Titanic



  One

  They called it the unsinkable ship.

  I was standing in front of the first class gangplanks, looking up at the Titanic. The massive black hull stretched into the harbor, further than I could see. The grainy photographs in the London newspapers hadn’t done it justice.

  She had never sailed before, but they already called the Titanic the grandest ship in the world.

  Behind me was the coach that chauffeured my family to the port of Southampton. Out came my stepfather, Charles, and his servant, Mr. Rathbone. Rathbone took my mother’s gloved hand as she stepped from the carriage, being careful not to trip over her long skirts.

  “Oh, my word!” Mother exclaimed, her eyes scanning the height of the towering smokestacks. For the first time that morning, a genuine smile spread across her face.

  She turned to my stepfather. “What a splendid way to travel home, Charles,” she said, beaming.

  “Only the best for you, Victoria,” Charles replied.

  But there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

  He snapped his fingers, motioning for Mr. Rathbone to bring our pile of luggage forward. “Let’s move along,” he said. “I can’t be the last gentleman aboard the ship.”

  Mother’s face sagged as she stepped onto the dock. She’d fallen gravely ill six weeks ago and still moved slowly, but my stepfather was none the more patient for it. The owner of the Lake Erie Steel Company was going to make an entrance.

  I watched Charles order the Titanic’s bellhops around, hovering over them as they loaded the luggage onto White Star Line carts.

  “Careful with that one!” he barked. “There are valuables in there. I won’t have anything broken when we dock. And put this one on top!”

  “Yes, sir,” the bellhop replied with a nervous smile.

  Next out of the coach was the British nurse, Celia, holding my sister Sadie. At that moment, the Titanic’s funnels let off an enormous boom, strong enough to shake the ground beneath us. Sadie startled and pinned her hands over her ears.

  “It’s so loud!” she cried.

  She had been cranky and disobedient ever since I arrived at Charles’ and Mother’s home in London. She fought relentlessly with Celia, responding to all the nurse’s commands with a decisive no.

  But today, I couldn’t blame her. She was seven years old and as elegantly groomed as the grown-up women in the first class boarding area, donning her green satin dress and shiny black shoes. It had taken an hour to pin her hair against her scalp, transforming her straight dark hair into springy curls. She looked like a tiny version of Mother, prim and perfect.

  Still, every time I looked at her, I pictured Celia and Mother stuffing her into petticoats and tugging her hair while she howled. She looked agitated even now, pulling at the brand new shoes.

  “My toes hurt,” she whined. “I want to take these shoes off.”

  I reached out and took her from the nurse’s arms.

  “Do you want to see the Titanic?” I asked her. “It’s the biggest ship in the entire world.”

  She quickly shook her head no.

  “Come on, Sadie. I bet you do,” I said, and swung her over my shoulders, where she loved to sit. She let out a squeal of delight.

  “Mommy, look!” she cried, her tiny finger pointing up toward the funnels.

  Mother glared at me.

  “John!” she hissed sharply. “Put her down and give her to Celia. Stop making a scene. And for heaven’s sake, don’t ruin her dress!”

  Mother usually didn’t mind when I played around with Sadie. But in this kind of company, she expected my sister to look like a china doll, with about as much spirit. And in any event, Charles frowned upon horseplay. He called it “unladylike.”

  We hadn’t even boarded yet, and Charles’ attitude was rubbing off on Mother. I vowed not to let it rub off on me, too.

  “First class passengers, proceed to the gangplanks!” a crewman bellowed out, and the crowd began to inch forward. We worked our way towards the gangway doors with a throng of passengers dressed in their finest, butlers and maids trailing behind.

  “John, take your ticket,” Mr. Rathbone said, scowling as he thrust it at me. “I’m not going to hold it for you.”

  I knew my stepfather’s servant didn’t like me very much, and the feeling was mutual. I’d hoped Charles would dump Rathbone off in London and hire a new servant at home. Unfortunately, the crabby old man was coming to Cleveland, too.

  I felt a rush of relief as I stepped from the gangway to the first class entrance of the Titanic.

  Good riddance, England, I thought. You won’t be missed.

  We were greeted by stewards in crisp White Star Line uniforms, who smiled pleasantly and gave a little bow.

  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Conkling!” one said. He looked us over with a generous smile. “I am Mr. Latimer, the head steward on the Titanic. We’ve been anticipating your family’s arrival.”

  For a moment, I was taken aback that the stewards already knew us. But then I remembered that Lake Erie Steel did business with White Star. Some of the steel in the ship’s gigantic hull was purchased from Charles.

  “Thank you,” Charles responded in his polite but formal tone. “This is my wife, Victoria, our daughter Sadie, and this…”

  Charles always hesitated when he introduced me.

  “This is John…my son.”

  “Wonderful,” Mr. Latimer replied as he handed Charles and I each a red flower for the buttonholes in our jackets. “Mr. Bowen will show you to your staterooms.”

  A slight, balding man appeared, offering a handshake to Charles. “Come with me, please,” he said chipperly. “I’ll show you to your cabins on B-Deck.”

  We followed Mr. Bowen through the first class dining room, which was already set for dinner that night. Sun streaming through the portholes made the china sparkle. There were still creases in the stiff, brand-new tablecloths.

  For the first time, I felt a twinge of excitement about being aboard the Titanic.

  “The ship will be launching soon,” Mr. Bowen said to me as I unpacked my suitcases. “You might want to go out on deck and see it. There’s a crowd gathering on the dock to wish us bon voyage. It’s quite a sight!”

  I could hear Sadie whining one door over: “But I don’t want to wear this dress all day!”

  I turned back to Mr. Bowen. “Yes, I think I will,” I replied. “And I’ll take my sister.”

  I poked my head into the adjacent stateroom, pretending to be oblivious to Sadie’s mood.

  “Sadie, do you want to go out on the Boat Deck with me?” I asked. “They’ll be launching the ship soon, and we can wave to all the people. It’ll be fun!”

  Sadie’s usually sad little face lit up at the mention of the word fun. Lord knew she hadn’t had any lately, especially in London.

  “Mommy, I want to go,” she said.

  “No, Sadie,” Mother replied. “It’s time to rest now. Celia will fix you some tea.”

  “No.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a nap, then.”

  “No,” she insisted, kicking her shiny black shoes. “I want to go!”

  Charles cringed. Celia sucked in her breath, bracing herself for another tantrum.

  “I’ll take her,” I offered again.

  Mother frowned. “I don’t know if it’s…”

  “She doesn’t have to spend every minute with Celia, you know,” I said. “We’ll come back as soon as the ship pulls away.”

  “Fair enough,” Charles replied before Mother could object. He waved his hand, as if he were eager to be rid of us.

  * * *

  The deck was crowded with passengers who pushed against the railing, marveling at the distance to the water. The Titanic had a height of more than se
venty feet. Dock workers scurried around, preparing for the launch.

  From our high perch, I could see where the Titanic sloped off to the lower decks at the stern. Another swarm of passengers had gathered there. I held Sadie around the waist and settled her against the rail, where she could watch the excitement on the docks. Another long, sonorous boom echoed from the funnels.

  “Johnny, look!” She said, pointing. Her eyes were wide.

  I tried to follow the aim of her outstretched finger. She was pointing down at the lower deck, where a single gull swooped down from time to time, hovering over the commotion.

  “Bridie,” Sadie said.

  She was still little enough to mix up words in ways I couldn’t always understand. I thought for a moment before it dawned on me.

  “Oh, yes. It’s a birdie,” I said. “That’s a seagull, Sadie. Do you remember the gulls on Lake Erie? I helped you feed them last year when we went to the beach.”

  My mind wandered back to the big house in Cleveland, on Euclid Avenue. Our street was known around the city as “Millionaire’s Row.” The house was lonely by now. Since I’d left for London, it had been abandoned for weeks. I thought back to the day I locked it up: the rows of windows shuttered, the magnificent flower garden dead and buried under a foot of snow. That day, I didn’t know when I’d be back—or if Mother ever would.

  Sadie looked back at me with glaring brown eyes, impatient with my dim-wittedness. I’d seen that same look on my mother’s face thousands of times…at least, before she married Charles.

  “No,” she insisted. She leaned forward to peer over the railing, so far I nearly lost my grip. “Bridie.”

  I sighed.

  “Bridie it is, then.” I’d learned not to fight these battles, especially not with a seven-year-old who’d spent the morning being primped to look like a child mannequin in a department store window.

  I looked over the railing at the other group of passengers. This group was far different from the lively, overdressed first class passengers who had arrived in Southampton by private coach, burying the bellhops with mountains of luggage. Their dress was drab.

  Third class, I suddenly realized. They were immigrants, nearly all of them, who were leaving behind their lands and their families.

  Soon enough, the Titanic’s doors slammed shut and the gangways were sealed off. With a great whir, the engines started for the very first time. I felt a shudder beneath my feet as the ship began to inch forward.

  “Goodbye!” some of the passengers around me began to call to no one in particular. They were caught up in the excitement. Sadie waved, too.

  The Titanic sailed faster now, moving majestically down the narrow channel. She towered over the tugboats as she glided past.

  All of a sudden there were several loud snaps in a row, as loud as a hundred rifles firing at once. A gasp rose from the Boat Deck.

  I pressed forward to see what was happening. Sadie clung to my jacket.

  The passengers shrunk back in horror. The immense force of the Titanic had caused another ship’s moors to snap, and the smaller ship glided directly toward us, as if it were being pulled by a magnet. The crowd’s cheers and smiles gave way to screams as the ship drew closer.

  “It’s suction!” someone shouted.

  The voices blurred together until I heard someone yell, “We’re gonna hit!”

  Just then the Titanic’s engines fired, and she gunned ahead. The suction broke. The second ship stopped moving, rocking helplessly in the channel. Its broken moors still floated on the surface of the water.

  There was a collective sigh of relief. I felt Sadie’s grip loosen.

  “That was a close one,” a man behind us said. “That ship nearly took out our stern.”

  “Yeah,” replied another. “Let’s hope it’s not an omen.”

  Two

  The first class staterooms were beautiful, but above all, I was grateful to have one to myself. Charles’ and Mother’s room was across the hall, and next to their room was Celia and Sadie’s. Rathbone was stashed away somewhere on D-Deck. I hoped he’d stay down there for the remainder of the voyage, but I wasn’t counting on it.

  It had been a nightmarish month in London. I received the telegram one snowy day in March as I was holed up in my room at Oberlin College. I was studying for a Latin exam when I heard a knock on my door.

  “We’ve bad news, Mr. Conkling,” they said as they handed me the message.

  Mother had collapsed, convulsing violently, and then fell into a coma for days. The doctors were baffled by her condition. I had to get there, and quickly—there might not be much time.

  I boarded the ship to England prepared for another funeral. It had been ten years since my father died suddenly.

  But by some stroke of luck, Mother was awake in her bed when I arrived. I held her hand as the nurses fussed over her. At first I was afraid she wouldn’t recognize me, but as I leaned over her, she smiled.

  “My Johnny’s here,” she told the nurses.

  My eyes still stung a little at the thought of it. After my father died, she was the only person who still called me that.

  Several days later, Charles announced we were going back to Cleveland in April. The doctor tried to reason with him, warning against taking Mother so soon. She’d be better off recovering fully in London, he said. A transatlantic crossing was too much for her, especially with Sadie in tow.

  Charles would hear none of it.

  “I have a business to run, damn it,” he snapped. “I’ll bring Sadie’s nurse to take the burden off Victoria. Besides, she isn’t happy in London. She’s done nothing but complain since we got here.”

  The doctor persisted. “But we have yet to determine the cause of her collapse, Mr. Conkling,” he said.

  Charles rolled his eyes.

  “Hysteria, I suspect,” he replied.

  I knew what people said about Mother. I’d heard the hushed chatter at society gatherings when they thought I wasn’t listening: Victoria Conkling was “not well,” as they politely called it, emotionally more so than physically. It was clear that Charles believed it, too.

  Tension built inside the London house. Sadie threw fits. Mother still lay in bed all day. Charles brooded, pacing around the first floor in the middle of the night. He spent hours poring over documents from Lake Erie Steel.

  They’d be my documents someday soon. Having no sons of his own, Charles had officially named me his successor.

  At least inheriting the steel mills would make fodder for idle chatter at dinner tonight. Some of the wealthiest members of British and American society would be there, and I knew what to expect.

  I stood before the mirror, examining myself. I had Mother’s dark, straight hair and brown eyes, but other than that, I took after my father in every way.

  I frowned into the mirror and hoped no one would comment on my lack of resemblance to Charles.

  * * *

  The Titanic was docked off the coast of France that evening, taking on passengers from the port of Cherbourg. I took the first class elevator toward D-Deck by myself, not caring to wait for Mother and Charles. There was tension between them again.

  I watched the passengers descend the first class stairs, wearing long silken evening gowns or top hats. I recognized some of them as they entered the reception room. There was the elderly Straus couple, the owners of Macy’s department store in New York. There was John Jacob Astor, the richest man aboard. He had his newest wife along for the voyage. According to gossip, Astor’s first wife had gotten tired of his philandering and divorced him, and he and the new woman fled the States to avoid the publicity.

  “What scandal!” one of the ladies had exclaimed gleefully at a party several months ago. “And to think he took up with a girl barely John’s age. If I were Astor I’d hide out at the pyramids, too.”

  Egypt was the latest fashionable holiday destination for the rich. Always wanting to keep up, Mother had begged Charles to take her just a
month before she collapsed.

  “The pyramids are no place for you,” he’d replied dismissively. “Come on now. You wouldn’t be able to take the heat, not to mention the sandstorms and the lepers.”

  A few minutes later, my family arrived for dinner. Rather than looking irritated as he was this morning, Charles was cool and collected, nodding and greeting acquaintances as they passed. Sadie was sullen, clasping her favorite doll in her hand. Her other hand tugged at the giant bow perched atop her curls.

  Mother was wearing the necklace.

  The passengers who kept up with their gossip knew that Victoria Conkling’s diamond necklace was the most valuable piece of jewelry on board. Charles had given it to her when they married eight years ago. Now the heavy cascade of diamonds rested around her neck, a striking contrast to her dark hair and pale skin.

  My mind flashed to the stream of third class passengers I watched coming aboard this morning. That necklace was probably worth more than all of their belongings put together.

  “John, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” Charles said. Beside him stood a tall, olive-skinned man, his black hair slicked back against scalp. His features were sharp.

  I knew who he was before Charles spoke.

  “This is my friend, Mr. Gregory.”

  The dark-haired man extended his hand.

  “Anton Gregory, of Gregory Galleries,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet Charles’ boy.” He scanned me up and down as he said it.

  Anton Gregory was a gallery owner, and a rich one at that. But I’d heard the rumors that swirled through London society: he smuggled expensive pieces of art and jewelry back and forth across the Atlantic, from London to New York. He was foreign on his mother’s side—Serbian, Charles said. He was also a notorious playboy.

  I couldn’t for the life of me understand Charles’ friendship with this swarthy half-Englishman.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” I replied, careful not to let my tone betray my thoughts.

  “Let’s sit down, shall we?” Charles said.

  At the entrance to the dining saloon, Captain Edward Smith greeted his passengers with a gentlemanly smile. They called him the millionaire’s captain. I knew some of the aristocrats aboard took special care to book trips with him. This voyage, however, would be the Captain’s last. He was due to retire from the White Star Line after the Titanic’s maiden voyage ended in New York.