One Night to Remember Page 6

  The only way they could see the ship now was from its blackened silhouette, sickeningly off-kilter, blocking the light of the stars.

  Lord Almighty, the back end had lifted completely out of the water…

  “All right, that’s it,” the officer in charge bit out. “We could be chasing this ship all night while our brothers and sisters perish out there. Its lights are dimmin’, turning away, and we’re not making much ground. If it doesn’t notice the Titanic’s flares, it isn’t going to notice her sinkin’ when she’s blacked out. This is a lost cause…” he paused, and then, “We’re heading back.”

  We’ll never make it in time, Elizabeth whispered the words, hating herself for thinking them at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A massive wave of water washed over the deck, carrying away men and women, deck chairs and small tables, and desires and dreams—all equally. The lifeboats had gone, save for a collapsible on the port side, but even if there had been any left, the angle was too severe to lower them safely.

  Every man for himself.

  The order was given two heartbeats ago, when it was certain there would still be women and children who would go down with the ship. The captain looked grave, ill with regret, and had retired to the wheelhouse alone.

  As the stern rose higher and higher, pitching people down its decks, Thomas swallowed down the fact that there was nothing more he could do. There were far too many cries for help, too little time to help everyone, and his situation was no better. Helplessness, it seemed, would be his bitter companion to the end.

  He wondered if Elizabeth would be on her way back by now. If the lights of the rescue ship were too dim to be seen, but there nonetheless.

  He watched in horror as men trampled women to avoid the rising sea. Shivered as the cries of women and children melted into one long, drenching moan. Walked by a couple counting to three, readying themselves to take the leap into the Atlantic’s frigid waters. He took solace in the fact that Elizabeth wasn’t among them.

  Thomas had witnessed it all, and knew for certain he’d never forget a second of this night for as long as he lived. It did not matter that the ship’s lights had gone out. Each moment was highlighted by imminent death, carved into his memory as his possible last.

  He’d moved to the port side, where a crowd of men were trying to ready the last of the collapsibles for launch. It was stored overturned on the top of Officer’s Quarters and contained the last of their hope. Smaller than the others, Collapsible B could only hold twenty or so passengers. But twenty more was twenty more, especially if you were one of the lucky few to hold a seat.

  By the time Thomas arrived on scene, the men had rigged wood planks to the roof of the building, slanting them down the width of the deck. A few men had climbed onto the roof and were shoving at the overturned hull with all their might. Hordes of passengers ran by, under the boards, over them, scurrying away from the water biting at their heels.

  Another few seconds and the sea would swamp the deck at their feet.

  “One!” The men heaved, aiming to roll the boat right-side-up, down the boards and onto the deck. “Two!”

  Thomas watched the boat rock. Saw the angle at which they’d secured the boards.

  It wasn’t going to work.

  “Three!”

  “No! Wait!”

  It was too late.

  With a great heave, the men slid the collapsible boat right over the side of the building. It hit the boards, breaking them in half, and landed clumsily upside down. A surge of water gobbled up the deck. Men swept out, yelling, scrambling to grab onto the ropes that dangled finger reach away.

  Water sucked at Thomas’s boots, cold icy fingers that stabbed through the leather like knives. He jumped onto the hull of the overturned boat, holding onto the ropes for balance as the force of the sea lifted it right off the deck.

  They were still tethered…

  An officer beside him unsheathed a knife from his boot and sawed away. Two men on the other side withdrew knives of their own and followed suit. The Titanic was sinking fast, pulling hard into the sea. Their collapsible lifeboat swiveled, tugging against the lines, lifting up when the ship disappeared beneath them.

  As the ropes snapped in two and the collapsible washed away from the ship, Thomas lost his balance and lurched overboard. Needles of icy water pierced his skin, numbing his arms and legs on impact. His insides burned like they were on fire, radiating starbursts of pain through his body. The water was liquid ice, freezing the air that was left in his lungs. His heart rate sped, thumping loud against his ribs.

  Through the cold, stinging numbness and panic of it all, Thomas’s thoughts raced to Elizabeth. It was a single second of calm in the chaos. A fractured image of her face, smiling radiantly through the dark.

  Holding thoughts of her in his mind, Thomas kicked to the surface, fighting slow tugs of suction pulling him into the deep. Although he’d always thought himself to be a great swimmer, Thomas’s body seemed to have forgotten the motions. He broke the surface with a gasp, struggling to replace the frozen air in his lungs.

  An arm reached out, brushing his side. Someone latched on to Thomas’s elbow and dragged him onto the side of the overturned collapsible boat. It was a large man with a shaggy beard, suspenders and scratchy twill pants. He had soft brown eyes that reminded Thomas of his father’s. But it wasn’t the warm familiarity of the man’s gaze that captured Thomas most—although that should’ve been staggering enough. It was the fact that the gentleman was dry. He must’ve ridden the bottom of the lifeboat as it detached from the ship…

  Thomas latched onto his arms and pulled himself out of the water the rest of the way. The man spoke, though Thomas couldn’t make out the words. His ears were ringing, his head too fuzzy, to interpret clearly.

  When he glanced up at the steel body of the Titanic, all thoughts wiped from his brain completely.

  It was looming over them, nearly straight up. People slid down the decks, spinning and screaming, slamming into others before freefalling into the deep. There was no time for emotion, no time for thinking about the number of people clinging to life.

  There was only noise—a rumbling roar, louder than any sound Thomas had ever heard, that could only be explained as the boilers detaching from their hold and bursting through the decks of the ship. The symphony of noise lingered on the air forever, a regurgitation of rattles and smashes, groans and explosions.

  Until one explosion trumped everything.

  Fracturing from the trunk, a smokestack warped its shape, tipped, leaned…and then with a thundering boom it crashed into the water. A tremendous wave smacked into their boat, pitching a handful of men off and swallowing a few others.

  When the tide receded, the man gripped Thomas’s side. For the first time, Thomas realized the man wasn’t wearing a life vest.

  “It’s going fast now,” the man yelled as Thomas straddled the keel of the boat. “We have to move away from the ship! She’ll drag us right down!”

  Using their arms as paddles, the few men holding onto the boat dug deep, leaned over the side and pushed through the water.

  The thunder from the explosion continued to rattle and drone, an incessant buzzing that increased into its own crescendo. And when Thomas thought the noise couldn’t reach a louder peak, the sound of something cracking—a loud splintering as if the sea itself had opened up—proved him dead wrong.

  With a cavernous groan, the Titanic broke in two. The middle of the ship disappeared into the sea, but its lower decks remained fastened to the exposed stern. Dragged underwater by the attached sections of deck, the stern rose nearly vertical before bobbing atop the water, waiting…filling once more.

  If Thomas wasn’t frozen to the core, he might’ve cried like the others. He might’ve gasped, had he been able to fill his lungs with air. He might’ve done a lot of things, but instead stared at the sight before him, a groan of his own escaping his chest.

  The stern of the ship seemed to
bob a few moments, upright like it was pointing to the heavens. Thomas doubted the heavens were watching—surely they wouldn’t have allowed such a tragedy…

  Inching slowly, the ship turned on its center, hiding the horror on its decks from the people in the water. And with a deadened sound that tore the hope from Thomas’s soul, the Titanic slipped into the sea.

  He’d never felt more powerless or more achingly alone. Dismal moaning spread thick across the waves like fog. Fear, despair and agony rang clear, followed by a tang of shock and blind anger. It occurred to Thomas that each of the thousand passengers floundering in the water were the same…they were each facing death.

  For the thirty or so passengers clinging to the overturned hull of Collapsible B, their fate would be entwined.

  “What am I to do?” the man who’d saved him asked. His accent was thick. Spanish maybe. “Lord, what am I to do?”

  Thomas balanced on the keel, watching in shock as chunks of debris—timber beams and wooden doors, furniture and paneling—popped to the surface, knocking people in the water unconscious.

  “You’ll hang onto this boat,” Thomas said, praying a piece of debris didn’t spring up beneath them. “And if you’re dragged over the edge you’ll swim like the rest of us. We’re equal now—first to third class is no matter. In death and survival it’s every man for himself.”

  “But I cannot.” The man’s voice softened. “I cannot swim.”

  Thomas’s heart hurt. This was not fair. He shouldn’t be hanging on for life on the back of this overturned boat. He shouldn’t be near this man, who was holding a mirror to his beliefs at a time like this.

  First or third class…they were both equal. Elizabeth didn’t have to convince Thomas of that. But she’d gone further, hadn’t she? She’d tried to even out the balance, taking from those who felt entitled, giving to those who didn’t stand a chance.

  This man, the man with glistening eyes who looked too much like his father, had not had much of a chance to get above deck. Full knowing he could not swim, he hadn’t even secured a life vest for himself. And now, staring death in the face, the man was not panicked and fighting to steal a life vest off the back of another.

  He’d accepted his fate and the sour hand he’d been dealt.

  “Here.” Thomas sighed, his chest convulsing in a shiver, as he took off his own life vest and handed it to the gentleman. Although Thomas knew the man would have no idea what he meant, he said, “Courtesy of Miss Elizabeth Scott.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The morale on Elizabeth’s boat had gone from hopeful to paralyzing in no time. They’d been gripped by the cold, held prisoner by self-preservation. Elizabeth could nearly feel her organs shutting down, chugging slow, like the train at South Station in Boston coming to a stop. They’d become deathly quiet, rowing to the Titanic’s position using no gauge other than where they thought she’d gone down.

  How long had it been since they saw the ship break in two and slip beneath the surface? Thirty minutes? An hour?

  God, she didn’t know.

  Too long.

  Elizabeth’s insides curdled with regret. She should’ve known the mystery ship was too far away to reach in time. She should’ve never left Thomas’s side. They could’ve figured out their next step together…

  Now, there was no moon to light their way. No star to guide them. They were lost in the gloom of pre-dawn, praying for a sign they were close to the wreckage.

  “Wh—where are the other lifeboats?” Elizabeth mumbled from her crouched position near the front of the boat. Her words were short. Jumbled. Forced out in a cold huff. “They’ve go—got to be around here somewhere. Could we have passed o—over the wreckage?”

  “There might not be any wreckage,” the man sitting beside her said with a labored cough. “A ship that size will cause suction when it goes under. It might’ve sucked everything down with it.”

  “Don’t say that.” Elizabeth couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it. “Wait…”

  Was that…yes…a dull, monotonous cry.

  She barely made out the man’s words…My God…

  “Do you hear that?” Fear snatched her heart with cold, steely fingers. “Someone’s out there…”

  The oars picked up speed again, slicing through the water more purposefully than they had before. But by the time debris started bumping the sides of their lifeboat, the cry had gone quiet, the night colder still.

  They rowed on, reaching more debris: chunks of cork, pieces of deck chairs. They didn’t see a single passenger. Not a single soul to save.

  “We must’ve gone off course. We must’ve gone the wrong way…no one’s here.” Elizabeth had never felt more alone or more like a failure in all her life. Thomas had sent her to bring back help. How could she have left him? There was nothing she could do to turn back time and change the course of things, though if she could…

  A light bleeped on the horizon.

  “Help!” the officer in command shouted, pointing to the blinking yellow light. “Help is finally here! Thank the Lord!”

  He praised God as if he didn’t think their boat would ever be found. As if they’d sail the waters of the Atlantic as the missing lifeboat of the RMS Titanic.

  Elizabeth didn’t share his excitement. There had to be over two thousand people on board the ship. Saving twenty eight lowly passengers who were too weak to bring back help for the others was nothing to be joyous about.

  Turned out they’d been wrong—there weren’t twenty eight rescued souls.

  There were seven hundred.

  The Carpathia had steamed to their side, a beacon in the rays of first light. Its decks brimmed with passengers, mostly women and children, who were teary eyed and down trodden. They looked how Elizabeth felt inside. Had she not been frozen and still in shock, she may’ve let herself break down a bit.

  But not now.

  Now she had to stay composed. She had to find Thomas among the people on board.

  He had to have made it off on a boat. There were other men on board the Carpathia, milling about. Some offered their services while others comforted their women. Their arms were wrapped around them tight, cuddling them as if this ship too, could fall victim to a tower of ice.

  Those few men had found a way to escape such a tragedy. Surely Thomas had too…

  Most of the rescued were wet in some way, their hair stringy, their clothes soaked through. Their shoulders were covered with scratchy wool blankets provided by the Carpathia. It was hard to tell one person from another in such a state, but Elizabeth wouldn’t give up.

  Classes were separated by deck. She walked them for hours. Checked every survivor list available. Asked officers if they’d seen a man who fit Thomas’s description. She even went so far as to demand an announcement be made over the whole of the ship, asking Thomas to report to the wheelhouse. She’d been denied, but it didn’t hinder her search.

  Even when the final lifeboat was emptied and the last passenger brought aboard the Carpathia, Elizabeth still couldn’t believe it.

  Thomas had to be on board. He simply had to be. Elizabeth couldn’t explain it, but she still felt connected to him. She could feel him in her veins, surging through her heart. He couldn’t be dead.

  She held on to that feeling, disbelieving the hard truth that Thomas had perished with over a thousand others. Until she stepped foot onto the boat deck.

  Hundreds of women were wailing, grasping at the collars of officers, begging to turn the ship around and search for survivors once more. They’d lost grandfathers, fathers, brothers…husbands.

  Thomas was none of those things to her, yet she mourned him just the same.

  Minutes slipped into hours and hours piled into days—three long, dreadful days. Sometimes it seemed as if they’d never reach New York. Elizabeth clung onto hope, even when it seemed all hope was lost. There was no other ship carrying survivors and no other lifeboat sailing the Atlantic, waiting to be found. Neither of those facts stopped Elizabeth fr
om thinking them.

  She simply couldn’t get it through her head, or her heart—Thomas was gone.

  As they sailed over the Grand Banks at dusk on the third day, Elizabeth found herself wandering aimlessly around the boat deck. Her heart was hollowed, her soul rattled.

  There was not enough room inside for Carpathia’s passengers as well as the survivors they’d picked up from the Titanic, so most of the survivors gathered at the stern of the ship. Elizabeth took a bench seat next to an older woman who seemed to be smothered by her blanket. She’d draped it over her head and cinched it at the neck, exposing the redness of her face and nothing else. It was clear from the blankness in her stare that she’d lost someone dear to her.

  Elizabeth sat back and sighed, wondering who this woman had lost.

  “I think if you look this forlorn, you have lied to me twice and had a fiancé after all.” The woman’s voice was all too familiar.

  Elizabeth leaned forward, peering at the wrinkled brow of the woman who’d been poised and graceful and perfect in the first class dining hall.

  “Lady Grace?” Elizabeth took her hand as realization struck. “I’m—I’m so very sorry…did you lose your husband? Lord Grace?”

  “Mmm,” she said, tilting her head back until it hit the rail behind her. “I lost my husband…my best friend…my partner. All in one night. And you have lost your fiancé, I presume?”

  “No, I spoke the truth before. There is no fiancé.” Elizabeth felt deflated. Sunken and shallow. Even though she couldn’t have known what would happen to the ship or the loss that Lady Grace would suffer, Elizabeth believed herself to be among the wretched for stealing from her. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lady Grace, truly. I heard wonderful things about your husband.”

  She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “He was a great man, yes. A bit of a gambler, but that excitement for the game, that passion, was what I loved about him most.”