As he continued in his work, whistling an Irish tune he’d heard a piper play on the deck, he recalled one of the posters for Titanic which had been put up around the town ahead of this maiden voyage ‘
The Ship of Dreams’
was its mighty claim. Harry Walsh was beginning to wonder whether this might not be such a bold claim after all and smiled as he walked past cabin 115.
CHAPTER
13 - Chicago, April 1982
Grace sat in the swing-chair on the porch of her mother’s house, enjoying the rocking sensation and the light breeze that danced around her bare feet. It was a warm day, full of blossom on the trees and bees buzzing among the early azalea bushes. The first buds of wisteria were forming around the trellis that framed the porch door. Grace had always loved the wisteria with its fragrant cascading bunches of purple flowers; the pale, gnarled branches and stunning green foliage reminding her of the Californian grapevines she had seen on a family holiday. Her father had explained all about the harvesting process and the pressing of the grapes to make wine. It had seemed like a magical process to her and one that her father had described so poetically. Ever since, the wisteria had reminded her of that holiday and in turn, it reminded her of her father.
It was two years now since the accident, two years since she’d walked away from university life and a promising career as a journalist, two years since she’d walked away from Jimmy. Her life felt so different now;
she
felt so different now to the girl who had raced home that January day with Jimmy driving his Ford Mustang.
She’d been thinking recently about what Maggie had said to her at her birthday party, about going back to University and getting in touch with Jimmy again. He’d tried calling her and had written to her for about six months’ after the funeral. She’d pretended she was out whenever he called and hadn’t replied to any of his letters. She hadn’t even read them, putting them into a shoebox under her bed, not quite able to bring herself to throw them away.
Her reaction to her father’s sudden death had been to protect herself from ever again feeling that pain of losing someone she loved so much. She wouldn’t allow herself to love Jimmy that much she’d decided and having shut him out of her life, she hadn’t spoken to anyone about Jimmy again. As everyone was so wrapped up in the loss of her father, nobody had really stopped to ask about him.
But listening to her great-grandmother’s story, Grace had started to wonder. Here was a woman who’d had no choice in the direction of her life; no choice but to leave the home and the land and the man she loved and start over. Fate had intervened in the most dreadful way imaginable, leaving Maggie as a girl not yet turned eighteen, lost and alone in a strange land, with just a small case of meaningless possessions in her hand. She had suffered real loss, in so many ways, and Grace felt that she had maybe been a little foolish, a little hasty in locking herself away from the university life she had been so enjoying and from the man she had been enjoying it with.
Her mom was so much better than she had been. Little things such as opening the wedding anniversary dinner set were small but definite signs that she was starting to move on. Grace’s brother Art was due to come home that summer from the archaeological dig he had been working on in Egypt and he’d promised to spend most of his time back in America with his mom and sister, having not really been around much over the last twelve months. Yes, there was a definite wind of change circling around the Butler household that spring.
As she swung on the seat and watched their marmalade cat chase a bee which buzzed idly among the flowers, Grace swept her hair back behind her ears and tucked her feet up under her. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she allowed herself to wonder whether it might be time to go back to her own life, whether it might be OK to move on. She decided to broach the subject with her mother over dinner that evening and then closed her eyes, letting the gentle rocking of the swing soothe her into a restful doze.
‘
You look pretty today Mom,’ she said, pouring them both a glass of iced tea. ‘That new dress is lovely. The colour really suits you.’ It had been a while since Grace had been genuinely able to say that. Her mom hadn’t bought herself anything new for ages or paid much attention to her appearance. She looked more like herself that evening; more like how Grace remembered her mother
used
to look.
‘
Thank you. It is kinda lovely isn’t it,’ her mother replied, brushing her hands over the dress and twirling slightly.
She’d been into town for the day with a friend and had decided to have her hair curled and coloured. Feeling revived by the subtle change, she’d popped into Walsh’s department store and emerged with a lovely new, emerald green tea dress. She knew it suited her the moment she tried it on. ‘Cost a fortune though. I really shouldn’t have.’ Her smile showed that she really wasn’t too worried.
‘
Mom, I’ve been thinking,’ Grace began, sipping her iced tea nervously.
‘
Thinking what, love?’ Her mother put down her fork to give her daughter her full attention.
‘
Well, you know, I’ve been thinking about maybe going back to college in September, y’know, starting over with the studies and picking up the journalism thing again.’
Her mother smiled. She didn’t seem at all surprised.
‘
Good. I am
very
glad to hear it. So, what’s brought all this on?’
Grace had told her mother all about Maggie’s story. Maggie was happy for her to do so. She’d said it had taken her a lifetime to tell one person and she didn’t think she was up to the task of saying it all over again. As far as Maggie was concerned, Grace could go off and tell the entire world now, just as long as she didn’t have to do anymore of the telling herself.
‘
So, I suppose with me turning twenty-one and listening to Maggie’s story I’ve realised I’m not getting any younger and that you can’t take life for granted. I was thinking that with Art coming back for the summer and you seeming to be a bit happier these days…..’ She trailed off, hoping that she hadn’t misread the signs.
Her mom laughed. ‘Not getting any younger! Would you listen to yourself! I’d give my right arm to be twenty-one again. You know, that’s how old I was when I had you and Art. All a bit of a surprise to your father and me. We’d only been married a few months and then, wham, you two came charging into our lives.’ She smiled at the memories and pushed the sweetcorn around on her plate. ‘So, what about Jimmy? Have you given any thought to him?’
Grace knew that her mother had always been very fond of Jimmy and although she’d been too distracted by her own grief to really notice her daughter’s refusal to acknowledge him after the accident, she had often wondered about him.
‘
I’m not sure about Jimmy. Sometimes I think about him but he’s most probably forgotten all about me by now. I wasn’t really very kind to him was I, ignoring his phone calls and his letters? He’ll be graduating this summer anyway. He’s probably moving on somewhere.’
‘
My goodness Grace, there’s an awful lot of
probablys
in all of that. You should
probably
get in touch with him and find out whether any of your
probablys
are actually realities. I’m sure he’ll understand about the phone calls and letters. It was a very difficult time we were all going through. Death makes people react in strange ways and you certainly wouldn’t be the first to block somebody out of your life because of your grief and I doubt you’ll be the last.’ Her words reminded Grace of Maggie. She’d blocked all sorts of people and memories out of her life after Titanic. ‘If there’s meant to be a future for the two of you, I’m sure he will forgive you. And if not, then at least you’ll know the truth rather than spending the rest of your life in a world of
probablys
and
what ifs
.’
They carried on eating their dinner in silence as a light rain began to fall outside.
‘
So, why don’t you call that professor friend of yours and talk to him. See if you can get enrolled again for the fall semester and see if that feature opening might be resurrected? You’ve some story to go to them with now, hey?’
Grace had been thinking about this for the last week. After searching so hard for an original angle for a feature two years ago, one had now landed right in her hands.
‘
Yeah. Maybe. I’m not sure I want to write Maggie’s story though mom. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do justice to her and to the memory of all those people. I’m not sure I’m a good enough writer for a story as gigantic as Titanic.’
‘
Nonsense,’ her mother replied, looking at her seriously. ‘Now you look here Grace Butler. All your father ever dreamed of for you and Art was to do something you loved in life. He didn’t care about fancy qualifications or fancy clothes or cars, just that you were both happy and fulfilled. He was so excited about your dreams for a career as a journalist and he would be so proud to see his daughter’s name in print. You’re a great writer Grace. If you want my opinion, which I realise as my daughter you probably don’t, you should use this opportunity which has fallen into your lap and use it to write Maggie’s story. Nobody will ever be able to bring those poor people back, but we can certainly remember them through your wonderful words.’ She paused for a moment, refilling both their glasses before adding, ‘You would make her incredibly proud you know.’
Grace was quiet. She hadn’t heard her mother talk so forcefully or passionately about anything for years, another sign, perhaps, that it really was OK for her to move on now.
‘
So?’
Grace smiled at her and wiped away a tear. ‘Yes mom. You’re right. I will. I’ll call Professor Andrews tomorrow and I’ll think about contacting Jimmy, I really will.’ She placed her hand on her mother’s and squeezed it. ‘Thanks mom. For everything.’
‘
No Grace. It should be me who is thanking you. I know you’ve made a huge sacrifice being here with me these last few years and I want you to know how much I love you and appreciate what you’ve done for me. You deserve some time to yourself now.’ Gathering the dishes from the table she walked over to her daughter and gave her tender kiss on the top of her head. Grace remembered her doing this when she was a small child. It was a comforting, reassuring gesture. ‘Oh and there’s something else,’ her mom added. ‘I want to turn your bedroom into a guest room – it’s about time those awful posters came down and that dreadful wallpaper was taken off, don’t ya think?’
The rain continued to fall outside, bringing a fresh scent of flowers and cut grass through the open door. The sound of the neighbour’s lawnmower stopped. A plane flew across overhead. The cat ran inside, shaking itself to remove the raindrops from its fur. The timer on the oven rang to signal that the apple crumble for dessert was ready.
Everything’s good here
, Grace thought,
everything’s as it should be.
For the rest of the evening, Grace sat in her bedroom surrounded by Maggie’s journal and the bundle of old newspaper clippings, listening to the rain falling on the decking outside. She looked around her room. Her mom was right. Her bedroom hadn’t changed much in recent years; the Bryan Adams and Bon Jovi posters were still on the back of the door where she’d left them as an eighteen-year-old heading off to college. She still had the same, faded snoopy duvet cover she’d loved as a kid and a cabbage patch doll sat on the end of the bed. It was kind of comforting in a way to have these familiar things from her childhood around her and neither she, nor her mother, had been in a rush to modernise things. Maybe if she’d been hoping to bring boys back to the room she might have attempted to make it look a bit cooler, more grown up. But she hadn’t been interested in boys and maybe there was a part of both her and her mom which subconsciously wanted to leave things as they were before her dad died. Her mom’s suggestion that she start reorganising and decorating must surely be a sign that she had really turned a corner.
With a notebook by her side, Grace pored over every detail of the press reports. ‘
The Titanic sank at 2.20 this afternoon. No lives were lost’
stated the headline of one newspaper from April 16
th
and in another ‘
Carpathia Refuses to Give Any Details of Titanic’s Loss and as Fruitless Hours Go By, Suspense Grows More Maddening.’
She wondered how the Irish travellers’ relatives must have felt, waiting for news of the disaster, reading these mistaken headlines and having hope only to see them replaced in the following hours and days by the terrible truth. ‘
1,302 are Drowned or Missing in Titanic Disaster, Latest Report,’
and the final details
‘Titanic’s Death List, 1,601; Only 739 Lives Are Saved.’
Other pages reporting odd details like one paper reporting, ‘
As vessel plunges to her fate, band plays ‘Nearer My God to Thee’
and a shocking headline of, ‘
Foreigners Who Refused to Obey Orders Are Shot Down.’
She then unrolled a couple of smaller newspaper clippings, one of which was dated 20
th
April 1912 from the Connaught Telegraph.
‘Immediately the news reached Castlebar, one of the local agents for the White Star Line, Mr. Thomas Durcan, wired to the head office in Liverpool and received the following reply:- Liverpool. 4.30 p.m. Tuesday. "Referring to your telegram re. Titanic, deeply regret to say that latest word received is steamer foundered; about 675 souls, mostly women and children saved." The presumption is that all the passengers booked by Mr. Durcan have been lost, still there is a hope that some of the females may have been rescued. In the list of Survivors published on Thursday the name of Miss Maggie Murphy appeared.’