Shipbuilder (38 page)

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Authors: Marlene Dotterer

BOOK: Shipbuilder
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He couldn’t, of course. Even with the extra day, there was enough work still to do, that he could
work
for the next twenty-four hours. He also had to show up as if he thought they’d be leaving today. He dressed, then with Casey by his side, he stopped by the nursery to kiss his children. Just in case.

~~~

Lord Pirrie was out recovering from surgery, so Tom and the directors met on the bridge with Captain Smith and the pilot. The wind tore through the channel, and even in the dock, the ship was in constant motion. With the narrowness of the channel, they didn’t dare try and take her out. Their decision was unanimous. The sea trials and subsequent departure would be put off until tomorrow. Tom gave up trying to shake the strangeness of it all. The next fifteen days of his life had been documented almost in detail in Sam and Casey’s time stream. Déjà vu was going to be his constant companion for a while, and he needed to get used to it. He felt like they were all following a script.

Joe Bell, who was chief engineer, had reported a coal fire in boiler room five. Sam had warned Tom about it, and he had tried to keep it from starting. But this was another thing that they weren’t able to change. The fire continued to smolder at the bottom of a pile of coal. It was not a problem at this point. The coal had to be removed, which they were doing, but any real progress would have to wait until Southampton and a full crew. Until then, it would have to smolder. Joe thought the bulkhead would be okay and it wouldn’t be necessary to report the fire to the Board of Trade inspectors. And it probably would be okay, under normal conditions. Tom had no doubt that in the other timeline, the weakened bulkhead had given out when flooded, and contributed to the ship’s rapid sinking.

Before heading for home, Tom made one more round of the boat deck, reveling in the number of lifeboats. Enough for everyone. Almost no room to walk though, and there had been a few complaints from first class passengers about the crowding on the
Olympic
, but Tom had managed to prevail. Ismay was unhappy, but by putting the extra boats on
Olympic
, they had placed the Board of Trade in an awkward position. People were beginning to ask why the rules were so out of date.

~~~

Despite the work, he went home a bit early. The children were napping and Tom coaxed Casey out of the garden and into the bedroom. He really did intend to make love to her as many times as possible before morning.

Afterwards, she held his hand and kissed each finger, then his palm. She started to speak, but hesitated. He lifted her head to look in her eyes. “It will be all right, Casey.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t know that, Tom. It’s your own choices that I’m afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam and I have talked a lot about what happens on the ship that night. But no one knows... Sam says there’s always been speculation about why you didn’t get in a boat or at least, wear your life belt. Some people said it was because you loved the ship. You felt like the ship was your child, and I know you feel like that about them.” Her whisper was agonized. “But I need to know that you’ll really try to live this time.”

Anger surprised him. He sat up, face burning. “That’s bunk, Casey,” he said. “It’s bunk, do you understand? I’ve talked to Sam, too. I know that I had a family in that other time. Do you think for one minute, that one of my ships is more important to me than my children? Than my wife?” His voice shook and he reached for her shoulders, pulling her to sit beside him. “I can tell you why I didn’t get in a boat, because I would do the same thing now, if the situation were the same. All those women and children who did not have a seat, Casey. All those men… how many men put their wives and children in boats and stepped back to die, or stayed to die when they had families at home, waiting for them? What right, how could I, of all those people, have possibly taken a seat on a boat?” He buried his hands in her hair, holding her head tenderly, feeling the preciousness of her. “If there were not enough boats, now, I could not make myself get into one, Casey. You have to know that. But there are enough boats. And I swear to you, Casey, I will be in one if there is any way possible. I swear I will have on a belt. I will do everything in my power to live, Sweetheart. I promise you that with all my heart.”

~~~

They gave Penny the night off and spent the evening with their children, eating with them and playing games, reading to them. Tom called his parents and had each child talk to them, especially their Granda, who was not feeling well. Sam hung around for a while, playing three-way catch with Tom and Jamie. After a while though, he pulled Tom aside to say good-bye.

“I wish I had some pearls of wisdom for you, lad,” he said, before heading upstairs. “But I guess I’ve told you everything I know, along with a hell of a lot of conjecture.” They both laughed a little, then Sam shook Tom’s hand and ended it with a hug. “We’ll see you in a couple of months, Tom.” Sam shook his head helplessly. “Good luck, son.”

Tucking the children into bed was one of his favorite tasks, and Tom tried to memorize each moment as he and Casey dressed them in nightclothes. He sat on Jamie’s bed, holding his son in his lap as he read a story, and Casey nursed Terry. He noticed how Terry played with a bit of her mother’s hair while she nursed, and how she fell asleep holding the strand in her little grip. He read the entire story, even though Jamie was sound asleep before he was done. It was almost as if he was looking at the scene from outside his body: the nursery seemed encompassed in a glow, like an out-of-focus picture. In his mind, he took the picture, then tucked it into a figurative pocket, to keep with him while he was gone.

He made love to Casey again, even though she wept the entire time, holding on to him desperately. How could he leave her? Was he a fool to walk away from this and force her to face his death?

~~~

In the end, leaving came down to putting one step in front of the other, no matter how difficult or heavy the step seemed. Staying behind came down to the same thing. Casey wandered through the day, as if she had lost something, but wasn't sure what it was, or where she should look for it. Sam watched her with mounting concern, staying nearby rather than going to work. He felt guilty about not being on the ship with Tom, but Tom's word had been final. Whether or not he had an answer for each of Sam's objections, he flatly refused to allow Sam to come. So Sam stayed and did what Tom asked him to do: be there for Casey.

Toward evening, Casey seemed to waken and Sam heard her unspoken communication. Leaving Terry with Penny, they took Jamie, and climbed the hill behind the house, watching as
Titanic
came back down the Lagan after her trials. There would be a transfer of mail and workers, and the ship would leave straightaway for Southampton. Casey explained to Jamie that his Da did not have time to get off the ship at all; that was why he had woken Jamie early this morning to say good-bye. But they could watch the ship for a while and send him their love by waving as hard as they could. Jaime added a few shouts of "Bye Da! I love you!" just in case, he said, "the wind carried the sound, too."

 

Chapter 40

14 April 1912

Titanic–North Atlantic

 

At 9:30 p.m., Tom made his way to the wireless room. As Casey and Sam had described, Jack Phillips and his assistant, Harold Bride, were swamped with messages to transmit. Phillips was polite, but short. The wireless had been broken, he'd just gotten it repaired, and he had a hundred messages to send out. If Mr. Andrews had a message to send, it would not be going out until morning. Tom assured him that he was only checking on things. On his way out he paused next to the box marked "Bridge." There were several slips of paper in there, and he felt a chill that went through his entire body as Casey's voice echoed in his head.

"The wireless operators had several ice warnings that they just never turned over to the captain. They were too busy…"

He turned to Harold Bride, his hand hovering over the box. "I'm on my way to the bridge. How 'bout I take these for you?"

Harold's eyes flicked briefly over and he shrugged. "Sure, that'd be great. Just ice warnings. Nothing the Cap'n doesn't know."

Tom was gone in an instant, notes in hand, quickly flipping through them. Only four were about ice, with latitude and longitude given for berg sightings, including descriptions of a large ice field.

He put these together with the three warnings Captain Smith had received earlier, struggling with the idea of approaching the captain. He was enough of a seaman to understand the inviolability of the captain's position.
I'm not even a member of the crew. I have no right to offer unsolicited advice.

But with seven warnings, just today, and several others since Friday, could he suggest that the Captain at least slow down? Could he convince him to change course further south?

He had to do something. He was at the bridge, the captain and officers working efficiently inside. Tom shivered. Lord, it was cold, tonight! No wonder, as Casey had said, the passengers had not wanted to wait on deck or get into lifeboats. He entered the bridge, returning a nod from Second Officer Lightoller, and waited for the captain to finish his log entry before approaching him.

Captain Smith was happy to see him. "Tommy, my lad! Wonderful bread the baker prepared for you, tonight. Thank you for sharing."

"Oh my pleasure, Captain. Wouldn't do to eat it all myself, you know." They both laughed. "I still have work to do tonight and I'm hoping to get a letter finished to my parents. You know my father is poorly, these days. I'm anxious to get to New York and hear some news." He held out the wireless slips. "I was just in the wireless room. Poor lads are earning their keep tonight. I told them I'd bring these along with me to the bridge."

He held his breath as Captain Smith looked through the notes. The captain shook his head, lips pursed, as he turned to beckon Lightoller to join them. "More ice warnings. Have Mr. Murdoch calculate our position relative to these sightings. Maintain course and speed, but keep a sharp watch; sounds likes there's a large ice field ahead. I'll be off duty. If it becomes at all doubtful, let me know at once."

 He turned to Tom. "Thank you for bringing these by, Tom. We don't want to take too many chances, do we? These warnings almost never pan out, of course, but we'll keep an eye out. We've changed course a bit farther south to avoid most of the ice, but we want to keep to our schedule, if possible."

That's what you did before!
Tom tightened his lips against the outburst. "The ice is further south than I've ever seen it, this early in the year," he said. "It won't be such a bad thing if we have to change course further."

Smith nodded. "We'll see what Murdoch says when he's checked our position. 'Night, Tom. 'Night, all." He left the bridge, leaving Lightoller to follow the last set of orders.

Frustrated, Tom left as well, glancing at his watch. 9:50 p.m. Nothing new had been done, even with personally handing Smith the warnings. Sam had already told him about the course change. They needed to go further south, or better yet, stop for the night. He faltered for a moment before the enclosed promenade, looking hard at the ocean. Where was that berg? What about others? Sam had said there were several out there. He moved forward to the crow’s nest and called a greeting.

“Ho, there! All clear, then?”

The lookout responded laconically. “All clear, Mr. Andrews! Cold night, eh?”

“Bracing’s, what I’d call it!” At their laughter, Tom reached into his pocket. “You lads have your binoculars?” he asked. “I have an extra pair here, if you need ‘em.”

They conferred, then answered, “Why, that’d be great, Mr. Andrews. We seem to ‘ave misplaced ours.”

Tom made his way up the ladder and handed over the pair. “You know about the ice warnings the captain’s received. Seems we’re approaching an ice field and he’d like to avoid it. Keep sharp, lads!”

“Aye,” they answered. “Thanks for the touch-up, sir.”

He left the nest and paused once more on the deck. The chill in his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. What else could he do? His half-baked idea to sabotage the engines came back to him, but he had to keep in mind Sam’s doubts about that. They needed to be able to maneuver the ship.

He could wait a while before deciding. Best wait and see what happened once Murdoch had figured their position and, hopefully, noticed they were surrounded by ice. He’d wander back up to the bridge about 10:30 p.m. and see what was up.

~~~

Dunallon–2:00 a.m.

 

Casey sat in bed, fully dressed, and stared at the clock. With the four-hour time difference, it was ten p.m. on the
Titanic
. Every bit of her soul longed for a telegram from Tom, or better yet, a phone call. If she could hear his voice again…

Neither of those would happen, of course. Even if Tom sent a telegram, it would not be delivered until morning, and phone calls were impossible. If she wished hard enough, could she put herself on
Titanic
and see what he saw? Could she be there to help?

She slowly rocked herself, back and forth, face resting on her bent knees. His name filled her mind, her body tense with the desire to have him safe. The minutes ticked by.

 

Titanic—10:30 p.m.

 

Wrapped up tight against the cold, Tom moved out to the Boat Deck and over to port. The night was still pitch black, the sea still calm. The only breeze came from the movement of the ship as she raced through the water, her engines thrumming evenly. Looking over the rail, he could hardly hear the water splashing against the hull, far below.

He hailed the lookouts. One waved, the other was looking through the ‘nocs as the ship moved ahead. He turned to stare at the lifeboats, his mind rehearsing the steps to follow to most efficiently release them.

He realized what he was doing and closed his eyes.
Dear Lord, I’m acting as if it’s actually going to happen. I’ve got to stop it from happening, not just give up!

After a minute, he walked to the bridge.

First Officer Murdoch and Sixth Officer Moody were discussing their position when Tom entered. Both were surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. “You’re wandering around late, sir,” was Murdoch’s casual inquiry.

“Aye,” Tom said, “just checking on a few things.” He looked curiously at the map. “Looks like you’ve found some ice?” he asked them, noting himself that the pin marking the ship was indeed surrounded by areas marked as icebergs.

They nodded and Murdoch answered. “At least according to the messages. Some of those are a couple of days old, of course. We’ve no accurate measurements.”

Tom shook his head in dismay, but tried to keep his voice light and easy. “You know, I’ve built you a good ship, gentlemen. But she will no’ appreciate a rubbing from a berg.”

They agreed, laughing a little. Then, as Tom continued to stare at them, Murdoch cleared his throat. “Cap’n said to let him know if we had any doubts. Hate to wake him, but he’ll be interested in our position.”

Tom nodded, not taking his eyes from Murdoch. It took all his willpower to not demand he get the captain immediately. Murdoch exchanged an uncomfortable look with Moody as he went to rouse the captain. Tom checked the time. 10:40 p.m. One hour to go.
One hour!

Knowing he had no real right to be on the bridge, Tom moved outside and over to the railing. Give Smith time to check things. He can’t miss those bergs marked on the map!

At nearly 11:00, he felt a presence beside him and looked up into Captain Smith’s frown. “Jitters, Tommy?” Smith asked quietly.

“Sir?”

Captain Smith looked away, out into the darkness, and considered his words. “You know sailing, Tom. I know you understand the risks we take, the fine line between caution and cowardice.” He looked back at Tom. “It’s a good crew we have, in the bridge and in the nest. They know their jobs. I’ve been at sea a long time, you know. Long before these wireless messages came along to add confusion to what should be straightforward decisions. I’ll tell you, I don’t entirely trust them. You and I both know the bergs move with the currents and we can’t pinpoint their exact locations. I’ve often run at night and I’ve never hit a berg.”

Tom nodded, heart pounding as Smith continued. “Bruce Ismay has made a few suggestions regarding course and speed. You are pestering my crew. Now I know Bruce owns the ship and you know the ship. But Thomas, I’m the captain of the ship. You and Bruce need to back off and let me do my job.”

Tom struggled to swallow past the dread filling his throat. Smith’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Tom. “Do you have a premonition, lad? I’ll tell you, in forty years of being on the sea, I’ve never had a real problem, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to not ignore an experienced seaman’s nerves. Are you that worried about the ice?”

Tom’s breath returned. “Yes, Captain. I’m not a superstitious man, but sir, we need to slow down. I know that as well as I know my name.” He turned to stare at the night. “There’s a berg out there with our name on it. I’m sure of it.”

He glanced back and saw Captain Smith’s blink of surprise. “It could be,” Smith said reasonably, “that slowing down will put us right in its path. If our name’s on it, it’s possible that any action we take will bring us right to it.”

Tom nodded at this, looking at Smith earnestly. “Aye, it might. But if we’re moving slower, or better yet, stopped, the damage will be less. We need to do what we can.”

Smith stared out at the water a moment, before nodding slightly. “I’ll take it under consideration, Tom.” He turned, his expression unreadable. “That’s all I can do on the strength of a premonition. I’ll not run my ship based on superstition, but I’ll re-examine the ice reports and our heading. In the meantime, I’ll request that you return to your stateroom and cease bothering my crew. Can I count on that?”

“Aye, Captain. Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and he moved to follow his orders.

 

Dunallon—3:30 a.m.

 

Sam wearily looked up from his journal as Casey limped into the library, arms around her stomach. She looked ill and old, pain etching her pale face, her eyes hollow and lined with dark circles. His breath caught in his throat and he stood to put his arms around her and hold her.

Neither one of them found anything to say.

 

Titanic—11:30 p.m.

 

Tom’s breathing was unsteady and his heart was pounding. He stood in his cabin, staring at the door, waiting. Another heartbeat went by and he knew he couldn’t take any more. The captain’s implied order had been for Tom to remain in his room, but as long as he didn’t bother the crew, Tom felt he could be outside. He couldn’t stay in place another minute. He walked quickly out to the forward boat deck and stood out of the way, watching ahead with complete intensity. He saw nothing.

The boats creaked against the ropes, the ship continued to sail at a fast clip; Captain Smith had not reduced speed. A powerful ship, clean and strong, but not indestructible. His spine straightened with rage. He had built her for a full life. Careless fools would deny her that.

11:40 p.m. He saw it at the same moment he heard the shout from the lookout.

 “Iceberg, right ahead!”

God almighty!
A black mountain was suddenly there in the darkness, blocking the stars. So close.

Too close.

He couldn’t move. For a wild, dizzy moment, he was filled with thoughts of home, feeling the softness of Casey as she moved beneath him, his nostrils filled with the smell of her skin, hearing her moans. If longing could move time and space, he could have reached out and twisted open a portal to take him home instantly.

The moment was gone in the same instant the ship shuddered around him. Screeching metal filled his ears as the ship scraped the berg, a stretch of time that seemed to last forever. Shouts from the crew rang out, orders were given and repeated.

With a vision of Sam’s description of the damage in his head, he raced for the crew stairway in the bow. He heard shouts from below. As he neared the Orlop Deck, he encountered frantic stokers racing up the stairs, and heard the watertight doors clanging as they closed. The saline smell of seawater reached him as he struggled past the men, pausing when he came to water, flowing along the deck. He saw no damage. The excited stokers milling about told him they’d barely escaped before the doors came down. A few mentioned names of those behind them; they had not seen them get out, although they still had access to the escape ladders.

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