Titanic: The Long Night (9 page)

Shaking her head and murmuring to herself, the red-faced woman hurried off. She was back in only a minute or two, out of breath and saying hurriedly, “Hospital is on D deck, directly below the Café Parisien. You’ll have to take the elevator.”

“You’re not going to carry her all that way?” the balding man asked Max. “Get a steward to do it for you. That’s the sort of thing they’re supposed to do.”

As if I were
baggage,
Elizabeth thought indignantly. Max smiled and said, “Thanks for the suggestion, but I’d rather do it myself.” Glancing down at Elizabeth, he ordered, “Will you
relax
? You’re as stiff as a board. I’m not going to throw you overboard, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He grinned. “I’m too much of a gentleman for that. Might have you keelhauled, though. Being pulled along behind the boat in those icy Atlantic waters should bring you down off your high horse.”

“I already
fell
off my high horse, only it happened to be a bicycle,” Elizabeth reminded him. She winced in pain as Max began walking. Every step he took across the room jolted her throbbing ankle, but she was determined not to let it show.

“Max, do not tease her,” Lily scolded, striding along beside them.

Why does
she
have to come? Elizabeth thought. She wanted to lay her head on Max’s shoulder, which would have been much more comfortable. But she resisted, sitting instead upright and away from him, as if by doing so, she could maintain some measure of independence.

“Lay your head down,” he commanded, marching toward the elevator. “It’s too hard to carry you when you’re fighting me. What are you so afraid of, anyway?”

“Being keelhauled by a callous brute,” Elizabeth retorted. But she obeyed. And resting her head against his shoulder did help.

The trip to the hospital seemed to take forever, even with the aid of the elevator. Lily annoyed Elizabeth by persistently asking how she was feeling, until Elizabeth finally snapped, “I feel exactly the same way I felt two seconds ago!”

Max shook his head in disgust. But Lily fell silent.

“It’s only a strain,” Dr. O’Loughlin announced when he had examined the ankle. “Perhaps a wrench. No sprain, no broken bones. I’ll wrap it for you, but I see no need to insist that you stay off it. If it’s uncomfortable, you might like to soak it and take an aspirin or two.”

Elizabeth felt silly. All this drama, all this effort and she didn’t even have a sprained ankle. Max and Lily were probably thinking she was a big baby, the result of too many years of pampering. Which wasn’t fair, because she hadn’t
asked
to be brought to the hospital. And she hadn’t cried out once.

The doctor left to see to a man suffering from a severe case of motion sickness. When he had gone, leaving Elizabeth sitting up on the examination table, there was an awkward silence. Elizabeth broke it by saying stiffly, “I can get back to my cabin by myself. You two run along.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “Run along? We’re not your household staff, Elizabeth. I brought you down here, I’ll take you back up. Whatever the doctor says, that ankle is swollen and it looks sore. You should probably soak it before dinner.”

Dinner. With her parents. Arguing again, about Alan. The thought nauseated Elizabeth, and she swayed slightly on the table.

Max reached out to support her, then scooped her off the table and into his arms just as he had lifted her off the gymnasium floor, saying, “There’s persistence, which I happen to admire as a character trait, and then there’s plain old stubbornness, which I don’t.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer him, and she was only vaguely aware of the trip back up to C deck, to her cabin. Then she heard her mother’s voice, followed by her father’s, and before she knew it, she was safely ensconced in her own bed. The sore and now-swollen ankle rested on a pillow removed from the chaise lounge in her parents’ cabin. She heard voices effusively thanking Max and Lily, heard the door closed, heard her mother’s voice saying, “Where on earth does that girl get her clothes? Enid would have a fit if her son ever brought home such a strange creature!”

Elizabeth wanted to shout, “She’s an actress, Mother, she’s not supposed to dress like you and me!” But her head ached. She felt dizzy. She dreaded another dinner with her parents, and her ankle was throbbing so fiercely, she couldn’t imagine having an actual sprain if it was worse than this. Besides, unlike Elizabeth Farr, Lily Costello was a free and independent human being. She could take care of herself, and did. She didn’t need Elizabeth to defend her.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and lay perfectly still, waiting for the sharp arrows of pain in her ankle to diminish.

Below, Katie continued to fume. She couldn’t dismiss the horrifying feeling of being put on display, of being regarded as a curiosity. Such a thing had never happened to her before, and she prayed that it would never happen again.

Brian, in an effort to calm her down, had said, “But you’re goin’ to sing on the stage, are you not? You’ll be stared at there, Katie-girl.”

He didn’t understand that it wasn’t the same thing, not at all. Being onstage, standing in front of an audience, was so very different. There she had a talent to offer, a gift, and was offering it willingly. She was inviting people to come and see how they liked her singing.

This was different, because she had never
invited
those rude first-class passengers in all their fancy finery to stand on the steps and gawk at her and the other steerage passengers.

It was disgusting and made her blood boil.

A small, pretty girl in a plain, brown wool dress came over to Katie and smiled before asking shyly, “So, is that young man your sweetheart?” Her accent wasn’t Irish, but Katie wasn’t sure what it was. She wasn’t that familiar with other languages.

Startled, Katie stared at her. “Beggin’ your pardon?”

The girl repeated the question.

“Paddy?” Katie glanced over at the young man in question, surrounded once again by a cluster of giggling girls. “My sweetheart? What makes you think such a thing?”

The girl blushed scarlet. “I did see him kissing you.”

Katie felt as if she, too, were blushing and hoped angrily that it wasn’t so. “That was just to put on a show for those horrible, rude people. It didn’t mean nothin’.” Her eyes on Paddy, she added, “Paddy’s only real sweetheart is himself, and that’s the truth. Brian says when his brother gets up in the mornin’, he’s at the mirror, first thing, checkin’ to make sure he’s still as handsome as he was when he went to bed.”

The girl laughed. “He is that.” She sighed. “Not that I’d be likely to catch his eye. I think perhaps he would like a bolder type.”

“Think of yourself as havin’ good fortune, then,” Katie said. “He left a trail of broken hearts behind him in Cork. You’d not be wantin’ to add yours to it, would you? A pretty girl like you, you could have some fine young man who’d be faithful as the day is long.” Her gaze moved to Brian. “Someone like that one over there. Paddy’s older brother. True as the sunset and steady as the ocean breeze. Come, I’ll give him the pleasure of meetin’ you. What’s your name?”

“Marta Swensen.”

“You’re not Irish, are you?”

“No. I’m from Sweden. I’m going to America to live with my aunt and uncle in Minnesota. They have a big farm and can use the help.”

Katie hesitated. Brian, too, was a farmworker. The two might fancy each other. It seemed to her, with her limited knowledge of American geography, that Wisconsin, where Brian was going, was somewhere near Minnesota. “I don’t suppose you’re at least Catholic, then?”

“Oh, no, I belong to the Lutheran church. But,” the girl added, seeing the expression on Katie’s face, “I’m a good Christian. And I have nothing against the Pope.”

Katie laughed. “All right, then, I’ll introduce you to Brian, though me ma would say I’m doin’ wrong, since you’re not of the faith.” But then, she told herself quickly, what were the chances that Brian and this Marta would marry? They wouldn’t be on the great
Titanic
long enough to become so serious. And it would be nice for Brian to have someone pretty to talk to about farming. She herself hoped she’d seen her last cow for a very long time. “Come along, then, and meet Brian. But,” she added hastily, “it might be wise not to mention religion first off, even if you
do
like the Pope.”

Once Brian and Marta were engaged in conversation, Katie glanced around for Eileen and her two young charges. In the upset of being interrupted by the first-class tour, Katie had lost sight of the trio. Everyone else seemed to have dismissed the interruption. People were talking loudly again in many different languages, children were chasing each other around the room, a small boy was pounding away on the piano. Katie felt as if she were the only one there whose heart was still sore from the humiliation.

“You take things too much to heart,” Paddy said, appearing at her elbow. “Like me. It’ll only cause you pain, that I can promise you.”

Katie stared up at him, her mouth open. Paddy Kelleher, taking things too much to heart? That wasn’t
her
picture of him. Nor, she suspected, was it anyone else’s. Brian said Paddy’s problem was he didn’t take
anything
seriously. How could Brian be wrong about his own brother?

“You’re joshin’ me,” she accused. “I’ve never known you to take anythin’ to heart. Especially not anyone
else’s
heart.” Wickedly, she added, “Like Mary Frances Molloy’s, for instance.”

Paddy didn’t even blink. “Mary Frances is a nice lass. But she had a mind to marry, I could see it in her fine Irish eyes.” He grinned down at Katie. “How could I marry, then, and still become a famous writer? Marryin’ takes up a man’s time. He’s got all he can do to support his family, with no time left over for sittin’ and writin’.” Then he added more seriously, “But I wasn’t speakin’ about romance, Katie, when I said that about takin’ things too much to heart. I was speakin’ about the people standin’ on the steps lookin’ at all of us like we had two heads on our shoulders.”

Exactly what
she’d
thought.

“You can’t be gettin’ all full of temper when somethin’ like that happens,” he said soberly. “They don’t mind if you get mad, that’s the truth of it. It did look like they found it amusin’, didn’t you think? You gettin’ mad, I mean?”

She nodded reluctantly. They
had
looked amused.

Paddy shrugged. “Losin’ your temper over fools like that is like beatin’ your pretty head up against the stone wall in Ballyford’s town square, Katie.”

“You lost your temper, too.”

“Aye, I did. And felt more the fool for it.”

Was he regretting the kiss? Was that what he was saying? Afraid she’d taken it too seriously, was that what he was fretting over? “Well, I felt foolish, too,” she said defiantly, “and you shouldn’t have kissed me in front of all those people! I did come close to slappin’ your face, Paddy.” Not true at all, at all. But she was stung, and needed to convince him that she hadn’t enjoyed a moment of that kiss.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess Brian’s forgiven me, though.” He looked for a moment as if he meant to say something further, but a trio of young women came along just then and, laughing, swept him away.

Katie stood in the center of the room by herself, surrounded by conversation and laughter and the sounds of children playing and squabbling, hearing none of it because she was remembering that Paddy had said “your pretty head.”

He thought she was pretty?

Thursday, April 11, 1912

Depressed and in pain from an ankle that throbbed steadily, Elizabeth slept all afternoon. She was awakened by a knock on the cabin door. It took her several moments to realize where she was and recognize the rapping sounds.

“Who is it?” she called irritably from her bed.

“Max and Lily. We wanted to know how you were doing.”

Elizabeth sat up. Max and Lily, Max-and-Lily, MaxandLily, as if they were one person. Did he go
nowhere
without the actress?

The thought brought a sudden cruel stab of pain from her leg. Wincing, Elizabeth got out of bed to test it gingerly. Although she could see when she raised her skirt that the ankle was still swollen, putting her weight on it was not unbearable. She made it to the door with only a slight limp.

Max was wearing the white turtleneck, Lily the wildly flowered jacket. Elizabeth had to smile, imagining the look on her mother’s face when she saw them.

“We thought we’d try the à la carte restaurant tonight,” Max told her. “We miss French food, and they serve it there. Feel like joining us?”

The “us” annoyed Elizabeth. She had no wish to be a third party. The two of them would probably spend the entire meal sharing their experiences in Paris, assigning her the unpleasant role of polite listener.

But anything had to be better than another uncomfortable meal with her parents.

Acutely conscious of her wrinkled clothing and disheveled hair, Elizabeth accepted the invitation. “I will need at least an hour to make myself presentable. I’ll meet you at the entrance to the restaurant”—she glanced down at the watch hanging around her neck—“at eight o’clock.”

Max smiled at her. The smile eased the sharpness of his features, making him even more attractive. “You look presentable enough to me.” He tilted his head to one side, regarding her carefully, still smiling. “Very fetching, in fact. You should wear your hair loose like that more often. Makes you look more approachable.”

Elizabeth might have been flattered had Max not at that very moment been standing elbow-to-elbow with someone whose own jacket was wrinkled and whose long, dark hair seemed always to be in disarray. He obviously liked that free-spirited look. But that didn’t make it suitable for an appearance in public. Not for Elizabeth Farr, anyway.

“My parents are eating in the restaurant tonight, too,” she said, her voice cool. “If my mother saw me walk in looking like this, she would hate it. I’ll change and meet you there.” Before she closed the door, her eyes swept Lily from head to toe, as if to say, It wouldn’t hurt you to tidy up a bit, either.

But she didn’t say it aloud because she knew Lily had no intention of changing her outfit or arranging her hair differently. Elizabeth was consumed with envy. How wonderful it must be not to care what other people might think, not to be constantly ruled by rigid standards of what was “proper” and what wasn’t.