It wasn’t easy leaving her mother, or the memories of her father which had surrounded and comforted her while she’d remained in the family home, but somehow reconnecting with Jimmy, discovering the truth about her great-grandfather and visiting the land of her heritage that summer had given Grace a renewed sense of purpose – a real sense of belonging; of being secure. It was a feeling which she and her mother had been missing since the death of Grace’s father and it was the grasping hold of it again which meant that it was OK to leave; to move on. Having seen the majesty of Nephin Mor with her own eyes, having walked on the land where her ancestors had worked and having touched the very stones of the walls of the humble homes her family had originated from, Grace was filled with a sense of existence and continuity which extended way beyond the boundaries of the white picket fence which surrounded her mother’s neatly-tended garden.
As she sat on her bed for a moment, taking in the memories and conversations which buzzed and flickered in the very air around her, she recalled the time she had watched a calf being born, with her father sitting beside her in the candle-lit barn. ‘The continuity of life,’ he’d whispered, as they sat on a hay bale and watched the wondrous event unfold in front of them. ‘The most primal of instincts. Whether it’s a human baby, a calf or a field of wheat being sown, we are all driven to continue - to carry on, to begin again. I hope you always remember this moment Grace, and that you can always find a reason to begin again, whatever life has in store for you.’ Terrified and mesmerised she’d been unable to tear her eyes away for a second as the young calf slipped out onto the clean straw. She’d continued to watch as the cow licked the calf clean and she’d clapped with joy as it stood on its shaky legs and took its first, tentative steps.
She remembered all this as she glanced around her childhood bedroom. For so long, she’d been unable to find a reason to carry on, to begin again, but sitting here now with the man she loved waiting for her in the car downstairs, her mother whistling contentedly as she pottered around with pots of paint and brushes ready to re-decorate Grace’s room – realising she had her whole future ahead of her - she felt a joy in her heart and a will to move on; to continue.
Before leaving for the interstate, Grace asked Jimmy to drive her over to Maggie’s to say one final goodbye. She’d always loved this dear old lady, but had grown so close to her in the last few months; knowing details of Maggie’s life which even her own children had not been privy to. She felt privileged to have shared the most intimate thoughts, hopes and fears of this woman’s mind – both as a seventeen-year-old girl and as a ninety-year-old woman who, as they’d flown home together from Ireland, had told her that, finally, after all these years, the pain and fear from that dreadful night had, for the most part, faded away.
‘It’s like echoes Grace, like I’ve been hearing the same echoes for seventy years – of the carts rumbling out of Ballysheen, of the train thundering down the track to Cork, of the Uilleann pipes as we sailed away from Ireland’s shores, of the laughter in the general room the night we celebrated Katie’s birthday, of those poor people thrashing about in the icy water, of that ship ripping apart, of the waves slapping against the lifeboat – all of it’s been with me all my life. I don’t hear it now Grace. For the first time, I can’t hear those echoes anymore.’
After returning to Chicago, Maggie had continued to be inundated with requests to appear on TV shows and radio programmes to talk about her Titanic experiences. She didn’t mind being a bit of a celebrity for a while, and made the most of the fancy lunches and bouquets of flowers. But there was one invitation to lunch which she’d treasured more than any of the lavish hotel events. It came in a handwritten letter.
My dear, dear Maggie,
I can hardly believe I have found you again. After all these years! I open the newspaper to read over breakfast and there you are, a seventeen-year-old girl, smiling out at me and your great-granddaughter is writing about your voyage on Titanic. I nearly passed out into my granola, I’ll tell you!
I was so thrilled to know that you are still on God’s good earth – and looking so well for your years. It cannot really be seventy years since that terrible night, can it? After we lost touch during the war I didn’t think I would find you again Maggie – but here you are, living in Chicago and here am I living in Chicago for the past thirty years – who could have believed it! It’s a wonder we didn’t turn out to be neighbours Maggie!