Forget Me Not (15 page)

While the others rowed, I stroked the bracelet Father had given me, wondering if he, Thomas and Hugh had made it to a lifeboat. A wave of determination engulfed me. Even though I didn’t know their fate, I did know that Mother and Bea needed me. I grasped the oar and pulled as hard as I could.

After a while Mr Bailey ordered us to stop rowing. With the noise of the oars still, I became aware that the screams had gone, replaced by weak moans and feeble whistles.

The lifeboat rocked and voices grew louder. I realised Mr Bailey had guided us to another lifeboat. He told us to huddle together for warmth, while he and the sailor in charge of the other lifeboat secured the vessels together.

Nobody in either boat spoke as we drifted on the ocean. The quiet was punctuated by sniffs, prayers, the lifeboats’ creaks and heaves, and the stretch of the rope tying the two boats. Each of us, numb with cold, was lost in our own thoughts.

My thoughts were not of the
Titanic
or even of the poor souls crying for help. They were of Father, Thomas and Hugh. Had they found a seat in a lifeboat, or … I couldn’t bear to think about it. I began shivering again. Mary and Evelyn rubbed my arms and back.

“Rest your head on my shoulder, Eve,” said Evelyn, pressed up close against my side. Exhaustion washed over me and I closed my eyes. The motion of the boat, drifting across the sea lulled me to sleep.

When I awoke later, I still leaned against Evelyn. The sky was lighter, but the temperature no warmer. Icebergs dotted the ocean as did the other lifeboats spread out around us. Like us, many were tied together.

“Where did you learn to row?” I asked Evelyn, my voice weak.

“At a place called Murray Bridge in Australia. We used to spend our family holidays there with friends. They taught me to row on the Murray River.”

“Lucky they did.”

“Indeed it is,” said Evelyn.

A cry from behind us shattered the peace.

“There, I see it too.” One of the young girls pointed to the horizon.

We turned and stared. The sky though not as dark, was still carpeted with stars, but there were no flashes of lights or rockets. Just as I felt ready to tell the girl she was seeing things, an orange burst of light exploded.

Mr Bailey stopped blowing into his hands. “If I’m not mistaken, that is a ship’s rocket.”

Someone in the lifeboat tied to ours began to cry, big deep sobs.

When in a distant land
This little verse you see
Think of the gentle hand
That penned these lines for thee
.
Julianne Jacobson,
Southampton, 9/04/1912

The sun peeked over the horizon and though it shone brightly, offered little warmth to thaw our bones or dry our clothes. As Mr Bailey had thought it best to conserve our diminished energy, he’d allowed the currents to take us towards the ship. But now, as we drew nearer, Mr Bailey had us row again, only with less urgency than we had only hours ago.

The ship was less grand than the
Titanic
, with only a single red funnel instead of four, and fewer decks. We were close enough now that I could see the
Titanic
’s empty lifeboats bobbing against the ship’s hull. I leaned around Evelyn to read the ship’s name.

“
Carpathia
,” I said aloud.

“You have sharp eyes, Eve,” said Evelyn, not breaking her rowing rhythm.

Nearer the ship Mr Bailey had us raise our oars on one side, then pull hard on the other in an effort to position ourselves as close as possible to the ship. Once we were alongside, we laid the oars on the bottom of the boat.

Ahead of us sailors on the
Carpathia
pulled people, perched upon a plank of wood held by ropes, from a lifeboat to the deck. “I hope that is sturdy.”

“We call it a bosun’s chair, miss,” said Mr Bailey. “And mark my words, it will carry you safely up the side of the ship.”

Despite Mr Bailey’s confidence, my stomach churned with anxiety, not just at being hoisted aboard, but at what, or rather who, may or may not greet me. I waited for the older ladies to be lifted aboard, before taking my place in the bosun’s chair. I clutched the rope with both hands and closed my eyes as they hauled me to the deck. The sensation of hanging in the air while being dragged up would have been exhilarating had it not been for the horrible circumstances.

A tall sailor swept me over the ship’s rail and into his arms. I bit my bottom lip to stop the tears that threatened to fall when he placed me on the deck. My legs, though still numb, somehow held me up.

“Thank you,” I said.

The ship was filled with subdued activity. People sat huddled under blankets, heads bowed while the
Carpathia
crew and passengers, offered drinks and comfort. Several people seemed to be taking the names of the survivors on the deck.

“Go on, miss. There’s plenty of blankets. And something to drink,” said the sailor.

Mary and Evelyn waved to me, and I lurched forwards, my cold legs like lumps of wood. When I reached them, they fussed, peeling off my life jacket and freeing Bea’s teddy. They wrapped me in blankets and handed me what Mary called a hot toddy. I sat between them sipping the sweet and spicy drink. I could taste liquor, honey, lemon and perhaps cinnamon. It burned all the way to my stomach and somehow helped my blood to flow again. The heat from the mug seeped through my frozen hands and up my arms.

As my body warmed, my thoughts cleared and I started to identify noises amongst the mumble of sound. Sailors called to each other, babies wailed, children cried for parents and adults sobbed like infants.

I flung the blanket from my shoulders. “I have to find Mother and Bea.”

Evelyn wrapped the blanket back around me. “Eve, why don’t you regain your strength first?”

“I need to know they are safe.” I picked up Bea’s bear. “And I promised Bea I’d bring him.”

“Then let me come with you.”

When I stood, my feet still felt like solid lumps, but I gritted my teeth and forced them forwards. Evelyn and I searched the faces half-hidden by blankets. My heart sunk a little lower with each one we passed without seeing Mother or Bea.

A sailor holding a clipboard strode past me. “Excuse me,” I said, hating how feeble my voice sounded.

“How can I help you, miss?” His warmth was unsettling.

“Are you taking names of the
Titanic
passengers?”

“Indeed I am.”

“May I ask if you have come across Alice and Beatrice Gilmore? Bea is only little – she’s five, and Mother is my height with–”

The look on the sailor’s face stopped me. “I’m sorry, miss. I haven’t taken those names. Yet.”

My knees threaten to buckle and would have done so had Evelyn Marsden not taken me by the elbow. “Eve.”

I sniffed and wiped my eyes.

“On the port side, that lady …” Her words were gentle and careful.

I stared where Evelyn had pointed. Three lumps huddled together, all obscured by blankets.

All three were too hunched to be Mother, and yet, I found myself drawn to them. “Mother? Alice Gilmore?”

A lump moved and a woman lifted her head, face drawn, but gave no sign of recognition.

I was about to turn away, sure Evelyn was mistaken, when the woman’s face crumpled. She wailed. “Eve! Oh, Evie. Thank God you’re safe.”

The other two lumps beside her lowered their blankets – Mrs Worthington and Meggie.

Three – not four.

Bea.

I hurried as best as I could to them, panic thundering through me. Mother kept chanting, “Thank you, God. Thank you.”

“Mother, where’s Bea?”

Mother drew back the blankets. Bea lay on her lap, her face waxy and white. She was still, so very still.

“Oh, Bea.” I fell to my knees and howled, rocking to and fro, hugging Bea’s teddy to my chest.

Mother stroked my arm. “Hush now, Eve, hush now.”

Evelyn was beside me. “Eve,” she whispered. “Look at her.”

“I can’t.”

Mother took my hand in her icy one and placed it on Bea’s small chest. Even through her coat, I could feel warmth and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. I stopped rocking and opened my eyes.

Bea opened her eyes and smiled. “Eve. You found Teddy.”

I shook my head, tears splashing down my face. “I didn’t. Hugh did.”

Mother wrapped her arm around me and squeezed. I buried my face in her shoulder. Mrs Worthington rubbed my back and Meggie moved to sit in front of me. They encircled me with their blankets.

“Eve, your father?” whispered Mother, long after Bea had fallen asleep again.

I bit my lip and shook my head.

Mother nodded. “And …”

I knew she couldn’t bring herself to say Thomas’s name. “They were with Hugh.” I looked up at Mrs Worthington. “Hugh insisted I take his life jacket and made sure I was safely aboard the lifeboat.”

Tears streamed down Mrs Worthington’s face.

“I didn’t see Mr Worthington. They may have been picked up by–”

Mother stopped my words by reaching out to touch the bracelet Father had given me.

“He gave it to me the day we sailed,” I whispered.

“I thought he might,” she said. “I’m glad he did.”

We sat together, leaning against each other, without speaking. I watched more boat loads of
Titanic
survivors being hauled over the side of the ship. With each one, when the face wasn’t one I yearned to see, a little piece of me died.

“I shouldn’t have left them,” I said.

“Yes, you should have, Eve,” said Mother, her voice firm. “I couldn’t bear losing you too.”

Two sailors heaved on ropes and the bosun’s chair reached the ship’s rail once again. Another sailor stepped forwards to help them remove a man tied to the seat. He hung dishevelled and listless from the men’s arms. Something about him was familiar.

I stood, the blanket falling from my shoulders.

“Eve? What is it?” asked Mother.

The name screamed in my brain, but couldn’t reach my mouth.

The sailors carried the man to the deck and wrapped him in blankets. “Where’s the doctor?” yelled the taller one.

Mother tugged at my arm. “Eve, speak to me. What is wrong?”

Using every piece of my energy, I forced the name to my lips.

“Hugh.”

Wednesday, April 17, 1912
DAY EIGHT

By hook or by crook
I’ll be the last in this book
.
Hugh Worthington, RMS
Titanic
, 13/04/1912

Never be too sure
.
Thomas Gilmore, RMS
Titanic
, 13/04/1912

After breakfast our bedraggled group took the air on the
Carpathia
’s deck. Meggie and I supported Hugh, who hobbled between us, his broken ankle now swathed in bandages.

Mother, Bea, Mrs Worthington, Meggie and I had been sharing a cabin that a
Carpathia
passenger gave up for us. The generous
Carpathia
passengers not only gave up their cabins, but shared their clothes and even fashioned skirts and coats from blankets for the
Titanic
’s survivors. It was a strange sensation being reliant on strangers. All any of us had were the clothes we’d been wearing when we were rescued. Everything else was on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean – with Father and Mr Worthington.

Thomas was on board with us.

Mother and Mrs Worthington were inseparable, offering each other support. Bea didn’t speak much and refused to be alone or separated from Teddy. Meggie and I took it in turns to care for her.

Meggie and I decided we needed to be brave, at least in front of our mothers and Bea, only confiding our sorrow to each other.

Hugh kept his thoughts tightly bottled and refused to speak about his experiences. He’d been confined to the ship’s infirmary since being hauled aboard, on Monday, and we took it in turns to keep him company. Each day a little more colour returned to his face, but his green eyes didn’t sparkle as they once had.

Today was his first day on deck.

When I wasn’t with Hugh, Bea or Meggie, I helped Evelyn and Mary care for the injured and ill. It felt good to be useful, and being busy stopped me from dwelling on my darling Father and dear Thomas.

Our party reached the ship’s bow.

“Shall we turn back?” asked Mother.

As we turned, Mrs Worthington stopped in her tracks. “New York,” she breathed, staring at a grey smudge on the horizon.

Mother slipped her arm through Mrs Worthington’s. “We weren’t supposed to arrive like this, were we?”

Mrs Worthington shook her head. Leaning on each other, they moved on.

“Walk with me, Meggie,” pleaded Bea.

Meggie took Bea’s hand and followed our mothers.

Hugh and I watched the ocean in silence.

“Would you like to return?” I asked. “I don’t want to overtax you.”

“No. I’d rather stay in the fresh air.” Hugh leaned on the ship’s rail. “That’s if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The wind whipped my hair against my face. “Do you think your mother is serious about moving to Charleston?”

“Absolutely. We’ve spoken at length about it,” said Hugh. “Father’s old partner, Mr Dobson, left Richmond for Charleston last year to set up his own practice. The plan has also been for me to move and work with him for a few years. Plus Mother trusts him to help with our legal matters.” Hugh looked at the horizon. “And we Worthingtons have quite a bond with you Gilmores.”

“Yes, our mothers are very close,” I said, “and Meggie is a dear, like my own sister. And you …” What was he? I blushed and began prattling. “Did I tell you Mother had a telegram from Uncle Hubert? He’ll meet us when the
Carpathia
docks. You’ll like him. He’s chunkier than Father, and rather louder, at least he was last time I saw him …” I let my words trail away.

Hugh grinned at me. I blushed.

With New York on the horizon, the things I needed to say loomed between us.

“Hugh, I have something I need to say. When the
Titanic
… I haven’t thanked you for–”

“Don’t thank me,” he snapped.

“But, Hugh, if it hadn’t been for you–”

“Don’t, Eve, please.”

I could hear the pain in his voice. I twirled the bracelet Father had given me. “But I do need to thank you, Hugh. You gave me your life jacket, kept your promise and–”