An Unsinkable Love

chapter 14


Bree huddled in the boat and watched the writhing mail sack slowly rise and swing over the railing high above. A young woman on the next seat let out a loud sigh of relief.

Her two-year-old daughter had been bundled into the bag and lifted on board the rescue ship using the freight gantry. As Bree regarded the seemingly endless wall of metal next to them, she almost wished she could be hoisted aboard instead of facing the ordeal of climbing the rope net stretched down from an open door in the side of the ship. Only the vision of a seam parting and sending her back into the abyss prevented her from asking.

Two crewmen from the Carpathia climbed down and helped survivors get their footing. It was slow going in the frozen darkness. The women's heavy skirts tangled in the ropes and were apt to catch underfoot. A stocky, dark-skinned woman stood and began to wave her arms and jabber in an unfamiliar language. She repeatedly pointed at her feet then her waist. Her efforts were met with blank stares. She shook her head, shouldered the crewman aside, then bent over and grabbed the back hem of her skirt, pulling it through her legs and tucking it into her waistband. The remaining women watched dumbfounded as, unfettered, she clambered up the ropes like a monkey. Understanding dawned and the rest of the survivors quickly followed suit.

The exodus proceeded at a much faster pace.

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It was Bree's turn. She stepped aside and nodded at Elizabeth as she said to one of the rescuers, "Mrs. DuMont's hurt. I'm not sure she can climb. Isn't there some other way?"

Elizabeth tried to protest, but a look from Bree silenced her.

"Sorry, luv. This is it. Tell you what, though. I'll follow right close behind in case she needs a wee bit of help."

Bree inspected him carefully, as if he were a horse she considered buying. He was big, over six feet. Bulging biceps and shoulders stretched his coat tight. He had a fresh, kind face and his fair cheeks showed the light strawberry blonde fur of an unshaven youth. Bree smiled and nodded. Elizabeth would be in good hands.

Only Bree, the two Titanic crewmen and the other man from the rescue ship remained in the lifeboat. She nodded at the man slumped and unmoving at the oars. "What about him?"

The Carpathia crewman nudged her toward the now-empty ladder. "It's too late for him, miss. Now get your skirt fixed and let's be gettin' on the ship. It's awful cold down here and there's warm blankets and coffee up there."

She nodded her thanks and turned, giving a last look at the remaining Titanic crewman. He studiously avoided her gaze. How would he fare once his actions were known? Even after what had happened, she found herself pitying the man.

With a mental shrug, she hooked her foot into the net and took the first step.



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Malcolm struggled out of the dark and forced his crusted eyes open. There was an incessant roar in his ears and his head pounded mercilessly. He lay still, blinking, as he tried to sort out what was going on. The roar resolved into hundreds of voices laughing, crying, praying and shouting. He gingerly turned his head and looked out over a sea of humanity.

Sitting, standing, lying—they littered every square inch of a large enclosed space.

He surveyed his body. He was swathed in a heavy blanket, bare shoulders sticking out at one end, equally bare feet at the other. He lay on a raised bench or table pushed up to a wall. As Malcolm tried to sit up, the stabbing pain in the back of his head and neck brought on a bout of nausea and he slumped back, eyes closed.

A man with a gravelly voice spoke from nearby. "Still with us, are you, my boy?"

Malcolm opened his eyes again and saw a lined face, vaguely familiar. "Yes, sir," he managed to croak.

"Wait a moment. I'll fetch you a drink." The man picked his way through the crush of people to tables at the far side of the room. Pots of all sizes and shapes were laid out, some steaming, with bowls and cups grouped around them.

Malcolm battled to focus his eyes as the man ladled water into one mug, a dark brew into another.

He returned and held out a mug. "Can you sit up to drink some water, or do you need help?"

Malcolm carefully rolled to the side, pausing as the room spun. He took a deep breath and pushed up with his elbow, 107

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sliding sideways until he propped against the wall. He reached out a shaky hand and took the mug. The lukewarm water was like nectar as it slid down his parched throat. He got two big gulps before the mug ran dry. The man replaced it with another chipped cup filled with steamy broth. Malcolm closed his eyes and inhaled the heavenly aroma before sipping. He sighed and sagged against the wall.

He gazed intently at his benefactor. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure I know you, but I can't quite recall your name."

"John Thayer. You know my son, Jack."

Through the cotton wool that filled his mind, Malcolm recalled the face of a young, athletic man with whom he'd recently played squash. He smiled and nodded, scanning the crowd. "Where is Jack?"

The lines in the man's face deepened and it seemed he aged at least a decade as he said, "I can't find him, or his mother. There are so many people." He swayed and Malcolm reached out a hand to steady him. "They've put us all over the ship, wherever there's room. I'm told I'll have to wait until we get to New York before they'll have a complete list of survivors. I'm afraid they're ... I'm so afraid." Tears slipped down Mr. Thayer's face. The hand that scrubbed across his lined forehead trembled. Then he seemed to collect himself and stood a little taller. "They let me wander around, though.

In case I see them." He absently patted Malcolm on the shoulder and turned away.

"I'm sure they're here somewhere, sir. I'll help you search for him. I need to locate my mother too." Malcolm looked 108

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down and frowned. "I just need to find some clothes first."

Mr. Thayer stumbled away as if he hadn't heard.

It took Malcolm nearly an hour to obtain a pair of dirty trousers and a mismatched suit jacket a few sizes too wide, with sleeves that stopped halfway to his wrists. The damp jacket smelled of saltwater and oil. His head still hurt like the dickens, but he was able to stand and walk without the floor and walls undulating around him. At the food table, he picked up a thin slice of cheese and a piece of bread and butter, and gulped down a mug of strong, hot coffee. Fortified, Malcolm made his way purposefully around the room, checking each knot of people for his mother or Jack. Unsuccessful, he spoke to a few Carpathia crewmen, and they sent him off to other areas of the ship where Titanic passengers were being housed.



* * * *

Eldon perched on the edge of an unmade bed in the rescue ship's crew quarters, alone. It had cost him his gold pocket watch, but it was worth it to get away from the bedlam of whining children and their sniveling mothers. He spent a few moments wondering what had become of Elizabeth and Malcolm, thinking it unlikely he'd have to face his incensed stepson any time soon. Elizabeth was inconsequential and would be easy to deal with. His brother's son, however, had frequently proven rather irascible. It would be simpler if Malcolm had gone down with the ship, but it would probably be a few days before he knew for sure. He stretched out on 109

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the lumpy mattress, arms behind his head, and formulated a series of plans.

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An Unsinkable Love

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