The Heart's War (14 page)

"Are those wagging tongues I hear, girls?" Mrs. Montag said. She worked at the other end of the room from us, taking care of any special cleaning needs or making sure that the uniforms and clothes of high ranking officers onboard were spic and span.

Everyone quieted then.

There was no clock in the room. They said it would
rust out and have to be replaced constantly on account of all the steam. I didn't have a watch, either. Mrs. Montag had sole access to the time, and she liked to squeeze every last tick of the second hand out of us before allowing any breaks.

I worked until eleven that morning before she gave us an hour for lunch and rest.

After being in the heat so long, the cool air on the deck slammed into me like a wall. My sweat turned cold and left me clammy and miserable. But the view from the bow helped me forget all that as I took an absent bite from my sandwich.

There were hardly any clouds in the sky, and the ones that did float overhead were mere wispy tendrils tugged thin by the wind. The sun shimmered off the ocean, which was calm, and flat as a sheet of glass. White spray rose up along the prow of the ship as the Olympic carved its way through the water.

I couldn't find the horizon; the sky and the ocean melded together in the distance. There was no land to be seen anywhere.

A few gulls had hitched a ride with us in Halifax, and they circled the closest stack arguing with each other.

Many of the soldiers had commandeered the lounge chairs available on the deck and lazed about, shirtless, letting themselves tan under the light.

Soon, my sweat and misery evaporated with the fresh ocean air and I closed my eyes to feel the gentle roll of the ship.

That little spot by the rail became my favorite part of the ship. Certainly, I went to see the grand staircase and found myself in awe of its grandeur. I saw the smoking rooms (where several older men frowned at me over their papers) and the gymnasium with its pool. But it was there, leaned against the rail staring out across the ocean that I felt a harmony within myself.

Every time Mrs. Montag let us go, I'd grab a bit of food and go there. I would squint ahead of the ship, and imagine I could see the cliffs and beaches of England rising out of the water.

It was on the fourth day that I saw the most curious thing far off the right (or "starboard," I'd been told) side of the ship.

Something glinted in the distance on the water. I shielded my eyes with one hand to try and get a better look.

A few of the men leaning against the rail also saw it, pointing out.

"What in blazes...?" one man remarked.

Then the water turned white, churned to a froth in a narrow trail that raced with frightening speed towards the great bulk of the Olympic.

"Torpedo!
Torpedo off the starboard bow!" a man wearing a naval uniform screamed, waving his arms at the man in the crow's nest. That man grabbed a pair of field glasses, sighted in on the projectile, dropped them, then grabbed his telephone.

A klaxon sounded, screaming out in strident urgency. Men rushed around on the deck, coming to the rail beside me, shouting and pointing.

At first, I felt no fright. I merely stood there at my spot by the railing, gripping it with one hand as I watched that pointed finger in the water draw closer and closer. Somewhere in my mind, I found myself wondering if this was the end. Would the Olympic get a hole blown in its side and find itself resting on the bottom of the Atlantic, slumbering forever under the waves with Titanic, its sister?

Then the great liner turned, and the deck thrummed beneath my feet.

"What in the hell is happening?" said a young soldier to my left.

The man in the naval uniform who'd alerted the officer in the crow's nest spoke without looking away from the oncoming torpedo.

"The captain's brought the ship up to flank speed, and he's turning us into it!"

The Olympic turned sharply to the right, so hard that the ship began to roll.

The white water split by the vessel's prow churned higher and faster. It seemed like the captain intended on ramming the torpedo, though I had no idea how that would help. That klaxon hammered into my ears like an ice pick.

I held my breath. All I could think about was how I would never get to see Jeff now. How I'd never make amends with my mother, or take a walk down Victoria Park to see the swans.

But I felt no fear. Oddly, there was a sensation of peace. I'd tried. I'd made it all the way to Halifax and had even boarded the RMS Olympic. It had been an incredible journey.

We drew close enough to see the long shape of the torpedo as it raced along just under the surface. It seemed like it would catch us right on the prow, not far from where I stood.

Many of the soldiers yelled and ran back towards the stern, but I couldn't move. My eyes didn't blink as I watched it come closer and closer. Everyone ran until only myself and the sailor stayed to witness the explosion.

Just as I thought it would impact, the torpedo slipped by the side. I watched as it sped by the hull, no more than a few feet away. The wash of its wake slapped against the waterline.

The sailor beside me cheered, grabbing me and hugging me against his side.

"We dodged it! The bastards can't sink us! Look, we're going to ram the sub!"

It was true. I looked forward. The U-boat looked like some large shark, its central fin sinking out of the water. I saw a big gun on its front deck. A man watching from atop the fin went inside and closed a hatch, and the U-boat began a simultaneous dive and turn.

The lumbering Olympic must have seemed like some great whale swooping in to swallow the smaller vessel.

For a few moments, it seemed like we would collide. The U-boat left a light spot in the water where it was, thousands of tiny bubbles rising up as it sought to dive as quickly as it could.

Then we slipped over the spot where it had been.

"Did we hit it?" I asked. I returned the sailor's hug, and we clutched each other in mutual fright and elation at our survival.

"No, don't believe so. Olympic's a big girl, but we still would have felt the crash."

No one was allowed on deck for the rest of the day and evening. Since the sub hadn't resurfaced, the captain kept the ship at its maximum speed as long as he dared. We wove a haphazard course, trying to throw any pursuers off our trail.

Even the laundry room was silent of
conversation, the only sounds the slosh of water or the hiss of steam. Mrs. Montag didn't have to admonish us to keep working. Despite the heat, we all looked pale. The Irish girl who'd teased me earlier especially so, her red hair looking like a blazing fire atop her snow-pale face.

The ship ran extra dark that night, all interior lighting that might be seen from outside extinguished. We all sat or lay in our bunks, waiting for and dreading the sound of that awful klaxon that
signalled another attack.

My ears still rang with it, and my fright exhausted me so that my eyelids kept drifting down. I started awake every few minutes, that ringing sound having grown so loud in my head that I thought it had begun again in earnest.

All I could think about was that the Mauretania followed this same course. Had this sub encountered and sunk it? Was my Jeff even now floating on the ocean waiting for rescue, or entombed on the seabed with thousands of his fellows? I hoped and prayed that wasn't the case.

Despite my earlier sense of harmony and enjoyment of the journey, I wished that we could go even faster.
That we could arrive in Liverpool within the hour.

I had actually seen the enemy. That man who watched us from the U-boat, tracking the torpedo and waiting for the hit, he was a German. Again, I thought of how I was now part of this war, and had very nearly become a casualty.

It meant that it wasn't over yet. I wouldn't arrive in Liverpool only to find Jeff and take him back home with me. I'd get there and be able to only wish him well and pray for him as he shipped across the Channel.

The attack was a sobering experience for everyone onboard. No longer did soldiers frolic and tan on the deck. Laughter returned slowly, and I started taking my meals in the mess with everyone else. We all looked at each other as though in wonderment that we still lived. Only the
tink of spoon or fork against glass dishes sounded in the room.

Chapter 13

On the eighth day, Lawrence Marsh found me. I had come out to my old spot, staring at the bit of railing with more than a little distrust. It felt like if I leaned against it to stare out across the ocean again, I'd look out and spot another of the those man-made sharks hunting us, as though it were all my fault that the first one had found us.

"I wondered when you'd come back here, dear Eleanor."

I turned to see Lawrence, the buttons on his uniform glinting and that ready smile under his cap, looking at me.

"I didn't think you had any interest in seeing me anymore," I said.

"Oh, Eleanor! I saw you every day. I waited up above," he said, pointing to an observation deck on the superstructure, "And watched for you. You were so happy and beautiful, watching the ocean roll away beneath us. Don't let the Germans frighten you."

"Don't they frighten you?" I asked, remembering his face on the train when he'd broken down for those few moments.

Lawrence came up beside me and leaned against the rail. After a second, I went over to my spot and peered over the side to watch the prow cut the water some more.

"Do you know what the Germans call the Canadian soldiers?"

"No," I said.

He got that faraway look again, and his knuckles went white as he gripped the railing.

"They call us
Sturmtruppen
—Storm Troopers. Do you know why?"

I shook my head. I knew what the word meant. Having grown up in New Berlin, from a German-descended family, I could speak and read a bit of the language. But I didn't know the context.

"At every battle, the Canadian Corps lead the charge. We're the first ones out of the trenches when the artillery and bombs stop falling. We're the shock troops, meant to destabilize their line."

I nodded. It sounded awful.
The first into the barbed wire and machine guns. It was no wonder our casualty lists grew so long.

Lawrence continued, and he had a look on his face like he'd forgotten I was there.

"But the Germans aren't stupid, dear. No, quite the opposite. As soon as they confirm there are Canadians on the field, they concentrate their defences and train their guns on us. We face the heaviest resistance."

I looked out across the gleaming Atlantic. Our voyage thus far, aside from the attack, had been quite docile. Poseidon, it seemed, favored us. Aside from where the Olympic sliced the water open with its prow, the entire surface was as glass. The water took on the color of the sky and deepened it to a navy blue.

What lurked beneath that serene surface?

I looked from the water to Lawrence's face. Once more, I caught him in a pensive mood. His lips pressed tightly together, and the muscles in his cheeks worked.

Then he reached inside his jacket and produced that flask again.

"Why are you telling me this, Lawrence?" I asked.

He jerked as though I caught him stealing. That flask disappeared back into his jacket and he turned his smile upon me. Those teeth were especially blinding in all that ocean sunlight.

"Why, Eleanor, I tell you so that maybe you'd find some pity within yourself for this poor soul, destined for the muck and the constant artillery blasts."

"Of course, Lawrence," I said. He gripped the rail so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Against my better judgment, I put my hand over his. His skin felt taut, and the muscles stiff to the touch.

"Then, perhaps I could interest you in seeing what a first class cabin looks like on the inside? You know, my
dear, that they bring dinner directly to the room, if you wish? And, despite the war, I know that the captain keeps a small store of champagne..."

I took my hand away. Of course this was all some plot to get me alone with him again. Well, if he thought that all it took was the promise of some bubbling alcohol and furniture designed for only the wealthiest passengers, he was wrong.

When he saw me turn away, his hand lighted on my shoulder.

"You know, some women might feel some gratitude along with that pity. After all, I did arrange for all of this. Why, I expect a place of honor at your wedding with dear old Jeffrey. That is, if you're still his after all of this..."

I stiffened. I dreaded this moment, this accounting of debts. For a few days there, I thought that maybe I escaped his notice, or that he became too busy with his duties. Or that, and I acknowledged this as the least likely of the outcomes, he had done all this out of a sense of romance and sympathy.

His fingers squeezed my shoulder appreciatively. The touch brought back the memories of his hands on the flat of my stomach, travelling upwards.

Breaking from his grip, I rounded on him. His smile faltered when he saw my face.