Bon Voyage
Charlotte Thornton raised her glass of gin and joined in the toast proposed by her father, multimillionaire industrialist, Eldridge J. Thornton: "To President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and the end of Prohibition!"
"Here, here!" responded a chorus of well-to-do New Yorkers in the famed Stork Club who were glad to be able to legally purchase alcohol again.
I, for one, am going to miss Prohibition, Charlotte thought. It was fun dancing the night away in some seedy speakeasy. How tame everything is going to seem now.
It had indeed been an exciting time to live in, especially for a child born into money and privilege. Her life seemed to be a never-ending party. Then came Black Tuesday, the Great Crash of October 29, 1929, when sixteen million shares of stock were traded and billions of dollars were lost on Wall Street. While the Depression did not adversely affect her family to any great extent, she knew many people who lost everything in the crash.
And here I am at this boring party, pretending to be having a good time.
Music. Dancing. Drinking. All the ingredients were there. Why then wasn't she enjoying herself? Could it be that the thrill of obtaining alcohol illegally in some clandestine watering hole was more appealing than walking into a club without giving a password and ordering a drink with Uncle Sam's blessing?
Maybe I'm just getting old, the thirty-two-year-old socialite thought. I should probably listen to my parents and get married and have a few children. After all, the clock is ticking.
It was not that Charlotte had anything against marriage. Some of her friends were happily married, even though most were either divorced or living Henry David Thoreau's "lives of quiet desperation." The impediment to Charlotte's taking that ceremonial walk down the aisle had always been the same: she had never met a man that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
All that was about to change.
Ford Woodhull was thirty-six, unmarried and living in New York—although not a member of the same social circles as the Thorntons. He grew up in the Bronx, not in Manhattan, and while not exactly poor, he was far from rich. Consequently, he had no business being in the Stork Club that night. He couldn't afford to eat there, and he wasn't much of a drinker. Still, all New Yorkers—at least those old enough to drink—seemed to want to celebrate the passage of the twenty-first Amendment.
If I'm going to have only one drink this year, Ford thought, it might as well be one from the Stork Club.
Wearing the only suit he owned, which he normally reserved for weddings and funerals, he boldly walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. As he was sipping his drink, he turned to observe the crowd. At that precise moment, Charlotte happened to be passing by.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried as she bumped into his elbow, spilling his beer down onto his suit.
Ford's anger momentarily flared.
Why doesn't the damned fool watch where she's going?
His irritation suddenly vanished as he looked down at the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
"Let me buy you another drink," she offered.
"That's not necessary," he managed to say.
"Nonsense! I was clearly at fault. What are you having? Beer? How about a glass of champagne?"
"To be honest, I'd rather have a Coca-Cola or a cup of coffee."
"I don't know if they even sell Coca-Cola here."
"There's a soda fountain around the corner," he suggested.
Charlotte looked at his outdated, inexpensive suit. Clearly, he was not one of Manhattan's elite.
He is handsome, though, she thought with a smile.
Throwing caution to the wind, she replied, "Let's go."
* * *
The speed with which the couple got engaged made many people raise their eyebrows and wonder if the bride's father was loading his shotgun.
"Don't worry. I'm not pregnant," she assured her parents. "I just don't see the point of a long courtship and engagement. I'm over thirty. Why should I wait?"
"Because you hardly know the man," her mother replied.
"For ten years, the both of you have been telling me I ought to get married. Now that I finally found someone, you tell me to wait. You think I don't know why? It's because he's a middle class man from the Bronx and not one of the wealthy blue bloods from Manhattan."
"You're being unfair," Eldridge Thornton protested but did not bother to deny what was obviously true.
"Your father and I both like Mr. Woodhull," his wife, Carlotta, argued. "And we've come to accept that he's the man you want to marry. It's just that we don't want you to rush into marriage and make a mistake. Divorce is such a nasty, expensive affair that will ruin your reputation."
"I'm not rushing into anything. Both my heart and my brain are in complete agreement. I'm going to marry Ford this August."
Carlotta sighed with resignation. If her daughter was determined to go through with this ridiculous wedding, the least she could do was help her pull it off.
Thanks in no small part to the Thornton name and money, last-minute arrangements were made. The invitations went into the mail just one month before the big day, and a bridal shower was held on only ten days' notice. Many of the guests jokingly asked when the baby shower was to be held.
"Hopefully sometime next summer," Charlotte replied, taking no offense at their suspicions.
Despite the hasty preparations, the wedding was a social success. The bride was a vision of beauty in her silk gown that was specially made for her by one of the finest fashion houses in Paris.
"You look like a princess," the father of the bride said as he stood on the church steps, ready to walk his daughter down the aisle.
"I feel like one. You and Mother have certainly given me a fairy tale wedding."
"I only hope you and your Prince Charming will be happy."
Charlotte affectionately squeezed his arm before the organ music sounded their cue that the service was about to begin.
The lavish wedding reception and a Park Avenue house were not the only gifts the parents bestowed on the happy couple. The Thorntons also paid for their daughter and new son-in-law's honeymoon.
"We wanted to send you on the grand European tour," Carlotta said, "but with political situation over there, we thought it best for you to visit some place closer to home."
"So we're sending you on a cruise to Havana instead," Eldridge concluded.
"That's wonderful!" Charlotte exclaimed. "I've never been to Cuba."
"I don't know how to thank you for your generosity," Ford said sheepishly.
"No need to thank us," Eldridge declared. "We're happy to do it."
"Besides, you're family now," Carlotta added.
A look of sadness temporarily darkened the bride's face. The one regret she had about her wedding was that nearly all the guests were from her side of the family. The groom, orphaned at a young age, had no parents, siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles.
Such is life, I suppose. At least now he's got me, Charlotte thought. It's the start of a family.
* * *
Charlotte credited Ford's reticent, anxious behavior on the voyage from New York to Cuba to newlywed jitters. Her theory was reinforced when his mood greatly improved once the ship docked in Havana.
"This is like the Jazz Age all over again!" Charlotte exclaimed as she watched her husband attempt to do the rumba. "No wonder Hemingway loves it down here."
Although not much of a dancer, Ford did his best to keep up with his wife.
"Why don't we take a break and get another Cuba Libre?" he asked, as he wiped the perspiration off his brow.
"I thought you weren't much of a drinker," his wife teased.
"I'm not, but we're on our honeymoon. Why not live it up?"
It was not so much a celebration of his nuptials that caused him to toss down the rum and Cokes like water as it was trying to settle his nerves after his days at sea. He didn't tell his wife, but from the moment he stepped onboard the cruise ship, he felt a deep sense of dread.
It's only my imagination, he thought as he stared at the ships in the harbor.
"Penny for your thoughts," Charlotte said.
"I wasn't thinking about anything in particular," he lied.
"The hell you weren't. You should have seen your face. You were positively brooding! Come on now, out with it. What were you thinking about?"
"Don't you wish we could stay here? We could live in a grass hut on the beach."
"Honestly? No. I would miss New York too much. It's not paradise, but it's home."
Their stay in Cuba lasted another few days. Then, finally, it was time to embark on the return voyage. Again, Ford became taciturn.
"Is something wrong?" his wife finally asked at dinner on the first night at sea. "Are you mad at me for some reason?"
"No. Don't be silly."
"Then why are you so glum? You weren't this way in Havana."
"I don't like being on the water," he reluctantly admitted.
"They have pills for that kind of thing."
"I'm not seasick. I'm ... I can't put a name to it."
There was fear in her husband's eyes, and Charlotte wondered if there might be something in his past that disturbed him. Her mother had been right about one thing: there was a great deal she didn't know about the man she married.
I don't even know if he served in the war, she realized. He would have been nineteen or twenty at the time, so there is a good possibility.
Rather than come out and ask him, she tactfully changed the subject, hoping to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. His mood changed, at least for the time being.
Later that night, as she was sleeping peacefully in her husband's arms, Charlotte was awakened by a scream.
"The ship," Ford cried in his sleep. "The ship ... it's going down."
"Wake up," his wife said, shaking him gently.
"What is it?" he asked sleepily.
"You were having a nightmare."
"I was?"
"Yes, apparently you were on a ship that was sinking."
Ford began to tremble with fear as the memory of the dream came back to him.
"Darling, I have to ask you. Were you ever on a ship before?" Charlotte inquired.
"No."
"What about during the war?"
"I'd rather not talk about that."
"But I'm your wife, you can tell me. I ...."
"I said I don't want to talk about it!"
It was the first time she had ever seen her husband angry. Perhaps the honeymoon was officially over.
* * *
The next day the sun and warm temperatures they had enjoyed in Havana were replaced by increasing clouds and wind. Like the weather, Ford's sullenness only worsened over the following hours. That night he had another nightmare and woke up trembling with fear. The morning hours brought stronger winds that were accompanied by rain.
"It looks like we're in for a real nor'easter," the steward remarked when he brought the couple their breakfast.
"Hopefully, the rough seas won't mean that tomorrow night's party will be cancelled," Charlotte said.
"Have no fear of that," the steward replied.
"Party?" Ford asked. "What party?"
"We're due back in New York the day after tomorrow," Charlotte explained. "On the last night at sea, it's customary to have a party onboard."
It was good news to her husband—not that there was to be a party but that they would soon be back on dry land.
When the honeymooners went down to dinner that evening, Ford was making every effort to enjoy himself. After finishing his dessert, he even suggested they go dancing.
"Glad to see you're feeling so much better," Charlotte said.
"I'm sorry if I've ruined the trip for you."
"You didn't. I had a wonderful time. I only wish you had been able to enjoy yourself more. Maybe I should order you a few Cuba Libres."
"Oh, no," he declared playfully, "no more rum for me."
"Well, how about a glass of wine? It will help you sleep tonight."
"Okay."
While they were sitting at the bar, sipping their wine, they overhead a disturbing conversation between the bartender and one of the waiters.
"Did you hear that?" Charlotte whispered to her husband.
"Sorry, sweetheart, I was listening to the music."
"The bartender just said that the ship's captain has died."
Ford's face turned pale, and his lip began to quiver.
"Excuse me," Charlotte called to the bartender. "Is it true about the captain?"
"Yes, Madam, I'm afraid it is. He suffered a fatal heart attack after eating his dinner."
"What about the ship?" Ford demanded to know.
"The Chief Officer has assumed command. No need to worry. He's highly capable; I assure you."
As the mournful news spread through the room, the passengers assumed a somber demeanor, out of respect for the late captain.
"Why don't we go back to our cabin?" Charlotte asked, anxious to escape the funereal atmosphere.
"Good idea," Ford agreed, leaving a nearly full glass of wine on the bar.
* * *
It was three in the morning when the nightmare woke Ford from his fitful sleep. Thankfully, he had not disturbed his wife. Careful not to wake her, he got out of bed, put on his pants and jacket and went out on deck. He was surprised to see another man looking over the rail.
"Do I know you?" Ford asked.
The man looked familiar, but he couldn't put a name to the face. He was short of stature, not much taller than five feet. His hair was as white as snow, and he had a thick mustache that curled at each end.
"I think we sat at the dining table together the first night out," the stranger replied.
"I don't suppose you know where we are."
"Off the coast of New Jersey, I believe," the man replied.
"New Jersey," the newlywed man repeated as though the name were foreign to him.
"Yes. Ever been there?"
"I don't know."
"My wife and I vacationed in Atlantic City once. Had a lovely time."
Ford closed his eyes and fought against a wave of dizziness that suddenly came over him.
"The ship ... It's going to sink," he cried out.
"I dare say more than one ship met its end in these waters. There's a hidden sand bar here that's been responsible for the destruction of many a hull. That's why they call this area the Graveyard of the Atlantic."
"There have been shipwrecks here?"
"Oh, yes. The worst one was about eighty years ago," the man continued, ignoring Ford's mounting panic. "It was back in 1854. The ship was the New Era out of Bremen, Germany. Not long after embarking on their voyage, one of the officers noticed the ship was leaking. For the remainder of the crossing, the passengers and crew alike had to pump water out. As if that wasn't bad enough, about forty passengers succumbed to cholera. Then, just as the rest of them believed they would make it to safety, a storm struck. They were so near to New York when the ship ran aground on the sand bar."
The man stopped speaking for several moments, listening to the wind and rain around him.
"Meanwhile, the storm was relentless. The waves pounded against the wooden ship until they tore it to pieces. Most tragic of all, the poor emigrants had sold everything they owned back in the old country and sewed the gold and silver they received into the lining of their clothes. Ironic, huh? The money that was meant to buy them a new life in America brought them only death."
"Could it be the poor souls of the New Era that haunt my dreams?"
"It's hard to say," the stranger replied. "Millions of men and women have lost their lives in the Atlantic. No doubt if it were possible to drain the water from the Earth, the planet would be dotted with the skeletons of sunken ships as well as dead crew and passengers."
Both men fell silent, their thoughts dwelling on phantoms of the past. Suddenly a scream pierced the sound of the storm.
"Fire!"
Ford turned away from the railing and saw the flicker of flames threatening to engulf the upper deck.
"I've got to get to my wife," he said, but when he turned, he saw that the stranger had vanished.
As he made his way back to the cabin, he found Charlotte wandering in the hall.
"There you are!" she screamed. "I woke up and you were gone."
"The ship is on fire! Hurry! We must get to a lifeboat."
The flames spread quickly. When the fire burned through the main electrical cables, the ship was plunged into darkness and pandemonium ensued.
"The ship's radio won't work without power," Ford said. "I hope they were able to issue an SOS before they lost transmission."
The terrified passengers did not realize that the hydraulic lines were destroyed as well, making it impossible for the officer in the wheelhouse to steer the ship.
"Which way do we go?" Charlotte asked, covering her mouth to avoid breathing in the acrid, smoky air. "I can't see through all this black smoke."
"I think we go this way," her husband said, making his way through the panicked crowd.
The heat was intense, and many people chose to jump into the sea rather than wait and be burned.
"How can anyone survive in that stormy water?" Charlotte asked.
It was a rhetorical question which Ford did not attempt to answer.
Somehow, despite the flames, the heat, the swarm of shoving passengers and the thick smoke, Ford found his way to the lifeboat station.
"Get in," he told his wife.
"What about you?"
"You know the rule: women and children first."
"I'm not going without you!"
"This isn't the Titanic; there are plenty of lifeboats for everyone. Now, do as I say. We don't have time to argue. The ship is ablaze. The sooner you women are off the boat, the sooner we men can save our own asses."
"I love you," she said tearfully, looking into a face of a man that was trying his best to appear brave.
"I love you, too. See you on land."
Adrift on the ocean, the SS Morro Castle eventually ran aground on the beach of Asbury Park. Oddly enough, it came to rest on the same spot where the New Era had met its doom.
* * *
When Carlotta and Eldridge Thornton heard of the fire on the Morro Castle, they immediately left Manhattan and headed for the Jersey Shore. Upon arrival in Asbury Park, they were delighted to learn that Charlotte was unharmed.
"Thank God you're all right!" Carlotta cried, hugging her daughter tightly.
"Has there been any word of Ford?" Eldridge asked.
"Net yet. No one has conducted a thorough search of the ship since they haven't been able to completely extinguish the fire on all decks."
"Well, I'm sure you'll hear from him soon," her father said reassuringly.
"Bodies have been washing up all day," Charlotte announced, fighting back her tears.
"Oh, darling, you mustn't lose hope," her mother cautioned.
For days the Thorntons and their daughter waited for word of the missing man, but they received neither good news nor bad.
Meanwhile, hordes of tourists flocked to Asbury Park to view the doomed ship firsthand. The New Jersey seaside community took on a carnival atmosphere. Hotels sold out. Hot dog and ice cream carts traversed the boardwalk. Vendors hawked souvenirs and postcards of the burned ship, the most popular one being an image of the bodies being removed from the wreckage. One enterprising fisherman made a small fortune charging sightseers five dollars apiece to row them out to the smoking hulk so that they could get a bird's eye view of the destruction and rescue efforts. It was later estimated that a quarter of a million people traveled to see the remains of the burned ship, a crowd so large it was necessary to widen the roads to accommodate the increased traffic.
"What's wrong with all these people?" Charlotte cried when she saw a father taking a photograph of his wife and children with the smoldering Morro Castle in the background. "Don't they realize that many innocent people lost their lives in the inferno that devastated the ship?"
"Maybe it's time we went back to New York," her mother suggested.
"But I haven't got any word about Ford yet. I can't leave without knowing what happened to him!"
"You have to face facts," Eldridge said. "You may never know."
"You two can go back if you want to, but I'm staying here."
"Where are you going?" Carlotta asked when her daughter removed her coat from the hotel room closet.
"Out for some fresh air. I'm beginning to feel like a prisoner in this place."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, Mother. I want to be alone for a while."
Wanting to avoid the rubberneckers on the boardwalk, Charlotte walked along Ocean Avenue. Deep in thought, she was startled when a stranger called out to her.
"Not a very pretty sight, is it?"
She turned a saw an elderly man walking behind her. There was something vaguely familiar about him. He was short, barely taller than five feet. His hair was white, and he had a mustache that curled at the ends.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
"I was on the ship with you and your husband. I think we shared a table at dinner one night."
"You made it off safely, I see."
"Yes. I was one of the fortunate ones."
Tears came to Charlotte's eye.
"My husband wasn't so lucky."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"They haven't found him yet, but I don't try to kid myself. I know he's most likely ...."
She could not continue since it broke her heart to put her thought into words.
The stranger reached into his pocket, removed an old photograph and handed it to Charlotte.
"This man looks exactly like my husband. Who is this?"
"It's my son."
Now Charlotte knew why the man seemed familiar. He looked like her husband might if he lived to reach his seventies.
"His name is Ford Woodhull," the elderly man announced.
"You're my father-in-law? But Ford told me his parents were dead."
"He was mistaken."
"How did you get this picture of him, and why does it appear as though it's yellowed with age?"
"Because my son is dead."
Tears came to Charlotte's eyes again, and she turned her head away.
"He didn't die on the Morro Castle but on the Lusitania."
"That's ridiculous! The Lusitania was sunk back in 1915, almost twenty years ago."
"He was sailing to Liverpool when the ship was torpedoed off the coast of Ireland. Twelve hundred people were killed, including my son, although they never recovered his body."
"No. That's not possible. Even if your son survived the sinking of the Lusitania, it can't be the same person. Look at the age difference."
"I was fifty-seven back then; Ford was thirty-six."
"See. It can't be your son because my husband is thirty-six now."
"He hasn't aged because he's no longer alive. Why do you think they haven't found his body? It's because he was never really aboard that ship."
"No. I refuse to listen to any more of your foolish ravings," Charlotte cried and turned to leave.
"I spoke to Ford on the deck of the Morro Castle just minutes before the fire began," the stranger called out to her. "He suspected something wasn't quite right. He was having nightmares."
How does he know that? Charlotte wondered, coming to a sudden stop.
"There was another ship that went down in this very spot eighty years ago, the New Era. The voices of those who died in that ill-fated Clipper called to him because he was one of them, one who had lost his life in the Atlantic. He just stubbornly refused to believe it. In the wake of the fire, he's come to accept the truth. Now you must do the same."
"Do what? Accept the fact that the man I love doesn't exist, that he died almost twenty years ago?"
"It's the only way you'll ever find peace."
Charlotte didn't believe the old man's story. She wouldn't even allow herself to consider it. But as she walked back to the hotel, the truth penetrated her wall of resistance.
I don't know who or what Ford Woodhull was, but I loved him with all my heart.
Unable to bear the life of loneliness, uncertainty and grief that loomed ahead of her like the burned-out carcass of the Morro Castle that towered over the tourists who were eager to see it, Charlotte walked across a deserted stretch of beach and into the water.
* * *
Carlotta Thornton was beside herself with worry. Her daughter had gone for a walk the previous day and hadn't returned.
"You don't think she's been kidnapped, do you?" she asked her husband.
"It's possible but not very likely," Eldridge replied. "No one has sent us a ransom demand."
Two hours later there was a knock on the hotel room door.
"That must be the police," the anxious mother reasoned.
"I'll answer it," her husband said, wanting to spare her any unnecessary pain.
Two policemen stood in the doorway, holding their caps in their hands.
"Have you news of my daughter?" Eldridge demanded to know.
"Two bodies just washed up on shore," the older officer replied. "We believe one belonged to your daughter. Of course, we'll need you to make a positive identification."
"And the other?" the father asked, raising his voice to be heard over his wife's sobbing.
"That's difficult to say. The two bodies were found entwined, as though they were in the middle of an embrace when they died."
"So that makes it difficult to identify the body?"
"According to the identification in the corpse's wallet, it is the body of Ford Woodhull. However, the remains ... well, sir, there's nothing left but a skeleton beneath a suit of clothes. It appears as though whoever it is has been dead for some time—years perhaps."
"That's absurd!" Eldridge shouted. "My daughter, suffering from unbearable grief at the tragic loss of her husband, obviously committed suicide. Somehow her body became entangled with that of someone who died many years ago, possibly a vacationer who fell overboard and drowned in the Atlantic. No, the body is not that of my son-in-law."
"What are we going to do now?" Carlotta asked her husband when the police left.
"We're going to take our daughter back to New York. We'll have a memorial service for her, and she'll be properly buried among the graves of other Thorntons."
"And what about Ford Woodhull?"
"I don't mean to sound hard-hearted, my dear, but who knows when or even if his body will show up."
"I suppose you're right. Somehow or other, we'll have to get on with our lives."
Invisible to the grieving parents, their daughter turned to the elderly man on her right.
"They'll be okay, won't they?"
The angel with the white mustache smiled and nodded.
"They'll be fine."
Charlotte then turned to the man on her left.
"Are you ready now, darling?" Ford asked.
"Yes."
When the souls of the three Woodhulls departed from the earth, all that Carlotta Thornton felt was a gentle breeze against her cheek, unaware that she had been kissed goodbye by an angel.
The New Era and the SS Morro Castle are actual ships that were wrecked just off the beach of Asbury Park, New Jersey.
Speaking of the end of an "era," Salem and I would like to acknowledge that this month [December 2015] marks the 35th anniversary of the death of John Lennon. And no, the original lyrics of "Imagine" did not include the phrase, "Imagine there are no black cats."
