Chapter 14 - Put On Your Life Belt
I had seen the lifeboats every day.
Until that night, they were part of the scenery.
White boats suspended above the deck.
Necessary equipment.
Nothing more.
Now sailors worked around them with purpose.
Covers came off.
Ropes were checked.
Davits swung outward.
Passengers gathered in uncertain groups.
The cold was intense.
Women wrapped coats tightly.
Men stamped their feet.
Breath formed white clouds.
Nobody wanted to enter the boats at first.
Why would they?
Titanic stood beneath us brilliantly lit and apparently steady.
The lifeboats were small.
The Atlantic was black.
The ship was warm.
The sea was freezing.
Choosing a tiny open boat over Titanic seemed absurd.
An officer called for women and children.
Few moved.
I watched a woman refuse to leave her husband.
Another couple argued quietly.
A man told his wife he would follow in another boat.
She believed him because she needed to.
Eleanor took my arm.
“This is serious.”
“Yes.”
That was the first time I admitted it aloud.
I began looking for information.
No one had much.
Crew members repeated instructions.
Stay calm.
Women and children first.
Wear life belts.
Move toward the boats.
Then I noticed something beneath my feet.
A slight angle.
So slight I wondered whether imagination had created it.
I looked toward the bow.
Impossible to tell in darkness.
But something was wrong.
I found Samuel near an entrance.
His face was pale from cold.
“Samuel.”
“You should be near a boat.”
“What happened below?”
He hesitated.
“Water.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
That one word frightened me more than anything else.
“Will she sink?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked away.
That meant yes.
Or perhaps it meant he feared yes.
Either was terrible.
Anna.
The thought arrived suddenly.
Anna and Eva were deep inside the ship.
I turned.
Samuel caught my arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Third Class.”
“No.”
“I know people below.”
“So do I.”
“A woman and a little girl.”
“Crew are bringing passengers up.”
“What if they can’t find the way?”
“They will.”
“You don’t know that.”
His jaw tightened.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally he said, “Stay where passengers are permitted. Do not go into crew areas. If you find them coming up, bring them toward the starboard side.”
I nodded.
“Samuel?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“Go.”
I moved through interior passages.
The ship was warmer inside, but the atmosphere had changed sharply.
More people understood now.
Stewards knocked on doors.
Voices overlapped.
Some passengers carried luggage despite instructions.
Others stood frozen with indecision.
I descended toward a point where different passenger routes approached upper decks.
I could not simply walk freely into every Third Class area; doors, corridors, and class arrangements limited movement.
So I waited where Samuel had told me people were being directed.
Minutes passed.
Too many.
I saw families.
Women.
Children.
Men asking questions.
No Anna.
No Eva.
Then I saw red yarn hair.
Rosie.
Eva held the doll above the crowd.
“Mr. Ethan!”
Relief hit me so strongly my knees weakened.
Anna pushed toward me.
Her coat was unbuttoned.
Eva wore a life belt far too large for her.
“We could not find—” Anna began.
“It’s all right. Come with me.”
“It is sinking?”
I looked at her.
I could not lie the way I had lied to Eleanor.
“Yes.”
Anna went very still.
Eva looked between us.
“Mama?”
Anna immediately knelt.
“We are going outside.”
“Why?”
“For an adventure.”
Children know when adults are pretending.
Eva’s face changed.
She hugged Rosie.
I led them upward.
The staircase areas were crowded now.
The beautiful rooms I had spent days describing had become passages.
No one admired the wood.
No one paused beneath the clock.
No one discussed furniture.
We climbed.
A deep sound came from somewhere inside the ship.
Not an explosion.
A groan.
Metal under strain.
Anna gripped the rail.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew enough not to want an answer.
At the Boat Deck, cold struck us.
Eleanor was still nearby.
When she saw Eva, she understood immediately.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Eva went to her.
For the next few minutes, four people who had known one another only days—or hours—stood together beneath the stars while officers loaded lifeboats.
May you like
Around us, Titanic still blazed with electric light.
It looked impossible that anything so bright could die.
