SAVE ALL WHO DARE THE EAGLE’S FLIGHT
Chapter Twenty-One

Lights was hardly ever home, but his wife, Sylvia, was excellent company, as were his children. They had five in all--Roger, Richard, Mavis, Clare, and Brian. I was not quite sure what Sylvia would think when I showed up on their doorstep, but a quick explanation from Lights and she practically demanded I sit down and eat something because I looked famished. People always tend to say that, even when I’m far from it.

Sylvia never asked me to relate my Titanic experience, but Roger and Richard did frequently. I told them only the parts about how heroic their father was—they always looked pleased afterwards. I offered to take them on outings and such frequently to make up for my intruding presence--Sylvia assured me this was not the case, but there again, she was of the breed of lady that acts as if nothing at all inconveniences her so as you can’t tell when something really does bother them--and it was in this way that I became better acquainted with England; that is, not the slummy parts I had been in with Jack and Fabrizio.

While in Southampton, I also met up with a number of my fellow Collapsible B survivors, especially Harry Bride. After obtaining his address from an obligatory Lights, I took Roger and Richard with me--they knew their way around better than I did--and navigated my way to his flat.

"Who are we seeing, Angie?" Richard asked for what had to be the thousandth time.

"My friend Harry," I explained patiently, knocking on the door.

"Yes, but who is he?"

I sighed. "He was on the Titanic with me. But please don’t mention it in front of him; he might not like to talk about it."

Truth be told, there had been a niggling at the back of my mind that suggested Harry might not remember me. But the moment the door swung open, he stared and then beamed and exclaimed, "Angie Marshall! And here I thought you said you had no folks!"

I smiled at him. "I don’t; these are Lights’s boys."

"Well, what on earth are you doing with them? And do come in; old Mrs. Kittery next door is most likely peeping out her window and lamenting what an ill-mannered sot I am."

While Harry made some tea and provided stale crackers for the boys--they didn’t seem to mind; they were too enthralled by his ship models--we talked of our life after Titanic, all the while avoiding discussing the ship itself. He had kept a low profile after the enquiries and broken off his engagement to a Miss Mabel Ludlow and instead became engaged to a Miss Lucy Downie.

"She’s something, she is," Harry said, winking. He went on to declare that my life was distinctly boring and that "a young girl like me oughta have some fun once in awhile." "Honestly, you’re eighteen years old, the world is your home, and you’re watching Lights’s sprogs?"

"You’re awful opinionated," I noted, surprised but admittedly pleased at this bluntness. It wasn’t a quality one often found in people at the time. "I happen to like kids. I may have some someday. And what about you?"

"I happen to enjoy my station in life immensely," Harry declared, setting down a cup of tea before me. "I’ve got a cozy flat, a steady job, a bee-yoo-tiful girl I plan on marrying someday and I get to sail often."

"Have you ever been on these ships?" Richard interrupted, indicating the models.

"Most of them," Harry replied, getting up to show off the models. He proceeded to name each one, but that only held the boys’ interest for a little bit.

"Were you really on the Titanic with Dad and Miss Angie?" Richard wanted to know.

I felt my face warm up; I knew I was turning scarlet with embarrassment. I would apologize profusely to Harry and yell at the boys later. Harry paused for a moment before saying calmly, "Yes, I was."

Luckily, Roger smacked Richard and hissed for him to shut up then.

*****

Harry and I continued to meet up over the course of my stay, and I was introduced to his fiancée, Lucy Downie. She was a sweet girl and she seemed to make Harry check his tongue—a feat in itself. Lights invited him over to dinner one night, which delighted the boys to no end; Harry, quite frankly, fascinated them. When the hour grew late and the children had been sent to bed and the coffee was low in its mugs and there were only a few bites of coffee cake left, the talk turned serious. It turned to the Titanic.

I can’t quite remember how it started, but once it did, there was no way of stopping it. Sylvia quietly fetched a bottle of wine and remained sympathetically silent as we remembered. Remembered the tilting of the ship. Remembered the shouts and the screams. Remembered the frigid water that still gave us chills. Remembered the horrified faces of the dead, bobbing in the water. Remembered the way the majestic lady sank into the ocean, taking our lives as we knew it down with her. Lights and Harry had haunted looks in their eyes as they spoke—I probably did, too. I felt cold and hugged myself, remembering the icy water.

"If there’s such a thing as swimming in pure ice, I know I lived it," Harry said quietly. "It…nothing has ever come close to it."

"Eugene says that sometimes, when he works at the elevator company, the noises sound like the ship. Whenever I hear a scream, I freeze. And baseball…whenever I walk by a baseball game, it sounds…just like it." I paused. "This is gonna haunt us for the rest of our lives, isn’t it?"

"Yes." Lights nodded slowly. He hesitated, wringing his hands. "No doubt you…heard about Colonel Gracie?"

"When he died?" I asked. "Yes; it was all over the papers. I dropped by the funeral. What about him?"

Lights hesitated again. "You know, they say that…that the sinking proved too much for him. It strained his heart and killed him."

Harry shifted. I glanced down at my lap. I had heard it. Colonel Gracie was the first of the Collapsible B survivors to die, just in the December following the sinking. The medical reason was heart complications, but we all knew better than that. If any of those physicians had seen what that poor man had seen—what any of us had seen—they wouldn’t dismiss it as simple heart complications.

When the hour was very late, Harry headed home. We did not speak of the Titanic for quite some time afterwards. On my way to bed, Lights admitted that he would have trouble sleeping.

"I have some laudanum in the cabinet, only for certain circumstances. You’re welcome to join me in a sip, if you like," Lights offered.

I knew that he was doing it to be kind. He knew just as well as I that laudanum did more than liquor when it came to forgetting; it would have helped erase the nightmares I relived that night. But I declined his offer.

*****

Two days after Harry’s visit and our reminiscence, I headed east to Italy. I wanted to find Fabrizio’s family now, to offer the same comfort I had offered the Ryans. I had always loved Fabrizio; he was my brother. I hoped that his family would be similar. Unfortunately, it was a difficult task tracking down the di Rossi family; there were many, many people of that name. But a man by the name of Milo finally, finally told me that he knew of a Fabrizio di Rossi; after a strangled conversation--he didn’t understand very much English--I identified this Fabrizio with my Fabri and begged him to tell me where I might find his mother.

Signora di Rossi was a plump, olive-skinned woman who did not like me. At all. She waddled out from her house, shouted at me in Italian and had to summon her son and Fabri’s brother, Patrizio, to translate. I tried to tell my story, but she wanted nothing to do with me. I know this because she told me as much. All she would say was that her son was dead and she did not want to speak to me. This was a far cry from Mrs. Ryan, who had bid me stay in her home amongst her family. I didn’t try to encourage Signora di Rossi any further; I just turned away.

Patrizio chased after me and wanted to talk. I was able to tell him of Fabrizio’s death—he, at least, understood and appreciated it. He scratched the back of his neck when I had finished my story. "My-a mama, she…she-a does not-a like talk about a-him. Fabri. It easier for her to…ah…pretend he…not is, comprende?"

I nodded. "Sì." I was quiet for a moment. "Good-bye, Patrizio di Rossi."

He called after me a few moments later. "Ringraziare, signorina."

I nodded and continued down the street, feeling that familiar burning behind my eyes when I remembered Jack’s words to Fabrizio. "You’re not gonna see your mom again for a long time."

I left Italy the very next morning.

*****

I would have gone elsewhere, but war had broken out in Europe and it would only be a matter of time before America became involved. I headed back to England and stayed with the Lightollers; Sylvia informed me that Lights and Harry had gone off to the war and that if I knew what was best for me, I would get home to the States as quick as I could. I had no money, and I wasn’t about to take any from Sylvia. Finally, after a few weeks of debating, we agreed that I would pay her back as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it took awhile to book passage on a ship; many were being prepared for possible naval warfare and still more were full in third class--Sylvia was stunned I asked for steerage.

There was an opening on the Britannic, but the moment I found out it was the Titanic’s sister ship, I point-blank refused to go on it. It was still relatively new, and I had learned not to put too much stock into new White Star Line ships, let alone the sister ship of the creation that had taken the only family I had ever known. There was an open place on the Lusitania, the ship I had come over on and the only real luxury liner they were sailing now, and we bought a ticket for it. However, Cunard Line informed us that there was a cancellation on the New York, which was setting sail for the States sooner than the Lusitania. So, in April of 1915, I bid Sylvia and the children good-bye and boarded the ship.

I loved the journey home; steerage was full of immigrants, many of whom were trying to escape the imminent war, and there was the same blend of people as on the Titanic. I made my way back to the Dalys and prepared to settle down for awhile.

Less than two weeks after I returned home, I read in the papers that the Lusitania had been torpedoed by a German U-boat and had foundered off the coast of Ireland in less than twenty minutes. Many had died in the cold water, including one of the famous Vanderbilts. And to think, I had almost boarded that ship! If that’s not irony, I don’t know what is.

Little of great interest happened after that. When the United States became involved in the war, most of our men went off to fight in it. Some of them didn’t return. Our resources grew thin and money was tight. I took a job as a telephone operator, which helped with the bills. When the war was over, I quit and took a job as a stewardess with the White Star Line; now that the war was over, I knew there was little chance of being torpedoed, and thanks to the Titanic, regulations had been placed that would prevent another such tragedy.

The stewardess job lasted for a few years; I probably would have been sacked much sooner if Lights and Harry Lowe and Harry Bride weren’t on most of my ships and there to convince the head stewardesses that I meant well, I really did. I think the final straw was when, in accordance to the new flapper fashion that I was becoming excessively fond of, I bobbed my hair. Alice, my head at the time, launched into a tirade about proper conduct and how I had already been neglecting my appearance--I liked to unpin my ridiculous hat on my breaks, which Alice could not abide--and how I had tarnished the name of White Star Line. Bobbed hair would be permissible a few years later, but when I did it, it was considered controversial among the more conservative passengers.

It’s not that I was glad to be fired or anything; Lord knew I wasn’t one to turn down money. But I wasn’t meant to stay in one place doing one thing forever. I had thought that going overseas would make me feel like traveling, but the problem was that I couldn’t go anywhere. I stayed on a ship and helped women dress and brought them their tea and instructed passengers on the proper procedure for getting into lifeboats--I stressed the importance of this to the point where I’m sure I annoyed several passengers--but I didn’t get to really travel. And so Alice and I came to the agreement that the voyage back to America would be my last.

It was on this last voyage aboard the second Majestic that I ran into Gabe Ryan. He was traveling third class and on his way to America for a chance at a better life. On my break that night, we sat together at a table in the steerage party and caught up. The Ryans were all well, and a few more grandchildren had been added to the litter. We met up whenever I had a break; it was as if no time had passed at all. I suppose it was very obvious, but less than two years later, we were married by Algernon Barkworth, a Justice of the Peace who had been on Collapsible B. We finally took the tour of Europe I had always wanted; it was far less extravagant than most honeymoons, but I found it perfect.

When we returned, we moved to Monterey and settled down there. We passed by Pacific Grove, but it held no real memories for me. I also convinced Gabe to go to Santa Monica a few times; a few more attractions had been added, but we mostly rode the roller coaster and rode horses in the surf like Jack and I had years and years before. I found it more alluring than Gabe did; he was an Irishman and being a connoisseur of beer, he didn’t like the "cheap shite" at the kiosks.

Nine months into our marriage, I gave birth to my first son, Thomas Eugene Ryan. We debated over names for a long time; Jack, Fabrizio, Charles, Harold…the list went on. But finally we decided to name him after his late uncle and the man who had taken me in when I needed a family more than anything. The Ryans who lived in America flocked to Monterey, as did a few friends who had been spread over the continent. Baby Tommy and I were baptized a month after his birth. The twins, Charlie and Harry, followed two years later in 1928, and Cora, our only girl--although she acts very much like a boy--came two years after that.

The past fourteen years have been the calmest and most serene of my life, and I would not change them for the world. Oh, we’ve had our ups and downs; I’ll never forget when Tommy broke a window with his brand-new slingshot and his father took a belt to his hide. And the twins are exactly like their uncles Matthew and Mark; I have to search their pockets every night to make sure they aren’t trying to sneak lizards and frogs and even snakes into the house. But Cora is perhaps the most troublesome; she’s always getting into trouble for punching and, on occasion, biting. But again; I wouldn’t trade any of it, not for anything.

I often wonder where life would have taken me had Jack not won those tickets to the Titanic. He and Fabrizio would both be alive, for one thing, and I most likely wouldn’t be married to Gabe. I do wonder—would I still be hopelessly in love with Jack? And would he have possibly returned those feelings with no Rose to dissuade him? Would we still be a trio after all these years, or would something have driven us apart? I can never know, not until that day I join all of them in the life after death. All I know now is that I am utterly happy where life has taken me.

And so ends my tale. I have heard little from my British friends, for they are in the midst of a second world war, one that I fear America will soon take part in. Gabe and I have been living in Monterey for all fourteen years of our marriage, although, up until the war, we spent nearly every summer with his family in Ireland or visiting friends in England. Our oldest son is a strapping young boy who shows perilous signs of turning into his father and his namesake. The twins drive us between insane and proud, and although we scold our daughter for her fighting, I know Gabe is secretly very proud of her hot temper.

I finish my tale now after returning from Patrick’s funeral. Gabe is at work, driving people around the city, and the children are at school where they are no doubt dreaming away during arithmetic or frustrating their teachers. The dog, Jackie, is panting happily while I scratch his belly with my foot. And I am writing this now in the attic, surrounded by snippets from the papers about the Titanic and its survivors and photographs of the past.

I feel, now, that I have done the Titanic and its passengers what justice I can. I have written down my tale, as much as I can possibly recall. I will store it now in the trunk with the other Titanic things; someday my children will read this and hopefully, my babies, you will understand why I have never been able to speak freely about the Night to Remember. I also hope that you will realize the importance of your names and be proud of them.

Epilogue
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