CARPE DIEM
Chapter Twelve
"Miss Ismay, you must get in
the boat!" One of the young officers was speaking to me. I knew that.
Words were forming on those lips, but my ability to discern what those words
meant had left me. I stood with Thomas’ jacket clutched around me, standing to
the side of a small gathering of bewildered passengers in various states of
dress. Nearly half were in nightclothes. One woman had rags tied in her hair.
Another wore slippers and a nightgown. A girl, not much older than me, in a
dark blue evening gown with a dramatic cut and a plunging neckline that showed
a disdain for tradition and propriety, touched my arm.
"Did you hear him,
dear?" she asked, reading the vacant stare of my sight charitably, as if I
hadn’t heard the man. The roaring of steam had stopped abruptly a few minutes
before. The odd silence that its absence left behind was short-lived, as that
young officer--Mr. Light-something-or-other?--shouted out commands. Women
and children into the boats. Please ladies, into the boats…
The boat was half-full, or not
quite. The officer wanted to lower the boat. Only I and the woman now forcibly taking
my arm stood in his way. I did not respond well to the woman’s touch. I tore my
arm from her grasp, backing away into the company of the four or five men
standing there, watching their wives and daughters be loaded into the boat. Mr.
Astor and his dog, Kitty, were among them, and I took refuge in the shadow of
his imposing figure.
"Miss Ismay, I will not hold
this boat for you!" the young officer warned.
"Mary Catherine,
please!" I wavered at Madeline Astor’s tearful request, but found I could
not move from the deck, even had I wanted to. I felt suddenly heavy, as if iron
weights had been strapped to my shoes.
"Lower away, sir," I
answered softly, finally. Madeline appeared stunned, calling out another plea
that I join her, follow the officer’s orders. I told her I’d be coming shortly,
that I’d be in the next boat, and not to worry, that I just couldn’t leave
quite yet.
"You heard her, lads! Lower
away! Left and right together. Steady now!" came the officer’s command,
firm and with purpose. If this young man lived through the night, he would make
a more than capable captain someday.
As the boat lowered and
Madeline’s face disappeared from view, Mr. Astor leaned over toward me, saying
quietly, "You must do as these officers bid you, Miss Ismay. You shouldn’t
assume that there’ll always be another boat." He meant well, but I laughed
ruefully at his chiding.
"Especially not if they
intend to send them all out to sea half-full, Mr. Astor!" I replied
bitterly and briskly, and marched off down the deck like a woman who had taken
leave of her senses. I could not get in that boat. I could not get it any of
them. Not yet.
Why had I not replied when Thomas
said those things to me? Why had I not returned the endearments, told him I had
not abandoned him so long ago, that I loved him then and that I loved him now.
Never had there been a spirit so close to my own. If he left this earth and I
did not follow soon behind…I could not think on it.
The whistling of a flare sounded
above me, bursting white against the night sky.
"Goddammit…" I muttered
under my breath. In about ten minutes, maybe less, this still mostly abandoned
boat deck would be impassable. Panic could be quelled only so long, and soon
everyone would notice the shifting deck, the incline that was increasing as one
walked aft to stern. It was inevitable. The flare only reminded me of it.
"I can’t do this. Don’t make
me do this. I lack strength. I will falter…" I was praying aloud, I
realized. I stared into the sky, towards its zenith and the flecks of white melting
into the darkness, expecting, perhaps, to find the face of God staring back at
me.
"You’ll gather more than
some of your children into the arms of heaven tonight," I muttered with vehemence,
absurdly scolding the master of the universe. I stopped walking abruptly. The
breeze caught the ends of my loose hair and tossed it gently. I heard a soft
sound near me--the sound of a child crying. I turned toward the sound, but saw
nothing. I walked toward the bulkhead, and on the other side, sitting on the
same stairs I had lingered on days ago listening to Brigit O’Malley, was
the little boy who’d run by me earlier, left his yellow and white-colored cat
in my keeping. His hands were pressed against his eyes as he tried to wipe his
tears away, to no avail. I knelt down beside him, silent for a moment, letting
him notice my presence.
"What’s the matter?" I
asked softly, quietly, smiling slightly and pushing his cap back on his head,
taking his hands from his face, wiping his tears away, and calming him down. He
breathed heavily, upset. When he recognized me, he straightened up, tried to
act as I assumed his father had taught him…men don’t cry, after all, not in
front of a woman. Not even this little man. I smiled kindly once more. He wiped
the back of his hand across his face.
"He ran away, lady," he
sniffed.
"Who ran away?"
"Jimmy…the fireworks scared
him."
"The fireworks?" I
repeated. Oh, I see. The flares, I suppose. "Well, he couldn’t have
gone far. Where’s your mother?" He answered that she was down by the gate,
that she’d told him to go down toward the decks for the rich people. The smile
on my face died without ceremony and I asked what he meant by gate. He answered
simply, as a five-year-old might, but I understood all too fully. Oh, but they
wouldn’t dare…
Wouldn’t they, Mary Catherine?
That was Thomas’ voice in
my head, repeating words from long ago. It was my mother’s voice, and Julia’s
saying, Oh, dear, what wouldn’t a man do to protect his way of life, to make
sure he’s never proven wrong? She was always a wise woman, my
sister-in-law. She wouldn’t doubt it for a minute, wouldn’t doubt locked gates
across third class hallways, or lifeboats launched half-filled.
I picked the little boy up into
my arms. He came willingly, wrapping his arms around my neck. I turned and
walked back toward the boats.