The Deepest Waters, A Novel (17 page)

As soon as Captain Meade had returned to the
Cutlass
, the atmosphere quickly returned to the dark, depressing place it had once been. No one said a word. The tour guide had stopped pointing out sights. Laura sat on a crate, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, staring down at the deck. Even the children had lost their glee. Most huddled close to their mothers, their faces buried in their laps.

No one cared to see New York any longer.

What the captain had said to the customs agent, and the agent’s reaction to those words, forced them to remember who they really were. Widows and orphans about to face the reality of sudden loss, a future filled with emptiness and uncertainty.

The sky had turned overcast, as if cooperating with the shifting mood. Laura heard a new sound. A crowd, not cheering, but making considerable noise. She looked up. Docked on either side of the
Cutlass
were dozens of sailing ships and smaller steamers. Every few seconds she heard a loud bumping sound. She walked to the far side of the ship and saw a tugboat pushing the
Cutlass
into the docking bay, gently banging it sideways.

She leaned over the rail and saw the steamship company’s dock about fifty yards ahead. It was triple the size allotted to the ships on either side. That’s when she saw the crowd, hundreds of people. The clamor had brought most of the women to their feet. They began to line the sides of the ship and peer into the crowds.

Probably hunting for a familiar face, she thought. She wondered . . . was John’s family out there? They must be. Captain Meade had sent word through the telegraph operator. If they
were
out there in the crowd, then they already knew.

John was gone.

The word involuntarily repeated in her mind. She forced it to stop and looked back at the faces of the crowd. Those she could see looked either sad or worried. She turned to face the women and children lining the ship’s rails. Most were crying quietly.

Except one.

Melissa, standing by the bow, leaned forward on the rail. She also scanned the crowds. Undoubtedly looking for “her Tom.” Her heart must be bursting with joy, longing to give full expression to all that her good manners and upbringing had kept properly bottled up inside. Laura wanted to be happy for her, but she had no happiness to spare.

Her John was gone. It was time to accept it.

Joel knew it was a pointless task.

“As long as there is a shred of hope, Joel . . . please,” his mother begged.

They were all still in her room a full hour after they’d received the news. She had rotated through every horrific emotion the human soul can bear. Joel had stopped trying to console her with words. Allison’s words seemed to have some effect, but just as she’d pull his mother out of the pit, she’d fall back into it herself. “All right, I’ll go,” he said. “Will you be all right if I leave you?”

“Of course I won’t be all right. I’m never going to be all right again.” This unleashed a fresh outpouring of sobs.

He walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He started for the door. Allison followed. He opened it and whispered, “Keep her up here until I come back.”

She nodded.

“Just make sure. She’d hate herself later if she made a scene in front of the staff. See if you can get her to drink some tea.”

“I will. Do you think there’s a chance John could be among the six men who survived?”

Joel shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

New tears slipped down Allison’s cheeks. Joel squeezed her hand and left. As he walked downstairs, he called out to Beryl, who was already standing by the door with Joel’s frock coat and hat. “Is the carriage still out front?”

“Ready to go, sir.”

He walked briskly by and hurried out the door. The driver knew the way. Within ten minutes they arrived at the same corner that served as their rendezvous point before. The crowd was just as big.

The little door slid over. “I can’t get any farther, Mr. Foster.”

“This is fine,” Joel said. “We’ll do the same thing as yesterday. Check back every twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

The carriage door opened. They were startled by a newsboy shouting behind them. “Papers, get your papers here!
Vandervere
sinks, hundreds lost.”

He repeated it over and over in staccato fashion. Joel wanted to slap him. He walked toward the crowd, turned, and said to the driver, “This won’t be a repeat of yesterday. I shouldn’t be here very long.”

He crossed the street, walking along the outskirts of the throng. Every few steps, he heard someone wailing and crying like his mother. The long line of armored wagons was gone. Of course, he thought. Their shipment of gold is no longer coming. He looked down the street and noticed the corner of the office building and remembered the alley he’d discovered last night.

He came out of the alley just in front of the first-class families’ pavilion. It was half-filled; all who were there wept and wiped their eyes with handkerchiefs. Next to them stood a new crowd—the press. They hovered around the back office door like little birds waiting to be fed.

Just then he saw the ship, an old two-masted bark. Must be the
Cutlass
. It had apparently just arrived; men were still tying it up. It could be any one of a hundred old ships crowding the harbor, Joel thought. He decided to stand near the group of reporters. They’d likely be given any news as soon as the steamship management was ready to part with it.

Even still, he knew this was a pointless task.

“Mr. Holden, may I make a suggestion?”

Holden lifted his head from his desk, the vice president’s desk. But for how much longer? He looked at Parker, a midlevel executive. His likely replacement.

“I think I’ve found a way to instantly thin out the crowds,” Parker said. The other men looked at him. No expression on their faces. No one had slept a wink all night.

“What is it?” Holden asked.

One of the men peeked out the back window. “The
Cutlass
has fully docked, sir.”

“What’s your plan, Parker?”

“We know all the women and children survived but only six men. I’m sure the majority out there are waiting to see if their particular loved one is among the six male survivors. If we could get the captain to release them first, everyone else would know there’s no reason to wait any longer.”

It was an excellent idea, Holden thought. Said with the characteristic lack of empathy for others a large corporation expects from its top executives. But he saw a problem. “The captain will never go for it, Parker. You don’t release men before the women and children, not in a situation like this.”

Parker thought a moment. “Then perhaps he’ll just give us their names. We can read it aloud before we release the women and children. We’ll achieve the same result. We can fashion our appeal to the captain, saying how much harder it would be on the ladies, especially the children, to have to pass through so many people when they disembark.”

“Do it,” said Holden.

The crew of the
Cutlass
lowered the gangway. It was such a rickety thing. Laura couldn’t imagine any of the women, especially the mothers, feeling comfortable using it. Maylor called down to some of the men on the dock, asking their help to secure it.

Just then a finely dressed man came out of the steamship office, catching everyone’s attention. Reporters shouted at him as he passed by. Their cries were echoed by the crowd standing nearest the building. He ignored them. “Are you the captain?” he asked Maylor as he reached the gangway.

“I’ll get him,” said Maylor.

“First,” said the man, “we’re not going to use this.” He pointed to the gangway. “Please have your men pull it back. We’ll use ours. Much sturdier, with rails on both sides.”

“Fine,” said Maylor. He went below to get the captain. The men on the dock exchanged the gangways. A few moments later, Captain Meade appeared.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain? The name’s Parker. I’m with the steamship line. Just need a word with you, if I may.”

The captain nodded, and Laura watched as the two men walked toward the rear of the ship, then up a ladder all the way to the stern. Captain Meade nodded several times. The man got out a sheet of paper and wrote some things down. They shook hands and headed back toward the gangway. Parker walked down to the dock, turned, and said, “We’ll make this announcement right away, Captain. As soon as the crowd thins out, feel free to begin releasing the women and children at your discretion.”

“Very well,” said Meade. “As soon as my passengers exit the ship, I would like a word with those in charge.”

“That will not be a problem,” said Parker. “They’re expecting to meet with you. And again, may I extend our deepest gratitude for your heroic care and hospitality of our passengers. We are in your debt, sir.”

The captain nodded. He turned to face the ladies. “It won’t be long now, ladies. If you haven’t already done so, it’s time to gather your things.”

What things, Laura thought.

Joel watched as a man he recognized from the office last night—one of the men reading maps—came out the back door. He obviously wasn’t there to bring news, because he walked right past them toward the ship. Less than ten minutes later he came back. The reporters shouted their questions again. He paused a moment and said, “We’ll be making a major announcement momentarily.”

He headed back into the steamship office, every eye now fixed on that door.

A few minutes later, the man who spoke to the crowd last night came out carrying a paper in his hand. He walked up the stairs to the deck overlooking the crowd.

The crowd grew silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted from the bullhorn. “I have some news to report. As you can see, the
Cutlass
, the ship that rescued surviving passengers from the
Vandervere
, has arrived. Those of you waiting to reunite with the women and children aboard the
Vandervere
, please stay where you are. They will be released from the
Cutlass
very soon. But we are very sorry to also report that those of you waiting for any of the men . . .” He stopped for a moment. He seemed to be choking back tears.

“The papers reported correctly that 6 men have been rescued. There were 568 passengers aboard the ship, 103 were women and children. We are so very sad to say that . . . 459 men aboard the
Vandervere
have perished. I could read the 6 names of the men who survived, but all 6 have indicated to us they have no friends or family in New York City.”

The news washed over the crowd like a tidal wave of grief. Cries and wailing broke out across the wharf.

The man turned to walk away. Instantly reporters shouted questions. Most seemed to be asking the same thing. He stopped and pulled the bullhorn back to his lips. “I’m being asked if we’re certain there are no other ships coming with more survivors. What we are certain of is this . . . the SS
Vandervere
sank four nights ago. Since then we’ve had no telegraph reports of any other ship rescuing survivors from any port anywhere along the East Coast. And we’ve learned that the captain of the
Vandervere
sent word to Captain Meade of the
Cutlass
—four nights ago—that he didn’t expect his ship to last the night. This seems fairly conclusive.”

As expected, Joel thought, coming here had been a pointless task.