I froze in place, unable to either advance or retreat.
God, help me
, I groaned inwardly.
“Elisa. Elisa? Please hurry! We’re stuck, and Lindy’s hurt. Badly hurt, I think!”
“I’m coming,” I yelled. “Hold on!” Relinquishing my white-knuckled grip on the last secure handhold, I inched forward. My cheek was pressed against the cold metal. My body might have been tattooed on the wall. I slid my feet sideways, testing each step. My arms outstretched to either side reflected the entreaty of my pounding heart for divine assistance.
The hall and cabins had been seared by the blast. Dangling scraps of paint hung like flayed skin, tempting me to trust their false support.
The ledge narrowed. Six inches…five…three…
My safety rested on my toes and fingertips. There were no further obvious grips. The bulkhead was as smooth as the inside of a well—and just as deadly. How could I go farther?
Newcastle
creaked and growled.
From somewhere ahead and above me I heard the ship’s whistle wail, a continuous, despairing moan. It was the sound of a death agony that reverberated within the chamber enclosing me.
Beyond my right hand, beyond an expanse of bare metal, just out of reach, was what remained of a wooden handrail. Right below that desirable goal the rim of deck on which I perched widened again. If I could lunge across the intervening blankness, I would have a renewed handhold and secure footing.
“Elisa! Are you there?” The cry was agonizingly frightened and desolate.
Saving my breath for what was coming, I did not reply. Lifting my right foot carefully, gently, I stretched my leg as far as I could, then forced my trembling, unwilling right hand to do the same. I waited for the swell to subside so the ship would be neither rising nor falling when I moved.
Now! My hand shot toward the rail, grasped it triumphantly. My toes touched the shelf of deck…and slipped off! My shoe fell away, spinning into the blackness to land with a distant splash. The ship rose again, corkscrewing sideways. I lost my balance and tumbled, digging my nails into the wooden bar. I managed to get both hands on the scrap of banister, but my feet flailed for purchase. I screamed for help as my own weight threatened to yank me loose and plunge me into the gaping maw of icy water.
Answering shrieks of alarm emanated from the cabin as my terror echoed within the hearts of my girls.
And then my foot touched something solid. It was almost as if a hand were under my sole, steadying me. I pushed off the unseen step, and both my feet regained the ledge.
The next roll of the ship tossed me sideways again, but this time the motion threw me across the remaining space. I fell on my face, sprawled on carpeted flooring. When I got to my knees, I was outside the door of my girls’ cabin.
I slapped the door with my uninjured palm. “Girls, I’m here! I’ll get you out. Don’t worry.”
The doorframe was bent, the metal so twisted the door would not move when I shoved it and hit it with my shoulder. I hammered at it with my fists, and when it failed to yield, I kicked it.
It still did not budge.
A small, white hand appeared through a gap between the portal and the flooring. Nan’s voice, hoarse from crying for help, floated out beside it. When I touched her imploring fingers, she seized mine like a lifeline. “It’s Lindy…she’s really hurt, Elisa. We don’t know what to do.”
“I’m here now,” I repeated, my frustration at my own helplessness mounting. “But I’ve got to find something to pry the door open.”
Nan’s grasp squeezed even tighter. “No!” she implored. “Don’t leave us.”
“But I must.”
A light flickered out of the darkness. I spotted a glass cabinet containing an axe, a flashlight, and a fire extinguisher. Cries for help had ceased, but the sniffling and sobbing had redoubled since I reached the door. “I’m going to fetch something to break open the door. Nan? Nan! Can you hear me?”
“Alice! Betsy! Be quiet,” sensible Nan ordered. “Go on, Elisa. I can hear you now.”
“I say, I’ll be back to pry the door open. I’ll have you out any minute. Now tell me: who’s hurt and how?”
“It’s Lindy. There was a big explosion. What happened? It threw us all out of bed. The lights went out, and there was a lot of crashing. We called out our names and everyone answered, except Lindy. She’s…the bed tipped over on her. She hasn’t spoken.”
“All right, then.” I was filled with resolve as I rushed to the fire cupboard and smashed the glass. Grasping fire axe and flashlight, I staggered back. “Listen, girls: I’m going to have to bash my way in. Are you all well clear of the entry?”
Nan’s fingers fluttered a good-bye as she reluctantly said, “Yes…yes! Come ahead.”
I prayed for strength as I swung the axe as if intent on felling an oak tree. At my first blow the center of the door panel splintered. At the second the axe head broke through. Three more sledgehammer-like strokes and most of the barrier ceased to exist.
I crawled through. Three weeping girls were pressed against the far wall of the cabin. Nan was huddled on the floor, shielding Lindy, who was trapped beneath the overturned metal-framed bunk. As I entered, Nan turned her face toward me. An expression of fearful anguish was imprinted there.
Nan moved aside and made room for me to kneel next to Lindy. In the yellow orb cast by the flashlight Lindy’s cheeks were ashen. A trickle of blood came from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping, but her breathing was labored and shuddering.
I ordered, “Nan, you’re in charge. Take your life vests, coats, and shoes, and go at once to your boat station.”
“I won’t leave Lindy,” Betsy protested.
What could I do? I had to get the others to safety but could not leave the girl pinned against the deck.
“I’ll stay with her. Go! Nan, you and Betsy and Meg and Alice grab your things. Lifeboat Number 4! Like we rehearsed. Find Missus Pike. She’ll get you properly stowed.”
“What about you and Lindy?” Nan asked.
“Send help. Tell someone we need help. I’ll be along soon,” I said. “Go.”
As the girls wove their way out of the skewed confines of the cabin, only Nan looked at Lindy. The others kept their gaze away.
I heard an officer call to them, “Anyone else down here?”
Betsy shouted, “Miss Elisa is in the cabin! With my cousin Lindy. Cabin 22. Trapped!”
I could hear the officer’s calm voice. “Do you know your lifeboat station?”
“Number 6,” Nan replied.
“Get upstairs—quickly now!” he instructed.
Betsy demanded, “What about Elisa? What about Lindy? My cousin.”
“I’ll look after them. Hurry along now. Station Number 6. There’s just time.”
The bevy of refugee children tromped up the stairs. The officer progressed down the hallway, knocking on every door, directing stragglers up the dark steps.
I knew help had come too late for Lindy. She was ashen as she opened her eyes and looked up into my face. “Mummy?” she managed to speak. “Is that you, Mummy?”
I stroked her hair. “Yes, darling, I’m here.” I tried to console the dying child. The thought of Lindy’s last letter to her mother came clearly to my mind. I had promised to take care of Lindy. I wondered what the woman was doing now, still believing she had protected her daughter by sending her away.
“Don’t leave…don’t leave…me, Mummy.”
I felt as though I had failed miserably. “I won’t leave you, my darling girl. I’m right here.” I stooped and kissed her forehead. I held her hand, stroked her hair, and prayed. What had her story been? I tried to remember. Somehow it felt important. I owed it to her to recall.
It came to me: She had been evacuated from the southeast of England because of the German bombing attacks along the coastal airfields and ports. She had been going to stay with relatives in Canada. She was her mother’s only living child, sent away amid great heartache, because her mother loved her.
Lindy’s eyes flicked open. She coughed, spraying me with blood. “Mum?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Mum,” she continued, unheeding, “I’ve had the strangest dream. My chest hurts, Mum.”
“I know, Lindy. Help is on the way.”
The pitch of the ship had increased noticeably in the last few minutes. Forward was now significantly
down
. Back was distinctly
up.
“In my dream, I saw Gramma. Only she wasn’t old Gramma, like when she died. She looked young. She looked like you, Mum. She told me not to be afraid. Why…” A fit of coughing interrupted the girl’s story. “Why did she say that? I’m not afraid, Mum.”
“That’s good, dear,” I said. “Lindy? Can you hear me?”
The officer appeared in the doorway. A pool of light fell on me as Lindy shivered and took a few shallow breaths.
Too late. Too late!
I looked up and spread my hands. “I won’t leave her.”
He squared his shoulders. “Elisa.” He spoke to me as if I were a child in need of comfort. “You must go up with the others.”
“I can’t. I promised her…I
promised
her. And her mother. I can’t.” I began to weep. I stooped and placed my face against her brow. “I can’t, you see…”
He picked his way through the rubble until he towered over me. “She’s going home, Elisa. Do you understand me?”
“How can I leave her?” I sobbed.
The officer bent forward toward Lindy. “I’ll take care of her. Go now, or you will die.”
With a penknife he cut a lock of Lindy’s hair, slipped it into a small book, and pressed it into my palm. “For her mother, Elisa. Take it and go.” Suddenly he lifted me to my feet. “You must hurry. I’ll take care of her.”
He guided me to the doorway.
I begged. “Please! How can I?”
“I’ll see to her now. There’s no time left. You must run if you’re to make it off the ship.”
Then I thought of Murphy, of my own little ones. Their faces were before me, and I knew how much I wanted to live. “Am I too late?”
He gave me a stare that made my heart sink. “There are more who will need your help. Hurry along, Elisa. You’ve already done all you can here. I will stay with her.”
“Stay?”
An accepting smile curved his lips, and I felt a terror unlike any I had ever known. He would stay? We both knew to remain behind meant death, yet this man made no move to flee. He knelt and caressed the hand of the child. “Just go.”
I could not speak again. I pressed the volume containing Lindy’s curl into my pocket. Then I turned and dashed out of the cabin. Groping toward the eerie glow emanating from the stairwell, I stumbled forward. Gasping for air, I struggled up and up the steep gangway to the panic and confusion of the sloping deck.
12
Isaiah 43:2
ESV
14
DEAD IN THE WATER
NORTH ATLANTIC
AUTUMN 1940
I
still had one shoe on. Running and stumbling on a single heel soon proved more dangerous than the bits of shattered glass, so I removed it and tossed it behind me.
The deck sloped ever more sharply downward as I went forward. When I came to a set of stairs, I had to climb very carefully because of the odd angle; none of the steps were flat beneath my tread. Amid death and destruction I warned myself not to twist an ankle!
Rising from the relatively quiet lower decks onto the companionway of the first-class cabins thrust me into noisy, frantic chaos. It was like emerging from a London Underground train into the street-level pandemonium of Oxford Circus on the busiest shopping day of the year.
The corridor was jammed with people in all stages of dress and undress, moving in seemingly random directions. Despite all the evacuation procedures in which we had been drilled, confusion and consternation reigned supreme. Complicating matters was the babble of many languages. French, Spanish, Polish, and Russian refugees all seemed to have lost whatever English they commanded in the struggle to make themselves understood. They substituted shouting and hand waving. This was compounded when the lascar sailors gestured and shouted in their own language in reply to every inquiry.
My chief reaction was anger. Didn’t these idiots know that a girl—one of my girls—had just been killed? I knew there were other children in need. If the adults couldn’t be helpful, then couldn’t they at least keep quiet?
Follow me,
I gestured, no matter what language I heard, no matter what question was asked.
I pushed and shoved as I went, determined to rejoin the children. I struggled against the tide of humanity that threatened to carry me backward. The passengers presented enough degrees of unreality to fill the sideshows at a carnival. One man matched the rotund image of a snowman. I realized he was apparently wearing every bit of clothing he owned.
Another male figure was wearing top hat, tail coat, and…pajama bottoms.
A cabin door snapped open. A woman in bare feet, with her hair in curlers, wearing a silk gown and a thick layer of cold cream on her cheeks, demanded to know what we meant by making so much noise.
Where had she been in the minutes since the torpedo struck? How could she still be so ignorant of the danger?
“Torpedo. Get dressed. Get to your lifeboat,” I snapped.
“Impossible,” the woman protested. “They told us we were safe. Besides, the steward promised he would alert me personally if there were an emergency. I shall certainly complain to the management of the shipping line.” And she slammed the door.
There were many arguments about whether the emergency was real or not. Some thought it was a singularly inconvenient drill. Others said with authority that we had been struck by another ship in the blacked-out convoy, but that the damage was slight. One of these proposed returning to the salon to resume an interrupted game of bridge.
A white-uniformed steward added to the incongruity of the scene by striding along, striking a dinner gong. “Go to your lifeboat stations.”
Clang!
“To your stations, please.”
Clang!
“Have your life vests with you. Go to your stations, please.” His voice was as calm as if he were announcing afternoon tea.