By the Light of the Silvery Moon (36 page)

He had to trust. He had to have faith that his father was indeed safe on a lifeboat. His mind couldn’t think of anything but that. He crossed his arms over his chest, and his teeth chattered. Amelia had been right about many things. She’d been right about his desire for approval, but more real than that was his love for the man who had given him everything. And as he closed his eyes and considered jumping, Damien knew where his faith lay. Not on this ship—not any longer. The fact was, even if he never made it out of the icy waters, he’d find himself before the throne of his God. His father had given him many things over the years, but more than anything else, C.J. Walpole had passed down that belief in God to his son. No matter how Damien had stumbled, he still believed. That was his inheritance.

His eyes fluttered open, and the deck shifted even more under his feet. The boat creaked and groaned; the sound of metal crushing and wood splintering filled his ears. The cries—a hundred cries—pealed out where silence had been not long before. Damien turned to the rail and held on with all his might. Icy water splashed in his face, and he looked to a distant lifeboat.

This is it. I’m going in. It’s my only chance.

He secured his life belt. He’d swim with all his might toward the boat. Maybe they’d let him aboard. He was sure if he stayed here any longer he’d be pulled down into the depths with the ship.

Then, taking a large breath, Damien stood on the rail and leaped.
Dear Lord, be with me now….
Then with all his might, he jumped, thrusting himself as far from the ship as possible.

His body hit the water, and a thousand needles pierced his skin. The world around him was dark. He propelled forward, looking for air. Finally, he bobbed to the surface, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

The lifeboat. I have to make it to the lifeboat.

He moved his arms and legs, feeling as though he were swimming through wet concrete. The cold punctured him, and every inch of his body ached. His limbs were already succumbing to the cold, making it hard to feel, to move. His teeth were beyond the point of chattering. His ears felt oddly warm.

Others around him had jumped in also, splashing with all their might as they swam.

Have to get away from the ship.
His mind grew numb. His body seized up.

Then, behind him he felt it—the ship taking a dive, reeling, plunging. Damien turned back to watch its descent into the depths. As he did, his eyes caught sight of the large funnel. It headed straight toward him.
No place to go. No life to fight for.

Sure and steadfast by Thy side.

A
s Amelia watched the
Titanic,
the lights flickered low and then brightened again. Its glow reflected off the liner in ripples, and if not for the horrific event taking place, Amelia would have considered it a beautiful sight.

She winced as bodies fell from the ship—jumping or tumbling—it was hard to tell which.

“Please. Someone help me, please!” Cries filled the air as water swallowed up the liner. Even from the distance, she could make out men struggling to cut the ropes of the last lifeboat. Others ran up the slanted decks, attempting to stay on the ship, and out of the water, for as long as possible.

Amelia turned to check on her aunt, and when she turned back she noticed the forward part of the ship was lower now—far lower than it had been just moments before. Her heart leaped, but she tried to remain calm.

They watched, stunned. A word or two was muttered in the lifeboat. There were scattered phrases, simple sentences that couldn’t describe what their eyes were seeing. What they couldn’t fathom as true.

Just then Amelia heard splashing in the water, not far away. A form neared.

“Edward!” Ethel called out. She rushed to the side and reached for him. Others helped to pull him in. A soaking, shivering mass crumpled into the floor of the boat.

“Saw boat leaving with room.” His teeth chattered as he spoke. “Thought to swim for it …”

“Oh Edward, don’t try to talk.” Ethel kissed his face over and over again.

Amelia removed the blanket from her shoulders and handed it over. Ethel quickly wrapped it around her husband. Tears filled her eyes. At least Ethel’s love story would come true.

Shivers overwhelmed her. She looked to the man who was rowing. Should she ask to take a turn—anything to warm her. But her efforts wouldn’t be enough. It would be their strength that would take them away from the
Titanic,
lest they be sucked down with it when it finally went under.

The officers continue rowing them out. When one woman asked where they were rowing to, the officer gave a simple answer. “Away.”

Amelia dared to look back at the
Titanic.
It stretched longer than it appeared at Southampton at the dock. The dark around it formed a black outline against the starry sky. Light blazed from every porthole and salon. Had it been just hours ago mothers had been tucking their children in for the night and whispering sweet prayers? And hours ago, too, when she’d relaxed into Quentin’s embrace?

Quentin.
She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about him now. Her heart ached from her loss, but she whispered a prayer, thanking God for the time they had. Thanking Him for the change in Quentin’s heart, for He knew what mattered most now.

Amelia’s heart clenched at the sight of the ship, just as it had when she first saw it. She tried to remember every detail, knowing it wouldn’t last long. Even in its death, the
Titanic
was beautiful. The structure of her lines and the lights were set against the moonless night sky.

The water was now up to the highest row of portholes, and the bow tilted ominously downward.

They rowed in the quietness of the night, and Amelia prayed that when dawn stretched its rays over the horizon, the
Titanic
would still be floating there. She would rather feel a fool for not trusting those who engineered its design than see it go down. See so many lives lost. So many people who needed help, and her unable to do a thing.

“It’s designed to stay afloat,” a sailor assured them.

If you believed that, would you really be rowing away?
Amelia wanted to ask, but the words stayed on her tongue.

“Look at that!” someone gasped.

Amelia watched the
Titanic
settle rapidly as if a large, invisible hand had pressed her down in the water.

“The bow and bridge are completely underwater,” C.J. mumbled in shock. “My sons,” he whispered.

A great floating palace,
she’d heard a woman describe it before as they had strolled on the decks. The palace would soon be gone.

Music carried on the cold night air. “Nearer, My God, to Thee” the orchestra played. Did God’s angels surround the ship? Maybe to hold it up? Or to take God’s children home?

One of the stokers turned to the oarsman. “It’s time to row harder. We need to get as far away as we can.”

Amelia imagined again what could happen if the large ship sank. It would surely cause a great wave to flood their boat. Or the suction from its sinking could pull them down with it. Or, if there was an explosion, debris could shoot up into the air—much like the flairs that had been shot up earlier.

As Amelia watched, it was clear their oarsman was unskilled, because their journey was erratic. At times she, too, wanted to tell him to row faster. Other times she wished to whisper, “Go back. Go back.”

The stern tilted more, nearly upright, looming black against the sky. People slid off the deck into the water. One of the smokestacks crashed.

Blackness engulfed them, and Amelia sucked in a breath. Then, as a miracle, the lights flashed once—just long enough for their hope to peak and then plummet as it went out again. The ship cracked and groaned before splitting in two.

A mighty rumble filled the air. The sound of machinery and furniture roaring and rattling down. The ship groaned as if crying for her life, and Amelia watched in horror as the bow sank. Cries and groans echoed through the darkness.

Then the stern settled, flattening again, and only then did Amelia release her breath. Maybe it was designed to stay afloat. But soon it, too, began to go under.

Then suddenly, like a pebble dropped in a pond, the huge liner disappeared into the black darkness. The blue ensign on the flagpole of the
Titanic’s
stern slipped under the water with barely a ripple.

With a quiet sinking, the water swallowed her up. All those in Amelia’s lifeboat waited, tense, but the only evidence of the great ship’s sinking was the ripple of the sea, gently heaving around them.

A thousand cries filled the air. Thrashing bodies struggling in the cold. Sobs shuddered within Amelia. A light gray vapor rose into the air like the ship’s ghost. Across the surface of the water was wreckage, or so she thought. But as Amelia looked closer, she noticed it wasn’t pieces of the ship that floated in the water but bodies.

“We have to go back! We have to help them,” she called out.

“We are too far. We’ll never get back in time. It is no use.” One of the officers shook his head.

Moan upon moan filled the air.

“We can’t just sit here. We have to do something,” she pleaded with the women around her. “What about your husband? Your son?”

“If we go back, they will swamp us,” one young woman said. “They’ll cling to the sides and pull us in, too.

Aunt Neda lowered her head in agreement. “We cannot save them. By the time we get there, it’ll be too late. Too late.”

Somewhere in the night, a sailor’s song filled the air, as if he was trying to distract them, but the cries were heard over his voice.

The cries lessened, and the sounds of gasps rose. They were the sounds of men and women struggling for their last breaths.

“My God. My God.”

“Help! Help!”

“Boat ahoy!

Amelia pressed her hands to her ears. The moans quieted, one by one.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she thought of those she’d come to know and love. She thought of Quentin and Damien, of the men and women who’d strolled the decks, their faces full of smiles, laughter on their lips. She thought of the children playing. She considered the brave stewards, and—did Geraldine make it into a lifeboat?

Why this? Why? Why?
In all her years, Amelia had never questioned God. Her aunt had always taught her that He was there—only a whispered prayer away. She had talked about God as if He was a part of her life. Amelia had always assumed that, too. She’d told Quentin that very thing.

But if there really was a God—if He was there and He cared—why would He allow this to happen? How could a liner like the
Titanic
sink?

“Where is God?” she whispered into the night. “God, where are you?”

The heartrending cries floated over the surface of the waters. The voices grew quieter, the pleas weaker and weaker until they died out.

The silence cut deeper than any cry for help.

God was there but maybe in a different way than she had thought. Maybe it was His whisper that hovered over the waters, calling His children home. Calling Damien home. Quentin home. She covered her face with her hands, wishing she could have had five more minutes with Quentin. Time to remind him of her love. Of God’s love.

Minutes passed. She didn’t know how many, but silent sobs shook her shoulders. C.J. leaned forward and grasped her hands, holding them tight within his. He was brave, even though they both were aware that his sons were gone.

There was no more sound, only silence. Amelia ached from the cold. She ached from the realization of what had just happened.

“Look over there!” Ethel pointed. “I see a steamer. They are coming. We will be rescued!”

One of the stokers shook his head. “No, it’s just a low star.”

“I need to find my husband,” one woman gasped as if finally just stirring to life. She held a small boy on her lap. The boy was bundled in a blanket, and thankfully he slept. “If you don’t go back, I’ll jump in and go back myself.”

The officer’s voice was stern. “Maybe your husband has already been picked up. Then what good will your death be? Please, ma’am, consider your child.”

Amelia stared up at the quiet sky filled with brilliant stars. Not a cloud could be seen.

Cold wrapped around them, icy fingers shot needles of pain through her limbs. Only the red-faced sailor who rowed seemed anywhere close to warm.

They sat in a somber silence. The boat trembled as everyone shivered from the cold.

The child woke up and started to cry. With numb, cold fingers, Amelia removed her coat and handed it to the mother. “You can have this for your son.”

The woman nodded and bundled her child. As minutes passed, the child’s cries ceased.

They rowed for what seemed hours, and then they drifted in suspense. Women wept for everything lost. Her tears joined theirs.

Through the night, as the boat drifted, she tried not to think of what they’d left but what waited if they were ever rescued. A new life in America. She tried to forget the tenderness in Quentin’s eyes, but it was no use. She saw his face even when she closed her eyes.