Harry moved forward. ‘Maggie, you have to get in. They’re starting to lower the boat.’ He stared earnestly into her tear-filled eyes. ‘Remember who’s waiting for you back home?’ he added, reminded of the message she’d been so keen to send.
Maggie relented then, unable to fight anymore; no energy left in her body to protest. She allowed Harry to lift her gently into the boat.
‘You - Steward 23.’ Harry turned to the Officer who was addressing him. ‘Man this lifeboat and when you get on the water row away from the ship as quickly as you can. Do you understand?’
‘Yes Sir, I understand. You’ll bring the others in the next boat, will you?’
Harry looked into the Officer’s eyes where he saw fear the like of which he had never seen before and hoped he would never see again for as long as he lived.
‘This is the last boat,’ the Officer replied, lowering his voice. ‘There are no more.’
Climbing into the boat Harry heard the orders for the lifeboat to be lowered over the side and closed his eyes to the tragedy unfolding on the decks above them.
Maggie’s heart felt as if it had truly broken in two as she stared up at the faces of Maura, Jack, Eileen and Michael as they stood, calmly watching her, all four of them holding hands as they stood against the railings, Maura clutching her rosary. There was simply nothing anyone could say. She watched them, isolated among the chaos and despair, before their faces finally disappeared from view.
As the lifeboat jerked and jolted as it was lowered roughly down into the black ocean, something came over her. Something strong stirred within her; an incredible will to survive, to live a long and happy life.
‘I will not die here,’ she whispered to herself, her teeth chattering with the cold which had penetrated every inch of her body. ‘Not here. Not now. I’m coming home Séamus,’ she repeated over and over again. ‘I’m coming home.’
Searching the desperate, panic-stricken faces on the decks they passed, and among the boats which were already lowered, Maggie prayed that she would see her friends or her aunt. She saw nobody she recognised.
‘Séamus,’ she sobbed into her hands. ‘Séamus, Séamus, Séamus – I should never have left you.’
It was an old lady who placed her arm around Maggie’s shoulders, assuming that, like all the other women in the boat, she was sobbing for a man she had left behind on Titanic. ‘You have to be strong now my love. You have to believe you will see him again. If not in this life, then the next.’
Maggie stared up at the unfamiliar, wrinkled face, barely able to see through her tears. ‘But, I love him,’ she cried, clutching the woman’s frozen hands and gasping though her sobs. ‘I love him and I want to go home.’
CHAPTER 27 – County Mayo, Ireland, Monday, 15th April 1912
‘Maggie! Maggie! It’s alright. I’m coming.’
Séamus woke in a cold sweat, unsure as to whether it was his own voice he’d heard calling Maggie’s name or someone else’s. She was drowning, calling out desperately for him to help her as she slid under the water. ‘I can’t swim,’ she kept shouting. ‘I can’t swim.’
He sat up in the bed, grabbing for his pocket watch to check on the time. Lighting the lamp by his bed, he looked at the glass face. It was the early hours of the morning, just past two a.m. if his eyes weren’t deceiving him. The dream had shaken him and he got up to fetch a glass of water, looking in on his father as he passed his room. He’d taken a bad turn in the last few days and the doctor had told Séamus to be prepared for the worst.
He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching the frail old man’s outline until he caught the definite signs of the blanket moving slowly up and down with each laboured breath. He made his way then into the small kitchen.
‘I can’t swim. I can’t swim.’
The words kept replaying in his mind. He knew it was something which had troubled Maggie about the Atlantic crossing; knew that she didn’t care for the water at the best of times. His heart racing, he tried to settle back into bed, but the image of Maggie, calling for help, refused to leave him. He could see her face as clearly as if she were standing in front of him now; her small, heart-shaped face, her lustrous curls falling naturally around her face, her wonderfully soft, blue eyes and small mouth which formed into a perfect cupid’s bow on her top lip.
Trying to put the images of the dream out of his mind, he turned to wondering whether she’d read his letters. He’d been unsure what to say when he’d first sat with the blank sheet of paper in front of him, but when his Aunt Bridget had suggested that he write about what he remembered most from each month of his relationship with Maggie, the words had flowed freely, openly. There was so much he wanted to remember about his time with Maggie that he hadn’t struggled to fill the pages. But as he’d reached the final letter, the month they were in now, it had become harder to express his feelings about her going away. He knew she desperately wanted him to go with them, but it was impossible with his father sick. So he’d pondered for many nights what to say to her in that final letter, until it suddenly became very clear. How would she feel, he wondered, if she’d read those final words? Would she be pleased, or angry maybe that he’d made it impossibly difficult for her? Would she write back to him from America with an answer? Would she write back to him at all?