Page 146 of The Girl Out of Time
She made a few sips of tea. The still-fresh memories of last night threatened to unleash, but she steeled her mind against them. She couldn’t risk being swallowed by the horror again, not right now. She wanted a moment to breathe. To live.
“Would you like to come out on deck, stretch your legs? Don’t worry, the air is quite pleasant.”
She nodded, and he helped her up. Her legs buckled, but she quickly regained her balance.
It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon outside, so foreign and bizarre after what felt like decades of darkness and cold. People swarmed the deck: people of all ages and walks and life, but with those distinctions between them washed away. Small children in worn-out jackets, men in flat caps and bowler hats, elderly women in silk dresses and rows of pearl necklaces—they were all the same, huddled in blankets and nursing their cups of tea and bowls of soup. Some sat together in groups, others walked around, calling names and hugging their family members.
“There’s so few,” Emmeline whispered. The decks were full, yes, but the ship was smaller, perhaps half the size of theTitanic.
How many people did they rescue?
“Emmeline,” an exhausted but relieved voice called.
She turned and scanned the crowd, stopping at the unmistakable curly red head. “Mother!”
“Emmeline!” Her mother rushed to her, blanket swirling away, and locked her into a hug. More shouting of her name followed, and Brendon and Tristan smacked into her, one on each side.
Her mind dam broke, and emotions swelled into her chest, mouth, eyes; unabashed, tears ran down her face as she held her family close. “Mama,” she squeezed out.
“Oh, my darling.” Mother kissed her cheeks and her nose and brushed her hair. “I was so worried.” Her eyes watered, but she smiled as she looked at her. “Thank goodness you’re all right. Is your father still inside?”
Emmeline blinked. “I thought he was with you.”
Mother’s smile paled. “Where?”
“In …” Emmeline’s chest grew heavy. “In the boat. I asked an officer. He told me you all got into the boats.”
Mother’s mouth kept turning downwards, and her lip trembled. “He got us in the boat, but he … he stayed on the ship. To look for you. But you’re—if you’re—if—if he—”
The heavy ball in Emmeline’s chest tightened, squeezing out every bit of air, filling her lungs again with ice as shouts from last night echoed in her head. Women and children only—no men in the boats—they wouldn’t let Theo in with her—if Father was still there—the screams, the scramble for safety, the low groan of the ship as the lights went out—
When she returned to the present, Mother was looking at her, eyes wide. Only a peeping “No” escaped her.
Emmeline shook her head, but the dizziness didn’t stop.
Papa.
She couldn’t even properly cry. Her throat closed up until only mewling hiccups came out. She pulled her mother close, dug her fingers into her hair, and lost herself in sorrow.
The day ofCarpathia’s arrival in New York was gray and dreary, but there was little good mood to be spoiled by the rain, anyway. Emmeline experienced the world as if she weren’t a part of it anymore. The drops of rain on her cheeks felt foreign. The solid metal railing of the gangway felt foreign. Her beloved city, even—the same harbor she’d sailed from before—was a complete stranger.
To Theo, she was grateful for all the careful support he’d given her in the past days. He gave her space to grieve with her family, but when she turned because she needed another shoulder to cry on, he was always there. He didn’t push, he didn’t press, he only held her close and let her tears soak into his clothes.
As for her mother … Her beautiful, always graceful, always elegant mother had never looked so small and frail as when they left the ship and felt the solid ground beneath their feet once more. The harbor was bustling around them: reporters, photographers, emergency medical personnel. Despite the grim weather, it was loud and alive, but none of that life reached Emmeline.
Mother stopped a few steps off the gangway and stared into the distance, eyes glazed over, the one hand on her stomach clenched into a shaky claw. Tristan, holding her other hand, looked up at Emmeline, his hazel eyes big and red and so scared, but all she could give back was the mirrored sadness. All of her strength, to console them and herself, had been leeched out of her.
Papa was gone, and it was all her fault. He went back to look for her. His awful, horrible, rebellious daughter, who wished he wasn’t her family, who wished to be free of him, who wished he were gone. And now he was, and she was lost. She could never tell him how wrong she’d been and how very sorry she was. She could never hug him and kiss him again.
Why did she even make it out? Why did she deserve to live, but he didn’t?
Theo stepped next to her and lay a hand on her shoulder. She wrapped her fingers around it, and they all stood there: Tristan, Mama, Brendon, she and Theo, a line of sad statues in bedraggled, mismatched clothes.
“Well, that’s not much of a welcome committee,” a teasing woman’s voice sounded from behind them. A tinge of recognition broke through Emmeline’s muddled mind, and she turned, as did the others, perhaps trying to figure out what acquaintance had found them.
Two people stood a few feet away, avoiding the rest of the disembarking passengers. Emmeline quickly took in the woman, wearing the strangest outfit of a shirt, pants, and an oversized coat. Recognition finally struck as she raised her eyes to her aunt’s familiar face—and then everything faded into the background as she beheld the man next to her.
Her mother let out an inhuman cry of relief, and Emmeline thought she’d collapse then and there. But then she yelled, “Will!” and picked up her skirts and ran into Father’s arms. He cried out, too, and hugged her and twirled her around once, before Tristan and Brendon joined them with their “Father!” and “Papa!” and slammed into him, nearly pushing him off balance.
