No Greater Love (14 page)

George only shrugged, and threw a card down that infuriated his brother, and then Phillip glanced over at Edwina, still gazing around in awe. “I’m not sure. There were cards on everything. I think most of it is stuff from people here at the hotel … there’s something from
The New York Times
… the White Star Line sent some things too. I don’t know, they’re just gifts, I guess.” And the children were having a wonderful time tearing through them. Even Alexis looked up happily and grinned at her sister. It was the birthday party she had been cheated of on the day they sank, and more. It looked like ten birthdays and a Christmas.

Edwina walked around it all in amazement, as Teddy sat happily on his new horse and waved at his big sister. “What are we going to do with all this?”

“We’ll just have to take it home, of course,” George answered matter-of-factly.

“Did you get everything you needed?” Phillip asked as she attempted to make some order in the room, and divide up her purchases according to whom they were for. He looked up at her then and frowned. “I don’t much like the dress, it’s kind of old-looking, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she said quietly, but it had seemed appropriate to her. She didn’t feel young anymore, and wondered if she ever would again. “They didn’t have much in black at the two stores I went to.” She was so tall and slim that it wasn’t always easy to find exactly what she wanted. Her mother had had that problem too, and they had shared dresses sometimes. But no longer. They would never share anything again … not their friendship, their warmth, their laughter. Like Edwina’s childhood, it was all over.

Phillip looked up at her again then, and realized why she was wearing black. He hadn’t thought of that at first, and he wondered if he and George would have to wear black ties and black armbands. They did when their grandparents had died. Mama had said it was a gesture of respect, but Papa had said that he thought it was silly. Which reminded Phillip of something he had forgotten to tell her.

“We got a Marconigram today from Uncle Rupert and Aunt Liz.”

“Oh, dear.” Edwina frowned. “I meant to send them a wire this morning and I forgot, with all the excitement of going to the doctor. Where is it?” He pointed to the desk and she picked it up and then sat down with a sigh. It was not exactly news that she wanted, although she appreciated their good intentions. Uncle Rupert was putting Aunt Liz on the
Olympic
in two days, and they were to wait for her in New York, and she would then bring them back with her to England. Edwina felt her heart skip a beat as she read it, and she felt sorry for her aunt’s having to come over, knowing how desperately seasick she got. Besides which, the very thought of an ocean crossing now made Edwina feel ill. She knew she would never get on a ship again for as long as she lived. She would never forget the sight of the
Titanic’
s stern sticking straight up out of the water and outlined against the night sky as they sat watching her from the lifeboats.

She wired an answer back to them later that evening, urging Aunt Liz not to come, and telling them that they were going back to San Francisco. But another response came back to them the next morning.

“No discussion. You will return to England with your aunt Elizabeth. Stop. Regret circumstances for all of you. Must make the best of it here. See you shortly. Rupert Hickham.” The very prospect of going back to Havermoor Manor to live almost made her shudder.

“Do we have to, Edwina?” George looked up at her with ill-concealed horror, and Fannie started to cry and said she was always cold there and the food was awful.

“So was I cold, now stop crying, you silly goose. The only place we’re going is home. Is that clear?” Five heads nodded and five serious faces hoped that she meant it. But it was going to be a little more difficult convincing their uncle Rupert. Edwina fired off an
answer to him at once. And a two-day battle ensued, culminating in their aunt Liz’s coming down with a ferocious case of influenza, which forced her to postpone the crossing. And in the interim, Edwina made herself more than clear to her uncle. “No need to come to New York. We are going home to San Francisco. Much to settle, many things to work out. We will be fine there. Please come and visit. We will be home by May 1st. All love to you and Aunt Liz. Edwina.” The last thing any of them wanted now was to go and live in England with Aunt Liz and Uncle Rupert. Edwina wouldn’t consider it for a moment.

“Are you sure they won’t come to San Francisco and just take us?” George’s eyes were huge in his face, and Edwina smiled at the obvious concern there.

“Of course not. They’re not kidnappers, they’re our aunt and uncle, and they mean well. It’s just that I think we can manage on our own in San Francisco.” It was a brave statement for her to make, and one she had yet to prove, but she had decided that she was determined to do it. The paper was run by a fine staff well chosen by her father, and well directed by him over the years. There was no reason why anything had to change now, even without Bert Winfield at the helm of the paper. He had often said that if anything ever happened to him, no one would ever know it. And they were about to be put to the test, because Edwina had no intention of selling the paper. They needed the income, and even though it wasn’t vastly profitable like
The New York Times
, or any of the truly great papers, it was still a very comfortable little venture, and she and the others would need the money if they were to survive and stay together in their home in San Francisco. And she had no intention of letting Rupert, or Liz, or anyone else force her to sell the paper, or the house, or anything else that had belonged to their parents. She was anxious to get home
now to see that everything was sorted out, and no one made any decisions that affected her and that she didn’t approve of. She had decided they were going home. But what she didn’t know was that Rupert had already made plans to have her close up the house and put the paper up for sale. As far as he was concerned the Winfield children would not be returning to San Francisco, and if so, not for long. But he had not fully reckoned with Edwina, and her determination to keep her family where they belonged. Together, at home, in San Francisco.

The Winfield children spent the next week in New York, went for long walks in the park, saw the doctor again, and were pleased with the reports about Teddy’s health and Fannie’s two fingers. They had lunch at the Plaza, and went shopping again, because George informed Edwina that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the jacket she had bought him. It was a time to relax and to rest, and to be slowly restored, but at night they were all still strangely quiet, haunted by their own thoughts and fears, and the ship that had caused them. Alexis still had nightmares, and she slept in Edwina’s bed now, with Fannie in another bed just beside her, and Teddy in a crib close beside them.

They had dinner in their rooms at the hotel on the last night, and they spent a quiet evening, playing cards and talking, and George made them laugh with embarrassingly accurate impersonations of Uncle Rupert.

“That’s not fair,” Edwina tried to scold him, but she was laughing too. “The poor thing has gout, and he means well.” But he was funny anyway, and easy prey for George’s wicked sense of humor. And only Alexis didn’t laugh with them, she hadn’t smiled in days, and if anything, she was growing more withdrawn, as she silently mourned their parents.

“I don’t want to go home,” she whispered to Edwina
late that night, as they lay cuddled close to each other in bed, and Edwina listened to the gently purring breath of the others.

“Why not?” she whispered, but Alexis only shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in Edwina’s shoulder. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart? There’s nothing to hurt you there….” Nothing could hurt them as much as the loss they had sustained on the
Titanic.
And there were times when even Edwina wished that her own life had been lost, there were times when she didn’t want to go on without Charles or her parents. She had so little time alone to think about him, to mourn him, to just let her thoughts drift back to their happy moments. And yet, thinking about Charles at all was so painful, she could hardly bear it. But with the little ones counting on her, she knew she had to pull herself together. She could only allow herself to think of them and no one else. “You’ll be safe in your own room again,” she crooned to Alexis, “and you can go to school with your friends….” But Alexis shook her head vehemently, and then looked up miserably at her older sister.

“Mama won’t be there when we get home.” It was a sad fact they all knew, and Edwina also knew that a part of her was somehow childishly hoping that they would be there, and Charles with them, and it would all be a cruel joke, and none of it would have happened. But Alexis knew better, and she wisely didn’t want to have to face it when they went home to San Francisco.

“No, she won’t be there. But she’ll be there in our hearts, she always will be. They all will·—Mama, and Papa, and Charles. And once we go home, maybe we’ll even feel closer to Mama there.” The house on California Street was so much a part of her, she had done so many things to make it lovely for them, and the garden was entirely magic of her mother’s making. “Don’t you
want to see the rosebushes in Mama’s secret garden?” Alexis only shook her head, and her arms went around Edwina’s neck in quiet desperation. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart … don’t be afraid … I’m here … and I always will be….” And as she held the little girl close to her, she knew she would never leave them. She thought of the things her mother had said in the past about how much she loved her children. Edwina thought about it, as she drifted off to sleep holding her little sister … it was true, she remembered how much her mother had loved her … and there was no greater love than she would have to have now for her brothers and sisters. And as she drifted off to sleep, and thought of Charles and her father, she remembered her mother’s face and felt the tears sliding into her pillow, as she held Alexis near her.

THE WINFIELDS LEFT NEW YORK ON APRIL
26, ON A STORMY
Friday morning eleven days after the Titanic had gone down. The car from the Ritz-Carlton Hotel took them to the station, and the driver helped Edwina check in their bags. There were precious few of them now, and they carried with them only the things she had bought for them in New York. The toys and gifts from well-wishers had been packed and sent on ahead by train. And now there was nothing left for them to do but go home, and begin to live their life without their parents. For the little ones nothing much had changed, but Phillip felt an enormous responsibility to them all now, and for a boy of not quite seventeen, it was an awesome burden. And George felt the difference too. With Edwina, he didn’t dare be quite as wild, because she was stricter with him than his parents had been, but he felt sorry for her too. She had so much to do now to take care of the younger children. She always seemed to have
one of them in her arms. Fannie was always crying, Teddy always needed to be changed, or had to be carried, and Alexis was either clinging to her skirts, or hiding from people in a remote corner or behind the curtains. It seemed as though Edwina needed to be an octopus now, and although George still liked keeping amused, he no longer dared to do it at the expense of his older sister.

In fact, both boys seemed absolutely angelic to her as they helped her board the train and settle the younger children. They had two adjoining compartments on the train, and after sleeping on mattresses on the floor of the
Carpathia
for three days, she knew no one would ever complain again about the accommodations. They were grateful to be safe and warm, and to be going home, and as the train pulled slowly out of the station, Edwina felt a wave of relief sweep over her. They were going home again, to a familiar place where they would be safe, and nothing terrible would ever happen to them again, at least she hoped not. It was odd for Edwina now. At times she was so preoccupied with taking care of all of them that she didn’t have time to think, or to remember, and at other times, like at night, in bed with Alexis or Fannie, all she could think of was Charles, and his last kisses, the touch of his hand … their last dance … and his good spirits when she had last seen him on the
Titanic.
He had been an elegant, kind-hearted young man, and she knew he would have made her a wonderful husband. Not that it mattered now. And yet she tortured herself thinking about it, and she did again on the train, hearing his name repeated over and over and over again as she listened to the sound of the wheels speeding along the train tracks … Charles … Charles … Charles … I love you … I love you … I love you … she wanted to scream as she imagined the words and she could hear his voice calling
her. And finally she closed her eyes just to shut out the face that still seemed so real to her in the darkness. She knew she would never forget him. And she envied her parents staying together till the end. Sometimes she wished she had gone down on the ship with Charles, and then she had to force her thoughts back to the children.

Edwina and the children read the newspapers as they crossed the States, and news of the
Titanic
was everywhere. The Senate subcommittee hearings were still continuing. Edwina had appeared before them briefly in New York. And it had been emotional and painful, but she had felt it her duty to oblige them. And their conclusion thus far was that a three-hundred-foot-long gash on the starboard side had caused the
Titanic
to founder. It no longer seemed to matter now, but people appeared to have a need to find a reason, a cause, as though that would make it all seem right, but Edwina knew only too well that it wouldn’t. More importantly, people were outraged at the loss of life, and the fact that there had been lifeboats for less than half of those aboard. The committee had asked her how the officers had conducted themselves and what her impression was of how people had behaved in the lifeboats. There was a general outcry over the fact that there had been no lifeboat drill, and not even the crew knew which were their stations. The most appalling fact of all was that the lifeboats had been sent off the ship half empty, and had then refused to pick people up out of the water after the ship sank, for fear of overturning. The whole episode was one that would go down in history as a heart-wrenching tragedy of monumental proportions. Testifying had left her feeling spent and desolate, as though going there somehow might have changed it, but it didn’t. The people they had loved were gone, and nothing was ever going to bring them back. Somehow, talking about it now only made it more painful. It was even
more so to read in the newspaper on the train that three hundred and twenty-eight bodies had been recovered, but Edwina already knew before she left New York that none of them had been her parents or Charles.