Maggie watched as Harry moved over to the English family and spoke quietly to the father.
Among her own group there was consternation as they started discussing whether they should leave their cases behind as Harry had said.
‘Well, let’s do as the man says,’ Maura Brennan announced in a clipped tone, assuming the role of group leader in Kathleen’s absence. ‘There’s nothin’ in these cases we can’t replace. If it’s my life or my possessions, I know which I’d rather be keepin’. Now come on, all of ye. Let’s at least give ourselves a chance.’
Reluctantly they walked away from the pile of cases, Ellen Joyce crying more than most at the thought of leaving all her wedding gifts behind. Katie put her arm around her as they walked out of the room. ‘You still have your ring Ellen and your beautiful gold watch. Your fella wouldn’t want you to be fussin’ about linen and lace when we’re in such trouble, y’know.’
Maggie didn’t even notice that she was still clutching her small, black case as she and Peggy led the rest of the Ballysheen travellers out of the dining room and along the long corridor to the crew ladder.
As Harry had said, it was virtually empty of other passengers. Their route to the decks, and to safety, was clear.
*
Kathleen was hemmed in on the stairwell. She couldn’t move up onto the decks because the officers wouldn’t let them and she couldn’t move back down because of the surging mass of people behind her.
She’d started up the stairwell to help a little boy who’d become separated from his mammy. She came across him in the corridor on the way back to the dining room after she’d realised that the three girls had gone from their cabin. ‘Mammy, Mammy,’ was all he would say, whimpering like a frightened animal, cowering in a corner. There wasn’t a bone in Kathleen Murphy’s body which could leave him where he was. Urging him to tell her where he’d last seen his mammy, his tiny finger eventually pointed towards the chaotic stairwell. Taking his hand, Kathleen rushed with him to the stairs. His mother was near the top, calling for him, frantically searching the sea of faces behind her. Kathleen had carried him up to her and was now stuck.
She was sure she could make out the voice of the steward Harry, asking the officer at the top of the stairwell what was going on. If she hadn’t been a proud woman, she might have considered calling out to him to ask him to tell the others that she would see them up on deck, but she still had her dignity, despite the desperate situation she was in, and screeching someone’s name like a fishwife was not in Kathleen Murphy’s nature. So, she stood among the many others and waited patiently until it was their turn to ascend to the decks and get into the boats.
It was at that moment that Kathleen heard a gunshot. For the first time in her life she was genuinely terrified and wondered whether she would ever see her niece, or the others, again.
CHAPTER 24 - Chicago, 1982
Grace loved the wildness of the wind, the way it whispered through the barley fields and sent waves of ripples rushing along the rivers and lakes and the clouds hurtling across the sky. To a girl who had spent a childhood outdoors among nature, the wind brought with it a feeling of reckless freedom which reminded her that she was alive; fed her soul with a new energy.
It was two weeks after her birthday party and a welcome, blustery, Saturday afternoon as she drove the short distance from Maggie’s home to the local town. Maggie sat in the passenger seat, commenting, as she always did, on the reckless speed of the other drivers, tutting as they overtook other cars. Grace didn’t notice; didn’t care. She was thinking. For the first time in years, she was really thinking, about her past and about her future. She was excited, purposeful, hopeful.
As she had since she’d returned home from college two years ago, Grace was taking Maggie out for afternoon tea and cakes. It was a happy arrangement they’d fallen into by chance, calling into a small café on the way back from a trip to the cemetery where Maggie’s late husband was buried. Maggie had announced that she would quite like a cup of tea and ‘The Blossom Tree Café’, pleasantly situated alongside the river and with an enticing, pale pink door, had taken her fancy. The café, as it turned out, served the biggest, most delicious slices of cake and pie imaginable and their Saturday afternoon ritual was born.
‘The Blossom Tree Café’ was a quaint, intimate place, simple in its cottage kitchen design, but clean and well looked-after. The owner was a very friendly, terrifically overweight woman called Beth, whose raucous laughter could often be heard coming from the kitchen. She always insisted that Maggie was taken especially good care of. She said Maggie reminded her of her own Grandma and that it was nice to see the old lady walking through the door every week.