On a Cold Dark Sea(24)
For a moment, Esme’s heart soared. Then the grief of losing Charlie returned tenfold, and her heart clenched with the anticipation of going through the pain of parting yet again. Esme could barely nod as he waved his arm out and down, motioning everyone in the boat to duck their heads. She couldn’t stop looking at him, even when his foot crashed through the window and glass shattered, sending a shard toward her face. She didn’t realize she’d been cut until she wiped at her cheek and saw the blood on her fingers.
The older crewman stepped into the center of the lifeboat, tipping its balance and making the passengers cry out in concern. He held an oar through the hole Charlie had created, and Charlie took hold of the other end. The lifeboat edged closer to the Titanic, leaving only a foot-wide gap. Bracing one elbow against Charlie and reaching out to the crewman with her other hand, the woman climbed into the boat.
“Thank you,” she said, in a cool British voice. She sat on a bench in the middle of the boat, sitting defiantly upright, looking ahead rather than at the man she was leaving behind. And then Esme’s interest in her vanished, because Charlie was reaching out, less than an arm’s length away. She leaned forward and slid her fingers between his. Charlie’s breath swirled toward Esme in gossamer clouds, and she gulped it in. When the boat dropped down with a creak of the ropes, Esme felt everything that was true and good slipping from her grasp.
Did she pull? Did he jump? All Esme knew was that Charlie was suddenly beside her, his limbs and hers tangled on the floor of the boat. She clung to his arms when he pulled her up to sit, right as they touched down in the water. As they pulled away from the Titanic’s shockingly crooked silhouette, another rocket illuminated the night. The light lasted just long enough for Esme to see Hiram on deck, watching with dignified calm as his wife and her lover rowed away.
US SENATE COMMITTEE ON COMMERCE
Titanic Disaster Investigation Wednesday, April 30, 1912
Testimony of Mr. Charles Van Hausen, First-Class Passenger Senator Smith: After you were awakened by the sound of voices, what did you do?
Mr. Van Hausen: I came out of my stateroom and spoke to a steward, who told me there was an order for passengers to put on their life belts. I spent some time looking for my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Harper, and I found them on the boat deck, near one of the lifeboats.
Senator Smith: There was no panic or confusion?
Mr. Van Hausen: No. An officer was directing women and children into the boat. Mr. Harper escorted his wife forward, and she took a place along with the others. Mr. Harper and I remained on deck as the boat was lowered, and we heard a shout from one of the crewmen. A woman on a deck below wanted to board, but the window wouldn’t open. I offered to go down and help her. I broke the window and assisted her into the boat. Very soon after, I was asked to enter the boat.
Senator Smith: Who made this request?
Mr. Van Hausen: Mrs. Harper, and a few others.
Senator Smith: Passengers?
Mr. Van Hausen: The crewmen appeared to welcome my assistance. I don’t believe either had much experience in manning a boat.
Senator Smith: Could your lifeboat have carried more passengers?
Mr. Van Hausen: Yes, I suppose so. But I can’t say how well we would have fared with a full load. It would have made it much more difficult to maneuver.
Senator Smith: You were the only male passenger?
Mr. Van Hausen: Yes.
Senator Smith: We have heard from other witnesses that a man was seen disguising himself in a woman’s clothing in order to enter a lifeboat. Could such a subterfuge have taken place in your boat?
Mr. Van Hausen: Absolutely not. I saw no evidence of cowardly behavior.
Senator Smith: A crewman in your boat, Mr. Wells, has testified that you paid him ten dollars after you were rescued. What was the reason for this payment?
Mr. Van Hausen: Mr. Wells was very angry at the loss of the ship. He said everything he owned was at the bottom of the ocean, and his pay would be stopped from the hour of the sinking. I gave Mr. Wells and Mr. Healy the money to buy new clothes and other personal items when we arrived in New York. It was a gift.
Senator Smith: So you did not pay them in exchange for being allowed to board the lifeboat?
Mr. Van Hausen: No. Absolutely not. What kind of man would that make me?
ANNA
The first time Anna Halversson drowned, her seven-year-old body slipped into the water like a rock tossed in a tranquil pond. Shocked and disoriented, she fought the downward pull of her drenched skirt. Then a hand grabbed her arm, the fingers digging into her skin so hard that their imprint remained as purple-gray bruises for days afterward. Papa hoisted Anna into his boat, the same way he pulled in a fish, and rubbed her face briskly. Only the quickness of his breathing told her he’d been scared.
That was the day Papa decided Anna would learn to swim.
“Why?” Mama asked, as if Papa had suggested teaching her to fly. “Anna fell because she was careless. She’s learned her lesson.”
“I won’t take her out again until she can swim.” Papa rarely raised his voice, but he had a way of clipping his words that made it clear when he was in no mood to be argued with.
Mama grunted, a familiar sound. She had countless small ways of expressing her feelings: the raise of one shoulder, a silent shake of the head, an icy stare. Life, for Mama, was an onslaught of frustrations and setbacks, and Anna wasn’t sure if Mama was angrier about the swimming or the fact that Anna would be spending time with Papa, time better spent doing chores.