Against the Wind (22 page)

Instantly Number 7 became a float in the Lord Mayor’s Day Parade. Coats and hats and Connor’s pocket handkerchief erupted, festooning the boat in joyful anticipation.

We drew closer together. The bulk of the ship loomed larger and larger. Pale oval shapes lining the railing far above the level of our view almost, but not quite, resolved into faces.

Then I saw the oncoming form change from triangle to rectangle again. Next the ship showed us the bluff squareness of its stern and the words SS
Festung—Hamburg
.

Then, despite all our efforts at rowing against the wind, the ship dwindled into the mist and disappeared.

“What happened?”

“How could they not see us?”

“Why didn’t you pull harder?” This criticism was from Podlaski.

“Aren’t we rescued, Aunt Elisa?”

“They couldn’t have missed us,” the playwright said bitterly. “They left us here on purpose. Why?”

“Nazis,” Browne said. “A sub-tender. A supply ship for the submarines. Stow the oars. That’s enough exercise for now.”

A low keening cry from the bow of our refuge.

“It’s all right, Aunt Mariah,” Connor said. “There’ll be another ship soon. You’ll see. We’ll be rescued soon.”

Dully, Mariah corrected, “It’s Patsy. She’s dead.”

The rain and low-hanging shroud of clouds did not relent until the early morning hours of our second day adrift. The seas continued piling up hills and digging valleys. Half of us were seasick. I think all of us were heartsick.

Another dawn finally came. The clouds lifted off the water, but not off of our spirits. The endless parade of rolling swells finally subsided. It was time to think about living again.

On the morning of our second day aboard Number 7 I took stock of our situation. We were entirely alone on the Atlantic. There were twenty-seven people crammed aboard the lifeboat built for a maximum of twenty-two: two British members of
Newcastle
’s complement, two male passengers, eight lascar crewmen, six boys, three girls, three women…and three dead bodies.

There were so many issues we faced: Would we be rescued soon? If we weren’t immediately picked up, what could we do to rescue ourselves? In the crowded conditions, all of us suffered from cramps. Our hands and feet felt pickled. We were unable to get clear of the water sloshing around the bilges. Our fingers and toes stayed numb.

Robert, the youngest of the boys, cried with the pain, though I rubbed and rubbed him. Peter was likewise suffering, but he bit his lip to bear it in silence. What could we do to relieve the aches?

Yet none of these are the reason I teared up that morning.

The biggest crisis was what to do with the bodies of Patsy and her two children.

Raquel and I avoided looking at Mariah’s face. I feared for her life. She had invested so much hope, so much of her energy believing they would be rescued, that having them die anyway seemed to have utterly destroyed her. If we were picked up today, at least her loved ones could be taken back to Ireland for a proper burial.

How long should we wait to even raise the issue?

Mariah herself delivered us from our dilemma. Shaking her head, as if coming awake from a bad dream, she murmured, “Leastways I got them back for a little while, so I don’t have to wonder about their fate. Perhaps some of youse carry that heavy burden on your hearts right now.”

I thought then of my evacuee girls. Had they made it off
Newcastle
before she went down? Had their lifeboat survived its launching? Were they safe? Had they already been rescued, or were they adrift somewhere even as we?

Mariah continued, “Patsy loved the sea. She’s been talkin’ for years of leavin’ for America. This spot is as close to America as she’s goin’ to get in this life, so let her and her wee’uns be buried right here.”

Her request awakened my memory. In my pocket was the copy of the
Book of Common Prayer.
In it was the burial service. I passed the book to Officer Browne.

“I am the Resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”

With these words Harold Browne began the memorial. He brushed his graying moustache with his index finger and cleared his throat.

“We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord giveth and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

At Mariah’s direction we took the three life vests, Patsy’s coat, and their socks. These things we might need, and they had no further use of them.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea.”
¹⁶

I remembered sitting on a park bench on Primrose Hill with Murphy, looking out across London. I thought of the verdant hills of my youth and remembered how my papa had taken us on holiday to the Alps. I had grown up in Germany before Hitler. It was the most civilized, most modern nation in Europe. I had been part of a blessed family. I had all the comforts imaginable. I had found the love of my life in John Murphy.

Now here I was, floating on the expanse of waters. I owned the clothes I wore. I might live to be rescued and reunited with my family, but what happened to
Newcastle
and then to Mariah proved nothing was certain.

Truly, all the steady, trustworthy hills of my life had been uprooted and cast into the sea. Could I continue to rely on God? Could I escape from fear?

“Jesus said, ‘Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto Me; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’”
¹⁷

Number 7 was ballasted with bars of iron laid down next to the keel. Silently Matt Wilson dug three of these from beneath the floorboards and passed them forward.

We knew what he was suggesting.

Digging in her handbag, Raquel produced needle and thread. Mariah wiped away a tear and nodded her approval. Raquel and I began sewing the weights into the clothing of Patsy, Moira, and Michael.

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.”
¹⁸

For twenty centuries these words comforted the grieving and gave hope to the brokenhearted. We would see our loved ones again; we would be reunited. Sometimes it felt as if that trust in a future reunion was all that kept us going in this tired, wicked world. Even while believing, our hearts’ cry remained “How long, O Lord!”

Mariah, Raquel, and I and all the girls wept. So did all the boys except John, who had his arms folded and his chin tucked hard against his chest.

“Unto Almighty God we commend the souls of our dear departed, and we commit their bodies to the deep; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world the sea shall give up her dead.

“Almighty God, Father of mercies and giver of all comfort, deal graciously, we pray Thee, with all those who mourn, that, casting every care on Thee, we may know the consolation of Thy love. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

“Amen.”

And then there were only twenty-four aboard Lifeboat Number 7.

¹⁵
Traditional African-American lullaby

¹⁶
Psalm 46:1–2
ESV

¹⁷
Matthew 19:14
KJV

¹⁸
John 14:1–2
KJV

18

LIFEBOAT NUMBER 7
NORTH ATLANTIC
AUTUMN 1940

A
ngel looked into my face and asked quietly, “I saw all the girls from Lindy’s cabin in the boat with Miss Pike. But I did not see Lindy.”

“There was such confusion, Angel. She had to be with them.” I imagined the lie was kinder than the truth on such a day.

I thought about the words of the officer as he compelled me to leave Lindy in the cabin or die.
“Lindy’s got to go home now.… I’ll take care of her.… You must leave now or you won’t make it out.”

How I had run as I stumbled from that place of death! Without looking back, I had left Lindy in the hands of a stranger and had saved my own life. How would I ever face her mother? How would I ever tell the story of the final terrible moments of her daughter’s life?

Reaching deep into the pocket of my coat, I felt again for the small volume containing the lock of Lindy’s hair. I would at least return that treasure to the hands of Mrs. Petticaris. I would tell her that Lindy’s last conscious thought was for her.

Raising my eyes I saw the steady gaze of Cedric Barrett on my face. What was that in his expression? Pity? Did he know I had left Lindy behind? Had he sensed I was not telling Angel the truth about her best friend?

I silently prayed,
O God! Please let me sleep without dreams. Give me an hour to rest so I can be strong!

The sea grew calm. Mariah clasped my hand, laid her head upon my lap, and slept the deep sleep of grief. Stroking her hair as if she were a child, I sensed the warmth of the sun on my back. The only sound was the rush of the water split by the bow. I prayed for sleep, hoping that for a moment I would not be tortured by the memory of Lindy dying before me. Again the image of her sweet face appeared before me. Had I done all I could do for her? I could only think of her mother and the last letter she had written:
Do not write me because I will be mid-Atlantic and cannot answer.

My promise to her mother that I would protect Lindy had followed. I had failed miserably. Was it my fault? Should I have stayed and died with her when the very angels had abandoned ship?

At last my head nodded forward and I dozed off.

I do not know how long I slept. It was not a dreamless sleep but filled with images of Murphy’s face smiling above me. “
You’re okay, Elisa. It’s Evensong. Can you hear the boys singing? Can you hear me praying for you? for the kids? I’m at Westminster Abbey now. Everyone here is praying for you.”

It came to me clearly that I was asleep and dreaming of a happier moment. I asked,
“But what about Lindy? All the others?”
I felt Murphy’s hand on my arm. He shook his head sadly from side to side.
“What about Lindy?”
I asked and then spoke his name aloud. “Murphy!”

My eyes flew open, and I jerked awake. The sun was setting, and Cedric Barrett was framed by light. He was very close to my face. “Elisa? Are you all right?”

Nodding, I swept my hair back from my face. Poor Mariah was mercifully still asleep on my lap. “I was dreaming,” I said quietly.

“Yes,” Barrett answered.

Suddenly conscious that half a dozen children were staring at me, I managed a slight smile and said to Connor, “In my dream, my husband told me it was Evensong. He said that he was at the Abbey praying for us. He told me to listen to the singing.”

Connor nodded as if it was a command. Taking out his tin whistle, he said to the Apostles, “It is Evensong.”

At his direction, the boys began to sing the benediction in close harmony.

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him, above ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Amen.”

Barrett inhaled deeply and removed a battered notebook from his pocket. “Lindy’s.”

“Oh! Oh, Cedric! It isn’t lost!”

“In my pocket all the time.”

I touched the cover where Lindy had inscribed her name beneath the words
The Long Journey Home.

“I was meant for Lifeboat 6, you see. I came to the station. No room. But your girls were there. All of them except…” He tucked his chin. “Well, little Betsy was there without Lindy. She told an officer you had stayed behind with Lindy—that Lindy had been hurt.”

So Barrett had guessed the worst.

I looked at the gold reflection of the water. I thought of what I had heard…about the streets of heaven being paved with gold. I thought of Lindy’s feet walking on water, walking on golden streets. “Yes. Yes.”

“We want to take this home…”

“…to her mother.”

His eyes flickered with a memory. “She was quite a good little writer. I mean, honest critique, right? That’s what she wanted and…well…she was, you know, wonderful.”

He turned away, his back toward me when he sat. I thought I saw his shoulders shudder as he rested his head in his hands.