Titanic: April 1912

For the women

who taught us the meaning of courage:

Erma L. Kosanovich

Katherine B. Bale

Mary E. Peery

Chapter One

Gavin Reilly stood on the boat deck of the
Titanic
, his eyes closed tightly. He gripped the handrail and counted to ten. Then he opened his eyes again. He had to get over this. He
had
to get used to looking out over the open water. After a few dizzying seconds, he turned landward, gulping huge breaths of the cool air. He stared at the coastline and the green hills above Queenstown, Ireland. This was ridiculous. He had been swimming since he was a baby. He had never been afraid of water in his life.

“Are you all right?”

Gavin looked up to see a girl with light brown hair, and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She looked concerned. Her accent, broadly American, sounded brash and rude.

“Are you sick?”

Gavin shook his head. There was no way to explain what was wrong with him. He didn't really understand it himself. “I'm fine,” he said, staring back at the shoreline.

The town's docks were all too small for the
Titanic
, so the enormous liner had been anchored two miles offshore. Passengers, goods, and mailbags were being brought out to her. Gavin watched the tenders and bumboats scuttling back and forth. The
Ireland
was not a small boat, but it looked like a toy beside the
Titanic.
The
America
stood off a little distance, waiting its turn to unload.

Gavin watched a bumboat come alongside. Most of them were loaded with Irish goods. The first-class nabobs and their finely dressed wives would have their chance to buy Irish linen and lace, even if they couldn't go ashore.

Gavin glanced sideways. The girl was still standing nearby, but she was looking out to sea now, her hair blowing in the wind. Gavin wanted more than anything to turn and face the open water, but he knew he couldn't. He moved a little ways away from the girl, hoping she wouldn't follow.

Gavin leaned against the metal railing. The familiar green curve of the south Irish coast was less than two miles away over the water. He stared at Queenstown with its narrow streets and closely packed buildings. He sighed.

The hills behind the town were so green, they reminded him of his home outside Belfast. He could imagine his brothers and sisters tending the potato patch in the high pasture. Sean's voice would be ringing out over little Katie's giggles. Gavin could almost see her, freckled and pink-faced. Liam would be arguing with Mary. The little ones would be with Mother at home, lined up on her cot for noontime nap. Gavin felt the now-familiar physical ache that always accompanied thoughts of his family. He might never see them again.

“Are you ill?” the girl asked.

Gavin glanced at her and shook his head, then pointedly turned his back. He forced himself to look out to sea. The cold gray water stretched all the way to the horizon. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. Everyone agreed the
Titanic
was unsinkable. That very morning they had run a full dress rehearsal emergency; alarms sounding, they had closed all the watertight doors.

Gavin had been so determined to get a position on the
Titanic
that he had traveled to Southampton, lied about his age, and stood in line with several hundred others to be interviewed. Conor's letters from New York had set him dreaming of a different life. Like all older brothers, Conor wanted him to have opportunities, too. Their mother had lit a candle for Conor the day he had sailed for America. Now she would light two every Sunday. The idea of the ­candles made Gavin feel a sharp stab of homesickness.

“I didn't mean to intrude,” the girl said apologetically. He glanced at her, about to apologize for his own rudeness, but she had already turned away.

He watched her walk past the gigantic funnel that jutted up at an angle from the deck. The other three were real and spouted black smoke when the
Titanic
was underway. This one was fake, nothing more than a huge air vent. Still, like the others, it was anchored with thick steel cables. Gavin saw the girl start down the steep stairs toward the third-class promenade.

“Hey, Gavin! You'd better get back down to the galley.” Lionel's voice startled him. The tall, blond-haired boy dropped onto one of the wooden benches along the handrail. “Mr. Hughes will see you slacking, and they'll be booting you off. That would shame your roommates, you know.”

Gavin grinned. “I would hate to do that.”

“Well, Harry and I would be shamed at any rate. I'm not sure Wallace has it in him.”

They both laughed. “I've only been up here a few minutes,” Gavin said. “I needed fresh air.”

Lionel shrugged. “Are you seasick? At anchor? It's going to be like sailing a whole city across the Atlantic, Gavin. She barely rolls at all.”

Gavin shot one more glance at the open water and felt his stomach tighten. “I'd better get started washing the new potatoes. First class is going to have them boiled
parmentier
.”

“Work hard and you can end up a first-class steward like me.” Lionel stood up straight, clowning, squaring his shoulders in exaggerated pride. “I have to go down to the dining room to deliver a message.”

“I'll go down with you,” Gavin said, getting to his feet.

Together they headed toward the second-class entrance. Gavin reached out to open the door. Side by side they started down the long stairway. Their steps were timed to a rhythmic patter that kept them moving downward at almost a running pace. Lionel had taught Gavin how to run the stairs like this and he shot him a grin of approval. “You're getting good.”

Gavin grinned back, feeling better.

As they descended past the windows of the Palm Court, he saw the first-class passengers seated in the elaborately decorated garden room. There were a few men onboard who were so wealthy, their clothing had probably cost more than it took to feed Gavin's family for a whole year. He had seen one woman wearing a necklace of diamonds so big, they shot glitters across the room.

On the B-deck landing, Gavin could smell the heavy scent of tobacco coming from the second-class smoking room. Lionel lifted one hand to cover his nose and mouth. Gavin nodded. First-class was the worst—expensive cigars had a pungent odor that clung to the very walls.

As they went deeper into the ship, Gavin felt his nervousness subside a little. Down here, the
Titanic
was much like a grand hotel. It was easier to forget the deep gray water that would soon separate him from his family and from the farm where he had lived his whole life.

“What time are you off Saturday night?” Lionel asked.

Gavin grabbed the handrail as they rounded the landing on C-deck. “After cleanup. Around ten.”

“Come up to the first-class dining room—it's empty by then, and a few of us are going to have a card game.”

Gavin glanced at the side of Lionel's face, then looked back at the stairs. “I've been coming up here.” He pointed at the second-class library as they started downward again.

“You're going to read? When you could be playing poker?”

Gavin smiled and nodded. “I have to get to New York with all my pay. I can't expect my brother to support me.”

Lionel slowed as they reached D-deck. “Come up if you change your mind. You can just sit with us; you don't have to play.”

“I will, thanks.”

Gavin watched as Lionel went into the first-class dining saloon. Through the open door Gavin saw that the room was still pretty full. The stewards were just beginning to clear away dirty dishes. Lionel's rakish grin disappeared, and his face became a mask of politeness as he turned and bent to whisper discreetly to a woman in a green silk gown.

Gavin shook his head as he pulled the door closed and turned to cross the landing. Going into the first-class pantry, he walked fast, rounding the corner by the neatly stacked crates of Waken & McLaughlin wine. The roast cook and one of the confectioners came through the galley door ahead of him. He stopped and turned sideways to let them pass. Neither man acknowledged his presence.

Gavin watched them walk away. He wasn't like Lionel. It was hard for him to smile at people who were rude to him, whether they were crew or passengers. He hurried into the galley, wishing he had been hired on as a dining room steward. They had it easier. A half hour after the last passenger left the dining saloons, the stewards would be changing the white tablecloths and setting the tables for the next meal. Then they would have a break.

“Hey! Gavin!”

Gavin turned to see Harry making his way across the crowded galley. His sharp-featured face was smudged with flour. He was already developing the short-strided, agile walk necessary to avoid collisions in the crowded, busy room.

Cooking never ceased here, except for a few hours in the middle of the night. The bakers began at three in the morning. The cooks started preparing breakfast early, then began lunch before the breakfast dishes were cleared. Dinner preparation sometimes started a day in advance, all the meals overlapping—only the chefs understood the schedule.

“Where have you been off to?” Harry asked, dodging a pantryman carrying an enormous, bloody roast. “You missed a chance to watch the pastry chef make éclairs.”

Gavin shrugged. Harry wanted to be a chef someday and he rarely left the galley. “I went up for air,” Gavin told him. “I just like to see the sky once in a while.”

Harry nodded vaguely, turning when the sauce chef bellowed out an order. Then his eyes focused on Gavin again. “What do you have to do now?”

Gavin made a face. “Wash a hundred and twenty pounds of new potatoes.” Harry laughed, and Gavin pretended to take a swing at him. “It isn't funny. I hate the new potatoes worst of all. I can't even use the wire brushes because the skins tear so easily.”

Harry grinned over his shoulder as he walked away. “Better you than me.”

Gavin went to his basin. The pantrymen had already brought in the bags. He stared at the lettering. Whoever Charles Papas was, he sure raised a lot of potatoes.

“When do we raise anchor?” someone yelled behind him.

“Soon,” the answer came. “Less than half an hour.”

Gavin's throat tightened. There was no turning back now.

Chapter Two

“Are you coming, Aunt Rose?” Karolina asked impatiently. She turned a page in her father's Bible. She wasn't really reading. It just made her feel close to her parents to have the big leather-covered book in her hands. Her father had used it every night to work on his sermons, or just to study.

“Don't rush me,” Aunt Rose said.

Karolina set down the Bible and scooted to the edge of her berth, her legs extending almost to the middle of the tiny third-class stateroom. The toes of her shoes brushed the white porcelain of the exposed commode. Out in the corridor a man began to argue with his wife. In seconds, they were both shouting in a language Karolina had never heard before.

Aunt Rose closed the door, then sank onto her berth. “Listen to that. I told you third class would be interesting.”

“I've traveled in steerage before, Aunt Rose. Papa thought paying for anything but third class was a waste of money.” She shook her head. “Are you ready?”

“Hold on, Little Miss Impatience.” Aunt Rose bent to straighten her stocking seam.

Karolina tapped one foot and picked up the Bible again. There was a tiny packet of pressed violet petals that her mother had put between the pages long ago. Without warning, Karolina's eyes flooded with tears, and she blinked them away. She was finished with crying. Nothing was going to bring back Mama and Papa.

“Stateroom number fifty-five,” Aunt Rose said, gesturing at their little cabin. “It certainly is spacious.”

“A regular palace,” Karolina agreed, grateful that Aunt Rose had not noticed her tears. She pointed at the huge pipe that ran across the ceiling, then disappeared into the wall. “Fancy decor, you must admit. I bet first-class passengers don't have to shove their bags beneath their berths in order to get to the commode.” Karolina sighed.

“And I am sure they have more baths than we do,” Aunt Rose complained. “Two for seven hundred of us seems a bit skimpy, don't you think?”

Karolina nodded, arching her brows and waiting. When Aunt Rose got going, she kept going.

“Mrs. John Jacob Astor probably has armoires and wardrobes—and a maid to tend each one,” Aunt Rose said, smiling.

“She's pregnant, I hear,” Karolina told her.

Aunt Rose frowned. “He left a perfectly good woman for that little chippy.”

Karolina smiled. Aunt Rose loved to gossip about people she would never meet. “Can we go up now?”

“I don't want to be out in a cold wind for too long,” Aunt Rose said, settling her hat over her thick gray hair. She readjusted a hairpin, tucking a stray strand back into her bun.

“There's a common room upstairs,” Karolina said, pushing her father's Bible beneath her pillow. “You can stay inside there if you want to.”

Aunt Rose nodded. “I'll follow you. After all, you're the one who figured out the alleys in Southampton. If it had been up to me, we would have missed the boat.”

Karolina opened the narrow door, stepping back. Then she peered into the corridor. It was still crowded and noisy, and a hundred unfamiliar smells assaulted her nostrils as she started up the narrow corridor, talking over her shoulder. “We take the stairs up to D-deck. The third-class general room is there. There are lifts, someone said, up in second class. I don't know where, exactly.”

“I'll be fine on the stairs, Karolina. I'll just stop and rest if I have to,” Aunt Rose said. She pulled in a long breath, and Karolina could hear the tiny wheeze that meant her asthma was bothering her.

Karolina turned left down the corridor. There were stairs straight across from their room, but the door was always locked. It was impossible to tell where the stairs led, but Karolina was pretty sure they opened onto the second-class promenade just above. Aunt Rose said the door was probably locked to keep the steerage passengers from bothering the first-and second-class ticket holders.

Karolina stopped once to let an elderly couple pass by, then again when a little blond-haired girl darted into the passageway ahead of them. Many of the room doors were open, and families sat on their berths, passing the time.

It was impossible not to look into some of the rooms as they passed. Karolina heard so many different languages that it made her feel silly—how could there be so many words that she couldn't understand?

“It's too hot.” Aunt Rose said it flatly from behind her.

“It is,” Karolina agreed. She rounded a corner and pointed. “Up there. See the landing?”

“Good. Just let me catch my breath for a few seconds.”

When Aunt Rose was ready, Karolina started up the stairs behind four young men who were laughing at some joke. With every step, she imagined that she could feel little threads of cool air brushing her face. The young men in front of them began to climb faster and faster, racing each other. Karolina heard a woman's voice raised in protest as they overtook a family dressed in loose white clothing. A second later, the boys were out of sight.

The electric fixtures high on the walls cast semicircles of light on the stairs.

“How much farther?”

Karolina stopped to let Aunt Rose catch her breath again. “The general room is right up there.” Karolina pointed at the landing above them. “I want to go outside.”

“I think I will, too,” Aunt Rose agreed, stepping aside for a pregnant woman who was struggling upward carrying a wide-eyed toddler.

After a few moments, Karolina began climbing again, threading her way through the constant stream of people. On the landing, she opened the heavy door that led into the third-class general room. The benches were lined with people. One family had brought a basket and had spread food out on brightly colored cloths on the floor.

“Where does that one go?” Aunt Rose said, pointing at a second door.

Karolina shook her head. “I don't know.” She crossed the landing and opened the door. Through a haze of bluish smoke, Karolina saw men grouped around long tables. A white-haired man smoking a long-stemmed pipe frowned at them, making a shooing motion with his hand.

Karolina stepped back. “How can they stand it?”

Aunt Rose shook her head. “Tobacco smoke makes it impossible for me to breathe.” She coughed a little, and Karolina shut the door.

“Excuse . . . please,” a man said, startling Karolina into turning around. He pulled a thick cigar from his pocket and waved it back and forth, obviously trusting pantomime more than his command of English. Karolina stepped out of his way and saw Aunt Rose smile as the man went past them. “Handsome,” she whispered.

Karolina shook her head. Aunt Rose thought most men under fifty were handsome, or nice, or sincere, or something that made them sound attractive.

“Come on, now,” Karolina teased her. “He's likely married and has four children.”

“You're probably right,” Aunt Rose teased back. “And his wife is beautiful, intelligent, and twenty years younger than I am.”

“You're not that old.” Karolina pushed open the doors that led out onto the third-class promenade. It was a small deck, open to the sky. A wave of fresh sea air washed over her. “I could make the whole trip up here.” She stood for a few seconds, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Looking toward the bow of the ship, there were two or three decks rising above the promenade, each one a little smaller, like the layers of a wedding cake. There were narrow steps leading up to the first one. Karolina had taken them to get to the boat deck. She wondered if the boy who looked so seasick had gotten any better.

Aunt Rose walked out from beneath the overhang that sheltered the doors. Karolina followed her onto the promenade. She turned in a slow circle, the wind lifting her hair. Aunt Rose was holding her hat on with one hand. “You'll have to start braiding that mane of yours or you'll never manage to comb out the tangles.”

Karolina giggled. “You know what they call that?” She pointed toward the stern. “The poop deck.”

Aunt Rose rolled her eyes. “You must be teasing.”

Karolina shook her head, and they both laughed. “Look,” she said, pointing. An enormous wooden pole rose from one of the higher decks, slanting upward. It was anchored to the ship with heavy steel cables that glinted in the sun. On either side of it, huge white cargo hoists lay still like long-necked metallic birds. Each one rested on a white tripod of steel posts. “Do you know what it's for?”

Aunt Rose shook her head. “There are no sails, so it isn't a mast or—”

“Come back!”

Karolina turned to see a dark-haired little boy running toward them. His head was thrown back and he was laughing, obviously delighted to be outside where there was enough room to play. His mother was still close to the stair landing, her arms full of a baby wrapped in blankets. She looked frantic. “Stop him! Stop him, please?”

It took Karolina a moment to separate the woman's words from the sounds of the water and the wind. Once she understood, she sprinted toward the boy. He saw her coming and veered, running faster and giggling. He dodged around the steel supports of one of the cargo hoists.

“Come back here,” Karolina called. “Your mother is worried about you.”

The little boy squealed and ducked away, circling a piece of machinery. She lunged at him and stepped on the hem of her own skirt. She managed to recover her balance, but not before he had gotten past her.

“Davey Austin, you stand still!” his mother shouted.

Davey didn't even slow down. While Karolina was fighting her wind-billowed skirt, he clambered onto the steep stairs that led to the deck above. Still giggling, he made his way upward so fast that by the time Karolina caught up with him, he was almost at the top. She scooped him up, hooking her arm around his belly. He shrieked in delight, wriggling to get away.

“David Joseph Austin! You come down here now!”

“Be careful, Karolina, watch your step,” Aunt Rose called.

Karolina managed to keep Davey under her arm as she carefully descended the steps. At the bottom, Davey squirmed away, sliding out of her grasp. She nearly cried out, but he ran straight for his mother. Holding two fistfuls of her skirt, he tried to hide from Karolina. His chin jutted forward in serious concentration, and Aunt Rose laughed. Karolina shook her head.

“Thank you, dear,” Davey's mother said. “I can barely keep track of him today. He is so cooped up down below.”

Karolina made a face at Davey when he peeked at her. He ducked back behind his mother. “I feel that way, too.”

“We all do, dear,” the mother said, shifting her infant from one arm to the other. “My name is Emily Austin.”

“Rose Greene,” Aunt Rose said, dropping a mock curtsy. “And this is my niece, Karolina Truman.” She bent forward, holding on to her hat with one hand. “And how do you do, Master Davey?” Karolina smiled as Davey hid again at the sound of his own name.

Emily tugged her skirt straight and kissed her baby's cheek. “My husband is in Chicago. Davey, Rebecca, and I will be taking the train west from New York. And you two?”

Karolina glanced at Aunt Rose, then answered. “We're going to New York City. My aunt Iris lives there, and we are going to stay with her until we can get on our feet.”

At Emily's puzzled look, Rose smoothed her skirt, then cleared her throat. “My niece's parents were both killed in England, so I went over to bring her home.”

Karolina looked aside. She hated it when Aunt Rose told people about the accident. Now, after nearly two months, she sometimes stopped thinking about her parents. Why did Aunt Rose have to bring it up with strangers?

“. . . and I cannot seem to get used to the idea that they are gone,” Aunt Rose was saying. “I miss Violet so much.”

“Violet?”

Karolina stared at the deck above them, knowing what her aunt was about to say.

“Mother named us all for flowers that she loved—Rose, Violet, and Iris.”

The constant vibration of the huge engines increased a little. Then, from somewhere above them, Karolina could hear shouted orders. She turned to look. Up on the poop deck, there were several men in dark uniforms. Two of them carried binoculars. They stood up from the bench they had been sitting upon and walked to the railing. Karolina listened to the engines throbbing belowdecks.

Merry laughter made Karolina turn and look at the highest deck. Women dressed in billowing silk, and men in well-cut suits lined the railings. One woman held a dog with silken white fur and black button eyes.

“Look at them,” Emily said softly. “There's more money up there than in a New York bank.”

Aunt Rose nodded. “Mr. and Mrs. Straus are onboard. They own Macy's, you know. It's the nicest department store I have ever been in. Mr. Guggenheim is up there, too. And of course the Astors—”

“One of the stewards told me an incredible story,” Emily interrupted her. She shifted her baby again. Davey had let go of his mother's skirts and was sitting beside them now, playing with his shoe buttons. “He said there's a fifteen-year-old girl up there who gets seven thousand five hundred dollars' allowance every year—just for school and her clothes. She's an heiress of some kind.”

Karolina looked at the high deck, at the smiling men and women who stood upon it, then back out at the gray water. She didn't care about the fancy people. And she didn't care if she ever saw Ireland or England again, either. Maybe back in America she would be able to stop reimagining the automobile accident, stop crying every night. Aunt Rose said it would just take time for her to get over missing her parents so much.

“I'd give anything to see the inside of one of the first-class staterooms,” Emily said, leaning close to Aunt Rose.

“Probably have a better chance of being struck by lightning in a forest,” Aunt Rose answered.

“Probably,” Emily agreed. “But I'd sure love the chance. I'd figure out a way if I didn't have these two.” She reached down to touch Davey's dark curly hair.