The Glass Ocean

  Caroline bent her head over her husband’s, blocking the glaring sun from his face. “My darling,” she whispered. “Let me be the strong one now. I need you to keep breathing, do you understand? That’s all I want you to do. And to think of us back in New York, sharing our lives, and loving each other until we’re old and gray.”

  She leaned closer to his ear. “I know it’s too early to know for sure, but I have a feeling. A woman’s intuition, I think you would call it.” A tear fell on his face, and she was ashamed to see it came from her eyes. She picked up a corner of the blanket and used it to wipe up the tear and the dried blood from his cheeks. “Imagine that, Gil. Our own child to love. And for his aunt Claire to spoil.” She tried to laugh but the sound died halfway from her mouth.

  Caroline straightened, continuing to wipe at her husband’s face to keep her mind busy from all the frightening thoughts she was managing to keep at bay. “Just keep breathing, Gil. Think about how much I love you, and all we both have to live for, and I promise I’ll do the rest.” She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “We’ve got everything to live for.”

  The boat’s engine continued to chug and hum as it made its way to the coast of Ireland, the sea birds screaming overhead as they searched for food. And underneath it all came the ragged breaths of the woman leaning against the rail, searching for her lost sister and for the man who could never be hers. Caroline squeezed Gil’s hand and closed her eyes, her heart growing heavier as she thought of all that had been lost. Tess continued her vigil, her sad, lonely figure pressed against the railing as she looked toward shore, reminding Caroline of a child crying for the moon.

  Chapter 30

  Tess

  Queenstown, Ireland

  Friday, May 7, 1915

  The moon had risen by the time the fishing trawler chugged into Queenstown.

  Gas torches flared along the docks, turning the mist brassy. Soldiers formed a human honor guard, holding the crowd at bay, making a pathway for the survivors. As they stumbled off the boat, the crowd broke into a cheer. The sudden noise made Tess start and pull closer to Caroline. In the dark, their hands fumbled together, holding on to each other as they followed behind the stretcher on which Gilbert Hochstetter lay, wrapped in blankets.

  People were crowding forward, trying to push through the guards, shouting questions, crowing encouragement. Flashbulbs popped, the scent of sulfur lending a demonic twist to the red light.

  There had been flashbulbs that night at the Hochstetters’ party. It seemed a lifetime ago, instead of just seven days.

  Rescue workers hurried toward them as they made their way to the end of the cordon, offering shelter, lodging. An official-looking personage came up to the stretcher. “Is he . . . ?”

  “Alive,” said Caroline sharply.

  She let go of Tess’s hand, taking command of the situation, every inch the polished society wife, despite her salt-stained dress and disordered hair.

  Through a fog, Tess could hear Caroline saying, “Gilbert Hochstetter of Hochstetter Iron & Steel. Yes, that Hochstetter . . . badly hurt . . . a doctor, as quickly as possible.”

  Caroline’s words worked their magic. Or maybe it was the fierce look in her eye.

  “This way,” said one of the men, and directed the sailors holding Gilbert Hochstetter’s stretcher toward a rough infirmary that spilled out onto the street, stretchers lying on the floor, doctors and nurses moving from patient to patient. Caroline followed, but Tess hung behind, scanning the crowd, looking for Ginny.

  The more able of the survivors were milling about, searching for family and friends. They seemed so many on the crowded docks, but how many had been on the boat? Row upon row of bodies covered in blankets, waiting to be delivered to wherever bodies went, gave silent testimony to the others, those who hadn’t been so lucky.

  Cries of joy and the keening of the bereaved rang in Tess’s ears. Through it, she heard someone calling her name.

  He appeared through the brassy fog like something out of myth, wrapped in a tunic like a Roman warrior, his hair turned bronze in the torchlight, his legs bare beneath his skirt.

  “Robert?” Tess’s legs felt like lead; she was half-afraid to move for fear that the vision would disappear.

  “Tess.” As he drew closer, she could see that his face was scraped and bruised, one eye half-swollen shut. It contrasted oddly with the garment that wrapped him about, which wasn’t a Roman tunic, but something else entirely.

  “You’re wearing a bathrobe,” said Tess stupidly.

  “A pink one.” Robert tried to smile, and almost managed it. “I wasn’t in a position to be particular. Most of my clothing is now food for fish.”

  And he might have been, too, so easily. Tess’s throat closed, as she remembered the sights they had seen from the deck of the fishing boat, men and women floating in the water like so much rubbish.

  “How did you—”

  “Survive? The sea doesn’t want me, it seems. This is the second time it’s spat me back.” Before Tess could say anything, Robert said briefly, “I was picked up by a rescue boat. Is Caroline with you?”

  There were so many things she ought to say, but Tess couldn’t quite get her tongue or mind around any of them. She felt numb, numb straight through. Instead, she jerked a finger behind her. “She’s over there. With her husband.”

  “He made it, then.” Together, they moved toward the infirmary.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Tess dug her teeth into her lower lip, tasting blood from an old cut. There was no point in hiding the truth. “Not for long.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My father was a pharmacist once.” Tess looked up at Robert, too tired to lie to him. “I know what it means when someone looks like that.”

  “With all due respect to your father’s medical prowess—”

  Every bit of Tess’s body ached. She spoke more sharply than she’d intended. “It’s not medical training, it’s common sense. There’s a death look. Once you’ve seen it, you know it.” She nodded toward Caroline, on her knees beside the stretcher. “She knows it, too. Don’t think she doesn’t.”

  They slowed as they approached, listening to Caroline speak to her husband in a low, sing-song voice, her Southern accent more pronounced than Tess had ever heard it. There was something musical about it, like listening to a lullaby.

  “—and then we’ll go to New Orleans,” Caroline was saying. “Have you ever had a beignet? They’re almost impossible to eat neatly. But they’re worth the mess.”

  Tess shoved Robert in his fuzzy pink side. “You should go to her.”

  Robert stood rock still, feet planted like a gladiator’s. “That’s the last thing I should do. Christ, Tess, what am I meant to do? Taunt her husband as he goes to the grave?”

  “She needs you.”

  Robert’s eyes never left Caroline. He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Or maybe for the last. “It’s not me she needs.”

  Amid the bustle of the doctors, the slow, soft voice went on. “After New Orleans, I’ll take you to Savannah. You’ve never seen the house where I grew up. It’s not the house where I was born. That burned down long ago. There was a party, you see, and someone was careless about the lanterns. . . . The whole thing went up like a Roman candle, that’s what my nurse told me. She said it was the best fireworks display the county had ever seen.”

  Gilbert Hochstetter’s lips moved. Caroline leaned closer to listen, and although the night was cool, Tess could see the beads of sweat on her brow.

  “Yes, an expensive one,” Caroline agreed. “My daddy never did find the money to build it back up again. . . .”

  Her voice faltered as she glanced up, catching sight of Robert. For a moment, her face lit like that Roman candle she’d just been talking about, the blood rushing to her cheeks, a glow in her eyes. And just as quickly, it disappeared again, her face reduced to bones and angles, gray and orange in the fog and torchlight.

  Caroli
ne whispered something to her husband. Gilbert Hochstetter’s eyes were half-closed, but Tess saw him make a weak attempt to squeeze his wife’s hand. Leaning over, Caroline pressed a kiss to his brow, and then, slowly, painfully, rose to her feet.

  Next to her, Tess could feel Robert tense. “Caroline,” said Robert. “I’m so sor—”

  “Don’t say it.” Caroline’s eyes glittered fiercely, bright with unshed tears. Formally, she said, “Thank you for saving him.”

  “I did what I could.” Robert’s voice was ragged with regret, the pain so raw that Tess could feel the ache down to her bones. “You know that, don’t you? If there had been any way . . .”

  Caroline put her chin up. Even without her rubies, she looked like a queen, the sort one didn’t dare to defy. “You got him out of there. And I’m going to get him back to New York and make him well.”

  Robert bowed his head. “Naturally.”

  They were both lying, thought Tess, her chest and head aching. Why did they have to lie like that? Couldn’t they see they needed each other?

  “Mrs. Hochstetter . . .” she began.

  “Caroline,” the other woman corrected her. “After all this, I think you could say we’ve progressed to first names.”

  Caroline held out a hand to her. Tentatively, Tess took it. The other woman’s grip, she realized, was stronger than she would have supposed. Caroline was stronger than she would have supposed.

  “Thank you for saving me,” said Caroline. And then, to Tess’s great surprise, she wrapped her arms around her in an embrace. Her breath tickling Tess’s ear, she murmured, “Be kind to him.”

  Before Tess could respond, Caroline released Tess, straightening and saying briskly, “I’d best see my husband to our lodgings. Warm broth and hot tea will do him a world of good.”

  There was nothing that would do Gilbert Hochstetter any good now. They all knew that. But no one would say it.

  Robert bowed over Caroline’s hand, in a courtly style that hadn’t been seen for many years. “If I can be of service in any way . . .”

  “You already have. Good night, Mr. Langford.” Caroline withdrew her hand. Her voice softening, she added, “Good night, Tess.”

  Robert ought to have looked absurd in his pink bathrobe, but he didn’t. There was something in his face that made Tess drive her nails into her palms, the sort of grief that toppled towers and made kingdoms fall.

  But all he said was, “Goodbye, Mrs. Hochstetter.”

  Tess wanted to shake both of them, to shove them toward each other. In all this misery, shouldn’t someone take what comfort they could? They had each other. Or they could have each other. To throw that away, now of all times . . .

  She couldn’t bear it. Tess pulled away, saying indistinctly, “I should go—I have to find Ginny.”

  Robert put out a hand, stopping her. “Tess. It’s nearly midnight.”

  Tess gave a laugh that was just a little hysterical. “Where else do I have to go?”

  “Several places,” said Robert, with exasperated affection. It was as if scolding her made the tension lift from the corners of his eyes, helped stop the grieving. “Don’t be a fool. Let these kind people find you lodging. Sleep a little. There’ll be time enough in the morning.”

  “But what if—” The words faltered on Tess’s tongue. What if Ginny was wounded, hurting? What if, like Gilbert Hochstetter, she had only hours left? Tess couldn’t make herself voice it. She could barely make herself think it. “I need to look for her.”

  “In the morning.” Robert’s hands closed over her arms, supporting her, restraining her. “I’ll help you.”

  He had looked for Ginny before, or meant to. Tess glared up at him, holding on to anger because anger was better than tears. “Because you want to bring her to justice?”

  “What’s justice now? No. Because she’s your sister. And I know what it is to lose—” Robert broke off, but not fast enough.

  “You think she’s dead,” said Tess accusingly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  No life vest, weighted down with furs and jewels . . .

  Robert rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t think anything. I’m too tired to think. And so are you. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Stay? What did he think she was, his lapdog? Tess tried to cultivate indignation. Anything was better than grief and fear.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Caroline Hochstetter giving directions to the stretcher bearers. Caroline caught her arm as Tess walked past. “Do you need anything? A place to stay? . . . Money?”

  “Just my sister,” said Tess, trying to make a joke of it and failing miserably. Gruffly, she added, “Thank you.”

  “No,” said Caroline. “Thank you. And remember what I said. He’ll need someone.”

  With a nod of farewell, she was off, before Tess could decide whether to be touched or insulted.

  Not that she had time for either. The infirmary was crowded with people, some suffering little more than broken bones, others with that gray look on their faces. Tess picked her way through, searching for Ginny, not sure whether she was looking for a dark head or a fair one. The sea might have washed the dye off.

  “Have you seen—”

  But no one had.

  A hand closed over Tess’s shoulder, making her jump like a cat. “Didn’t I tell you to stay?”

  “I’m not your whippet.”

  Robert chose to ignore that. He gestured to a well-upholstered woman standing behind him. “This is Mrs. O’Malley, the apothecary’s wife. She’ll put you up in their spare room and find you something else to wear.”

  Tess lifted her chin in her best imitation of Caroline Hochstetter’s queenly ways. “And what’s wrong with what I have on? This is best Gimbels.”

  “Mr. Gimbel never advised saltwater immersion,” said Robert dryly. “Go on. Mrs. O’Malley will take care of you.”

  Not for nothing, Tess was sure. She had no money. And no means of acquiring any. Everything she owned in the world had gone down with the ship. “Robert—I can’t accept this.”

  “If I can accept a pink bathrobe . . .” As he looked down into her face, Robert abandoned any attempt at levity. “In a time like this, you take what kindness you can.”

  Be kind to him, said Caroline Hochstetter. He’ll need someone.

  But it was hard to give in so easily. “I have no way to repay—”

  “Tess,” said Robert. “If you fight me on this, I will personally toss you back in the Atlantic.”

  “If you put it that way . . .” Turning to the older woman, Tess said, feeling like a schoolgirl, “Thank you, Mrs. O’Malley.”

  The older woman clucked her tongue. “After what you’ve been through! There’s no need to be after thanking me. Come along, hen.”

  “I meant what I said,” said Robert. “About helping you search.”

  “There’s no need . . .”

  “I’ll call for you at nine,” said Robert, and strode away before Tess had time to protest.

  * * *

  Tess left Mrs. O’Malley’s at eight, wearing a dress that must have belonged to her landlady’s mother. It smelled strongly of camphor, but by the time a few hours had passed, Tess had reason to be grateful for the medicinal tang. It covered other, less pleasant odors.

  Robert caught her at noon, just as the church bells were ringing the hour. The town hall had been turned into a makeshift morgue, body after body laid out on the floor. Survivors and family members moved quietly among the corpses, lifting sheets, searching for loved ones. Stoop and stand, stoop and stand. The faces began to blur. Men, women, children. A mother cradling her child. But no Ginny. Not yet.

  Tess set down the last sheet as gently as she could, straightening with difficulty. All of her ached, still. She had woken covered with bruises. But it was the despair, the cold despair that permeated the room that crippled her movements, slowed her wits. She swayed as she rose to her feet and felt a strong hand on her arm, steadying her. r />
  “Tess,” said Robert. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” Tess cleared her throat, but her voice still came out hoarse. “I’ve tried all the hotels. And the train station.”

  The station had been packed with survivors attempting to book passage away, away anywhere. Tess had hunted for her sister, searching for either a dark head or a fair one. But there had been no sign of Ginny at the booking office, at the station, by the quay.

  Robert gave her elbow a squeeze. Tess made no protest as he led her away, out of the town hall. “They’re still bringing in survivors.”

  Tess squinted up at him in the sunlight. “I was down at the wharves, Robert. I know what they’re bringing in.” Bodies, in increasing stages of decomposition.

  The bodies of first-class passengers were being separated out and embalmed, to be sent to their families back in the States for proper burial. Tess had seen Margery Schuyler laid out among the others, being readied for the long journey home to New York. Margery, who had played some part in bringing this upon them. And for what? A dream of a better world? A taste of power?

  Tess felt that she ought to take a certain satisfaction in Margery’s demise, but she couldn’t. Not while Ginny was still missing.

  Robert matched his pace to hers, as though they were any couple out for a stroll. Out for a stroll in a town thronged with death. “You might have missed her. For all you know, your sister is currently on a train to London. Or halfway to Germany.”

  “She wouldn’t have left without me.”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Robert looked down at her, and it was Tess’s eyes that fell first.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. See you on the other side, Ginny had said. “I don’t think so, but . . . I don’t know.”

  Together, they strolled away from the quay, from the disturbing sight of the sea, up one of the narrow, hilly streets.