Chapter One

Chapter One

Sunday, January 1, 1893

The White Star Carvery

Liverpool, England

It was one of the only times that Will Murdoch wasn’t nearly run down by a horse and carriage as he crossed the street to the pub.  This was, he knew, due to the sudden storm that had thundered through the city, leaving the landscape a blinding white, covering the buildings and the streets in a thick blanket of snow.  Ships were docked, trains were stationary, and the streets were all but deserted, leaving stranded workers to find shelter until the snow melted.  He pushed the door open, struggling against the biting wind, and let it slam behind him, sighing in relief at the immediate warmth of the fire roaring behind the grate.

No one paid him any mind as he stood there on the threshold, stamping the snow from his shoes and shaking flakes from his honey-blond hair.  He was sure his face was bright red, that his nose was about to fall off, and that his fingers could no longer function—the sooner he got a room for the night, the better.  But first… he looked around, trying to find an empty table where he could sit and drink for a while—and try to warm up—but every single table was not only occupied, but full.  He sighed, and was wondering if he would have to go back out into the blizzard to find a new pub, when his eyes fell on a table with only a single occupant.

She was the most beautiful woman Will had ever seen.  She had fair, clear skin with hair so dark that he would have thought it was black, if not for the firelight glinting off of it and showing shades of brown.  Most peculiarly, her hair was not tied up in the usual custom, but hung freely about her shoulders, which were covered by a crimson cloak with a dark, fur-lined hood.  Immediately, Will was captivated by her—the sharp angles of her cheekbones that, in the dim light, made her look almost gaunt, the eyes so dark they appeared to be bottomless, the fullness of her lips as she took a sip from her glass of red wine.  Seemingly aware of his gaze upon her, the woman looked at him, the corners of her lips turning upwards.

As if he was being pulled by a string, Will felt himself walking toward her, like she had cast him under some spell, rendering him powerless to resist her.  As he approached, the woman replaced her glass onto the table.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked coyly, looking up at him from underneath her long lashes.

She was American.  The realization startled him; what was a young American woman—who was unmistakably rich, judging by the rings on her fingers and the necklace at her throat—doing alone in a dingy pub in Liverpool?

“You looked lonely,” Will heard himself say.  He was shocked by his own boldness as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.

Her smile widened.  “Are you here to keep me company?” she asked.  “To prevent me from being lonely?  How gallant of you.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, is it not?” said Will, folding his arms over his chest.

The woman arched an eyebrow, smirking.  “And are you a gentleman?” she asked, her eyes lingering on his suit.  “Born and bred of the highest quality—a nobleman, perhaps, or the heir to a railroad fortune?”

“Only on weekends.”

When the young woman laughed, Will felt a trill of pleasure.  There was something about her, something other than her beauty, that seemed to enrapture him.  He found himself wanting to impress her, wanting to make her laugh, to make her smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning toward him, resting her arms on the table, “it’s the weekend now.  Or it is for the next few hours, at any rate.  What do you intend to do with your remaining time as a gentleman?”

“I’d like to start by learning your name,” Will said quietly.  “And see where that takes us.”

The young woman lay her hands flat on the table, palms down, lacing her fingers together.  She could hide her identity, of course, but something told him that, when she spoke next, it would be the truth.

“Sophie Alton.”

Thursday, April 18, 1912

Pier 54

New York City, New York

Tens of thousands of people crowded onto Pier 54 and beyond as Carpathia chugged down the Hudson River.  She had deposited Titanic’s nineteen remaining lifeboats on Pier 59, the dock at which the sunken ship would have stopped had she been able, before continuing onto her own Cunard pier.  Catharine Alton had followed Esther up to the Boat Deck, oblivious to the rain, as the dock came into view, illuminated by bright floodlights.

“I can’t do this,” Cate breathed, her voice inaudible above the pouring rain and the shouts coming through megaphones, as reporters stood on dozens of tugboats that had floated up to them, bellowing questions, as if they expected some survivor to lean over the side and answer them.

Titanic was gone.  Cate knew she was still in shock that the unsinkable ship had sunk, taking her father and her fiancé with her.  Nothing seemed  real.  The rescue ship had continued onto New York for two days, and Cate had remained in the second class cabin given to her and her maid, Esther Bailey, clutching her fiancé’s gloves tightly in her hand and gazing at a photograph of her father that she had found in the last few pages of her diary.  The only second of sleep she had gotten had been filled with nightmares of sinking ships, screaming children, and the image of her love being sucked down into the water, or her father being crushed by the forward funnel.  Esther had been unable to convince her to eat; the timid reminder that Will and James would want her to eat had gone unheard, though Cate had felt a stab of pain at the sound of their names.

But she would not cry.  Cate had alternated from feeling completely numb to sobbing uncontrollably, especially when Second Officer Charles Lightoller had come to the cabin to pay his respects.  It was infinitely more painful to see the pity in the eyes of the men who had worked with Will and James, who had spent hours with them in the dead of night, who wore the same uniforms, who survived when they had not.  Fifth Officer Harold Lowe, James’ closest friend aboard the ship, had all but carried her back to the dining saloon after he had broken the news of Will’s and James’ deaths, had stayed with her until Esther had assured him that she could handle her.

And it was Fifth Officer Lowe who approached her now, sheltered underneath a large, black umbrella.

“Miss Murdoch,” he said, raising his voice ever so slightly to make himself heard above the din of the reporters’ shouts and the rain hitting the Boat Deck.  “Do you have someone to meet you?”

“I assume so,” Cate replied dully, not looking at him.  “My grandparents, perhaps, or their chauffeur.  Likely the latter.”

“Would you like me to escort you off the ship?”

Cate turned her head to face him, finally.  His handsome, boyish face was solemn, his dark eyes serious.  Why was he concerning himself with her?  Because his dead friend had loved her?  Because he himself had worked hard to help them be together, to convince her father to step aside?  Because he pitied her and didn’t want her to take this long walk alone, the walk she should have shared with her father and lover?

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Lowe,” she said quietly.  “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know I don’t,” he replied.  “But…” he sighed.  “Will and Jim would want to make sure you’re taken care of.  We’re concerned about you—all of us.”

As usual, their names felt like individual stabs to her chest.  But she didn’t want to be taken care of or looked after.  She didn’t want to see their pity or their sympathy any longer.  She didn’t ever want to lay eyes on that telltale uniform again, thinking of Will looking so smart and so proud, of James standing before her so formally the first time they had met on the Bridge.  She never wanted to see a ship’s officer again.

“I appreciate that,” said Cate, looking away from him again.  “But I’m fine, Mr. Lowe.  You needn’t worry about me.”

Mr. Lowe swallowed and nodded shortly.  “Write to me,” he said at last.  “I’d like to know how you get on.  Will you do that for me?”

No, Cate thought immediately.  But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she nodded.  Then, as he kissed her hand and walked away, Cate watching him go, she knew she would never write to him, nor would she see him again.  And it would be better that way.

A hush seemed to descend over the ship and the pier when Carpathia glided to a stop.  Even the reporters stopped yelling from their tugboats.  Now, the only sound to be heard was the rain as the ship’s engines slowed and, finally, ceased.  Cate could feel her body aching—her head, her feet, her legs… all she wanted was to find a dark, quiet room to collapse into.  She glanced at Esther, who stood with the Chinese sewing box and the teddy bear in her hands, gazing before her, ready to descend from the ship the moment they were ordered to.  But Cate didn’t know if she would ever be ready.

When Titanic’s first passenger disembarked, a wail rose up in the crowd, followed by a great wave of cries, swelling over them like the sea.  Cate swallowed a lump in her throat.  How could she hope to find those waiting for her in that throng when she didn’t even know who would be there—Beth and Adam—Mr. Holloway, the chauffeur—Lillian?  She simply hadn’t any idea where to look  or even whom to look for.  She felt herself missing her father more than ever.  He had always been her strength, her rock, the one person she could hold onto to help her get through whatever she faced.  But now he was gone.

Their turn came after what seemed like an eternity and yet, at the same time, no time at all.  Esther led her down the long gangway, her head held high, looking protective.  The very second Cate’s feet reached solid land for the first time, she was assaulted by a barrage of questions shouted at her.  From the vague snatches she could here, they ranged from reporters asking her what happened to sobbing people asking if she had seen their relatives.  From what Cate had been told by Esther, a passenger list had been transmitted to the White Star Line offices, which meant that the Altons would know of Cate’s survival and would, hopefully, send someone to fetch her.  That is, if they had even bothered to send someone to check the list in the first place; perhaps they just expected Cate to show up on their doorstep if she survived.

As they pushed past hordes of people, Cate felt her anxiety mounting.  Everything was chaos, from sobbing people, to reporters, to nurses asking her if she needed assistance.  Yet she did her best to keep her eyes on the back of Esther’s head, certain that her maid would be able to get them through.

Cate was certain they had been searching for at least thirty minutes, now just as soaking wet as she had been when she had been thrown into the Atlantic, when she heard her name being shouted through the bedlam.  She turned her head and, through a number of people trying to push past her, she saw what seemed to be herself: a young woman with ivory skin and honey-blond hair pinned underneath a wide-brimmed hat, light blue eyes worried as she waved at her.  Lillian.  A surge of emotion rose within her as she looked at her sister—it had been only four months since they had seen one another, and yet now it seemed like a lifetime.

“Cate!  Esther!” Lillian called again, waving her arm widely above her head.  “Over here!”

They managed to make their way over, weaving their way through the crowd, until, finally, they stood before Lillian and her fiancé, Daniel Norcross.  He was tall, with curly, reddish brown hair, a pointed face, and he smiled his wide smile when they reached them, leaning forward to kiss Cate on both cheeks.  Lillian stood beside him, wringing her hands fretfully.

“We’re so glad you’re both alright,” said Daniel when his fiancée didn’t speak.  “We were quite relieved when we got the news from the White Star Line office.”

But Cate only had eyes for her sister.  The identical women looked at one another mutely, appearing to use the telepathic connection that only they had, the one that had long since grown rusty since they had stopped bothering to use it.  Lillian spoke volumes in her silence, telling Cate of her worries, how scared she had been, how relieved she was, how nervous.  Much to Cate’s surprise, Lillian stepped forward and embraced her sister tightly, a move so uncharacteristic that no one seemed to know how to react, least of all Cate.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Lillian muttered in Cate’s ear.

When she pulled back, Lillian cleared her throat awkwardly and smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress.

“We’ll need to send a telegram to Father,” she said briskly.  “I can’t remember what ship he said he’d be on—or is he back in Dalbeattie?  Regardless, I’m sure he’s ever so worried.”

Cate froze.  She looked at Lillian, her heart now pounding.  Oh, God.  She didn’t know.  Will had never told her that he had been transferred to Titanic.  Why would he have, when the two hardly spoke?

“Lillian,” she said quietly.  But she kept babbling.

“I’m sure the White Star office can get a message to him,” she was saying, still wringing her hands together.  “Or, perhaps he’s already heard—does he know you were to sail on Titanic?  I can’t recall—”

“Lillian,” Cate repeated, this time more loudly.  “Da was on Titanic.”

“—or maybe he’s back in Dalbeattie, in which case he might not—what?” Lillian looked at Cate, appearing politely perplexed.  But Daniel had heard what Cate had said, and placed a protective arm around his fiancée’s waist.

“Da was on Titanic,” Cate said again.  God, why did she have to do this?  Why did it have to be her?  “He was the first officer.”

Lillian stared at Cate, apparently not comprehending.  “Alright,” she said slowly, looking around, as if expecting Will to materialize right in front of her.  “Where is he, then?  Is he disembarking later on?”

But Daniel seemed to understand while Lillian had not.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently.

“No!” Lillian snapped, now looking quite agitated.  She pulled away from Daniel.  “Where is he, Cate?” she demanded, now sounding quite like her old self.  “Where’s Da?”

Cate hadn’t heard Lillian call him “Da” in years.  After their third year or so of being away at school, she had taken to calling him “Father,” as “‘Da’ is far too Scottish,” she had claimed snottily, despite being half-Scottish herself, as if being Scottish was to be equated with being lower-class.

“Where, Catharine?” Lillian nearly screeched.  “Is… is he hurt?  Will he be alright?”

“He’s gone,” Cate whispered finally.

The two young woman gazed at one another as, finally, the truth sank in.  Gone.  Dead.  Forever.  Will was dead, never to return, leaving his two daughters as orphans, terribly alone without him.  Cate watched Lillian’s eyes close and, for a moment, she wondered if she had heard what had been said.  But then she saw the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks.  And then Cate lost it, unable to contain her own tears any longer.  She covered her mouth to stifle a sob, squeezing her eyes shut.  An instant later, she felt the iron-like grip of Lillian’s embrace around her.  Cate clung to her just as tightly, united for the first time in so many years, brought together by their utter sorrow.

It took them some time to find Mr. Brannon, the Norcrosses’ chauffeur, and even longer for him to guide the dark blue Case limousine away from the pier.  While Cate wished Esther could sit in the back with her, Lillian, and Daniel, the lines between mistress and servant had been drawn once more, and she sat up front with Mr. Brannon, the Chinese box, teddy bear, and gloves clutched so tightly in her hands that her knuckles turned white.  In the backseat, Cate sat to Lillian’s left, with Daniel on her right.  When they had finally broken their embrace, their cheeks red and tearstained, their throats raw from their cries, they had clung to one another’s hands, following Daniel from the pier to where the car waited.  And even now, as they inched slowly away from the docks and Battery Park, they had not let go.

“Your grandparents are still in Philadelphia,” said Daniel, breaking a long silence.  “You’re expected to join them tomorrow and take the nine o’clock train.”

Countless people were peering into the dark windows of the car, trying to get a glimpse of one of Titanic’s survivors.  Mr. Brannon blasted the horn impatiently.

“They didn’t want to break their plans just because the ship sank,” Lillian said thickly, sniffing.  She rolled her eyes.  “They’re unbelievable, really.  Their granddaughter almost dies, but they can’t be bothered to leave their cave.  Daniel and I rushed off to New York the moment we heard, of course, and Daniel stood outside White Star’s office for hours, waiting for news.”

Their granddaughter almost dies.  Cate knew how close she had been to dying along with Will and James, though she was sure Lillian didn’t--she probably assumed she had boarded one of the first lifeboats and had merely watched the sinking from afar.  But she had been a part of it.  She had felt the deck sliding beneath her, had felt the icy water rushing at her feet before being plunged into it.  It was stupid, she knew now, to wait so long, to refuse to board a boat without Will or James, almost killing herself in the process, only to lose them both.  It had all been in vain.  Swallowing a knot in her throat, Cate found herself wishing that James had never found her--then they would all be dead together.

“So where are we going now, then?” Cate asked dully.

“The penthouse,” Lillian replied, speaking of the Altons’ New York residence, a large apartment at the very top of a tall, brownstone building in the heart of Manhattan.  “Hazel and Rebecca are there waiting for us.  Daniel will go to his own flat tonight, and then we’ll all travel to Philadelphia tomorrow morning.  His parents were kind enough to send Mr. Brannon along with us so we could rent a motor.”

Cate resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  She had met Daniel several times, and his parents only once at the engagement party last November, but she already liked them more than she cared for her grandparents.  Cate was of no relation to them, yet they had gone out of their way to make sure she was taken care of by lending them their driver and a motor.  The Altons hadn’t even done that, though they would have been perfectly capable of sending Mr. Holloway, their own chauffeur.  All they had done was send along their assistant cook, Rebecca.

It was hours before they arrived at the penthouse, though it was a journey that would usually have taken much less time.  When they finally pulled alongside the tall building, Cate let out a long breath and pulled her hand from her sister’s.  Mr. Brannon leapt from the front seat and opened the door, first taking Cate’s hand and then Lillian’s to help them both out of the vehicle.  Daniel followed and took the Chinese sewing box from Esther so she could descend from the front seat.  Cate watched as one of the black gloves fell to the ground, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.  Esther looked horrified, and Daniel looked from the glove, to Esther, to Cate, comprehension seeming to dawn on his face.  Nevertheless, he bent over and picked up the glove, handing it back to Esther with a smile.  Lillian, who was smoothing out her dress, saw none of this.

Esther looked relieved, but Cate’s heart hammered.  It was obviously a man’s glove.  There were several different possibilities of what Daniel might think… that it had been Will’s, that someone had given it to Esther, or someone had given it to Cate.  But Daniel knew that Esther was sweet on his own valet, Niall Casey, who didn’t own such fine, leather gloves.  Cate swallowed, her dry throat aching, her palms clammy.  What if he said something to Lillian about it?  Cate knew she was a terrible liar… could she make them believe that the gloves had been Will’s?

As Cate followed the others through the marble lobby, heading toward the lift, she felt exhaustion settling within her every pore.  She had had not more than an hour of sleep since she had woken early on that Monday morning, and it was now Thursday.  But she wasn’t ready to sleep, wasn’t ready to face the inevitable nightmares that would be waiting for her.  Part of her wanted to try, to see if she could have pleasant dreams in which Will and James would visit her, but she knew she would likely be forced to endure horrific visions of their deaths.

Outside the penthouse door, Lillian and Cate stopped and turned to Daniel.  Esther bobbed a short curtsey to him before continuing on inside.  Daniel smiled a warm, kind smile and kissed Cate on the cheek.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said.  “And I’m truly sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” Cate whispered as Lillian sniffed.  “I appreciate your help.”

She turned and walked inside, leaving the couple to say goodbye in peace.  How lucky Lillian was!  To have her fiancé with her, and to have no fear of losing him, to know that their union was supported and encouraged by all around them.  Cate didn’t know if they were in love, but they were clearly fond of one another, and Cate knew they would be truly happy  together.  Cate had thought a wonderful life, filled with true love and marriage to a wonderful man, with her father’s blessing, had awaited her.  Now she was starting over, completely on her own.

The penthouse was beautiful, decorated just to Beth’s style, but always felt cold and unoccupied.  Cate made her way to the bedroom that had always been hers, wishing that she was walking toward her stateroom, that she could feel engines rumbling gently beneath her feet, that she would enter into a beautiful, blue and white cabin.  But she never would again.

Sure enough, Esther was waiting for her in the bedroom.  The covers on the large bed had already been pulled back, and a fire had been lit behind the grate.  Immediately, Cate’s eyes went to the end table, upon which Esther had placed the Chinese sewing box and the teddy bear.

Esther followed her gaze.  “The gloves are in the drawer, miss,” she said quietly, lowering her eyes.  “I’m ever so sorry that I dropped one--”

“It’s alright,” Cate assured her as she pulled her shoes off her aching feet.  “I’m hoping that Daniel will think they were my--”

But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word “father.”  When Esther saw that she could not continue, she scurried across the room and took her hands, pulling Cate gently to sit down on the bed with her.

“I’m so sorry, miss,” she said, her brown eyes glistening.  “I’m so sorry you have to suffer this pain.”

Cate let her head droop, feeling as if her muscles could no longer hold her up, as if James and Will were pulling her down by her ankles, calling for her to join them.  When she slumped, Esther pulled her mistress toward her and wrapped her arms around her, cradling her like an infant.

“There, there, miss,” she said softly.  “It’ll be alright.”

“It’ll never be alright, Esther,” Cate whispered as tears fell and landed on her maid’s lap.  “Nothing will ever be alright again.”

Friday, April 19, 1912

The Alton Penthouse

New York City, New York

Cate slept fitfully, tossing and turning and waking every hour or so in a cold sweat, images of James, and Will, and Titanic speeding through her head, all dying and screaming in agony.  When the sky began lightening beyond the thin curtains hanging over her window, Cate finally sat up, the covers falling from her chest.  Her head was throbbing worse than ever, and she knew she would need to go see a physician upon reaching Philadelphia.  Despite her pounding headache, however, Cate swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, wobbling for a moment before crossing the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Even at this early hour, New York City was bustling far below her.  Several streets over, she could see the Waldorf-Astoria in the distance, its bright green roof glinting in the light of the rising sun, and she thought of Madeleine Astor, pregnant and without her new husband.  She was not the only person suffering in that city.  How many others had lost their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, or their sons?  Too many.

Cate wasn’t sure how long she stood there, gazing out at the city she had never managed to fall in love with, before Esther knocked quietly on the door behind her.

“Miss Cate?” she called.

“Come in.”  Cate turned away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place.

Esther entered, looking worried.  Cate couldn’t stop the thought that sped through her mind at the look on Esther’s  face: Who has died now?

“You’ve a visitor, miss,” she said, going to the wardrobe and disappearing inside it.

Cate sighed and sat down on a long chaise of pale violet.  “I’m not up to seeing anyone,” she said, though she couldn’t think who could possibly be visiting her.  She had a number of acquaintances, but they were all in Philadelphia.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, miss,” Esther replied sympathetically, reemerging with a long, black dress that had been hidden in the depths of the wardrobe.  “He said he must deliver something to you in person.  I told him it would take a while for you to dress, but he was intent on waiting.”

“Who?” Cate demanded impatiently, taking off her dressing gown and tossing it onto the bed.  She was not usually this sharp with anyone, but she did not much enjoy being forced to dress so early and entertain some stranger.

“It’s a police officer, miss,” Esther said quietly.  “Officer Adkins.”

Cate froze.  What on earth could a police officer want with her?  God, if Beth thought anyone might see a police officer enter their penthouse, she would die of shame, and probably accuse Cate of being a dirty criminal.

When she had been laced up into the corset and had put on the simple, black dress, she sat down at the vanity.  Esther ran a brush gently through her long hair, looking hesitant.

“The injury on your head is still healing, miss,” she said, peering at the wound through her hair.  “I don’t want to pull at the stitches or cause you any pain.”

“Just put it in a low braid,” Cate instructed, knowing Esther was right, “starting at the bottom of my neck.  Grand-mère won’t like it, but I don’t much care.”

Esther nodded.  “Yes, Miss Cate.”

When Esther had finished, Cate rose and took as deep of a breath as she could.  She knew she had done nothing wrong by the law, and so she had nothing to fear.  Right?

Esther, in the absence of the butler or any footmen, led Cate to the drawing room.  A tall man in a dark uniform stood in the center of the room, examining a family portrait, a round helmet on his head and a star-shaped badge pinned to his chest.

“Miss Catharine Alton, I presume?” he said, looking over at her when she entered.

“Yes, sir,” Cate said slowly.  Her heart was pounding so hard, she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

“I’m Officer Adkins,” said the man.  It was only then that Cate noticed he was holding a packet of papers in his hand.  “I’m here to deliver these to you.”

He handed her the papers.  They were tied together, but Cate only needed to see the first few words to know what it all entailed:

“CATHARINE HÉLÈNE ALTON—You are commanded to appear at twelve o’clock noon on Saturday, April the 27th in the year 1912 at the Russell Senate Office Building in Washington D.C. in regards to the sinking of the RMS Titanic on the morning of Monday, April the 15th.”

After Officer Adkins left, Cate sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, staring at the subpoena.  That was how Lillian found her a little while later, also wearing a black dress, perhaps the simplest one she owned.  It emphasized their similarities, making the two sisters appear as mirror images to one another; the only difference was that Lillian’s hair was pinned behind her head.

“It was in the newspapers that there would be an inquiry,” said Lillian after glancing over Cate’s shoulder.  “They must have chosen you as a witness because of Grandfather.”

Cate groaned and leaned back against the sofa, a move she never would have dared to make if her grandparents had been present.  “What if they ask about Da?”

Lillian raised her eyebrows.  She sat primly across from her on an armchair, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Why would they?” she asked, her tone almost accusatory.  “No one knows—knew—”

They both paused, painfully aware of the necessity of using the past tense.  Cate felt as if a weight was sinking slowly through her body.  How can this be? she kept thinking.  Finally, Lillian cleared her throat and continued.

“No one knew of our relation to him,” she said at last.  “Did they?”

“No,” said Cate, closing her eyes.  “No one knew.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Daniel’s voice as he spoke to his valet out in the corridor.

“What was it like?” Lillian said suddenly, her voice a mere whisper.  “Being on the ship with him as an officer?  Did you ever see him?”

At first, Cate had thought she was asking what the sinking of the ship had been like, something she was certainly not prepared to talk about.  But this… Lillian had every right to speak of their father, even if memories of seeing him only days previously felt like holding a blazing hot coal to her chest.

“More than I thought I would,” Cate replied finally.  “I arrived in Southampton on the fifth, so I had about five days before the ship set sail, and he would come to see me from time to time.  We would have dinner together, or tea.  And even once we were off, I would still see him occasionally.  I went up to the Bridge a couple of times.”

There was so much she was forced to leave out.  She couldn’t tell Lillian that the majority of these encounters with her father had been to argue with him about James, or that one of the times she had gone up to the Bridge had been to be alone with James in his stateroom.

“Did he…”  Lillian swallowed, and Cate could see her eyes filling with tears, “did he ever mention me?”

“All the time,” Cate whispered.  “He—”  But she couldn’t.  She wanted to tell Lillian the last words Will had ever spoken to her, how he had told her how much he loved both her and Lillian.  But she couldn’t.  Those words were sacred, the goodbyes of a father and daughter, something no one but she had heard.  How could she speak them?  It would be like opening Pandora’s Box and releasing everything into the world, never to return, when all she wanted was to keep her memories locked up tight, deep within her where no one could touch them.