The Way Back Home

It was amazing how so many things could change, just in the span of two weeks.  When she had left Scotland, she had thought her life was over, doomed to a loveless marriage under the control of her tyrannical grandparents.  That was why she had boarded Titanic: leave her beautiful Scotland to fulfill her destiny of what they had always planned for her.  She had said “goodbye” to her family—her father’s parents, her aunts and uncles, and her friends, in preparation of perhaps never seeing any of them again.  Then, in Southampton, everything had changed with one smile.

Cate didn’t believe in love at first sight, and she didn’t entertain the notion that that was what she had experienced with James Moody.  But there had been something: a spark that had led to a blazing flame.  She had immediately been attracted to him, with his chestnut brown hair hidden under his officer’s hand, his sparkling gray eyes, a dimple in cheek.  His skin had been warm when their hands touched.  She had not loved him then, but still, there had been something. 

A painful lump rose in her throat as a crystal-clear image of that day of the Bridge of Titanic appeared in her mind’s eye.  She had approached on her father’s arm, and he had looked so proud to accompany her and introduce her to his colleagues, the daughter about whom he had not been able to stop talking since he had learned she would be a passenger on the voyage.  His Catey.  He had loved her so fiercely, and she had loved him in return, in spite of his absences, in spite of this decision he had made that had forever altered the course of her life, in spite of his vehement attempts to keep her and James apart.

But they could not stay separated; they had been drawn to one another like moths to a flame.  First they had met by chance as she had sat reading at a café, and then James had continued to make unexpected appearances, always taking her by surprise.  As soon as Will had seen them together, he had tried to put a stop to it, telling Cate that it was inappropriate for a passenger to spend so much time with an unrelated, male member of the crew.  And for the first time in Cate’s life, she had rebelled.  She had refused to give in to his demands, continuing to see James gladly every time he appeared.  She’d had no idea, then, that he’d been purposefully looking for her after those first couple of times, he, too, being unable to stay away.

Once the ship had set sail, Will had been satisfied with the fact that James would likely be too busy to seek Cate’s company, and she would be too busy in her own, rich world.  But he had underestimated their tenacity, their desire to be with one another.  On the very first night of the voyage, they had met after dinner on the promenade deck, looking out at the water that glistened in the starlight.  And, for the first time, Cate had made a decision more substantial than what she would wear that day: she chose James.  He had kissed her for the first time, and she had felt everything around melt away as he held her in his arms, stroking her skin with the gentle touch of his fingertips.

Yet, at the same time, James had been uneasy about her choosing to be with him when she had promised to meet her father elsewhere.  Though he didn’t want to stay away from her, he didn’t want to deliberately come between the relationship of a father and his daughter.  So, he had left, insisting that she go to talk to him.  But she hadn’t; she had lied to him about where she had been, and at the time, she had thought he had believed her lie.  Cate had been sick with guilt about lying to him, but it was worth it, she thought, to be able to be with James.

On the afternoon of the second day of the voyage, everything had continued to change.  They had met at the stern of the ship, hidden away from the third class passengers and any prying eyes who might report them to Will or the captain.  It was there that, after only knowing one another for a week, they had told one another those three words that Cate had never expected to hear or utter: “I love you.”  And after a week, it hadn’t felt too fast, or rushed, or false: it had felt perfect.  They loved one another, and it was right.

They next day, however, Cate’s father had done something that she had felt was unforgivable: he had read her diary in an attempt to learn if she had been liaising with James, and had found out the truth.  First, he had confronted James himself on the Bridge, though he had promised not to tell Captain Smith about their illicit relationship if they promised to stay apart.  To Cate, though, he had confessed the truth of what he had done and then something more: that he had signed a document that left her under control of her maternal grandparents until one of two things happened: either she married or she turned twenty-one.  He had threatened to tell the captain of their relationship, which would forever ruin James’ chances of a fulfilling career, and, knowing she could never do that to him, Cate, though brokenhearted, had agreed to stay away.

Cate had spent the whole of that day believing her life was over, that everything she had hoped to achieve with James had vanished in the span of an hour-long conversation.  James had surprised her one last time that evening, after she had left dinner and gotten ready for bed, by appearing at the door of her cabin.  He was not, he told her, prepared to let her go, and he would fight for her no matter what it took, in spite of Will’s threat to tell the captain, in spite of her grandparents’ “ownership” of her, they would be together.  He had taken her breath away, then, when he asked her to marry him.  After only a week of knowing him, they were engaged to marry, and Cate had never felt such happiness.  She was ecstatic, over the moon with joy that they would be together forever.  She had thrown every inhibition she had ever had to the wind, and they had made love that night, their souls, Cate felt, merging together until infinity.

There was no guilt in anything they had done.  Cate had lied to her father, but it had been worth it, at the time.  Multiple times she had reasoned with herself that, while she had years to argue and make up with her father, she only had days to be with James.  Now, she realized, that the former wasn’t true, and had she known it at the time, she could only guess as to what, if anything, she would have done differently.

Cate was forever grateful that she and Will had made up, that they had forgiven one another, even after he learned that she and James would not stay separated.  He did not like the idea of her giving up everything to be with him, but he wanted her to be happy and finally realized that having a rich husband would not give her that happiness.  The last day of his life had finally been the day that he and Cate resolved the feud that had bubbled underneath the surface for eighteen years before spilling over.  For the first time, she had been truly, completely happy.

But then Titanic had struck an iceberg.  Will had begged her to board a lifeboat, but she couldn’t—not without either him or James, even after the realization that it was highly unlikely for them to be able to escape, especially Will as one of the most senior officers.  There was very little hope of all three of them surviving, yet Cate had felt a renewed, kindled desperation when James had found her and they had boarded one of the last two boats that Will was loading.  They had all come so, so close.  But they had been thrown over the side and had all become separated.  She hadn’t seen them afterward and she never would again

Now she was back to the beginning, quite literally, arriving in America with the knowledge that her maternal grandparents would continue to exact their control over her, and there would be nothing she could do to stop them, no James to rescue her, no Will to support her.  They were gone in the span of a terrifying, moonless night.

“Write to me,” Harold Lowe had urged as the rescue ship approached the harbor.  But she never would.  She couldn’t.  What could she say to him?  Any connection she had had to him had died along with Will and James.

Rain fell in drenching sheets, but the first class passengers were covered as they waited to disembark on the lower decks.  A steward who waited with them explained that they would first unload Titanic’s lifeboats, and then they, the ones with money and therefore the most right, would walk off first down a long gangway plank to the pier below.  How they would find their loved ones, no one knew; there was not likely to be any sort of organization to assist with this.

As they waited to disembark, Cate looked around at the other people, mostly women.  They were tired, with dark circles under their eyes and tear stains on their faces.  Mrs. Astor, supported by her maid, her hand protectively over her swollen abdomen that she no longer tried to hide.  Mrs. Ryerson and three of her children: Suzanne, Emily, and John—they had been sailing back after the death of their oldest, Arthur, and now they mourned the loss of Mr. Ryerson, as well.  Helen Newsom, her parents, and Karl Behr.  Lady Rothes.  Cal Hockley, whose arm was being gripped tightly by Ruth Dewitt Bukater.  Ruth’s daughter and Cal’s fiancée, Rose, had not survived.  Seventeen-year-old Rose was one of only five women in first class who had not made it.

When the first passenger, a woman Cate had never met, began walking down the gangway alone, a great wail rose up in the crowd.  The pier, which had been silent as the lifeboats were unloaded, was suddenly an explosion of noise once more as people sobbed and reporters called out through megaphones, as people cried out, asking after loved ones.  Cate’s heart hammered in her chest.  How would she make it through the throng?  She didn’t even know who to look for.

Cate found herself moving along with the crowd of first class passengers.  Suddenly her feet were off of a ship—hopefully forever—and on the long, seemingly rickety plank that led down to the pier.  She stared at the back of Margaret Brown’s hat as she walked, doing her best not to look at anyone around her—the crying people, the reporters.  If the Altons’ chauffeur was there, he would shout for her.  But she couldn’t look at anyone.  She couldn’t.

The horde of people was worse than she had imagined.  Bodies upon bodies pressed against her and Esther, who clung ever so tightly to the Chinese sewing box and the gloves.  People screamed in her ears, wailing and sobbing, yelling and crying.  They could scarcely move, doing their best to weave their way through and resorting to shoving past people who would not move, who were staring shell-shocked up the ship.  There was no order, only chaos.  She saw women from the Red Cross, looking for those who had been hurt or who needed help, but there was no one Cate recognized.  No one.  How could they be so alone in a sea of thousands of people?

They had been looking for at least thirty minutes, now just as drenched as Cate had been when she had been thrown into the Atlantic, when she felt a wave of anxiety: what if the Altons hadn’t sent anyone to meet her?  What if they just expected her to show up on their doorstep in Philadelphia?  Should she walk to the street and hail a cab to take her to the train station?  But no, she had no money.  She had nothing but the teddy bear she carried and the Chinese sewing box.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard what she thought was her name being shouted over the din.

“Cate!  Catherine Alton!”

Cate looked around quickly, trying to spot the person who called her, but it was only when Esther nudged her that she finally saw what appeared to be herself staring back at her, although her reflection seemed to be much better put together.  She wore a beautiful evening gown of royal blue, a pearl necklace resting at her throat.  Lillian.  Her twin sister.  Immediately, Cate felt so much relief that her knees grew weak and she almost burst into tears.  She and Esther hurried to close the distance between them until, at least, they stood before one another.

Standing beside Lillian was a tall, handsome man with wavy, reddish brown hair and a kind, pointed face.  He smiled warmly at her, also dressed to the nines in a tailcoat.  Lillian wrung her gloved hands together fretfully.

“We didn’t know when the rescue ship would be arriving,” she said, looking around at the mass of people, “but we got word as we were dining—luckily we weren’t far away—”

“We’re so glad you’re both alright,” said Lillian’s fiancé, Daniel Norcross, interrupting her babbling.  He stepped forward to kiss Cate on both cheeks.

But Cate had eyes only for her sister.  The two identical women gazed at one another mutely, appearing to use the telepathic connection that had long since grown rusty after years of disuse.  Lillian spoke volumes in her silence: how worried she had been, how anxious and terrified that Cate had not made it, how relieved she was that she had.  Much to Cate’s surprise, Lillian broke the silence by stepping forward and pulling her sister into an embrace.  It had been so long since they had hugged one another—if they even had—that it was as if they had forgotten how.  But Lillian held her tightly, her limbs shaking.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispered, her voice trembling.  “I was so worried, Catey.”

Cate felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her at the use of her nickname.  It had been so many years that Lillian had called her that, Cate had forgotten that she ever had.  For so long, Will had been the only one to do so.

“We’ll need to tell Father, of course,” said Lillian as they broke apart.

Cate looked at Daniel, startled.  But he didn’t seem surprised—had Lillian told him the truth?  When?  Why?  But these wonderings were quickly overshadowed… Oh, God.  Oh, God, she didn’t know.  She had no idea.

“I can’t recall what ship he said he’d be on,” Lillian continued, unaware of the horror seeping through Cate’s veins.  “Of course, he and I haven’t corresponded much as of late… did he tell you?  I thought he was still on the Olympic.”

“Lillian,” Cate whispered, too quietly for her sister to hear.  She closed her eyes as Lillian continued to babble.

“We’ll have to send a telegram,” she said.  “Did you tell him you would be on board?  Even if he looks at the passenger list, he might not realize it; they spelled your name wrong, you see, that’s why we were so worried: we weren’t sure it was you—”

“Lillian,” Cate repeated, loudly.  She felt sick.  She wanted to run and hide.  She wanted to be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

“What?”  Lillian appeared startled.  “What is it?”

Cate swallowed.  Would she ever be rid of this ever-present lump in her throat?  “Da…” she said, feeling like a pot about to spill over, “Da was on board… he was on Titanic.”

Lillian stared at her, apparently uncomprehendingly.  But Daniel immediately placed a protective arm around her waist; he understood.

“He was?” she said, looking around, as if expecting him to suddenly materialize from between the people that smothered them.  “Then where is he?  Is he still on the rescue ship?  When will he disembark?”

“He…”  Why?  Why did it have to be her?  Hot tears burned her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.  Lillian’s chin began to tremble.  Her blue eyes widened.

“Where is he?” Lillian repeated shrilly.  But her voice wavered.  Her hands were shaking as she gripped Cate’s arm.  “Where is he, Cate?  When will he get here?”

But Cate couldn’t say anything.  She placed her fingers over her mouth, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape.  She shook her head.

“Where is Da?” Lillian nearly shrieked.  “Is he hurt?  Where is he, Cate?  Where?”

Cate hadn’t heard Lilliam call him “Da” in years, and it finally broke her.  Her body shaking, tears pouring from her eyes, she managed to say amidst her sobs, “He didn’t make it.”

For a moment, Lillian could only stare at her in horror.  Daniel tried to pull her into his arms, but she pushed him away.  Then, at last, she broke, too.  A wail rose and escaped, and she clung desperately to her sister, crying like she never had before.  It had been years since they had gotten along, years since they had been on the same page.  But now they stood together on the pier underneath the pouring rain, clinging to one another, united in their grief.

It was a long time before they had been able to compose themselves enough for Daniel to lead them to wear the car waited.  It appeared that upon learning that Titanic had sunk, Daniel and Lillian had taken a train from Philadelphia to await the rescue ship.  The Norcrosses, knowing that their future-daughter-in-law’s sister was on board, had sent along their chauffeur so they could rent a motor to take them to and from the pier.  The Altons had elected to remain in Philadelphia, although they had given the order for their Manhattan penthouse to be opened.

After helping Lillian and Cate into the back seat of the Case limousine, Daniel turned to Esther.

“I know Miss Cate is very grateful, sir,” she said, keeping her eyes on the ground, “to you and your parents.  Please thank them on her behalf.”

Daniel smiled warmly at her, though his smile was sad.  “Of course, Esther.”  As he took the Chinese sewing box from her, they both froze as one of James’ gloves fell to the road between them.  Cate, who sat in the back of the car, her eyes on the floor, did not see.  But Esther stared in horror at the glove, looking from it to Daniel.  He, too, looked at it for a moment before he crouched down to pick it up.  It was obviously a man’s gloves.  Did he wonder to whom it belonged?  Would he assume that it had been Will’s?  Or an admirer of Esther’s?

“No harm done,” he assured her quietly, smiling again.  He exchanged the glove for the box and allowed her to take his arm as she climbed into the front seat of the limousine.  When she was seated, he handed her the box once more and got into the back seat with Lillian and Cate.

The drive to the Altons’ penthouse, a journey that would normally take minutes, took well over an hour in the thick traffic that congested Manhattan’s streets.  Mr. Brannon, the Norcrosses’ chauffeur, pressed the horn angrily, but it made no difference.  In the back seat, Cate and Lillian continued to cling to one another as they inched away from the docks and Battery Park.

“Your grandparents are still in Philadelphia,” Daniel said, breaking the silence that had consumed them since they had started for the car.  “They would like you to take the nine o’clock train and meet them there tomorrow.”

Cate barely heard him.  Countless people were trying to peer through the darkened windows of the limousine, trying to catch a glimpse of what was doubtlessly a Titanic Survivor.  And a rich one, at that.

As they drove on and on, stopping and going, Cate thought back to the first time she had ever set foot in America.  She and Lillian had been five years old, and they had clung desperately to their father’s hands as he led them down the gangway.  They had been met by the Altons’ coach, which had taken them down the dusty, New York streets to the penthouse which was once again their destination.  Only Will was not with them.  He never would be again.  Cate wondered if Lillian was thinking the same thing.  Was she, too, going over her memories of their father?  Thinking of his smile, his embrace, his laugh?  How he called her his lily petal?  How he, for years after everyone else had stopped, continued to call her “Lilly?”  Was she thinking of the fact that, the last time they had seen each other, almost a year-and-a-half ago, they had argued?

It was hours before the limousine finally pulled up alongside the tall, brownstone building.  The chauffeur immediately leapt from his seat to open the back door, but Daniel beat him to it, climbing out and holding out a hand to help Lillian and then Cate.  As Mr. Brannon assisted Esther down from the front seat, Daniel said,

“Mrs. Scott has had your rooms made up, and Rebecca will have dinner made for you.”  He spoke of the head housekeeper and the cook that the Altons hired whenever they were in Manhattan for an extended period of time, rather than dragging anyone of their main staff along from Philadelphia.

“I’m not hungry,” Cate muttered blearily.  “But thank you.”

Daniel nodded.  “Esther, there’s dinner for you, too, in the kitchen.”

Esther bobbed a quick curtsey, still clutching the box and the gloves.  “Thank you, sir,” she said gratefully.

Lillian allowed Daniel to take Cate’s arm and escort her into the building.  It was something she would never have stood for under any other circumstance, but she seemed to be keenly aware of her sister’s state, how exhausted she was, eyeing the blood she had not quite managed to completely wash from her hair.  Once they were through the doors and had taken the lift all the way to the top floor, Cate almost flinched, half-expecting her grandmother to be lying in wait, though she knew she was in Pennsylvania.

The greatest portion of the Alton penthouse was a large, open room with grand windows that overlooked the heart of New York.  It was rather like a gargantuan hotel suite, with a narrow corridor off to the side for the bedrooms.  Daniel led Cate to the room that had always been hers when they stayed there, which, sure enough, had been made up, a fire lit in the grate, a vase of tulips perched on the bedside table.

When they looked at one another, Daniel looked as if there was a great deal he wanted to say.  But he knew it would all be fruitless.  So, before turning back to his fiancée, he kissed his future-sister-in-law on the cheek and wished her a good night.  As he looked at Lillian, Cate felt a pang of sadness.  No matter how they had come to be together, he loved her—anyone could see it.  He wrapped a protective arm around her and, as Cate closed the door, they departed down the corridor.