Echoes of Titanic (60 page)

She couldn't watch any longer. She turned her attention to a sobbing old woman near her, trying to give her some comfort. A cold chill settled upon them as they floated aimlessly in the vast ocean. She thought of the bonds, safely hidden away in her hand muff, and wondered if the technology those bonds backed would end up saving her or not.

Had other ships heard the distress calls from
Titanic
's wireless system? If so, were any of those ships on their way? Adele wondered if they would ever be found or if they would simply float here until they had all frozen to death.

Then she heard a sound like a distant explosion, and she jerked her head up. The crash and crunch of metal rang across the water as if the great ship were splitting in two. No one said a word or made a sound.

All they could do was watch in horror. Suddenly, the lights blinked and went out. The stern began to rise in the air, higher and higher until it was nearly vertical. They all looked on in shock and awe. Then it began its final descent.

Adele could barely make out the silhouette of the sinking ship in the distance. As it slowly lowered straight down into the sea, she thought absurdly what a contradiction it made—the movement of the ship itself so smooth and graceful, but the sounds so horrifying and wrong. The screech of metal. The cries of the doomed.

She closed her eyes, listening for the voice of Rowan, the voice of Jocelyn, in the crowds, but it was a cacophony of screams. Soon the sounds lessened.

Eventually, they ceased.

“God help us,” the woman next to her whispered, but Adele didn't know if she was asking God to get them to safety or if she was begging His forgiveness for having left others behind.

God help us
, Adele echoed in her mind, her own meaning clear. She hoped desperately that Jocelyn had made it, but somehow in her heart she knew she had not. Holding in her sobs, Adele looked up at the starry sky, at the endless black horizon. For the rest of her life, she would have to live with the truth of this night.

Jocelyn was dead because she let her walk away.

Chelsea Piers, New York
April 15, 2012

N
ine days later, Kelsey sat on a folding chair on the very pier where
Titanic
should have docked so long ago. Sadly, the great ship had never made it to these shores. On its way here, out in the frigid north Atlantic Ocean,
Titanic
struck an iceberg and sank less than three hours later. This ceremony was but one of the many events being held around the country—and indeed the world—to commemorate the anniversary of the historic event that had happened one hundred years ago on this day, when the unsinkable ship had sunk. Though they had had other options, this was the event Kelsey's family had chosen to attend, mostly because of the ease of logistics for wheelchair-bound Nolan.

A chilly wind blew off the Hudson River, undermining the sun's efforts to warm the participants who had gathered at Chelsea Piers for the occasion. Several hundred people had turned out for it, and as each speaker took his turn at the dais, loved ones huddled together to ward off the chill. To Kelsey's left was Cole, looking incredibly handsome as usual in a black double-breasted coat over a dark gray suit and maroon tie. To her right was Grandpa Jonah; her parents, Nolan and Doreen; and finally Matt and his new fiancée, Tiffany.

As chilly as it was, something about the cold seemed right to Kelsey. A number of descendants of
Titanic
passengers had turned out for the event,
and together they were all feeling just a fraction of the cold that had been experienced by their forebears that fateful night so long ago.

The ceremony itself was lovely, with uniformed officers of the coast guard in attendance and several prominent speakers, including a
Titanic
historian; a representative of Harland & Wolff, the company that built
Titanic;
and even the mayor of New York City. Near the end, a commemorative marker was unveiled by two members of the coast guard as a bugler gave a painfully perfect rendition of “Taps.” Watching the tribute and hearing the mournful music played, Kelsey found herself rifling her pockets yet again for tissues.

Finally, a Navy chaplain took the podium and offered a prayer to close the somber ceremony. Cole took Kelsey's gloved hand in his as they bowed their heads. After a beat, she reached out and took her grandfather's hand as well. He gave hers a tight squeeze in return, the three of them linked not just by love but by their faith.

When the prayer was over and the crowd began to disperse, Cole put his arm around Kelsey's shoulders and drew her a little closer.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, offering up a clean tissue of his own.

She accepted it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes, assuring him she was fine.

“Such a needless tragedy,” she said, gazing out at the horizon and thinking of all the lives that had been lost that night for want of enough lifeboats. “I can't imagine what those people endured.”

Finally, they stood and began to mingle with the others, all of them agreeing that it had been a beautiful ceremony. Gazing around at her loved ones, Kelsey couldn't help but think how grateful she was for each of them. How blessed she'd been—both with the family members who were here and those who had passed on before. Now that she had studied Adele's diary at length, Kelsey felt a kinship not just with her own great-grandmother, but also with Adele's father, Sean, and with her cousin Jocelyn and Jocelyn's parents, Rowan and Oona.

A hundred years ago, the two young women, cousins as close as sisters, had left their home in Ireland and all they had ever known and set off for America and the dream of a better life. Only Adele had made it here, but through the life she'd lived and the things she'd accomplished, she'd managed to leave a legacy for them all.

Kelsey had given her Quarter Club pin to the police last week and was back to wearing Adele's golden harp hat pin instead. Today, she had affixed
it to the lapel of her navy blue wool coat. She touched the cold metal of the harp with her fingers now, still wishing they had been able to find concrete proof about Adele's identity.

A strong gust of wind sent many of the attendees toward the building at the head of the massive pier. There was to be a brief reception inside, and then the event would be complete. Kelsey's group began moving as well, Matt taking the handles of their father's chair to lead the way.

As they neared the building, two women seemed to be waiting for them. Attendees of the event, one was about forty years old, wearing a black winter jacket. The other was a white-haired lady in an old gray tweed coat, balancing with the aid of a cane.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman said as they drew closer. “Are you the Tate family?”

Kelsey and the others stopped walking, several of them nodding.

“Yes?” Grandpa Jonah said, moving forward to take charge of the situation.

The younger woman smiled, introducing herself and the older woman next to her, who was her grandmother, saying that they had come from their home in western Pennsylvania specifically hoping to speak with the Tates.

“My nana has something she'd like to give to all of you,” she added.

Kelsey glanced at Cole, wondering what this could be about.

“What sort of something?” Jonah asked genially. “Are you two descendants of
Titanic
passengers as well?”

“Yes, we are,” the older woman said. “My grandmother's name was Annie Devlin, and she and her husband and daughter were traveling in
Titanic's
second-class section.”

“Did they all survive the sinking?” Jonah asked kindly.

“Annie and her daughter made it, yes. Annie's husband did not.”

Everyone nodded somberly, all too familiar with the thought.

“Annie's daughter, Daisy, was just six years old the night the ship went down. She and her mother were on one of the last lifeboats to leave the ship. The story of how they ended up on that lifeboat has been passed down through our family. Daisy grew up to become my mother, and she told the story to me. I have since shared it with my own descendants. Now I want to share it with you.”

Interested to hear what she had to say but concerned about her father being out in the cold for too long, Kelsey suggested they proceed to the reception inside. They all moved together as a group into the building and
followed the signs to the large room where the reception was being held. It was nothing fancy, just a few tables with finger foods and punch and a chance for attendees to mingle and to observe the various nautical mementoes on display. Kelsey, Cole, Matt, and Tiffany rounded up enough chairs so that they could sit together in a circle with the two women. After supplying the older folks and themselves with some food, they all sat, and then everyone was ready to hear the rest of what she had come here to tell them.

“The night the ship sank,” the older woman said, looking from one to the other, clearly in her element as a storyteller, “Annie clung to her husband and her little girl, watching as one lifeboat after another was lowered over the side of the ship. She couldn't bear to leave her husband a moment sooner than she absolutely had to, but by the time he finally forced her to go, they realized it might be too late. With only a few lifeboats left, and hundreds of passengers crowding toward them, they feared that Annie and Daisy might not make it on one after all.”

Kelsey listened, rapt. This woman's words were far more real now that she had devoured Adele's diary and experienced the sinking through her eyes.

“Somehow, with Daisy in her arms, Annie managed to push her way through the crowds. As she got closer to a lifeboat, and it looked as if they might make it on after all, people began thrusting hastily scribbled notes toward her, people who knew they were going to die and wanted to send some final word to their loved ones. Annie did what she could and ended up putting six different envelopes in her bag. Soon she and Daisy found themselves at the edge of a lifeboat behind someone they had made friends with during the voyage, a young woman named Jocelyn.”

More than one gasp could be heard around the circle.

“Everything was so chaotic that night,” she continued. “The next thing my grandmother knew, someone had scooped up little Daisy and plopped her into the overcrowded lifeboat. Jocelyn climbed in next, but when Annie also tried to step aboard after her, an officer pushed her away, saying that the boat was overfull and in danger of sinking if even one more passenger forced their way aboard.”

Kelsey glanced at her own mother, her pulse surging at the thought.

“Annie accepted her fate, but as she was climbing down from the rail, Jocelyn must have realized that mother and daughter had been separated. Looking from one to the other, she called out to Annie and offered up her place on the lifeboat.”

Tears sprang unbidden from Kelsey's eyes, and she noticed Doreen tearing up as well.

“As the women traded places, Jocelyn gave Annie a small, fat envelope with a name on front. Much like the others, she asked her to deliver it on her behalf. Of course Annie agreed. She owed her life to the girl.”

Kelsey and her family members glanced at each other, and she knew they were all marveling at the incredible sacrifice of the young woman. Kelsey liked to think she would have done the same, but who could know until they were actually in such a position?

“Sadly,” the old woman continued, “over the next few hours, as they floated in the ocean and waited to be rescued, that lifeboat took on some water. Annie's bag was on the floor, and the water soaked through. Several of the letters she'd promised to deliver were ruined, the ink completely washed away.”

At that, she placed her purse in her lap and unzipped it with help from her granddaughter. “Jocelyn's letter wasn't ruined, but her envelope was. The salutation inside was to someone named Adele, but with no last names and no address, Annie could not figure out who that was or where it was supposed to go. Months after the sinking—years, even—she pored over every published
Titanic
passenger list she could find but never ran across anyone by the name of Jocelyn or Adele.”

“I know why that is,” Jonah interrupted. “Both girls had been named for their mothers. Their full names were Oona Jocelyn Brennan and Beatrice Adele Brennan. The ship's roster had them as Oona and Beatrice, not Jocelyn and Adele.”

“Oh, my. Well, that makes perfect sense, then,” the older woman said as she dug through her bag. “In the end, the best Annie could do was to preserve the letter and pass down the story in the hopes that someday it might make its way to the rightful owner.”

She then produced a small but thick yellowed envelope that had been placed inside a baggie. She handed it over to Jonah, and though he accepted it reverentially he made no move to open it just yet.

“I doubt the connection would ever have been made if not for a recent spate of headlines and news stories,” the old woman continued. Looking directly at Kelsey, she said, “You're practically a celebrity, my dear, even out in our neck of the woods. I'd read all the stories about the…situation…with you and your company, but it wasn't until I saw an interview the other day where you discussed your great-grandmother Adele,
Titanic
survivor, that
my memory was stirred. There was one photo of you in particular, where you were wearing that same pin you have on today. Once I saw that, there was no doubt. This letter was meant for your great-grandmother, Adele Brennan Tate. It may have taken a while, but I'm thrilled to have delivered it to this family at last.”