A Song Across the Sea (8 page)

The Rutherfords! She’d overheard them being discussed by some other passengers. “Richer than God,” was one woman’s description of them. “A man of considerable influence. He inherited a vast fortune and made it even bigger. Owns a newspaper, a railroad, and several silver mines. He’s one of New York’s leading citizens, don’t you know.”

Mr. Winthrop Rutherford looked about sixty-five, his slender, elegant wife perhaps five years younger. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and had that effortless air of authority that bespoke wealth and power. His wife—her silver hair styled in waves that hugged her aristocratic head—shivered and pulled her velvety sable coat more tightly around her. She smiled kindly down at Tara, who suddenly felt foolish. Of all things, to be scolded by a steward while clinging idiotically to a ladder! How kind, though, of this couple to come to her and Dominic’s defense.

Mr. Rutherford cleared his throat meaningfully. “I wasn’t referring to my wife, although I may very well have been. That young lady there”—he indicated Tara—”is also deserving of respect, whatever her station in life.”

The steward was indignant. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve had some experience with this type. If I don’t put the fear o’God into ’em, they’ll likely try sneakin’ back here again—and bringin’ their mates with ’em next time. Best to keep ’em well below. They’re a smelly lot, they are. Most of ’em don’t even speak English.”

Tara bristled. “I speak English better than you do, you Cockney wharf-rat! You may like to put on airs, but you can’t hide where you’re from. I may be poor, but I’m a good girl from an honest family. Had I manners as rude as yours, I wouldn’t be so free in talkin’ about people smellin’ and speakin’ other languages. You’ve obviously had no sort of upbringin’ at all.”

Her outburst was followed by an uncomfortably long moment of silence. Mrs. Rutherford viewed Tara with astonishment, and not a little admiration. Her husband looked as if he were trying to suppress a laugh.

“Well, steward, I guess that clears the air well enough.” He softened his demeanor, sounding reasonable and diplomatic. “Let these young people go on their way. And see that you use a little more tact in the future. They’re passengers, after all. Just like we are.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Rutherford, they’re hardly like you and your wife.” The steward’s obstinate refusal to concede defeat stopped Mr. Rutherford as he started to lead his wife away.

“I would hate,” he said slowly, “to have to speak to the captain about this.”

The steward finally gave in. “You won’t have to, sir. Good night, sir.”

•  •  •

Tara and Dominic returned to the starboard well deck, giggling uncontrollably.

“You see that steward’s face when you call him—what is it?—a Cockney rat? You are so angry. And so beautiful when you are angry.”

“Me mother always said I couldn’t hold me tongue.”

The Atlantic was glassy and smooth around them, under a moonless sky aglitter with a legion of stars. She squeezed her hands together. Gripping the cold metal rung of the ladder for so long had stiffened and numbed her fingers. The frigid air began to seep in through her clothing and clawed at her skin, making her shiver.

“You are cold? Dominic will warm you.”

He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in the heavy fabric of his jacket and leaned against his solid chest, giving herself over to the sensation of being cared for. Dominic’s broad back shielded her from the buffeting winds.

Tara felt a rising excitement deep inside her…a tingle of anticipation, a hunger she couldn’t name. Dominic felt it, too; she could sense him trembling. She lifted her face to his. Their lips met in a kiss that began gently, as they reveled in the strange, new, wonderful connection that rippled like a current between them. She felt so grown up! This was what it meant to feel like a woman! Their arms were wrapped around each other in a way that felt so utterly natural, so comforting and yet so exciting at the same time. The kiss turned urgent. A small, shrill voice within her warned her to stop, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. It was Dominic who finally pulled away and held her at arm’s length.

“We go inside now. It is too cold for you out here.”

Bereft of the arms that had encircled her, of the lips that had incited such passion in her own, Tara nonetheless knew that he was right. She followed him silently below deck.

A lively party was taking place in the steerage common room. Young men and women danced zestfully to accordion music while their elders watched in amusement. Pints of ale were lifted in hearty toasts. Conversations grew loud and lively in order to compete with the music. The rich scent of pipe tobacco drifted toward the ceiling in an aromatic haze.

“Tara! Tara!” The high-pitched voice that assaulted her ears belonged to Danny Flaherty’s mother. A petite, nervous woman, she seemed agitated.

“Have you seen me Danny, Tara? He’s not in his bunk. Is he with Paddy, do you think?”

“No, Mrs. Flaherty. Padraig is asleep in his own bunk.” Where he belongs, she might have added.

“Oh, dear! Whatever has happened to Danny, then? I warned him to behave. What if he’s fallen over the rail? The poor lad could scream and we’d never even hear him, with all this dreadful noise.” She looked at the accordion player resentfully.

Tara tried to calm the woman. Danny’s nocturnal escapades were well known to the ship’s crew by now. Doubtless he would be returned safely to his mother after being discovered hiding in some shadowy hold.

“Where is your husband, Mrs. Flaherty?”

“He’s out huntin’ for Danny.”

“I’m sure he will find him,” Tara said firmly. “The lad can’t have gone—”

She was interrupted by a dull thump on the hull of the ship, followed by a nerve-rattling scraping sound that seemed to go on forever.

“What the divil—?”

The ship lurched, making Tara nearly lose her footing. Dominic grabbed her firmly by the arm and held her steady. The accordion fell silent. The dancers stopped and looked around uneasily. All conversation ceased.

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Flaherty was, predictably, the first to find her voice. “What could that have been?”

Tara wasn’t all that concerned. After all, a ship this size would hardly run into trouble it couldn’t handle. Even if the thump meant a collision with another ship, the other ship would surely get the worst of it.

Nonetheless, Tara, Dominic, Mrs. Flaherty and dozens of other steerage passengers swarmed up on deck. An amazing sight greeted them: gleaming, irregular blocks of ice that loomed high over the starboard well deck, opposite the foremast. There must have been several tons of it.

“D’ya see? We’ve struck an iceberg!” someone said.

Dominic looked worried, but his concerns were evidently not shared by too many others on the deck. The discovery of the ice restored the passengers to high spirits. The mystery was solved. It was a startling thing, to be sure, and it would make a fine story to be told to the relations when the ship docked in America, but it was no cause for alarm.

One young lad reached down and helped himself to a fist-sized chunk of ice. “Here, Jimmy! See if you can catch this.” He hurled the ice at another lad, who ducked it and armed himself with his own frozen missile. A free-for-all quickly broke out. Ice was soon flying in all directions.

Tara smiled at the revelry. Except for the hulking slabs of ice littering the deck, all was reassuringly normal. Several Second Class passengers leaned over the rail lining their own deck and exchanged jokes with those below.

Yet stewards’ bells rang dimly in the background. Were they sounding an alarm? Or simply summoning crew members to clean up the debris?

She couldn’t wait to find out. Chilled to the bone once again, she and Dominic hurried back down to steerage. Maybe the party would resume in the common room. Tara noticed that the worried expression hadn’t yet lifted from Dominic’s face.

•  •  •

It was apparent, soon enough, that something was seriously wrong. The once-steady ship was rocked by intermittent tremors and seemed to be listing slightly. No steward appeared to quell their fears, so confused panic soon spread among the passengers in steerage.

No one seemed to know what to do. The expansive alleyway of E deck was soon crammed with people trying to push their way aft, carrying all manner of cases and valises. Under the low white ceilings lit starkly by bare light bulbs they formed a crush of baggage-laden humanity, waiting to be shown where to go.

“This way, Tara!” She realized with relief that Dominic was pulling her toward the sleeping quarters—and Padraig. His sturdy shoulders formed a flying wedge for her to follow through the crowd. They made it through the worst of it then he halted.

“Get your brother and put on…put on…” He couldn’t find the word.

In a flash, his meaning came to her. “Lifejackets? Dominic, you don’t mean that…the ship could really sink, do you? Surely that’s not what you’re sayin’? Not a ship this size?”

“No. Never.” But there was a shred of uncertainty behind his calm words. “This ship is big. Too big to sink. But, uh…is better to have…lifejackets. Just in case. Now get your brother.”

He turned away and she caught his wrist in alarm.

“Dominic, where are you going? Please!”

“I go to mother and grandmother. They speak no English. Will be worry about what to do.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “Go to your brother now. Quick. Come back to here with lifejackets on and clothes to keep you warm. Is cold night. Tara…you are brave girl. Like no girl I ever know.” He smiled reassuringly. “You climb ladders, shout at steward. Whatever happens, you will be fine.” He kissed her again then turned and hurried down the corridor.

If Padraig had heard any of the alarms, they hadn’t made much impact on his slumbers. He stirred irritably when Tara shook him awake.

“Come, Paddy. There’s a wee bit of trouble on the ship.”

He sat up slowly and allowed her to dress him, not noticing how badly her hands were shaking. He glanced around, blinking in confusion. “Tara, it’s not morning yet.”

She wished with all her heart that it
was
morning. Things wouldn’t seem so bad if it were. She pulled his tweed cap onto his head and buckled him into a life jacket.

“What’s this for?” he asked, still groggy.

“We may have to transfer to another ship.”

Was there another ship nearby, in case they
did
have to abandon this one? The ocean had never felt so vast, so empty to her. They might as well be on the moon, so isolated did she feel.

She donned a warm woolen sweater. When Padraig saw her pull out the two carpetbags, he seized the “Fairy Ring,” which lay under his pillow.

“Put it in one of the bags,” she said.

“I won’t! I’ll carry it meself.” He managed to cram it under the restrictive life jacket and under his shirt.

She lifted the carpetbags by their handles and staggered clumsily out of the room with them, Padraig right after her.

“Stay with me!” she hissed. “Whatever you do, don’t let me out of your sight!”

Padraig’s eyes grew wide as he took in the commotion on E deck. He clung to his sister’s sleeve, afraid of being trampled by the people who milled restlessly about.

Tara overheard alarming bits of conversation as she tried to avoid being pushed back against the wall. “I heard a crash,” one woman said. “And when I went to see what the trouble was, the water came right in under me door!”

A Third Class steward was on the scene, trying, with little success, to get people to put on lifejackets. Many didn’t understand his instructions. Excited conversations in a half-dozen different languages added to the din. Burly stokers forced out of nearby boiler rooms rumored to be flooding joined the throng.

The ship was listing noticeably now, tilting down toward the bow. Tara wondered where Dominic was.

“Are there lifeboats?” someone shouted.

The steward looked annoyed. “They’re being loaded now. If you’ll all just put your lifejackets on—”

“Being loaded?” Tara demanded. “And who is it that’s gettin’ in them? The rich swells from First Class?”

The steward refused to be rattled. “First Class passengers are being loaded first, of course. Women and children. I’ll be escorting small groups of you up to the boat deck, as soon as we can get—”

Tara didn’t bother to hide her rage. “A lot of good these fancy jackets’ll do us if the lifeboats are already gone! D’ya expect us to wait here patiently, like cattle waitin’ to be led to slaughter?”

“Please miss. There’s no need to cause a panic. It’s a long way up to the boat deck from here, so I’ll take small groups, one at a time.” He paused, trying to appear confident. “There’s plenty of time. This ship has been damaged, it’s true, but it’s not sinking anytime soon.”

Tara wasn’t reassured. She scanned the crowd, looking for Dominic, but didn’t see him. She prayed that he and his mother and grandmother would be all right, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She’d her brother to look after.

She hauled Padraig out of the crowded alleyway. As they passed the Third Class Dining Saloon, Tara was surprised to see people sitting in it, hunched over rosaries, their lips moving in prayer.

Still carrying the heavy carpetbags, she followed the same route she and Dominic had taken earlier in the evening: around a crane in the after well and along a boom to the First Class quarters. Padraig followed her, as nimble as a monkey.

When she climbed past the restaurant window, she couldn’t help but glance within. The spacious room was deserted, its glorious chandeliers hanging at an oblique angle, still casting warm light on tables laid with silver and china for the next day. It was an eerie scene.

A peek into a porthole in First Class quarters yielded another glimpse of luxury hastily abandoned. A fox fur stole lay carelessly draped on a brass bed. Discarded clothes were strewn over a wicker armchair and horsehair sofa. She compared the marble washstand in this cabin with the humble bathing facilities found in steerage. It was hard to believe that people traveled in this kind of comfort.