheless, in seeing a familiar face, Madame Aubert strode over to me
directly. Mr. Guggenheim followed close behind.
"What’s going on?" She
leaned towards my left side, shouted above the noise. Her usually soft and
silky French accent gave way to shrillness in its heightened volume.
"They’re launching the
lifeboats," I replied, gesturing at the men before us.
"Dear God! Whatever
for?" Mr. Guggenheim seemed imposed upon, almost angry. Evidently, Captain
Smith had not told his passengers the direness of our circumstances. I was not
surprised; no good would come from instilling panic. In a calm manner, I
replied that the lifeboats were a precaution that the Captain deemed necessary.
Mr. Guggenheim frowned. Madame Aubert muttered something in French, to which he
gave assent. Not long afterward, they left the boat deck and went back inside.
The other passengers followed shortly.
Thomas returned from further down
the deck, having finished with the davits, striding quickly towards me. He
glanced around the empty deck incredulously. Catching sight of Mr. Murdoch, he
shouted over the roar of steam.
"Where are all the
passengers?" he demanded. Mr. Murdoch struggled with the nearest boat. He
shrugged.
"They’ve all gone back
inside!" he yelled back flatly. "Too damned cold and noisy for
them."
Thomas looked dejected. He took
out his pocket watch by its brass chain, marked its face, and replaced it,
frowning. He returned to me, took off his jacket, and handed it to me, meeting
my gaze finally as he did. I took the coat gladly, threw it around my
shoulders. My hands were shaking slightly, though from cold or apprehension, I
could not tell.
Thomas surveyed the empty deck
once more, his expression betraying his thoughts with abandon. Two thousand,
two hundred souls, apathetic to their fate, loitering in the inner chambers of
an iron casket. They would all die if he did not act quickly.
He would leave me now, I could
see. Must leave me. Impulsively, I embraced him tightly, buried my face in his
chest. He smelled of cedar and tobacco. His arms enfolded me, held me close,
stroked my hair.
"There aren’t enough
lifeboats, Mary Catherine." He spoke softly in my ear. I didn’t trust my
voice, but nodded my head against him. He took hold of my shoulders and pulled
me back from him, enough to see my face, to mark the despair he found there.
With his right hand, he brushed my tears away gently.
"Helen’s my wife," he
said with insistence, his voice breaking, his strong fingers clutching my
shoulders tightly, his gaze not wavering from mine. "But God forgive me,
I’ve never loved anyone but you."
Maybe he said my name once more,
but I can’t be sure. He was gone before I could bring myself to speak, vanished
through the cloud of steam surrounding the entrance to the foyer.