The Girl Who Came Home - a Titanic Novel (6 page)

‘
You’re a very kind girl,’ Maggie said, with a slight nod of the head. ‘Thank you dear. Are you having a nice birthday?’

Grace noticed that Maggie’s distinctive duck-egg blue eyes seemed lost in distant thoughts, small pools of water gathered at the corners. She pulled up a small, plastic yellow stool to sit closer to her. ‘Are you OK Maggie? Is it too noisy for you, or too cold maybe? I can close the window if you’d like. Or how about a nice cup of tea to go with that cake?’

The old lady simply smiled and brushed a crumb from her lap. ‘Did I ever tell you that it snowed the day you were born?’

Grace laughed. ‘You did Maggie. Snow in April hey! Who would believe it?’

Maggie often told the story of how it snowed the day Grace was born; a brilliant, pink snow of cherry blossom that fell in a blizzard from the trees outside the hospital, dancing and whirling in the brisk, spring breeze, drifting around the cars parked outside. She had a particular fascination with the annual spectacle of the blossom trees bursting into life with their colourful blooms; loved to watch the blossom fall. ‘Like the prettiest snowflakes,’ she would comment, ‘or a bride’s confetti.’ She said it reminded her. Nobody knew what it reminded her of.

‘
Come here,’ the old lady whispered, patting the seat next to her on the sofa, her eyes twinkling now with a sense of mischief. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

Grace laughed. She found Maggie so charming; cheeky, unassuming and direct. She was almost childlike in these latter years of her life, particularly since her husband James, Grace’s great-grandfather, had died a few years ago. Grace sidled up to her conspiratorially. ‘What,’ she whispered back to her, ‘What is it? Do you want another slice of cake?’

Maggie slapped her playfully on the wrist. ‘No, I do not want another slice of cake. I want to tell you a secret.’ She had Grace’s full attention now. ‘Now you listen to me, because this is important. Are you still writing those stories of yours?’

Grace looked down at her feet, guilty almost for her response. ‘Well, not so much. Not since Dad died really. Everyone’s been too sad for me to write anything.’

‘
And what about that university you were enjoying so much, and that boyfriend of yours? When are you going back to them?’

Grace was surprised. Maggie had never really spoken to her about this before. She didn’t think she would have even remembered Jimmy it was so long since she had spoken about him, or since anyone from the family had seen him. Since her father’s accident, she had blocked Jimmy out, hadn’t returned his phone calls or letters. Even they had stopped after the first six months. She’d thought about him often, had wanted to get in touch so badly, but something stopped her. Something deep within her was too afraid to let him back into her life, to let herself love him as she had loved her father, unable to bear the thought of feeling that unbearable pain of loss ever again in her life. So she had done the only thing she could and had blocked him out completely and tried to forget him.

‘
I don’t know Maggie. Maybe I’ll go back. One day, when mom is better.’

The old lady studied her intently. ‘You know, I left my home when I was around your age. I left people I loved and cared about, but I had no choice. I
had
to leave, had to come here to find a better life. Your mom doesn’t want you moping around here forever. Maybe you should pick up your notebook and your boyfriend’s phone number and go get on with your life.’ This was said as much as an order as a hypothetical question. Grace knew she was right. She’d been trying to find the right time to talk to her mother about the possibility of returning to university, but the right moment never seemed to come.

‘
Anyway,’ Maggie continued, ‘I’ve a story to get you writing again, a story I’ve never told to anyone except your great-grandfather, God rest his soul.’ She paused then, to take a bite from her cake. Grace waited patiently, conscious of the fact that some of the guests were starting to leave. ‘Do you know what the date is today Grace?’

Grace chuckled, nudging her gently on the arm. ‘It’s my birthday. April fifteenth.’

‘
Ah yes, but do you know what else happened on this day? A long time ago?’

Grace thought for a moment. Had she missed someone’s birthday, or a significant anniversary? She couldn’t think of anything. ‘I don’t know? What?’

Maggie paused again. She took a deep breath. Something about her expression had changed, her shaking hands stilled, her eyes searching deeply into those of her great granddaughter.

‘
Did you ever hear of Titanic Grace?’

Grace put her glass of coke down on the floor, sensing the significance and importance in Maggie’s tone of voice.

‘
Of course I have. Everyone’s heard of Titanic. Why?’

‘
It sank seventy years ago today you know.’

‘
Really? What,
actually
today? April 15
^th
? So, I was born on the anniversary of Titanic sinking? Wow, that’s quite cool. I didn’t realise that.’ She was just about to call over her mother to share this revelation about her birth date when Maggie put her hand firmly on Grace’s arm.

‘
Do you know how I remember that date so well Grace?’

‘
How?’ Grace stared intently into Maggie’s glassy eyes. The very air around them seemed to still for a moment. The hairs stood up on the back of Grace’s neck.

‘
I was there. I was on Titanic.’ Maggie paused then, the relief and shock of saying this out loud seeming to shake her to her core. Grace was speechless.

‘
You were
there
? On
Titanic
?’

‘
Yes dear.’ Grace took hold of Maggie’s hands as she continued to speak in a quiet, almost whisper, as if afraid to let the words leave her mouth. ‘Fourteen of us from our small parish in Ireland boarded that magnificent ship Grace,’ she continued. ‘Fourteen of us.’ She looked down at her hands then, unable to look her great-granddaughter in the eyes. ‘Over fifteen hundred people died on that ship you know. I was one of the lucky ones. I got the last seat on the last lifeboat thanks to a man who helped me.’ She looked down at the ground then. ‘I often wonder what happened to him.’

Grace watched her closely, seeing something different now in this incredible lady who she’d known all her life only as Great Nana Maggie, not as a Titanic survivor.

‘
And what about the other thirteen? What about them?’

The scent of camellia washed over the room as the breeze strengthened outside. Maggie looked at Grace and took a long, deep breath.

CHAPTER
5 -
Private Journal of Maggie Murphy

Queenstown, Co. Cork

10
^th
April, 1912

At last we are arrived in Queenstown. At times I thought we would never get here, the journey across the Windy Gap in the traps seeming to take forever and then the endless train journey from Castlebar – Lord! I lost count of how many times we changed trains at this station and that station - it’s a wonder we didn’t lose any of our luggage on the way we were in and out of so many carriages. We nearly did lose Pat Brogan – he’d fallen asleep what with the rocking motion and all, and nearly didn’t get off at Limerick. Thank the Lord for Maura Brennan’s quick counting up and noticing we were one short or God only knows where he would be by now!

Other than that, nothing much happened on the train journey, other than a lot of weeping and sniffling, the girls missing their mammies and all. We didn’t talk to each other much which was a strange thing as we’d usually never be short of a joke or a story or a song. We was all too busy thinking our private thoughts and watching the fields fly past the windows. I saw a hare dart across one field, startled by the noise of the engine, and a hawk hovering above another. I wonder whether they have hares and hawks in America? I honestly don’t know.

Peggy was the only one to make any sort of a noise on the journey to Claremorris, getting a fit of the giggles at the sight of a fat woman trying to get something down from the luggage rack. She kept falling backwards and forwards and sideways with the movement of the train – she looked drunk so she did! Kathleen chided her for sniggering and said it was poor manners.

We was starving by the time we reached Cork and were glad of Mrs Brogan’s oatcakes and Aunt Kathleen’s soda bread. It’s strange to think that she baked that bread in our kitchen just this morning. I can hardly remember what our kitchen looks like it seems such an age since I was standing there.

By the time we boarded the train to Queenstown, most of the weeping had stopped. Katie cheered us with her songs and Jack Brennan took to playing cards with Michael Kelly – he told me he thought it might stop the young lad’s mind from dwelling too much on home. I’ve watched Pat take the sovereign out of his pocket a few times. His mam gave it to him this morning as a good luck token but he dropped it as he climbed into the trap – I saw it and I know some of the others did too, but we all pretended not to notice and he hasn’t talked of it. I know what he’s after thinking though as he turns it over and over in his hands because it’s bad luck to drop a sovereign.

Queenstown is a strange town. I’ve never seen a place like it in my life. There wasn’t a spare inch of space around the train station without a person or a cart or a horse or a piece of luggage on it - half of Ireland seems to have come here tonight. The sea air feels damp on my skin and there’s an awful, foul stench of salt or seaweed or something hanging over the place. It makes me feel like I want to be sick. The seagulls make a horrible noise, a sort of shrieking cry, like a bawling baby. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

Aunt Kathleen arranged the lodgings for us all, speaking with one of the runners at the station who found this place, the ‘McDonnell Rooming House at The Beach’. Kathleen is familiar with boarding houses, running one of her own in Chicago and all and seems pleased because this one is close to the cathedral for Mass in the morning.

We are split up across three rooms, the two boys and Jack Brennan sharing one, Maura Brennan, Eileen Brennan, Katie, Peggy and Ellen Joyce in another and myself, Kathleen, and four of the other girls in this room. I heard Ellen telling Pat that it has cost 7s 6d each for the night’s lodgings. Pat told me that’s practically a week’s wages and that the owner must be making a fortune. She seems like a nice enough woman but she breathes heavily when she goes up and down the stairs and an awful smell of sweat comes from her. Thanks be to God we only have to stay for one night.

Poor Peggy is in a dreadful state. I don’t know how it happened ‘cos not a one of us saw him, but she says that a strange man dressed all in black approached her at Queenstown train station. He appeared from nowhere and tapped her on the shoulder. She says she leapt nearly ten feet into the air, not knowing who the man was at all. She tried to pass him a few pennies from her purse, thinking he must be a traveller, but he refused them and told her that she was going on a long journey and there would be a terrible disaster but she would survive. He then disappeared into the crowds. She’s a bit shaken up with it all. What with this and Joe Kenny’s tea leaves, I’m almost beside myself with the nerves now. Kathleen says we’re letting our imaginations run away with us and reminded us that we couldn’t be sailing on a safer ship.

I’ve been thinking about Séamus a lot since we left Ballysheen and wondering what he says in his letters. I have them in my coat pocket for safe keeping - I haven’t opened the packet yet. I think I should wait until we’re far out at sea before I read them – I’m half afraid that if he has written too fondly, or offered a proposal of marriage I might do something silly and run off to be with him again. Kathleen wouldn’t be best pleased if I did something like that so I’ll wait until we’re on the ship. I can be sure I won’t be doing any running off to him when there are miles of cold, dark, ocean stretching between us.

Kathleen says that Titanic will be on her way from France by now, and should arrive to Queenstown by mid-morning. All going well, we should be sailing by mid-afternoon. I can’t imagine what it will feel like to be on the water - I’ve never seen a steam liner, other than the pictures Peggy showed me in the newspaper. I wonder what I’ll think of this ship after all the talk and the fuss. It is only a ship when all is said and done. I might not think much of it at all.

Anyway, it’s getting late now and Kathleen is fussing about getting a decent sleep for the journey tomorrow so I’ve told her I’ll be finished in a few minutes. Most of the others are already asleep, tired out from our journey today. It already seems to have taken so long to get here and New York is another week away. How in the name of God we are going to fare on a boat for seven days I do not know.

CHAPTER
6 - Queenstown, County Cork, Ireland, 1912

‘
For the love of God girl, would you look at the time, it’s gone eleven. Put that book down, whatever it is you’re scribblin’, and get some sleep now. We’ve an early start in the morning and there’s plenty more miles to be travelled yet before we reach America.’