Titanic

  “I hope you enjoy your stay on the ship, Mr. Conkling,” Smith said to Charles. “It’s a pleasure to have you aboard.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Captain.”

  Captain Smith turned to me. “And is this your son?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Charles replied without missing a beat. “My boy, John.”

  “I see your mother in you,” Captain Smith said as he shook my hand.

  I breathed a small sigh of relief that he said nothing comparing my appearance to Charles’.

  Mother leaned in to me as we sat down to dinner. “Be sure to make conversation with Faye tonight,” she said.

  “And don’t roll your eyes,” she added, catching my expression before I could subdue it.

  I’d forgotten Faye LaRoe and her mother would be on the ship. They were returning from a long trip to Europe after Mr. LaRoe passed away last summer. The LaRoes lived on Millionaire’s Row in Cleveland, too. Mother was still harboring hopes that Faye and I would get married someday.

  Not if I can help it, I thought, as Faye and Mrs. LaRoe sat down at our table. By the socialites’ standards, she was perfect—ivory skin, blonde hair, impeccable posture. But her icy demeanor made her insufferable.

  “Hi, Faye,” I said.

  “Hello,” she replied without a smile.

  Mrs. LaRoe was friendlier. “Good evening, John,” she said. There was a man standing beside her, who looked slightly older than me—mid-twenties, maybe. “This is Max. He’s offered to escort Faye and me during the voyage.”

  “Max Seligman,” the man said, shaking my hand. “New York, New York. I’m a buyer for Macy’s department store. And you’re the steel tycoon, eh?”

  “I’m a student,” I replied.

  “He’s at Oberlin College for the time being,” Charles interjected. “Once he tires of his schoolbooks, he’ll be well-prepared to take over the business.”

  Our tablemates nodded approvingly. I knew Charles thought college was a waste of my time, and I suspected the others did, too.

  “I’m studying Latin and foreign affairs,” I said, hoping to break the awkward silence.

  “Hey, speaking of foreign affairs,” Max piped up, mercifully taking the focus away from me, “Mr. Gregory, I hear that you’re a Serb.”

  “On my mother’s side, yes,” Anton replied.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you think of the situation in the Balkans?” Max asked. His jaunty Brooklyn accent made the serious question sound like ordinary banter. “It sounds like a terrible mess.”

  There was a flash of anger in Anton’s eyes.

  “When Austria took Bosnia, Serbs were killed by the thousands,” he said. “Serbia is enraged. Austria must know there will be hell to pay for such slaughter.”

  “However,” he continued blithely, “I was born and raised in London. I pay little attention to such affairs.”

  I’d heard my professors talk about what they delicately called the “international situation.” After Austria had seized Bosnia from the Turks four years ago, unrest was spreading throughout Europe—enough to cause a continent-wide war. I had trouble believing that Anton had no interest in what was brewing in his mother’s homeland.

  Anton turned his attention to Mother. “Mrs. Conkling, I hear you are still recovering from your illness. Please allow me to extend my sympathies.”

  Charles’ face hardened. Mother’s stiff posture slacked for a moment, and she shifted in her seat.

  “Why, thank you, Anton,” she said, looking down at her teacup.

  “I trust you are feeling better?”

  “Most of the time,” she said.

  Anton had a little smirk on his face. Why was he pressing the issue? It was impudent. But for some reason, he seemed to enjoy making Mother uncomfortable.

  Sadie suddenly pushed her plate away.

  “I’m not hungry,” she announced, folding her arms over her chest.

  Mother tried to diffuse her. “Drink your tea, Sadie,” she said, gently nudging the saucer towards her.

  “No. I said I don’t want it.”

  “Well, then, maybe it’s time to go back to Celia,” Mother replied.

  “No, no, no, no!” Sadie began to yell, as other passengers threw glances in our direction. Faye glared.

  Sadie kicked her shoe against the table, causing the china to clatter.

  “Sadie, hush!” Mother said, her face beginning to turn red as the stares intensified.

  “I hate Celia,” Sadie said, ignoring Mother’s cajoles completely. “I want Bridie.” Another tantrum was underway, and Mother was powerless to stop it.

  “Bridie’s not here. Remember?” Mother said, looking increasingly anxious. “She left us.”

  “She is too here!” Sadie replied. “I saw her!”

  It was Charles’ and Anton’s turn to look shocked. They sat with their forks frozen in their hands, exchanging stunned expressions.

  “Who is she talking about?” I hissed to mother. I had never heard that name before—not at home, and certainly not in the London house.

  “Not now, John,” she muttered, refusing to look at me.

  “Victoria, have the steward take Sadie to the nurse,” Charles commanded. “She can eat in her stateroom. I won’t have her ruining everyone else’s supper.”

  “But…” Mother began.

  “Now!” he insisted. “These people didn’t buy a first-class ticket to listen to this ruckus.”

  Sadie’s wails grew louder as Mother scooped her up and complied with Charles’ orders, delivering her to a dining room steward.

  “I want Bridie!” Sadie’s voice echoed through the dining saloon. The other passengers looked away, politely pretending they hadn’t noticed anything.

  * * *

  As soon as the dishes were cleared and Charles wandered off again to mingle with the other passengers, I went back to my stateroom. After today’s strange series of events, the last thing I wanted to do was sip cocktails and talk business with the men.

  Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Why was Mother so ashamed of being ill? Even the doctors in London had determined she had done nothing to cause it. Maybe the gossip had come around to her, and she’d heard the comments from the other women in first class even as they envied her necklace.

  She’s a hysteric, I imagined them whispering. She nearly had a nervous breakdown a month ago. What a pity. Let’s move along before she talks to us.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the stateroom door. It was Mr. Bowen, my steward.

  “Good evening, Mr. Conkling,” he said. “I have a message for you.”

  “What is it, Mr. Bowen?”

  I thought of the last time I’d received a knock on my door from someone bearing a message. I hoped nothing had come of Sadie’s tantrum, that it hadn’t caused Mother another fit of anxiety.

  “Your father would like you to meet him in the smoking room,” he said. “It is on A-Deck, if you haven’t yet been there.”

  I was taken aback. Not that Charles was in the smoking room, probably enjoying a third or fourth round of liquor, as he often did at night. It just wasn’t like him to invite me along.

  “Did he say why?” I asked.

  “No, sir, he didn’t. Perhaps he’d like you to join him for a game of blackjack,” Mr. Bowen replied, smiling.

  I put on my jacket and took the stairs to the smoking room, where the first class men retreated at night with cigars and stiff drinks. No women were allowed in there.

  Charles was sitting at a table alone, his drink half-empty before him, another sitting at the table’s empty seat. When he spotted me, the look on his face told me this meeting had a purpose—and it wasn’t blackjack.

  “Care for a brandy?” Charles asked as I slid into the seat.

  I hated brandy, but Charles didn’t know that. He had never once offered me a drink before.

  “I’m sure you wondered why I asked to meet y
ou here,” Charles said.

  “I thought maybe you needed a drink after Sadie’s fit tonight,” I replied. “She doesn’t like her new nurse. Maybe in Cleveland we can find a new one.”

  Charles cut me off. “John, please, this isn’t about the nurse,” he said. “Something very serious is going on. Something that could ruin us…”

  He paused and let the words the words sink in.

  “…Ruin you.”

  “What is it?” I asked. “Mother? I know the doctors never did diagnose her.”

  “No, but it certainly won’t help her condition,” Charles replied. “You know she’s not well, which is why I’m going to ask you not to discuss it with her. Do I make myself clear?”

  I nodded.

  “A former servant from our house in London has stolen a confidential document from me,” Charles said. “One that could do immense damage to Lake Erie Steel’s reputation, if it ever gets to the newspapers. The Plain Dealer would go to town with it.”

  “Do you know where it is?” I asked.

  “Thanks to your sister, I do now,” he replied. “I thought she was merely imagining things until I checked with the purser. It turns out the thief is on board.”

  I pieced the day’s events together in my head. Sadie hadn’t been mistaken when she stubbornly corrected me on the Boat Deck. Looking down at the throng of steerage passengers, she spotted someone she knew.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “A young Irish girl,” he said. “She’s around your age—maybe eighteen. Her name is Bridget.”

  “Or Bridie,” I said without thinking. I hadn’t told Charles about Sadie’s discovery on the Boat Deck.

  “Yes, for short. Anyway, she left my house without warning one day several months ago,” Charles said. “It was only then I realized she’d stolen from me. She plans to bribe me with it, I’m sure.”

  “You’re lucky you’ve found her,” I said.

  “Yes. You could say so,” Charles replied. “I found out from the purser that she was scheduled to sail on the Philadelphian, but some of the steerage passengers were transferred to the Titanic at the last minute because of the coal strike. This is the only ship that had room for all the immigrants. They’re coming in swarms, you know. You’ve seen them at home.”

  Irish men did most of the work in Charles’ mills in Cleveland. The overseers called them terriers. The nickname was fitting, since they were worked like dogs in exchange for a pittance. The Irish had settled into a shanty town just down the hill from the docks called Whiskey Island. My mind traveled there briefly. I remembered all the times I had passed by in my carriage, watching the men return from work, dirty-faced and exhausted.

  “Are you going to confront her when we get to New York?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid we can’t wait that long,” Charles replied. “And that’s where you come in.”

  I took a sip of my drink, hoping it would calm my nerves.

  “I can’t confront the girl myself,” Charles continued. “It’s far too risky for me to be skulking around in steerage. You’re young. You can slip down there unnoticed.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t be sneaking down to third class,” I said, surprised by the forcefulness in my voice. “Why don’t you send Rathbone? You pay him to do these things.”

  “Damn it, John, listen to me. I’ve willed you everything my father and I built, with no effort on your own part. Look around you,” he said, motioning around the lavish first class smoking room. “What will you have if Lake Erie Steel is ruined? These documents are vitally important. For me…and for your future.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do?” I asked.

  “I need you to find her,” he said. “The steerage passengers gather in the third class lounge every night. It’s the only place they can mingle, since the men’s quarters are in the bow of the ship and the women are in the stern. I want you to find out how much she wants for the safe return of my letter. When you have a deal negotiated, I’ll send Rathbone to make the exchange.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Oh, don’t be afraid of the girl,” Charles replied. “I don’t plan to send you without security.”

  Charles glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. Then he pulled aside his jacket, where I could see the gleam of his pistol.

  “Do this for your mother,” Charles said. “With everything she’s been through, the last thing she needs is a scandal that could ruin all of us.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “I’m to meet with Anton in the lounge. We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Charles said.

  Then he pointed a finger at me. “And remember, this is between you and me.”

  I said nothing as he left. The smoking room attendant came and went, offering another round, and I absentmindedly waved him away. My mind raced. When I was at Oberlin, I had no idea what Charles was up to on the other side of the Atlantic. What was he hiding?

  “Rough night, eh?”

  I turned around to find Max Seligman standing behind me, sporting his usual jovial grin.

  “I must not be good at hiding it,” I replied.

  “How are you at blackjack?” he asked. “We’ve got a game going over in the corner. Besides, there’s someone who wants to meet you.”

  It had to be a better option than sitting alone in my stateroom, brooding over Charles and his secrets.

  “Everyone, this is John Conkling,” Max announced as I took my place at the card table. “He’s Charles Conkling’s son—you know, the head honcho of Lake Erie Steel.”

  “And your mother is the one with the necklace,” said the card dealer. I looked at him in astonishment. He was a flamboyant Frenchman who looked like he belonged at the Monte Carlo Casino instead of the Titanic.

  “Word travels fast,” I replied.

  He smirked. “I learn a lot while dealing cards.”

  “He’s also a student,” Max said. “Speaking of which…”

  A blonde man sitting next to him greeted me. “I’m Rudy,” he said, with a German accent so thick I could barely understand him. “A fellow scholar.”

  He flashed me a tentative smile.

  “John’s at Oberlin College,” Max said. “Say, Rudy, where do you study?”

  The German’s face went blank, as if he had never heard such a question.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, although it seemed he’d heard Max as clearly as I had.

  “Your university?” Max asked again.

  “Ah, yes, university,” the German responded. He grinned again, nervously. “I am at the University of Leipzig in Saxony. It is one of the oldest universities in the world.”

  “What do you study?” I asked.

  “Uh…”

  He stalled again, glancing around the smoking room. Max and I shot each other confused glances.

  “Art,” he finally said. “Art, and literature.”

  I shrugged it off, blaming the long pause on his middling grasp of English. At any rate, I had bigger worries tonight…like my shady mission to third class.

  “Rudy was telling me he met the LaRoes tonight,” Max said, and then gave a little whistle. “Faye’s a real beauty, ain’t she?”

  “But she is like an iceberg,” Rudy replied. “She sparkles on the surface, but beneath, she is solid ice.” The men at the table laughed, even the card dealer.

  “I have to be going now,” Rudy said. He shook my hand. “It was very nice to meet you, John.”

  Then he gave me a piercing stare, just long enough to make me uneasy.

  “Something’s not right with him,” I said to Max as soon as Rudy was out of sight.

  “I was thinking the same thing!” he replied. “I was going to ask your opinion. He’s an odd character, for sure. Crazy Kraut kid.”

  “He’s the first university student I’ve met who doesn’t seem to know what university he attends,” I said, and Max laughed. “And what was the real reason he wa
nted to meet me?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Max replied. He chuckled again, although it was obvious we both felt unsettled.

  “I think I’m going to turn in, too,” I said as I lost a round of blackjack.

  “I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow night,” Max said. “And, if you don’t mind, would you put in a good word for me with Faye?”

  “I think she despises me.”

  “Well, come back for another game tomorrow,” Max replied.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “Tonight’s been strange enough.”

 

  Three

  The Titanic docked in Ireland the next morning. As evening approached, I was with Mother and Sadie on our private promenade, watching the emerald green coast fade into the horizon.

  Mother sipped on the tea Celia had prepared for her, an expensive shawl wrapped around her shoulders. After all these weeks, she was still prone to chills.

  “I’m feeling a little better every day, John,” she said with a wan smile. “I just hope it lasts. Sometimes, just when I think the tremors are finally gone…”

  “We’ll have a fresh start in Cleveland,” I assured her. “Springtime is coming. In a few months, we can go to the beach.”

  One of Charles’ three homes was at Lakeside, a resort on Lake Erie. We’d spent a week there last summer while Charles was in Europe for business. It was the last time I could remember seeing Mother truly happy—although I wasn’t sure if the beach or Charles’ absence had more to do with it.

  Just then Charles strode through the door, already dressed in his eveningwear. He looked around the promenade, visibly irritated.

  “Victoria!” he barked. “Dinner is in thirty minutes. Let’s get a move-on, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mother and Celia murmured in unison.

  “And Celia, get Sadie dressed, for Christ’s sake,” Charles continued. “Wash her face.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Sadie whined. Her protests were ignored.