Titanic: April 1912 (4 page)

“Are you all right?” Gavin asked, looking into her face.

She nodded. “I should probably get back now. This is lovely. Thank you both so much.” She blinked, hoping neither of them would notice that her eyes had filled with tears.

Lionel gestured toward a door on the far side of the gymnasium. Following him, Karolina dug her fingernails into her palms until the urge to cry subsided. When Gavin held the door open, she stepped into the dark night, relishing the sting of the cold air on her cheeks.

Lionel said good night and left them, walking toward the bow.

“I can walk you back,” Gavin offered.

“Don't you want to go below?” Karolina asked.

“I'm all right at night now,” he said. “If I don't think about it.”

Karolina began to walk, staying close to the arching windows of the gymnasium so that Gavin wouldn't have to come too close to the rail and the black ocean beyond it. She glanced at him, then out at the water. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Oh, my dear God!”

Chapter Five

Gavin turned when he heard the fear in Karolina's voice. Looming above the ship's rail, so close that it seemed he could reach out and touch it, was a jagged mass of ice. An iceberg? This close? He spun on his heel, looking instinctively toward the bridge. Hadn't Captain Smith seen it?

At that instant, there was a shuddering of the deck beneath his feet, a movement so subtle, it was easy to wonder whether the deck had trembled or if his own legs were shaking. Chunks of ice tumbled onto the deck, sliding, skittering across the smooth surface, smashing into the funnel housing.

There was an odd scraping sound above the usual noise of the engines. Gavin held still, his breath coming fast. Even if they had hit the iceberg, the
Titanic
would be all right, wouldn't it?

“What was that?” Karolina whispered. “Did you feel that?”

Gavin didn't answer. He heard shouts from somewhere up by the bridge. He tried to spot Lionel. Lionel would know what was happening—if there was anything to worry about. The mass of ice was sliding past now, angling off to one side. Gavin realized suddenly that the night had become too silent. The huge engines had stopped. A second after he thought it, the silence exploded into a hissing roar.

Gavin flinched, his teeth chattering. He turned in a full circle. He was pretty sure that the noise wasn't dangerous. It meant that the engineers had closed down the steam valves, that was all. It was the fastest way to stop the ship.

He explained the noise as well as he could to Karolina, yelling close to her ear. “You should go back down. It's all right,” he finished, straightening up to look into her face.

She was pale, staring at him. “But we hit the iceberg!”

Gavin tried to think. “There are waterproof compartments in the hull!” he shouted over the roaring of the excess steam. “It won't sink!” He watched Karolina take a deep breath.

Gavin's heart was thudding inside his chest as he looked out over the water. It was so dark, so cold. And it was miles deep. Karolina shivered violently, and Gavin gripped her shoulder. “Go back to your stateroom and keep your life belt close, just in case.” He waited until she nodded, but she didn't move. He leaned close to her ear. “I'll come get you if there's any real danger.”

Karolina stared into his eyes for a second. Then she nodded again. “Third-class. Number fifty-five. Promise?” Her voice cracked, but he could understand her.

“I promise,” he said, nodding. She whirled and was gone.

Gavin watched her run, then turned toward the bow. Unbelievably, there were a few men
playing
with the ice.
Gavin stared as they kicked it back and forth. Abruptly, the roaring lessened. Gavin could hear voices; a man and a woman were arguing somewhere nearby. He couldn't understand any of their words, only the sharp, strained tone of their voices. He began to walk. If anyone knew anything, it would be the officers on the bridge. They would never let him up there, he was sure, but maybe he could overhear something—or maybe there would be someone coming off the bridge he could ask.

“Hey, you! Steward?”

Gavin spun around, startled. A woman was walking toward him. She had a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. “Are we safe?” she demanded in a shrill, loud voice. “My mother sent me up to find out. She's the kind to worry over every little thing. I told her that nothing could be very wrong. Is it?”

Gavin stared at her, trying to make sense out of her rush of words. He was unable to say anything at all for a few seconds. “I don't know,” he finally managed. “I'm not a steward. I'm sorry.”

The woman's face was twisted with annoyance. She turned on her heel and strode away. Gavin squinted in the darkness. Ahead of him, where the lights shone along the side of the bridge, he could see a group of dark-jacketed stewards. They were talking, gesturing, obviously agitated. Gavin felt a tremor of fear. It looked like they were arguing.

“. . . sound a general alarm,” one voice rose above the others.

“That's up to Captain Smith,” someone answered.

Gavin slowed his step, straining to hear more, but the jumble of voices stopped suddenly as a door opened and an officer came onto the bridge, bellowing orders.

“Get the passengers into their life belts!” Then he turned and spoke to someone on the bridge Gavin couldn't see. “Get the lifeboats uncovered.”

The stewards started off in every direction as the officer went back inside. Gavin stood staring. Lifeboats. That meant they thought the
Titanic
was going to sink. Would the passengers even know how to get up to the lifeboats? At dinner, he had heard Wallace talking about Captain Smith's refusal to run a lifeboat practice that morning during the emergency drill—even though the White Star Line was known for its Sunday morning lifeboat drills.

“Gavin?” The familiar voice startled him into turning around. Lionel was speaking loudly enough to be heard over the dull roar of the escaping steam. “Listen to me. Go get your life belt.”

Gavin nodded, wishing he could be as calm as Lionel seemed to be. Thoughts of the deep black water tugged at him, and he tried to push them out of his mind. Suddenly, the roaring of the steam intensified into a screaming hiss again. It drowned out whatever else Lionel was trying to say. Lionel pushed at him, pointing emphatically toward the bow. Then he wheeled around and ran toward the first-class entrance.

Glancing at the men who were still playing their mock game of football with the fallen ice, Gavin made his way forward, past the bridge. He descended the steps that led down to the well deck and opened the door to a narrow service stairway. It was empty, but once the door closed behind him, and the roaring of the steam was muted, he heard an odd, resonating murmur.

Clumsy with panic, he still tried to hurry. He timed his steps quickly, the way he and Lionel often did, nearly flying down the metal stairs. The murmuring got louder as he passed the C-deck landing and continued downward. Voices, he realized; it was the sound of frightened voices.

As he passed the D-deck landing, he could see people milling in the corridor and he could hear more clearly, but it made no difference. Many of them were speaking languages he didn't understand.

Without warning, an old man lunged at Gavin. His wrinkled face was shadowed with fear. He held Gavin's forearm tightly with one hand, talking earnestly, repeating the same few words over and over.

Gavin shook his head. “I can't understand you. I'm sorry.” He struggled to get away as the man made a wide, paddling gesture with his free hand, all the while shaking his head violently from side to side. It suddenly made sense to Gavin—the man was explaining that he could not swim.

Gavin shook his head helplessly, trying to step away. He finally managed to break free and bolted, afraid the man would grab him again. Angry shouts followed Gavin as he started downward once more.

Where the stairs opened onto E-deck, Gavin leaped off the landing, running down a passage he knew would take him through the third-class cabins to the crew's quarters—foremost in the bow.

Here, the passageway was crowded, and Gavin had to make his way through frightened people—as well as stacks of clothing and trunks that nearly filled the corridor. The men were mostly silent, their faces tense and worried. Mothers were holding their children tightly, bundles of belongings clutched beneath their arms.

Where the crowds thinned, Gavin sprinted, sliding around corners, his own thoughts a fearful tangle. Without slowing his pace he turned to the left, heading for the next set of stairs. He started downward. He had to get his wallet and he wanted the picture of his family. Beyond that, he had only two sets of clothes and he could wear them in layers to keep out the freezing air. Or was it foolish to take the time to dress?

Gripping the handrail, he neared the bottom of the stairs and tensed himself to leap again. Midmotion, just as he was leaning forward to jump, he saw, for the first time, the landing below him. It was flooded with water.

Chapter Six

Karolina was still running. Down here, the roaring was distant, not even loud enough to waken someone from sleep. The stairways and the corridors were empty, all the cabin doors closed for the night. The sound of her own footsteps seemed rude, out of place, in the peaceful midnight silence.

Her stateroom door was shut tight. Aunt Rose had not awakened. Karolina turned the handle and went in. The stuffy little room was quiet except for Aunt Rose's gentle snoring. Karolina was about to shake her aunt awake. Then she paused. What if it was all a false alarm?

Karolina stood breathing deeply in the darkness, still unsure what to do. She stepped back and knelt down, feeling for their life belts beneath her berth. It took a moment for her to find them. “Aunt Rose,” Karolina said quietly. There was no response. “Please wake up.” Her aunt turned beneath the blankets, sighing. Karolina reached out to touch her shoulder.

“What?” Aunt Rose said thickly. “What's the matter?” Karolina turned on the light. Aunt Rose sat up, blinking. “Whatever in the world is the matter?”

“We have to put these on now.” Karolina held out the life belts.

“What are you talking about?” Aunt Rose sat up straighter, pulling the blanket along with her. “Where have you been, young lady? I waited for a long time. I must have dozed, but I—”

“We're supposed to put on our life belts,” Karolina said once more. She knew she should explain, but it was hard, here in the bright light, looking at her aunt's irritated face. “There was an iceberg,” she began. Aunt Rose's expression changed, and Karolina began telling her about Gavin—and the iceberg. When she finished, Aunt Rose frowned.

“I didn't feel anything. If we hit it, then shouldn't I have felt something?”

“I did,” Karolina said. Then she hesitated. “There was a scraping sound, then the engines went off, and there was steam pouring out of the funnels instead of smoke. It made an awful sound.”

Aunt Rose shook her head. “I'm sure they'll tell us if anything is really wrong.”

Karolina held out one of the life belts again. “Gavin said to put these on. I think we ought to.”

Aunt Rose took the belt, but set it down on the bed beside her. “And what does this Gavin do? He works in the galley?”

Karolina pulled the bulky life belt over her head. The cloth-covered floats were stiff and uncomfortable. “I want to go up on deck and find out—”

Aunt Rose shook her head, interrupting. “If your mother knew I had let you go out cavorting with a young man, she would turn over in her grave. I had no idea that you were doing such things, Karolina.”

Karolina fumbled with the straps on her life belt. “You don't understand, Aunt Rose—”

“I understand perfectly, young lady. I have been entirely too lax with you. I thought you just were strolling around, or that you would fall into proper company with other girls.”

“I didn't do anything wrong. And I got to see the Grand Staircase. It's so beautiful—”

“Karolina, it's the middle of the night. Get to bed.”

“I
saw
the iceberg, Aunt Rose.”

“They told us any emergency would sound the alarms, Karolina. Perhaps this boy Gavin was playing a joke on you?”

Karolina pulled in a deep breath. “He wouldn't do that.” She paused. “Aunt Rose, we should at least ask someone. Gavin thought everything was going to be all right and he said he'd come tell us if it wasn't, but—”

Aunt Rose nodded knowingly. “And he is proba­bly with his friends now, having a good laugh at a gullible girl.”

Karolina dropped onto her berth. Maybe Aunt Rose was partly right. If they had hit the iceberg hard enough to cause any damage, surely there would have been more than that vague little tremor she had felt. And she hadn't heard any commotion at all. The iceberg probably had given everyone a start, then just floated past. But why couldn't she feel the usual vibration from the engines?

“If you have a grain of sense, you'll sleep now,” Aunt Rose said. “I don't want you going up there anymore.” Without another word, she slid beneath her blankets and rolled over.

Karolina stood up and turned off the light. Then she sat on the edge of her berth again, listening. There were a few voices outside the door. Karolina heard a woman talking quietly, calmly. No alarms sounded. After a time, the voices faded.

Aunt Rose was probably right. There was no commotion, no disturbance. After a few minutes, Karolina pulled her life belt off, then her coat. Without undressing, she lay down, resting her head uneasily on her pillow.

• • •

“Oh, God,” Gavin breathed. “Oh, sweet Jesus, no.” He stared at the water at the foot of the stairs. Where was it coming from? The little bump, the scraping sound—how badly had the hull been punctured?

“Leave it!” a man yelled from farther down the corridor.

“We can't,'' a woman's voice objected.

Gavin couldn't hear the man's answer. Someone else was shouting in what sounded like Italian. A woman screamed, and a baby cried. Shaking, Gavin stepped into the water, starting toward his cabin.

Here on F-deck, the corridors were choked with desperate people. Gavin made his way over piles of wet clothes, soaked cases, and bags. He apologized to men and women who stared at him without really seeing him.

Gavin's cabin door was shut. He shoved it open, sending up a little spray of water. Wallace's trunk was open. He had been here and gone. Harry often stayed late in the galley, watching the pastry cooks start the next day's croissants or piecrusts.

“Are we going to die?”

Gavin spun around to see a boy of about eight or nine peering into the open door. He carried a ­bundle of books under one arm. His face was so eager, so frightened, that Gavin forced himself to smile. “Of course not. Didn't anyone tell you about the
Titanic?”

The boy nodded. “My da says she's the biggest ship ever built.”

“And the safest,” Gavin told him, wondering how big a lie he was telling. “Where's your family?”

The boy pointed down the corridor. “Mum is packing up.”

“Tell her to hurry,” Gavin said. “That way, if we have to change ships, you can be near the head of the line. Tell her a steward told you that,” Gavin finished.

The boy nodded once, then disappeared. The instant he had gone, Gavin jerked open his own trunk. He dug through the clothes, pulling on his sweater. He lifted out his second-best shoes, carefully setting them on the berth to keep dry as he grabbed his wallet and the small photograph of his family from the trunk. He stuffed a clean pair of socks into each shoe, then tied them together. He slung them over his shoulder, sliding his wallet into his trousers and the photo into his shirt pocket. Then he turned, the icy water splashing around his feet.

Halfway down the passage, Gavin realized that the water was deeper. It had risen almost to his ankles in the few minutes he had been in his room. He hurried as fast as he could, stepping around people who refused to get out of his way, shouting at everyone to get up to the boat deck as quickly as possible.

A woman with a scarf tied tightly over her hair stood weeping, leaning against the wall. Gavin spoke to her, motioning, trying to get her to understand she had to go upward. She shrugged, answering in a sad voice in a musical language.

Gavin took the woman's hand, pulling her toward the stairs. She came with him, almost without resistance. As she did, she stopped crying. Tears wet her cheeks as she followed him, sloshing through the cold, deepening water.

Gavin led her through the crowd, wishing he could ask her if she had family or companions on the ship. The instant the thought came to him, he remembered. If her cabin was here in the bow, it meant she was married. Unmarried people in third class were segregated—men in the bow, women in the stern.

Gavin stopped. “Where's your husband?” he said, slowly and distinctly. The woman tilted her head, obviously puzzled. “Your husband,” Gavin repeated. He pointed at a couple making their way past, gesturing at the man. “Husband.”

The woman seemed to understand him this time. She said a few words in her own tongue, lifting her hands palms up. She made a trailing, circular gesture, then pointed at the stairs ahead of them. Gavin started off again, the woman close behind him.

It was harder to get through the passages now. More and more people were trying to get themselves and their belongings above decks. The main stairways were a tortuous crush of people.

“Katya!”

The man's voice was so close that Gavin whirled to face him. The woman began talking, a jumble of words. The man clasped Gavin's shoulder, smiling into his face.
“Spaciba.
Spaciba!”

Gavin could only nod as the man guided his wife away, his arm tightly around her shoulders. Then the crowd closed in, and Gavin couldn't see them. A thick odor of wet cloth, sweat, and stale air enclosed him as he fought to make his way upward.

On D-deck, Gavin stumbled aside, breaking free, his spare shoes bouncing against his shoulder as he darted down a corridor that led away from the third-class entrance. He had to get to the third-class cabins in the stern to tell Karolina and her aunt to get up to the boat deck. There was every chance that the captain would decide to move passengers from the
Titanic
to another ship. If there was panic, passengers could easily get trampled on the main stairways—or trapped belowdecks by the crush of frightened people.

Gavin crossed the third-class open space. The floor was dry here. No one was using the big, unfurnished room now; none of the passengers felt like taking a walk this late at night. Gavin tried to think clearly, mapping a route in his mind. He knew D-deck better than any other since that was where he had spent most of his time aboard the
Titanic.
But there was no way to get to the stern from here unless he went upward. He started up the stairs in the corner of the open room, taking them two at a time.

At the top, he emerged into the freezing night air. He was breathing hard. It took him a moment to realize that the roar of steam from the funnels had stopped. He could hear the band playing somewhere above him. It was a lively tune and it seemed out of place, like music from a dream. He crossed the forward well deck, slowing to a walk, trying to catch his breath. There were officers on the bridge. He could hear them shouting orders.

Gavin went up the steps to C-deck, then, without pausing, headed straight on toward B-deck. There was no other way to get to Karolina's room fast enough.

He pulled open the door to the first-class corridor, expecting to see dozens of people frantically packing their bags and cases. But it was almost empty, and he saw no stacked luggage at all.

Gavin walked so fast, he was almost running. He passed a few people talking quietly as they headed toward the Boat-deck. He kept his face averted, out of habit. Unauthorized intrusion into first class was strictly against the rules.

“Steward?”

Gavin turned to see a man in formal evening attire standing in the doorway of one of the staterooms. Behind him, a woman in a dressing gown looked out anxiously. Gavin could see the orange-red glow of their electric heater behind them. “I'm not a steward, sir,” he admitted.

“Do you know what has happened? Our steward brought us these.” The man held out two life belts, their stiff cork cores making them awkward for him to hold.

“I think you should put them on, sir,” Gavin said carefully. “And then go up to the boat deck.”

“But it's so cold,” the man's wife said from behind him. “Do we have to go up there?”

Gavin shrugged. “It would probably be safest, ma'am.”

The man dismissed Gavin with a wave, then turned and ushered his wife back inside their room. Gavin could hear them talking as he walked away.

Crossing the broad hallway that brought him to the Grand Staircase, he saw people milling around on the landing. The music was louder here, and he realized the band was just outside.

Gavin started down the beautiful staircase, easily passing through the scattered families and couples who looked almost more excited than frightened. After C-deck, there were more people coming up from below. Walking against the crowd, Gavin stayed near the ornate balustrade, his shoulder brushing the polished paneling.

Here, everyone was remarkably calm. No one carried baggage, but most of the women were dressed in a bulky hodgepodge of expensive clothing. No one was dragging trunks or shouldering bundles of goods here. Some of the women wore mismatched jewelry, no doubt figuring it was safer on them than in their rooms or with the purser.

“Everyone please don your life belts and remain calm,” a voice shouted from above. Gavin turned to see an officer in his dark, well-cut uniform. “If you will all just please come up to the boat deck now.”

Gavin kept going downward, passing the last of the crowd, finding himself suddenly alone on the stairs. This was what he had been hoping for. He hurried, his footsteps a quick staccato rhythm.

Where the Grand Staircase opened onto the dining saloon reception room, Gavin began to run. He knew exactly where he was going now, and how to get there fast. He shoved open the heavy doors and pounded through the empty first-class dining room. He dodged around the pillars, zigzagging to miss the tables, their snowy linen tablecloths set with silver and glasses for breakfast. The pair of shoes over his shoulder bounced wildly as he ran.

He hit the pantry doors at a run, stiff-arming them open. There were voices somewhere nearby, but as he rounded the corner, he couldn't see anyone. He ran past the pastry cooks' worktable and sprinted into the galley.

The counters and basins looked as familiar as old friends, and Gavin felt himself calming down a ­little, slowing his stride to catch his breath. Everything looked normal. Nothing was out of place. The shining steel chopping machines were clean, ready for the next day's work.