The Heart's War (13 page)

"Hurry up, man," Lawrence said.

The man with the clipboard ignored Lawrence. He tapped a spot on his clipboard, then ticked it off with a pen that he drew from his inside pocket.

"Yes, here we go, Eleanor Winters, Laundry. You're late, Miss Winters."

"S... Sorry," I said, trying to look bashful and cowed. I had to look down to hide my smile. The Olympic! I couldn't believe any of this.

"Here are your bags, ma'am." Lawrence said. His eyes twinkled down at me.

"Thank you, sir. The bags are just so heavy!"

The man with the clipboard frowned at me. It was a strange choice of words for a supposed laundry girl. After all, I was apparently employed to sift through big, heavy bags of laundry, washing and sorting them all day.

Lawrence took my hand before I could do anything and kissed it. He slipped away, marching stiffly back up the pier, before I could thank him.

"Your duties start as soon as you board, Miss Winters. Be sure to pick up your own uniform as well."

"What? Oh, yes, of course!" I said.

I grabbed up my bags and started up the gangway as the water sloshed down below.

Chapter 11

The ship was a labyrinth of stairs, corridors, and ladders. I'd never been inside something so large before. I had no idea where I was going. The decks this low seemed designed for the crew, and third class passengers. Soldiers still roamed the halls, settling themselves into one of the many bunk bed filled rooms.

The corridor echoed with their shouts and laughs as I made my way down it. Despite the number of people onboard, it smelled clean. I had a hunch that someone scrubbed the whole thing down with some sort of lemon-based cleaner.

I was thankful that Lawrence hadn't arranged that job for me. There had to be miles and miles of corridors on the ship. I'd be bent-backed with gnarled, claw-like hands by the time we reached Liverpool.

As to how long that would take, I was led to believe the journey would take more than a week.

More than enough time to explore the ship.
In a way, it was good that it was on military service. With the army trying to cram as many warm bodies as possible onboard, there were no class distinctions. Of course, officers got the nicer first and second class quarters, but it seemed you could wander anywhere without some stiff-lipped usher or crewman asking to see your ticket and telling you to get back below decks.

I was in luck again when I found the laundry room. Ten other girls wearing plain white smocks and skirts already labored inside the steam-filled room.

They directed me to the woman in charge. Her name was Mrs. Montag, and she always had a white kerchief tied about her forehead holding back her grey hair. She was somewhere in her fifties, judging by the wrinkles on her forehead. Her hands had been roughened by decades of manual work, and she didn't brook any "lollygagging or tongue wagging" as she liked to say.

I'd never had a taskmaster like her back home. She made one of the girls take me to the crew quarters, which were basically smaller versions of the third class rooms. I shared the space with all ten of the girls from the laundry room, as well as several others who worked in cleaning.

After changing into my own white skirt and smock, I barely had time to tie my hair into a ponytail before I found myself sorting through fresh bags of laundry. Some clothes needed bleaching, while others couldn't go near it. They were mostly soldiers' uniforms. Again, I wondered how many of these had come from the factory in Kitchener.

Apparently the pool room had a sauna. But I was sure that the laundry room was the hottest room on the ship. The men should have come down here if they wanted some heat. Clouds of steam curled in the air and left everything feeling damp and warm. The cotton smock clung to my back and arms, and I found myself hating the skirt as it stuck to my thighs.

But I was onboard the Olympic.

Work ended for a late supper sometime around 10 PM. My hands had turned raw and red, and the soles of my feet ached and stung every time I put one foot in front of the other.

The ship had its own electrical generators. I excused myself to go out onto the deck and take a look. White light bathed the whole vessel, washing the color out of the swirling splashes of paint, and the chilly night breeze off the water felt good. I leaned against the railing and looked down. The pier seemed so far below.

Standing near the front of the bow, I could see up into the bridge. From this distance, the uniformed men moving around inside looked like little moving figurines. Many soldiers also wandered the deck, waving at their fellows still boarding from the pier and calling out.

Out on the water itself, ships steamed by.

I tried ignoring the pang in my stomach, too overcome by the very fact of being somewhere like the Olympic, but I couldn't.

It all felt like a dream. I felt like I was so light that I might float right off the deck. It seemed like any moment, something would happen and I'd awaken to find myself back in Kitchener. This couldn't be real, could it? I couldn't be on my way to see my Jeff before he got shipped across the English Channel to the war.

The mess for the crew was on the same deck as my modest shared cabin. Men and women sat together on long benches, talking. Their conversations turned into a general hum.

I ate without tasting the food. Lawrence had said the ship would leave at midnight, and I intended to stay awake and watch Halifax slide away into the darkness.

***

At midnight, I went back out onto the deck. Light spilled out of the bridge, and everyone in there seemed busy. A man climbed up into the crow's nest on the forward mast and looked about.

The deck and the pier became busy as men shuffled about like ants, removing the heavy chains and cables keeping the ship moored.

The moon watched the whole affair as the stars twinkled around it, reflecting off the black, wavering surface of the harbor.

They removed the gangways after the final soldiers boarded. I watched the bridge crew, who seemed busier than ever. It was like watching a moving picture, except that I had to fill out the inter-title cards myself.

The ship thrummed to life beneath me. In the light spilling from the city, I watched the smoke rise up from the closest stack as the men far below decks fired the furnaces.

They blew the fog horn and the noise exploded across the water. It truly was like some great, fantastical beast rising from its slumber, stretching and moaning its complaints about being awakened.

Almost imperceptibly at first, the RMS Olympic, laden with thousands upon thousands of Canadian soldiers, slid back from its berth. A few men on the pier walked alongside the ship for a while, waving. I waved back down at them, covering my mouth until I let my gleeful laughter burst from my lungs.

I knew I should be afraid. The Germans kept watch on this harbor, just like they watched the British in St. John's. But, for the first time since I stepped up into the train in Kitchener, I felt good.

The smell of the salt in the air was the smell of freedom and adventure. Despite the late hour, I felt wide awake and alert.

Then the world started spinning, and I realized that the ship turned as it reversed. Soon, a wide gap of glassy black water separated the ship from the pier, and the men still waving from Halifax looked like tiny little models in a diorama.

The ship slid backwards in the water for a bit, then went still. I held my breath. Were we stopping? Had they discovered I'd boarded under false pretenses? Would some soldiers escort me back to Halifax, where I'd have to watch the Olympic get swallowed up by darkness from the pier?

Then we moved forward, slowly at first. If I looked down over the rail, I could see the swell of the water as the Olympic's prow sliced through it. A small shadow approached us, as well.

It came closer until it resolved into one of the tugs. It bumped against the hull, nudging the behemoth, helping it make the fine course corrections it needed to navigate through the neck of the harbor.

I wiped at my eyes. I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. If I held my eyes up slightly, it felt like I flew over the surface of the Atlantic.

It didn't take us long to leave the harbor. Out on the open water, the tug turned and left. It didn't signal in any way, and it had turned out its lights.

A hand landed on my shoulder.

"Miss?"

My skin prickled beneath that touch, and when I turned I expected to see Lawrence, come to ask repayment for this largest of favors.

But it was a man dressed in a dark blue uniform, a jacket pulled about his shoulders and a sailor's cap on his head. I smiled at him, and he nodded politely back at me.

"I'm going to have to ask you to return below decks. We have to turn off all the external lights now, and it gets awful dark up here without them," he said.

I looked around. Other sailors went around telling the groups of soldiers who'd also come out to view Halifax as we left. We all went inside, and not a minute later I saw the world darken outside.

The thrum of the engines, felt as a small vibration throughout the ship, increased noticeably then. I understood why. Under cover of night, going as fast as could be maintained, meant a much higher chance of eluding any watchful eyes. Aided by that dazzling paintjob, I felt certain the Olympic could slip out unnoticed.

The excitement faded inside me, replaced by a slight sense of worry that tickled at the bottom of my heart. It took me twice as long as it should have to find my cabin again, and I climbed under the sheet with the heavy weight of exhaustion hanging over me.

As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if, even at that moment, a German U-boat scanned the horizon for any sign of our ship. I wondered whether the faster Mauretania fared any better, and I felt thankful then that Jeff had boarded that ship. Here, I was in the war. It was no longer just in the headlines. I'd committed myself, and there was no turning back.

Chapter 12

Mrs. Montag woke us up by ringing a little iron rod against the door.

"Five o'clock, girls. The laundry won't wash itself. Up! I expect you all at your posts in thirty minutes!"

It was a race to the showers, then to dressing and gobbling up a few mouthfuls of oatmeal and some water for breakfast. I'd wanted to go out on deck to catch the sunrise as
it came over the ocean, but it turned out to be a false hope.

I wasn't a passenger on my way over to do some grand European tour. I was an employee. If I failed in my responsibilities, I didn't know what the punishment might be. But if it turned out worse than spending hours washing hot clothes, thrusting my bare hands into scalding water, I didn't want to know it.

At least, I thought to myself, down here Lawrence won't come looking for me. Being a proper rich boy, he likely disdained the lower decks.

I spent most of that morning thinking about Lawrence. What had come over the man?

Since my name had been on the list, that meant he must have set the wheels in motion shortly after we arrived in the city. Maybe he called in a few favors, or made promises. However he did it, it got me onboard and on my way to England.

But again, I wondered why he did it as I drained cloudy, soap filled water out of one machine to prepare for the next load. Was it some attempt at an apology for his behavior on the train? I saw something in him, then: the real man behind that charming, slightly oily facade.

Maybe he buried that part so deep it only came out on occasion. Maybe this was all some renewed and redoubled effort to win my affections. The more I thought it, the more sense it made. In England, it would be much easier to see me. How often did the men get rotated? I had to admit my woeful state of knowledge of the affairs of the war.

"Why so pensive, love?"

I looked to my side to see who'd spoken. It was a girl, probably no more than eighteen. She had her fiery hair tied in a ponytail down her back, and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. I thought her accent Irish, though she could have been from Newfoundland.

"It's nothing," I said, I didn't know why, but I felt some element of omission necessary. I still feared been found out and somehow forced off the ship.

"Just thinking about a man," I finished.

"Yes, I knew it! Will he be waiting for you?"

"Well, I hope one man is waiting for me there. But this one is onboard with us."

"Two men!
You hear that, the new girl's got men here and there for 'er!"

They all laughed. I hoped the heat from the steam masked my blush. I'd spoken without really thinking about it. There was nothing worse for gossip than a group of women working closely. I knew that from Kitchener. As soon as Mrs. Montag let us out for lunch, everyone in the mess would think the new girl was free with her affections.
All because I misspoke.

"No!" I said, "That's not what I meant. My fiancé is waiting for me in Liverpool. The one on the ship is just a friend of the family."

"'course he is! Aren't they all great friends?"

The girls tittered again. I opened my mouth, readying another
defence before I realized that all I did was dig myself deeper with every syllable. Ears burning, I bent back to my task.