No Greater Love (15 page)

She had gotten a touching telegram from the Fitzgeralds in London, offering their condolences to her, and assuring her that in their hearts she would always be their daughter. And for some odd reason, it made her think of the beautiful wedding veil that was being made, and Lady Fitzgerald was to have brought over in August. What would happen to it now? Who would wear it? And why did she care? She had no right to mourn the little things, she told herself, or to care about things like that now. Her wedding veil was no longer important. And at night, on the train, she lay awake, trying not to think about all of it, and staring out the window. Charles’s gloves, which he had thrown to her to keep her own hands warm as she left the ship, were still in her valise. But she couldn’t bear to look at them now. Even seeing them was painful. But just knowing that she still had them was a comfort.

She was awake when the Rockies appeared high in the morning sky, with the first pink streaks of dawn splashed across them, on their last day on the train, and for the first time in exactly two weeks, she felt a little better. Most of the time, she didn’t have time to think about how she felt, which was just as well, and that morning she woke all of them and told them to look outside at the beautiful mountains.

“Are we home yet?” Fannie asked with big eyes. She couldn’t wait to get home again, and she had already told Edwina several times that she was never going to leave home again, and the first thing she was going to do when she got back was make a chocolate cake just like Mama’s. It had been one of Kate’s frequent treats for them, and Edwina had promised that she’d help her do
it. George had already said that he was not going back to school, he tried to convince Edwina that the trauma had been too much for him, and it would be better for him to rest at home for a while before resuming his schoolwork. Fortunately, his sister knew better than to believe him. And poor Phillip was worrying about school. He had only one more year before going east to Harvard, like his father. At least that was what the plan had been, but now it was difficult to plan anything. Perhaps, Phillip thought to himself, as they rode home on the train, he might not even be able to go to college. But he felt guilty for his thoughts in the face of their far greater losses.

“Weenie,” Fannie asked, using the name that always made Edwina laugh.

“Yes, Frances?” Edwina pretended to look very prim and proper.

“Don’t call me that, please.” Fannie looked at her reproachfully and then went on. “Are you going to sleep in Mama’s room now?” She looked at her oldest sister matter-of-factly, and Edwina felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

“No, I don’t think so.” She couldn’t have slept in that room. It wasn’t hers. It was theirs, and she didn’t belong there. “I’ll still sleep in my own room.”

“But aren’t you our mama now?” Fannie looked puzzled, and Edwina saw tears in Phillip’s eyes as he turned away to look out the window.

“No, I’m not.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m still just Weenie, your big sister.” She smiled.

“But then who’ll be our mama now?”

What to say? How to explain it? Even George looked away, the question was too painful for them all. “Mama is still our mama. She always will be.” It was all she could think of to say to them. And she knew the others understood, if not Fannie.

“But she’s not here now. And you said you’d take care of us.” Fannie looked like she was about to cry as Edwina tried to reassure her.

“I will take care of you.” She pulled the child onto her lap, and glanced at Alexis sitting huddled in the corner of the seat, with her eyes on the floor, willing herself not to hear what they were saying. “I’ll do all the things that Mama did, as best I can. But she’s still our mama, no matter what. I couldn’t be Mama, no matter how hard I tried.” And she wouldn’t have wanted to try to replace her.

“Oh.” Fannie nodded her head, satisfied finally, and then she had a last thought to clear up before they got home. “Then can you sleep in my bed every night?” But Edwina just smiled at her.

“Your bed might collapse, you know. Don’t you think I’m a little too big for it?” She had a beautiful little bed that their father had had made for Edwina years before. “I’ll tell you what. You can visit me in my bed sometimes. How does that sound?” She saw that Alexis was watching her mournfully then, and she didn’t like hearing about their mother’s being gone. “And you too, Alexis. You can sleep in my bed with me sometimes.”

“What about me?” George teased, and then he tweaked Fannie’s nose, and snuck a little piece of candy to Alexis. Edwina had noticed repeatedly how much he had changed in the past two weeks, and how much more subdued he was now. The prospect of going home again was beginning to worry all of them. Seeing their home, knowing that their parents would never come back to it, was going to be very painful.

They were all thinking about it on the last night on the train, and no one spoke as they lay awake long into the night. Edwina slept less than two hours, when she finally got up at six o’clock and washed her face and dressed in one of her finest black dresses. They were
due to arrive shortly after 8:00
A.M.
, and as worried as she’d been about going home, looking out at the familiar countryside was somehow a comfort. She woke the younger children up, and knocked on the door to the adjoining compartment where Phillip and George had slept. And they were all in the dining car at seven o’clock having breakfast. The boys ate a hearty meal, and Alexis played with a scrambled egg, as Edwina cut Teddy’s and Fannie’s waffles up, and by the time they had finished, and gone back to their compartments, and she had washed the little ones’ faces, and straightened their clothes, the train was rolling slowly into the station. She had seen to it that they were all properly dressed in their new clothes, their hair shining and clean and well combed, and she had carefully tied Fannie’s and Alexis’s ribbons. She didn’t know who would come to meet them at the station, but she knew they would be scrutinized, and perhaps even photographed by reporters from their father’s paper. And she wanted the children to do him proud. She felt she owed that to her parents. She felt the wheels come to a jagged stop, and Edwina looked up with a sharp intake of breath and then glanced at the others. Not a word was said, but they all felt the sharp, bittersweet pang of coming home. They were back, so different than when they left, so totally changed, so alone, and yet so close to each other.

THE FLOWERS AND THE TREES WERE ALL IN BLOOM AS EDWINA
and the children stepped off the train in the early May sunshine. Somehow she expected it to look the same as it had when she left. But it didn’t. Like her own life, suddenly everything was different. She had left home a happy, carefree girl, with her brothers and her sisters and her parents. Charles had been with them and they had talked endlessly all the way across the States, about what they wanted and what they believed and what they liked to read and do and think, and even how many children they thought that they wanted. But now nothing was the same, least of all Edwina herself. She had come home a mourner and an orphan. And she was wearing a black dress that made her look taller and thinner and so much older. She was wearing a serious black hat with a veil that she had bought in New York, and as she stepped down from the train and looked around her, she saw reporters waiting for them, just as she had
suspected they would be. They were from her father’s paper, and rival newspapers too. And for a moment it looked as though half the town had come to see them. As she looked at them, a reporter stepped forward and with an explosion of light, snapped her picture. Once again, it was on the front page the next day, but she turned away from him, and tried to ignore the staring crowds and the photographers. She helped the children off the train. Phillip carried Alexis and Fannie, and Edwina lifted Teddy into her arms as George went to find a porter. They were home now. In spite of the curious crowds, they felt safe here and yet they were all afraid to go home, knowing what they wouldn’t find there.

As Edwina struggled with their few bags, a man hurried forward and she turned and recognized Ben Jones, her father’s attorney. He had been her father’s friend for years, they were the same age, and twenty-five years before, they had been roommates at Harvard. Ben was a tall, attractive man, with a gentle smile and gray hair that had once been sandy, and he had known Edwina since she was a little girl. But he saw no child in her now, only a very sad young woman, struggling to bring her sisters and brothers home safely. He parted the crowd as he came toward her, and people moved aside without a murmur.

“Hello, Edwina.” His eyes were filled with grief, but hers were more so. “I’m so sorry.” He had to say it quickly so he wouldn’t cry himself. Bert Winfield had been his best friend, and he had been horrified when he had first heard about the
Titanic.
He had checked with the paper at once, to see if they knew anything, and by then they had heard from Edwina, steaming toward New York on the
Carpathia
with her brothers and sisters, but no fiancé, and no parents. And Ben had cried at the loss of his good friend and his wife, and for the terrible sorrow of the children.

The children were happy to see him there and George was grinning as he hadn’t in weeks. Even Phillip looked relieved. He was the first friend they had seen since they had survived the disaster. But none of them were anxious to talk about it, as Ben tried to keep the reporters at a distance. By way of conversation, George made an announcement to him. “I learned two new card tricks on the way home.” But the child looked tired and sad and pale, Ben noticed, seeing that George wasn’t his old self, but he was trying valiantly to be entertaining.

“You’ll have to show me your new tricks when we get to the house. Do you still cheat at cards?” Ben asked and George let out a great guffaw in answer, and as he looked around, Ben noticed that Alexis’s face was completely without expression. He also noticed how pale and tired the younger children looked, and how terribly thin Edwina had become in the short time since she had left California. In truth, she had only gotten thin since escaping the
Titanic.

“Mama’s dead,” Fannie announced as they stood in the sunlight waiting for their bags, and Edwina felt the words hit her in the stomach like bricks as Fannie spoke them.

“I know,” Ben said quietly as they all held their breath, wondering what she would say next. “I was very sorry to hear it.” He glanced at Edwina and she was pale beneath the veil. In truth, they all were. They had been through a nightmare and it showed, and it tore at his heartstrings to see it. “But I’m glad that you’re all right, Fannie. We were all very worried about you.”

She nodded, pleased to hear it, and then told him of her perils as well. “Mr. Frost bit my fingers.” She held out the two fingers she had almost lost, and he nodded soberly, grateful that they were all alive. “And Teddy got a cough, but he’s fine now.”

Edwina smiled at the report, and they all got into the car he had brought from her father’s paper. It was a car they sometimes used to go on trips, and he had brought the carriage for their bags, not that they had very many with them. He hadn’t known how much they would have, or if they might even come home empty-handed.

“It was nice of you to pick us up,” she said, as they drove toward the house.

He knew only too well how painful it would be, having lost his wife and son in the earthquake of ’06. It had almost broken his heart, and he had never remarried. The boy would have been George’s age by then. And because of that George had always had a special place in his heart.

Ben chatted with him on the way to the house, and the rest of them lapsed into pensive silence. They were all thinking the same thing. How empty the house was going to be now without their parents. And it was even worse than Edwina had expected. The flowers their mother had planted before she left were in full bloom now, and they stood out in brilliant colors, offering them a bittersweet welcome.

“Come on, everyone, let’s go in.” Edwina spoke softly as they hesitated for a long time in the garden. They all seemed to drag their feet, and Ben tried to chat and make it easier for them, but no one seemed to want to talk. They just walked inside and stood looking around as though it were not their home anymore, but a stranger’s. And Edwina herself knew that she was listening for sounds that were no more … the rustle of her mother’s skirts … the sound of her bracelets. The sound of her father’s voice as he came up the stairs…. But there was only silence. And Alexis looked as though she were hearing voices. She strained as though she could hear something, but she only wanted to, and they all knew that she couldn’t. There was nothing to
hear. And the tension was unbearable as they looked around, and Edwina felt as though they were waiting, as Teddy pulled at her sleeve with a curious expression.

“Mama?” he asked, as though sure that there was some reasonable explanation. Even though he had last seen her on the ship, in his two-year-old mind, he knew that she belonged here.

“She’s not here, Teddy.” Edwina knelt down next to him to explain it.

“Bye bye?”

“That’s right.” She nodded as she took her hat off and tossed it onto the hall table. Without it, she looked younger again, and she stood up, unable to explain it any further. She just held his hand in her own and looked sadly at the others.

“It’s hard being back here, isn’t it?” Her voice was hoarse, and the two boys nodded, and Alexis walked slowly up the staircase. Edwina knew where she was going and she wished that she wouldn’t. She was going to their mother’s room, and maybe it was just as well. Maybe here she would be able to face it. Phillip looked at Edwina questioningly, but she only shook her head. “Let her go … she’s alright …” They were all sad, but at least they were safe here.

The driver from the paper brought their pitifully few bags in, and Mrs. Barnes, their elderly housekeeper, appeared, wiping her hands on her starched white apron. She was a cozy woman, and she had adored Kate. And now she burst into tears as she hugged Edwina and the children. It was not going to be easy, Edwina realized then. There would be countless people offering condolences and wanting painful descriptions and explanations. Just thinking about it was exhausting.