THE CALVERTS
Chapter One
April 18, 1912
John walked slowly
through the crowd, with Mary’s hand and Allegro’s leash in one hand, and
Nadia’s hand in the other. Around him, people jostled and shouted, trying to
catch a glimpse of the Titanic survivors. Some members of the crowd were
concerned friends and relatives, or officials from the White Star Line. Others
were curiosity seekers, obscenely fascinated by one of the greatest maritime
disasters in history.
Dozens of reporters
pushed through the crowd, shouting questions and taking pictures. One spotted
John and his small entourage, and pushed past two other reporters, the
magnesium flash of his camera startling his subjects. Mary screamed, and
Allegro yipped, trying to sink his puppy teeth into the reporter’s shoe.
"Sir!"
the reporter shouted. "How did you survive? I’m given to understand that
few steerage men lived. Are these your children? Did you lose anyone on the
ship?"
Resolutely, John
picked up the two small girls and balanced them on his hips. Ignoring the
reporter, he pushed into the crowd, merging with the thousands of other people.
Mary and Nadia clung to him, their eyes wide and frightened.
Stopping for a
moment, John picked up the puppy and set him in Mary’s arms, lest he be
trampled by the milling crowd. Mary hugged the animal as her father headed for
a break in the crowd, seeking a way out.
They had already
been processed by the immigration officials, and had been escorted to an area
where several charitable organizations were waiting to assist those survivors
who had no friends or relatives in the new country, and had no other resources
to rely on. John had been referred to these organizations, but had soon slipped
away. There were many people in need of assistance, many far worse off than he,
and had no desire to take the limited resources of the charities when he could
provide for himself and his family.
The money that
Miriam had placed in Mary’s dress pocket during the sinking of the Titanic was
stored safely inside the ripped lining of his coat, and, although he wasn’t
certain of the value of it, he knew that there was enough to provide for them
for a while. The other items--a locket containing a water-damaged photograph of
a woman he assumed was Miriam’s mother, a two-tailed silver dollar, and a note
written on a twenty dollar bill--were also tucked inside the lining of the
coat, safe from pickpockets.
Slowly, John made
his way out of the crowd. Once he was past it, he set the girls down, his arms
tired from carrying them and the dog. His side ached dully, the cracked ribs he
had suffered during the sinking not yet healed. Taking the hands of the two toddlers,
he slowly made his way farther into the city, wondering what he was going to do
now.
He had no idea
where to find shelter, or food, at this late hour, and a chilly rain was
falling over the city. He held Mary’s hand tightly as the child coughed, fearing
that the pneumonia she had just recovered from would return. Pneumonia could be
fatal, as he well knew. Mary’s mother, Jana, had died from it when Mary was an
infant.
He kept an eye out
for any establishment that might still be open. Even if he couldn’t buy any
food at this late hour, he still needed to find shelter for himself and the two
young children. It was much too cold and wet to spend the night in the street,
especially after the ordeal they had just been through.
John was familiar
with cities, having grown up in a working class neighborhood in London, but he
had never before been to the United States, and New York was completely
unfamiliar. Miriam had described it, but most of her experience had been with
the wealthier sections of the city, and she had never wandered the streets late
at night, searching for shelter.
"Daddy?"
Mary’s voice interrupted his thoughts. "I cold."
John picked her up,
setting her on his hip again. "I know you are, Mary. Is that a little
better?"
"Uh-huh."
Nadia stopped, looking
up at him pleadingly. Sighing, John bent down and picked her up, too. Nadia
hadn’t said a word since John had taken her with him when he had found her on
the Carpathia, except for occasionally crying out in her sleep. John knew that
she didn’t speak English, but Nadia had not spoken while awake in any language.
He thought that her first language might be Arabic, and he knew that her mother
had occasionally spoken to her using a few French words, but he spoke only
English, and wouldn’t have understood her even if she had attempted to speak.
All three of them
were shivering, though Allegro seemed to be content enough. His eyes searching
the darkened street before him, he saw a bench set back under an overhang. A
hunched figure already occupied it, but John headed for it anyway. It was
shelter, no matter how crude.
Sitting down on the
bench, John set the two girls in his lap, lifting the puppy onto the bench
beside him. The hunched figure on the bench, a woman wearing a coat several
sizes too large for her, looked up at them, startled, then pulled her knees up
to her chin, apparently having dismissed him as a threat.
John unbuttoned his
coat and wrapped it as best he could around himself and the two children,
trying to warm them. Allegro curled against his leg, his chin on John’s knee.
Nadia’s eyes
drooped sleepily, and in minutes she was asleep, in spite of the cold and the
dampness. Mary coughed fretfully, her eyes popping open every few minutes as
she fought sleep. John tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and placing her
head against his shoulder.
The woman on the
other end of the bench shuffled, eyeing them cautiously. She reached her hands
into the pockets of her wet coat, as though searching for something, then sat
up, putting her feet on the sidewalk. She hunched over again, looking up and
down the street as though trying to make a decision.
John watched her
dispassionately. She had long, snarled hair, the color indeterminate in the
darkness, and was wearing a dress that was probably once very nice, but was now
somewhat shredded. Her oversized coat looked expensive, and she dug her hands
deeper into the pockets as she got to her feet, her arms half-hidden in them.
Mary peeked up at
her as she stood. "Hi," she told the woman, turning her head to look
at her.
"Hello,"
the woman responded, in a cultured voice that sounded vaguely familiar, though
John didn’t know why. He didn’t know many people in America, aside from the few
he had met on the Titanic and the Carpathia, and he certainly didn’t know
anyone who spoke like that. The only person he knew who had such a cultured
voice was Miriam, and Miriam was dead.
"Shh," he
told Mary. "Don’t bother the lady."
"Mommy’s fend,"
Mary protested, pointing to her.
"No, Mary.
Your Mommy didn’t know her."
"What was your
Mommy’s name, sweetie?" the woman asked, looking at Mary.
Mary screwed up her
face, trying to remember. "Mirim," she answered triumphantly after a
moment.
"Miriam?"
"Uh-huh."
Mary looked up at her. "Mommy died."
"I’m sorry to
hear that, Mary. Is this your Daddy?"
"Uh-huh. And
Nada, and Egro."
"Nadia and
Allegro," John translated, at the woman’s confused look. "I’m
John."
"I’m
Rose."
Suddenly, John knew
why her voice sounded familiar. Rose had been down in steerage the night before
the sinking, drinking beer and making a fool of herself. "Rose DeWitt
Bukater?"
"Rose
Dawson." She spoke firmly. "And, unless I miss my guess, you’re John
Calvert, the husband of Miriam Anders Calvert." Her voice softened.
"I’m sorry to hear she didn’t make it."
"Thank you.
What are you doing out here in the street? What happened to your fiance?"
Rose’s expression
became shuttered. "Suffice it to say I am not with him, nor will I be
again. As to what I am doing out here, I am looking for a hotel. There are two
inexpensive ones on this street."
"Are they
still accepting guests at this hour?"
"If they
aren’t full, they will be. If they are, I suppose I will have to look farther.
You should think about doing to the same. Those children shouldn’t be out in
the cold like this, especially after Titanic. If you can’t afford a hotel,
there’s a Red Cross shelter just three blocks that way." She pointed down
a dark street. "They’ve taken some of the Titanic survivors there. They
would probably give you shelter and some food."
"I can afford
a hotel. Where are these hotels you mentioned?"
Rose pointed to one
building with lights in some of its windows on the next block of the street,
then gestured to another in the opposite direction. "That’s where I’m
going to try first."
"If you don’t
mind, I’m going to tag along." She gave him a suspicious look. "I
need to find a room for the night. You’re right; the girls don’t need to be out
in the rain. I’m not trying to follow you, but that hotel looks to be the
nearest one, and I need to get them inside before they get sick."
As if to underscore
his words, Mary coughed, her little face turning red from the exertion.
"Is she
ill?" Rose asked, looking more closely at the child.
"She just
recovered from pneumonia, and I don’t want her getting it again. She nearly
drowned when the ship went down."
"Oh, how
terrible!" Rose’s face showed her compassion. "Hurry, then. Let me
carry one of them."
John stood,
allowing Rose to take Mary. Holding Nadia, he took Allegro’s leash and started
down the street beside her.
Mary held onto
Rose’s coat, her eyes wide as she looked up at her. "You pretty," she
told Rose, touching her tangled hair.
"Thank you,
Mary. You’re very pretty, too."
Mary grinned at
her, then commenced coughing again. Rose walked faster, John keeping stride
with her, as they headed toward the hotel.