Marlene Dotterer

The Time Travel Journals

SHIPBUILDER

Chapter 1

January 25, 2006

In 2006, Sam Altair broke a lifetime of following the rules when he stole equipment from his employer and set up an experiment they’d forbidden him to do. Then he sent himself back in time to the year 1906.

That last part was an accident.

When the Sun Consortium’s Technical Review Team cut off his funding, citing a “lack of results,” Sam heard the bong of a death knell. A lifetime of research was about to be boxed up and filed in a records center somewhere in Waterford.

He knew he was sending objects back in time. He just couldn’t find a trace of them in the past. The Technical Review Team expressed concern that he was starting alternate timelines whenever he ran an experiment. They said an object sent back in time could cause the universe to split at that point, creating a new universe with an identical history to their own, but with a separate future from that moment forward. Sam was doubtful, but it scared the powers-that-be. He was certain this was the real reason they pulled the plug on his research.

But he would never have another chance.

Sam didn’t have time to plan this clandestine experiment, and yes, he had to shrug off the irony of that. He’d slipped the small time machine into his bag, but it wouldn’t take long for someone to notice it was missing. Anyway, the moment he accessed the satellite feeds, using the Consortium’s dedicated lines, they would know without doubt what he was doing.

But if he was successful—if he could send a young tree back one hundred years, and if the full-grown tree appeared in its place—they would have to let him continue. They would be delighted to do so, once he’d done the dirty work.

So as Belfast settled into its nightlife, Sam went for a walk with the time machine and his laptop stuffed into a backpack. The area around Queen’s University seldom truly slept, but the Botanic Garden was empty this late on a foggy January night. He was certain no one noticed him take the main path past the gates and over the grass, to the giant oak holding court over the herbaceous border.

He took a few pictures of the large tree with his cell phone’s camera, but it wasn’t really the big tree he cared about. He just wanted to establish the provenance of the foot-high sapling, poking up from the muddy green several feet away. The sapling that would soon be as tall as its parent.

A tickling in the back of his neck made him work quickly, using his GPS to find the coordinates of the tree, and then running the formulas to set up an isolation field around it. It wasn’t visible in the cold night air, but on his laptop screen, the field showed a blue border, 152.4 centimeters in all directions around the sapling, including the vertical. Everything within that field would go back in time.

It would leave a bloody great hole in the grass if this didn’t work. But if it didn’t work, that would be the least of his worries.

He’d set his equipment on some large rocks behind the nearby bushes, and now he knelt beside them, inputting the final instructions. The location was the exact spot the sapling now occupied. The time of day was synchronized to current time: 12:02 a.m. and counting. The temporal destination was 1906.

He set the timer for one minute, and allowed himself a moment of glory as his finger poised above the ENTER key. His heart pounded with anxiety as he reviewed the steps of the experiment. All was ready.

He lowered his finger with a swift tap and the countdown started. That’s when things began to fall apart.

The low murmur of a voice reached him as he knelt by the time machine. He froze in place, breath caught. Who was that? Had someone followed him? Was he being watched? He jerked upward, looking toward the tree. For several seconds, he could not make sense of what he saw. But there, within his isolation field, was a girl, kneeling next to the sapling, patting some dirt around the tree and talking to it in that sing-song voice people used for babies and pets. She wore a dark cloak and gloves, with a cloth cap pushed over her ears. Long hair hung down her back, partially covering the backpack she wore. A student? At this time of night?

The time machine was counting down. There was no abort switch.

His mind refused to think. His actions were beyond any choice he could imagine. So he yelled. “Hey! Get out of there! Hurry!”

The girl jumped in surprise, but lost her balance, falling to sit on the ground. Sam rushed toward her, seeing in his mind how the objects in his experiments vanished from sight with a faint clap of thunder. A hundred and fifty-two centimeters. Five feet. Just a few feet from the tree, and they would both be safe.

She started to stand, arms coming up in defense at his headlong rush. And everything changed.

~~~

His senses returned one at a time, as if in slow motion. Sight first—he found himself on his hands and knees, as if he’d fallen. He stared at his fingers spread claw-like in the grass. Feeling came next—his heart beat fast and strong in his chest, the pulse points in his wrists throbbed through his hands against the ground. Then smell and taste—his first breath brought a sting of burning coal, and the invasive trace of a broken sewer. Or outhouses.

He was in the past.

Bloody hell.

He sat, staring around him at the now fogless night, noting the twin phenomena of increased darkness due to no street lights, and a sky bright with a dazzling array of stars and the full moon.

Belfast, Ireland.

January 25.

1906.

A moan off to his left told him he wasn’t alone. Memory returned with a rush of horror. The girl had come through time with him.

He twisted to look behind him. She must have fallen too. Encumbered by her backpack, the fall looked clumsy—she lay half on her back, the pack caught underneath her. A strap trapped one arm behind her and she was trying to free it.

He scrambled to her side, babbling with constrained concern, turning her so she could free the arm. “Are you hurt, Miss? I’m so sorry. My God, I’m so sorry about this. Did you hit your head?”

Free of the pack, she moved so fast he had no time to help her up. She stood, her dark cloak masking her shape. Her hat had come off, revealing a mass of hair surrounding a face so pale, it seemed to glow in the darkness.

Her voice revealed her panic. “Who are you? What just happened, here? Where are we?”

He rose to his feet, his sixty-year old knees making it a much slower process than hers. Once at his full height, he looked down about a foot to meet her eyes. She waited, her stance and eyes alert. The backpack remained on the ground. He suspected she left it there in case she needed to run.

Even amid the other-worldly oddness of what had just happened to them, he noticed her accent. She was American.

“Miss,” he said, holding out a hand to show her he wouldn’t hurt her, “I will explain everything. But it’s not going to be easy to believe.”

“Where are we?” she asked again. “How did we get here? I was by the tree and you came running out of nowhere and… and I… fell, and…” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Something happened. What happened?” The last words were a shout.

“I didn’t come out of nowhere,” he said. “I was behind the bushes.” He gestured to the side, staring for moment when he saw that the bushes were no longer there. When he turned back to her, he saw she had backed up a few steps, her gaze fixed on the missing bushes. He stayed silent as she looked around, his own eyes taking in a peripheral glance of Belfast’s Botanic Garden.

It was not the same in 1906.

“Where are we?” she asked again. A whisper.

He prevaricated. “We’re in the Botanic Garden, miss.”

Her head moved sideways. “No. I’m a horticultural student. I know that garden like my own name. This is not it.”

“The Palm House is there,” Sam said, his chin jutting to the right, where the familiar hulk was framed against the sky.

Her glance turned into a stare, and when she brought her attention back to Sam, her face was tight with anger. “Start explaining, mister.”

He rubbed his forehead with both hands. “Right,” he said. “You’re right—something did happen. I was doing an experiment,” he turned to gesture at the small tree, but at his sudden movement she brought her hands up in a self-defense posture. The pose looked quite professional to Sam, and he held his hands up, standing very still. “It was only supposed to involve the tree.”

She didn’t change her position. “Do you work for the city? Who gave you permission to experiment in here?”

“It’s a public park.”

Her eyes narrowed and she took a step toward him. The movement was fluid and controlled. Sam moved back, eyes on her hands. Her voice was hard. “Answer my questions, mister. Who are you?”

He bowed his head. “Dr. Samuel Altair. I’m a physicist.”

Her eye twitched. “Why are things different? I don’t remember going anywhere. Did you drug me?”

He winced at the fear and rage in her voice. There’d been date rape drugging going on around the university, and her fear was understandable. But why had she been alone in the park, so late at night? He couldn’t help feeling annoyed that he was now having to defend his honor, when he’d done nothing wrong.

Nothing along those lines, anyway.

“No, I promise you,” he said, his voice firm. “I did nothing of the sort. You understand I have as much right to be in the park as you.”

“Damn it, mister.” Her voice squeaked and she took a deep breath. “I swear,” she said, her voice stronger, “if you don’t start giving me some straight answers, I’ll put you in the hospital.” She changed positions, her eyes roving over his body. He felt himself assessed, saw her confidence. He suspected it would hurt if she attacked. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “What did you do?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “We’re still in the gardens.”

Her movement was sudden and harsh, her leg swinging out and around before he had time to blink. She kicked his legs out from under him and he fell with a startled yell. Pain lanced his back as he hit the ground, but she gave him no time to think about it. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to his side and twisting it behind his back until he yelped with pain.

“We are not in the garden!” she yelled into his ear. “Stop saying that. Tell me the truth.”

He gasped, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling uselessly to reach her. “I’m telling you what I know,” he said, gasping again. “It’s just not easy to explain. I’m a researcher. I work with time.” He moaned and she loosened her hold a fraction.

“Go on.”

“I’m studying time distortion. Time travel.”

He couldn’t see her face, but after another pain-filled moment, she released him and stood back. He groaned, bringing his arm around to cradle it against his chest, as he sat up. He looked up at her through tears of pain.

She hooted. “Time travel? You’re going to have to do better than that, Mister. That’s lame.”

He shrugged the uninjured shoulder. “Look around. You said yourself everything is different.” He stood, protecting the injured arm as best he could. “I was trying to send the tree back a hundred years, to 1906,” he said. “I need a chance to look around. I need to verify where and when we are. I need a chance to think.”

She stared at him. He watched her, saw her struggle with confusion. When she moved again, he flinched, but relaxed when she flipped open a cell phone and pressed a button. In the silence of the dark night, he heard the faint recording telling her there was no service available. The light from the screen revealed her dismay.

“All right,” she said, dropping the phone back in her pocket. “Look around. Think. Verify. While you’re doing that, I’m going home.” She turned around, scooped up her backpack, and walked quickly away.

Sam jerked in astonishment. Where was she going? Well, she’d find out soon enough that home wasn’t there.

But what would she do then? Could he count on her to come back? No doubt she could take care of herself in 2006, but would she know what to do in 1906? Bollocks, he didn’t know what to do. Afraid to lose her, he started after her.

He found her just outside the garden gates, staring in shock at the dark street before them. He felt the same shock, looking at a peaceful residential street with ornate houses, stone walls, and trees. She turned to him, small and frail in the half-light from gas streetlamps, although his aching arm put the lie to frailness. Her eyes reflected the light, revealing her fear.

“Where is my apartment building? Where are the traffic lights and the signs and the cars?” Her voice trembled.

He shook his head, afraid to speak. “They aren’t here in 1906,” he said, trying to believe it himself. “We really are back in time.”

She sat on a bench, wrapping her arms around herself and scrunching down. She rocked a bit, either from cold or fear. “I don’t believe you.” Her voice sounded small and defiant, but her next words were nothing but fear. “Can you get us back?”

He hesitated, then sat on a separate bench, wondering if this was a bus stop. He didn’t know if they had buses in 1906. “I don’t know,” he answered her, watching her rock. “Miss, what’s your name?”

Her eyes shot to his face and she regarded him doubtfully, but finally answered, “Casey. Casey Wilson.”

“Casey, I’ve been working on time travel for a long time, but I have to tell you, it’s still a big mystery. Never, never have I attempted to send a human back.” He rubbed his face, trying to think clearly. “My equipment is in the future. I needed a quantum computer and satellites to do the equations for this. I don’t have any of those things here. I don’t know if I can make them.” That might have been funny if he were in the mood for humor. As if he could build a computer or launch a satellite!

“What do we do?” Her voice was stronger.

“It’s cold,” he said. “We need shelter. Neither of us has any money printed before 1906, so we can’t just go to a hotel.”

She nodded, looking down the street. He watched her get control of herself, looking less frightened, and more like the girl who held him at bay with karate threats. He was impressed.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted something. “Okay, come on,” she said, and took off across the square toward the church whose steeple was visible around the corner. Sam followed her without argument. She tip-toed to the back of the building and paused, looking around to get her bearings.

Sam caught up to her. “Where are we going?” he whispered.

She turned her head to speak through chattering teeth. “Everything looks different. But somewhere, there’s an entrance into a storage area near the rectory. At least we’ll be out of the cold for the night, and I am really freezing. Ah, there it is.” She slipped across the lot to a small door near the corner of the building. Before opening it, she turned to glare at Sam. “You saw I know karate. Don’t try anything.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m an old man.”

Doubt showed on her face. “You’re not that old. And I’m not an idiot.” She tried the handle. The door opened without sound, and they slipped through.

“Wow,” she whispered as it closed behind them. “I’ve never seen this much darkness in my whole life.”

Sam pulled out his penlight and turned it on. They were indeed in a storeroom, one filled with wine barrels, small furniture, and assorted boxes. He kept the light going long enough for them to settle into separate corners, then closed it and plunged them back into darkness. “It’s still pretty cold in here,” he said. “But better than out there.”

She tskd as she shifted around. “It’ll be bearable.”

“So you’ve done this before, Casey?”

“Yeah. Freshman year. Got caught out too late and missed curfew. I was with a couple of other kids who knew about this place.”

He smiled at her confession, remembering his own college years at Queen’s. “So you attend Queen’s? You sound American.”

“I do in 2006. I don’t think I’m enrolled at the moment.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “You major in horticulture? What year are you?”

She didn’t answer right away and he wondered if he was asking too many questions. She had no reason to trust him.

“I’m a junior,” she said at last. “And yes, I’m American. From Berkeley, California.”

“Berkeley? Why didn’t you go to Cal?”

“Because I grew up there. And I’ve wanted to live in Ireland all my life. I like it here. Your turn. Are you from Belfast?”

“Aye, since I was twelve. I went to Queen’s, too, although, as it happens, I did my postgrad at Stanford.”

“Oh, dear. Go Bears.” Her tone was light as she invoked the rivalry between Cal and Stanford. He laughed. “So where do you work?” she continued. “Who pays you to do irresponsible time experiments?”

No one, since they pulled the plug, but he didn’t want to get into that. “A private consortium. Funding comes from several sources and I don’t really know what they all are. We’re just a crowd of scientists, playing around with our pet projects.”

“Sounds like something out of DC Comics,” she said. “You know, some private group of super-rich dudes supporting mad scientists in order to exploit their work, most likely not for the good of humanity.”

He tapped the wall behind him with his head. “That has occurred to me at times. But I never saw a problem, and it was nice to have research funds.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” He heard her shifting around again. “For the record, Dr. Altair, I don’t believe a word you’ve said. We’ll get a better look around in the morning and maybe you’ll have a new explanation then.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Sounds fair. Hope you get some sleep.”

“Yeah. You too.”

But neither one of them did.

Chapter 2

January 25, 1906

“I don’t believe this.” Casey stood on the street corner the next morning, staring in shock at the scene around her. The university she knew was gone. A few of the old buildings were still there, but the trees that grew in front of the Lanyon Building were missing. As she had noticed last night, there were no student apartments, no traffic lights, no stop signs. The streets were asphalt, but looked odd. After a moment, she figured out that the painted lines were missing, so there was nothing to indicate lanes. The curbs were bare of the long lines of cars usually parked along both sides of the street.

People were walking by, everyone dressed in dark clothes, the women in long skirts and big hats. Horses and carriages dashed through the streets, the horses leaving droppings everywhere, which the people ignored, except to step around them. The occasional car clattered by, but they were unlike any car Casey had ever seen outside of a classic car show. The stink of horse manure and burning coal marred every breath, forcing her to hold a hand over her nose as often as possible. It was familiar enough to be Belfast, the land was the same, the streets were similar, and off in the distance the cranes in the shipyard hulked against a gray sky. But it was a vastly changed Belfast.

She closed her eyes, and the city she knew sprang into her mind. She heard her friend, Jase, offering to let her sleep in the empty bed in his dorm room. “I’ve kept ye here ‘till bloody midnight, gettin’ me ready for the test tomorrow,” he was saying. “Ye know it’s not safe to walk home alone.”

She did know it. Her mother would kill her, if she found out. But she’d stayed in boys’ rooms before, and couldn’t face the mess. Besides, the bed was only empty because Jase’s roommate was with his girlfriend. Which meant used sheets on the bed. So she walked home through the garden, after promising to stay alert, and to call Jase as soon as she got home.

Shit, she thought, opening her eyes to the unreal vision of dust and horses and long skirts around her. Jase, her housemates, her best friend, Colleen, her parents. What had she done to them?

Trying to banish the guilty thoughts, she turned to the physicist, standing next to her on the corner. He was pale, staring at the scene. She cleared her throat. “Is… is this really 1906?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

He hunched his shoulders. “It looks like it could be. That’s the year I programmed.”

She took a couple of deep breaths, feeling sick. “What do we do, Dr. Altair? If this is 1906, what are we supposed to do?”

He sighed as he looked at her. “D’you have any idea how out of place we are? How conspicuous? The style of our clothes, the material they’re made of? Our money, our IDs, our gadgets, everything we have with us is an anachronism. I don’t know what we do.”

Casey studied him, trying to concentrate on one problem at a time. His clothes were casual: blue jeans, hiking shoes, a North Down Cricket sweatshirt with a hood, and a warm rain jacket over it that he should probably zip up, as the sweatshirt commemorated the winning back of the senior cup in 1981. He reminded her of any number of professors, older and genial, grey hair, dark glasses. Behind the glasses, his eyes were large and brown, the brows bushy. He was around six feet tall and thin, with a slight paunch. She guessed he was about sixty.

On impulse, she grabbed her cell phone and flipped it open. No service. The battery was charged, but that wouldn’t last long. She brought up a picture of Colleen, the one taken in their room as Colleen hugged her teddy bear pillow. The next picture was of her parents, taken during the Christmas holiday, over coffee in the kitchen at home. Tears stung her eyes.

“We’ll never get home, will we?” She struggled to breathe. “I’ll never see my parents again, will I? I was supposed to call my mom today after my test. What are they going to think, Dr. Altair? Have we just disappeared? Will they think we’ve been kidnapped and murdered, with our bodies buried somewhere and they never find them?” She blinked tears away. Her glance went back to the phone, then around her at the buildings and horses. People gave them odd looks, but didn’t stop. Turning to hide her movement, she closed the phone and put it away. Suddenly, it was very precious.

Altair’s expression was sad and guilty. He turned and walked back to the shelter of the church. Casey followed, and they leaned against the wall. “There is someone who might be able to help us,” he said with some hesitation. “A physicist who lived in Belfast at this time. I’ve used some of his work as the basis for my experiment.”

“Occupational hazard,” Casey murmured.

“What?”

“Occupational hazard,” she repeated, glancing up at him. “I guess if you’re a physicist trying to figure out how time works, you have to be prepared for wayward time travelers to show up on your doorstep.”

He smiled at the thought. “You might, at that.” He nodded toward the campus. “I don’t know where he lives, but he works there. I suggest we find his office and see if he’ll do anything for us.”

“Maybe he’ll give us tea and biscuits,” Casey said with some hope, as she followed him onto campus.

~~~

It took about thirty minutes, but they eventually found themselves in what was currently the science building. They stood outside an office door, a nameplate declaring it belonged to “Dr. Colin Riley.” Sam’s knock brought no answer, and a passing student informed them, “Won’t be here until 9:00. Not an early riser.” They both automatically looked at their watches. It was 8:47.

Casey quirked an eyebrow. “Amazing. You brought us a hundred years into the past and hit it to the second. We’d get jet lag if we flew to New York.”

Sam shrugged. “The time of day wasn’t one of my variables. Since I didn’t change it, it stayed constant. Why make things harder than they have to be?”

Casey nodded. Then, like students everywhere who are forced to wait for a teacher, she sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her bag on her lap. Sam shook his head and moved across the hall to examine the trophy case.

He ignored the curious looks they garnered, but he noticed Casey shifting around as if nervous.

Soon, she came to stand next to him. “All the students are guys.”

“It’s 1906, Casey. Not sure if Queen’s even admitted women at this time.”

“Queen’s has always admitted women. I guess none of them are taking physics.” She was silent a moment. “They keep looking at me.”

Sam turned to examine her. As he had noticed last night, she was small. Daylight revealed long, curly red hair and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Her hooded black cloak was wool, under it, she wore a brown sweater, blue jeans and black boots. He grinned, amused. “With that hair, you’re obviously a girl, but you’re wearing pants and sitting on the floor. Not things a lady does in this time.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m going to have a hard time here, aren’t I?”

A voice interrupted them. “May I help you?”

They turned. The speaker was middle-aged, not as tall as Sam, wearing a bowler hat and a black coat over a three-piece suit. He carried a briefcase and an umbrella, and had the harried look of a man who had just arisen.

Sam stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Dr. Riley? I’m Dr. Samuel Altair, this is Miss Casey Wilson. We were hoping to talk with you a moment.”

Dr. Riley indicated his office and went inside, tossing his hat and coat on a rack in the corner. Sam and Casey followed, standing awkwardly amid stacks of books and papers that covered the desk and several feet of the floor. “My class starts in half an hour,” he said. “Until then, what can I do for you?” He looked them over, peering at their clothes, then shrugged. He placed a kettle of water on a small cook stove before lighting the coal inside. “Would you like some tea? I have some extra cups here somewhere.”

While Riley rummaged among a cascade of slide rules, paper, and various scales on his shelf, Sam decided to talk. “We have an unusual problem, Dr. Riley. I believe you’ve been working with light in relation to the new theory of relativity published last year by Albert Einstein?”

Dr. Riley nodded, throwing some tea leaves into a pot. “I wouldn’t say I’m working on it. Haven’t actually seen the paper. Heard of it, though. Have you a copy, perchance?”

Sam exchanged a glance with Casey, before plunging ahead. “I’ve used some of your findings in my own work on time travel, Dr. Riley.” He hesitated as Riley turned to stare at him. The air seemed to turn to molasses, but he forced himself to continue. “I had developed an experiment to move objects backward through time. Something went wrong, though. Casey and I have been displaced in time, Dr. Riley. We were in the year 2006.”

Riley blinked, then nodded. “Kelly put you up to this?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Kelly. Put you up to it. Do let him know I’m quite impressed, and will spend a few days on my rejoinder.”

Casey snickered. Sam glared at her, then in one quick movement, took out his cell phone and tossed it to Riley, who barely caught it. Riley stared at it, as Sam said, “No, Dr. Riley. Dr. Kelly has nothing to do with this. We can show you other objects, if you wish. We just arrived last night. Spent the night in a storage room. All we have are the clothes we’re wearing and objects like that. Things that are useful for life in 2006, but won’t do anything for us, here.”

As anachronisms go, Sam thought the cell phone would be fairly convincing. When Riley opened it, he stumbled into his chair, never taking his eyes off the screen. He didn’t move for a while and to Sam’s relief, Casey took the tea in hand, pouring the boiling water into the teapot to steep, then passing out cups. As she placed a cup by Riley, she tapped his hand. He looked up at her.

“You got any biscuits or anything? This time traveler’s starving.”

He opened his mouth, but couldn’t make a sound. So he just pointed at the top desk drawer and looked back at the phone. Casey glanced at Sam, who shrugged. He didn’t know quite what to do, either.

While she pulled out a pack of biscuits, Sam held out his hand for the phone. Riley gave it to him without comment. “It’s a phone,” Sam explained. “Has other functions as well, but basically, it’s a telephone. However, it requires a network to function and obviously that network doesn’t exist in this time. It’s also a camera,” and he pointed it at Riley who jumped at the flash. Sam pressed a button and held the phone up for Riley to see, noting that color could actually drain from someone’s face.

“What… what do you want?” Riley asked, his voice a terrified whisper.

Sam spread his hands out. “Just assistance, Dr. Riley. You see, I can’t get us back to our own time. We’re stuck here. We don’t have clothes or money or any way to get them. At the very least, we could use some advice.” He pointed at Casey, who was staring at the biscuit in her hand. “This young lady is an innocent victim. She walked into my experiment by accident. She’s lost everything, Dr. Riley. Her family, her friends, her world. So have I.” He paused and smiled in apology. “We don’t want to burden you, but you’re the only person I could think of who lived here at this time. Would you be willing to help us?”

Riley’s mouth opened and closed a few times. On his fourth attempt, he managed, “Wait here,” and then he was out the door. Sam and Casey stared at each other, bewildered. They waited, sipping their tea. Neither felt like talking.

~~~

Riley was back in twenty minutes, bearing a tray of bread and jam. As he put on more tea, he explained, “Had my assistant take my class.” He sat down, shaking his head. “You could knock me over with a feather, Dr. Altair. I don’t know what happens with time theory between now and 2006, but I can guarantee we aren’t even close to time travel right now. It’s all thought experiments.”

Sam nodded. “I understand. We’re just at the threshold in my time. No one was more surprised than I, when this experiment actually worked.”

“I’ll have to give this some thought, sir. But I don’t mind telling you, this scares me to death. People from the future? What will your presence do? Now that I have knowledge of you, how will that affect my research?” Riley stared hard at Sam. “I’m tempted, sir, to just send you both away. Whatever you end up doing is up to you. I can’t control you. But I’d prefer it if you stayed out of my life.” His jaw worked with tension for a moment as he glanced at Sam’s cell phone, still on his desk.

“However,” he continued, with a glance at Casey, who looked ill and disturbed, “I can’t just ignore fellow humans in need. I’m not clear on what my responsibilities are. Should I work with you to see if we can send you back?” His intense stare turned back to Sam. “Is that possible? If you and I work on this, can you figure that out? Can you build another time machine to take the two of you home?”

Sam sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I doubt it, Dr. Riley. In 2006, I have technologies at my disposal that are necessary to build and run the time machine. None of that is available now. And we’ve never figured out the mechanics of time travel. Once we moved backward, it’s not at all clear what happened to the future. Is it still there, where we left it? Where was that? Are we in a tangential or parallel universe? You see, I have no idea where to aim for.”

Riley nodded. “Yes, I do see. And I assumed it would be something like that. Hence, your need for shelter and food.” He turned to Casey, his gaze critical. “And proper clothing.” He turned back to Sam. “Perhaps employment as well. Do you concur?”

Sam nodded, with a worried glance at Casey. She was sitting still, wide-eyed and pale. Two bright splotches of red marred her cheeks as she listened to them, but she didn’t try to interrupt.

“I can get you settled for a while,” Riley said. “But what kind of job can you do?”

“Well, I am a physicist. I think I can manage to work in this less advanced time, which, by the way, is considered a heyday of discoveries in many branches of science. I would be thrilled to participate.”

Riley looked alarmed. “I’m not sure if research would be a good idea, Dr. Altair. How would you cope with your advanced knowledge? And what would be the point? If you wanted to, you could just write a textbook, telling us of all the discoveries and knowledge discovered in the next hundred years. It might take us a few years to assimilate it, but just imagine—we’d be a hundred years ahead of ourselves.”

Sam exchanged an uncomfortable look with Casey, who shrugged to show she had no helpful opinion to offer. All three of them were silent. Sam finally spoke, feeling his way.

“That would necessitate announcing to the world that Casey and I have traveled through time. I don’t believe the world is ready for that idea, even if everyone believed us. It’s possible we’d just become prisoners or pawns of governments—I can’t, for instance, see the Queen, or rather, the King leaving us alone if he knew about us. I would be terrified of creating an extremely unstable political situation. I’m afraid I can’t even imagine how horrible it would be, Dr. Riley.”

Casey shuddered. “I’d rather we just tried to sink into the woodwork, if you know what I mean. Can we do that? Just work at normal jobs and try to live normal lives in this time?” She glanced at Sam. “We may have made a huge mistake in even talking to Dr. Riley. What if he feels obligated to tell someone, to turn us in?”

Riley shook his head. “Not to worry, Miss Wilson. I wouldn’t dare. I’ve worked too hard to reach this point in my career. I’m not about to throw it away blabbering about time travelers from the future.” He leaned toward Sam, gesturing earnestly. “I would prefer that you find ‘normal jobs,’ as Miss Wilson says. Something outside the field of physics would be best. Try to fit in as well as possible.”

He rubbed his forehead, staring off into space. “If you are from the future, that means the time from now until 2006 has already occurred. Which means we go through it again. What happens if you change something?”

“Not changing things might be impossible, Dr. Riley. You mentioned yourself that just having knowledge of us could change your own research. There are a billion possible variables we might affect at any time, even in all innocence.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Riley sat back and rested his hands in his lap. “Short of both of you committing suicide, though, I think we must take our chances and hope that whatever changes that happen are just small, unimportant ones.”

Casey spoke up, startling both men. “As far as I’m concerned, from the point of view of today, the future hasn’t happened yet. I understand our presence is a paradox, but I don’t see that it changes anything. The future is unknown for us as well as you, and everyone alive today. We have no idea what happens tomorrow. We don’t even know where our next meal is coming from. Except for Dr. Altair’s knowledge of scientific discoveries, the only things we know about are large events, like wars and elections and such. Things we can’t really affect. I don’t see that we’ll be that much of a danger. And if we do change something, how do we know if that’s a bad thing?”

“What if you change something that prevents your own birth?” Riley asked. “There are so many possible paradoxes.”

Casey spread her hands. “So? That seems so spurious. We were born. We’re here, now. Whatever happens from this point on, happens in the normal stream of time. There are no future events that must happen because they happened before. The future hasn’t happened, yet.” She rubbed her forehead. “Jesus, this is giving me a headache.”

Riley raised his brows at her language, but said, “And it’s a circular argument, which I’m afraid to say, is the only argument possible for this situation. We could discuss it forever and still end up where we started. So again, I say you should just try to live normal lives. I agree with you, Miss Wilson.”

“What about the San Francisco earthquake, Casey?” Sam asked.

“What?” She looked confused.

“The 1906 earthquake. That’s a good data point for us. If the earthquake happens in April, with the resulting fire and loss of life and property…” he hesitated. “I don’t know what that tells us. Except that we’ll know that certain events will occur in this “stream of time” as you called it, that did occur in our timeline.”

“We can’t stop an earthquake, Dr. Altair,” Casey pointed out.

“No, we can’t. I suppose if we had sufficient time, we could try to warn them, tell them what to do to prepare for it.”

“But they’d have to know you’re from the future,” Riley stated. “Back to our original problem.”

They were silent for several minutes, then Sam sighed. “A day at a time, I guess. We should try to solve our immediate problems and worry about the larger picture later. Dr. Riley, can you give us advice? How do we find jobs, shelter, clothing? What’s our first step?”

Riley leaned back in his chair. “Belfast is an industrial city, but the country has been through a rough economic time. People are pouring into town from the rural areas, hoping to find work. You’ll have a lot of competition. I can get you a newspaper; you can see what jobs are being offered.”

“This is going to take some thought,” Casey said, leaning forward in her chair, gazing at Sam. “You can’t just waltz into a shop somewhere and expect them to hand you a job. What will you tell them? Who are you? What experience have you had? Where have you worked before this?” She glanced at Riley. “Will we need some kind of identification? You can’t do anything in the future without that. What about now?”

Riley shook his head, bewildered by her quick questions. “Do you mean papers of some kind? No. Most people don’t have any kind of identification. Births, deaths, marriages, things like that are supposed to be recorded, but I don’t believe any employer would ask for something like that. They will want references, however.” He swallowed nervously, glancing at Sam. “I suppose I could write a letter of reference for you. Just general character, skills, knowledge, that kind of thing. It may not be the perfect solution, but it’s a start.”

Sam nodded. “I’d appreciate that. I think it’s safest to stick as close to the truth as possible. We can’t just make up all new personas.” He shrugged in Casey’s direction. “I imagine it would become very difficult to keep our stories straight, if we made everything up.”

Casey and Riley both nodded at this, Riley waiting for further information, Casey no doubt trying to figure out what in her past could be applied to this time period. Sam was wondering the same thing, disturbed at the difficulty of applying a lifetime of physics research to the low-tech task of a job in 1906.

“Do you have a pencil and paper?” he asked Riley. “I’ll write down a few skills and bits of experience you can work into a letter. Casey could do the same thing.”

Riley handed Sam a pad and pencil, but looked Casey over with a critical air. “She’s a girl. She could maybe work at the rope factory or as a servant.”

Casey looked flabbergasted, but Sam said, “Let’s assume her class is a bit higher than that. I don’t believe she has the background to do either of those jobs.”

Riley pursed his lips as he thought. “Seamstress?”

Casey shrugged. “I can sew up a cut in an emergency.”

“What?” Riley seemed quite confused.

“First aid,” Casey explained. “My mother’s a doctor and she made me take extensive first aid training. ‘So I’d be useful in emergencies,’ she always said. The only real job experience I’ve had has been working in the Botanic Garden as a student assistant.”

“Her major was horticulture,” Sam supplied. “Quite useful to Ireland in the twenty-first century.”

Casey nodded, looking hopefully at Riley, but he just shook his head. “I can’t imagine what use a girl would be in the gardens. That’s hard work.”

Casey rolled her eyes and Sam sighed, turning his attention to his pad of paper.

~~~

When they left Riley’s office an hour later, they were not much better off than when they arrived. Sam possessed a generic letter of reference and a newspaper folded to the classified section. He also had in his pocket two five-pound notes that he had reluctantly accepted from Riley, along with directions to a store that had cheap clothes. Riley insisted they take the money, as he had no other help to offer them and they would have needs while looking for work. He assured them it would not last long, but that it was all he could spare. He also asked them not to come back. If a prospective employer called, he would give a good reference, but he hoped to never see them again.

“I think we scare him, Dr. Altair,” Casey offered in consolation as she and Sam headed for the business district. “Give him some time to think about it. Maybe his scientific curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll be in touch.”

“Maybe.” Sam was doubtful. “Listen, we may as well get on first names, don’t you think?” He stopped and looked at her in regret. “I’m afraid we may be here a long time and we’ll be better off if we stick together.” He paused at her hesitant expression, then moved over to a bench and sat. Casey followed, but remained standing.

“I don’t know you, Dr. Altair,” she began, then stopped, and sat down next to him, staring at her feet. “Until last night, I’d never laid eyes on you. Now you’re the only person in the world that I know. You seem like a nice enough person,” she looked up at him with narrowed eyes, “although perhaps a bit careless at times.” He “harrumphed” at that and she smiled a bit, but turned serious, again. “I’m really afraid, Sam,” she said. “But I want to survive. I’m not sure what that means in this time period, but I guess we just take it a day at a time. And you’re right: we need to stick together.”

She stood again, but regarded him, still serious. “So let’s call it friends and see what happens. But Sam, I really do know karate. Brown belt.”

He laughed and stood as well, rubbing his arm. “I’m convinced you know karate,” he said as he started off toward the store. “You’re in charge of security.”

“Great,” she muttered, following after him. “At least I have a job.”

Chapter 3

January 25, 1906—March 1906

With judicious use, the ten pounds lasted them several weeks. One pound, and a story about Sam being Casey’s guardian, got them a room at a boarding house in a middle-class section of town, with a bed for Casey, a couch that Sam could sleep on, and a folding room divider for privacy. This was expensive for one room, but the landlady, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, kept it clean. Board was included, along with the knowledge that their room was not rented out in shifts to other people. They purchased some inexpensive clothes—pants, suspenders, shirt, vest, jacket and bowler hat for Sam, and for Casey, a skirt, blouse, bloomers, petticoat, camisole, and a large, ugly hat with feathers that the shopkeeper insisted was a favorite of the “best ladies.” Casey horrified the shopkeeper by refusing to buy or wear a corset.

They decided that Casey’s cloak was neutral enough in style for her to wear, as were her boots, but Sam bought a used overcoat to replace his Kevlar rain jacket. He also bought a pair of shoes and a toothbrush. Casey had a toothbrush in her backpack, along with toothpaste, shrugging at Sam’s astonished expression.

“Sometimes, I stayed at a friend’s place overnight, which I obviously should have done instead of walking home last night. It’s not such a dumb thing.”

Sam didn’t think it was dumb at all, and realized that of all the teenage girls who could have stumbled into his experiment, he may have lucked out with the one he got. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. She didn’t waste time on panic or hysterics, preferring to get on with the task of surviving.

But she was far from okay. Until the battery ran out on her cell phone, Sam would often catch her sitting on the floor in their room, staring blankly at the pictures or messages stored on it. And although she tried to be quiet about it, when she went to bed and the lights were out, he could hear her cry.

~~~

Steady work did not come easily. Sam found occasional temporary positions that lasted for a day or two. He grumbled about “age discrimination,” but there was nothing to be done about it. Casey suggested he try teaching, perhaps at a technical school or even one of the public schools for young children. It turned out, though, that teaching was one profession where past experience and good references were important. And the one reference they had was not to be found, as Casey discovered a couple of weeks later, when Sam arrived for dinner just as the other boarders were starting to eat. She noticed that he looked upset, but let it go until they returned to their room.

“You look like you had a bad day,” she said.

He sat on the sofa, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Aye, you could call it that.” He said nothing else, and Casey waited until he continued, with a shake of his head. “Riley’s left town.”

“Riley?” She didn’t know what to make of that information. “Where’d he go?”

His gaze shifted to her. She realized he was really angry. “The official word from the university is that he’s on sabbatical. They wouldn’t tell me where he went or even if the sabbatical had been planned, or taken suddenly. My guess is, it’s sudden. I think he took off like a bat out of hell.”

“Because of us?”

“Hell yes, because of us!” Sam curved his hands in front of him, as he if wanted to choke someone, reminding Casey that she didn’t know him very well. Then he dropped his hands, more sad than angry. “I don’t understand it. Why such fear, Casey?” He looked bewildered. “I ask myself how I would have felt if people from the future had shown up on my doorstep. Like you said, considering my work, it was a real possibility. I hope…” he shook his head again, “…that I would have reacted with more professional curiosity. And courtesy.”

“Well, screw ’im,” Casey said.

“What?” Sam asked, with a startled laugh.

“If he’s that afraid, he’ll be nothing but trouble. We’re better off with him gone.”

“Except he was a reference for us. That’s what caused all the bloody trouble, today. One of the employers I talked to had tried to call Riley and get a personal reference, but found out he was gone, with no warning and no expected date of return. It didn’t look good and he turned me down for the job.” Sam’s lips tightened, his anger back. “You’re right, though. We’ll do it without his help. And I’m going to do what I should have done all along.”

Casey just raised her eyebrows, and he answered, “Look for work as a physicist. It’s what I know how to do, even in this day and age.”

She nodded, a little smile tugging at her lips. “What about documentation? Sure, you can tell people you lost all your papers in a fire, but they’ll want to know why you can’t write to Stanford and have them send you a copy.”

He laughed. “One reason would be that Stanford was not in operation in 1872, which would be the year I got my PhD.”

“Oh.” She laughed with him. “Maybe you went to Cambridge or something?”

He gave it some thought, then asked her, “Do you think it’s possible to have someone counterfeit a degree?”

“We’re going to be regular criminals?”

“Just the bare minimum. I don’t like it either, you know.”

She leaned back in the chair, her legs extended and hands folded over her stomach, the pose incongruous with the Edwardian clothes she wore, as she considered their plight. “I suppose I could live with the ethical quandary, but let’s be practical. How do we find someone who knows how to do that kind of thing? And how do we pay them?”

He looked helpless. “Damned if I know.”

“Could Queen’s test you and give you an honorary degree or something? After all, you have the knowledge and experience. You’re just missing the paperwork.”

He considered that. “Maybe. Let me think about it.”

~~~

Sam decided to contact Albert Einstein, who was living in Bern at this time. “Einstein,” he told Casey, “has an intuitive grasp of time travel and the paradoxes involved. I’ll go slow, but if I can convince him of what’s happened, any thoughts he has can only help.”

He sent a letter, writing a little about his research and the practical applications he had been developing. He would have preferred to go to Bern himself, but he felt responsible for Casey, and was unwilling to drag her across Europe with no money and no guarantee Einstein would be able or willing to work with him.

They talked about Sam working as an “inventor,” creating appliances and technologies they knew would catch on. While this would no doubt make them rich, the obstacles were overwhelming. Even the simplest invention required materials that they could not afford or that did not yet exist, although Casey facetiously suggested he figure out how to invent a better sound system. Her music player no longer worked and she hated how the gramophone mutilated music.

Casey faced predictable discrimination as she looked for work. She was a girl, thus her options were limited. And like young people everywhere (and evidently in all times) she complained about the catch-22 of how to get experience when all the jobs required experience! But one obstacle came from an unexpected source—her nationality. More than once, a possible employer turned her away with the comment, “there’s plenty o’ Irish out of work. Can’t see my way straight to hirin’ an American who could just go home.”

~~~

It was after just such a rejection a few days later, that Casey, her head down against the wind, hurried across a street, fighting back tears at the shopkeeper’s rude shout and slammed door. She paused at the entrance to an alley, her back to the street, and gave vent to a brief gasp of sorrow and rage. She tried to stop, knowing that red eyes would make people think she was on the morning after. Then she gave up, turned her face to the wall, and wept.

Someone brushed past her into the alley and she looked up, startled. A man stood farther in, well-dressed, hands in his coat pockets, hat pushed firmly onto his head as he regarded her with a friendly face. She wiped the tears away as she murmured, “excuse me,” and started to turn.

“Looking for a job?” His voice was mild and she turned back to face him, hope making her voice bright.

“Yes, I am. Do you have a position open?”

He tilted his head deeper into the alley and took her arm. “We can discuss positions a little farther out of the wind and prying eyes, lass. Come along.”

“Oh, for pity’s…” she jerked her arm back and turned to the street, but he grabbed her again and pulled her roughly into the alley, pushing her against the building. His hand covered her throat, just firmly enough to keep her silent as he told her, “Shush, now.” He searched her face a moment, smiling a little.

“Not looking for that kind of work yet, lass?” He smiled wider at her glare. “I’m giving you the option of taking home a few shillings for the work of a few minutes. That’s more than you’ll make applying at stores.”

Ignoring her pounding heart, Casey glared at him, her hands grasping his in an effort to loosen his grip on her throat. “Are you going to force me?” she croaked past his hand. “Strangle me if I say no, or scream? Or will you just let me go like a reasonable person?”

His smile faded as he stared at her. “I’m not a rapist nor a murderer. But only a whore wanders the streets without a chaperone. I’m offering you a business deal.”

Her body tensed in fury. He was not prepared for her to defend herself and she knew she could hurt him. “I have a right to look for honest work, and I have a right to not be molested while I do it. Let me go, now.”

He thought about it before releasing her with a haughty twitch of his brows. “I don’t need any trouble. Another time, perhaps. When you’re hungrier.”

She shoved him a little as she moved past him, muttering “asshole” under her breath, not caring if he heard. He didn’t follow. Her mind swirled and she walked blindly down the street, afraid to stop anywhere, afraid to take the time to pull herself together. The tears had returned but she kept walking, oblivious to anyone around her.

Fucking Edwardians! How can they justify this society? I can’t work at an honest job and I’d be condemned if I was a prostitute! But that’s the only option they give me! I hate them! I feel like I’m in the middle of Les Misérables!

That’s when she saw the sign in a barber’s window. We purchase hair!

She hesitated. That could work. I have lots of hair. But it will only work once.

She stepped inside and stood self-conscious at appraising stares from several men. The proprietor looked over her cheap skirt and blouse and waved her off. “Go somewhere else. I don’t run that kind of place.”

Casey glared at him and lifted her chin in defiance. “I want to inquire about selling my hair. You advertise that you buy it.”

The barber looked at her a bit more critically, then jerked his chin toward a chair. “Sit there. I’ll be with ye in a few minutes.”

It was almost thirty minutes before he judged enough customers had been taken care of and he walked over to examine her locks. She removed the pins that held it up and saw the gleam in his eyes as he ran his fingers through the red curls.

“I’ll pay ye ten shillings for six inches,” he stated with finality.

She winced. “Take it all for two pounds,” was her counter, and he gaped at her.

“All? Are ye sure, Miss? Ye’ll look like a boy.”

She shrugged. “That can only help in finding work. Go ahead. Cut it like a boy’s.” She gazed at him in the mirror and relented at the concern in his eyes. “It’ll grow back, you know.”

He bit his lip as he picked up his comb. “Sure ye don’t want to check with yer mother, first? Ye can come back.”

His innocent question filled her with pain and she found herself blinking back tears. She grabbed the bunch of curls, twisted it harshly, and let it fall again down her back. “Cut it!” she demanded, and closed her eyes.

~~~

On the way home, Casey used a bit of the two pounds to buy a boy’s pants, shirt, shoes and cap. As she approached the boarding house, her steps slowed. She kept her eyes on the ground, holding her purchases in front of her like a shield. Her head was strangely light and naked-feeling, and she was cold. But a plan had coalesced in her mind at the barber’s protest that she would look like a boy. She had to try.

She had noticed the boys on the streets. Little more than waifs, they darted here and there, doing odd jobs picked up from shopkeepers or strangers, and earning a bit of money. Probably not much money, but Casey figured she had an advantage or two over the young boys. Age was one. Most of the boys were between ten and fifteen, she was twenty. And she had more education than any of them.

Disguised as a boy, she would qualify for all kinds of odd jobs not available to a girl. She’d be safe from people like this morning’s asshole. She could even go into pubs if she needed to. Odd jobs would help in another way, too. Almost any kind of permanent job meant sitting in a dark and dull room somewhere, performing the same task over and over for fifteen hours. A recipe for insanity. If she could pick up enough work, the variety alone would keep her sane.

~~~

Casey plopped the cap on her head and gazed in the small mirror. Her curls were cut almost to her scalp and the cap covered them easily. But her skin was too soft and smooth to be a boy’s, her eyebrows too arched, her cheekbones too high. To her, the face looked like a girl’s face, but the definitive test would be Sam. She stepped out from behind her privacy screen. Sam glanced up, then did a double take. Eyebrows scaling up to his hair line, he walked around Casey to examine all sides.

“Wow.”

“Do I pass?”

Sam lifted his shoulders. “I would say yes, but I don’t trust my judgment. So how did you…” he made vague motions around his chest.

Casey grimaced. “Just bound them up with cloth. Squished ’em, basically. Good thing they’re not too big to begin with.”

He just nodded. “It might work, Casey. It’s worth a try, I suppose. People will think you’re a boy anywhere from twelve to fifteen years old.” Then he glared at her. “You’re sure I can’t talk you out of this? You really are taking chances.”

She shrugged. “I’m not getting any work the other way, Sam. Odd jobs are better than nothing.” She reached for the doorknob. “May as well jump in. I won’t go far this time.”

He looked worried and unhappy as he lifted a hand in farewell. “Please, be careful.”

She raised a fist, just to remind him, gave him a brief smile, and darted out the door.

Chapter 4

April 20, 1906—May 1906

Sam and Casey went to breakfast early, with plans to continue their job searches. Three other boarders were in the tiny dining room ahead of them, gathered around a newspaper spread out on the chipped and scratched wooden table. They looked at Casey with uncertain glances.

“Ain’t she from there?” one of them muttered, and another nodded.

“Where? What’s going on?” Casey asked.

In answer, they moved aside so she and Sam could look at the paper.

San Francisco Leveled by Earthquake! ran the headline. Casey froze, as did Sam behind her. They read the article amid anxious questions from the boarders. Casey answered as best she could. Yes, she had friends in the area and yes, she hoped they were all right. No, she no longer had family there. Then she burst into tears and ran from the room. Startled, Sam grabbed some scones and tea and followed her.

She was sitting on the bed, head buried in her arms. “Casey,” Sam touched her shoulder. “Casey, this is one of the things we wondered about. The same things do happen in this timeline. But we don’t know anyone there, now. None of your family is there.”

She raised her head and wiped tears from her face. “I know. It’s not that. It’s just… reading about home. And it could happen. It could happen again at any time and I will never know. I’ll never know anything again, about my family or my friends.”

Sam turned and sat against the wall, his face thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about the future, Casey. What we left behind. Do you realize we left clues about what happened?”

She shook her head, brow crinkled in puzzlement. He continued. “In the park, I had the time machine with me, and a laptop. They were left there. Someone has to notice.”

A look of horror dawned on Casey’s face. “What would they do with it? Could someone accidentally set the machine off again?”

“No, not at all.” Sam felt sure of that. “The thing is, that particular experiment was unauthorized. I’ve told you what was going on. No one knew what I was doing that night. But they’ll be able to trace it. I had the time machine, and I accessed the system to run the experiment. Presumably, when they don’t hear from me, they’ll investigate. They’ll want to get the time machine back, if nothing else.”

“What if a random person found your laptop? Could they boot it up? Maybe get your information and see what you were doing?”

Sam shook his head. “Needs a password. And believe me, it’s well-encrypted. I did, perhaps carelessly, have my business card tucked in the case. Just my name and cell number. My cell phone is with me, so calling that number won’t do anyone any good.”

“The party you are trying to reach is outside the calling area,” Casey murmured.

Sam looked at her, his face serious. “Indeed. But there’s something else you need to understand.”

Her eyebrows twitched. “What?”

“My team has researched this for years. We’ve done hundreds of experiments. None of them has given us positive data. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

“You have no results. All your inferences are made from a lack of data as opposed to empirical results from your experiments.”

Sam nodded, reluctant. “Yes, exactly. When we sent something back in time, we knew it went somewhere because it disappeared. But it never showed up in our past. We were considering the possibility that sending something back in time creates a new and different timeline. A new universe, if you will, with the same history as ours, but only up to the point the object went back to. In our case, January 24, 1906.”

“What happens to the original universe? Is it still there?”

He chewed on his lip, nodding. “I believe so. At least, we never noticed a difference when we ran our experiments. All the timelines could co-exist, theoretically. But my point is, that as far as you and I finding our way back to our own, original future, or even living long enough to get back—that won’t happen. Any future we get to from here will be a different universe.”

“Maybe someone will figure out how to build a bridge,” Casey said.

“A bridge?”

“Between universes.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “That’s a very interesting idea.”

She thought of something else. “We’re the only ones who will know if something changes if you and I cause the future to be different.” She looked uncertain at this prospect and Sam held up a finger.

“Now, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing, but I’ve been thinking about it. We have no idea what will change because of our presence. Even if we don’t decide to change something deliberately, I think it’s impossible that we won’t have some effect, somewhere. And I want to know what happens. I want to keep studying this and hopefully, in this timeline, we can make some real progress in the knowledge of time travel.”

“How?”

“I wonder if we should somehow leave messages for the future. A trail of sorts, to show what we did. You’ve seen the notebook I had in my pocket when we came here. You know I’ve been keeping a diary of sorts. But maybe we should each keep one and record what we remember of our twentieth century. Leave a way for future historians to determine the effect we’ve had. And not just historians. For me, too.”

“You?”

“Well…” he paused, not sure if she would approve of his idea. “For my future self. Assuming I’m born in 1946 and go into physics, having access to all this would be helpful. It’s an idea I’ve been thinking about. It hasn’t quite come together yet, so I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Okay,” Casey said. “Let me know when you figure it out. But sure, I can keep a diary, too. We need to record what we remember of the future, too. We have to, Sam. We owe it to our families and friends, if no one else.”

Sam nodded. “We can call them time travel journals. We’ll have to buy notebooks.” He lifted a brow at Casey. “Something else to spend money on.”

“I have some blank paper in my backpack,” Casey said. “We can start with that.”

~~~

A few days later, a letter came from Einstein, and Casey listened as Sam read it aloud, hope hammering her chest. But the hope faded at the carefully worded letter. Einstein expressed amazement at Sam’s thoughts, but left enough unsaid to keep from committing himself. He seemed to think Sam might be insane, but wanted to keep his options open. He asked for more time to think about it. He encouraged Sam to continue writing to him and said he hoped they could meet at some future time to discuss Sam’s ideas.

Casey bit her lip as Sam folded the letter, his face discouraged and bitter. “I can’t depend on Einstein,” he said, staring at the pages in his hand. “We revered these early physicists. I can’t believe they would all be so afraid.”

“Write him again,” Casey said, trying to sound upbeat. “He’s our best hope for figuring out what happened. Maybe you were too circumspect. I know you don’t want to come right out and tell him you traveled through time. But try again. Make him understand. We really need his help, Sam.”

“What about his life?” Sam asked her, more disturbed than she had ever seen him. “His work is seminal to every bit of the physics done after this year. How will my interference screw that up?”

She rested her forehead on her hands as she thought. When she spoke, her words were quiet, but firm. “We have to make a decision, Sam. Is there only one timeline? One timeline that we have somehow rewound by one hundred years, and that if everything remains as before, will end up exactly at the same place as before? Or are we on an alternate timeline, a new universe, as you’ve suggested? The original universe goes on as before, no changes. But our new line, here with you and me in 1906, is as new and innocent as a newborn baby. Anything is possible. Any future is possible. In this timeline Sam, it doesn’t matter what we do. It’s all new.”

“It’s hypothetical, Casey. You and I have no way of knowing what is the true state of affairs.”

She was impatient. “I know that. But we have to decide.” She shook her head, angry and dissatisfied. “We either live in constant fear that the next breath will forever end everything we ever knew, or we live as if we have real lives to live.” She started to cry. “I’ve just turned twenty-one, Sam. I want a chance to live.”

He agreed he owed her that chance. He wrote to Einstein, again.

~~~

After giving it considerable thought, Sam decided not to press his luck overmuch at Queen’s. He would need their cooperation eventually, but he wanted to be in a stronger position when he next approached them.

“Investors,” he told Casey, as he adjusted his cravat one morning in preparation for a day of job hunting. “I need investors. They don’t call it networking these days, but that’s what I need to do. Meet people. Impress people. Find out who they know and who I need to know. I either find someone to employ me, or even better, find people to invest in my vision of the future.”

“Which is?”

He gave her a wicked smile. “Well, for starters, you want a better sound system, right? Sound is a big deal right now. Communications, in general, is ready for a big leap. The telegraph, and even telephones, are almost commonplace, and Marconi’s wireless is coming into its own. But their range is still very limited. I can bring them to the next level in a matter of months if I have the backers for it.”

“And,” he wagged a finger in front of her, “it can only help Ireland to be on the forefront of all that. Anything we can do to improve Ireland’s economy just might distract them from blowing each other up over religious and political differences. It’s worth a try.”

Chapter 5

May 1906

The hours were long and the pay was negligible, but on occasional warm days, the job of “free-lance contractor” had its pleasurable moments. Casey sat on a bench in the Botanic Garden, with her legs tucked up under her, hands resting on her knees. She stared at her tree, letting the sun warm her back, listening to birds sing. The little oak seemed unfazed by its backward trip through time, and had grown a couple of inches over the last few months. She came to see it as often as she could. Somehow, as long as the little tree was okay, Casey felt like she would be okay, too.

After a while, she tilted her face to the sun, sighed, replaced her cap and stood. She was hungry and had not made any money today. Almost none this week. Sam was not having any luck, either, and their rent was overdue. She knew they didn’t have it. Tomorrow, they would have to leave the boardinghouse, and their prospects for shelter were slim. Her stolen moment of peace over, Casey headed back into the market.

She had just stepped onto the walkway fronting the stores when a rock came hurtling past her, grazing her leg. She yelped and jumped back. The rock smashed into a shop door, a hail of stones close behind. Casey flattened herself against a building just as the yelling started, and she turned in dread to see a gang of men and boys coming up the street. Rocks were the least of their weapons: some of them carried cricket bats or torches, many had guns. They flaunted the weapons as the rocks flew. Several of the rioters entered a store, reappearing within moments, dragging two men with them. They threw the prisoners on the ground and kicked them, while others swung at the shop’s window with a bat, sending glass flying into the street. A torch was waved at the shopkeeper, who fell to his knees in apparent supplication. Another shop was attacked just as a second gang appeared from a side street. They joined in the fray, two of them close enough to Casey to head for her.

“No papists! Papists go home!” They were nearly at her side and she frantically waved her hands. “I’m Protestant! And American!”

A hand closed on the back of her neck and a face shoved itself in front of her eyes. “Wot’s yer name?” came the demand.

“C-Casey. Casey Wilson.”

“Yer American?”

“Yes! Ow!” His hand had tightened on her neck.

“Come on, then. Be a good Protestant and give us a hand.” One of them thrust a bat into her hands and pointed at the shop next door. “That shopkeeper hires Catholics. Let him know he’s wrong to do that.”

As she stared at him, screams filled the air. A nearby house had been set ablaze and the occupants were streaming outside. Most of them were men and they had weapons too. The brawl distracted Casey’s tormenters. She dropped the bat and ran.

They were after her in an instant, rocks grazing her as she ran. She ducked down a side street just as a rock clipped her shoulder. Terror put speed to her feet as another rock landed in the middle of her back. She tripped forward, past training instinctively making her turn it into a forward roll. The roll caused the rest of her training to flood her muscles and she leapt to her feet, turning with a side snap to the boy just reaching her. Her foot connected with his thigh, knocking him down. Not slowing, she went for the next guy, with a forward snap to his chest that quite possibly broke a rib as he fell, unable to breathe. The two others behind them stopped short, unwilling to get within her range.

She narrowed her eyes, and her mouth twisted in contempt. “Help your friends. I’m going home.”

No one tried to stop her.

~~~

“I don’t get it!” she yelled at Sam later that afternoon. Mrs. Fitzsimmons had fussed over her bruises when she got home, and then had given Sam a piece of her mind for letting Casey run around town dressed as a boy and without any protection. Casey and Sam were in the little parlor now, waiting for dinner. “There must be some signal between people. They have to have this planned out. But how do they know who’s Catholic and who’s not? It’s not as if the Catholic’s have purple skin or feathers growing out of their heads!”

Sam just shook his head, torn between his anxiety over her safety and a fatalistic amusement that somehow, all of this was his fault. “I don’t know. I imagine word gets to them about where the Catholics are working. And I’m sure they have a signal.” He sat on the sofa and rubbed his face. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Thank goodness for that karate training.”

She sniffed. “My leg hurts like hell. I haven’t been practicing, you know.”

“Maybe you should.” He was despondent. “I didn’t make any money today, either. I don’t know where we’ll end up, but it will probably be a more dangerous area. I asked Mrs. Fitzsimmons if she could let you stay if you could help out around the house or with cooking. Even if she just gave you a cot in the basement. But she said she can’t.”

Casey was touched. “She probably gets that all the time. A certain amount of hardheartedness is necessary, I guess. But thank you for trying.”

“I don’t know where we’ll go.”

“We’ll find something.” She turned to the stairs, intent on putting on a skirt for dinner, and hoping her words were true.

~~~

They weren’t.

Hunger forced them to a charity meal at a church, for dinner the next night. Casey tried to be upbeat as they took their bowls of soup and bread to a long table. “I grew up in Berkeley. It’s not as if I’ve never seen homeless people. We’ll find a protected spot and sleep in our cloaks.”

But Sam refused to let her sleep outside. Desperate, he asked everyone around them where he could send Casey. Then he began going to other tables to ask. She tried to stop him, telling him that she’d be okay, but finally, she forced him to sit in an empty corner and listen to her.

“Jesus, Sam! Do you know what you’re doing?” She whispered furiously, hoping she wasn’t calling attention to them. “In the first place, you’re letting everyone know that we’re alone and helpless. They’ll see you as an old, weak man and me as a small, weak girl. You’re making us marks, do you understand?”

He stared at her, then closed his eyes. “Damn. I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s stupid.” His eyes snapped open. “But you need to be somewhere safe.”

She shook her head. “Not without you.” Despondent, she turned and sat next to him on the bench. “I’m afraid to go somewhere without you. What if I can’t find you again? I’m a single girl. What if they send me someplace like those laundries or something?” She looked up at him and winced at his astonished expression.

“I’m not suggesting leaving you, Casey.” He touched her hand. “You’re single, but you’re not alone. I’ll tell them I’m your guardian, just like we told Mrs. Fitzsimmons. I just want you someplace safe and warm for the night. We can meet up in the morning at a prearranged spot.”

A volunteer approached them, her hands full of dishes, her smile friendly. “Some are sayin’ you need a place for your daughter to stay,” she said to Sam. “Sometimes, there’s still room at the poorhouse. Might be that both of you can get in.”

~~~

They stayed for a week in the poorhouse, men on one side, women on the other. True to his word, Sam met Casey every morning at the door to the dining room, where they could pick up a bowl of porridge and day-old bread. Sam went out every day to look for work, and they put Casey to work cleaning in the kitchen. They wouldn’t let her go out on her own and she didn’t dare put on her boy clothes.

Between the two of them, they scraped enough money together to rent another room, smaller and meaner than the first boardinghouse. This one did not include board and there was no place to cook anything. Sam had hopes he could build a hot plate out of scrounged parts. Until then, they would eat cold food or try to get dinner at the charities.

Worst of all, Sam had picked up a virus in the crowded shelter. He coughed a lot, and had a low fever. He just couldn’t shake it, whatever it was, and Casey lived in fear of his illness getting worse. There was no running water in the building, and the water pipes outside worked only a couple of hours a day, and not at all on Sunday. It was a struggle to stay clean and almost impossible to clean their room. Casey looked for work, with worry a constant companion.

Chapter 6

June 1906

Spring turned into a lethargic, hot summer, minus the cooling fog bank, and with almost no rain. The usual breezes from the Irish Sea never made it into the lough, leaving Belfast dry and airless under a blanket of noxious, early twentieth century industrial chemicals. The pollution made Sam’s cough worse, and even Casey struggled to breathe as she made her rounds. People still burned coal for cooking, and the black soot turned the air a dull grey, adding to the ever-present dust and dried horse manure.

Casey wished she could wear a handkerchief over her nose and mouth. Perhaps, she thought, she could take up robbing banks for the summer so it would be part of the costume.

As the afternoon progressed, and with four pence in her pocket, Casey left the quiet marketplace to roam the city streets, hoping to find more work helping a shopkeeper. She crossed an alley to head toward the shops, just as a man digging around in a Renault pulled himself out the open door and spotted her. “Hey lad.” He motioned to her. “I could use some extra hands here. Got time to make sixpence?” She nodded, and he began pulling boxes from the car. After judging her size, he handed her two boxes and took three for himself, gesturing to the building behind them. “Right up the stairs lad, second floor.”

She followed him up, taking the time to observe him closely, since he seemed worth observing. He was dressed in the typical businessman’s suit: brown pants and jacket, white shirt, cravat, and a bowler hat. He reminded her of an old-fashioned movie star, with his dark brown hair cut short and combed sideways, and his strong, aristocratic features. His eyes were brown and kind, putting her at ease, although she’d had to look up over a foot to meet his gaze. And his hands… she had noticed his hands as he handed her the boxes. They were a little rough, as if he used them for work, but clean and manicured, nevertheless. She thought of those hands caressing her, and suppressed a sigh. This was hardly the appropriate time for such thoughts.

At the second landing, he put his boxes down, took out a key, and let them into a neat apartment, furnished with a sofa, two chairs and two small tables arranged on a rug in the room’s center. Casey placed the boxes next to the writing desk against the opposite wall, impressed that it held a telephone, the kind with a separate piece held to the ear, with the speaker held in the other hand. As the man placed his boxes next to hers, she stepped back into an alcove, trying to avoid the small round dining table and two chairs. A door next to the table presumably led to a kitchen; on the other side of the sitting room, another door probably led to a bedroom. It was all very neat, with everything placed just so.

Noticing the writing on the boxes, she reached down to turn them over as they stated “this end up” in dark letters. He noticed her action and smiled in approval. “Ah, can you read, then?”

The question surprised her. “Of course, sir. Got more boxes downstairs?”

“I do, aye. Just bring up two. The box marked ‘Ardara’ can stay in the car.”

She trotted downstairs, found the correct boxes, and brought them back.

He was unpacking a box that contained several plaques, each one wrapped in paper. He glanced up as she came in, flashed a smile at her that made her wish she were dressed as a girl, and brought out the sixpence he’d promised. He handed it to her, while looking her over with an appraising glance. “D’you have time to earn more? I can use someone to help deliver these plaques, and since you can read, you’d make it a lot easier on me. It might take you a couple of days to get the lot, but there’d be half a pound in it for you.”

Half a pound! Casey tried not to gape as she answered. “I could do that, sir. That would be great!”

“Wonderful!” He reached out shake her hand. “I’m Tom Andrews.”

She took the hand in a firm grip, and answered, “Casey Wilson, sir.”

He tilted his head. “You sound American. Where are you from?”

“California. I came to Belfast to live with my guardian when my parents died.”

He nodded and turned to the desk. “I see. It’s a lot of running around, have you eaten?”

She shook her head, bemused. He gestured to the kitchen. “There’s some meat in the ice box and bread in the bread box. Cut yourself some and have a bite, so you’ve got your strength about you. And,” he continued as he sat at the desk and pulled out some paper, “cut me some too, will you? I’m famished!”

Casey entered the kitchen and pulled open the icebox. Sure enough, a roast sat on the shelf, wrapped in paper. She pulled it out, found the bread, and got a knife from the block. Then she moved to the sink to wash her hands, looked for soap, and finally found some tucked under the sink. Men always seemed to not understand what soap was for. Why was that?

Casey cut a large portion of meat and bread, put them on a plate taken from the cabinet, and took them to Mr. Andrews, placing them well out the way of the moving pen. He smiled again, making her look away in confusion, which she covered by heading back to the kitchen. Wouldn’t do to start blushing; the guy might think it a bit odd.

She made a large enough sandwich to justify putting half of it in her pocket for Sam. She ate with relish, adding the roast to her private Top Ten List. She wondered if Mr. Andrews had cooked it; she didn’t see any indication of a woman living here.

She went back into the parlor just as he finished counting plaques in a box. He handed her the box and a list. “Start with this. There are twenty plaques, and the list has the names and addresses. The plaques have names on them, so you’ll have to make sure the correct plaque gets to the correct address. Some places will get more than one; I’ve tried to indicate that when it happens. These are all North Belfast, and I imagine it’s all you can get done today and maybe part of tomorrow. Come back when you’re done and collect another box and list. I’ll leave them with the landlady downstairs. Is this fair for you? Can you manage?”

She nodded, glancing over the list. She knew most of the streets, but he was right, this would take a while. She glanced up at him, froze for a moment at the sight of those eyes on her, then remembered she had a question. “Do you want me to always hand them off to someone or is it okay to leave it if no one’s home?”

He looked thoughtful. “No, they know to expect them, so you should be able to leave them. Should be someone there at most places, though.” He handed her five shillings. “Here’s half; I’ll pay you the rest when you’re done. Let me know if you have any trouble. Thanks for your help, Casey!”

What a stroke! Casey took the box and the list with concealed glee, hid the money in an inner pocket, and headed outside. Once outdoors, she put the box down and squatted next to it, examining the addresses. With a stick, she drew a grid of the city in the dirt, trying to determine where the streets were located and figure out the best route to take. A couple of minutes later, she heard a voice and looked up, startled, to find Tom Andrews standing near his car and looking quite curious.

“What are you up to, lad? Is there a problem?”

She stood up. “No sir. Just trying to map an efficient route.” She grinned at his expression; she’d managed to surprise him. She tipped her hat and bent to pick up the box. “Don’t want to do any backtracking, if I can help it!”

She glanced back just before turning a corner. Andrews had moved over to look at the map she’d drawn in the dirt, the desired streets marked with small numbers. Giggling to herself at the astonished look on his face, she headed on her way.

~~~

She spent four hours running around town, delivering about half the plaques. This was the nicer part of Belfast, with gardens and lacy curtains in the windows. At most houses, she left her package with a friendly housekeeper, who gave her a half penny, although she protested that Mr. Andrews had already paid her. They didn’t seem to mind, though, so she took it with thanks and no further protests.

Not wanting to be caught out at night, she headed home with the much lighter box. Sam was sitting at their small table, beaming with pride as the aroma of cooking wafted around the room when she arrived home. She looked around in astonishment. “You finished it?” she asked in amazement. “It works?”

“It works!” Sam declared, pointing to the hot plate he’d been working on, pausing to let a hacking cough interrupt him. “It’s not real efficient, but we can cook on it.”

“I hope.” Casey bent down for a closer look, then glared back at Sam. “How is it on safety? I don’t want to wake up burned to a crisp.”

He held up both hands in conciliation, then bent down to show her. “As long as we turn it off, it’ll cool down just fine.” He turned his head and coughed until he had to sit on the floor. “It’s on a ceramic plate, which should absorb the heat, but protect the floor. I’ll keep checking it to make sure it doesn’t get too hot. We won’t use it for long periods of time, anyway. Just short cooking sessions.”

Casey nodded. “I can live with that. Real food is something to look forward to. And hey!” She stood up and showed him both his sandwich and the money. “I ran into a windfall today! Big delivery job for this seriously hot guy. He’s going to pay me five more shillings when I’m done, which should be tomorrow or the next day. And on top of that, every place I’ve delivered to, the people tipped me a bit! Pretty cool, huh?”

He slapped his hands together. “Excellent! If we’re careful, we can make that last a few weeks!” He grinned crookedly at her and she felt a twinge of affectionate sorrow for him.

“Maybe we can buy some medicine for that cough. What do they use in this time?”

He waved the thought away. “I’ve made soup; that should help. Some citrus and whiskey would be good for a hot toddy. The whiskey we can find, and surely there are limes somewhere. I know they have them on ships for sailors to eat.”

Casey nodded. “I know that, but you should still have some medicine. It can’t cost that much. Look, Sam, be practical. If you get really sick, they don’t have the expertise to get you well. There are no antibiotics in this time, so if you end up with a secondary infection, we’re in trouble.”

He sat and coughed some more, then answered. “Well, let me see what I can find out. Are you hungry? The soup’s ready.”

Casey was quiet as she ate the thin soup, trying to think of a way through their problem. Sam needed medicine and they both needed better food. She had to make more money!

~~~

Sam had a rough night and was worse in the morning. Casey made him porridge to sooth his throat. After getting him settled, she took off to finish the deliveries. She worked fast, again looking for the most efficient route.

Around noon, the cook who answered the door had her come around to the kitchen to “sample the meat pies for dinner” and give her opinion of them. Casey’s opinion was ecstatic, which satisfied the cook enough to pack one up for her to take with her for the afternoon. The cook was easy to talk to, and Casey told her about Sam and asked where to find limes and medicine for a cough. The cook happened to have some limes on hand and also gave her a small bundle of mullein, coltsfoot, and licorice, with instructions to mix one tablespoon in a cup of hot water. She told Casey she could find these herbs at the apothecary if she needed more. Grateful, Casey ran back home to give Sam the bounty.

He was glad to get it, and ate the pie in bed, and drank the toddy she’d made for him without any argument. As soon as she could, Casey ran out to get the next box of plaques. The landlady had them, as promised, so she swallowed her disappointment at not getting another glimpse of the handsome Mr. Andrews, and hurried on her way.

She didn’t finish all the deliveries until the next morning. She stopped by to see Mr. Andrews about seven that evening, which was when the landlady said he’d probably be home.

He’d just arrived, and he gave her that fabulous smile when he saw her. “Hi Casey!” He moved aside so she could enter. “You’ve done a wonderful job. I heard from several people who were all happy to get their plaques so quickly. Hope you’re not worn out!”

She laughed and shook her head. “Not at all, Mr. Andrews. It was great running around all those pretty neighborhoods and meeting everyone. Nice people.”

He gave her a curious look as he pulled her money from his pocket. Before handing it to her, he said, “I’ll tell you, lad, you’re really an enigma.”

Her eyes widened. “Well, I don’t mean to be, sir. What can I clear up for you?”

He sighed. “To start, I’d like to know how a street waif knows what an enigma is!”

Casey laughed again and shrugged. “I haven’t always been a street waif. I used to go to school.”

He looked thoughtful as he handed her the money. “You can read and write, what about your numbers?”

“Not my best subject, but I’ve had lots of math.”

“Can I ask what you did before you started this illustrious career?”

She flushed, not wanting to lie to him any more than she already had, but plunged into the story she and Sam had concocted. “I was a student at home, but then my parents died and Sam thought it best I come to Belfast and stay with him. He was a good friend of my dad’s, you see, and I had no other relatives.” Casey’s smile was small and tight. “But things got rough here, too, so Sam and I just go day to day, sort of.” She made herself grin. “It’ll get better, though. Nowhere to go but up.”

Mr. Andrews studied her before speaking again, causing Casey to flush more under his gaze. “I’m wondering, Casey, if you’d be interested in a job. It’s temporary, but it might give you the chance to come through the rough spot. Maybe about four to six months. My secretary is swamped and needs an assistant. It’d be a lot of running around, collecting information from various departments and helping with scheduling, paperwork, that kind of thing. The pay would be six shillings a week, eleven hours a day with a half hour for breakfast and lunch.” He looked hopeful. “It’s good work and I could give you a solid recommendation if you decide to go back to school.”

Casey stammered, then gulped and nodded. “I’d sure like to, Mr. Andrews. That’s…that’s a wonderful offer.”

His smile appeared again and this time, she shyly smiled back. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Wonderful! You know where Harland & Wolff shipyard is?” At her nod, he went on, “Be at the gate on Queen’s Island at eight in the morning. Tell them you’re to see me. They’ll direct you. Mind ye, lad,” he spoke a bit sternly, “ye be on time. There’s no slacking possible!”

“Yes sir! Thank you, sir!” Casey nearly saluted, but thought better of it, instead taking the hand he offered her in a firm shake. He seemed quite content as he ushered her out, wishing her a good night’s rest since tomorrow’s work would probably “wear you out.” She said good-bye and ran home, hardly daring to believe her good luck. A real job, with regular pay! And, the thought occurred to her, a chance to see that hunk every day!

~~~

It was Sam who reminded her of the problems that came with this stroke of good luck. He was still in bed, but he said the medicine had helped the coughing, and he’d slept some. Casey thought he looked pale and weak, but she didn’t harp on it. He listened while she heated up the soup and prattled on about tomorrow. Then he sat at the table and between sips, discussed a few issues.

“You’re out there looking like a boy. Does he know you’re a girl?”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Of course not! I’d never be hired for anything if people thought I was a girl.”

Sam looked morose. “I know it’s discriminatory, Casey, but in this time, there just are not that many jobs a girl is allowed to do. You’ll be the only girl there; the shipyards hire thousands of men. You realize there will not be any women’s lavatories?”

Casey sighed in frustration. “Geez, Sam. What am I supposed to do? You’re sick! We need the money. I’ll work around all this. I have to try anyway. If it doesn’t work, then fine, I’ll leave.”

“But you could get into serious trouble. I don’t know if it’s illegal to impersonate a boy, but you are obtaining a job under false pretenses. They may not be willing to just slap your hand if you get caught.”

“I’ll be careful! Mr. Andrews seems like a nice person. I don’t think he’ll throw me in jail.”

Sam stopped eating and stared at her blankly. Casey stared back, worried. “Sam? Are you all right? You look like you’re having a stroke.”

He blinked and focused on her again. “Who hired you?”

“Thomas Andrews. I don’t know what he does exactly, but he wants me to help his secretary.” Casey shook her head in disbelief. “I always swore I’d never be a secretary, because it seemed like such a dead-end job to stick women in. But here, it’s like an honored position, and as a woman, I don’t qualify for it! Too weird.”

Sam brushed her comments off and leaned forward urgently. “Thomas Andrews? At Harland & Wolff? That’s who hired you?”

Her eyebrows rose in bafflement. “Yes. Why? Who is he?”

Sam shook his head at her ignorance. “You Americans don’t know anything! Thomas Andrews is the builder of the Titanic! You do know about the Titanic, don’t you?”

Casey sat back in her chair and stared at him, an ache of despair beginning to build deep in her stomach. “I saw the movie.” Sam rubbed his forehead, unimpressed, but she ignored that and grabbed his hand. “Sam, he dies! In the movie, Thomas Andrews dies! Is that true in real life? He doesn’t wear his life belt or get into a boat?” Her heart clenched, as she thought of that smile and those hands…

Sam jerked his hand back, irritated, and began to cough. He wearily got up and moved to the bed. Casey poured some hot water into a cup with the herbs and brought it to him, her thoughts jumbled.

“Tell me, Sam. Is that what happens?”

Sam nodded, sipping the tea and looking very sad. “He was one of my childhood heroes. I studied him a lot when I was twelve or so. I can’t believe you went to school in Belfast for two years and never knew about this. The Titanic is a big deal to this city.”

Casey shrugged, miserable. “So are the pubs. Where do you think I spent most of my time? Sam…” she hesitated, then went on, “I’ve never met anyone like this guy. He was so kind… if he’s the same person, I…” She looked away, biting her lip in misery, “I can’t let him die. I have to warn him.”

Sam’s short bark of laughter degenerated into a coughing fit. Casey rescued the cup and waited for him to recover, worry eating at her. Sam was in bad shape and now she had to worry about Thomas Andrews as well. She didn’t trust the doctors in this time, but what was she supposed to do to help Sam? They needed money, whether for medicine, or a doctor, or both. That job would come in handy at a time they really needed it. It also gave her the opportunity to work with Andrews and maybe figure out a way to warn him about his future.

Sam tried to speak and finally was able to rasp out a few sentences. “You can’t ‘warn’ him. He’ll never believe you. The most you can try to do is make some suggestions that will get him thinking along certain lines.”

“Like more life boats?” Casey asked.

Sam waved his hand. “Everybody harps on the life boats. Sure, more would have been, or would be, great, but how about keeping the ship from sinking to begin with? Andrews supervises the drafting department, he’s in charge of the ship’s design. Let me think about it. My mind is too muddled right now. But listen, Casey,” he leaned forward, gripping her arm, “You keep your wits about you and your eyes open. This is June ’06. I don’t think they’ve even thought of building these ships, yet. You can’t warn him about a ship that isn’t even on paper.”

“Oh.” That brought Casey up short. She thought about what she knew of the Titanic, which wasn’t much. “Let’s see, it sinks in 1912, right?”

Sam nodded. “Hits the iceberg just before midnight on 14 April. Sinks in a couple of hours.”

“I guess it takes a few years to build a ship like that. When do they start?”

“Soon, I imagine,” Sam replied, coughing again. “Seems to me they start on the plans sometime next year. Let me think about it,” he said again. “It’s just too much to remember all at once.”

Casey nodded, worried at his weakness—all the coughing was wearing him down. She blinked away tears and tucked the blanket around him. “Get more rest, okay? I’ll have to be out of here pretty early. Will you be all right for breakfast?”

He patted her hand. “I’ll get through. Keep in mind that I’ve got sixty years of good medical care behind me. I should be in pretty good shape, generally. I’ll shake this.”

Chapter 7

June 1906—July 1906

If she had not already known where Harland & Wolff Shipyard was located, Casey could have found it by following the noise. Even in the midst of town, it was possible to hear a rhythmic banging coming from Queen’s Island. The sound increased with every step as she approached the gate shortly before eight the next morning. The yard was crowded with the second shift, hundreds of workers, several of them young boys, moving through the gate, or loitering as they waited to be hired for the day. They were all dressed as she was, in dark pants and shirt, with dark caps covering their heads.

I guess I look the part. Maybe this will work.

She paused when she saw a guard. “Casey Wilson, sir. I’m to report to Mr. Thomas Andrews.”

He looked over and nodded, indicating a big man heading in. “Follow Albright, there. Hey, Albright! Drop this lad off for Mr. Andrews. You’re goin’ that way.”

The big man gestured a “come on” without slowing down. Casey scrambled through the crowd, afraid to lose him. As they entered the building, the smell of burning coal made her cough, mingled as it was with grease, cigarettes, and superheated metal. The source of the banging wasn’t obvious, but it saturated everything, overriding the lesser sounds of boilers building up pressure for steam, generators providing electricity, the taps and clacks of a thousand hammers, pulleys, and chains, and the jovial shouts of men as they performed their tasks.

I guess I’ll get used it. No one else seems to mind it.

One thing for certain, the scale of everything in this place was simply huge. The building was cavernous and filled with machines and equipment, some of them reaching over twenty or thirty feet high. She couldn’t begin to guess the names of any of it. The cranes and gantries were visible from many points of town, and here, as she caught glimpses of them through doorways, Casey almost couldn’t tear her eyes away.

How can they do this kind of thing with their level of technology? These things are basically built by hand!

After a few minutes of walking through rooms filled with people, machines, and noise, Albright waved Casey toward a doorway. “He’s in there. Office in the back,” was his only comment as he rushed onward.

“Thanks!” Casey called after him, not sure if he heard.

Heart pounding, she stepped into the room indicated: a large, cathedral-like space with beams rising from the floor to arch over the high ceiling. Each beam alternated with a large skylight on the ceiling and a window on the walls. Even this early in the day, the room was filled with natural light. Row after row of long tables provided workspace for men to stand or sit, all of them sketching or measuring, or discussing their drawings. This was obviously the drafting department.

They pretty much ignored her as she made her way to the back, which she nervously took as a good thing. Can I pull this off? The first person I talk to is probably going to realize I’m a girl! Maybe I should just leave. Timid, she stepped through the door into the office. If no one’s in here, I’ll just run. Um…if I can find my way back out, that is.

Nearly gasping with relief that she didn’t see Mr. Andrews, Casey jumped as a head appeared from behind an open cabinet to the side of the room. The head had black hair, gold-framed glasses covering the eyes, and a pair of really big ears. When the eyes saw her, they lit up and a big grin split the face. The head was followed by a long, thin body in a dark suit, belonging to a young man who was holding several pencils and a cup. He tossed the pencils in the cup and came toward Casey, hand outstretched. “Mornin’! Ye must be Casey. Boss said to expect ye!”

Casey took his hand and tried to speak past her dry mouth. “Yeah. I mean, yes sir, I’m Casey Wilson. Are you Mr. Andrews’ secretary?”

“I am, I am. Thompson Hamilton is the name. Everyone calls me Ham, so’s not to confuse me with the boss!” This was accompanied by a hearty laugh that clearly said “Not bloody likely!” as Ham placed the cup on the desk and turned back to Casey. “Really glad you’re here, Casey. Mr. Andrews said he expects big things from ye. Ah, and here’s Himself, now!”

Indeed, the laugh heard from the other room could belong to no one else. Mr. Andrews could be heard commenting on a drawing and answering questions as he neared the office. Casey turned, certain they would be able to see her heart beating in her chest, it was pounding so hard. He spotted her immediately, and the laugh returned as he shook her hand with delight, noting that she was on time and had already met Ham. He wore a bowler hat on his head and a blue coat over his suit, every pocket of which was stuffed with paper and pencils.

She felt the tension in her chest ease just a bit, as he proceeded to talk about the plans for the day, unloading his pockets into neat piles on his desk, then refilling the pockets with other papers while telling Casey to just trail along with Ham, learn his way around, and help as needed. He exhorted Ham to “show Casey everything” and to get a good idea of what Casey knew how to do.

“He can read, write, and do arithmetic, but go easy on the algebra,” was the instruction given with a great laugh and a slap on Casey’s shoulder, as Mr. Andrews darted off to talk to the riveters on his way to his next meeting. By the time he left, Casey was grinning, and she noticed it was infectious: the grin had spread to Ham and the men at the drawing tables as well.

Later, as she reflected on the day, Casey was pretty sure those few minutes in the office were the last time she stood in one place. Ham did indeed “show her everything,” moving at top speed through the cavernous buildings and shipyard. Once they were out in the yard, the source of the banging was immediately apparent. Ham stopped to let her watch for a few minutes, explaining with noticeable pride what she was seeing. Men were swarming over the ships in various states of construction, with a lot of them lined up in teams next to the ships. Each team was placing a red hot piece of metal—Ham called it a rivet—in one of many holes in a huge metal plate and then ramming it home with a hydraulic hammer. Workers above the men were heating up and hammering the next rivet into shape and dropping it down to be caught by an extremely brave lad who hoisted it to the hammering team. They worked in a quick and rhythmic pattern, never slowing or pausing to rest. As they continued on their tour, Ham told her the riveters were like the gods of the yard. They had the respect and admiration of every worker in every department.

Part of Ham’s job was to collect orders and schedules from each department. This would be Casey’s biggest responsibility, because if Ham could eliminate the running around from his own duties, he’d be free to get to those duties left hanging. It meant that Casey was going to have to quickly learn her way around, and how to find the correct person in each department from whom to collect the paperwork.

It’s just too bad, it occurred to Casey a few minutes later, that I don’t know all about the future. I would’ve figured out a way to avoid this conversation.

The problem had started when Ham brought her into the plating department and hailed the foreman, a tall, lanky man with greasy hair and a handlebar moustache. His name was Mike Sloan and he’d taken a full half-minute to carefully look Casey over, his expression suspicious and haughty. He was the first person she’d met whose greeting was not a welcome.

“American?” was his disbelieving comment when Ham introduced her. “Seems like everyone in Ireland is tryin’ to go to America. Why are ye here?”

Casey wanted to glance at Ham for reassurance, but instead, she matched Sloan’s glare with a firm expression and a lifted chin. “Came to live with my guardian when my parents died.” She didn’t offer more information.

His stare was intense. “Are ye Catholic or Protestant, Casey?”

Her jaw dropped and “What?” escaped her before she could remember that his question, while confrontational and troublesome, was normal for this time and place.

Ham coughed into his hand, and Sloan’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead as Casey snapped her jaw shut. “’Tis an easy question, lad,” Sloan told her, his voice slightly milder.

She glared. “Protestant,” she admitted, wondering what he’d say if she said “atheist, “ which was closer to the truth. But she’d been in Ireland long enough to know the response to that, even in the twenty-first century: “Aye, but are ye Catholic Atheist or Protestant Atheist?”

“Protestant” must have been the right answer, as Sloan’s expression morphed into one of agreeableness, and he clapped Casey on the shoulder. “Good ta meet ye, lad! Ye might be wantin’ to come to one of our meetin’s at lunch time, here in the plater’s shed. Meet more of the men that way.”

For some reason, it sounded ominous. “What kind of meeting?”

“E-van-gel-ical meetin’,” Sloan stood straight and proud as he said it, reminding her uncomfortably of a TV evangelist. “Read some scripture, pray a bit, talk about things.”

Casey felt her face twitch, but she tried to sound calm. “Ah. I probably won’t be interested, but thank you for inviting me.” She glanced at Ham, who was standing unhelpfully silent at her side. “So I see Mr. Sloan to collect the plater reports?”

Ham pushed his glasses higher on his long nose and nodded. “Aye, he’ll be the one.” His tone gave Casey no hint to what he was thinking or what was expected of her, but he gave Sloan a curt nod. “Thank ye, Mike. I’ll be sending Casey around on his own in a couple of days.”

Sloan gave a wave of his arm and stepped back to his work as Ham turned to go. Casey hurried after him, uncertain if she should say anything.

After a few seconds, he glanced at her, looking apologetic. “Don’t worry about the meetings. He’ll probably ask ye a few more times, but most of the men don’t attend. Mr. Andrews would never make anything like that mandatory.”

Casey stopped, feeling sick to her stomach. “Does Mr. Andrews attend those meetings?” If she sounded incredulous, it couldn’t be helped. The thought of that kind and happy man thinking of ways to discriminate against Catholics was more than she could comprehend. But Ham shook his head.

“Lord Pirrie—he’s Chairman of the company—tolerates ’em in the interest of worker contentment. So Mr. Andrews tolerates ’em, too. He shows up once in a while to keep a gauge on the temper of the men. If there’s going to be trouble in the yard, it usually starts there.” He tilted his head, blinking owlishly at her. “Mr. Andrews would also never tell ye that ye couldn’t attend the meetings if ye wanted to. But he’ll be happy to know ye don’t want trouble.”

Casey shrugged. “We’ll never be perfect in America, but I’m more used to religious differences being under the radar. I think it’s such a waste to spend time fighting with each other over it.”

Ham stopped, his look puzzled. “Under the radar? What are ye on about?”

“Oh.” Casey bit her lip. Idiot! Radar hasn’t even been invented yet! “Just something a friend used to say. It means underneath the surface; can’t be seen.”

He accepted the explanation, but she saw him mouthing the words “under the radar” as he led her to the next department.

~~~

Sloan extended his invitation twice more over the next week, whenever Casey showed up when work was at a moderate pace. Both times, she managed an evasive “no thanks.” Nervous about the temper of Belfast during this time, Casey wanted to discuss it with Sam, but his illness was worse and she didn’t want to worry him. So she was left to deal with it herself, and she was pretty sure that her final solution, later in the week, was not well thought out.

The horn for lunch had rung as Casey finished following Tom Andrews and Ham around on a ship called Adriatic, while a Board of Trade inspector conducted a review. The inspector had just left, and they ran into Sloan as they descended the gangplank.

“Afternoon.” Sloan was courteous as he tipped his hat to Tom. “Have time to drop into our meetin’, Sir?”

“Ach, not this time, Mike.” Tom seemed truly sorry. “Ham and I are having a working lunch, as it is.”

Sloan nodded, apparently unconcerned, and glanced at Casey. “Be nice if you could attend, Casey. Men would like to know you better.”

The presence of Tom Andrews made her reckless. “I’d like to know everyone better, Mr. Sloan,” she said. “But see, even though I’m Protestant, I’m an atheist, and your religious meeting just doesn’t seem like an appealing way to spend the lunch break.”

They all stared at her. Oops, she thought in sudden despair. Can I get fired for being an atheist? Appalled at her own words, she glanced guiltily at her boss. He looked just as shocked as Ham and Sloan, but something in her expression made him grin, and he slapped Sloan on the shoulder.

“Give him a break, Mike. You know how Americans are about religion.”

“Well…” Sloan looked confused but Casey could tell he didn’t want Tom to see that. “I’ve heard things, Sir, but…”

“Ah, but I’ve talked to many Americans on my trips, Mike.” Tom was reasonableness personified. “Trust me, they’re good, religious people. They just approach it differently from us.”

Sloan nodded, still doubtful, but he tipped his hat again, this time to Casey. “If ye change your mind, lad, ye know where we meet. We’ll keep ye in our prayers.”

He left and Tom turned to Casey. “Can you type those notes up after lunch, Casey? I’ll need to get the inspector’s comments out to all the foremen this afternoon.” He motioned to Ham. “We’ve got to hurry, Ham. Carlisle’s waiting for us.”

The two of them left with waves to Casey, who acknowledged the waves and the meaning: nothing else would be said on the subject. But as she hurried to drop the notes off at the office, she wished she could figure out what Tom Andrews was thinking.

Chapter 8

June 1906

At the end of her first week, Casey found a doctor to examine Sam. She paced outside their flat, wondering why it was taking so long. Somehow, the longer the exam, the more worried she was that something was seriously wrong. How long did doctor exams take in 1906, anyway? It wasn’t like he could take x-rays or anything.

Eventually, her private eternity ended, and the door opened. The doctor motioned her in and she anxiously looked over at Sam, resting on his couch. He managed a smile for her, but gestured to the doctor. Casey turned her glare on him, but he didn’t seem fazed.

“Dr. Altair has bronchitis, my dear. I’ve given him some medicine to take for the next two weeks and he’ll have to stay in bed for at least one week. After that, if he’s feeling better, he can start taking some sun for short periods, but stay out of the dust. Continue the toddies you’ve been giving him, they’ll do him good.”

He snapped his bag shut—he really did carry a black doctor’s bag—then gave Casey a pat on the shoulder. “He’ll be fine, I think. His lungs are in remarkable shape.” He turned toward Sam. “I’ll bet anything it’s because you say you haven’t smoked in twenty years. Nasty habit.”

He turned back to Casey. “The medicine will make him sleepy, so don’t let him go out alone. I’ll be back in a week to check on him.” His gaze was suddenly piercing. “What about you? No signs of illness?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been fine.”

Satisfied, he reached to shake Sam’s hand. “Follow your instructions, now. I’ll speak to my brother-in-law and, once you’re better, I’ll arrange an introduction.”

“Thank you,” Sam rasped it out, already under the medicine’s influence. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Casey watched him leave, feeling an odd mixture of relief and consternation. Bronchitis in 1906 was nothing to take lightly, but Sam had medicine and she could only hope it would be effective. She turned to ask Sam his opinion of the matter, but instead, just covered his sleeping form with a sheet and settled down to read for a while.

~~~

“So what’s with the doctor’s brother-in-law?” Casey asked as she handed Sam a cup of soup a couple of days later. He was still groggy from the medicine, but was feeling a lot better, just reaching the point where he was chafing about having to stay in bed. Not yet chafing seriously, thank goodness, or Casey would be tempted to ask for overtime at the shipyard.

“Ah, the brother-in-law. Aye, that’s a good thing to come of this.” Sam sipped his soup and paused to let its heat sooth his throat, before glancing up at Casey. She had settled with her own cup at the small table near the hot plate, having changed from her “boy clothes” into a skirt and blouse. She liked to change out of her work clothes when she got home, since she had only two outfits for work and had to wear them all week.

“Good, how?”

“A job, that’s how.” Sam coughed with careful attention. He was, he’d told her, “sick of coughing” and sore from it, besides. He said his chest felt like it was filled with chain saws. “Dr. Thornton and I got on the subject of new advances in technology, due to the easy availability of electricity. One thing led to another, and I told him some of my background. His brother-in-law works for National Telephone and they’re trying to break into some R&D work. He said he’d tell him about me; see if there was work to be had, even if I couldn’t prove I had a PhD.” Sam raised his eyebrows at Casey. “I think I can convince them I know something about physics.”

Casey stared at her soup, feeling real hope stir in her heart. “That would be wonderful,” she said, not missing the tears that filled Sam’s eyes.

~~~

Three weeks later, Sam stood in the doorway of his new laboratory. Long wooden tables equipped with Bunsen burners. A steam boiler. Pipes and electrical wires running from the walls to, and between, equipment. A fan on each end of the room. Shelves of glass bottles over cabinets with locking doors. Sinks with running water.

He smiled a small, not-quite-bitter smile. Part of him was jumping for joy to have a laboratory again. The other part was crying because it was 1906, and the phrase, starting over, had never been so real, before.

Dr. Thornton had been true to his word. His brother-in-law, a jovial, skinny man with no hair and a twice-broken nose, had been delighted to chat with Sam and in no time, had arranged an interview with Lord Dunmore, the head of Belfast’s local telephone office. Sam spent an hour dazzling Lord Dunmore with his scientific knowledge and the practical applications he could envision. It wasn’t hard. For all his lofty position, Lord Dunmore was not a scientific person, and he depended on subordinates to guide him through the treacherous waters of new technology. Those subordinates insisted that Sam, despite his lack of documentation, was the perfect man to head up their new attempts at research and development. So here he was, with a new lab still to be furnished, his own staff, most still to be hired, and a nearly free hand to determine the directions to take for future technology.

So there, Dr. Riley, he thought as he wandered through the room, letting his hand caress the table tops, before stopping to examine the hood and determine just how much exhaust he had. When he reached the back of the room he faced the door that stood closed in front of him and reached, for the first time, to open it. His office. A desk holding a telephone, a blotter, a pen, and ink stand, with a nice office chair and a visitor’s chair. Bookshelves. Filing cabinet. A window. Not a large office, but adequate. As he placed his briefcase on the desk, footsteps made him look up, to see a youngish man approach the door and stop just inside.

“Hello,” Sam said, waiting for information.

The man smiled, quite sincerely, Sam thought. “Good morning, Dr. Altair.” He held out a hand, which Sam took. “I’m Craig MacDonald, sir. Your secretary.”

“Ah. Mr. MacDonald, quite pleased to meet you.” Sam allowed a moment of amusement. With the advent of computers, personal secretaries had gone the way of carbon paper, and it had been several years since he’d had the use of one. For a moment, he wondered if he could stand having someone following him around all the time, but he reminded himself that without modern office equipment, a secretary was essential. Not even carbon paper had been invented yet, after all.

“Lord Dunmore has asked to see you at nine a.m., sir. He’s in meetings until then. I have submitted your list of requested supplies and hope to begin receiving a few of the items later today.” MacDonald was eager, but Sam had the impression he was competent, too. The young man handed him a set of keys.

“Here are your keys, sir. You’ll find keys for your doors and all the cabinets, as well as the front and back doors to the building itself. Please don’t lend any out; I’ve an extra set for loans if one of your assistants needs one.” Sam nodded, and MacDonald continued without stopping. “The telephones in the building receive and send outside calls in addition to interoffice communications. A list of personnel is in your top right drawer, simply tell the operator who to route the call to. If you’d like, sir, I’ll show you around a bit and let you get your bearings before your meeting.”

Sam nodded again, pocketing the keys and feeling a little overwhelmed. “That’s a splendid idea.” He started to check his wrist for the time, remembering just in time to take out his pocket watch, instead. “We have about half an hour. You can show me around and finish by dropping me off at Lord Dunmore’s office.”

Sam began to enjoy himself. Belfast prided itself on advanced technology, a pride just as strong in 1906 as it was in 2006. MacDonald introduced him to a few of his new assistants, and he promised them he’d have the lab up and running as quickly as possible. They were all eager, which was good, but they were also all men, which Sam hoped to rectify. He didn’t plan on asking permission to hire women. He expected to just do it, provided any at all were graduating with degrees in physics. He’d even take a chemist or two. If he was going to nudge the human race into a quicker paradigm shift in technology, he’d do it with all of them.

~~~

That evening at dinner, he told Casey about his chat with Lord Dunmore. “It was… interesting.”

She had changed into a skirt and blouse and was eating quickly, hungry after running around the shipyard all day. She’d been listening with amusement to the story of his day, but picked up on his pensiveness. “How so?” she asked.

Sam considered how to describe it. “Part of the problem, I suppose, is my own experience with employers. When I first started working, in the seventies, company culture was still pretty strict—managers were managers and workers weren’t, if you know what I mean.” She nodded and he shrugged. “As a scientist, I pretty much spent my day in the lab and didn’t worry too much about it. My boss was also a scientist and he dealt with the bureaucracy. But as I got older, I turned into my boss and I had to deal with it. By that time, the culture had relaxed, but also, by that time, I was working for the Consortium. Bureaucratic, but with a distrustful, spy mentality.”

He paused while Casey laughed at that. He’d known she would.

“So I’m not wild about managers. It’s even worse here and now, though, when the boss is likely to be Lord Someone and there’s a culture of elitism behind his shoulder. You know that from your experience at Harland & Wolff.”

“Yeah,” Casey gave it some thought. “I think that most of the managers are part of the landed gentry, at least. But there are a lot of foremen who are just regular folks who worked their way up.”

Sam nodded. “Sure, but I’ll bet they never go any farther. You have to have that original step of being part of the deserving class.”

Casey looked puzzled. “But you’re not looking to run the place, Sam. And they have made you a manager, haven’t they?”

“Aye, but that’s not my problem.” Sam laughed at himself. “I’m talking to Lord Dunmore and finding myself feeling impatient with the whole system. Maybe it’s a reaction to the poverty we’ve experienced since coming here. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to prove myself to someone who is assuming I’m going to fall on my face. And it’s not completely his fault. After all, I can’t show him my years of research in quantum physics and string theory and neutrino behavior. All I can do is talk fast about recent discoveries and where I think I can take them, and hope he doesn’t think I’m a charlatan.”

“Did he like what you told him?”

“Aye, he did.” Sam was bemused. “In fact, he seemed a little excited about some of the possibilities. But Case, he’s a businessman. His background is not in the sciences and his first objective is to make money. Still, I think I convinced him that advancing the technology is the way to get ahead. He’s funding my project for an entire year, with an extension guaranteed as long as we have results. Which we will have.”

“That’s great! Will you be able to sneak in the time travel research?”

Sam nodded. “I think so, but it’s going to take small steps. I’ve got to get the technology built up and I can’t do that overnight. It’ll take years to get us to the point of any practical work.”

He leaned forward and pointed his fork at Casey. “But one thing it does mean, is that you can stop pretending to be a boy.”

Her brows went up. “It does? How’s that?”

He spread his arms wide. “I’ll be making plenty of money. My salary alone will give us plenty to spare, but I talked him into a share of any patents and royalties, too. Believe me, those will pay off big-time.”

“And I’m supposed to just be the little woman sitting at home?”

“Oh, don’t start that.” He glared at her. “You can do anything you want to. Go back to horticulture. Go back to school. Start a business. But you can do it as a woman.”

He watched her, confused, as she stared uncomfortably at her plate. “What?” he asked. “You prefer the disguise?”

Her eyes were troubled. “No, of course not. I hate it. But I don’t feel right just going up to Tom Andrews and telling him I’m quitting, either. He hired me for six months and believe me, they are keeping me busy.”

“If he knew you were a girl, he would want you to quit. In fact, he’d have to fire you.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“It’s just a fact. Do you expect to never tell him the truth?”

She stared at him. “I don’t know. I suppose I thought I wouldn’t.”

“But you want to warn him about Titanic.” Sam tapped a finger on the table thoughtfully. “What are your thoughts about that? Do you want to just give him a cryptic warning and leave it at that? Or would you want to be available to help him through it? Give him details about the ship and all the things that go wrong that night?”

She shook her head, disturbed. “I don’t know.”

“We need to think about it, Casey. Frankly, I don’t think it will help to just warn him and walk away. He’ll need help. And that means, that at some point, you have to tell him the truth.”

She covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes filled with tears. “He’ll hate me, Sam.”

“Ah, lass. He will not.” Sam looked her over intently, before a small smile tugged at his lips. “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”

Her mouth fell open. “A crush?” She closed her mouth and affected a haughty air. “I refuse to answer that.”

He laughed a little. “You do! It’s okay. I’ve seen pictures of him. He was a handsome man. A good person, too.”

Her face bland, she stood and moved to a chair, tucking herself in with a book. “Think what you want. And I don’t need anything to be okay with you.”

That stung a little, but it was worth it to see her blush.

Chapter 9

August 1906—September 1906

Casey had to collect reports and deliver supplies to all the departments at the yard, and it turned out there were a lot of departments. Tom Andrews was Head of the Designing Department, which evidently involved a lot more than just drawing pictures of ships. They drew plans for every part of a ship, from the tiny screws used in a switch plate, to the huge funnels that graced the skyline. Tom worked with all the other departments as they turned those drawings into three-dimensional reality. He dashed in and out all day, eventually settling at his desk to do paperwork for a couple of hours, then off again. Everywhere he went, he smiled or laughed. After just a few days, as she made her rounds of the yard, Casey noticed that it was always possible to tell when he was nearby. The men would stand taller or work faster, or with more precision. She would hear his laugh as he made his way through the crowd, and the men always smiled or laughed, too. He loved his work and that love rubbed off on everyone around him.

He thought it was important that Casey understand what they were doing and why they were doing it, but he never sat her down and lectured. He just talked while they worked, and somehow it all made sense. After just a few weeks, she was convinced that he paid attention to every single detail, that he felt nothing was too small or unimportant to be ignored. He believed, in a way Casey almost couldn’t quantify, that every ship they built had to be safe, had to be perfect.

“Which is why,” she mentioned to Sam as they ate dinner one night toward the end of August, “I don’t understand how I’m getting away with my impersonation. He notices everything, but he has not noticed that I’m a girl.”

Sam laughed. “You’re disappointed at that, aren’t you?” He laughed harder at her blushing protest.

She finished her soup in sullen silence. He’s right, I am disappointed. I don’t want to get caught, exactly. But what if he notices and likes what he sees? She shook her head. More likely, he’d be furious that I lied to him all this time. Made him look like a fool in front of everybody.

Guiltily, she cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen, even though it was Sam’s turn to wash dishes. Will that happen? When people find out, will they make fun of Mr. Andrews?

That had not been her intent. She didn’t feel guilty about taking the job, even under false pretenses. Sam had needed medical care, which had led to his new job. They had settled with relief into a solid middle-class lifestyle, soon renting a small house in one of the good neighborhoods near the university. They were furnishing it in small increments, and they had both purchased several new pieces of clothing. They loved shopping for food at the market on Saturdays, when all the farmers brought in their produce, and they made frequent stops at the butchers for fresh meat. Casey had put on a few badly needed pounds, and Tom Andrews had observed that she seemed more energetic. It was true. She did feel better, with a constant supply of decent food and safe shelter. Best of all, they had running water, and Sam was building a system to heat the water in the pipes. Hot baths at the turn of a faucet! They could hardly remember the luxury.

They had also hired a housekeeper, Ann Malone, who came twice a week, making them feel like royalty when they came home to swept fireplaces and floors, dusted furniture and clean laundry. They only had to make sure all of their twenty-first century gadgets, as well as their journals, were locked safely away on these days.

Sam continued to write to Einstein, amazed as the relationship blossomed. Einstein never actually said he believed Sam, but he discussed future physics discoveries as if they had already happened, and was using the knowledge in his own work. They began making tentative plans to get together at a future time.

~~~

The shipyard was an inveterate source of gossip. Casey would not have thought this, since she’d always heard men were not prone to the habit. Harland & Wolff in 1906 proved beyond doubt that they were. A thought whispered out on the slip before the breakfast break would reach the last of the five thousand workers by lunch.

The free-flowing talk had one advantage for a new worker: it was possible to quickly learn who did what for the company, why they did it, and who was related to whom.

The gossip mill focused, normally enough, on upper management. Even before meeting him, Casey had already formed an opinion of the managing chairman, Lord William Pirrie, as a charismatic and powerful businessman who ran his company with an iron fist.

“Departments can’t do anything without ‘is approval.” (From a low-level foreman).

“He wants detailed reports every week.” (From Saxon Payne, the secretary).

“All that running around you’re doing? Goes right into a report for Pirrie.” (From Ham).

Micromanager, Casey sniffed disdainfully to herself. She knew better than to say anything aloud, though.

“He’s ambitious.”

“Happy as a lark when the king made him viscount.”

“Used to be Lord Mayor of Belfast.”

“Lost the ’06 run for Parliament. His position on Home Rule cost him.”

The family connection was something else the gossips made sure she knew about. Lord Pirrie was Tom Andrews’ uncle. Alexander Carlisle (Tom’s supervisor) was Lady Pirrie’s brother (and therefore, brother-in-law to Lord Pirrie) and all of them were cousins. It screamed of nepotism, but Pirrie and Carlisle had started in the company together and Tom had been through the normal apprentice program. They were all very good at their jobs.

Lord Pirrie spent a great deal of time at the company’s administrative headquarters in London, but he also had a home in Belfast. Casey had her first glimpse of him during her third week on the job. He was about sixty years old, rather short, attractive, with gray hair and beard, a forceful and talkative nature, and eyes that showed a happy temperament, which Casey decided made some sense. He was related to Tom Andrews, after all.

When they were in Belfast, both Pirries worked many hours at the shipyard. Casey never knew what Lady Pirrie did, but she often saw her working at a desk near Saxon Payne, Lord Pirrie’s secretary. The gossips let her know that Lady Pirrie had almost as much power as her husband. He seldom made a business decision without her.

Casey managed to keep her interactions with them to a minimum. She was introduced to Lord Pirrie on his first day back from London. He was quite friendly, shaking her hand and thanking her for being such a help to “Tommy.” After that, he pretty much ignored her.

But Lady Pirrie was intimidating. Entering Mr. Payne’s office one day, her arms full of reports, Casey came up short to find Lady Pirrie sitting at the polished oak desk, papers spread around her. A deep brown dress covered her large frame in soft folds, and her gray hair was piled on top of her head, held with a pearl clip. Matching pearls graced her neck, and rings glittered on her hands. Casey quickly bowed when Lady Pirrie glanced up at her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I have some figures to enter in the logbooks. I’ll just be over here.” She indicated the work table along the wall and started to turn, but Lady Pirrie’s voice stopped her.

“You’re the American, are you not?”

Casey turned back. “Yes ma’am. Casey Wilson, ma’am.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“My nephew has spoken quite highly of your work. That’s an honor for you; he’s not easily impressed.”

Casey flushed with pleasure and bowed again. “Thank you ma’am. I’m enjoying the work very much. The ships are a wonder.”

Lady Pirrie smiled softly. “I think they are, too,” she agreed, her voice kind, but then her demeanor changed and she was brisk and dismissive. “Well, carry on, Casey. I shan’t keep you from your work.”

Startled at the abrupt dismissal, Casey was nevertheless happy to avoid further conversation, and buried herself in the logbooks. In principle, her reasons for pretending to be a boy were justifiable, but every person she talked to increased her feelings of guilt.

~~~

Sam had warned her the shipyard was a dangerous place, but the danger did not always come from lax employment laws. Sometimes it came from nature, like when the fetch out on the Irish Sea was strong and fast, and Belfast would experience nearly gale force winds blasting through the channel and city toward the hills. The only thing to do during these days was to wrap up and hold onto your hat. Moving from one place to another took a lot of determination.

Casey was used to these days, the weather being one thing that didn’t change much from one century to another. But the shipyard was an open area, and even inside offices could be at the mercy of the elements, with the wind howling over machinery, through corridors, into sheds and workshops and offices. Out on the slips, the ships were tied up tight, swaying dangerously in all directions on their short tethers. Any material left loose would be sent flying through the yard, causing men to duck, or hastily jump out of the way.

Casey was dropping off supplies outside, and as she turned to go, a strange movement on the scaffolding caught her attention. Boards nailed onto a steamer had worked loose in the wind, sending men on the decks scrambling for safety. Artie Frost, a foreman fitter who was nearest the scaffolding, immediately pocketed his hammer and climbed eighty feet to the ripped apart section and began hammering the boards back into place.

But he slipped as the wind shook the scaffolding, losing his hammer, which fell in seeming slow motion into the water below. Casey saw the change that came over Artie as he suddenly froze in place, gripping the boards of the scaffold in panic. Everyone around noticed at the same time and the crew rushed to help him, holding the scaffold to balance it, and shouting encouragement to Artie to climb down. If he heard them, he gave no notice of it—he closed his eyes and hung on to the swaying scaffold as if stuck to a spider’s web.

Casey could not look away. Every part of her willed Artie to gain his equilibrium and climb down. Her horror increased when she noticed a figure dart out onto the slip to the bottom of the scaffold. Tom Andrews held onto the swaying partition and shouted up at his friend. Casey caught fragments of his voice, but not the words, as Tom gestured and gave instructions. It was doubtful that Artie, high on the scaffold, could even hear anything from the ground.

Tom removed his coat and began to climb. Every man (and woman) on the dock forgot to breathe, as Tom climbed higher, the gale furiously whipping around him as the scaffold continued to sway. Casey cringed as a board flew just inches past his head and a moment later, another board landed against his leg with a sold whap. He climbed, deliberate and steady, defying the wind. Although they couldn’t hear him, they could see he was talking to Artie the entire time.

He reached Artie, climbing until he was next to him, one arm firm around Artie’s back as he grasped the wooden slat on the other side of him. The watchers could see Artie’s white face, stark against his black jacket, eyes still tightly shut.

Tom said something and Artie shook his head—a firm, panicky shake. The conversation continued, but not for long as Tom, keeping an arm around Artie’s back, moved a foot between Artie’s feet and leaned back very slightly, into the wind.

The scaffold gave a great rattle, causing gasps of dismay from the men trying to hold it steady. Casey literally felt the blood drain from her face. She was probably just as white as Artie. The two men began to move, one foot down, as Tom moved his hands to help Artie maintain his grasp on the scaffold. Tom moved down another step—both hands and feet—and waited until Artie did the same, prying Artie’s fingers from the scaffold.

Step by step the two men made their way together down the scaffolding, as the structure swayed and shook. When they were about three-quarters of the way down, they paused and exchanged a few words. They saw Tom laugh suddenly, and he swung away to Artie’s right, glancing down, then up at the loose boards banging above them. They spoke a few more words, before Tom started back up the ladder. After a moment, Artie continued down. The assembled crew watched in dismay as Tom cautiously hurried up the swaying scaffold, apparently oblivious to the driving wind.

“Ah, damn,” Casey muttered in angry despair, wishing he had seen fit to come down with Artie, as the men around her raced to help Artie off the scaffold and out of the wind. She kept her eyes on Tom, watching as he reached the boards and began hammering them into place.

Ham joined her after a minute, watching as the wind whipped the scaffolding around as if it were a spider’s web. The struggling figure holding onto the slats continued until the job was done, whereupon Tom slipped his hammer back into his pocket and began to hurry down the ladder. Casey started breathing again as Tom reached the relative protection of the dock wall. The crew below held the scaffold as steady as possible as he finished the last twenty feet and jumped to the deck. They surrounded him then, cheering and slapping him on the back as he sank to the ground. Casey and Ham reached him at the same time, Casey handing him his coat as he grinned up at them.

“Thanks,” he managed. “Think I’ll just sit here a minute. Solid ground and all that.”

The men laughed, and in a few moments they had cajoled him to his feet and moved en masse into the building. They plied him with hot tea and he joined a still-shaky Artie, who was working on his own cup.

Casey heard a voice in her ear. “Chalk up another one for the legend.” She turned to find Mike Sloan standing behind her, looking thoughtfully at Tom as the men continued a step-by-step breakdown of the rescue.

Sloan had backed off on invitations to his meetings, but lately he’d started a more insidious campaign. Casey knew that in many ways, an atheist was even worse than a Catholic. Sloan would have to address the issue eventually, but even she was taken by surprise when he began to mention scriptures in her presence relating to God’s hatred of men who engage in “unnatural acts.” Evidently, he had decided that Casey the boy, who was small and “pretty,” was homosexual. Ironic, but dangerous. She usually tried to avoid him, but now annoyance caused her to jump to Tom’s defense.

“Is that what you think he was doing? I didn’t notice you climbing up there to help Artie.” Her whisper was furious, but he answered mildly.

“Why, Mr. Andrews’ reputation is well-deserved, lad. Wouldn’t think to disparage him, not at all.” He started to turn away, but stopped, eyes narrowing as his gaze pierced her. “Don’t hurt the legend none, though. Makes you notice him, I guess.”

Casey flushed, closing her mouth against a retort that would only make things worse. Damn! Sloan had noticed her attraction to Tom, and put exactly the wrong spin on it. There’d be no good to come of that, she was sure.

~~~

“The thing is,” she told Sam as she furiously chopped a cabbage for dinner that night, “despite the riots and other problems in Belfast, the workers at the shipyard get along pretty well.”

Sam checked the cooking chicken. “I remember in history class—seventh grade or so—we did a section on Titanic and the shipyard. One of the things they told us was that Harland & Wolff had one of the fairest work policies in all Ireland. They didn’t hire many Catholics, but the ones they had could work in safety, for the most part.”

“It’s true,” Casey said. “Some of the Catholics and Protestants are friends with each other, at least at work. There aren’t many who are like Mike Sloan, but it doesn’t take very many to cause a lot of trouble. Sloan’s a foreman. If he wants to make trouble for a Catholic worker, he can. And they let him hold these meetings at lunch time, where he’ll get the workers riled up about something and blame the Catholics for it.” She leaned against the counter and stared at the floor. “You can always tell when he’s been doing that. It’s real tense in the yard for a while. Usually after a few hours, everyone’s back to normal—they start working together and forget about the issues. But it can be scary.”

“And Sloan thinks you’re gay?” Sam handed her the plates for the table, an eyebrow raised at her. “I could’ve told you something like that would happen.”

She sniffed. “Gay, and interested in Tom Andrews. Can’t I just tell him to mind his own business?”

Sam laughed. “Get real, Casey. Everybody these days knows” he put two fingers up in quotation marks, “that homosexuality is wrong. It’s sinful. That’s something the Catholics and the Protestants agree on.” He tossed her the napkins. “No one would be on your side.”

She caught the napkins, glaring at him. “What can he do about it? He can’t prove it.” But she looked worried. “If he starts spreading rumors, it could look bad for Mr. Andrews, though.”

“Oh, I doubt he’d try that, Casey.” Sam stared off into space, thinking. “I wonder if this guy is related to Thomas Sloan, who’s a member of parliament. A very sectarian, bigoted MP. Hates Catholics; totally committed to the Protestant cause. If so, your Mike Sloan has a formidable position as a political influence in the yard. But he still depends on Lord Pirrie more or less approving of what he does. And Pirrie is an enigma when it comes to Home Rule. He’s generally for it, if I remember my history right. But he waffles because he wants to advance in British society, and the British are obviously against it.” Casey looked confused and Sam offered a brief smile. “Basically, Lord Pirrie will want to avoid action for or against a man like Sloan. So Sloan can get away with a lot. But I don’t think he’d get away with slandering Lord Pirrie’s nephew.”

They sat at the table as Sam dished up the food. “You may be somewhat protected from Sloan by your working relationship with Andrews. Just try not to piss the guy off, okay? They do bad things to homosexuals in this era.”

Casey nodded. “Okay.”

“And try not to moon over Tom Andrews so much when you’re at work. You have to remember, he thinks you’re a boy.”

She just stuck her tongue out at him.

Chapter 10

September—October 1906

Casey dashed past the Number Seven slip, with a stack of logbooks for the office. She met up with Tom at an intersection. His grin grew wider as he shifted the machine parts in his hands, tucked some rolled plans under an arm, and handed her a few sheets of paper. “You’re on the way to the office, aren’t you?” he asked hopefully. “Just drop these on my desk. I’ll get to ’em later.”

“Sure,” she replied, following his example and placing them in a pocket. That kept them from getting mixed in with her other stuff. She paced alongside him as he made his way past the slip. “I’ve got a quick question,” she told him and he nodded as she jumped into some recent confusion about the figures from the plating shed. He was in the middle of clearing up her confusion when he went silent, lifting his head and looking around quizzically.

Suddenly, he tossed the rolls and parts at her, ran down a path and disappeared around a corner of boxes. Puzzled, she followed, and stopped in astonishment at the intersection. He was tearing through a gang of men, all of them scrambling in haphazard panic to get out of the way, as he did a credible imitation of a jig, running this way and that, knocking over tea kettles, cups, and tins of tea and sugar. Cries of consternation could be heard as several men tried to claim their crockery before it broke, some slipping in the spilled water. Tom stopped then, arms akimbo, as he regarded the dismayed gang with unforgiving sternness.

“Heating your tea water already! It’s five minutes before horn-blow! I’d like to know where the honor is in stealing time from your employer!” His glare took in each man individually, but none of them seemed willing to attempt an answer, as they looked down and mumbled a bit, most offering shamefaced apologies. One of them glared at a pale-faced youth peaking from behind a plating machine. “Ye was supposed to keep a look-out and warn us if ‘e came through!”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, eyeing Tom with awe. “Aye, I was looking. But ‘e didn’t come that way, like usual. He slipped in the back, sneaky as you please!”

“Aye,” said another, “and came tearin’ through here like a racehorse, hittin’ every bit of our mess!”

They all agreed with admiring head shakes. Tom grinned, confident they’d gotten the point. “Becker!” he roared, spying the men’s supervisor coming up the path. “Five minutes off the break for these men. They’ll have to drink their water cold, this morning! And make sure they wait for that horn from now on!”

Becker lifted an arm in acknowledgment, waving the men back to work, as Tom turned to Casey, his face split in a happy grin. He started grabbing back his papers. “Thanks for catching all that, lad. Good reflexes!”

She handed him back the rolls, shaking her head at him in mock consternation. “You had entirely too much fun with that. Sir.”

The grin turned into a laugh as they continued on their way. “Aye, well, I’ll tell you. Becker and I have been suspecting something of the sort was goin’ on, but we could never catch them. That’s why I went around back this time. Worked like a charm!”

His laugh was always infectious, and Casey joined in for a moment, then she shook her head. “But you just docked them five minutes instead of something harsher. That was kind of you.”

His smile remained in place, but he looked at her earnestly. “They’ll have to clean up that mess on their break, too, you know. But I don’t think it’s necessary to treat people harshly. I started here as an apprentice and I worked in all these departments. I know the work is hard, and it’s tempting to take it easy or skip a step. But for their own safety, we have to maintain discipline. A supervisor should build his men up, while making sure they learn self-discipline. Those men are all good workers, and their crime was mild. It’s important to me what a person’s intention is, too. I’m always willing to give someone another chance so long as they meant no real harm.” He shrugged a bit. “Provided they didn’t cause any real harm, of course.”

The smile came back in full force. “So there’s your Andrews lecture for the day, lad. Ye bore it well.” He tipped his hat at her and took off down another path. After a moment, Casey resumed her hurried pace to the drawing office, feeling some real hope that Thomas Andrews might—might—understand about, and maybe forgive her for, her own crime.

~~~

In the office later that day, Casey turned from the tonnage projections she was working on. “Have I picked up the wrong formula for figuring the number of lifeboats?” she asked Tom. “It seems wrong.”

He looked over her shoulder, checking what she had written. “Looks correct to me. What don’t you understand about it?”

“Why it’s used,” she said, looking at him curiously. “I suppose the tonnage relates to how much room there is for lifeboats, and to the number of people the ship can carry. But why not just provide enough seats for each person the ship can carry? The other way seems so inefficient. Not to mention inaccurate.”

Tom smiled thoughtfully, as he turned and leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Now that’s something that needs to change,” he said. “Knowledge has been increasing so quickly over the last twenty years or so, that rule-making bodies are struggling to keep up. It’s also true that a governing board is typically conservative and slow-moving.” He gave her a rueful look. “We’ve been lobbying for more lifeboats for a long time. For the most part, the board doesn’t see the need to change the rule, and until the rule is changed, the people who control the purse strings aren’t going to spend the money.”

She shook her head. “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it?”

He looked despondent. “Aye, Casey. It always does. But we keep hounding them. Eventually, they’ll come around.”

“Not before a lot of people die,” she murmured, staring at her figures.

“Oh, not necessarily,” he protested. “There are other ways of effecting rescues, you know. All the ships have the wireless now, and can call for help, if it’s needed. And the ships themselves are better built and more stable, more able to withstand the storms and other dangers. ‘Tis true that no ship is unsinkable, but we do everything we can to keep them afloat for as long as possible, if damaged.” He held out a hand. “No one wants people to die.”

Casey stamped down on her nervousness. This was the first real opportunity she’d had to even begin to warn him and she didn’t want to blow it. “I was reading about the Great Eastern,” she began, and stopped when he raised both eyebrows in astonishment.

“You were?” he asked. “Why?”

She was puzzled. “Why not?”

“I just didn’t realize you were that interested in this, that you’d be reading about it in your spare time.”

She shrugged. “It’s your fault,” she told him, laughing at his expression. “You give me a job here and I find it’s fascinating stuff. So I start reading about ships.”

He seemed amazed. “So what about the Great Eastern?”

“Well, it seems that we don’t use even the technology we have available to build safer ships. The Eastern was built almost fifty years ago, with a complete double hull and watertight bulkheads that rose thirty feet above the water line. When she ran into a rock and had severe damage, she was still able to make it to harbor. Because of the double skin.”

He looked at her for a moment, then held a finger up to indicate she should wait. He went into the drawing room and came back in a couple of minutes with a few rolls of plans. He spread them out on the table. “These are the early drawings for Cedric and Adriatic. I don’t know if you can read these well enough yet, but can you see the double hull? And here,” he pointed to a dotted line that ran the length of the ship, “this is the waterline. The bulkheads extend thirty feet up.” He pointed them out, then looked at her, quite seriously.

“Every ship we design starts out with these. Our first design is always an engineer’s dream—the perfect ship, as near as we can make it. And every time, our first design is denied. It’s like a play. We all know our roles and we all play them.” He sounded surprisingly bitter. “You’ve seen the figures, Casey. Shipping is extremely competitive and the profit margins are almost nonexistent. The ship’s owners want a ship that will make them money. Shareholders want dividends. So we end up building a ship with features that sell: comfort, beauty, service. Safety is important, but it’s one place that owners feel we can cut corners and get away with it. Because we have gotten away with it, Casey.” He rubbed his hand gently over the plans. “There have been no major accidents in all this time. We’ve been lucky.”

She watched him, uncertain. The situation troubled him, and she was about to make it much worse. If he was already doing everything he could, what more could she ask of him? Well, she could ask him to live. That was the bottom line.

“Say there is a major disaster, with a large loss of life,” she said carefully. “Suddenly the public is outraged, and there are inquiries and trials and they begin demanding these features. I’m cynical enough to believe that the money would be there, in that situation. How can we convince them to spend the money before the disaster?”

He looked at her in amazement, shaking his head. “Where did this come from?” he asked. “Of all the issues in shipbuilding you could investigate, why this one?”

She smiled ruefully. “I have a vivid imagination. I watch that ship being built,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of Adriatic, “and I’m simply amazed at it. But I see these figures, and I see what’s not going into the ships. If I, as a customer, wanted to buy a ticket to America, I would know there’s more danger than is being admitted by White Star Line, or even by Harland & Wolff. And I would like to know there’s a seat on a lifeboat, if I need it.”

He nodded, thinking about it. “What would it take to get those features? You already said it: public demand. Across the board, though. If I sat down with Bruce Ismay today, and convinced him to allow those features on his ships, it could bankrupt White Star. If they raised prices to cover the cost, people would go with another line. If they swallow the costs, they’ll never make it up.”

“But they can use the extra safety in marketing, can’t they? If they talk about the features and what they mean, won’t people be willing to pay more?” Casey realized she was thinking of twenty-first century marketing techniques, but she thought it was worth a try.

“Only in a perfect world, lad.” Tom looked apologetic. “Aye, some people will pay more, but most won’t. Most people, if it comes down to it, would rather take the risk, if given the choice. I’m afraid that even the paying public may need your major disaster before they are willing to pay for safety.”

He touched her shoulder. “You can talk to people, write letters, maybe talk to a newspaper and see if they’ll write about it. The only way to begin changing public opinion is by first telling them about the problem.” He looked alarmed. “But I don’t think you, personally, should do anything. Do you have any idea what it would look like, if an employee of Harland & Wolff started a campaign like that? It would look like disgruntlement, like you were trying to harm the company. It could hurt you and us.”

He held up a finger. “I’m serious about that, Casey. Forget I even made the suggestion. Let me keep working on it through inside channels, all right?”

She nodded. “All right.”

He smiled at her. “I promise I’ll work on it more.” He picked up the blueprint and started rolling it up. “I have a meeting. But thanks for your concern. You have very good ideas.”

~~~

She couldn’t shake the worry and remorse that she felt. She told Sam about the conversation, suggesting that perhaps he could approach a newspaper about the issue.

“I’m reluctant to do that, Casey,” he told her. “For one thing, I’m only one step removed from the situation. It would still look like a campaign of some kind. Why don’t you give him a chance to see what he can do? We still have several years before Titanic sails.”

“Five,” she said under her breath, then louder. “We have five years. He’s been trying for years and hasn’t made any progress. And based on our history, he doesn’t make any progress in the next five years. I’m worried, Sam.”

“But he didn’t have this conversation with you in our history. Maybe it will give him an impetus.”

Casey left the dinner table and went to stand at the window, staring at the street. “I want to tell him,” she told the window.

At the table, Sam sighed. “How do we do that?” he asked her. “Casey, right now, he respects you. He knows you’re intelligent and curious, and that you’re interested in the ships. You go to him spouting about time travel and shipwrecks, and he’ll be convinced you’re crazy. You’ll lose all the ground you’ve made with him.”

“We have our gadgets,” she said, not turning from the window. “They convinced Riley.”

“Who promptly left town.”

She rested her forehead against the window, as if weary with the turmoil that boiled within her. “I can’t let him die, Sam.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He turned to look at her. She was still looking out the window, a small, thin girl, her short hair disheveled. As usual, she had changed into a skirt. Sam was glad that she still looked “normal” to him, although at times, it was beginning to look odd: her Edwardian clothes with the short curls, instead of the elegant up-dos all the women wore. Not for the first time, Sam wished he’d had a daughter, or just more experience with young women. What could he say that would help her?

He went to stand next to her, also looking out the window. “I’d rather he didn’t die, either, Casey. He was a real asset to this town, and he could’ve done so much more if he’d lived. He might even have been able to knock a peace agreement together. He had that kind of respect from both sides.” He rubbed the windowsill thoughtfully, staring at his hands. “I just don’t know how we tell him. We have to be careful, Case. We need to really think this through. Please don’t do anything rash.”

She sighed. “Sam, I’m aware this does not involve just me. I won’t do anything that we both don’t agree to.”

He nodded, gazing at her in concern. She looked so pale, with those two high spots of red on her cheeks. “Casey, can I try to appeal to your logical side?” She closed her eyes as if in pain, but nodded. “Case, Tom Andrews is never going to love you.” She jerked once and flushed, half turning away from him. “Wait, Casey, listen.” He touched her shoulder. “Not just because he thinks you’re a boy, although God knows what he’ll feel when he finds out the truth. But he’s gentry, Casey. They have their own ways of doing things and they rarely deviate. One of those things is who and how they marry. He’s constrained by society. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t marry you. I’m just saying that you need to make your own choices for your life without hoping that he’ll be in it. We can try to help him with Titanic. But can you understand why we need to be careful about telling him about us? I’m concerned that you want to tell him because of your feelings for him, not for any logical reason. Will you just think about it?”

She didn’t look at him, but after a moment, she nodded, and went to her room.

Chapter 11

November 1906

Arms full of rolled up plans, Casey dashed along the lower catwalk of the gantry, shivering in the November cold. She’d just left Tom and several foremen on the gantry, and now she hurried to get the plans back to Ham so Mr. Carlisle had them for a meeting. As she rounded a corner, though, Trouble appeared, in the overbearing person of Mike Sloan. He stepped in front of her, holding up a hand to stop her headlong rush. She skidded to a stop, struggling to keep hold of the plans as several rolls tried to make an escape from her arms. She managed to glare at Sloan at the same time.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked in annoyance. What a jerk!

His slow grin made him look like a satisfied fox, knowing the hen was cornered. “It’s almost lunch time,” he pointed out, nodding back toward the platers’ shed. “Wanted to ask you again to come to our meeting.”

“And again, no thank you,” Casey replied, tossing a recalcitrant plan toward her shoulder and taking a step to continue past him.

He moved to block her. “Thought you might reconsider,” he said, looking her over with sharp eyes. “Seems like if you don’t want trouble, you might consider meeting us halfway. Show a little concern for your soul.”

Casey stayed still, balancing on the balls of her feet. She answered with care. “I don’t want trouble. My soul is feeling fine. I still don’t want to go to your meeting.”

Again, he looked her over, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Boy like you has a lot of demons in his heart. Sooner you ask the Lord to heal you, the better off you’ll be. Or is it,” his voice softened dangerously, sending a chill down Casey’s back, “maybe you’re not a boy. If you’re not, I’d say there’s still a lot of demons in your heart, but they’d be different ones. Which is it, Casey?”

“This conversation is over,” she replied, her voice almost sounding calm. She turned back to the slips, where she knew there were a lot of people, but came up against a human bulk whose name escaped her. A glance to her left and right revealed similar bulks waiting patiently. She turned back to Sloan and tried to sound threatening and bored. “Not a good idea, Sloan.”

He ignored her comment and spread his arms in an attempt to look reasonable. “Prove it to us, Case. Prove you’re a boy and we’ll let it go, for now. Just drop ’em quick-like. Don’t need more than a glance, do we?”

Fear hammered at her chest. She could take on a couple of them, but never all four. Her only hope would be to make a lot of noise and hope there were people close enough to get here fast. Unfortunately, Sloan had picked his place well. They were in a fairly isolated part of the yard.

“I’d never give you the satisfaction, asshole,” she said in a low voice. All her muscles tensed as she prepared to drop the plans and start with a swift kick to the guy behind her, when a mild voice, moving toward them, broke into the tableau.

“What’s the problem, here?”

Fire burned through Casey as she closed her eyes in despair. Tom Andrews! Sure, she needed someone to come along, but why him?

The goons all looked at each other innocently, and Sloan shrugged, shaking his head. “No problem at all, Mr. Andrews, sir. Almost time for horn-blow, we was just discussing the meeting.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained mild. “Wait for horn-blow, please. You are all still on the clock.” His chin jerked at Casey. “Ham is waiting for those plans, Case. Get a move on, please.”

“Yes sir.” She was past Sloan in a nanosecond, nearly running to the safety of the drawing office. Whatever happened behind her, she didn’t care to know.

She tried to slow herself as she dashed into the room, not wanting to bother the men working at the tables. She moved quickly to the back office, dropping the plans on Ham’s desk as he turned from the filing cabinet.

“Thanks Case! I was wondering where you were.” He peered at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she muttered, turning to her desk, her whole body shaking. She pulled out the inventory sheet and some pencils, trying to look busy. Her shaking hands dropped the pencils everywhere but into the cup on her desk, causing a breathless, and nearly silent, “fuck!” to escape her as she tried to pick them all up. If Ham heard that, she could be in real trouble, but he said nothing.

The lunch horn blew just as the shadow of doom fell across her desk. Tom said, “Case,” and gestured toward his inner office. She gave up on the pencils and, without looking at him, walked past him into the office.

“Have a seat,” he said, sitting himself.

With great effort, she moved to obey, clenching her hands to stop the shaking. Tom looked at her in concern.

“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

Her voice shook. “Just scared. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”

He hesitated, then got up, turning to the sideboard along the wall, and poured some water into a glass, coming around his desk to hand it to her. “Take your time. Take some deep breaths.”

She did, feeling the first stirrings of anger begin to take the place of fear. Damn that Sloan! Now she was in trouble, and she wasn’t the one who caused the problem! No, she told herself without mercy, you’re just the one going around pretending to be someone you’re not. How much had Mr. Andrews overheard? And what had Sloan told him?

His concern still showing, he sat back down and watched her, giving her a minute before speaking. “Casey, Mike Sloan is a troublemaker. Always has been. Don’t think at all that I believe you were the cause of that problem, back there.”

A relieved laugh escaped her in a gasp and she nearly spilled the water, looking at him for the first time. “I appreciate that, sir. Whatever I’m guilty of, it has nothing to do with Sloan.”

His eyebrows rose and he sat back in his chair, as if inviting her to continue.

She stared at him a moment. This had to end. She couldn’t keep lying to him. “Mr. Andrews,” she started, then stopped, not sure what to say first. She heard her dad’s voice, If you’re really confused, start at the end. Or at least, the middle. Makes you figure out what’s important and what’s not.

“My contract is up in a couple of months, isn’t it?” she asked.

His eyebrows climbed higher, but he nodded. “Middle of January.”

It was painful to look at him and Casey glanced at the water glass, then placed it with deliberate slowness on the desk. “I wanted to finish out the contract and not leave you in a lurch, but,” she hesitated, “maybe I should resign now.”

He shook his head. “That’s unacceptable, Casey. I told you, Sloan’s a troublemaker. I can’t let him run off a good worker just because he objects to his religion.”

“Religion?” Casey blinked in surprise. “Is that what he told you?”

Tom pursed his lips, looking at her thoughtfully. “He said you told him you’d decided to convert to Catholicism. He was trying to talk you out of it.”

Casey surprised herself by laughing. “Converting?” she repeated, shaking her head. “I’ve sometimes been accused of looking for trouble, but I’d have to be suicidal to say something like that to Sloan.”

Tom laughed a little, too. “Well, that’s what I thought, too. So you’re not converting to Catholicism?”

“Not even close!”

Now Tom just looked bewildered. “So what’s it about?” He suddenly held up both hands, forestalling her answer. “I’ll tell you, normally I’d drop this. It doesn’t do any good, usually, to get too involved in the workers’ personal issues. As long as people are steady, they can have all the disagreements they want. But I get the impression you’re really frightened. I don’t like to see that. If you need help, you need to say so.”

She looked at her hands, silently asking her father what the next step was. He had no answer, beyond the obvious one. Tell him the truth.

She removed her cap and ran a hand through her short hair, roughly at first, then falling into her habit of fluffing the curls, in an unconscious attempt to encourage growth. She took a deep breath and looked up at Tom, who was watching her curiously. She felt a stab of pain. He was so handsome and so good! How could she have lied to him like this? And now she was going to have to confess the deception. What would he think? Would he hate her forever? She wanted him to love her. How had she screwed this up so badly?

He was waiting, and she had to say something. She put her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “This isn’t easy, but I know you’re busy, so I’ll try.” Her heart wouldn’t stop racing and she took another deep breath. “I don’t know if what I’ve done is illegal, but I never meant it to be. I never meant to cause any harm. Please believe that.”

Tom sounded bewildered. “Have you done something wrong and Sloan found out about it? Has he threatened you?”

She shrugged at her hands. “He’s only guessing. Thing is, he guessed the truth. I don’t know about threats, but,” she hesitated, “he might feel violence is called for. He might even think it’s his religious duty.”

When Tom spoke next, he sounded uncomfortable. “Casey, let’s talk plain.” He was silent, so she nodded, still afraid to look at him. “Has Sloan accused you of any…perversion? Does he have some proof of it?”

She shook her head, sure that Mr. Andrews was referring to homosexuality, which is what Sloan had suspected, at first. This was not a safe topic of conversation, so she kept her answer vague. “He seemed to suspect something, although he never had any proof of anything. Now he says he suspects I’m really… a girl. He wanted proof I’m not a girl, which is what you interrupted.”

She raised her head then, forcing herself to face him. “I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out he’s right.”

He blinked. “What?”

Her voice was a whisper. “I’ve been pretending to be a boy, Mr. Andrews. But I’m really a girl.”

She saw his expression change from strained, to disbelief, to horror, as he stared at her. For a moment, she thought she would faint, she was so afraid of the way he looked. What would he do to her? Her body tensed, ready to run as she clenched her hands tightly against her stomach.

He didn’t speak for almost a minute. Gods, what was he thinking?

He seemed to recover a bit as he studied her, his eyes moving down her body. His face reddened, but he leaned over his desk, holding out a hand. “A girl? Why, Casey? Why would you do this? Why would you tell such a lie, for such a long time?”

She closed her eyes against the pain in his voice. He truly felt betrayed. “It wasn’t safe on the streets for a girl, and I was trying to find odd jobs to make money.” Her voice sounded high and whiny. She realized she was pleading with him. “I had more opportunities for that as a boy. My guardian was trying to find work too, but then he got sick. He needed medicine and a doctor. I took your offer so I could help him. That was all, really.”

“But,” he couldn’t seem to comprehend it. “Case, there are places you could have gone for help. The poorhouse, charities…” he stopped as she shook her head.

“We tried those. But they aren’t good places, Mr. Andrews. I think that’s where Sam got sick, ’cause they crowd so many people in, and lots of people are really ill.” A hint of defiance crossed her face. “We weren’t used to being poor. We wanted out of it and those places seemed designed to keep us in it.”

He rubbed his forehead, nodding. “Aye, I’ve heard that said of them, but I never really knew.” His hand moved through his hair in frustration. “Is your guardian still sick, Casey?”

She shook her head again. “He’s fine, now. The doctor put him in touch with someone at the telephone company, and Sam got a job there. He’s a physicist, and they have him doing research and development.”

“I wish you’d told me the truth sooner,” Tom told her. “I understand your reasons… I just don’t know what to do, now.” He absent-mindedly rolled a pencil around, thinking hard. “You’re right, though. I was hoping we could keep you on. I was going to speak to you about that in a few days. But now, you won’t be able to continue working. I certainly can’t let you finish out your time as a boy, and there’s no possible way you can come in here as a girl. And we have to do something about Sloan.”

She thought about it, relieved that he seemed willing to work something out. At least, he wasn’t yelling at her. “He doesn’t know where I live. If I’m not around here and not a threat to him, maybe he’ll just forget about me.”

Tom nodded, but he looked doubtful. “You’ll have to keep an eye out. I will talk to him, though. I’ll make it very clear to him that nothing is to happen to you, or I’ll see that the blame goes to him. I’d like to talk to your guardian, too, and make sure he’s aware of the problem.”

Casey nodded and then looked up at him through tears. “I’m sorry for this, Mr. Andrews. I know it’s inadequate, but I really am sorry. I’ve put you in a terrible position and I had no right to do that.”

A small smile crossed his face and he looked grateful. “I forgive you,” he told her in all seriousness. “But I hope you stop this nonsense, Casey. I know you meant no harm, but you must be who you are. This constant deception has to be bad for your health, and your soul.”

Despondent, she looked at her hands, nodding. “I miss being a girl.”

It was a few moments before he spoke, and when he did, his voice sounded thick, as if something blocked his throat. “You’ve done everything we needed you to do. You have a right to survive, and you have a right to try and better your life. I want to help you. There are jobs you can do as a girl, if it’s work you want. With your education, you should be able to find something that you would enjoy. I can certainly recommend you—your work here has been excellent, once I get past the necessary explanations. Let me ask around. I’m sure I know someone who could use you, or maybe you could go back to school. You mentioned that you were doing that before.”

She nodded. “It would be nice to finish. To study plants again.”

He tilted his head and asked suddenly, “Have you considered marriage?”

This startled her. “Marriage? No, I hadn’t considered marriage.” She added sardonically, “There’s been a real dearth of opportunities.”

His smile was rueful. “I imagine there’d be more if you wore a dress.”

She laughed a little at that. “I’m not opposed to the idea in general, Mr. Andrews. But I’m only twenty-one. I don’t think I’m ready for marriage, yet.”

He nodded again. “I understand. But it’s something to keep in mind. With your guardian’s occupation, and your education, I think you could make a good match. You could marry just about anyone you want.”

You? She thought. No, of course, you’re not even thinking of yourself. She decided to change the subject.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Sam has not said anything about marriage, so I don’t have any idea what his thoughts are. I think he’s just been trying to take care of me and he knows I’m happier if I’m doing something, so he’s always encouraged me to find work.”

“Well, I truly hope he puts a stop to this boy nonsense, Casey. I know things were desperate, but he should never have allowed you to do this.” Tom sounded indignant.

But Casey shook her head. “Sam has never been able to stop me from doing anything. He wasn’t happy about it, truly.” She sighed. “I’m concerned that this will reflect badly on you, since you hired me.”

Tom harrumphed and tilted his head as he looked at her. “Perhaps, but everyone else was fooled, as well. I’ve had a few comments here and there about you, but no one ever suggested they thought you were a girl. Until Sloan, anyway, and he’s always looking for trouble.” A quick smile touched his lips. “You did a good job, pretending to be a boy.”

He tapped the table and Casey jumped a bit. “Go on home, Casey. I’ll have Ham handle the paperwork, and we’ll send you any pay you’re owed. I’ll have to figure out what to tell Lord Pirrie and talk to Sloan. Looks like I’m in for an interesting day.”

She stood. “I really am sorry, Mr. Andrews.”

He waved her away. “You did your job and you did it well. Take some pride in that. Just please, don’t make a habit of this kind of thing. You could make yourself a miserable life, I fear.”

She nodded and turned to go, but abruptly turned back. “Can I say one more thing, Mr. Andrews? This has nothing to do with any of this, and it’s not going to make any sense to you, but I have to give you some warning or I won’t be able to live with myself.”

His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “Go ahead.”

She licked her lips and plunged on. “I’ve heard you say that when you build a ship, you think about how it can sink, and that helps you build it so it floats.” His eyes widened. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. She continued, somewhat frantically, “Well, just think about a large ship, bigger even than the Adriatic, going too fast, about to hit an iceberg. They try to turn the ship and it misses mostly, but the iceberg scrapes along the side, punching holes for several hundred feet, all under the waterline.” She took a step toward him, pointing at his desk, at the drawings. “You’ll be a Managing Director someday. Build that ship so it doesn’t sink, Mr. Andrews. Especially, if it’s a ship called Titanic. That’s all I know to tell you.” And she turned and left.

Chapter 12

November 1906

Tom sat at his desk for several minutes after Casey had gone, staring at the door and trying to comprehend what she had said. His emotions were in such a whirl, he couldn’t concentrate. What did all that mean? The image of a ship scraping along an iceberg sent chills down his spine. He wanted to laugh it off as nonsense, but the scenario Casey described was plausible.

“Going too fast.” What did she mean by that? “A ship called Titanic”? There was no ship by that name even being considered. Was Casey, perhaps, a bit crazy? A harmless crazy, to be sure, but one that made her pretend to be a boy and then leave random warnings of disaster in her wake? But would craziness like that allow to her work hard and accurately every day?

Tom slowly shook his head, unsure of what to do. How could this happen? How could he not see that she was a girl? All the comments from men in the yard: “He sure is a pretty boy,” or “No growth spurt, yet, eh?” Tom had for the most part ignored these, thinking only that the trueness of them must have meant that life was even more difficult for the lad.

Gullible, Tommy. Gullible, that’s what you are. Always willing to take people at their best. Someone’ll always take advantage of that. Ach, but it’s no good being any other way.

Eventually he came back to his original problem: what to tell his uncle. He almost laughed at that, hearing his own voice exhorting Casey to avoid any further lying. Best take his own advice and just confess his gullibility to Lord Pirrie and have it done. He did take some comfort in the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one taken in by the deception.

He heard Ham come in and sighed. Might as well get it over with, then he could head over to his uncle’s office. He wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on these reports anyway.

Predictably, Ham was astonished when Tom broke the news. His ears reddened as he no doubt considered the odd remark that would never have been made had he known he was talking to a girl. Tom could think of a few unwise comments he’d said himself. Not to mention exposing her to all the rough and tumble of the men in the shipyard. Good men, all of them, but still men, who were assuming there were no women around. They acted a bit coarser under those circumstances.

After a few minutes, Ham recovered. “We were going to keep him on. How’re we going to replace him… I mean her? She was all trained and doing a proper job. Good ideas, too.” Ham sounded miserable; after all, he was going to have to go back to all that running around and extra work.

Tom tapped his pencil on the desk as he thought about it. “Tell you what. Let’s put out the word to everyone we talk to today. Start with the men in the drafting room. We need a youngish lad who can read, write and figure to replace Casey. Someone who can start right away. We’ll see what we get.”

Lord Pirrie’s reaction was also predictable. He stared at Tom in disbelief, then let loose a roar of laughter that all but alerted the shipyard that something was up. Tom reflected that there was no way he was getting away easy on this one.

He didn’t, either. There were few places where gossip could travel faster than a shipyard. First, they were looking for a replacement for Casey, which was enough to raise lots of questions. Everyone liked Casey, why’d they let him go? Lord Pirrie was more than happy to tell a few people, and like magic, they all knew. Tom found that on his forays through the yard, he’d suddenly be following a man swinging his hips and twirling an imaginary umbrella. Or upon getting the attention of a man he needed to talk to, the alerted fellow would pouf imaginary hair or bat his eyelashes. These antics were followed by peals of laughter from anyone around.

There was nothing for it but to take it in good humor and let it run its course. He did manage to put an early stop to it in his own department, by noting as how the men perhaps needed to do some rudimentary drawing exercises for their eyes, since they had worked closely with Casey, too, and had not noticed anything untoward. So the snickers died down quickly there, especially since the work that Casey used to do fell to them until a replacement could be secured.

His talk with Sloan was brief. This was not the first time Tom had had to deal with Sloan’s troublemaking, and the man’s self-righteous air at the news that Casey had left nearly sent Tom over the edge. He actually shoved the Sloan into a chair and yelled at him, while struggling to keep his clenched fists at his side, rather than using them to wipe the smugness from Sloan’s face.

“I don’t care what her crime was,” he said. “If you thought she was a girl, your treatment of her was outrageous. You understand, sir, that if any harm comes to that young lady, any at all, I will personally see that you are brought before the magistrate to answer for it. Are you clear on that?”

Sloan had acquiesced, humbly protesting that he never truly thought she was a girl, he was just trying to shame the boy into confessing his sins. But the a triumphant gleam never left his eye, and Tom was determined to keep an eye on him.

He approached his supervisor, Alexander Carlisle, about the iceberg problem, who thought it was an interesting, although unlikely, possibility. Tom then put the problem to his design team as an exercise. The easy solution, a double hull, was a sensitive one because of cost. If they couldn’t do that, what other solutions were there?

Any mention of Titanic, he kept to himself.

~~~

“It was the housekeeper, in the parlor.” Sam said, as soon as he came in the kitchen, an open letter in his hand.

Casey looked up from dinner preparations, her face showing the results of an afternoon of sobbing into her pillow. She had called Sam at work as soon she’d gotten home, and told him what had happened. He had been suitably sympathetic, and furious at Sloan, but she knew he was also relieved that the truth was out. On some level, she was glad of that herself, but still sick with worry over Tom Andrews.

“What are you talking about?” She didn’t feel up to his usual puzzles and chipper conversation.

He waved the letter. “How Sloan found out about you. It was the housekeeper.”

She tried to focus on that. Ann Malone? The young woman who came two times a week to sweep and dust and do their laundry? Casey had only met her a couple of times, first when she interviewed for the job and again a week ago, when she had been working late and Casey had come home…

…dressed as a boy.

She leaned against the counter, folded her arms over her apron, and gazed thoughtfully at Sam. “Pray tell, what is the connection between our housekeeper and Mike Sloan?”

Sam blinked at the letter in his hand. “Evidently, she’s his cousin.”

Casey sighed. “God save me from the Irish and their infernal relations.”

Sam laughed. “It can be a tricky road to traverse,” he agreed. “Buried mines, everywhere.”

“I take it that letter is from her?”

“Aye.” Sam offered it to her but she just raised an eyebrow and waited. He shrugged. “She is informing us that her cousin has forbidden her to continue in our employment. She regrets this and sincerely hopes she has not caused us trouble. She had only thought that Mr. Sloan would find the story amusing.”

“Fucking idiot.”

“Why? For thinking Sloan would be amused, or expecting us to believe she thought that?”

“Either one.” Casey returned to cooking. “So, mystery solved. It’s nice to know he didn’t figure it out on his own.” She stirred the stew to avoid Sam’s gaze, one thought shouting itself in her mind: He knew. That whole time, with those men there, threatening to strip me, he knew I was a girl.

Sam dropped a kiss on her head. “Can you call the agency tomorrow and ask them to send ‘round another housekeeper? And no, you can’t do the work. I have a possible job for you.”

That got her attention and he smiled wickedly. “I have some connections now, you know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What job?”

“Know anything about the Palm House?”

She gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous. The greenhouse in the Botanic Gardens. I worked there for over a year in the future.”

“I know.” He sat on a stool, quite proud of himself. “A colleague has a relative who’s heading the program to build up the tropical section. They’re using Queen’s students, of course, but they need some help from outside the university. He’s agreed to talk to you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, if you can get there in the afternoon. Rupus Mangold is his name. Go and see what you think.”

She squealed and hugged him. “Thank you!”

He chuckled, glad to see her smile.

~~~

A few days later, Sam received a phone call from Tom Andrews. Tom sounded genuinely concerned about Casey and wanted to meet with Sam in person, to discuss the situation. Sam agreed to meet him after work at a pub.

He called Casey to tell her.

“He said he would talk to you about Sloan,” Casey reminded him.

“I know.” Sam was nervous. “This is silly, especially since you’ve been working with him all this time. But this guy was one of my childhood heroes. I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet him.”

“Yeah, well, try to put in a good word for me, okay?” Casey was depressed. “And try to tell him more about Titanic!”

~~~

Sam recognized him right away, having seen pictures of the man as he studied the Titanic in school. If Tom thought it odd that this stranger walked right up and introduced himself, he didn’t let on. Maybe he’d given up on anything connected with Casey making sense.

Tom didn’t drink, so he sipped the tea Sam bought for him and said that he was uncertain of Sloan’s sincerity in promising to leave Casey alone. “I don’t think he knows where you live, but it wouldn’t be hard for him to find out. He has connections everywhere. I hope you can keep Casey from running around on her own, especially dressed as a boy.”

Sam was thoughtful. “I don’t think she’ll do that anymore, Mr. Andrews. She had a real scare, and she’s heartbroken over deceiving you. She was never comfortable with it, you know. She simply felt she had no other choices.”

“What is she going to do, now?” Tom asked him.

“Fellow I work with has a brother-in-law teaching horticulture at Queen’s. That was Casey’s field of study. They’re starting a project at the Palm House in the Gardens, and he agreed to let Casey help them out.” Sam raised his glass. “She’s thrilled about it. It will be good for her. She’ll be working with plants and won’t be cooped up in a factory or sitting in front of a typewriter all day. She’d do those jobs if she had to, but it would drive her insane.”

Tom shook his head. “She’s a very strange girl, Dr. Altair. Don’t get me wrong, please. I like her. At least, I liked him and I assume she’s the same… Oh, for heaven’s sake.” He stopped talking, befuddled, and Sam laughed.

“I know what you mean.” He sobered, though, and looked at Tom seriously. “She truly admires you, sir, and is quite concerned for your welfare. It’s not my place to say, but I hope you see a way to get to know her as herself.” He smiled a little. “I think you’ll find that her strangeness is overwhelmed by her goodness.”

Tom nodded, his lips tight, one finger tapping the table. He opened his mouth, but closed it again, then abruptly asked, “Do you know why she told me about a ship called Titanic crashing into an iceberg? I’ll tell you, Dr. Altair, that gave me the chills, but it also lends a lot of credibility to the notion that she’s more than just a little strange.”

Sam stared at him for several seconds, his mind racing, before deciding on a course of action. “The answer to that is not simple, Mr. Andrews. From what Casey tells me, she just gave you a brief description, yes?”

“Brief?” Tom spread his hands. “How would I know? I guess it was brief. A large ship, going too fast and can’t miss the berg. The berg scrapes along the side and tears holes in the hull for several hundred feet. A nasty story, Dr. Altair. But do you know it’s almost word-for-word, the plot of a work of fiction written about ten years ago?” Sam nodded as Tom continued. “She wasn’t talking about that book, though. I don’t know why, but I know she wasn’t. But what was she talking about?”

Sam sighed. “As I said, sir, the answer is not simple and this is not the place to discuss it.” He sat back and observed Tom for a minute. “Mr. Andrews, you have a standing invitation to dinner anytime you’re ready for the whole story.” He held up his hands. “If you’re uncomfortable about being with Casey, I’ll arrange to have her be somewhere else. Is this acceptable?”

Tom looked confused, but he just nodded. “All right. I’m sure I’ll be in touch.” He didn’t sound sure, but Sam let it drop.

Chapter 13

November 1906

The note was on pale pink paper, with an even, flowing script, and a coat of arms seal on the back. It was addressed to “Miss Casey Wilson” and was delivered to the house on Tuesday of Casey’s second week after leaving Harland and Wolff.

The sender was Lady Margaret Pirrie.

Casey stood at the small desk in the parlor as Sam lit a fire to ward off the evening chill. She held the note with care, afraid to move for fear that movement would acknowledge the paper in her hand and force her to deal with it. What did Lady Pirrie want with her? Was this prelude to arrest? Announcement to sue? Some other alarming deed?

Sam noticed her stillness and glanced over, moving to her side in alarm at her expression. “What is it? Are you all right?”

She couldn’t focus on him, but handed the note in his direction. Confused, he took it and read the front, noting sender and addressee. Eyebrows severely elevated, he managed a sideways smile. “Honestly, dear. The company you keep.” His voice was mild.

Her lips trembled, eyes wide. “What does she want with me? Why would she send me a note? Am I going to be arrested?”

He held it out to her. “Arrest notices seldom come on scented pink paper. I hate to be pedantic, but the only way you’ll find out is to open it.”

Her lips twitched ever so slightly as she snatched the paper out of his hand and sniffed gently at it. Sure enough, roses. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal and forced herself to scan the note. She felt her face flushing as she gaped at the invitation to: “Tea? She wants me to come to tea?”

Sam peeked over her shoulder at the elegant script.

Lady Margaret Pirrie requests the company of

Miss Casey Wilson

at Tea

Two o’clock in the afternoon

Friday 22 November, 1906

at Ormiston House, Belfast

“Why would she want me to come to tea?” Casey nearly shouted at Sam.

He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe she’s just curious. She did meet you at the shipyard at least once. Maybe she wants to see you as a girl.”

“For tea?” she repeated. “With Lady Pirrie? At Ormiston House?”

“Now, Casey, surely you know the rules of teatime. You attended Queen’s University for two-and-a-half years and I don’t think they’ve let the basics slide that much. You’ve attended formal teas, I’m sure of it.”

“Yes.” She looked doubtful. “But not by myself, and certainly not with a lady of the realm. Especially one who has a complaint against me.” Each remark got louder.

Sam sat in the desk chair. “I had a colleague once who always said to never admit fault until it was in your lap.” He sighed at Casey’s expression. “You don’t know that Lady Pirrie is offended. She may think it’s hilarious.”

Casey nodded in mock optimism. “I’m sure she does.”

Sam ignored the sarcasm as he gazed at the lace curtains over the window. “In fact, Lady Pirrie could be a real asset.”

“What do you mean, asset?”

Sam settled into his lecture mode. “According to history, Lady Pirrie had a lot of influence with her husband. She was practically a partner in the business. You mentioned she was often at the yard.” He looked at her for confirmation.

“So?”

“So when you go to tea, you should feel her out. She’d be a formidable ally if she knew about the Titanic.”

“The Titanic?” Casey threw the note on the desk, face flushed and angry. “You want me to tell her about the Titanic? About us? Are you out of your mind, Sam?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course. I haven’t met her at all; you have. I’m sure you’ll get to know her a bit better on Friday. I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

“Sam.” Casey was flabbergasted and showed it. “Sam, the Pirries are not interested in us. Lady Pirrie probably wants to meet me to make sure I’m not up to espionage or something. That’s okay, I can understand that. But everyone says they’re extravagant, haughty social climbers. Their fondest wish is to be the darlings of London society. I’ve seen how Lord Pirrie runs that company like it’s his own personal little fiefdom. If anyone disagrees with him, he doesn’t promote them. Even his own nephew got that treatment because they disagreed about Home Rule. The Pirries are the problem, Sam.”

Sam was nodding. “I know, I know. They also live well beyond their means and when he dies, he leaves his wife destitute, and at the charitable mercies of friends and relations. He also cooks the books, although none of it is actually illegal these days. Still, Harland & Wolff is nearly as destitute as Lady Pirrie. But that’s all beside the point. The thing is, Casey, she knows ships. She really does. If you give her our information, she just might persuade Pirrie to change the ship.”

“She just might have us locked up for good, too. Worse, she might turn us over to the government. If he’s so desperate for society approval that he cooks the books, we’d be a real prize, wouldn’t we? Heck, the King might make him a Duke or something, for turning over time travelers. I don’t trust her at all, Sam. I don’t even trust her long enough to have tea with her. I wouldn’t dare tell her about us.”

He threw up his hands. “I told you. Do what you think is best. You know more about the woman than I do.” He reached over and lifted a fold of her black working skirt, eyeing it critically. “So, what do you plan on wearing to tea?”

~~

Since Casey didn’t trust Lady Pirrie, she felt no need to go out of her way to impress her. She didn’t quite dare to refuse the invitation, however, and she responded with a polite note informing Her Ladyship that she was honored by the invitation, and looked forward to tea on Friday.

She would wear her nicest dress and shoes, which, while quite presentable for a woman of the middle class, would still never measure up to Lady Pirrie’s standards. Nevertheless, Casey was content. Her station in life was not a secret, so surely Lady Pirrie would understand. She did have a new hat.

Transportation was a thornier issue, with Sam vetoing all the possibilities. She couldn’t take a tram and walk onto the Ormiston property and up to the front door, not to mention leaving the same way. She couldn’t take a cab for the same reason. How would she summon another one when it was time to leave? In the end, Sam splurged and hired a driver and carriage for the afternoon. Like any other lady paying a call, Casey would be taken to the front door by her driver, who would then park the carriage at the designated spot for visitors. The horse would be allowed a drink of water and the driver some tea. When Casey was ready to leave, her driver would be summoned by the butler and Casey could enter her carriage at the door, as was proper.

“As long as you don’t make a habit of these teas, of course,” Sam teased her on Thursday. “If you get too popular, one of us will have to take a second job.”

~~~

So it was that on Friday, Casey let ‘her’ driver help her out of ‘her’ carriage and she rang the bell of Ormiston House precisely at two o’clock. She managed a polite smile for the butler in spite of sweaty palms and a pounding heart. He ignored it, bowing formally and taking her cloak before handing it off to a young girl in a maid’s uniform. He interrupted Casey’s awed examination of the proverbs carved into the walls, and led her into the drawing room, where he stiffly announced her to Lady Pirrie, who remained regally seated in front of a shining tea service.

Casey curtsied and murmured her how-do-you-do’s, having polished up on her lessons from Queens. Lady Pirrie broke into a delighted smile and stood, reaching to take both of Casey’s hands into her own. Flustered, Casey stood still and allowed the Lady’s scrutiny.

“My dear.” Lady Pirrie tilted her head graciously and gestured to the chair on the other side of the tea service. “I’m delighted you could come.” She returned to her seat as Casey sank into the indicated chair, an elegant open-arm affair with pink upholstery, identical to the one in which Lady Pirrie sat. The entire room was filled with color: the furniture in pink or green upholstery, gleaming gold and crystal chandeliers, polished wood armoires and side tables with gold handles. Casey felt like a child in a museum, hearing a distant docent’s voice admonishing her to “not touch the display.”

Lady Pirrie continued, “I must tell you, I was amused beyond words at the trick you played on our Tommy. I simply had to meet you, and see for myself the young lady who could accomplish such a task.”

Casey reddened and sat straighter in her chair. “Madam, I assure you. My motive was not to trick Mr. Andrews at all. I hold him in the highest esteem, and I am truly sorry if my deception has caused him any hurt.”

The tilted head was more intently critical this time. “Is that so?” the Lady murmured, but adroitly did not pursue the topic. Instead, she began the process of serving tea to her guest and herself, a ritual familiar and comforting to Casey. When both were outfitted with tea and small sandwiches, Casey’s fear began to return. What did Lady Pirrie want?

“My nephew, Miss Wilson,” began Lady Pirrie, with an air of resignation, “would rather die than add injury to someone already in distress, most particularly a young lady in distress. Surely, you realize he let you off astonishingly easy?”

Casey held her teacup gingerly and nodded. “I do, Lady Pirrie.” Ignoring the advice of Sam’s colleague, she added, “I would not have been so kind in his place.”

“Indeed? How would you have handled such a transgression, Miss Wilson?” Lady Pirrie seemed genuinely curious.

Casey set the teacup down, afraid of dropping it. During the months of her employment, she had imagined many dreadful things happening when Mr. Andrews found her out. In the few days since the confrontation, she had considered further which of the dire imaginings could have been most likely. “I imagined arrest or humiliation, although,” she added hastily, seeing Lady Pirrie’s insulted expression, “I’m sure that was more my own guilt speaking than anything else. After becoming better acquainted with him, I knew he would never do such a thing.”

“At the least, Madam, I would have given me a severe dressing down.” Casey looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap, as she confessed, “to have him speak to me in that way would have been the most painful punishment. His good opinion of me meant so much. I am sure I have lost it and…well, I know I deserve that.”

Lady Pirrie sighed. “As to that, I cannot say. I know he forgives you, but whether he would trust you, that’s another story.”

He hasn’t contacted me or Sam about the warning, Casey thought miserably. Obviously, he doesn’t trust me. He probably never wants to see me again.

“How did you do it, Miss Wilson?”

Casey looked up, startled. “Do, Lady Pirrie? I don’t understand.”

“How did you manage to pass yourself off as a boy for all that time?” Lady Pirrie’s gaze wandered frankly over Casey’s form. “I talked to you myself for several minutes and I never guessed at all. But I don’t understand how you pulled it off. You look nothing like a boy, although your hair is an abomination.”

Casey’s hand went to her head in embarrassment. “I know. I had such wonderful hair, too. I miss it so much. But it will grow back. That, at least, is not permanent.” Her fingers uselessly fluffed the short curls in a mindless and habitual fashion. “I had it cut in order to sell it, when we needed money. Putting on pants and shirt with the cap completed the costume. I had noticed the boys on the street that were always out looking for odd jobs.” She shrugged delicately. “People see what they expect to see, for the most part. I didn’t plan to make a career out of it, but at that point, any money earned could only help us.” She frowned sternly at her hostess. “Obviously, Lady Pirrie, I could not go out on the streets to look for work as a girl. Society really gives women abysmal choices. We can starve. Or we can prostitute ourselves. But we are not allowed to do honest work for honest pay.”

Lady Pirrie flushed. “I know, dear. Without condoning what you did, I can only agree with you. Still, it seldom bodes well to toss society’s grievous conventions back into its face. Somehow, the victim always ends up paying the price.”

Casey nodded, acknowledging the truth of that. But she felt no guilt as she spoke. “I have no apologies for looking for well-paying jobs to help my guardian and I survive. I did good work, and I don’t believe anyone suffered because they unknowingly hired a girl instead of a boy. Not even Mr. Andrews, and Harland & Wolff.” She shrugged in self-deprecation. “I’m afraid I have a strong rebellious streak in that matter. If society insists on certain rules, however discriminatory or illogical, then I’ll work within the rules as I see fit.”

“They’d have burned you as a witch two hundred years ago, dear,” Lady Pirrie said. “You are fortunate society has matured in some fashion since then.”

“No doubt,” Casey agreed.

“And what are you doing since leaving the shipyard?”

“An acquaintance of my guardian is a horticulture professor at Queen’s. He needed some help with a project at the Palm House. This was my field of study in California, so I applied.” Casey found herself smiling. “I thought shipbuilding was fascinating, but I am overjoyed at working with plants again.”

Lady Pirrie blinked in astonishment, then shook her head, laughing a little. “It wouldn’t appeal to me, but I can see you enjoy it.” She filled Casey’s cup and leaned back to regard her solemnly. “Are you familiar with the Agriculture Society, and the work of Sir Horace Plunkett?”

Casey gulped in astonishment. “Yes, of course. He has established the society as a department of the government and is working throughout the country to help farmers form co-operatives and earn a living wage. I think his work is marvelous.”

Lady Pirrie seemed surprised she knew so much. “Indeed. I didn’t realize an American would be so familiar with the work, but it is true that Sir Plunkett spent a few years in America. Are you familiar with him from his time there?”

“His writings were often brought up during my studies, Lady Pirrie,” Casey said, quite truthfully.

The older woman nodded. “That’s wonderful! I ask because if you are truly interested in pursuing this work, I can arrange to introduce you to the local chapter. I have no way, myself, of determining whether you are qualified to help them, but they will know. Would you be interested in meeting them?”

Casey’s smile was answer enough, but she tried to sound calm and assured as she answered, “I would be honored, ma’am. I would love to help in any way I can.”

Lady Pirrie nodded again, pleased with this result. “I will be in contact with you then, once I’ve made arrangements.” She was not done, though, and continued with a slightly chiding tone. “My nephew will be glad to know you are doing well. I will talk to him, of course, but you might consider sending him a note and letting him know.”

Casey flushed. “I did write him, Lady Pirrie, when I first started the project. I sent a note to Mr. Andrews and to Mr. Hamilton, as I worked closely with both of them. Mr. Hamilton wrote me back, saying only that they were pleased and wished me luck.” She licked her lips and ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “I do not wish to make a pest of myself.”

“A wise decision, dear. I will say they have had a difficult time replacing you, which amuses my sense of feminine justice. You went a long way toward convincing some of them that a woman can work as well as a man.”

Lady Pirrie rose to indicate the interview was ended. Casey hastily placed her cup on the table and stood as Lady Pirrie rang for her butler and turned to face Casey. “Thank you for coming, my dear. I’m afraid I really was quite curious about you. But I rather have the impression that you’ll be an asset to the people of Belfast.”

Casey curtsied, managing to look elegant in spite of her poor dress and abominable hair. “I hope so, Lady Pirrie. And the pleasure has been mine. Your graciousness in this situation is most appreciated.”

She followed the butler out to her carriage, leaving a bemused Lady Pirrie to her thoughts.

~~~

On Tuesday, at the shipyard, Tom was sidetracked from an errand by a familiar voice calling him toward the Corridor of Power, the stairway leading to his uncle’s office.

“Oh, Tommy dear!” His aunt was just coming down the stairs, resplendent in her purple dress and matching parasol. Tom paused in his dash and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Hello, Aunt Marge. Come to make sure Uncle Willie is handling things all right?”

“It’s a constant battle,” she said, smiling up at him in delight. “How have you been, dear? I’m just on my way to visit your mother and I’ll have to give her a report.”

Tom gave it some thought. “Now, I just saw her on Sunday, so I suppose you can tell her that I’ve been on an even keel and remain as content as I was then. Although,” and he anxiously rubbed at a small cut on his neck, “I did nick myself shaving yesterday. She might feel that’s significant news.”

They laughed together. She held up a hand as she remembered something. “By the way, I had your young lady over for tea, the other day.”

He looked blank. “Has someone not informed me of something?” he asked her, puzzled. “What young lady is that?”

“Silly dolt,” she murmured. “I meant your former employee.”

“Oh,” he replied in despair. He was still putting up with teasing from the men; now Aunt Marge would be added to his list of torturers. “That young lady.”

“Why Tommy,” Lady Pirrie suddenly reached up and firmly rubbed a spot on his cheek. “You have egg on your face.”

He couldn’t help it; the joke caused him to roar with laughter. Too bad, too, because it would only encourage her. “Aye, so I do, so I do. Will I ever live this down?”

She smiled. “We’ll tire of it eventually.”

“Humph,” was his only response, but he suddenly realized what she had said, and he stared at her in shock. “Did you say you had her over for tea?” He could almost feel the blood draining from his face.

“Why yes, dear. On Friday.”

“Friday,” he said weakly. She nodded. “Why’d you do that?” he asked.

“Why?” Her brows rose, but she shrugged slightly. “Curiosity, dear. The story was quite amusing, of course, but I was fascinated at what she had done. I had to meet her for myself.” The parasol tip hit the floor sharply as Lady Pirrie tapped it. “I’m surprised you haven’t made the effort yourself. Aren’t you at all curious about her?”

Curious? he thought. That’s not quite it. Uneasy… perturbed… yes, curious as well, but… Almost without effort, he heard Casey’s warning again, and Dr. Altair’s enigmatic rejoinder. Most unsatisfactory.

He blinked, bringing himself back to the current conversation. His aunt was looking at him strangely. He cleared his throat. “Curious, yes. Of course. What did you think of her?”

The strange look remained, but she answered calmly enough. “I found her quite charming, Tommy. Truly, if I had not met her when she worked here, I would never have believed the young lady I was talking to could have pulled off such a deception.”

“Really?” Now he was curious. “How so?”

She examined him for a moment, tilting her head quizzically. “She’s very pretty, Tommy. Very feminine. I do not understand at all how she passed herself off as a boy.”

Tom grabbed a quick thought. “Are you certain it was the same person? None of us has ever met her as a girl.”

But his aunt merely nodded. “I am certain, yes. I talked to her for several minutes one day, while I was working in Saxon’s office. It’s subtle, but there were too many similarities for it to be a different person. In fact, I asked her about it.”

“What did she say?”

“She explained about her ‘costume,’ as she called it. How she used the clothes to cover herself and make her appear younger and boyish. She also said that in general, people see what they expect to see. She tried hard to never give us a reason to expect anything other than a boy.” She shook her head, clearly befuddled. “I don’t quite understand how that helped, but there you are.”

Tom could see it, as he thought back to the first moment he saw her. Part of it was the context: it would never have occurred to him that a girl would be loitering on the street, looking for work. She was dressed as a boy and his expectations told him to expect a boy. So that’s what he saw.

His aunt continued. “Frankly, I was concerned that she may have been part of some kind of espionage attempt, or something. I thought that talking to her would alleviate my fears, and I do feel better about her now. In fact, I’m introducing her to the Horticulture Society. I think she may fit in there.” She shrugged. “Really, Tommy, she’s very young. American, orphaned, in the care of an old man who has never married or raised children…. It’s a miracle the child can function in society at all. I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. At least, I’m convinced she was doing just what she told you she was doing. Trying to survive.”

Tom nodded, disturbed, but gave his aunt a quick hug. “I’ve got to run, Aunt Marge. Thanks for telling me about this. Be well, and tell my mother hello for me.”

She kissed his cheek. “I will. Be well, Tommy.”

Chapter 14

December 1906

The people of Belfast were justifiably proud of the Palm House. Casey loved it even in the twenty-first century, but as she stood outside it in 1906, she realized it was really remarkable. Curvilinear and cast iron glass, it stood proudly in the gardens, owner of a world-wide reputation. It was already old, having been built in the 1830’s, with a wing for cool temperature plants and another for tropical plants. That was the area she would be working in, as her new boss, Rupus Mangold, had explained. She had worked here for a year as a student in 2005 and for a moment, as she walked to the door on her first day in 1906, she felt as if time had again folded on itself. Perhaps she couldn’t really get back home, but this would bring her closer.

Mr. Mangold had immediately realized that Casey knew what she was doing, and he fell into a regular routine with her assignments. He would tell her what he wanted done and then disappear for days at a time, leaving her to it. She never figured out what he did with his time but didn’t really care, either. She worked three days a week, planning, sketching, and researching, without benefit of a computer or the internet, where to find and order plants. She also placed those orders, watched the budget, and did her share of digging and planting.

She tried to avoid conversations with the students working there. They were all boys her own age and none of them was happy about working with a girl. They were polite enough if they had to speak to her, but it was like trying to join the fifth grade clubhouse with the “no girls allowed” sign on the door. The only reason they didn’t dip her braid in the inkwell was because her hair wasn’t long enough to have a braid. Boys—like little children, she sniffed to herself, knowing full well she was comparing them to Tom Andrews.

She missed him. Since leaving the shipyard, she found herself always listening for his laugh or watching for his large form to come through a crowd. She hoped he would call when work started on the Titanic. If he didn’t, she decided she would contact him, as soon as she heard the ship was being built. She had no doubt she would know about it. The whole town knew what ships were being built at the yard.

~~~

Moving the pot with the Bird of Paradise next to the ferns, Casey knelt down to widen the space she had picked for it.

“Miss Wilson?” A respectful male voice belonging to the afternoon’s student assistant broke into her thoughts and caused her eyebrows to raise. Why was he being so nice? She continued her digging without looking up. “Yes, Teddy?”

“You have a visitor.”

She blinked in surprise and turned, then hastily stood, wiping her hands on the towel hanging from her apron. A woman stood next to Teddy, straight and corset-tight in a purple dress and flowered hat. Her hair under the hat was salt and pepper, her skin was pale and wrinkled, but she had blue eyes that seemed to actually twinkle, and a delighted smile moved her lips as she observed Casey.

Casey reached a hand out, then winced at the dirt still on it and drew it back. She changed the greeting into a curtsey instead, distracted by Teddy, who was rubbing his cheek, then pointing at her. “Hello! May I help you?” She rubbed her cheek with her towel, hoping she wasn’t just depositing more dirt.

The smile widened and the woman returned the curtsey with a tilt of her head. “You may, dear. I’m Mrs. Herceforth. Lady Pirrie told me about you and suggested you’d be an excellent addition to our Horticultural Society Chapter. She offered to introduce us, but as she won’t return from London for three weeks, I took it upon myself to call.”

The lady turned and charmingly dismissed Teddy, who bowed with gallant ease, and strolled back to his duties. Mrs. Herceforth beamed after him and turned back to Casey. “Such a handsome fellow, he is.” She leaned conspiratorially toward Casey. “If you play your cards right, dear, this job could do quite well for you.”

Casey managed to look doubtful rather than disgusted, but her lips twitched a bit. “If I play my cards right, Mrs. Herceforth, I shall escape unscathed.”

The lady had a pealing laugh and she patted Casey’s arm. “Well said, dear! Now, may I bother you for a short tour? I give quite generously to the Gardens and I’m curious to see what my money is doing.” She glanced toward the spot where Casey had been working. “If you’ve the time to spare for it, of course. I thought it would be a good chance to get acquainted.”

“I’d love to show you around, ma’am. Just let me…” Casey held up a finger and turned to move the potted Bird to a safer locale. She placed her spade in the pot and turned back. “I’d hate for someone to trip over it,” she explained and Mrs. Herceforth nodded approvingly. Casey spread an arm to indicate the room around them.

“Are you familiar with the work to build up the tropical section? You can see we’ve several varieties of ferns in place…” Mrs. Herceforth proved to be a knowledgeable and entertaining audience, and Casey found herself laughing a lot and losing herself in her enthusiasm for the project. She kept seeing the Palm House as it would be in the twenty-first century and often included that description as something to work toward in the future. Mrs. Herceforth seemed quite taken with her ideas, which made Casey a little uncomfortable. After all, they weren’t really her ideas.

As they neared the end of the tour, Mrs. Herceforth began talking about both the Belfast Horticultural Society and the Agriculture Society. “I belong to both of them, dear, and I think you would enjoy attending a meeting of each.” The look she gave Casey was appraising. “Their missions are different, but harmonious. The horticultural society is beginning a project to plant gardens throughout the city. The Ag Society works to help farmers form cooperatives so they are working together to supply good products to the markets, for a decent wage. I’m sure you’re aware of the mass exodus of the Irish, mostly to America.”

Casey nodded. The problem had been covered in her classes at Queen’s. They reached a meeting room and Mrs. Herceforth took the opportunity to rest her feet. Casey joined her at the table, while the older woman continued.

“We want to keep them here, you know. But they need to feed their families. Now dear,” she touched Casey’s hand, a smile playing at her lips, “Lady Pirrie told me about your situation, so I know you understand what life is like for the poor. I loved your “solution,” by the way. Serves those men right, as far as I’m concerned.” They both laughed, Casey blushing a little in embarrassment.

“The Belfast Ag Society is working to assist the area farmers to grow and sell their food right here. We want more market days and more grocers buying from the farmers, instead of food shipped from the Continent. Goodness, some of the food they stock comes from America! It’s putting our farmers right out of business and off of their lands. We want to encourage the populace to grow their own vegetable gardens or establish community gardens. This is where the two societies can work together, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” Casey replied, excited about being here for this endeavor. The Agriculture Society had made a real difference, but like everything else in Ireland, it had fallen victim to the continuing violence between religious factions. She wondered if she could steer them away from that.

They agreed to attend the next meeting of the Horticultural Society. Casey went back to work with a lighter step and the feeling she had just made a friend.

~~~

That evening, Casey looked up from writing in her time travel journal. Sam was also writing, sitting at the small desk in the parlor, summing up his work day and the progress he was making toward advancing scientific discovery. She smiled to herself, amused as always, at their disparate goals. Her own goals were modest: build a life for herself and have a few friends—Casey needed friends—and perhaps aid the Irish in their hopes for economic prosperity, by helping them build up and nourish their land.

Sam’s goals were grand: to establish in Ireland a think tank and experimental industry, not dissimilar to the future consortium he used to work for. He hoped to advance scientific discovery by at least fifty years, in as many areas as he could. Medicine could have antibiotics and ultrasounds decades sooner, materials science could have alloys and polymers, quantum physics could practically meet itself coming, if he could place a nudge in the right place and the right time. He had to do it all without actually stating what he wanted to do, or inventing things himself, but he always said that’s what good scientists did. They took a half-beaten idea and tinkered with it until it grew up.

Casey had asked him to somehow avoid dependence on fossil fuels, and the disposable society it encouraged, which was quickly destroying their future world. She’d be happier, too, if he could figure out a way to avoid the creation of super weapons. He had laughed.

“We have to split the atom, Casey. It’s essential to everything.”

“I know,” she admitted bleakly. “I know you also can’t control what governments do. But we need to try and keep nationalism or partisanship out of it this time.”

He didn’t bother to tell her it was probably impossible. They were only two people and it was a big world. It was a smaller version of this problem that bothered her now and caused her to interrupt his writing.

“Sam?” She waited until he reached the end of his sentence and looked up. “When I try to figure out what I want to accomplish by joining these societies, I always come back to one central problem. The Protestants and the Catholics. Their disagreements destroy everything good that the country tries to do. How can I do anything about that?”

“Try not to get killed,” he said, turning sideways in his chair to face her. She laughed.

“I’m serious,” he told her. “You start meddling with some of this and you can end up dead faster than you thought about it. Go easy, okay?”

“Well sure,” she agreed, doodling on the open page of her journal. “But they have to understand that they all live in this country. You can only go so far with advancing one group at the expense of the other. Eventually, the other group must advance, as well.”

Sam shrugged. “What are you thinking about?”

She leaned back into the sofa, legs crossed under her, her skirt billowing out in a circle. “They want gardens, to beautify the city and provide fresh produce. But I doubt that any Catholics belong to this society. Yet, they need to have gardens in the Catholic sections, too.”

“I doubt Catholics would be welcome even if they wanted to join,” Sam pointed out and she nodded.

“That’s what I want to accomplish.”

He smiled. “I thought I had a tough job.”

~~~

The horticulture society met at the First Presbyterian Church, in the social hall. With some regret that they didn’t see the wisdom of meeting at a pub, like sensible chapters in the future did, Casey went to her first meeting, nervous about a social occasion where, as the ward of a highly-placed manager and scientist at the telephone company, she would be seen as an equal to the others, or nearly so. How many of them would know of her employment at the shipyard, depended she supposed, on the discretion or amusement of Lady Pirrie and Mrs. Herceforth.

They all knew about it. The men didn’t bring it up, but the women all asked her about it, admiring and amused at her foray into the world of men. A couple of the oldest women, still dressing in strict Victorian black, were not quite as pleased, but seemed willing to overlook it, “provided,” Casey heard one say to another, “my grandson doesn’t try to court her.”

That comment was made early in the evening and it amused Casey, allowing her to enter the meeting in high spirits. She sat with Mrs. Herceforth, and played the part of a newcomer, not offering suggestions unless they asked her. She explained about her job at the Palm House, and a little of her background as a horticulturist “in California.” They were pleased, and voted her into the group that night, hoping she might be able to bring in more young people.

“Except for Lady Talbot’s grandson,” she murmured to Mrs. Herceforth as they left, listening to the pealing laughter and feeling generally content with the evening. Casey was startled when the older woman suddenly put a hand on her arm and moved closer to her. At her questioning look, Mrs. Herceforth gestured with her chin to the bottom of the steps.

“Protestors, dear. They are seldom violent, but it’s always wise to remain alert.”

Indeed, there were several groups of men, and a few women, on the cobblestones, effectively blocking them in. It would be impossible to leave without a confrontation. Mrs. Herceforth did not stop, but continued regally down the steps, keeping Casey nearby. The protestors were quiet, content with just passing out pamphlets and urging the society members to concentrate their efforts on loyal Protestants. Casey had just begun to breathe easier when an ominous, familiar figure blocked her path.

She realized later that Sloan might not have recognized her if she hadn’t stopped and looked right at him. She was, after all, wearing “girl” clothes: skirt and jacket, a fashionable wide-brimmed hat with a red scarf tied around it, and her long black overcoat. The shortness of her hair was hidden by the hat. There was nothing about her that looked like the boy who had worked at Harland & Wolff.

It was her face, and the fear she knew it showed, that made him take a closer look, as he paused in the act of handing her a pamphlet.

“Well, I’ll be,” he practically chortled, “it’s Casey Wilson!” His head tilted to the side, an amused and mocking look twisting his mustached features. “Looking proper and all.”

Angry, she snatched at the pamphlet he still held in his hand. “Mr. Sloan,” she said flatly, “do you also disapprove of gardens?”

He managed to look innocent. “Ach no, Miss Wilson, ’course not.” He gave a little bow. “We just want to make sure the society knows our wishes regarding where the gardens should be placed.”

“In no Catholic backyards, I take it?”

“Aye, that would be one place,” he said, without acknowledging her sarcasm. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Herceforth. “Madam. Hope ye are well this evenin’.”

“Marvelous, Mr. Sloan, simply marvelous. How is your brother’s London tour coming along?” Mrs. Herceforth seemed genuinely interested, and Casey stared at her. She had to be asking about the brother in parliament. The one Sam had said was a sectarian bigot.

“He’s a warm welcome wherever he goes, Mrs. Good of ye to ask.”

“So nice to hear it. Do send him my best. Now I must be getting this young lady home. Good night, Mr. Sloan.”

“Night, Mrs. Herceforth, Miss Wilson.” He stepped aside and no one else bothered them as they approached Mrs. Herceforth’s carriage.

“Hop in, dear. I’m delighted to see you home, unless you have other arrangements?”

“Thank you,” Casey murmured, confused at the exchange, but stepping into the carriage. “It’s not far,” she told her as Mrs. Herceforth sat across from her. “I was going to walk.”

“Walk? Alone?” Mrs. Herceforth shook her head and tapped Casey on the knee with her parasol. “Lady Pirrie said you were a bit wild, but honestly, dear. Even in America, I don’t believe they allow their young ladies to wander the streets at night without escort.”

“No ma’am. I guess I just got used to wandering around as a boy. I keep forgetting. I’ll make sure my guardian picks me up from now on.”

“I take it you know our Mr. Sloan from the shipyard?”

Casey’s lips tightened in annoyance. “Yes ma’am. I’m afraid so.”

Mrs. Herceforth’s laugh filled the carriage. “Such a delicate way to put it! He does mean well, you know.”

Casey just raised her eyebrows, and Mrs. Herceforth sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “I suppose I should say that his heart is in the right place, although he is difficult to get along with, sometimes.”

“Do you think we should not include Catholic areas in the planned gardens?” Casey asked her.

The older woman looked troubled. “I think it would be best if they had their own chapter and did the work themselves. It’s so difficult for us to work with them.”

“But surely, they need to associate in some way with the main group? Would they need assistance to get started?”

“I imagine they would. But I think it’s best if Sir Plunkett handles that.” Her fingers tapped along her arms as she answered Casey. “It’s far too dangerous for the general membership to get involved. Ah. Here we are.”

Casey disembarked and turn to curtsey. “Thank you for the ride, ma’am. I look forward to seeing you at our next meeting.”

“I too, child. Ta!” She waved, as the driver clicked to horses, and the carriage moved smoothly down the street.

Chapter 15

February 1907

“Manager’s meeting scheduled for 9:00 a.m.,” Ham informed Tom first thing on a bright day in early February. “Lord Pirrie wants to see you at 8:45 sharp. I’ve already moved the schedule around to free up the time.”

Tom nodded, but glanced quizzically at the calendar. “I thought he wasn’t due in from London until Wednesday. Any idea what’s up?”

Ham’s raised eyebrows answered, Now why the heck would I know? as he handed Tom the morning’s reports, and went back to his letters. Tom sighed. These meetings could go on and on, and he had so much to do…

Still, 8:44 found him climbing the stairs in the “corridor of power” to his uncle’s panel-lined office. Lord Pirrie was positively jovial as he waved Tom into the leather visitor’s chair, finished signing a few papers for Saxon to mail, and then turned to look his nephew up and down appraisingly. Tom returned the look, one corner of his mouth turned up in a quizzical smile. No doubt about it, the old man was up to something.

“Well, Tom,” Pirrie began, “you’re wrapping up the work on Adriatic. She’s the last of the Big Four, and I have to tell you, I’m very pleased. Very pleased, indeed! We’re still on line for the maiden voyage on the eighth of May, yes?”

Tom nodded. “All set. We’re on the last bit of work for it. Painting is starting next week, cabinets and furnishings are due in after that. She’s in good shape.”

Pirrie leaned back in his padded chair, still with that appraising look, only now he looked like he’d swallowed the proverbial canary. What was he up to?

“Tom, we’re due for some changes around here. I’m setting up a board of Managing Directors to run the day-to-day operations. I’ll explain more about it in the meeting, but I want you to take one of those positions, in addition to your duties as Chief Designer.”

“You’ll be Managing Director, someday.” Tom swallowed against the voice in his head, trying desperately not to think about that now. How could Casey know about a position that had never existed before? Had she mentioned something to Aunt Marge during that tea, who then gave the idea to Uncle Will? Who was sitting across from him and waiting for a response. Tom hurried to answer.

“Wonderful! You know I’m honored and delighted to take it. There is so much we can do.”

“Ah, and we’ll do it all, Tommy. We had a rough year in 1906, but the economy’s improving, and I think we have a good chance of getting the place on solid footing. This will be a busy year, but I will also continue to need your help in many delicate matters as time goes by. Be prepared for me to call on you from time to time, as I have in the past, but keep in mind these tasks may need discretion. Can you do that?”

“Certainly, sir.” Tom had no problem with this. Lord Pirrie’s requests had sometimes required a bit of traveling, but this gave him the opportunity to develop contacts around the world, and he enjoyed the trips. He looked forward to this work.

~~~

Lord Pirrie had called in everyone he wanted to assign as a managing director. As Tom followed his uncle into the chairman’s conference room, he took the time to look them over. Nine men sat around the polished wood table, a few with cigars already lit. Most of them were old timers, like his cousin and boss, Alexander Carlisle. Mr. Kempster was there, of course, an outsider, but placed in a board position by Lord Pirrie to consolidate certain business deals. That still stung. Tom had felt he had a chance for that position, but his uncle had been extremely displeased over Tom’s stand on the Home Rule issue, feeling he didn’t quite have Tom’s full support for his run at parliament. The promotion had been the price. Still, Kempster had proven to be an astute accountant and businessman, and if the firm had not flourished greatly under his tenure, neither had it suffered.

Tom felt good about most of the other men and was especially pleased that his good friend, George Cummings, had been selected. He acknowledged George’s raised eyebrow with a small smile as he took his seat. They’d been friends since boyhood, and apprentices together as young men, and he liked to think they had what the company needed to carry on in the future.

It’s a good group. They’re all devoted to the firm. Even Kempster has a stake in our success. Cousin Alex is the only one who ever gives Uncle Will a hard time and I have to admit, he always knows what he’s talking about.

Tom had heard enough gossip to know the workers thought his uncle surrounded himself with men beholden to him, and that only Alexander Carlisle, who had come up in the firm from the beginning, alongside Lord Pirrie, had the freedom and gumption to choose his own way.

The light from the chandelier glittered off the brass handle of the cigar box making its way around the table, as Lord Pirrie laid out his new plan. They spent a few hours organizing the new structure and familiarizing themselves with new duties and reporting deadlines. Lord Pirrie, as usual, wanted to keep a tight rein on each department, and demanded frequent and detailed reports.

They had their usual work to do, as well, and Tom had little time to spare for the nagging worry that had tickled his mind in his uncle’s office that morning. So it was that he finished a long and exciting day, and as he settled his office preparatory to leaving for home, Casey’s voice suddenly came back to him. It was faint, just a whisper in his ear, but he pulled up short and stared at the papers in his hand. Managing Director… a ship called Titanic… he walked to the wall shelves and pulled out the drawing exercises his team had prepared after Casey left. He stood there holding the rolls for a while, then put them back without opening them. He didn’t need to see them. He remembered every detail; indeed, he’d drawn a lot of them himself.

He knew his uncle. This reorganization was preparatory to something else. Something big, that Lord Pirrie would announce when he was ready.

Tom knew what he had to do.

He had to know.

Moving to his desk, he called Sam Altair to arrange a meeting. He was only a little surprised when the physicist invited him over for dinner that evening. Tom assured Sam that he had no problem with Casey being present. In fact, since the warning had originally come from her, he insisted on it. He looked forward to meeting her as she really was.

He could not imagine what she would say and found himself wondering what she looked like. He could still picture Casey the boy, small and thin, agile, close-cropped red hair under a cap, inquisitive green eyes, with small hands quickly bringing order to any system they encountered. Had she given up the boys’ clothes and let her hair grow? It had been less than two months; surely it would not be very long, yet. Would she be wearing a dress? Would he recognize her?

He realized again that he had to know.

Perhaps about more than just Titanic.

The house was in the middle-class section of town, surrounded by a small, fenced yard. The grounds were tidy, with rows of hedges and winter vegetables growing along the side. The house was freshly painted and two chairs graced the porch next to a small table. He raised the knocker, letting it fall once.

Dr. Altair seemed pleased to see him, inviting him in with a delighted smile, and hanging his coat and hat on a rack. A delicious smell of bread accompanied the door opening, and Tom wondered if Casey were in the kitchen.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Andrews.” Sam was expansive. “I hope we are able to clear up many of your questions. Please, have a seat. I’ll get Casey.”

Tom remained standing as Dr. Altair left the room, unwilling yet to sit. He looked over the room. It was neat, and sparsely furnished: the divan, a couple of chairs, a small desk and telephone, a window seat with cushions and pillows that matched the lace curtains. One wall was covered with shelves and books. He smiled, remembering Casey once talking about how she liked to read.

Suddenly she was there, standing in the doorway. And wearing a dress. Tom stared. I should have come sooner, he realized. Casey had been a “pretty boy,” as was often stated around the yard, but Casey the woman—for it was a young woman who stood before him and not the girl he had been envisioning—was more than pretty.

Her red hair had grown much longer than he would have thought, falling in curls to the middle of her ears. It was too short to wear up in the style preferred by young women, so she wore it loose, and it framed her face. Her cheeks were rosy from cooking, her green eyes wide and a bit wary. A hint of rouge touched her lips. The dress was blue, and its folds made him long to touch her. How could he ever have mistaken her for a boy? She stood with feminine grace, her dress curved over narrow hips, and a small bosom that was more substantial than he would have thought possible. How had he missed that all those months?

She was altogether enchanting, and as he stared at her, she moved a hand in front of herself, as if self-conscious. Then she seemed to recover, and moved toward him, holding out her hand to shake his. “Mr. Andrews! It is so good to see you!”

She spoke with complete sincerity and he smiled as he took the hand, which was softer than he could have imagined.

“Casey,” he murmured, looking into her eyes, and then deliberately bending to kiss the back of the hand. She flushed to her roots, but made no move to reclaim her hand. “You’re wearing a dress.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. He continued, “It’s a very lovely dress.”

She laughed then and took back her hand, looking pleased and embarrassed. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I hope you are well?”

“I am. But something…” his lips quirked as he remembered his errand, “there have been changes at work and I wanted to talk to you, about what you said before you left.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you’ve asked. I know this is all very strange, but we really do want to help you.”

He nodded as he answered, his voice shaking a bit, “Thank you. I know this is sudden, but I didn’t want to put it off.”

She gave him a small smile, moving aside as Sam came in with a tea service. “Just let me get things on the table. I’ll only be a minute. Please sit down.”

She left the room as Sam poured tea. “We have an occasional cook, but we sent her on home,” he explained, handing Tom a cup as Tom sank into a chair. “No interruptions that way. Anyway, Casey is an excellent cook.”

Tom found his eyes returning to the doorway after the missing girl. “I am astonished at the difference.”

Sam laughed. “I guess it is amazing when you’re not used it. Should she put on the costume and hat to show you how it’s done?”

“No!” Tom shook his head vehemently and said again, more quietly, “No, not at all. I want to talk to her as she really is.”

Sam looked more serious. “She’s from the American West, Mr. Andrews. I believe in some ways, she was allowed to conduct herself in a more casual fashion than European society approves. The adjustment has been difficult for her.”

“I see,” Tom murmured. He actually did, having met many American girls on his voyages for Pirrie.

Casey returned with a tray of crackers and cheese that she placed on the small table near Tom. She accepted a cup from Sam, sitting in a chair across from Tom, who found he was taking every opportunity to examine her closely, especially the way the dress fit her.

“How is Ham?” she asked quietly. “Have you found someone to help him?”

Tom laughed a little. “He’s fine and we have, although Ham is not very pleased with the caliber of your replacement. The young man does not catch on quite as quickly as you did.”

“I’m sure he’ll improve.” She sipped her tea. “You said something had happened at the yard?”

Tom nodded, then told them about the restructure and his suspicions about his uncle’s plans. “You previously mentioned the Managing Director position when no such position existed,” he told Casey. “I believe you owe me an explanation. What is this all about?” He placed his cup on the tray and continued, “I’d like to ignore all of this and just forget about it, and I’m hoping that more explanation from you will help me do that.”

“Hmmm,” was all Sam said. Casey glanced at her guardian as she stood. “Forgetting may not be possible, but it is, of course, up to you,” she said to Tom. “Dinner is ready. Why don’t we go to the table and Sam and I will tell you whatever you need to know.”

The dining room was small, but a lace tablecloth covered the table and there was room for four to sit, even with the old sideboard against the far wall. For a few minutes, talk of warnings was superseded by dishing out food, pouring drinks, and buttering bread. Tom admired the food out loud and then silently admired the embarrassed smile this brought to Casey’s face. He really should have come sooner, for no other reason than to see how she was doing. But he returned to the purpose of his visit. “Casey, while you were at the firm, we talked about building safer ships. You were quite interested in the subject, but why that particular scenario? Why a specific ship, which, by the way, does not exist?”

She blushed, but looked at him squarely. “It doesn’t exist yet, Mr. Andrews.”

He felt a twinge of impatience. “Are we speaking metaphorically? As in, shipping rules are an accident waiting to happen? Or are you going to tell me you know the future, that you can read the stars or wind currents and tell me my fortune?” His sarcasm bordered on rudeness, but he didn’t care. If they turned out to be a couple of charlatans, he just might tell Mike Sloan to do whatever he wanted. “Who are you? What makes you think that you can help me?”

Casey placed both hands on the table, as if for support, her lips tight with determination. “All right. I’m going to tell you the bottom line, then we can go back and fill in the details. I don’t know how else to tell you. So, bottom line: Sam and I come from the future. We traveled backward through time from the year 2006, quite by accident. Nevertheless, we are here, and there are things in your future that happened in our past. The Titanic is one of those things. And so is that iceberg.”

Tom stared at her, disappointment warring with fury in his gut. He had so much wanted her explanation to make sense, to be something he could believe and understand, something honest and plausible. But this: they’re looking for a gullible fool to rob and they think they’ve found him. Flushing with humiliation, he stood, wanting only to leave, to forget, but Casey was up and standing in front of him before he could take a step or say a word. She stood an inch from him, her hands on his arms, and looked right up into his eyes, her face serious and intense.

“Mr. Andrews. You asked. I would have tried to work up to it, but you know, there really is no way to easily say something like that. You don’t believe me. Of course you don’t believe me, that’s only sensible. But it is the truth, and I’m begging you, give us a chance to prove it. Even if you never believe us, at least listen to what we know about the Titanic. It will never hurt you to make any ship safer.”

He stared down at her, thinking hard. This woman was not someone he knew. Perhaps there was something of Casey the boy in her, he didn’t think that all of that had been an act. But this woman was more adult, more confident than the person he remembered. Beautiful, desirable, infuriating—all of that in a package standing determinedly in front of him, blocking his exit.

And making a not unreasonable request. He nodded once and sat back down, still angry but willing to listen.

“You didn’t ask me to come here,” he said, thinking out loud. “You gave me one warning and left me alone. I suppose I should at least listen to you. But I don’t understand. Assuming you’re telling the truth: why me? If you’re really from the future, which is ridiculous, there must be a million important things you can change. Why bother me?”

Sam answered with a shrug. “Casey met you, and I knew who you were. She liked you and wanted to warn you. She often lets her feelings overcome her logic.”

“Sam.” Casey’s voice carried just a hint of a child begging a parent not to embarrass her in front of someone she liked. Sam smiled slightly at Tom and tilted his head toward Casey, tacitly informing him that there were serious feelings there. Tom might have been pleased about that, earlier.

Sam held out a hand. “You don’t believe us, Mr. Andrews, and as Casey said, that’s all right. Forgive me, but in this case, time really is on our side. Sometime this year, this summer I think, Pirrie and Ismay will hatch a plan to build a new line of ships, the largest, most luxurious ships in the world. There will be three of them, Olympic, Titanic and Britannic. In our time, the Titanic is known as the most famous ship since Noah’s Ark. You’re free to go your way and forget about us, Mr. Andrews. But I expect we’ll see you again after Pirrie’s announcement.”

Tom reached for his spoon and began eating, determined to treat this as a normal conversation. “You’re telling me we build a ship called Titanic that hits an iceberg and suffers damage. Does she sink?”

Sam was eating, but Casey was staring at her bowl. She nodded.

“When? When does this happen?”

Casey answered, “April 14, 1912.”

Tom stopped eating and stared at her. “My God. We’d be starting on it in the next year or so and even then, she’d just be out of the slip. It happens in her first year?”

Casey glanced at Sam. He shook his head. “That’s her maiden voyage, Mr. Andrews.”

He couldn’t speak. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. Losing a ship on its maiden voyage! What an awful disaster. He shook his head. These people were crazy. Remember that, Tom. They’re crazy! Or this was some kind of act or trick to accomplish some act of espionage.

He rubbed his forehead, weary and confused. “What am I supposed to do? What is it that goes so wrong, but that I can fix to keep this from happening?” He gestured to Casey. “When you told me about the iceberg, I thought about it. I even talked to Mr. Carlisle and to the design team. We all agreed the best thing is a double hull and watertight compartments. But we also have to live with economic realities. A double hull’s expensive and it takes up space that could be used for accommodations. I don’t know if we’ll ever get that. Watertight compartments, yes. Those are standard.”

Sam stood and pulled paper and pencil from a sideboard drawer. He quickly sketched, unaware of the effect his drawing was having on Tom, who stared astonished, as an elegant ocean liner took shape on the page. Sam roughed in compartments and turned an intense gaze on Tom, tapping the paper with his pencil. “Let me tell you first, that I grew up in Belfast, and I learned all about this in school. I know what I’m talking about. The compartments on Titanic only went up to E deck. To be effective in this accident, they need to go all the way to the main deck and need watertight tops. During the accident, the first six compartments are punctured and fill with water. As the bow sinks, the water spills over into the next compartment, on and on down the ship. So you need to fight for higher bulkheads. You need to fight for that double hull. You need to keep that ship afloat for at least five hours, Mr. Andrews. It’s four hours before the first rescue ship arrives.”

Tom stared at Sam. “How many…” his voice rasped. He cleared his throat and started over. “How many die?”

Sam sat down. “Over fifteen hundred. Including your guarantee group. And you, Mr. Andrews.”

Tom blinked. On some level, he’d known that, of course. He would be on that ship on its maiden voyage. And the guarantee group…. He thought of the men he worked with, his pals. And fifteen hundred others, all of whom counted on him to build them a safe ship.

“Casey,” Sam said, “why don’t you show him our things?”

She left the table without looking at either of them. Sam went back to eating while Tom sat, staring at Sam’s drawing. In a moment, Casey was back with a small bag in her hands. She took several objects from the bag and placed them on the table. Tom was suddenly more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

Casey sat, and smiled a little at his expression. “Go ahead. Look them over.”

He shook his head. “What are they?”

Sam laughed a little. Casey shrugged and pointed at two of the objects, both small, hard, and rectangular, one black, one pink. “These are telephones, basically. They each have a camera, a calendar, message center, and internet connection. Of course, most of that stuff needs a service network to function, and anyway, the batteries have been dead for more than a year.”

She picked up a small silver stick and a strange cord split into a ‘Y’ with something round attached to each end. She waved the stick at him and showed him buttons on one side. “This is a music player. It contains over three hundred songs that can be played back, sort of like a gramophone. But believe me, the sound quality is much better. You listen to them by plugging this into the player,” she demonstrated, “and putting the ear buds in your ears. Of course,” and she set everything down with a sad expression, “the batteries for this are also dead.” There was real regret in her voice and Sam spoke up.

“I’ve been working on a way to recharge the batteries, but I just don’t have the materials I need.” He sounded apologetic.

Nothing they said made sense. Uncertain, Tom picked up the pink rectangle and examined it. It fit in the palm of his hand. There was a small blank square on the front and the words “Verizon” and “Samsung” were embossed on the cover. There was a hinge at the top, so it was obvious it opened up. He lifted the cover and stared at the inside of it, a bigger blank square on top and buttons everywhere, buttons with tiny little arrows or pictures, or numbers or letters. The word “Samsung” was embossed again along the top.

His heart was pounding, and once again he found it difficult to breathe. His mind was whirling so much, he felt as if he had stepped outside his body. This… thing… could not be made up. He was an engineer. He knew a technological machine when he saw one. This… was real, whatever it was.

Casey smiled sadly. “The battery worked for about 2 weeks after we got here. There was no service, of course, but when I opened it, it would still light up and play music and I could still look at pictures and read all the old messages from my friends.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “My schedule said I had a test coming up and a doctor’s appointment in a week. I used to drive Sam crazy, because I would just open it up and look at it all the time. It was home. It had my life in it.”

A completely crazy story, but Tom could not say she wasn’t telling the truth. He did not have it in him to turn away from someone in pain. He closed the thing and put it back into Casey’s hands, watching as she held it like the precious thing it was. Sam cleared his throat and pushed the last object toward Tom. A black rectangle, again with a small blank space and covered with buttons. But these buttons made some sense. Numbers: 0–9. A plus sign. A minus sign, an asterisk (multiplication?), a slash (division?). An equal sign. Buttons that proclaimed cos, tan, %, sqrt (square root?), 1/x, many others. Texas Instruments. Scientific Calculator. He looked at Sam, who smiled slightly.

“Made the slide rule obsolete,” he said. “And unlike the other things, this runs on solar power. It still works.”

Tom could feel himself begin to sweat. It worked? Sam reached over and pressed a button labeled with the word ‘On’. There was no sound or movement, but a ‘0’ appeared in the blank space. “Do something simple,” Sam suggested. “Make it add two and two, just like you’re writing it on paper.”

Tom’s hand shook, but he slowly pressed the ‘2’ button. The zero went away and was replaced by a 2. His hand shook a little harder. He pressed the plus sign and nothing happened, making him glance at Sam quizzically. He heard Casey breathe out a giggle. Sam indicated the calculator. “Keep going.”

He pressed the ‘2’ button again, and again, nothing happened. But he dogged ahead and pressed the equal sign. A ‘4’ appeared in the screen, silent, irrevocable. Tom felt the world spinning around him, as everything in his existence spun inward to that number ‘4’. He was sure he’d fallen out of his chair, but a grip on his hand anchored him, and he looked up at Casey, the world straight again, her hand covering his, her eyes concerned, but calm. “Breathe,” she instructed softly, and he did, letting his breath out in a gasp.

Sam was relentless. “Try another one. You choose the equation.”

“No.” Tom took another breath, waited for his heart to stop racing. His lips twitched slightly. “Maybe another time.” He turned his hand, gripping Casey’s hand firmly in his. Hers was small and soft, but he could feel the strength in it. That strength helped him calm down, but when he looked at her again, he decided he wanted to continue holding it for a lot of other reasons, too.

“Is it true?” he asked her. “Everything you told me?”

She nodded.

“The future? 2006?”

She nodded again.

“How?”

Sam explained, as best he could, about his time travel experiment, and the accident that brought him and Casey to this time. His story made little sense, and Tom kept interrupting, needing explanations about nearly everything. They seemed unaware of what would confuse him, and it was this, as much as anything, that further convinced him they were telling the truth. He was shocked when he realized Casey had been walking alone in the garden in the middle of the night, and this brought the explanation to a halt for a moment.

“You were alone? Your friend didn’t walk you home? This is normal for girls in the future?”

She looked abashed. “It’s not unusual,” she started to say, but hesitated at Sam’s expression. “Well, it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do. But I’d done it several times before and never had a problem.”

“But Casey.” Tom couldn’t hide his horror. “Anyone could have been in the garden. What happened was bad enough, but what if Sam had been a criminal? Violent or drunk? Is it so different in the future that there are no people like that out at night?”

She shook her head, shame in her eyes, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “The thing is, women have worked hard to ensure we’re safe on the streets at night. We don’t think it’s right that we have to restrict our movements so that violent men can wander the streets. We’re taught to be careful and I’ve had self-defense training, so I wasn’t completely helpless.” She glared for a moment before relenting a bit at the worry on his face. “Yes, it would have been safer to stay at the dorm when we had finished studying. My friend had offered to let me stay, but I just wanted to go home. There shouldn’t have been a problem.”

“I can testify to the self-defense training,” Sam offered. “She darn near took me out before I could explain what happened to us. And more than one ruffian around here has been put in his place, believe me.”

Tom blinked at this. Was she still going out alone? Then he remembered her months masquerading as a boy. She’d been on the streets of Belfast for a long time. A small smile twitched his lips. “That is somewhat comforting to know.” He touched her hand in apology. “You must think I’m treating you like a child, but I’m not, truly. It’s just that in this time, there are certain rules that women follow. That’s what I’m used to.”

She tilted a shoulder in a small shrug. “I’m afraid I hate to be told what to do. I always have to know the reason, and even then, if I don’t agree with it, I don’t always do it.” Her eyes flicked to Sam for a moment. “This time I paid a steep price. I try to be more cautious, now.”

“An odd definition of ‘cautious,’” Tom murmured, but he patted her hand and turned back to Sam as they both laughed. “Please continue. You saw Casey next to the tree and then what happened?”

The technical explanation went on for a while. “Look,” Sam told him finally, “you really need to have a degree in quantum physics to understand this. Not even Casey gets it and she has a lot more scientific knowledge than you do.”

Tom and Casey moved to the parlor while Sam made tea, Tom still struggling to accept the idea of a future world interacting with his. “Tell me about your life,” he asked Casey as they entered the parlor.

“My life?” She looked uncertain.

“In the future. Before you came here. What did you do? Who were your friends? How did you spend your time? What was the world like?”

“I was a student at Queens,” she started explaining. “I went to classes, I studied, I took karate lessons. I shared an apartment with three other people who were also students. My friend, Colleen, was my roommate. We’d been roomies since freshman year; that’s how we met.” Casey smiled sadly. “She was so great. We laughed all the time. When I first moved to Belfast, I was so afraid I wouldn’t make friends, but she was right there. She was… “ She stopped and turned her head away, blinking back tears. “I keep wondering about her. What happened when I didn’t come home that night? Do they have any idea where I am, what happened to me? She… she would have had to call my parents and tell them…”

Casey stopped talking altogether and Tom moved to her side, taking her hand, horrified at the scenario she described. “Stop. Casey, stop. I’m sorry.” He rubbed her shoulder; somehow it felt natural to touch her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shook her head in frustration. “I’ve just never really talked about it, Mr. Andrews. We haven’t told anyone except Dr. Riley, and he didn’t want to know anything.” She looked at him, her expression haunted. “I try to forget that I’ll never get back. I try to just live in this new life, but sometimes, it hits me. I really will never see any of them again. They’ll never know what happened to me. That’s…” she took a deep breath. “That’s the hardest part.”

He slipped his arm around her and pulled her to him, driven by a need to comfort her. He should not give in to it, he knew. With no chaperone, he shouldn’t even be alone with her, but he wanted to hold her. He also wanted to know more, but that could wait for another time. “When you’re ready to talk about it, you can always talk to me, Casey. But I don’t want to upset you. I want to know all about it, but only when you feel up to it.”

She nodded into his shoulder and stepped back, giving him a tentative smile. “You may find you regret that once I get started, but thank you.”

Sam came in with the tea and Tom moved away from Casey, to sit in a safe chair. The conversation moved to more general topics. The question came up about “changing the past,” but this was beyond Tom’s patience. “You may think you are changing your past, but I don’t see it that way. This is the future. That’s all it is for me, for the other people who die, for this city. What happens in 1912 is wide open.”

Sam wasn’t sure. “Then did it happen at all? Has there been a 2006 yet, where the Titanic sinking is history? If it happened once, how do we know we can stop it? What if, in spite of all we do, the ship still sinks? What if we avoid one iceberg, just to hit another?”

Tom felt a headache coming on, as he tried to think it through. Casey threw up her hands. “I refuse to accept determinism, Sam. The universe does not “have it in” for the Titanic or for Mr. Andrews or anybody else. There’s no point getting up in the morning if that’s true.”

Tom agreed, but with a caveat. “I do believe in determinism, Casey, but not in the way you and Sam mean.” He watched her carefully, wondering how important her atheism was to her. “I believe that God has our lives planned and we can’t change his plan. He may have it written that I die on Titanic, but I don’t know that for certain. I must live as if I’ve been given a full measure of years. If I’m to die, then nothing I do will make a difference. But I still must try to make that difference.”

She looked unhappy but said only, “As long as you try. That’s all I’m asking.”

Casey walked him to the door, while Sam took cups to the kitchen. He paused before leaving, needing to say one more thing. “Casey, you’ve had to make an incredible adjustment. I can’t even comprehend what it must have been like for you.” He took her hand in both of his. “You need friends, Casey. You can’t spend your life working, or sitting in this house. There’s a whole world out there. I know it’s not your world, but you need to let it become yours. May I help you do that?”

She blinked back tears and against all propriety, he pulled her into his arms again. “I mean it, Casey. I want to be your friend.” More than your friend, he thought, but he said only, “I want you to meet my friends, too, and my family. You should have lots of people around you and lots of things to do.”

Her voice was small. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Andrews.”

He squeezed her gently then put both hands on her shoulders, looking teasingly into her face. “Now, that won’t do at all,” he told her. “I’m still calling you Casey. You must call me Tom. Please?”

She took a deep breath, nodding. He nodded back, pleased, then kissed her hand and left.

Chapter 16

February 1907

One would think that being told the date and manner of one’s death would be frightening and depressing, especially if the date were just a few years away. Yet Tom felt light and hopeful.

First, of course, was his sincere belief that whatever happened in his life was in the capable hands of God. And God had seen fit to give him a warning of what might be ahead. He believed he could try to prevent it. Indeed Tommy, he told himself as he shaved the next morning, you’re obligated to prevent it. You’re not the only one who dies.

He stared thoughtfully into the mirror, hearing Sam Altair’s voice again. “You need to keep that ship afloat for at least five hours. It’s four hours before the first rescue ship arrives.”

As a managing director of the firm, he was responsible for the integrity of any ship the firm built. Despite the horror of the accident Casey and Sam described, Tom felt confident that he could design the ship to withstand it. He always said that once you understood how a ship could sink, you could design it to float.

The second reason for his hope was Casey. The thought of her made him feel light and giddy, and whatever else he was thinking about, thoughts of Casey intruded. He was drawn to her peculiar mixture of strength and vulnerability. At some point he had decided to believe her story, and he hurt for her. She had lost everything in a single moment—her family, her friends, her plans, her very world—yet she had persevered, tenacious enough to build a new life. But how lonely she must be! He was quite serious when he said he wanted her to meet his friends, and he was already thinking of a night of music and dancing on Saturday. It had occurred to him, however, that one or two friends might be competition for Casey’s affections. Maybe he should just introduce her to his married friends for now.

He had a moment of deep enjoyment when he told Ham about his adventure. He skimmed over his reasons for deciding to see Casey and said nothing of her story, but with a great deal of satisfaction, he described seeing her for the first time and what she looked like. He could see that Ham was kicking himself for not thinking to go first. Ham was also amused that Tom planned on courting her.

“That’s going to get the whole place going again, you know,” he told Tom, who shrugged it off.

“I suspect the payoff will be worth it,” he said, and then he put his hand over his heart. “I must see her again, Ham. I am simply overwhelmed.”

“Well, then, I wish you good luck, sir,” Ham replied, moving to his own desk to begin the scheduling. “You must keep me apprised of your progress!”

Tom laughed. “I’ll do that. I just hope it’s all good news.”

~~~

The Belfast City Council had made it a priority to modernize Belfast, and huge strides had been made in recent years to provide electricity and telephone service throughout the city. Tom, always looking for better ways to build ships, was usually one of the first to try a new invention of any kind, and a telephone was no exception. As well, his parents were not afraid to keep up with the times, and had recently installed a telephone at Ardara House, the family home in Comber. He and his mother had developed a pleasant habit of speaking to each other nearly every night. They had always been close, and Tom often confided in her. But he was somewhat reticent to tell her about Casey. He couldn’t tell her everything, and he suspected she would not be as amused as Ham had been.

She wasn’t.

“I hope you consider what you are getting into, Tommy.” Mrs. Andrews expected her children to put family honor ahead of other considerations, and her voice through the phone sounded sterner than usual. “The girl is an American. You know nothing about her family. She has been the instigator of a great deception, however amusing it was. You must make sure that she is a suitable match for you. Don’t let your emotions cloud your thinking.”

She was right, based on the information she had. I wish I could tell them everything. I could show them the “cell phone” and the “calculator.” It would be better if they knew the truth. Yet his thoughts gnawed at the fear his parents would never believe the story. And he had no right to break the trust Sam and Casey had placed in him.

“I understand your concern, Mother,” he said at last. “I realize I need to know her better, but I did spend several months working with her. Even accounting for her deception, I believe she is honest and trustworthy. I know that she is kind and cares for others. I suspect she was well brought up, whoever her parents were.”

“I hope so, dear.” Her tone was warmer. “You have always been a good judge of character and I do trust you to make the right decision. I look forward to meeting the young lady and her guardian.”

“I promise to bring them around for dinner, soon,” he told her, and she left it at that.

~~~

Sam had his own misgivings. He’d seen Casey angry, sad, hungry, any number of things. He had never seen her in love. But there was no doubt the girl had gone completely over, and he was worried. Edwardian society had its own rules for things, and for her protection, he felt she had to know those rules.

He broached the subject at dinner the night after Tom had been over. “We’ve never really developed a story about your family, Casey,” he told her. “It’s possible that some people will want to know more information about your upbringing, to determine how you might fit into this society. What will we tell them?”

Casey looked resigned, as if she had known this was coming. “We tell them the truth, Sam. My father was an engineer, my mother was a doctor. We lived in Berkeley, I was an only child. Isn’t that a decent upbringing?”

“It is, Casey, it is. But some people might want details. Names, addresses. References, even. Death certificates. Something.”

Casey sighed. “But Sam, we’ve covered that. We have a story we tell people when they ask for information. Don’t change it now. And anyway, who wants to know, all of a sudden?”

He leaned back in his chair. “No one yet. But you have to understand this, Casey and you won’t like it. You’re falling in love with a man from a powerful family. They’re good people, don’t get me wrong. But they aren’t going to let their son marry a waif from the streets of Belfast. I’m just concerned that this may not turn out well.”

She stared at the table for a minute, and then whispered, “But I’m not a waif from the streets of Belfast.” She looked up at him, her eyes angry. “We were poor for a while and it was a struggle to get by. But we got through it. Do people hold that kind of thing against you, around here?”

“Maybe.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “They might. I don’t know. But it’s not just that. It’s a class issue. This society is completely stratified, Casey. People very seldom marry outside of their class.”

“But Sam, Americans don’t have a stratified society. Europeans marry Americans, so there has to be a way around it…” she trailed off as Sam laughed at her.

“Don’t be naïve, Casey. Americans may try to say they don’t have a class society, but they do, they really do. Your parents would not be considered gentry unless they had lots and lots of money. Yes, they were educated and would be considered very well off, and you might be able to get away with that. But you and I are most definitely not part of the gentry of this society, and money has nothing to do with it. You’re born into it. I suppose you can only try, but you needed to be aware of this. The Andrews family simply may not approve of Tom being involved with an American girl, especially considering the circumstances.”

She stared sullenly at the table, not answering. Sam took a deep breath and plunged in with his fait accompli.

“Have you considered that in the original timeline, Tom marries someone else?”

Slowly, she raised her head to look at him. “What?”

“There’s another woman in Belfast who’s supposed to become his wife, Casey. I can tell you her name, age, who her family is, how many children they have…”

“No!” She stood, slapping the silverware off the table and against the wall with a great clatter. She glared at Sam. “You’re preaching determinism, again! I don’t care who he married before. He died before! I’m going to stop that; I’ll stop the other, too.” Defiance brought her chin up. “He didn’t know me before, but he knows me now. He’s interested in me, not someone else! And I will do everything I can to keep it that way!”

She left the room and he heard her bedroom door slam, as he dropped his head onto his arms.

“That went well,” he told the silverware.

~~~

Tom was coming to dinner on Thursday and as the time approached, Casey’s emotions refused to settle on anything. Having him over the other night, knowing he was seeing her as a woman for the first time, had filled her with an erotic ache. He had actually held her, something completely against the rules. She couldn’t wait to see him again. To be with him now, to eat and talk and laugh with him, was almost more than she could bear. But Sam’s warnings moved like a murmur underneath her joy. It could all come to nothing, for the simple reason that she was an American and not from a wealthy family.

But when Tom arrived, bearing chocolates, Casey didn’t even try to keep her emotions in check. When she opened the door, he smiled and offered the candy, at the same time, glancing down at her dress. Her body throbbed in response to his gaze, but she managed to raise an eyebrow quizzically when his eyes again reached her face. His smiled widened into a teasing grin. “Just checking.”

She laughed. “I probably deserved that. Point to you.”

He laughed with her. “I promise I won’t wear the joke to death. Just until you’ve paid me back for all the teasing the men put me through.”

“That will take a while, I imagine.”

He patted her shoulder, and his next words sent a thrill charging through her. “I hope to spend several years at it.”

After dinner, she and Sam showed Tom their time travel journals and described how they were attempting to keep track of any changes they made in the past. Tom had brought a notebook in which he had recorded their observations about the Titanic. They all agreed to continue with the journals and compare their notes regularly as time went by. They spent a couple of hours writing it all down, including sketches that Sam tried to duplicate from memory. Tom was astonished at the things Sam knew, from being able to sketch a rough draft of a ship that had not yet been designed, to information about a coal fire that burned for two weeks and probably contributed to the quick sinking, by weakening a bulkhead.

As Sam and Casey talked about the building of the ship and the disaster itself, Tom made notes, quickly categorizing their memories by placing a symbol next to each item. He would later add a section to the notebook for each symbol. This is where he would work on the detail. They had an intense debate about whether Tom should take the book to work or leave it with Casey and Sam. Although he acknowledged the danger of having it at work, Tom was adamant that he needed to have it with him. He would keep it locked in a drawer, and not even Ham would have a key.

~~~

Saturday afternoon, when Tom finished work for the day, he invited Casey for a walk in the Botanic Gardens. The day was cold, but clear, and the treetops moved in a high breeze. It was too early for flowers, but the park’s greenery was flourishing, and there were several groups of people taking the fresh air. Tom met Casey and Sam at the entrance to the park, Casey smiling with excitement at the prospect of a walk. She looked wonderful, in a simple brown skirt and jacket. She wore a green scarf around her throat, and a flowered hat. Her eyes seemed to pick up the color from the scarf, looking even deeper green than usual. She held his arm as they walked, and he felt as if there was no other time or place in the world except for this one.

They left Sam reading on a bench near the entrance, and as they strolled away, Tom explained that he had a certain motive for the walk. “You had all those months, working at the yard, getting to know me, while you knew that you were a woman, not a boy. I need a chance to catch up.” He stopped and looked at her quite seriously. “What parts of Casey the boy, are true for the woman, as well? What was an act?” He smiled, but it was a troubled smile. “Who is Casey Wilson?”

She returned his smile, with tears in her eyes. “Well now, that’s a very fair question. I don’t know that the answer is a short one.”

He patted her hand and resumed walking. “We have all afternoon. Start anywhere.”

She laughed a little, and then paused as if to gather her thoughts. “I want to be completely honest with you,” she said, and he frowned. He expected her to be honest, why would she say that? She squeezed his arm. “What I mean by that, is that I might need to tell you more than you expect to hear about the time I’m from, to give you reasons for what I did or said. You see, once I started getting to know you, I knew that I would never lie to you about anything else, ever. No matter what the cost to me.”

She fell silent, unable to continue for a moment. Tom rubbed her fingers. “Casey, I have forgiven you for that deception. I understand your reasons, even more now than before. Please don’t let it stay between us.”

With a deep breath, she nodded, and then gestured widely. “Well, it may surprise you to hear that, for the most part, Casey the boy—the way I acted and talked and worked while at the yard—is pretty much me. In a way, the woman who wears these… costumes,” she indicated her hat and clothes, “is more of an act than the boy.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

She moved to the rail and stood looking at the river. Tom realized she was not like the girls he knew—she stood differently, moved differently. The differences were subtle though, and could be put down to upbringing. She was naturally graceful, but had not been trained to gentility. After a moment, she turned to lean her back against the rail and regard him seriously. “Tom, I was born in 1985. The world changes a lot between now and then. I think it changes more in the next hundred years than at any time in human history. One of the biggest changes is the blurring of differences between men and women.”

Her words shocked him. He knew it showed because she smiled at his expression, clarifying, “Okay, I mean the social differences between men and women. Kids in my generation grew up as complete equals. We went to the same schools, had the same opportunities, the same responsibilities, competed for the same jobs. Women vote, they hold public office, they run companies, they do anything they are capable of doing. They don’t have to ask permission, they don’t have to be ‘protected’ or supported by a man.”

He shook his head, dumbfounded. She touched his arm. “What I’m trying to say is that working in a shipyard was completely normal for me. Oh, not the work itself, I had to learn that, but to have a job, to be around a lot of working men, I was comfortable with that. In fact, the part that was weird was not having more women around. That, and not having women’s lavatories, of course.”

He heard the joke in her tone, but just shook his head, unable to speak. He put his hands in his pockets and turned to look at the river. The suffragettes talked about a society like that. He was not one of those who thought women were incapable of voting or making decisions—far from it. But he couldn’t imagine the life Casey talked about.

She stood beside him and tried again. “Tom, think of the camaraderie, the casualness, you feel when working in a roomful of men. For my generation, that’s the way it is for boys and girls working together. It’s been that way for all our lives. We hardly even think about it. So when I say that Casey the boy is normal for me, that’s what I mean. Except for being careful that no one found out I was a girl, I just acted like myself.”

He stared at the railing, knowing he still didn’t understand. “So now?” he asked. “Dressing and acting like a woman? How is this an act, for you?” He looked at her accusingly. “That day in my office, you said you missed being a girl. It nearly broke my heart to hear you say that, to think we’d taken something special away from you. Where is the truth, Casey?”

She blinked away tears. “The truth is all of it, Tom. I missed being able to just go to work and have everybody know I was a girl and have it be okay. I’d have done all the same things and acted the same way and probably dressed the same. But I’d have been a girl.” She spread her hands, as if begging. “I would have just been me.”

He stared at her for a minute, trying to understand it, then rubbed his temples. “It’s all so foreign to me, but I guess I can understand how it would be for you, growing up that way. But what about now?” He held up his hands to indicate her clothing, not able to hide his misery. “Now, you can be a girl. But you say this is an act, and I don’t understand why. I want to know you, Casey. I want that more than anything else in the world. But where is the real Casey Wilson?”

She did start crying then. “Somewhere in 2006, I think.” Remorseful, he reached for her, but she turned away. He waited as she tried to stop crying and after a minute, she spoke again, her voice not quite clear. “I just find it a struggle to always be proper and… ladylike… for lack of a better word.” She turned to face him, brushing away a tear with gloved fingers. “I’m used to being more casual with people, even with men, and I’m… I don’t know… wilder, I guess, than what’s proper for a woman in this time. When I was running around Belfast as a boy, I didn’t have to worry about any of that. But now I feel like I’m constantly stifled.” She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “It’s not so bad that I’m unhappy or anything, and it can’t be helped, after all. I just have to get used to it.”

He chewed his lower lip, trying to think of a way to cheer her up. “If you could act as you wanted, what would you do?”

She looked surprised, and then turned in a slow circle, taking in the entire city. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe,” she gestured down the path at some kids playing football, “join in an impromptu game of football. Or meet my friends for a few beers at a pub.” She smiled a little at his alarmed expression. “Go dancing. Play a game of catch on the campus lawn.” She laughed suddenly. “Take off my shoes and sit on the floor!”

He laughed at that, though he was shocked about the beer. She looked at him curiously. “You have a sister, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yes, Nina. She’s twenty-five.”

“What does she do for fun?”

He frowned, thinking about it. “Well, she just got married last year. I think she had a lot of fun planning that. She lives in England, now. But she likes to read, which,” he bowed briefly to her, “I know you like to do also.” She nodded and he continued, “She’s quite accomplished at needlepoint and spinning, and I think she gets a bit of enjoyment from those. And she writes that she meets with friends for tea and gossip fairly often.” His lips quirked as he looked at Casey and the politely interested expression she wore. “She is also an accomplished horsewoman, and plays golf and tennis.”

“Ah! Golf and tennis. And riding? Well, that all sounds enjoyable,” Casey said. “I just had no idea what women did for fun in this time.”

He looked cross, a corner of his mouth curling up to show he was teasing. “You truly must socialize more.”

“Well there’s no doubt about that,” she replied. “And perhaps work on shedding some of my preconceived notions. Can women play cricket?”

“Oh, goodness!” He groaned. “Of course they don’t play cricket, that’s much too rough!”

She stopped walking and looked at him, pouting. “My best friend was on the women’s varsity cricket team at Queen’s.”

He stared at her, speechless. He played cricket, and it was not a game for women.

Casey waved a hand at him. “Tom? You can breathe, now.”

He blinked. “Women’s varsity cricket? Real cricket?” She nodded. “Do you play?” he asked her.

“Not on a team. I like to jump around and have fun, but it turns out I’m not real competitive. I always want everyone to just get along.”

That made him laugh. “I can just imagine.”

“What about football?” Casey asked suddenly.

“You mean, women playing football?” Tom shook his head. “Young girls play when they are still in school. Not after, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like there’s a law or anything against it. I guess it’s just not considered ladylike.”

“Ladylike? Oh my god, the dreaded word!”

He laughed, but felt contrite. “I’m sorry, Casey. School girls can and do play these games among themselves, but any sport a lady plays is done in a sedate manner. Ladylike, if you will.”

“But why? And what about tennis? You said your sister played tennis. That’s not sedate.”

“It is when ladies play it. I’ve seen them.”

“Oh brother.” She put her head in her hands. “I guess I can’t lose all my preconceived notions, after all.”

“You know, girls are quite active as children,” he told her. “They play along with the boys all the time. My sister had four brothers and we were merciless with her. And she never had any trouble keeping up. But about thirteen or fourteen years of age, she stopped. Mother may have encouraged her, but I think that’s when she first noticed boys other than her brothers.”

“Ah,” Casey said, “the biggest game of all.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Exactly.”

“But Tom, you’re, what, thirty-four?” He nodded. “And you still play cricket and go hunting or fishing for fun. I’ve heard you talk about that.”

“Certainly. Not as much as I’d like of course, because of work, but certainly.”

“So in this society, men can continue to play like boys well into their thirties, and the girls, at quite young ages, take up needlepoint.” Her raised eyebrows indicated he could take it as a question.

He rubbed his mouth to hide a smile, aware of the trap he’d walked into. “Now,” he pointed out, “I may not be the right person to ask, but I always assumed girls did that because they wanted to. Some kind of domesticity desire kicking in or something.” He gestured helplessly. “I don’t really know. Boys are sent off to school and the girls stay at home, or attend a local school with other girls. We really don’t see them much, at least not socially, until they come out, but I have several female cousins and, of course, I knew sisters of my friends. And at that age, the girls mostly sat in groups and giggled. They wouldn’t have played football with us if we’d begged them.”

Casey just shook her head in consternation.

“So girls in your generation don’t do that?” he asked.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, of course they do!” she said. “But we don’t have to give up the games and running around. We can keep playing as long as we’re able, same as the guys. And why not? It’s healthy to keep active.”

“So does no one learn needlepoint, anymore? It does make things attractive and many clans in Ireland are fiercely proud of their patterns.”

She hesitated. “They do if they’re interested in it as a hobby, but for the most part, no one does that kind of thing anymore. Needlepoint is done by machine and outsourced to wherever labor is cheapest. Anything homemade, especially by a clan in Ireland, is going to take top dollar.”

“So we lose art to progress, is that what you’re saying? But it frees everyone up to play football.”

She nodded. “Sort of. Although it’s more like people are freed up to do whatever interests them.”

She paused as they rounded a corner, and her eyes wandered off the path and to the small oak tree on the side. Tom watched as she moved, as if dazed, to stand next to it, one hand tentatively touching the young branches, the top of the tree just reaching her waist. He followed behind her. Her voice was so soft, he had to lean in, not daring to breathe. “I used to come here all the time at first.” He watched her hand caress the bark, her mind a million miles away. Or a hundred years. “I would look around and try to remember what the park and city looked like before. Then I started working for you and I didn’t have time to come anymore.” She brought the hand to her face, wiping away a tear and shaking her head slowly. “I can’t picture it, now. I’m forgetting.”

He touched her back, gently, so that she hardly felt it. “It does no one good to cling to what we can’t have, Casey. There’s nothing wrong with moving on.”

She blinked and looked up him, serious as she searched his face. He was relieved when she smiled a little. “I know. I may need to be reminded occasionally.”

He gripped her shoulders. “I’m sorry that it’s been hard for you, here. I try to imagine what it would be like for me, to suddenly find myself in 1807 and have to figure out how to survive and fit in.” He shook his head. “I think you’ve done splendidly. I hope I can be a help to you from now on.” He touched her cheek. “You can always take off your shoes and sit on the floor when I’m around.” He smiled as she laughed at that. “And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than take you dancing. I know of a ball we can go to tonight. Would you like to?”

He hoped she would always look at him the way she was now, eyes shining and lips trembling slightly. Was it love he saw on her face? He held his breath as she nodded, and he gave in to one more improper act: a light, quick kiss on her lips. Then he let her go and turned away, taking her arm in his again as they resumed their walk. He could tell she needed the break as much as he did.

Chapter 17

February—March 1907

Sam noted with some amusement that Casey had not yet answered his good morning, or his twice-repeated question of how her evening had gone. He had accompanied them to the dance, of course. Tom would never have taken her without a chaperone. But he’d pretty much left them on their own at the dance, which had been hosted by the Lord of something-or-other, at a grand estate on the edge of town. He’d been nervous about social interaction with this crowd, in this time. He supposed he did all right. Everyone was polite, anyway, but his concern left him with little time to actually “chaperone.” Tom and Casey had been quiet on the way home and Tom had simply shaken Sam’s hand, and kissed Casey’s, before driving off. Casey had gone straight to bed, although he’d managed to notice her dreamy expression as she said good-night.

Hence, his question this morning. True, the greeting and first question had been sort of tossed at her as he passed her, sitting at the table, on his way into the kitchen for what passed for coffee in Edwardian Ireland. He’d repeated the question as he placed his breakfast on the table and retrieved the newspaper for reading. Now he sat with the paper folded, dipped a spoon into his porridge, and took a minute to observe his distracted ward.

Casey was perched cross-legged on her chair, wearing a warm sweater and her “boy pants,” feet shod only in thick socks. Her hair was rumpled from sleeping, the curls hanging in loose rivulets around her face. That face was thoughtful, the eyes tired and dreamy as she stared at her untouched cereal. Sam waved a hand in front of her.

“Earth to Casey!” He brought the hand back and reached for his coffee. “Isn’t there a song about dancing all night?”

Casey rolled her eyes and pulled up a spoonful of porridge, but she was blushing. “Very funny,” she muttered.

“And begging for more?” Sam continued to tease. Casey just smiled dreamily into her bowl, slowly stirring. “Oh, dear,” Sam said.

She gave a half shrug, continuing to stir. “It’s no use, Sam. Every moment I’m with him, I love him more. I feel like I’m dreaming, because he acts as if he…” she dipped her head lower as if to hide, “…well, as if he likes me, too.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Ah, good… good. I’m glad it’s going well. He’s a good man.” He stirred his coffee for a moment, his look of concern belying the words.

Casey took a sip from her cup. “And?” she prompted.

Sam glanced at her and sat back in his chair. “Well Casey, help me out here. This may seem an odd question, but what would your parents think of this relationship?”

Her eyebrows disappeared under the loose hair. “My parents?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

He spread his arms wide. “I’m serious. They’re not here, you know, and I often feel I should act as a surrogate. You’re only twenty-one years old, Casey, and Tom is thirty-four. I have to question if you understand what you’re dealing with here. And whether your parents would be concerned.”

“I have no doubt they would love Tom, if they could meet him.”

Sam waved this away. “Of course they would. Everybody loves Tom. And they couldn’t ask for a more decent and respectable young man to love their daughter. But would they want you getting this involved with someone his age?”

She shook her head. “I think my parents would be more concerned about his character than about his age. If he’s so decent and respectable, why do you have to worry?”

He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. “What do you want from life, Casey? What would your parents want for you? I know you had plans before, and that since coming here, you’ve been more concerned with survival, as have I. But we need to start figuring out where we’re going. You especially need to, Casey. You’re going to live out your entire life in the early twentieth century. How does that change the plans you had for yourself?”

She answered slowly, as if thinking about it. “Before, I just had general plans. No specific goals, but I just sort of expected to… well, the usual. I would get my degree, do grad school, some kind of research. Maybe biotechnology. I expected to eventually get married and have a child or two. To travel a lot. Just a normal kind of life. It may be more difficult, now, but can’t I do the same kind of thing, here?”

“With Tom?” Sam asked.

Casey blushed again. “That would be my preference, yes.”

“Are we assuming he lives past 1912?”

Her eyes widened. “I’m assuming that with all my heart, Sam. But you bring up a good point.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“That I would be a fool to take my time with this. Before, I would never have considered getting involved—no, getting married—before finishing my degree and having a decent job. Even in this time, there was no real reason to do otherwise. Except that I’ve fallen in love with Thomas Andrews. If we only have a few years together, then I want to have as much of them as possible, together.”

Sam nodded. “I understand. That’s sort of my point, because I don’t think Tom will want to wait several years before marrying you, anyway. But do you understand what marriage to Tom Andrews would require of you? You haven’t met his family yet.”

She held up her hands. “Don’t start with the family again.”

He leaned forward. “I mean, it might behoove you to observe what role women play in his family. Do any of them have careers, or interests or hobbies outside of their marriages? Or, are they strictly helpmates? Wives and mothers?” He rubbed the table, thinking as he talked. “Tom holds a powerful position in his company and in this town. I don’t know if it’s happened yet, but people will want him to hold public office, to aid in solving labor problems, home rule issues, all kinds of things. His family is very involved in politics. His older brother eventually becomes Prime Minister of Northern Ireland. It may be that the woman who marries Tom will have to be a strong presence behind the man. Support, dear. Social, political, familial support, not a woman with a career of her own. Not in this age.”

He met her gaze with a frank smile. “Are you ready or able to be a wife and mother? To run a household with servants, maintain a social standing in the community, and support your husband? Because I suspect that’s what your life will be, dear.”

She stared at him and swallowed hard. “I could learn, couldn’t I? I think… No. I don’t think that Tom would expect me not to pursue my own interests. He doesn’t seem to be that kind of person.” It was her turn to draw on the table with her fingers. “We’d have to talk about it. I’d have to make sure he understands that I don’t know how to do that stuff. But I’ll learn. We’ll compromise. Maybe I won’t have an actual job, but I’ll do other things. I have to try, Sam.”

She stood up abruptly and picked up her dishes. “This is silly, anyway. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We’ve only been to one dance. You make me start worrying about what our marriage will be like, I might get too confident. I may wake up and find out he’s been distracted by a, what’s the phrase? ‘A well-turned ankle.’” She spoke lightly, but ducked into the kitchen.

Sam raised his cup for a sip. “Nothing wrong with your ankles, my dear,” he murmured to himself.

~~~

Ardara House was quiet when Tom arrived that morning. The ivy-covered stone manse of his childhood appeared to glower under the day’s dark clouds. The rooms inside were cold and empty, except for a fire in the parlor, laid in preparation for the family’s return from church. They were all at church, even the servants, although he found Martha, the scullery maid, watching over supper preparations in the kitchen. He greeted her, stole a carrot from the cutting board, and headed into the parlor.

He was reading in there when his family arrived home, and the bustle of preparing an early supper and settling in for the afternoon began to sweep through the house. His father shook his hand, with a mock-stern visage. “Thought you’d be here in time for church, son. Late night?”

“Aye,” Tom replied. “Danced my feet off and had to recuperate.”

“Wonderful!” his father said. Tom turned to give his mother a kiss.

Her look was thoughtful as she searched his face for clues to what he was feeling. “So we can assume you had a good time? How do you find the young lady, Tommy?”

“I find the young lady enchanting, Mother. Also beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and a joy to be with. Full of surprises, too, although you knew that.”

Her eyebrows rose higher and she exchanged a glance with her husband, before answering. “Perhaps I should call on her this week. I would like to meet her.”

Tom tilted his head as he thought about it. “She works, Mother. I’m pretty sure she won’t have a calling day. Can I bring her and her guardian for dinner in a couple of weeks?

“Certainly.” She didn’t look happy, though and Tom slipped an arm around her shoulders in a hug.

“All right, Ma. What’s bothering you?”

“It should be obvious, Tommy.” She looked at him in exasperation. “You asked me to hold off arranging a marriage because you wanted a chance to find love on your own. I agreed to that, because I want you to be happy. But what possessed you to look beyond all the suitable young ladies of our acquaintances?”

“But Casey is not unsuitable, Mother. You’ll understand when you meet her. And be fair. I didn’t purposely look for someone different. She was just there.”

“Not exactly, Tommy, and this is what disturbs me most of all.” Mrs. Andrews had the air of someone speaking words that had long been bottled up. “She lied to you, from the first moment she met you. She deceived you for five months, and that takes a lot of deliberate deception, yet you want us to believe she is a person of great character. I understand that she apologized, and I would never encourage you to withhold forgiveness from anyone. But it does seem that you’ve given your trust far too easily.”

“Tom,” his father interjected before he could think of an answer, “love is a powerful emotion. Your mother and I are simply concerned that you might not be seeing the situation as clearly as you should. That’s not unusual in the early stages of infatuation, you know. But it is a good reason why you should give heed to the doubts of others.”

The joy he’d felt since last night’s dance seemed to still as he listened to them. He didn’t respond right away; he just put his hands in his pockets and gazed unhappily at them a few moments, thinking. When he spoke, he was quiet, but unable to completely cover his bitterness. “I understand what you’re saying. I can’t disagree with you, when I know these things to be true.” His eyes stung, and he blinked several times. “Please understand, I’ve talked to Casey at length about her deception, and to her guardian as well. I have not just swept it under the rug and tried to pretend it never happened, but I am satisfied with the sincerity of her apology. I also understand her reasons for the deception, although I don’t condone it.” He looked from one to the other in desperation, and held out his hands. “Please give her a chance. I have never wanted anything in my life as badly as I want this. Just give her a chance.”

His mother took his hands in hers and squeezed them. “We will, Tommy. That was always our intention. But you needed to be aware of our misgivings.” She changed the subject, obviously hoping to bring the conversation to a happier topic.

“What church does she attend, Tommy?”

Worse and worse, Tom thought. He leaned against the desk and chose his words carefully, “I don’t think she or her guardian attend church.”

His mother was struck silent, turning to stare at him in disbelief and confusion. He waited. “I don’t understand,” she said at last. She seemed determined to try again. “They must attend somewhere. Surely you mean that they just have not been able to attend services often. Due to their difficult circumstances, perhaps.”

He gave her a slow half-nod, not sure how to explain this. “That’s possible, I suppose.” He covered an involuntary wince by scratching his head. He couldn’t lie to his parents about this, and he had to watch what he said.

They seemed bewildered at his reaction, exchanging a concerned glance. His father spoke up. “Tommy, they’re not…” he glanced at his wife again before continuing, “they’re not… Catholic, are they?”

Tom laughed at that, a little relieved that this was their first concern. “Of course not.”

They’re own relief was obvious, and they seemed content to drop the subject. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable answer, Tommy.” His mother smoothed her skirt and moved toward the door. “While I would have preferred you met her at church, of course, I understand the circumstances are a bit strange.” She gave him a stern look. “Nevertheless, I do insist you discuss this with her. It would never do to pursue a relationship before being certain of your religious compatibility. Since she’s American, there’s just no telling what religion she is.”

He nodded, looking so miserable that Mrs. Andrews had to hug him for a good long minute. “Bring them over for dinner, dear. We will all hope for the best.”

He was quiet the rest of the day, until his brother, Willie, pestered him into an impromptu game of football out in the rain and cold. Soaked, muddy, kicking and running, Tom let exhaustion and physical effort replace his despair. Odd how that always helped.

~~~

Tom began spending several evenings a week with Casey and Sam. He didn’t consciously plan it that way, but he discovered, night after night as he headed for his flat, that he just didn’t want to go home. He had grown up in a happy and boisterous household, and the quiet of his bachelor life had always grated on him. With love, laughter, and companionship waiting for him somewhere else, his feet just naturally turned in that direction. So he went, and they were always happy to see him, and he was reasonably sure, as they shared a meal and chores, that he added something to their lives, too.

He learned to understand the casual way they had with each other, and many times he could see flashes of what their century must have been like. It seemed mostly good, and even amazing, with space shuttles and men on the moon, cures for many diseases, and airplanes that flew around the world in just hours. He was pretty sure they’d never get him on one of those! Once though, they told him about wars and terrorism and weapons so frightening, he had disturbing dreams for several nights. He was upset to learn that Ireland had split, and that Ulster still had not learned to live with itself, but was surprised that Sam thought Ireland should go ahead and vote for Home Rule.

“Northern Ireland is a war zone during the twentieth century,” Sam mentioned one night as they cleaned up after dinner. “The two factions cause total bloody mayhem for decades. Let me tell you, Tom, this is a real opportunity to try the other way. Voting against Home Rule didn’t work in our timeline; I can’t see that voting for it this time, could possibly be any worse.”

“Maybe,” Tom said, but he thought about it. “I think the Catholics should be equal under the government, but I can’t accept that separating from Britain is the answer. I truly think it would ruin us, economically.”

Sam lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other. If you can manage to bring about equality without Home Rule, I’m all right with that. I’m just telling you, it didn’t work in our history.”

Tom acknowledged that with a twitch of his brows. “Unfortunately, there are people on both sides who refuse to allow any compromise. Maybe we should try to strengthen any society that has a goal of improvement. I have observed, at the shipyard, that Catholics and Protestants work together just fine, when they are committed to a common task. But the Catholics need to be allowed in, and even at the yard we have trouble with that, from time to time.”

Sam nodded. “But it’s a start. You need to allow more Catholics in, too. Right now, they’re a tiny percentage of the workforce, so are at the mercy of the Protestant workers.”

Tom spread his hands. “I can honestly say we’ve never refused to hire someone because he was Catholic. But it’s true that, in general, the Catholic population doesn’t have the skills that we need.” He shook his head. “Then we get into the education problem. Truly, Sam, I think this issue is too big for even time travelers to solve.”

Sam held up an admonishing finger. “We can’t solve it all at once. But let’s approach it methodically and take what improvements we get, all right?”

Tom nodded. “It’s a start.”

Later, over tea in the parlor, Sam showed them the latest letter from Albert Einstein. As someone whose business benefited directly from the applications of recent discoveries made by physicists, Tom was quite interested in new theories, and Sam had mentioned that his research in time travel was based on the work of this Einstein. He was curious.

“You’ve mentioned him before, when you said your research was based on his theories. But I’ve never heard of him.”

Sam thought about it a moment. “It’s only 1907,” he pointed out. “His first batch of papers were only very recently published and I suppose they are not widely available yet.”

“The name sounds Jewish?” Tom asked it as a question, and Sam nodded.

“He is a Jew, although not a practicing one. He’s German, living in Switzerland at this time. He eventually becomes a Swiss citizen.”

“Ah, but that would explain why his work is not well known here,” Tom told him, a little sadly. “British scientists don’t collaborate much with German ones.”

“Long live King Isaac Newton?” Casey asked.

“Oh, Newton is still king,” Sam told her. “For a while longer, anyway. In another decade, it will be a British scientist who confirms Einstein’s theory about gravity. Then the crown changes heads.”

“You’ve been writing to him?” Tom asked, gazing at the several sheets of paper in Sam’s hand. “About the time travel?”

Sam nodded, a sheepish expression on his face. “I first wrote him just a few days after we got here. Honestly, I didn’t have an exact plan; I don’t know what I wanted him to do. Can’t say that I know, now. But he’s a great thinker, Tom. I guess it boils down to that. If anyone can figure out what I’ve done and what we can do about it, it will be he.”

Tom glanced at Casey, uncomfortable with the thought that came to him. “Will he be able to help you get back?” He felt lightheaded. Would Casey leave if she had the opportunity to go home? What right did he have to ask her to stay?

Sam was shaking his head as if trying to figure it out. “I don’t think so. All the data point to a separate timeline. The only connection it has to our original timeline is January 24, 1906.”

“What if you built another machine and went back to that time? Could you get back that way?”

Casey laughed and they looked at her, not sure what was funny. She held her hands up as if drawing something in the air. “Like there’s a nexus there. Maybe a time travel station: ‘Transfer here for the twenty-first century!’”

Tom felt bewildered, but Sam laughed. “If this becomes commonplace, I can guarantee some entrepreneur will build one!” But he shook his head again. “I don’t know if that would work. Who’s to say it would be our twenty-first century? But it’s the kind of thing Einstein is good at thinking about.”

Sam turned through the pages, all traces of laughter gone from his face. “The problem is,” he said, “Herr Einstein is pretty sure I’m a crackpot. He’s interested enough to consider what I tell him and keep the correspondence open. But he’s not going to say he believes that Casey and I have traveled back through time.”

“Have you told him about Titanic?” Tom asked.

Sam looked up. “Not yet. But I will soon.”

“Sam did tell him about the San Francisco earthquake,” Casey said. “In his first letter, before the earthquake happened. I suspect that’s why Einstein hasn’t just written Sam off as a complete nutcase. But he doesn’t know what to do with him.”

Tom smiled at her. “I know exactly how he feels.”

Under cover of Sam’s laugh, he reached over and took Casey’s hand, helping her to her feet. “I need to be getting home.” He shook Sam’s hand and Casey walked with him to the door. Lately, she had been trying to conduct herself in a manner more acceptable to proper society, so he was surprised when she slipped her arms around his neck. Her kiss was deep, her body scandalously close against him. Thought vanished in a swirl of emotion as he lost himself in her lips. When she pulled away he rested his forehead against hers, forcing his hands to remain lightly on her waist.

“I’m kind of glad no one’s figured out how to build another time machine,” she whispered. “I don’t want to have to make that decision, now.”

“I could never ask you to stay,” he said. “But I couldn’t bear it if you left. I love you, Casey.”

Chapter 18

March 1907

During her lunch break, Casey went outside to escape the heat of working in the tropical section of the glass Palm House. She ate on the lawn, with a partial view of the herbaceous border, and re-read a note from Tom that had arrived that morning. Especially the part that made her knees shake.

“My parents have invited you and Sam to dinner at Ardara, on Saturday. Will you come? I am so anxious for all of you to meet. It can only do my nerves good to have it done sooner rather than later!”

His nerves! She was going to be tried and judged, and she suspected the verdict had already been decided. She could never measure up to those people. Whatever had she been thinking to let this go so far?

She finished her lunch and stood to return to the Palm House, pausing when she recognized Mrs. Herceforth’s carriage on the nearby path. Casey grinned and waited. Mrs. Herceforth continued to sponsor their project, and since her private tour of the Tropical Section, had begun to take an active interest in their work. She stopped by frequently to look around, tell jokes, and chat with Casey, never failing to ask about any possible young men in Casey’s life. Casey had so far refrained from mentioning Tom. She suspected Mrs. Herceforth was just lonely and wanted company. But she suddenly saw an opportunity, and as the two of them walked back to the building, she plunged in.

“Mrs. Herceforth, may I ask your advice on something?”

“Oh certainly, dear. What do you need to know?” The old blue eyes twinkled; Casey supposed it was seldom anyone actually asked for advice.

“Dr. Altair and I have been invited to someone’s home for dinner this weekend. They are very well respected, and I’m afraid I’m a bit unsure of what I should wear. I’m certain I’ll need to buy something, but do you know of a good shop with appropriate dresses?”

Mrs. Herceforth leaned forward. “Are they wealthy, dear?” she whispered gleefully.

Casey blushed. “I think so.”

“Is there a young man involved?”

The blush deepened and she could only nod. Oh please, don’t let this be a mistake.

Mrs. Herceforth straightened, her face thoughtful. She looked Casey up and down, as if she were not already aware of what Casey looked like. Then abruptly she held out a hand, which Casey took with some hesitation.

“Can they spare you for a few minutes at the House? I have something to show you.”

Casey glanced at the students talking at the entrance. “I can catch up later, sure.” She wandered over to them while Mrs. Herceforth waited. “I’ll be gone a bit with Mrs. Herceforth. Will an hour be all right?”

The senior student nodded, winking as he turned to go inside. “Never hurts to butter up the sponsors,” he murmured.

Casey followed Mrs. Herceforth into her carriage, not missing her order to the driver to take them “home.” “Mrs. Herceforth?” she said weakly, but her anxiety was waved down.

“It’s not far, dear. You’ll see.”

It wasn’t far, either. In ten minutes, during which Mrs. Herceforth kept up a running commentary about the buildings they passed and the people who lived or worked inside them, they drove through a large, formal garden of cut grass, trimmed hedges and roses, stopping in front of a three-story mansion, covered with ivy, and complete with white columns gracing the front. The driver helped them down and Casey followed her hostess into the house, where she was ushered through a cavernous front hall and up a wide, carpeted stairway, past a chandelier over a story tall. They entered a lavish bedroom while Mrs. Herceforth called for “Daisy.” Casey had no time to ogle the furnishings, which surely belonged in a palace, for Daisy came immediately, her maid’s uniform immaculate. She curtsied, eyes flicking a critical perusal over Casey’s working clothes. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Oh there you are, Daisy. Please pull out the dresses that Miss Olmstead left here.” Mrs. Herceforth turned to Casey, beaming with pleasure. “My niece from Kilkenny recently stayed with me, and she did quite a bit of shopping while she was in Belfast. She didn’t take everything back with her, and I’ll be amazed if you are not exactly her size. In fact, I have in mind the exact—ah, here we are!” She turned to Daisy who had emerged from an armoire with several dresses in her arms. Without hesitation, she reached over and snagged the dress that was second from the top and held it up for Casey to see.

Casey could only stare. It was the prettiest dress she’d ever seen. The material looked like silk with a chiffon layer, a very pale sea green with a darker green pattern woven sparingly throughout. The sleeves were long and slender, the collar a V-neck with a faint bit of lace in the ‘V.’ The skirt was flared slightly from the waist. It had none of the yards and yards of material Casey had noted at the dance, and which she had instinctively decided would be “too much” for a dinner.

Mrs. Herceforth nodded smartly at her expression. “Daisy, let’s help Miss Wilson try this on. We must be sure.”

Expression neutral, Daisy immediately went to Casey’s aid, helping her undress. She sniffed in disapproval at the absence of a corset, but Mrs. Herceforth clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, it’s fine, Daisy. She’s much too thin to need a corset, anyway. I think she’s smart not to wear one. Dreadful things.”

Daisy was unconvinced, but Casey smiled slightly in vindication; she simply refused ever to wear one. Then the dress was on her, Daisy doing up the buttons in back and Mrs. Herceforth applying a smart brown belt to the waist. They stepped back, Mrs. Herceforth smiling grandly as she moved Casey in front of a mirror. Casey stared. She still was not used to women’s clothes in this era, and even the simple work clothes she wore made her feel dressed up. This though, this was a dress royalty could wear, if royalty wanted to appear confident and elegant. The green was the perfect shade for her coloring, and the dress fit as if it were made for her. Her eyes were greener than ever and the bodice emphasized her small bust in a way her twenty-first century outfits never did. She could just imagine the look that would be on Tom’s face, when he saw her.

Mrs. Herceforth gazed with a critical eye at Casey’s reflection, then nodded with approval. “All you’ll need is a hat and some gloves. Short gloves, dear, since the sleeves are long. A parasol would be nice, too, if you could find one the proper shade and with flowers. Do you have any other shoes?”

Casey nodded. “I have a nice pair that I wore for the dance the other night. I think they’ll work.”

Mrs. Herceforth nodded. “That’s fine, then. Daisy, let’s get her back into her clothes; I’m sure she needs to get back to work.”

Befuddled, Casey let them undress her and she slipped quickly back into her simple work clothes, as Mrs. Herceforth dismissed Daisy with instructions to pack the dress for Miss Wilson to take with her. When she turned to Casey, the twinkle was back in her eyes. “Now, dear, this is not charity. I’m afraid I have a price.”

Casey stood still, hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes flicked once after the dress. “I’ll pay it if I can.”

“Oh, it’s not difficult. Just have a seat and tell me about the young man. I promise I won’t gossip, but I do miss seeing the young people make their matches. Are you meeting his family at this dinner?”

Casey nodded.

“So you’re quite nervous, I take it?”

Another nod, and Mrs. Herceforth laughed gaily. “Oh this is marvelous. My dear, you are going to dazzle them, you know. I have always found you charming and well-behaved. Even the best families are usually satisfied with that, at least at dinner.”

Casey laughed, feeling a little better. “I suppose I should concentrate on just that, but I hope they like me for longer.”

“Who are they, dear?” As Casey hesitated, she reminded her, “I said I wouldn’t gossip.”

Casey stared at the carpet a moment. Was it okay to tell her? Would the Andrews family find out she bought her dress with gossip about them? Still, Mrs. Herceforth might have advice about the dinner, and she sure wasn’t going to get it from Sam. Or even from Tom, who couldn’t understand how intimidated she felt.

“The Andrews family. In Comber.”

After a minute of staring at Casey, Mrs. Herceforth blinked once, and took a breath. “Well. You have made an impact. But let’s see,” she tilted her head, “it’s not the youngest son. I don’t believe he’s yet twenty. And James lives in Dublin. The only other unmarried boy is…” her eyebrows rose, and she looked at Casey with something approaching profound respect. “Thomas? My dear, is the young man Thomas Andrews?”

Casey’s blush was all the answer Mrs. Herceforth needed and she once again clapped her hands gaily, this time adding an infectious laugh. “Marvelous! Dear Miss Wilson, you are going to turn this town on its ear! I believe several women have had their eyes on him for their own daughters!”

Casey’s voice was small. “Mrs. Herceforth? He hasn’t asked me to marry him or anything. He just wants me and Sam to meet his family.”

This was pooh-poohed. “Dear, you have to meet the family before he can propose. It wouldn’t be proper otherwise, and the Andrews’ are proper to a fault.” The head tilted again as the blue eyes regarded her, and Mrs. Herceforth nodded once. “I approve. I’ve known that boy since he was a boy and you, my dear, are perfect for him. I bet he adores you.”

Casey smiled shyly. “I hope so. I certainly adore him.” The confession filled her with momentary fear, which faded at the genuine smile on Mrs. Herceforth’s face.

“I’m so pleased, Miss Wilson. And I’m delighted I could help with the dress. It’s perfect for this. Thank you for asking me.” The head tilted again, modestly this time. “I’m always afraid I’m something of a pest, so you’ve really made my day by wanting my advice.”

“You are too kind to do all this for me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” Impulsively, Casey hugged her and Mrs. Herceforth joyfully hugged her back.

“That dress is on an installment plan,” she stated playfully. “You’ll have to come back and tell me how the dinner went.”

Casey laughed. “I’ll do that.”

“Marvelous. Now, I really need to let you get back to work, and I wanted to look in on that new strain of azaleas. They seem to be quite vigorous.”

They discussed the plant while Casey received the dress from Daisy, and the driver helped both of them into the carriage for the trip back to the gardens.

~~~

“They’re going to ask about church,” Tom told Casey.

They were finishing in the kitchen after dinner the next night. Sam had gone into the parlor to get the fire going. Tom had been answering her questions about the family dinner, and he had offered this statement without preamble, since he could not think of a graceful way to bring it up. Casey turned to stare at him.

“Ask what about church?”

She truly didn’t seem to know. “My parents had asked me what church you and Sam attend and I didn’t know what to tell them. I did say that I thought you didn’t attend anywhere, but they were sure I was mistaken.” She looked irritated and he continued helplessly, “It’s important to them, Casey. I know, at the yard, you said you were an atheist, but it would never occur to my parents that I would court a girl who…” he paused, not sure how to say it, “…who doesn’t believe in God,” he finished lamely.

“You didn’t tell them I was an atheist, I take it?”

He shook his head.

She slowly folded her dish rag and lay it on the counter before looking at him. “Is it important to you, Tom?”

He looked at her. Bright green eyes, short, but luxurious hair, lips that smiled readily, although they were currently turned down in a frown, which caused a dimple to appear in her chin. Her small waist seemed made for his arm, and he thought all day about touching her lovely breasts…

He closed his eyes, as if to block her out, then opened them and gave her a rueful smile. “I’m so enamored of you, Casey, that the only thing I can think of, is being with you. Whatever opinions or philosophies I had before have faded away. I can’t give them credence anymore.”

She raised a finger, her expression stern. “That’s not good enough, Thomas Andrews. You’ll remember them eventually, and then you’ll be very disturbed about my beliefs.” Her hands went to her hips and he saw the chin tremble. “You need to figure out if it’s important to you or not.”

“Is it important to you?” he asked her. “I don’t mean the extreme beliefs of Mike Sloan, but just normal church life, normal Christianity? What do you really believe about that?”

She lifted a hand to her forehead and moaned in frustration. “I don’t want to make you angry, Tom.”

He half laughed. “Why would I be angry?”

“If I say I think it’s a colossal waste of time, wouldn’t that make you angry?”

“No. But tell me why, Casey. I want to understand.”

“The Irish have been killing each other for centuries, and have nearly destroyed their country because of it, and you don’t understand?”

“But that’s the extreme, sweetheart. That’s not what I’m asking you. That’s not what I… what I want you to participate in.”

She stared at him, chewing on her bottom lip, hands on her hips. She didn’t answer for a minute and he held his breath, afraid to say anything else.

He thought his heart would break as she slowly shook her head. “You want me to go to church. Sit in a Sunday School class with other women and read scripture and pray and listen to some man tell me what the Bible says I’m supposed to think and do. Am I supposed to do that every Sunday, and maybe read scripture and pray every morning before breakfast, too?”

Her words made his stomach hurt. “You make it sound so infantile and stupid,” he said softly. “And it’s not. I’ve done this my whole life, Casey, and it’s not.”

A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, her mouth in a bitter, tight line. It was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything else, and he couldn’t stand to see her so upset. He put his arms around her, pulling her close. She stiffened a moment, then buried her face in his shoulder and cried, holding him tight.

“I love you, Tom,” her voice was muffled in his shoulder. “I don’t want this to be a problem between us.”

“I don’t either, dear.” He stroked the soft curls, kissing the top of her head. “Nothing’s going to come between us. I love you too much.” He tucked a finger under her chin to look into her eyes. “There has to be a way to compromise. It’s not all preaching and scriptures, you know. There’s an entire social side to it, and that’s just as important. It’s almost like a community contract. Everyone participates one way or another, whatever their beliefs.”

Her brows lowered in confusion and she sighed. “So maybe I attend the bake sales and Christmas parties and not the sermons?”

He smiled. “That would be a start.”

“What do I tell your parents?”

He kissed her gently on the lips before speaking. “You tell them as much of the truth as you’re comfortable with. You can tell them your family was not religious and didn’t attend any church when you were a child. That Sam doesn’t belong to a church and you haven’t attended anywhere since coming to Ireland. Leave it at that.”

“Will they be satisfied with that?” She lifted a finger to trace his lips, still in his arms. He held her tighter in response, aware that he probably was not thinking very clearly.

“I suspect they won’t. But you’ve effectively put the blame on your parents and Sam, and they will expect me,” he emphasized the word, “to encourage your religious education.”

“What if I don’t want a ‘religious education?’”

He shrugged slightly. “All I can do is encourage you. My family tends to lead by example, sweetheart. No one will argue with you about it.”

But they might not permit a marriage, either.

Chapter 19

March 1907

I was right about the look on his face, Casey thought, hardly able to breathe as Tom gazed at her in the green dress when he first arrived to pick them up. The moment was so tense with desire that neither one of them felt able to move or speak. Sam broke it up, muttering out loud as he walked past Tom, “They never understand how cruel it is to look like that when you’ve got some place to be.”

They both laughed and Tom took her hand, safely remaining a few feet away from her. He bowed, kissing the back of her glove. “How did I ever mistake you for a boy?” he asked. He squeezed her hand before dropping it and offering her his arm. “You are beautiful beyond belief, Casey. I must warn you: My family are simple folk. They will be overwhelmed by you.”

She stopped in alarm, suddenly afraid again. “Is the dress wrong?” she asked him anxiously. “Is it improper for this?”

He laughed again, but didn’t answer, which wasn’t particularly reassuring, as he brought her out to the car. Sam was already waiting, and Tom helped Casey with her travel gear before seeing her safely ensconced in the front seat. When she was seated, he kissed her lips lightly. “The dress is perfect, sweetheart. They’re going to love you.”

She hoped that they did, because almost from the first moment, Casey loved Tom’s family. She realized she should have known it would be like this. Tom was sunny and empathetic, loving to laugh, and to make others laugh. It should not have been a surprise to discover his family was more or less the same.

If she had thought this would be a calm and cultured introduction to Tom’s parents, her notion was disabused as they entered the house. It turned out that anyone claiming relation to “Tommy” had insisted on being there, so in addition to his three brothers, sister-in-law, and nephew, there were cousins galore—first, second, third—Casey lost count. Even Alexander Carlisle was there with his family. He was, after all, first cousin to Tom’s mother. There were people everywhere, children and babies in abundance, with dogs and the occasional cat showing up to be petted by someone. This could not have been further from Lady Pirrie’s drawing room, and Casey felt it hard to believe the relationship existed between the families.

She would not have said they were “overwhelmed” by her, but everyone was friendly, and included her and Sam in any conversation. Tom’s brothers were all together in a corner when he brought her over to meet them. The three men were standing tall and stiff, with arms crossed over their chests. They looked down at her with stern disapproval as she approached with Tom, and her steps slowed. Her hand, resting on Tom’s arm, trembled. He looked heavenward in brief exasperation as they stopped in front of the solemn blockade.

“My brothers,” he said to her. “Harmless as kittens, I assure you.”

Men in Black. That’s exactly what they look like. Casey laughed, aware she sounded slightly hysterical. The tableau broke up, as the brothers gave in to snickers, poking each other, shaking her hand, and all talking at once. John was the eldest, two years older than Tom, and every bit as handsome. James was the shortest—which didn’t mean much—and Willie, the youngest, was the tallest of all. After a minute, an elegant woman joined them and was introduced as John’s wife, Jessie. Their sister, Nina, was in England, and they all expressed hopes that Casey would meet her soon. Tom stayed at her side, but their banter was amusing and friendly, and she did not feel uneasy for a single moment.

Tom was careful to stay with her as much as possible. If he was called away, he tugged her along with him, so that she never felt deserted. But he couldn’t help her through every moment, and when they gathered in the sitting room and he formally introduced her and Sam to his parents, he had to sit back and leave her to it.

The room was large and formal, but crowded with bright fabrics and bric-a-bracs. A massive fireplace provided warmth, the flames reflecting off brass fixtures and gleaming in the polished wood of the elegant furniture. The multitude moved in and out of the room and the noise continued, but for a few moments, Tom’s immediate family existed in a bubble as they appraised the girl who had captured his heart.

“Tommy has told us you came to Ireland upon the deaths of your parents, Casey,” Mrs. Andrews began, “Allow me to express our condolences for your loss. You must have felt so alone.”

Casey swallowed hard at the formal words. But they’re not dead! she still wanted to scream whenever she heard this type of thing, but she struggled to smile and accept the sentiment, if not the facts. “Thank you ma’am. That’s very kind.”

“We understand you’ve had a difficult year,” Mr. Andrews said. “I hope you’re finding Ireland a more pleasant place now that your situation is improving.”

“Oh, I always have,” Casey replied. “It’s a beautiful country and so full of possibilities.”

They seemed amused at this, but Tom spoke up. “Aunt Marge may have mentioned that Casey is working with the Horticulture Society. She was already familiar with Lord Plunkett’s work in agriculture and the use of land.”

This created quite a stir among the family, as Horace Plunkett was a close friend. The conversation centered for a while on the plight of Ireland’s farmers and the work being done to improve their lot. None of the family acted surprised or insulted that a woman had knowledge of this, or that she had strong, educated opinions about what needed to be done. Their calm acceptance of her went a long way toward helping her relax, so she almost missed the religious question when it came up. It turned out it was directed at Sam.

“You’re from Belfast, Mr. Altair?” The question came from Mr. Andrews and Casey saw Sam was startled. He had told her he was just going to have a good time being in the presence of people he’d read about in history books.

“Londonderry, actually,” he replied. He and Casey had decided it was better to have him living just a few years in Belfast, rather than the true tale of moving there at eight years of age. It helped explain his lack of current connections. “I spent several years in the States and have only recently returned.”

“Tom tells us you haven’t settled on a church, yet. Do let me know if I can introduce you to one of the ministers in Belfast. I think you’ll enjoy meeting them.”

Sam simply nodded and they lost themselves in the rest of the conversation and soon, dinner was announced. As the adults prepared to enter the dining room, another issue of import raised itself. The children were gathered up to pay their respects before heading off to the nursery and their own meal. As they bowed and curtsied, Casey overheard a small girl whisper in a voice filled with disdain, to the older child standing next to her. “She has red hair!” The older child whispered a mortified “Hush!” before quickly offering a curtsey. A nanny descended to take the little girl in hand, leading her away, but the plaintive voice clearly reached the adults, “But why would Cousin Tommy want a wife with red hair?”

The embarrassed silence was broken by Casey’s giggle, which she tried to muffle behind her hand. She looked up at Tom’s pink but grinning face, and added, “It’s short, too!”

Amid the general laughter this brought, she accepted their apologies, as well as a grateful kiss from Tom, which caused more laughter and some teasing. They went on in to dinner.

~~~

It was unusual for Tom’s parents to make the trip to Belfast on a weekday, but they were at his flat when he came home from work on Monday. His mother had prepared a meal and they poured him some tea while he tried to stay calm. This did not bode well.

“There’s no point beating the bush, Tommy,” his father said as they sat down to eat. “You’ll be knowing we have concerns about your young lady.”

Tom wasn’t hungry. “Aye,” he said, watching his father’s face. “I expected so.”

His mother reached over and squeezed his hand. “Don’t look so nervous, Tommy. We’re not here to condemn her.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth, but he was finding it difficult to breathe as he turned to her. “You would never condemn anybody,” he told her. “But you understand I’m hoping for approval.”

Her gaze flicked to her husband before she nodded, once. Then she looked at her son and sighed. “My greatest wish for my children is that they find love in their marriages. And I have no doubt that young woman adores you. But Tommy,” she shook her head a little, “how can you have a marriage with someone you can’t pray with? Someone who will not read Scripture with you? Who will not even attend church with you?”

“She’ll come around,” he said, knowing he had no right to say it. “She’s just never been taught.” He turned in his chair to face her. “Consider the changes she’s been through in the last year or so. Her life has been a struggle for survival after horrible loss. Give me time with her. She needs love and care.” He swallowed, feeling misery rising in his gut. “She’ll come around,” he said again.

“She must, Tom.” His father’s voice was quiet, but Tom didn’t miss the firmness with which he spoke. “At the very least, she’ll attend church regularly. You must make sure she understands that.”

Tom tried to make himself nod, but found he couldn’t. His father studied him a moment and continued. “Your sister-in-law is a godly woman, and an excellent example of the traits you should look for in a wife. She comes from a church-going family, she prays with her household staff, and sees to their religious duties. We are willing to overlook Casey’s family situation, her months of deception, even the fact that she is American. But I would be a most negligent father if I allowed you to marry a girl who could not raise your children according to Scripture, or who will run your household without the guidance of the Heavenly Father.”

“It won’t be like that.” Tom looked from one to the other. “I promise, I’ll work with her on it. We’ll work it out.” He held out a hand, begging. “You saw how wonderful she is. How good she is, even if she’s not religious. Please, just give me time.”

They seemed to relax. “We will,” his mother said, rising to warm the tea. She kissed the top of his head. “Your good influence will do wonders, I’m sure.”

~~~

He felt it best to be honest with Casey when he talked to her the next night. To his relief, she seemed grateful.

“I knew this would be the sticking point,” she said, as they talked over hot chocolate in the parlor. Her face was sad and she stared into her cup, as if the answer would appear there. She sat on the window seat, her stocking feet tucked under her. She had taken him seriously when he said she could take her shoes off when he was around, and he was glad she had. It reminded him of the trust she had in him.

“Sam tells me I won’t be able to get around this,” she continued. “He says it’s too ingrained in the culture.”

“I have to leave it up to you Casey,” Tom said. He felt as if his heart was going to stop beating. He wanted to get through this more than anything, with Casey still at his side. “I would never try to force you to do this. But…” he waited a moment, trying to get control of his voice, “I’m begging you to do it.”

She didn’t answer for a minute. Her eyes were dry, but when she spoke, her voice was husky with tears. He had to lean forward to hear her. “I could go. Every week. But I still won’t believe it. I’ll end up hating it. And resenting it.”

“If you do, then I would want you to stop,” he said. “But you have to take it one step at a time.”

“What’s the barest minimum I can do?” she asked. He saw her shaky attempt at a smile and he gave up trying to not touch her. Moving to sit beside her, he pulled her against him, relieved when she snuggled into his shoulder. He could never give her up. In the other timeline, had he ever come this close to rebelling against his family’s wishes? He was going to marry her, no matter what happened.

“Sunday mornings,” he said. “Just the church service. You might consider Sunday School or one of the women’s groups, just to find friends. But you don’t have to. Come to Comber on weekends and go to church with my family.” He squeezed her briefly. “Bow your head during family prayers.” She giggled. Neither she or Sam had done that when the family prayed before dinner and one of the older children had mentioned it, and was promptly called to task for not bowing his own head. He touched her hair and she raised her head to look at him. “That’s all for now. Start small.”

She nodded, and he felt a slight loosening in his chest. There was a chance.

Chapter 20

April 1907

Tom played on the North Down Cricket Team, and he invited Casey and Sam to the game in Belfast on a Saturday afternoon in late April. There was no rain, so Casey spread a blanket on the grass with the other spectators. Tom loved seeing her there, looking over often enough that a few of his mates felt it necessary to remind him to play cricket. They were jovial about it, since he managed to score a respectable amount.

He kept looking because she was the perfect picture of a fashionable lady. Her beige skirt and white blouse were exactly right for a sunny afternoon, and the wide hat she wore hid her short hair. She had a parasol, but had deemed it superfluous with the hat, and besides, holding it kept her from clapping whenever he made a hit.

His friends approved of her. He hoped she would find a friend or two among the women. George’s wife, Susan, had promised to make Casey a special project of hers. Tom noticed when Susan arrived and sat next to Casey, who began playing with Susan’s five month old son. He liked seeing her laughing and chatting with the women. He wanted her to feel as if she belonged. He wanted her to say ‘yes’ when he asked her to marry him.

He had called his mother before leaving work, to let her know he wouldn’t be over this weekend. Somehow, it had not occurred to him that he’d done the same thing the week before, and the week before that, and just possibly, the week before that. His mother, of course, remembered this, and she had never spoken to him in such an exasperated tone.

“Dear, perhaps it’s not a good idea to pursue the girl with such dedication. There is something to be said for suspense, you know.”

He trusted her advice, as always. So, touching the ring in his pocket, he considered her words for a moment before answering. “I can’t play games with her, Mother. If I came to Ardara and didn’t see her, I’d be miserable. I just want to be with her. It’s not like I get to see her very much, you know.”

“I understand she has been attending church with you in Belfast,” she replied. “Is she willing to attend with us in Comber? She and Dr. Altair are, of course, welcome for the weekend.”

“I know that Casey would be delighted,” Tom said. This was, perhaps, a bit strong, but anyway, he knew she would go. Nervous, he plunged ahead. “Mother, I am in love with Casey. I want to marry her and I want to ask her as soon as possible. Will you and Father give your blessing? I know you have concerns, but I’m asking you to trust me on this. She is trying to meet your conditions, in spirit as well as practice. Please welcome her into the family.”

He was surprised at her answer. “Tommy,” with a sigh, “Your father and I have already discussed this, and we both agree that we have no real right to interfere in your decision. You’re a grown man, and a good one. We have nothing but pride and love for you, and we want you to be happy.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, we still have concerns. But we know she is trying, and we have agreed that if this is really what you want, and if Casey will be your wife, then she will be our daughter.”

~~~

After the game, Tom, Casey, and Sam strolled the market for food to take home for dinner. Now with the meal cooking, they settled in the parlor, Sam and Tom in chairs and Casey on the window seat, catching the late afternoon sun.

“So, what do you miss the most about the twenty-first century?” Tom asked them. He liked to ask things like this; he never got tired of hearing about the future.

“Miss the most?” Sam repeated, giving it some thought. “Television, I think.”

“Television!” Casey was appalled. “How can you miss T.V.?”

“Oh, are you one of those snobs who never watched?”

She lifted her eyes heavenward and shrugged. “I suppose. I was a busy person. I didn’t have time to watch.”

Sam nodded in understanding while Tom looked on in amusement. He had no idea what they were talking about, but they’d get around to explaining. “It’s not so much that I miss what was on T.V.,” Sam explained, “it’s the idea that I could watch something if I wanted to. That’s what I miss.”

“Oh.” Casey thought about it. “I can see that, sure.”

She was outlined in the sun; her hair seemed aflame. Tom smiled at her, enjoying the pleasure he got from looking at her. “And what do you miss the most about the twenty-first century, dear?”

Her glance returned to the window and her expression was melancholy. “My mother,” she said.

Sam folded his hands and looked at the ceiling. Tom got up and went to sit by her on the window seat, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her forehead. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

She smiled a little. “I wish she could meet you.”

“Ah, I wish that too, lass.” He tilted his head, eyes crinkled with curiosity. “Would she approve? And your father?”

Her smile widened. “Oh yes. I think if they could meet you, they would not be worried about me at all.” She turned her face to kiss his palm, her expression thoughtful. “It’s silly, maybe, to miss her like this. After all, she lived in Berkeley and I lived in Belfast. But we used to talk all the time, almost every day.”

This kind of statement always gave Tom the shivers. What kind of technology was it, that allowed a mother and daughter to talk every day between Berkeley, California and Belfast, Ireland?

Casey gave a little laugh. “She had this uncanny knack for calling me just as I had sat down at a pub to do some serious drinking with my friends. It never failed that my phone would ring within ten minutes of sitting down.” Her voice changed as she mimicked the call. “‘Hi, Mom.’ ‘Hello, Sweetie. How are you? What are you doing?’ ‘Getting drunk, Mom. So, what are you doing?’”

They both laughed, and Casey looked at Tom in embarrassment. “You must think I’m awful, going out and drinking at pubs.”

He touched her hair, his expression serious. “You and I have had quite different upbringings, even not accounting for the time difference,” he said. “My mother was firm that none of us ever drink alcohol, and none of us does to this day. Alcoholism is such a problem in this country that I could never fault her for her insistence. But according to your society you weren’t doing anything wrong. It comforts me that you weren’t doing anything your parents weren’t aware of.” His fingers caressed her cheek. “I know you well enough to know how good you are. I think you’re…young.” He shrugged. “Maybe I never drank, but I did not always make excellent choices either, when I was your age.”

“I never got very drunk, you know,” she clarified, patting her stomach. “I can’t hold enough beer.”

He gave a little laugh and hugged her, more content than he had ever felt in his life. When Sam cleared his throat they broke the embrace, but didn’t move more than a few inches apart.

Sam just grinned and went into the kitchen to get dinner.

Tom stood and pulled Casey to her feet. “Come walk in the yard with me.”

She wrapped her fingers through his and led him through the house to the back door. It had been a warm spring day, but with the fading light, a breeze had come up. Tom slipped his jacket off, to help her into it. The yard had submitted to Casey’s ministrations and the grass was thick, with early plants beginning to rise along the border. Ash trees were spreading with leaves and some birds had built a nest. Tom smiled when he saw it, considering that a good sign.

It was a small yard and they soon traversed it, even though they strolled. They paused next to the hedges in back, to admire an early and brave rhododendron Casey spied within the branches. Rather, Casey admired the flower while Tom admired her, hands in his pockets, fingers caressing the ring he had there. He smiled steadily at her until she turned with a laugh. “There are other nice things to look at, sir.”

He tilted his head. “I’ll be the judge of that, Miss.” He reached into the hedge and plucked the flower, bringing it out and cupping it in his hands. Its red was almost black in the gathering twilight and he presented it to her, keeping the stem covered by his fingers.

“For you, my flower,” he whispered.

She didn’t take it right away. Instead, she reached to cup his face in her hands, her lips meeting his in a tender and languorous kiss. Not wanting to crush the flower, he could only stand there and return her kiss, shivering under her lips. He felt as if a wave of love had crashed over him, and he would gladly drown in it.

She pulled away, her expression dreamy, her hands a feather-light stroke on his face. She laughed a little as she remembered the flower and she took it in both hands, with a slight, teasing curtsey. He couldn’t speak, just watched her pleased smile change to astonishment as her fingers found the ring he had slipped around the stem, the diamond sparkling in the light from the house. As her eyes went back to his face, he took both her hands, enclosing the flower and ring, in his hands.

“I love you, Casey. I need you for all my life. Please Casey, will you marry me?”

His heart overflowed with joy as she nodded. He would forever hear her answer, “Oh yes. Yes, Tom,” and forever remember the look on her face. He slipped the ring onto her finger, joyful, nervous and excited all at once. He had no doubts at all.

Chapter 21

April 1907

Casey struggled to button her delicate, flouncy blouse before Tom arrived on Saturday afternoon to drive them to Ardara. Why is Edwardian fashion so enamored of fastenings in the back? It’s like they expect everyone to have a personal maid. She stared at her face in the mirror of her vanity: skin flushed, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. I can’t figure out what my role is supposed to be in Tom’s family. They think I was born in 1885! In how many ways am I screwing up what they expect to see? What do they expect of me as Tom’s wife, as daughter-in-law or sister-in-law or aunt?

Her stomach felt like a mass of buzzing bees. And even in her thoughts, she knew she was avoiding the Real Issue.

Irritated, she gave up on the blouse and pounded downstairs, demanding that Sam please get those last two buttons in the middle of her back. He did, but used the opportunity to bring up another sore point.

“We should think about hiring a maid for you, Casey.”

“What?” She whirled to face him, causing him to draw back in mock alarm. He spread his hands to show his innocence.

“It’s just a suggestion, dear. You’re going to have to have one sooner or later. Sooner would be better, for a couple of reasons.”

“Like what?” She tapped her toe, but Sam ignored it.

“You’ll be going out more often now, both with Tom, and with other women. Tea times. Shopping.” He watched her as she narrowed her eyes. “You’ll have to dress up more often and you need help with these outfits. And you’ll need a chaperone whenever you’re with Tom, and I don’t want to always have to be available.”

“I don’t want someone following me around all day. I’m still working. I don’t need a maid, there.”

“No, but perhaps we should hire a woman to be available on evenings and weekends. I’m not sure how it’s done, exactly, we’ll have to ask.”

“No, Sam.” The bees in her stomach began doing flips. “Constant chaperones are just another way of keeping women as chattel. I will not subject myself to that. I’m an adult; I’ve been on my own for almost four years. I’m not retreating into childhood, again.”

“Case, you have to consider how you look to the rest of society. At least, to Tom’s family. This isn’t about independence. It’s about fitting in. They don’t see you as a child.”

“No, they see me as woman. So I’m either weak and silly, and therefore unable to take care of myself, or I’m a source of evil temptation that Tom and I both must be protected from! This all makes me so mad, I could spit!”

“Yes, very mature.”

“You don’t have to deal with it, Sam!”

“Casey, people will talk about you. You and I know it’s ridiculous, but they’ll do it. And they’ll talk about Tom. He’ll never force you to do anything, but if you run around without a maid or chaperone, it will end up reflecting poorly on him.”

She closed her eyes. This was the one argument for which she had no response. Whatever else she did, she was determined that Tom Andrews would never suffer because a girl from the future had stumbled into his life one day in 1906.

“Am I making a mistake, Sam?”

He laughed, making her tighten her lips in frustration. “This is all just a case of second thoughts, isn’t it?” he said.

She glared at him. “Not exactly.” She didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

“You’re nervous about going to church aren’t you?”

There it was. The Issue. She and Sam were spending the weekend at Ardara and tomorrow, she had agreed to accompany Tom and his family to church. Sam had politely refused and Tom had accepted that. But Casey didn’t have that option. She had been attending Tom’s church in Belfast and in truth, she did not like it, although the music was nice. But the Andrews family had attended the church in Comber for literally centuries. Casey knew she’d be on display. Tom had tried to reassure her. She wouldn’t have to always attend, he had said. But for now, it was important.

She thought about ignoring Sam’s words, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I love him, Sam. But I’m not so naïve that I think love answers all problems. I don’t know if I can spend the rest of my life going to church every Sunday.”

“I thought you two worked out a compromise. He doesn’t expect you to always attend church, does he?”

“His family expects certain behavior from me, even if he doesn’t. All of society expects me to be pious and submissive. I’m not sure I can deliver that. Another thing I do that will reflect poorly on him.”

“Nonsense. Remember, you won’t be living in Comber. Tom believes in Christianity but after all, he usually only goes to church when he’s at Ardara and only occasionally when he stays in Belfast. He’s already said you won’t be spending every weekend with his family. Maybe just once a month or so.”

She nodded, disturbed. “I know, I know. I’m just worried that once people start expressing disapproval, Tom will cave. You know how he hates to disappoint people. And this is an important issue in this society.”

Sam shrugged. “You’ll always be the “odd” member of the family, along with your equally “odd” guardian. We won’t be able to change that.” He studied her for a moment. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it might help to remember you’re not the center of the universe. They aren’t going to be watching you closely for the rest of your life. In a short time, you’ll just be another member of the family, and it’s a big family. If we play our cards right, you and I will just get lost in the jumble.”

~~~

Tom did not seem surprised at Sam’s question about a personal maid as they drove through Belfast in Tom’s Renault. The day was warm for early spring and although Casey was wrapped in a travel cloak to keep her clothes clean, the men wore just their jackets and bowler hats. Their usual habit was for Casey to sit up front with Tom, while Sam relaxed in back, so Tom directed his remark over his shoulder in an attempt to be heard by both of them, but he glanced apologetically at Casey. “My mother brought this up when we spoke on the phone the other night. They were all quite surprised that you didn’t have a maid.”

“Meaning I am supposed to have one?” Casey couldn’t keep the defensiveness she felt out of her tone.

He shrugged. “They just put it down to being American.” He gave her a teasing smile and reached over to squeeze her hand. “You can get away with a lot using that excuse.”

Sam laughed at that and Casey let her lips twitch, but she was too upset to enjoy his teasing. She sighed in defeat. “So how do we find a maid? Do we advertise in the paper?” She remembered seeing lots of advertisements for servants back when she and Sam were scouring the classifieds for jobs.

“You could,” Tom said, “or there are agencies you can use, but Mother had a different suggestion, if you don’t consider it meddling.”

Grabbing the door of the car as they went over a steep bump, Casey shook her head. “No, of course not. In fact, I’d love suggestions.” Just please don’t stick me with a stern, bitter spinster who doesn’t think girls should ever have fun. The bees returned to her stomach as she considered possible options.

“Do you mind if we make a quick stop?” Tom asked. “It’s just a short detour and I’d like to show you something.”

They had no objections, and as he turned right at the next street, he continued with the previous discussion. “You’ve met Penny Altwright, haven’t you? She’s an upstairs maid at Ardara.”

“Of course,” Casey told him. “She was very sweet.”

“Yes, she is. And Mother thought she’d be perfect for you. Evidently, Penny’s been a bit homesick since moving to Comber. Her family’s all in Belfast and she isn’t always able to come see them on her off days.” He glanced at Casey with a small smile. “She’s just sixteen and she’s never been away from home before.”

Casey felt the twitch return to her lips at this evidence of cunning in her future mother-in-law. Penny would be back in Belfast and able to see her family more often. Casey would have a maid, but not a stern spinster. A girl, even younger than Casey, might understand her need to be free much of the time. Penny knew the rules of her society and would make sure Casey followed them, but would not be pedantic about them. They might even be friends. Could employer and servant be friends in this society? Well, no matter. As well, it was just possible that Mrs. Andrews expected Penny to provide regular reports about her daughter-in-law, although Casey was willing to believe that Mrs. Andrews was not that nefarious.

She took a few moments to think it through, calling Penny to mind. The girl was taller than Casey, but just as thin, with rich brown hair, and blue eyes above freckled cheeks. She had indeed been sweet during the short time when the women were washing up for lunch and all the maids were helping their mistresses straighten hair or clothing. Penny had come to Casey’s rescue, helping with those infernal buttons, and fluffing the short hair in wonder. The smile she gave at Casey’s words of thanks had seemed genuine, but Casey had been too distracted to think any further about the moment.

The suggestion had appeal. Casey could accept Penny Altwright as a maid and she hoped they would get along well. If friendship came along, so much the better.

Cautiously, she returned Tom’s smile. “That sounds like a good idea. I think Penny and I might be good for each other.”

His smile widened. “I think so, too. She’ll be able to help you navigate society, but she won’t be intimidating. Although,” he spared her another glance, with raised eyebrows, “I’m not sure anyone could intimidate you. You’d probably spend all your time arguing with someone who tried to be strict about things.”

“How well he’s gotten to know you, dear,” came Sam’s voice from the back and Casey just smiled at them both, as Tom pulled the car off to the side of the road.

She looked up, curious. They were on a street near the outskirts of Belfast. There were two houses farther down from them, the closer one on the other side of the street. To the right, several blocks away, an area of houses and shops could be seen; just beyond them was the university. To the left and front, hills and fields spread out, Irish green visible everywhere among scattered trees and bushes. The view was interrupted by a new house, still under construction. It was red brick with lots of window openings waiting for glass. Columns on both sides of the front door outlined a large front porch. Casey glanced at Sam, who shook his head once, as bewildered as she was.

She turned to Tom, who was resting his hands on the wheel and staring at the house, chewing his lip in an uncharacteristic, distracted way. She touched his hand. “Tom? What is this place?”

He looked at her, then turned back to the field in front of them, one hand gesturing to take it all in. “This…” he paused and a small smile tugged his lips. “This is Dunallon.”

Behind her, she heard Sam breathe out a slow “Ah…” of comprehension, but the name meant nothing to her. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She said it with care. She hated to disappoint him.

He turned to her, watching her face, his expression an odd mixture of pride, uncertainty, and hope. “It’s mine.” He tilted his head and amended, “Ours. I bought the land a few years ago, with the idea of settling down here. I started building the house last year.”

She didn’t dare even breathe, as the bees in her stomach stilled into a bunch, and a slow, warm feeling began to spread throughout her body. Not sure if it was panic or love, she stared at him, overwhelmed with a desire to sink into his arms.

He waited, holding her gaze with that odd expression. He’s afraid I won’t like it, she thought with wonder. This means everything to him. This time, when she reached for his hand, she lifted it and cradled it in both of hers, watching his eyes. “It’s beautiful, Tom.” He smiled through his uncertainty and she squeezed his hand. “Show it to me.”

It was what he was waiting for. He was out of the car in a moment and around to her door, reaching to help her down. Not forgetting his manners, he glanced a question at Sam, who waved them away. “Go on, look around. I’ll do some bird watching.”

Accepting his excuse, they turned toward the house, Tom holding her elbow while the other hand supported her waist, as the ground was uneven. “It’s too dangerous to go inside, but we can look in through the windows,” he said, helping her climb the inclined board stretched to the porch. “We’ll build steps here.” They peered in at the construction: wood and dust and ladders littered the room. Casey gasped at the large fireplace, while her heart pounded at the nearness of Tom, standing behind her at the window. She turned her head to look at him.

“Are you building this yourself?” Not only had he never mentioned it, she couldn’t imagine when he had time.

But he laughed and shook his head. “No, of course not.” He seemed more relaxed, as if reassured by her reaction. “I did a bit at first, but you’ve kept me too busy the last several weeks. The builder’s relieved to have me out of his way, I think.” He pointed, guiding her eyes back to the window and to the room beyond. “This is the parlor. Behind it, is a library. On the other side, across the hallway, is a ballroom. Not as big as the ones at the dances we’ve gone to, but big enough for about twenty people and an orchestra. We’ll be able to host our own dances.”

He took her hand. “Come around back. I think you can see the kitchen.”

She followed him, picking her way over loose dirt. “Did you draw the plans, Tom?” She could see his handiwork, similar to some of the rooms on ships.

“I drew the original plan in a general way,” he admitted. “But I’m a naval architect, not a civil one. I had someone else draw up the official plan based on mine.” He turned to her, his face creased in amusement. “It turns out there are a lot of differences when something doesn’t have to float.”

There was a mud room in back, which prevented a close look at the kitchen, but they looked through everything they could and he described what she couldn’t see. “I’ll bring the plans over on Monday, if you’d like,” he offered. “You can read plans pretty well, and you’ll see what the final house should look like.”

She held both his hands. “Tom, it’s just amazing. I can’t describe how marvelous I think I it is.”

He lifted her hands to his lips, the simple gesture filling her with desire. “I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was so nervous about showing it to you.”

“Well, silly, you could’ve mentioned it earlier. It’s like an entire side of you I never knew about. But what a fun surprise this has been!” She turned to look at the land, then moved past the loose construction dirt to the undisturbed soil a few yards away, kneeling to dig into it. Dark, rich soil crumbled between her fingers and she smiled up at Tom, kneeling beside her. “Can we have a garden?”

His eyes were serious as he gazed at the fields stretching to the hills in front of them. “I missed living at Ardara,” he said, as if he were explaining something. “I love my work. You know I don’t want to do anything else. But I miss the farm, the flowers, my bees.” He looked at her, diffidently. “I bought enough land to have a nice kitchen garden, and lots of flowers and trees. I want to bring one of the hives over, too, and we’ll have our own honey.” His fingers touched her hair. “I planned on hiring a crew to do all that and maintain it, but it’s what you do, isn’t it? Will you make Dunallon your garden, sweetheart?”

She stood, overcome with what he was giving her. As he stood, she slipped into his arms and lifted her face to his, holding him close as they lost themselves in a long kiss.

~~~

“I knew his house was called Dunallon.” It was several hours before Sam and Casey had a chance to talk privately at Ardara and she could ask him about the house. They had wandered over to a shed to admire a new litter of puppies. “But honestly, I never thought about it until he told us the name.” He smiled up at her as two of the pups wrestled in his lap. “Another example of history repeating itself, unless we interfere, somehow.”

“Well, we’re going to interfere, big-time,” she reminded him, scratching the ears of the energetic rascal in her arms. Her expression darkened. “I’ll interfere in any way I have to, to keep him safe. He’s going to live at Dunallon for a long, long time, if I have anything to say about it.”

~~~

Church was easier than she thought it would be. The Andrews were Unitarian, a faith that had been popular among her parents’ liberal friends. But there were a lot of differences between the Unitarians of twenty-first century Berkeley, and those in Edwardian Ireland, and Casey did not harbor any illusions that an atheist would fit in here. But Tom had given her a brief word of advice about that.

“The less said, the better, perhaps,” he had told her, as she nervously put on gloves while they waited by the carriage the next morning. “If someone asks specifically, I suppose you’d have to say you’re an atheist. But I can’t imagine anyone asking that. The closest you’ll get is someone asking what church you attended in America, and the main thing they’re wanting to know is whether or not you’re Catholic.” He had tilted his head to look at her with a tender smile. “Is there a particular church your family went to for any reason at all?”

She thought about it and shrugged. “There was a Congregational church down the street that had Bach concerts. We went to those, sometimes.”

For some reason she couldn’t figure out, he thought this was funny, and he was still chuckling as his parents and a few servants began to join them near the carriages.

But he had been right. No one accosted her or grilled her about her beliefs. They shook her hand, teased Tom about her, and went on to talk about the latest cricket match and North Down’s prospects for the season. They all knew the story, of course, of her employment at the shipyard. Tom’s brother, Will, had made sure she knew it was common knowledge, so she wasn’t surprised when the topic came up in the teasing. The most frequent comments were along the line of Tom “needing glasses if he ever mistook her for a boy.” They all had great fun with it. Casey began to get a sense that most people understood life was hard for the poverty-stricken, and they were willing to overlook a certain amount of “creativity” in the pursuit of sustenance. The Irish had been suffering for a long time.

The church had an amazing organ, and Casey loved the Bach interlude. They didn’t attend Sunday School so she didn’t have to endure any in-depth Bible study, or worse, be separated from Tom to attend a women’s class, so in general, she thought the experience was bearable. Especially since Tom was so pleased to have her there.

She suspected it could get more intense over the next several months or years. But Sam was right. She and Tom would ease into their own schedule and for the most part, people would not be interested in what they did. They would just be part of the community.

~~~

In bright sunshine that afternoon, Casey stood at a safe distance as Tom worked with his bees in the field at Ardara. This wasn’t conducive to intimate topics, so he soon abandoned his inspection and removed his protective gear. Taking Casey’s hand, he guided her out past the wall to the trees at the river’s side. This was as far as they could get without a chaperone, most often in the form of several children, being sent out to keep them company.

They would have just a few minutes of privacy so as soon as they were out of sight of the house, he stopped and took her into his arms, kissing her as if he’d been waiting all day to do it. After a minute, he murmured into her ear, “When will you marry me? Tell me the day.”

“Do we have to wait for the house to be finished?” she asked. He was usually firm about following the restrictive courtship rules, so she took advantage of his momentary lapse, pressing into him, her hands under his jacket, caressing his back.

His arms tightened around her. “Aye, mostly. It should be close to ready by the end of August.”

“So I’ll marry you at the end of August.”

“The last week of the month. We’ll take a honeymoon for a week or two. Anything left to do in the house can be done while we’re living there. Is that all right?”

In answer, she kissed him hard, urging him to the ground. He followed her down, his lips demanding more kisses. His hands sent shivers down her spine as he caressed her shoulders and back, until he let go of her with a gasp, and turned to stare at the river, running a shaky hand through his hair. She sat for a minute, trying to calm her own shaking, longing for him to touch her again.

“Tom?” She touched his hand and he gently folded it around hers, but didn’t look at her, yet.

“Hmm?”

“Are we going to wait until we’re married to make love?”

A laugh burst from him in a heavy sigh as he shook his head, still not looking at her. “Casey, most unmarried young ladies are so sheltered they don’t even know about that, and I’ve heard they don’t want anything to do with it when they do find out. Just what I’ve done right now, is highly improper.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.” She squeezed his hand. “I love you, Tom. Every inch of me wants to make love to you. Are you telling me that this society really expects that I don’t have any desires like that?”

He looked at her then, his face red at the intimate topic, but thoughtful. “That’s what I’ve always been told.” She shook her head in astonishment and he shrugged a bit. “Truly, it’s what I’ve been told. That women don’t like it and they don’t really desire it. That…” he hesitated, but went on, “only… well, only harlots like it.”

She laughed, a short bark of laughter. “What a crock!”

He smiled a little at her language. “Why would we be told something like that if it’s not true? I don’t understand the purpose.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Another way of controlling women, or of men excusing their own behavior? If you think your wife hates sex, then you’re free to fool around with all the harlots you want. After all, you want to give your wife a break once in a while. It’s more of that religious claptrap telling us that women are evil, and the cause of all the sin in the world. Misogyny, free and simple.” She examined him a moment. “Do you think I’m a harlot?”

His mouth dropped open. “What? For God’s sake, Casey! Of course not!” He gripped her shoulders. “I’ve told you before, you are a product of your own time, just as I am of mine. Your society was far more open about a lot of things, and you are too.” He touched her face lightly, smiling a little. “I think you are the most amazing and wonderful person in the world, Casey. I’m glad you want to make love to me. I can’t even say how precious that is.”

She smiled back at him and ran her finger over his lips, feeling his hands tighten on her arms in response. “In the future, we’re pretty casual about sex. It’s seen in movies and TV, and most people don’t think anything about people my age having relations with someone. Couples often live together first and marry when they’re ready.” She hesitated as he shook his head, clearly disturbed at her words. But she went on, “And I’ve had boyfriends. I won’t pretend otherwise. But,” she shrugged, embarrassed. “I am still a virgin. Not because I thought it was wrong. I’ve just never felt that close to any of the boys I dated. I swear Tom, you are the first man I’ve met that I’d go to bed with—anytimeanyminutejustaskme. You completely overwhelm me, Tom. You always have.”

He moved to kiss her again, but they were interrupted by a crash, and yells of “I beat you!” “No fair, you pushed!” as a mob of children burst into the cove. “There you are!” “Dinner’s ready! Grandma says to come home!” “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Okay. Okay.” Tom rose and pulled Casey up. “Get going, scalawags, we’ll be there in a minute.”

They were instantly gone, as dinner really was ready, and Tom turned to Casey with a grin. “You see one of the problems we face.”

She nodded. “I do, yes.”

He took both her hands in his, looking at her in earnest. “When I make love to you, Casey, I want time to be with you. I don’t want to rush or sneak around. I don’t want to leave you and have to pretend I’m not the absolute happiest man in the world.” He pulled her into a hug. “The last week of August. That’s four months, and I’ll be gone for over a month of that on Adriatic. Can we wait that long?”

“Yes,” she murmured into his shoulder. “August. Here at Ardara?”

“Exactly where I want to be married.”

~~~

After lunch, Sam, Casey and Tom sat down with Mrs. Andrews and Penny, to discuss Penny’s new employment. She and Casey were both nervous, but Penny was excited about the new arrangement, Casey slightly less so. Penny might be the best choice, but she still didn’t want a maid.

Mrs. Andrews had tried to think of everything. “Now Penny, Miss Wilson is not familiar with the ways of Irish society, but she still must follow them. I’m depending on you to let her know the right and wrong of things. I have no doubt that Miss Wilson will do our family proud, but she must be aware of what needs to be done. Can you do this with proper respect for her position, exactly as if you were working for me?”

Penny nodded, her face solemn. “Oh yes, ma’am, certainly.”

Mrs. Andrews turned to Casey. “Casey, I know you are unfamiliar with the protocols for servants. Employing servants and running a household, which you will soon be doing, requires both knowledge and skill. I will be available to help you with both. Penny’s primary job should be to take care of you, your clothes and your belongings. A personal maid is an assistant and often, a confidant. Since Penny is close to your own age, I’m hoping the two of you will get along well, but never forget that you are the employer. You and Dr. Altair can decide what her schedule should be, and any other duties you wish her to perform. She’s an excellent upstairs maid and she may be able to help out around the house in addition to her duties for you.”

She handed Casey a stack of small books, all tied with a red ribbon. Tom began to laugh, causing Casey to glance in bewilderment at him and then at her future mother-in-law. Mrs. Andrews gave her son a small glare and turned back to Casey. “These are manuals that describe each servant’s position and duties. You’ll need to know them all, dear.”

Casey stared in dismay at the title of the top book, “The Duties of the Housekeeper.” Not quite daring to be free with Mrs. Andrews, she turned to Tom with her own glare. “Will there be a test?”

He laughed louder and nodded. “The worst kind. Day-to-day life. You don’t dare get it wrong.”

“Nonsense.” His mother slapped his knee. “Don’t scare her.” She turned to Casey. “It’s mostly commonsense, dear. You’ll see when you read them.”

Casey looked at Penny. “Have you read them?”

The girl nodded. “I’ve read the one for the upstairs maid. And Mrs. Andrews gave me my own copy of the Personal Maid.” She sounded a little proud when she said that.

Casey kept her face straight as she nodded. “We have homework,” she told Sam, who held up both hands in protest.

“You have homework. I plan on just loitering and watching things.”

Casey felt okay about turning to Mrs. Andrews with that one. “He’ll find out otherwise.”

She nodded sagely. “He will, dear. He will.”

~~~

Casey and Sam were not prepared to take a maid into the house, so they asked for a few days leeway. Casey would read her manuals, and she and Sam would go through the house and hide all indications of the twenty-first century.

“That will be one of the difficult things,” Sam said from the back seat, as Tom drove them home. “We both find it relaxing to be able to talk to each other just as we would in our own time. With someone else in the house, we won’t have that privilege, anymore.”

Casey agreed. “We’ll be constantly on guard. It will be stressful.”

Tom looked despondent. “I’m sorry about that. It’s not intended to be a hardship, but you’re right. You’ll have to watch what you say.” His lips tightened briefly. “As well as how you say it. And how you act.” He brightened. “It may improve though, once we’re at Dunallon. There’ll be more servants and they’ll have more work to do. Servants love nothing better than to ignore the masters and be left alone. You’ll have the convenience of anonymity, at least a little bit.”

With some trepidation, they acknowledged the truth of that and Tom reached over to hold Casey’s hand. “They all like you, Casey. They still have misgivings, but they like you. I think that soon they’ll all feel good about our marriage.”

Sam had his own version. “She does offer something upper-class society is desperately in need of.”

Tom glanced back. “What’s that?”

“New blood. I bet if you did a DNA analysis of the top fifty families of Belfast society, they’d all be related somehow. Scary, that.”

Tom understood the gist of it and laughed with them. But he made them explain DNA.

Chapter 22

April—June 1907

Sea trials for the Adriatic were on Wednesday the first of May. Then she would head straight to Liverpool where she would pick up crew and passengers, as well as finish the last minute fitting out. “There are a million things,” Tom rather resignedly explained to Sam and Casey, “still to do up until the minute we sail.” The actual maiden voyage was said to begin when the ship left Liverpool heading for New York, with paying passengers.

The first ten thousand of those million things to do needed to be done before Wednesday morning, and it was almost nine on Tuesday night before Tom closed his office to head for home. Unfortunately, he found Mike Sloan just entering the outer office, so he paused, dismissing Ham with a wave of his hand. Ham hesitated, but said good night and left them alone. He’d be back well before dawn, just as Tom would be.

Tom leaned against Ham’s desk and folded his arms, eyeing his visitor with careful nonchalance. “What can I do for you, Mike?”

Sloan had put in as long a day as Tom had, and no doubt had just clocked out. Like Tom, he probably was not in a mood to waste time. “Sorry to bother ye now, sir, but it’s the first I’ve had a chance to speak with ye. Bit uncomfortable subject this is, but ye should know, sir, that my men have been talking amongst themselves.” At Tom’s raised eyebrow, he clarified, “’bout your upcoming nuptials.”

“Oh? And their consensus?”

“Well sir, they’ve been wondering…” Sloan stopped, thought a moment, then backtracked. “See, most of the men have not seen Casey since she was fired…and well, sir, they’re all hoping for the chance…” He stopped again and pulled himself straighter, blurting, “They’d like to see for themselves that she’s really a woman, sir. In the long run, it’d be best for ye if ye could bring ’er by the yard one day.”

What on earth? Tom burst into laughter, tried to speak, then decided it would be better to sit down and get the laughing under control. It took him a minute and by the time he was able to breathe again and wipe the tears from his face, Sloan had taken the other chair, his expression stern.

Fighting not to laugh again, Tom nodded. “I can arrange that, Mike. I think she’d enjoy it.”

Sloan nodded back. “That will help a bit, Mr. Andrews. I’ve told the men that I’m sure she’s a decent woman, else ye wouldn’t marry her. Ye understand they’re a bit uncertain.”

Tom tilted his head as he gazed at him. “Surely they don’t think she’s really a boy. That would be worse than ridiculous. What is this about?”

Sloan spread his hands. “Ye remember when he—no, she—worked here, she freely admitted she was an atheist. Ye’ve always been a good Christian man, sir, and the men respect ye. But they’re disturbed that ye’re marryin’ a godless woman.” He held up a hand to forestall the retort Tom was on verge of giving. “I’ve told them sir, that it’s a personal decision. None of us has a say in what ye do, and I see no reason why this would affect anything at the yard. They understand that, but still it bothers ’em.” His head dipped in a sardonic acknowledgement. “Even the Catholics don’t like it. Men are wonderin’ what they tell their wives and children, if they ask.”

“Their wi…” Tom stood, shaking with fury. “I’ll tell you what you can tell them. You tell them that the last I looked, people in this country are free to worship as they see fit. You tell them there aren’t any inquisitors going around making sure people are in church on Sunday, and saying their prayers before every meal. You tell them that Miss Wilson is as morally upright as the most pious old mother in any church. And you tell them,” Tom stood chin-to-chin with Sloan, who had stood as well, “that every wife and child could use her as their example for life, and Ireland would be a better country for it.”

Sloan seldom gave way in confrontations and he returned Tom’s angry glare with a steady look. “Aye, sir. I will tell them that, and their respect for ye will carry a long way. But ye remember sir, that the devil often uses feminine charm to hinder men who love the Lord. I can warn ye of that, but in the end, it’s between ye and God.” He gave one brief nod. “Good voyage, sir.”

Tom watched him leave, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Sloan was always trouble. Veiled threats. He suspected this wasn’t the end of it. But he’d do his best to make sure Casey never found out about this.

~~~

He talked to Ham about it on the way to Southampton. They stood on the boat deck, watching the nearly full moon light a path through the Irish Sea and cast deep shadows on the ship around them. Ham listened to Tom’s irritated description of Sloan’s demands, his face outlined by the glow of his cigarette, glasses glinting against the light as he nodded his head.

“It’s a good idea to have her come by, I think,” he said. “He’s right that there’s been a lot of talk. The men were amused at the trick to begin with. But they don’t quite know what to make of your engagement.”

“I won’t have her mistreated, Ham.” Tom was still furious. “She’ll be treated like a lady or they’ll not see her at all.”

“Ah, they’ll treat her like a lady, sir. I expect they’ll feel some awkwardness, but they’ll have on their Sunday manners.” Ham tossed the cigarette, the glow arcing to the water below. “Mayhap, you could have her come in with Lady Pirrie one day. You can bring them by the worker’s lunchroom for a few minutes to chat with whoever is there. No one will dare be forward with Her Ladyship present.”

Tom smiled sardonically at the thought. “That’s brilliant, Ham.” He chewed on his lip, thinking. “Are the men as disturbed about her atheism as Sloan has let on?”

Ham turned to look at his boss, his face blurred in the darkness. “It didn’t bother ‘em when she was working with them, sir, ‘cept for when Sloan reminded them. You know how it is: when they’re working on a ship, that’s all that matters. But,” he hesitated, then shrugged. “They look up to ye, sir. Some of them attend church with ye. They don’t understand what it means, that you’ll have a godless wife.”

“They’re making it into something it’s not.” Tom’s jaw clenched. “I’m as firm in my beliefs as I ever have been, Ham. My beliefs about the treatment of people and social justice and how we live our lives mesh quite well with Casey’s. Intellectually, she may not believe in God, but there is nothing “godless” about her.”

Ham laughed. “That may be a bit deep for most of ‘em, sir,” he pointed out, and Tom laughed a little, too. “May I ask, sir, what your uncle and aunt think of her?”

Tom folded his arms and leaned sideways against the rail. “They like her just fine. Aunt Marge thinks she’s wonderful and daring and,” his voice took on the cadence of a quote, “exactly what I need to keep me from getting lazy and complacent in my old age.”

“Well, sir.” Ham laughed again at Tom’s words. “No one doubts that Lord and Lady Pirrie are godly folk. Same with your family. If they approve of her, I think we can convince the men that means they’re content with the state of her soul. Bring her by the yard when you return from your voyage. I expect it will be just fine.”

~~~

Casey slowly adjusted to having a maid around. Her dismay with having servants increased as she read the books Mrs. Andrews had given her, but her time with Penny helped her see that the practical application of the rules could be flexible. It helped that Penny proved to be a talkative sort.

“…and my little brother is such a scamp, Mistress, that my biggest relief was obtaining employment at Ardara House,” Penny was breathless as she completed a long and detailed description of her family as she organized Casey’s clothes. Casey watched in amazement as various articles of clothing, some of which Casey could not even name, practically folded or hung themselves in neat sections in her armoire. A small pile on the bed contained those items that had fallen victim to Casey’s twenty-first century idea of female behavior, and thus, needed repairs. Penny assured her befuddled mistress that she loved to sew and would gladly spend some time each day reducing the pile.

“Unless I continue to replenish it,” Casey offered, and Penny laughed in delight.

Sam had purchased a small safe that they put in the parlor and covered with a tablecloth so that it could double as a serving table. Into this safe, they placed their future gadgets and clothing, along with the time travel journals. They hoped this solution would protect both them and Penny, who would have access to the entire house.

“It is,” Sam admitted, “a temporary solution. We’ll keep adding journals, after all, and once you’re at Dunallon, there will be Tom’s journals, too.”

Casey thought about it. “I’ll ask Tom if he can build a locked cabinet for the library. We can make it large enough to hold a few years’ worth of journals.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to keep adding cabinets, I guess. Although, once we’re past the Titanic, maybe we won’t have so many changes to document.”

Sam snorted at that, but didn’t offer any other comment.

So it became just a matter of getting used to having someone else around. For Casey, this was easier than she had feared: Penny stepped into the place left empty of friends, and the two of them spent a great deal of time giggling about one thing or another. It was Sam who suffered with the new arrangement, grousing that having two young girls to watch after was not what he expected to be doing in his sixties. But there was often a twinkle in his eye when he retired to the parlor to read.

Casey did take her supervisory duties seriously, telling Sam she was “terrified of screwing up” once Dunallon was in her charge. She confessed this to Penny, using somewhat different language, and they both took on the task of reading all the servants’ manuals and discussing how practical application might work. Penny’s experience as a maid was brief, but she was familiar with her society, and Casey was grateful for her help.

~~~

Two weeks after Tom’s return, Lady Pirrie picked up Casey and the two of them rode in her carriage out to Queen’s Island. Casey matched Lady Pirrie in dignity, wearing a lavender, high-necked blouse, with chiffon lace in the yolk and the long sleeves, and a matching skirt sporting two panels of the same lace. Penny had pinned her hair on her head and covered it with a wide hat graced with a lavender chiffon bow. Casey carried a white parasol and wore a cameo necklace and earrings that Tom had given her as a birthday present. It was doubtful the men would even recognize the boy they had worked with for five months.

Tom met them at the door to the administration building, hiding his nervousness with a gallant air. The sight of his playful love looking so regal nearly took his breath away. He kissed her cheek and turned to offer the same to his aunt, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Doesn’t she look marvelous, Tommy? The very picture of ladylike decorum.”

“Yes indeed,” he murmured, his admiring glance making Casey blush. “How long do you think she can keep it up?”

Lady Pirrie eyed Casey thoughtfully. “About an hour, I should think. I’ll need to have her in the carriage before it turns back into a pumpkin.”

They both nodded seriously and Casey haughtily lifted her skirt, reaching to take Tom’s arm. “Goodness. We’d better get started then, don’t you think?”

She was expected, but that didn’t stop the double-takes and stares as they made their way toward the lunchroom. Casey felt her heart choking her as she walked with Tom through the familiar hall and tried to smile at the faces she knew. They had timed the visit toward the end of the lunch break, so that the men would have had a chance to eat, and were starting to relax. The room was full when they walked in, Sloan and his evangelicals grouped near the door.

The noise stopped, then started again as several hundred men rose to their feet at the sight of the two ladies. Casey received a good many gapes. Lady Pirrie waved them down and called out a greeting.

“Thank you for giving us your time. We’ve been looking forward to formally introducing my nephew’s fiancée to you all.” She turned to Casey beside her and pulled her from Tom’s arm. “I know she looks different and fabulous, but I assure you: she’s the same sweet Casey we all worked with for so long.”

In all her preparation for this meeting, Casey had never figured out what to say. Now she faced their astonished stares with a blank mind. As she stepped forward, her gaze fell on Ham, sitting next to Sloan and grinning that incredible grin that seemed to split his face. The very same grin that had greeted her on her first day, over a year ago. The memory brought her own happy smile out, and she spread an arm, leaning lightly on her closed parasol with the other. The pose allowed them all a good look, and her eyes wandered over the crowd.

“I thought you were all marvelous to work with, and I’ve always missed being here. I’m truly sorry for my deceit, and I hope we can still be friends.” She turned a bit, indicating Tom with her head, and glanced flirtatiously back at her audience. “You mustn’t blame me for not being able to tell this man I couldn’t work for him when he offered me a job.”

They laughed, and Tom kissed her hand. Then she sat at the table in front, and most of the men she had known gathered around. They spent several minutes catching up with the work of the yard and how their families were doing. They seemed glad to see her, but the awkwardness never quite went away and after a few minutes, she realized that it wasn’t just because they were faced with Casey the girl. She was Miss Wilson, the boss’s fiancée, and any familiarity they had enjoyed before would never completely return.

She stood as the bell rang to signal the end of the lunch break and turned to find herself facing Mike Sloan. When he took her hand, an involuntary shudder went down her back as she remembered that terrifying confrontation the day she was fired. Grateful for the presence of Tom and Lady Pirrie, she tilted her head as he presented a brief bow. His manner was polite, but his look was piercing.

“Thank ye for coming, Miss Wilson,” he told her formally. “It puts the men’s minds at ease.”

She nodded. “Thank you for giving Tom the idea. I enjoyed seeing everyone again.” She met his eyes and decided to call his bluff. “We all live in this town, Mr. Sloan, and we all want to live in peace and raise our children to be happy people. Shall we work toward that goal together?”

Trapped, he let the corner of his mouth twitch once before answering, not without a small threat: “I am at your disposal, Miss. The good, Protestant people of Belfast want nothing more.”

Chapter 23

July 1907

“Lord Dunmore,” Sam said to Tom and Casey at dinner one night, “was delighted to hear about your engagement. He says he has worked with your father on various projects, Tom, so he knows who you are.”

“Oh, indeed.” Tom gave it some thought. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I remember my father talking about him over the years. He’s been in London for some time, hasn’t he?”

Sam nodded. “My understanding is that he was living there until a couple of years ago. I guess the king asked him to take charge of the telephone company here, to get it on solid ground. Anyway,” Sam continued, “he’s invited us all for dinner this Saturday, if that will be convenient. He’s hosting a few visiting dignitaries, but wanted to fete your engagement, as well.”

“Buttering you up, is he?” Casey asked, making Tom choke a bit in surprise.

Sam laughed, his eyes dancing in amusement. “He is, actually. He sold my water heater design for an obscene amount of money. I’m his new best friend.”

Tom laughed along with them, then pointed his fork at Casey. “You are a cynical person, young lady. Do you always suspect ulterior motives when someone makes a friendly gesture?”

She nodded. “I do, yes. At least, I do when the somebody is a hard-nosed businessman and a lord whatever, as well. Such people normally wouldn’t have an interest in my engagement.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“I just try to keep everybody honest.”

“Just stay on her good side, Tom.” Sam told him. “I’ve found she can be helpful, at times.”

~~~

Given Sam’s new position, Casey supposed it was inevitable that they would run into Colin Riley at some point. On Saturday, they arrived at Lord Dunmore’s soiree, admiring the formal gardens and farmland that surrounded the mansion. Inside, Casey felt as if she were in a museum, and moved with care to avoid the bejeweled statuary and the gleaming white walls with gold-trimmed wainscoting. Lady Dunmore also favored large potted plants, and more than once Casey found herself being tickled by a wayward leaf if she stepped too close.

She was standing near Sam when she saw him straighten, staring ahead with tight lips. She turned to see Dr. Riley standing stiff and angry in front of him. The two of them looked like fighting cocks seizing up the competition.

For a moment, she was just as shocked as they were, her mouth hanging open as she stared at their erstwhile benefactor. Sensing an imminent explosion, she forced herself to step between them.

“Dr. Riley! What a surprise to see you, sir. Have you returned to Belfast, then?”

“Ah, have you already met?” Lady Dunmore had just approached, laying an elegant hand on Dr. Riley’s arm and smiling beatifically at Casey. “It’s so nice when a few of the guests are already acquainted.”

Tom had moved beside Casey, having heard her comment. He reached to shake Dr. Riley’s hand. “Dr. Riley, I’m Tom Andrews, Casey’s fiancé. Sam and Casey have told me all about you. It’s delightful to meet you, at last.”

Sam mentioned later that Dr. Riley did seem to have trouble adjusting to unexpected situations. As when they first met him, he made no response, continuing to shake Tom’s hand while he simply stared. A bemused Lady Dunmore hesitantly asked if anyone wanted a drink.

Dr. Riley recovered a bit. “Thank you, my Lady, a drink would be delightful.” His gaze went back to Tom. “Andrews? Of the Comber Andrews?”

“Aye,” Tom said.

Riley bowed, including Casey in the movement. “My congratulations to you both. If you will excuse me…”

He offered no real excuse, just strolled away, ignoring Sam, who stared after him, dumbfounded. They all did.

Casey broke the silence. “I think the gauntlet has been thrown.”

Tom looked down at her. “What do we do with it?”

They both looked at Sam, who returned their gazes with a twitch of his brow. “Damned if I know,” he said.

~~~

For the rest of evening, Sam presented a well-mannered front, gracious to his hosts and friendly with the other guests. He tried unobtrusively to avoid Riley, suspecting that others would attempt to get them together, once it was known they were both physicists. Indeed, a few people mentioned it and offered to introduce them, overtures that Sam declined, mentioning that he had already had the pleasure, and then deflecting the offer, one way or another.

It was not a large crowd, thirty guests altogether. Sam’s dinner partner was Lord Dunmore’s niece, a winsome woman of thirty or so, visiting from London with her young daughter. Riley was further down the table, entertaining the widowed Mrs. Herceforth. Sam could not decide if that was a good thing or not, but knew he would have to deal with whatever occurred. Mrs. Herceforth did love to talk, and since Casey was one of her “projects,” Sam was sure Riley would receive all the details regarding Casey’s recent engagement. As well, Tom was seated across from Riley and so was included often in Mrs. Herceforth’s teasing descriptions of their courtship. Sam could see that Tom was keeping it light, and for the most part, it seemed that Riley was, too. Casey had the fortune to be seated at the other end of the table, with Lord Dunmore.

Before dessert, their host rose and offered toasts to his guests of honor: a visiting earl come to inspect the progress of the telephone company, and the more personal toast to Tom and Casey, announcing his delight in their engagement, as well as his confidence regarding Tom’s growing ability to tell male from female. Even Sam had to laugh at that. Poor Tom would never live it down.

Riley didn’t laugh at all.

~~~

“He didn’t make a disparaging comment all night,” Tom told Sam and Casey on the drive home. “I’ll admit he didn’t say much at all, just nodded a lot and smiled when necessary. But I have no idea what he was thinking.”

“I’m of two minds,” Sam said, sounding thoughtful. “Perhaps I should just go on the offensive and call on him. Ask for a meeting and let him know what we’re doing. See if he’ll let bygones be bygones.”

“Or?” Casey asked.

“Do nothing. He did say, the last time we saw him, that he didn’t want to see us again. If he does say or do anything, we just act like we don’t know what he’s talking about. After all, what is he going to do? Tell Lord Dunmore I’m from the future and I’m using my knowledge to create new technologies?” Sam gave a small, bitter laugh. “Who would believe him if he said such a thing?”

Tom reached for Casey’s hand, rubbing her gloved fingers. He looked disturbed. “I think I’d like to talk to him.” He glanced at Casey, trying to gauge her reaction. “He knows my family’s reputation, and is aware of who I am. Maybe I can reassure him about the two of you. Negotiate a truce, or something.”

Casey squeezed his hand and Sam agreed that might be their best option.

~~~

Tom’s plan to see Riley early in the week was delayed by an announcement he should have remembered was coming.

Pirrie had just returned from London, and had called a meeting of the managing directors. This wasn’t unusual, and Tom had a lot on his mind. His uncle was cheerful and excited as they all gathered in the elegant conference room, and he brought them to order quickly, the chandelier catching the gleam in his eyes, a huge smile on his face and a roll of design paper on the table beside him. But as he talked, Tom felt a chill start in his heart and spread to the farthest parts of his body.

“We have a new project,” Pirrie started out. “I had dinner with Bruce Ismay recently, and we discussed plans for a new line of ships.” He pinned a rough sketch on the board along one wall for them to see and spread his arms to indicate the whole. “This is the “Olympic Line,” gentlemen. There will be three ships. They’ll be the largest, most luxurious vessels in the world. They’ll ply the Atlantic between Europe and America, each one carrying more than three thousand passengers and cargo. Each will have room for all passenger classes and,” he pointed suddenly at Tom, who wasn’t the only one to jump a little bit, making them all laugh a little, “first-class accommodations will be as elegant as the grandest hotels. You know how to do that, Tommy.” He continued over their laughter, building the excitement, “Second class will be nearly as nice as first class on other vessels and third class will the nicest anywhere in the world.”

He became serious for a moment. “Now you know that Cunard developed the new turbine engines with assistance from the government. They did this by agreeing to build their ships combat-capable, so the military could take them over on a moment’s notice.” His face purpled and he thumped the table in front of him. “White Star is not going to do that, gentlemen! These are passenger ships and mail vessels, and they will be classy through and through, as befits the White Star Line and the noble people who will be paying passengers! So we’ll stick with the engines we know, but no expense will be spared to make these ships the best in luxury and service.”

He paused to drink some water from the crystal glass in front of him. Tom held his breath, not daring to look away. Pirrie continued, “The first two ships will be the Olympic and the Titanic. We’ll build them…” his voice faded from Tom’s awareness as Tom stared at the notes in front of him, dizzy. He felt as if he were sinking into an encroaching darkness that somehow smelled of cold seawater. Someone else said something and there was laughter, and his uncle continued on, but all Tom heard was the now-beloved voice of Casey repeating, “a ship called Titanic… a ship called Titanic…”

God Almighty. It was really happening.

~~~

When he told Casey and Sam that night, sitting in their small parlor after dismissing Penny, they got as quiet as he had done, as the reality of the situation stared them down. Had they just been playing a game all this time? Had it, for them, just been “history,” something to read about in school or watch in a theater?

Now, faced with the project before him, with having to draw designs and build models and make recommendations, Tom was desperate to know what his first step would be. He held his time travel journal in his lap, with its notes and sketches of the last few months, and begged Sam to tell him what to do. Casey was silent, her face pale, her stocking feet curled up under her as she sat next to him on the divan, looking only at him. As if he would disappear if she looked away.

Sam looked helpless. “Tom, I don’t know how to build ships. I can’t tell you step-by-step, day-by-day, what your actions will be. Or what they should be.” He held out a hand. “Let’s take it a day at a time, okay? You do what you always do. We’ll talk about it. We’ll talk every day and figure out how that day’s actions fit into the big picture. If you come to a place where I have an idea that might help, I’ll tell you. We’ve got five years, Tom.”

Tom shook his head. “We have less than that, actually. We can’t make these decisions at the last minute. We have a few years, at most. We’ll have to make a difference long before that.”

Sam nodded. “All right. We will. We’ll go over it constantly.” He rubbed his face, staring at the low table between them. “It’s too big to do all at once, Tom. We’ve always known that. What are the first pieces you design?”

Tom glanced at the notes he’d written in his journal, not really seeing them. “Uncle Will always does a fairly detailed preliminary sketch that gives us the ship’s dimensions, tonnage, engine type, things like that. I’m meeting with him and Cousin Alex tomorrow. We’ll decide on our first steps, then.”

Sam slapped his hands together. “Excellent! Then tomorrow you’ll have a better idea of what happens.” He leaned toward Tom, lightly touching the journal Tom held. “Don’t get bogged down, lad. We’ll work on it together, every day. Take your time, think things through, keep your head above water.”

Casey gasped and both men looked at her, startled. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Sam in disbelief. He realized what he’d said and stood, running his hand through his hair.

“Jesus, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I’m going to see if dinner’s ready.”

Tom put his journal down and pulled Casey into his arms. She hadn’t spoken at all, and he could think of nothing to add.

~~~

He spent the next day in meetings with Lord Pirrie and Alexander Carlisle. Despite a sleepless night, he supposed he functioned all right; at least, no one seemed to notice anything strange about his behavior. As they talked, he began to see the project through their eyes, and slowly, he came back to himself, understanding that the work was going to be a joy, the kind of project that few men ever had the opportunity to work on. The day was spent discussing firsts, because everything they thought of to do needed something else done first, some technology invented, some space cleared or machinery built, some bidding process begun. The scale was more than humans had ever attempted, at least, Tom remarked wryly, since they’d built the pyramids. It even occurred to them that piers around the world would not be large enough to accommodate these ships, so negotiations would have to be opened with harbormasters in New York and elsewhere.

The sheer challenge of the project began to excite him: really, he was lucky to be in this place, at this time! He built ships, beautiful ships, marveling as they took shape under his direction, from putting the first thoughts on paper to the tiniest details improved upon during a maiden voyage. These new ships would require all his knowledge, all his experience and care, to become real. He would work with Sam and Casey, using their knowledge to make the ships as safe as they could be. And deep within, where the love for his work sometimes threatened to overwhelm him, Tom knew these ships would be his legacy. He would make it a good legacy, not the painful one described in another history. Perhaps others had left better things to the world, but these were not such a bad thing to leave behind for future generations to build upon.

Chapter 24

July 1907

A whirlwind blew through the design department, as they started on the first drafts of the Olympic-class ships. Every man was drawing something, working meticulously from Lord Pirrie’s initial draft. Tom was deep in a discussion with four of his team members when Ham tapped his shoulder.

“Fellow to see you, sir.” Ham indicated Tom’s office with his head. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he said it was important. Riley’s, his name.”

“Riley?” Tom thought for a moment, as the men waited. “Give him some tea and tell him I’ll be about five minutes.”

Ham nodded and disappeared. Tom went back to his discussion but remained distracted. Riley coming to him was an interesting development. Maybe he’s also thinking he can negotiate through me.

Entering his office a few minutes later, Tom looked the man over. Ham had placed Dr. Riley in the comfortable chair that was part of Tom’s informal meeting space in a corner of the room: a sofa, two chairs and low table between them. A cup of tea lay steaming on the table, as Riley looked through a copy of Shipbuilder Magazine that Tom kept in the office. Dressed in simple business clothes, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a briefcase at his feet, Riley looked harmless enough. Tom stayed on his guard.

“Dr. Riley, how nice to see you again.” Keep it friendly, Tom thought as Riley stood to shake his hand.

“Good of you to see me without an appointment, Mr. Andrews. I’m willing to set up a time to come by if this is inconvenient.”

Tom waved it off. “It’s all much the same. Work seldom slows down around here.” He sat in the other chair and steepled his fingers. “I was planning on going to see you, anyway. Since you’re here, why don’t you start? What can I do for you?”

Riley regarded him with diffident seriousness. “Mr. Andrews, I want to assure you that I am not a person who usually meddles. You and I are strangers; I have no right to interfere in your life. But I could not sleep nights, if I thought you were in danger, and I had the means to warn you of it, but did not.”

“We must make sure you sleep, sir.” Tom hoped he didn’t sound sarcastic. “What must you warn me about?”

“Your fiancée, sir.”

Tom held up a hand. “No, sir. We will not play this game. You have nothing to say to me regarding Miss Wilson.”

Riley straightened his back, sitting stiffly. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Andrews. I have nothing but admiration and respect for the young lady. If anything, my meddling is as much for her sake as for yours.”

That confused him and Tom once again steepled his fingers. “All right. You’ll have to explain.”

“I learned enough the other night to know that Miss Wilson has been through a difficult time. I am, perhaps, responsible for that to a certain degree, and I deeply regret it if my actions caused her hurt.”

Tom knew his face showed his astonishment, but Riley continued without pausing. “She may have told you that they came to me for assistance when they first…arrived…in Belfast. I’m afraid I was not as helpful as I should have been. I realize that, now.” Riley’s face contorted in sorrow. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. It did not occur to me that she might have been in danger, or was at the mercy of Altair. But I should have thought of that.”

“What?” Tom gave a short bark of laughter. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Lord Dunmore introduced him as her guardian, sir, but I assure you, he is no such thing.”

“Dr. Riley…”

“Please sir, let me finish.” Riley held out a hand, all appearances that of a man torn with guilt. “I sent them away and then I left town. She had no protection, no one to turn to. If he’s not deliberately malicious, then Sam Altair is insane. I don’t know how he’s used her…”

Tom stood, fist clenched in fury. “Shut up, Dr. Riley. I’m warning you, shut up, now.”

Riley gaped at him, then snapped his mouth closed, eyes on Tom’s face. Tom pointed a shaking finger at him. “You know nothing of what has happened to them. You know nothing about them. They tried to tell you, they asked for your help. Oh, you’re right about that. You let them down in the worst way. You’re right, you sent Miss Wilson out with no help, no protection except what Sam Altair was able to give her. At least, he tried. He never deserted her. He certainly never used her, in any way.” Tom put his hand down, eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to accomplish, Dr. Riley? What is it you want?”

Riley swallowed, clearly unsettled, his voice thready and uncertain. “Merely to help Miss Wilson, I assure you. And yourself.” He held up both hands. “Please Mr. Andrews. You are correct. I don’t know what has been happening to them, other than what I heard at dinner. I’ve had only the one conversation with them a year-and-a-half ago, and the time since then to ruminate on it. If you knew what was said that day, you would understand why my only conclusion can be that he is insane. Or a charlatan of the worst kind.”

“You have decided that, Dr. Riley. You have no proof of anything. Indeed, you have no reason at all to even think it, except that it makes you more at ease. You are a coward, sir.”

“I beg your pardon…”

“Yes. A coward. You were too afraid to try to understand, so you just sent them away.”

“Of course, I was afraid. If you knew what was said…”

“I know what was said. Do you think they’ve tried to deceive me? That they’ve lied to me?”

Riley stood, his expression alarmed. “Mr. Andrews! If they told you the same story… I don’t know if they did, but if they did… I would not expect you to have the scientific knowledge to understand how ludicrous it is. There is no shame in being fooled by them; their story was very convincing. I believed them myself for a while.”

Tom felt tired, as if all his strength were draining away. He turned and moved behind his desk, sitting in his chair, needing some distance between them. Riley moved over to the chair in front of the desk, but didn’t sit. He leaned toward Tom.

“If you love that girl, Mr. Andrews, get her away from him. He’s not her guardian. I can promise you there are no legal documents in place regarding that.”

Tom hesitated. Whatever Riley’s motives, he was right in this assessment. Sam was not Casey’s legal guardian. Tom felt the untruth was harmless, and he had willingly complied with propagating it, even to his own family. But society’s disapproval would be ferocious, if the truth were known, and it would not matter that Sam truly cared for Casey as a daughter. Appearances were everything.

He felt the beginnings of fear.

“Sit down, Dr. Riley.” His fear made him angry and he used that anger in his voice. Riley blinked once, standing as if he would resist, but then he sat, once again the picture of reasonableness. Tom regarded him a moment, trying to calm himself. But when he spoke, his anger was still evident.

“I will not have Miss Wilson’s reputation offended in any way. Surely, you understand that your comments are bordering on threats. I will ask you again: what are you trying to accomplish? What exactly are your plans regarding Miss Wilson and Dr. Altair?”

Riley shook his head. “I mean no threats, sir. I am willing to believe that Miss Wilson is an innocent victim, left with no choices partly because of my own inaction. This is why I’ve come to you, sir. I have no intention of revealing the true nature of their relationship. You obviously are already aware of it and you plan on marrying her, anyway. I assume that means you are satisfied the relationship is proper.”

Tom rubbed his hands, to prevent curling them into fists. “He cares for her as much as my own father cares for my sister. You have completely misjudged him, sir. The story of a guardianship allowed him to take care of her, and offered her the protection of a father, something she sorely needed while they were struggling to survive. He has no indecent motive at all.” He leaned forward, hand outstretched. “I will have your word that you will not damage her reputation. She’s done nothing to you. I have done nothing to you. Allow us our happiness, sir.”

Riley had a look in his eye that showed he knew he’d won this round. Tom felt as helpless as a fish in a net.

Riley was gracious in victory. “I give you my word, Mr. Andrews. I will do or say nothing that sullies the young lady’s reputation. But you must know, I do not intend to let Altair get away with his game.”

Tom stood. “That is between the two of you, although I assure you that Dr. Altair has my full support. But Casey Wilson is under my protection, and that of my family.”

Riley stood as well. “Formidable protection, indeed. Good day, Mr. Andrews.”

Tom was silent and did not move until Riley had left.

~~~

Dunallon was complete enough that Tom had moved in amid carpenter’s tools, ladders, and the odd piece of wood or tile. Casey and Penny had set up the kitchen so they could all eat dinner there on those evenings when they gathered to work on the house or grounds. Tom had brought over the furniture from his flat and they ate at the small dining table while Penny finished her meal in the kitchen and washed the dishes. Talking softly to keep her from overhearing, he told Casey and Sam about Riley’s visit.

“Insidious,” Sam shook his head. “How amusing that I’m supposed to be the monster in this situation.”

Casey was furious. “What does he expect to do? How is he going to attack you, Sam?”

“Don’t know,” Sam chewed thoughtfully, gazing at the chandelier. “If he’s after a scientific attack, the usual mode is through journals, papers, or conferences. The thing is, I’m not submitting to any of those things. This is one reason I’ve tried to stay in the background and build a team to work out my “suggestions.” It would be like tilting at windmills.”

“And if he can use me as leverage?” She looked disturbed at the thought.

Sam gestured to Tom. “He’s promised Tom he won’t do that.”

“You believe that?” She reached to touch Tom’s hand. “What exactly did he say?”

Tom thought back over the conversation. “That he would do or say nothing to sully your reputation.” A brow twitched at Casey. “You assume he’s left himself an out? Some way to still use you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but yes, I suspect it. He’s let you know he has a weapon against you. Against both of you, really. He doesn’t have to do something blatant. It only takes the suspicion of improper conduct for this society to turn against you.”

Sam folded his napkin. “As far as I’m concerned, he has now made the first move. The ball is in my court. I’m going to have a talk with him.”

“Maybe all three of us should go,” Tom suggested. “Maybe he came to see me because he wanted to gauge my role in all of this. A fact-finding mission, as it were. Fine, he’s done that. But I think we need to present a united front. Our goal should be to resolve this situation, not take it to war.”

Casey grinned. “Shall we invite him to dinner?” Her tone was wickedly gleeful.

Both men laughed and Sam rubbed his hands together. “May be a bit much. Still, what would he do? Refuse to come?”

“It would be unpardonably rude,” Tom pointed out.

Sam looked at Casey. “Perhaps you should extend the invitation. Saturday night?”

“Have some equations for him to work out on the calculator,” Tom said.

~~~

Riley sent his regrets.

Sam put the note, with its vague excuse, in the safe with the time travel journals and planned on leaving work early to pay him a visit. The gloves were off, as far as he was concerned.

Lord Dunmore requested a meeting right after lunch. Sam arrived on time, taking the proffered upholstered chair in the window-lined, paneled office. Lord Dunmore never stinted on elegance and he seldom wasted time, either, getting right to the point.

“Had the oddest meeting this morning, Sam. Thought you should know about it,” he said around the unlit cigar in his mouth, replacing the box on his desk after Sam politely waved away his offer.

“Oh?” Sam could guess.

“That fellow, Riley, from the university, came by. Mind you, I don’t put much stock in what he said, but it’s probably best to not just ignore it. What is it between you two?”

“I’m curious about that myself, sir. Casey and I had invited him over for dinner this weekend, but he declined. I thought I’d go by his office this afternoon and see what he says.”

“You don’t know of any reason he’d be so vituperative? He seems to think you’re a crackpot!”

Sam held a hand out. “I’ve met him once, when Casey and I first came to Belfast. I was familiar with some of his work and frankly, I had hoped he’d be able to help us out with a job. You know things were hard for a while.”

Dunmore nodded; he knew some of it since he’d hired Sam practically off the street. Sam continued.

“He must have taken away an impression I wasn’t aware of. Truly, I admire his work, sir. I would like to get to the bottom of this directly. He’s also gone to see Tom Andrews. Evidently, he is talking to everyone except me. Seems unsporting.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Dunmore looked disturbed. “I had the feeling he was fishing for information as well as warning me about you.” He held up a hand at Sam’s surprised look. “Well, that’s what he was doing, Sam. Telling me your credentials were bogus and that I should carefully vet any science you do. He was shocked when I told him you admitted you had no degree. Couldn’t understand why I hired you. Of course, he hasn’t seen the latest profit and loss statements, either.” Dunmore laughed, rolling his cigar between his fingers, as he leaned back in his chair. “Have a chat with him, Sam. The thing is, we need investors for what you want to do. Riley’s accusations could scare some of them away. Keep me posted, eh?”

Sam agreed, and left for the university.

~~~

The office was unchanged; indeed Sam was almost certain that some of the same piles of paper remained in their places on the floor. Riley was at his desk, writing furiously, cigar burning between two fingers, a cup of tea gone cold beside his elbow. In the light from the window, Sam thought his hair looked thinner than a year ago, but maybe not. So many things were strange that day, how could he notice someone’s hair?

He remained in the doorway, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms. “Got a minute, Dr. Riley?”

Riley jerked, knocking the cup, which sloshed a bit, but didn’t spill. He glared up at Sam. “What do you want?”

Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, Sam shrugged. “An honest exchange of hostilities, I guess. I’m a little uncertain what our argument is about.”

Riley jabbed his pen into its holder, lips tight as he regarded Sam. Finally he spoke, pointedly not asking Sam to sit. “I see two possibilities, sir. One is that you are simply insane. The other is to believe you, and face the fact that you are using your special knowledge for nefarious purposes. Either way, you are a serious danger to society.”

Sam sighed, moved the books from the visitor’s chair and sat. Riley watched, but said nothing. “You see no third possibility at all? Maybe I’m a congenial bloke who only wants to help people.”

“Your work for Lord Dunmore enriches you. You are building an empire, sir.”

Sam laughed. “An empire? I have no answer to that charge, I’m afraid. I’m sure my team will find it amusing.” His gaze sharpened as he grew serious. “You object to my earning a living, sir? Surely you wouldn’t be happier if Casey and I were still living on the streets of Belfast?”

Riley’s mouth twitched. “You could have seen the girl safely in a shelter, if you were really concerned about her. I have serious doubts as to your motives, but Mr. Andrews seems certain you have cared for her to the best of your ability.”

“I have, I assure you,” Sam said. “At times, I despaired that my ability was so poor, but we seem to have recovered.” He leaned forward, a hand resting lightly on Riley’s desk. “Dr. Riley, please. We have so much to offer one another. I swear, that every word I told you at our first meeting was the absolute truth. You were my only hope, and I am in your debt for the help you were able to give us. I understand your disturbance, and your doubt. But can you not see your way to a collaboration, or at least, a truce?”

Riley was silent, elbows propped on his desk, his hands folded, tapping his mouth with his fingers. He answered slowly. “I promised Mr. Andrews that I would not hurt the young lady, or impugn his involvement with her. I intend to keep that promise. But your work, sir.” He shook his head, agitated. “If your story is true, I can only assume you are on a deliberate course to control the future, using knowledge that only you have access to. This makes you unaccountably powerful and dangerous. No man should have such power, sir. I don’t know how I can stop you. But I know I must try.”

Sam sat calmly in the chair, a foot propped on the other knee, hands folded in his lap, eyes on Riley’s face. He thought of the dictators of the twentieth century, the suffering and destruction awaiting the world’s population in the years to come. He knew he was not like those dictators. But he understood Riley’s concerns, better than Riley could ever imagine.

“You have no idea how right you are,” he said with quiet conviction. “I can promise you that I have no desire for total power, or even excessive riches, but you have no way of knowing if I’m sincere or not. So let me be as honest as I can: I do have an agenda.” Riley’s hands jerked at this admission, but Sam continued. “I want to understand what happened when Casey and I came back in time. I want the research on time travel to continue. To do that, I have to build up the technology, bring it up to, and past, the point of the twenty-first century. I have to do it as quickly as possible. I’m already sixty-one, Dr. Riley. If I am to see any advances in my lifetime, it’s got to happen right away.”

Riley shook his head, disturbed. “That’s not possible, Dr. Altair.”

“I know.” Sam’s words were a bleak admission he seldom let himself acknowledge. “But I’ll do what I can. I’ll have the team in place and they’ll be able to continue. In the meantime, the advances I’m suggesting serve the double purpose of advancing technology, and improving the quality of life. Is any of that really evil?”

“We aren’t ready for it, Dr. Altair.” Riley’s cigar had long since gone out and he threw it on his desk. “The danger is that you push us too far, too fast. How do we adjust to technology that will seem like magic to most people? That only a few elite scientists or engineers are able to understand? You will be building a super race of humans who could wield god-like power over the rest of us. How will you prevent that?”

“A foundation for education,” Sam replied.

“A what?”

“All investors are required to donate a portion to establish a foundation for education. In addition, a portion of every sale of every invention goes into this foundation. The idea is to fund public education enough to advance society along with the technology. It’s too late for most adults to catch up, that’s true. But the children will be taught as they grow with the changes.”

Riley stared at him, open-mouthed. Sam hesitated, but went on. “And not just Protestants, not just boys. Everyone—boys, girls, Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, whatever. Not just Irish, either, although of course, we’re starting here. You see, if everyone is educated and understands at least a little bit, there’s no room for a super race. They can all have a part.”

Riley closed his eyes, then stood and turned toward the window, gazing unseeing at the light. After a moment, he spoke. “What does Dunmore think you are doing?”

“He thinks that I just want to work as a physicist. That I’m qualified but don’t have the actual degree. That I have a lot of good ideas and I’m willing to work with a team of scientists to make those ideas a reality. He has realized he can truly profit from my approach. That Ireland and the UK can profit from it.”

Riley turned, leaning against the window sill. “You’re trying to build Utopia.”

Sam shook his head. “That would be nice, but I’m too pragmatic. I’ll settle for a world that’s willing to work toward it.”

“Have you always been so altruistic? Is this the way of people in your world?”

“Hardly! Altruism varies within any population. My world is no better or worse than this one.” Sam pursed his lips as a thought occurred to him. “Do you object to altruism, Dr. Riley? To different types of people working together and getting along?”

“I?” Riley looked surprised. “Of course I don’t object to it. I just don’t think it will happen.” He straightened, tugging his vest straight. “I don’t trust you, Dr. Altair. If you are not insane, then you are naïve, perhaps because you believe we are simpletons. I suspect that the application of your incredible knowledge will destroy us all.” His face was hard. “I don’t know how, but I intend to stop you, sir. At the least, to slow you down.”

Sam nodded, uncertain and worried.

Chapter 25

August 1907

Helping himself to some of the raw greens that Casey insisted on serving at nearly every dinner, Tom paused to glare at Sam in surprise. “But you’re Casey’s guardian,” he protested, unable to understand Sam’s demurring the idea of living at Dunallon. “You shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“My guardianship of Casey is a cover story for society, Tom. As Riley has pointed out, there is no real relationship,” Sam reminded him.

They were having dinner at Dunallon, after Casey and Penny had spent the day supervising the installation of wallpaper. Tom had innocently asked Sam which design he’d wanted for his bedroom, only to discover Sam had not considered living with them.

Even Casey was surprised. “Except that you’ve taken complete responsibility for me since the moment we got here. The relationship is real, whether it’s legal or not.”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed. “Although you have also taken care of me. But that doesn’t mean I should impose on your new life.”

“Impose? Is that how elders are treated in your time?” Tom asked.

Casey smothered a snicker.

Sam just sighed. “In our time, I’m not considered an elder, Tom. A little past my prime, but…”

Tom backtracked. “That’s not what I meant. You’re in excellent health, Sam. Nevertheless,” he looked to Casey, who was too busy trying not to giggle to be much help. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I always walk into these things and never see them coming.”

Casey gave up trying not to laugh. Sam laughed, too, as Tom glared at both of them, pointing sternly at Sam. “There is a room for you at Dunallon, sir. It is your home as much as it’s ours. When you tire of a solitary existence, do give us a call.”

Sam agreed to do that.

~~~

The day before the wedding was spent at Ardara, finalizing preparations. Most of the family was staying over, to get an early start in the morning, with the wedding scheduled for eleven. After lunch, the new couple would be sent on their way amid the usual Andrews tumult.

Tom’s brothers and sister were appalled that Tom and Casey were spending their honeymoon camping (camping!) at a private, rented cottage outside of Rostrevor, rather than a week or two in the best hotels on the Continent. Nevertheless, they went all out to help Tom stock the cottage with supplies for fishing and hunting. They arranged for ice to be dropped off every morning at the dock. Nina and Jessie talked to the cottage owner, who would make sure there was plenty of food for the week, and fresh linens and towels. This was all they could do to help a young maiden begin her married life in such rough conditions.

After dinner, as preparations wound down and children began to be put to bed, Casey and Tom escaped into the garden, sitting on the grass where, in the morning, they would exchange their vows. In the quiet night, with crickets for background, Casey made a promise to Tom.

“I can’t say this in the ceremony, but this is as much a vow as anything else I’ll say tomorrow,” she told him, her face serious and lovely in the dim light from the house. “I will always stay with you, Tom. Even if Sam or anyone else figures out how to get us back to the twenty-first century, I would not go. My life is with you.”

He touched her face, overwhelmed and unable to respond, except to kiss her. When he could speak, he promised to always honor her for that vow, and in all his ways, to give her his life in return.

~~~

The wedding day dawned bright and warm, and the sun quickly burned away the layer of dew that covered the flowers, grass, and chairs in the garden. Sam, like all men through the centuries, railed silently against formal clothing traditions in the summer heat. At least, he thought with some amusement, in this day and age, the women weren’t running around in spaghetti straps and short skirts, cool enough to dance with abandon, while the men sweltered in tuxedos.

No, in this day and age, they would all be hot.

Irish weddings, by law, had to held before noon, and never on Sunday. Sam could figure out the Sunday part, but not even Tom could adequately explain the law about timing. It’s just the way it was. So after an early breakfast, everyone scattered to dress, and the servants, resplendent in clean, white uniforms, finished setting up tables and arranging flowers. By ten-thirty, the first guests had begun to arrive.

The guest list for Tom’s wedding included politicians of all stripes, the entire management of the local shipping industry, a few sea captains, and many wealthy merchants from the area. Not to mention, members of the aristocracy and landed gentry from as far away as Dublin. As the bride’s guardian, Sam was required to meet and greet all of them, and after shaking the hand of the Lord Mayor of Belfast and bowing solemnly to the Lady Mayoress, Sam reflected that this was not what Dr. Riley had in mind on that morning over a year-and-a-half ago, when he advised Sam and Casey to “melt into the woodwork.”

No matter. He and Casey would always be considered odd. There might be those who were curious about gaps in their history or dissatisfied with answers, but there was little chance that anyone would suspect they were time travelers from the twenty-first century!

At eleven, they all took their places, and Sam went to fetch Casey, pausing for a moment to take delight in her appearance. He couldn’t have been prouder if he were actually her father: her dress was Pure Romance, with hand-worked lace over the full, silk skirt and blouse, and a bow in the back nearly hidden beneath the lace veil. Penny had succeeded in getting Casey’s hair up in the popular Gibson style, although he had heard anxious whispers that it might not be long enough to hold well. The red spots high on her cheeks revealed her excitement but he didn’t miss the tears she blinked away as she took his hands in hers. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I will write a long entry to your father in my journal tonight, telling him everything about this day, and how honored I am to stand in for him.”

She squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek in gratitude, then with a deep breath, she saucily took his arm and let him “bring” her to her waiting groom. Whatever the opinions about this marriage, there was no denying Casey was a sight to behold, and the spectators were suitably impressed. Sam caught Mrs. Herceforth’s broad wink as they passed her, standing jauntily on the bride’s side of the aisle, and wearing the special corsage Casey had made for her. The Yenta of Belfast.

He was grateful to her, too, and as he handed Casey off to a joyful Tom, he knew also, that whatever the opinions about this marriage, these two people loved each other completely. He didn’t try to analyze the relief that he felt, as he stepped back to his seat, that the innocent victim of his botched experiment was going to be all right.

~~~

After lunch, Tom’s siblings presided over speeches, toasts, and the formal dances. After shaking many, many hands, they left their guests to the musicians and the dancing, and escorted the bride and groom to the dock across from the house. There, amid much fanfare, they set about helping Tom load the last of their luggage on the family’s most reliable boat. Tom carefully stowed the boxes for the trip, and began to set the sails.

Casey, who had changed into her boating outfit of black skirt, white blouse and straw hat, stood at the top of the pier to say a last few words to Tom’s parents and Sam. At the boat, Willie handed Tom the last box and stepped onto the dock, while the others tossed the ropes onto the boat. John and James gave it a hearty push and they all began waving enthusiastic farewells and good wishes to their brother. Tom fell over at the boat’s sudden movement, then sat down and roared with laughter. Casey’s startled scream ripped through the air when she saw the boat floating away, and she raced frantically along the dock.

“Come back here! What are you doing? Thomas, bring that boat back right now!” Tom stood, laughing helplessly as he tried to toss the ropes back to shore. Casey’s cries and panic, mingled with the laughter and shouts of her in-laws, attracted the attention of the guests in the yard, who wandered down to lend advice.

“Bye, lad! Have a good time!” James waved, then cupped his hand behind his ear in an effort to hear Tom’s shout. “What?” He pointed at Casey yelling behind him. “Oh you want her?” He turned to his brothers. “Seems he wants Casey with him, but I don’t know what to do about that, now.”

They shook their heads in solemn bewilderment as Casey gave James a shove and rounded on John. “Bring him back! You swim out there right now and bring that boat back!”

“Ah lass, I can’t swim out there,” John started to protest, then whooped in delight as Casey, a determined look on her face, began removing her shoes with the obvious intent of swimming out there herself. This was more than they could have hoped for. Tom began a stern rebuttal to this idea, while once again attempting to throw a rope to shore. Casey’s action brought protests from her sisters-in-law while the wedding guests seemed evenly divided between encouraging her to push John in, or to jump in herself. Her new brothers-in-law actually let her get both shoes off before Willie had a firm arm around her waist, and John and James stood at the edge of the dock to shout encouragement to Tom.

“Come on, lad. Buck up! Pull yourself together and toss us the rope!”

Only the seriousness of Casey jumping into the river, gave Tom the incentive to stop laughing long enough to manage a credible throw. At last, two ropes were safely in the hands of his brothers, who pulled the boat slowly back. Casey barely waited. When the boat was a couple of feet away, she stepped quickly over and into Tom’s arms. He examined her face to see if she was mad. Relieved at the grin she gave him, he pulled her close, and in front of God and everybody, kissed her long and hard. The stuffy Edwardians on the dock responded to this with catcalls and cheers, as the brothers tossed the ropes (and Casey’s shoes) back onto the boat, and waved them off down the lough.

~~~

The two-hour trip to Rostrevor kept them busy adjusting sails and steering the boat. Casey was the only crew member and her inexperience meant that Tom had to keep a close watch on everything she did. Still, she was determined to be helpful, so she watched him closely for instructions. After about half an hour, he seemed satisfied with the wind and the progress they were making, and he moved to sit behind her, surprising her by sitting with his legs on either side of her, his hands resting gently on her waist.

He nuzzled her neck, and the boat jerked as her hand slipped from the till. He laughed and helped her right it, but when they were settled again, his hand was on her breast. She couldn’t look away from him. Heart pounding, she moved to kiss him, a kiss that started softly and built in passion, just before the boat jerked again. It was harder to right this time and Tom moved forward to make adjustments. This time, he stayed forward, making light conversation as he pointed out the sights. She’d been down this way in the twenty-first century and described it for him, causing him to shake his head in wonder.

“Cars and paved roads everywhere, traffic lights, large buildings,” he marveled. “Airplanes! It’s hard to imagine, sweetheart.”

She looked around her at the gentle hills, the green, green grass and the stone walls everywhere, as the lough meandered on its way to the sea. “Yes, but it’s true.” She examined him in a slow way that made him blush. A small smile moved her lips, but she said only, “It’s still considered a quiet country, though. It’s built up, but it still has its charm.”

A blast of wind hit them, and Casey gasped as a wave splashed into the boat. Tom gave her a quick instruction, his voice harsh with surprise. Casey concentrated on her task, fighting a sudden flash of worry that had nothing to do with sailing. Will he change now that we’re married? Will he be dictatorial? Strict and demanding about sex? Will he rush through it and not think about whether I’m enjoying it? Does he think it’s only for procreation? I’ve heard such odd things about how men used to be.

Now that the time was so close, the worry wouldn’t go away, sitting instead like a lump in her stomach. He’s not like what I’ve always heard old-time men were like. He’s funny and kind, not stiff and proper. She tried to remind herself of their past kisses and his frequent hugs. He really was affectionate. But she also remembered all the times when he had been stiff and proper, and would insist that she needed to be that way, too.

“Are you all right, love?” He was pulling a rope tight a final time, but he looked at her with concern. “Did you get hurt?”

She shook her head and he went back to his knot. Before he went forward again, he touched her cheek and brushed a finger over her lips. “The most precious crew I’ve ever had,” he murmured, and her fear seemed to melt, allowing her to smile. It would be all right.

Steering got more difficult as they approached the pier near the cottage, and he gave her several instructions as he adjusted the sails. He lassoed the pole and pulled the boat in the last few feet, then set about securing everything. Casey moved a couple of the boxes to the pier before stepping over herself.

With a deep breath, she lifted a box and smiled wickedly at Tom. “Would you like some help with your boxes, mister? I can carry ’em for you, if you’d like…” Her words trailed away as he laughed with delight and swung himself over to stand beside her, eyes on her face. He just looked at her for a moment, his eyes moving slowly down her neck to her breasts, then her stomach and hips. She felt that look in parts of her body she’d never felt anything before, and she acknowledged to herself that she was simply nervous. For all her talk of sexual freedom and casualness, for all her mother’s lectures on birth control and STDs, and making her own choices about sex, Casey had always been shy about making out. She wanted to spend every minute making love to Tom, but she really didn’t know what to expect.

He took up the other box and slipped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back toward the cottage that could be seen peeking out from the trees at the bottom of a hill. The area had lots of trees and a few tall hills, one of the reasons Tom said he liked it. They would have privacy, and Casey could relax, without needing to act like an early twentieth-century lady. It had been their biggest reason for wanting to go camping.

For all his insistence on waiting for marriage, Tom seemed to think there was no reason to wait any longer. They had just entered the cottage and paused to look around. Casey knew he’d been up here the day before with his brothers, and Jessie and Nina. The cottage was clean and made up, so she’d have nothing to get ready this first day. Tom put the boxes by the door and she started to return to the boat for the others, but instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, holding her close and smiling into her eyes.

His voice was low. “Mrs. Andrews.”

She could feel his heart beating and noticed the pulse of it in his neck. She stood on tip-toe to kiss the pulse, breathing in the heat rising from his skin. She would have kissed it again, but his lips found hers in rough urgency, his kiss hot, his tongue playing gently in her mouth. Desire rose up, and left her helpless and out of control.

Everything she’d ever heard about the awkwardness of getting undressed proved true, with the added impediment of Edwardian undergarments. She still didn’t wear a corset, but she had on everything else and there were all those dratted buttons…

In the end, they contented themselves with removing only what was necessary. He lay her on the bed, covering her with his body, kissing her hard, his hands searching for bare skin wherever he could find it. She tried to touch him everywhere at once, excited with the idea that she could touch him—her hands moved inside his shirt, rubbing his back, his shoulders, his chest, his hips… He didn’t wait, entering her almost immediately,, pausing a brief moment at her gasp. She kissed him, not wanting him to think she was hurt—she wasn’t—just surprised at the way he felt inside her. The months of waiting took their toll, as he finished quickly, but she didn’t care. His breath in her ear, his moan of pleasure as he poured deeply into her, gave her more joy than she had thought to experience in her entire life.

He’d better not think sex was only for procreation. She’d never let him get away with it.

Chapter 26

September 1907—January 1908

They spent the week never more than a few feet from each other. He took her hunting and fishing, they fell asleep one night while counting the stars, swam in an inland pond, and made love all over the cottage and a few interesting places outside. Casey had brought her “boy pants,” but somehow, this time there was no mistaking her gender. It was warm enough during the day that a couple of times, she wore just the pants and her camisole, as if she were in the twenty-first century. Tom swore he loved the look.

When they returned home, they settled into Dunallon and got to know their house staff. Gladys Pennyworth was their housekeeper, a managerial position which required her to carry out Casey’s plans and desires for the household. She would handle everything from the servants’ working conditions to the meals the family would eat, acting as an intermediary between employers and servants.

She was a friendly, buxom widow, about fifty years old, and Casey had sensed from the start that they would get along well. Mrs. Pennyworth was often bewildered by the odd ways of her new mistress, but seemed to decide Casey’s oddness was offset by her fairness. Casey insisted all the servants take every Sunday off, and half a day during the week. She wanted to give them a full day off during the week, but Mrs. Pennyworth warned her that would be too much of a departure from accepted practices.

“They won’t know how to handle themselves with that much free time, Mistress,” she said over tea in the library, as the two of them had their first discussion about the household. “Ye have to remember, most of ’em are verra young. They need to learn discipline and be kept out of trouble.”

Casey couldn’t quite hide her distaste at being a stern taskmaster. Mrs. Pennyworth relented a little. “Ye might consider an extra day now and then as a treat for them; perhaps for birthdays or such. And ye’ve already said to give each of them a week’s holiday every year. ’Tis plenty off-time, Mistress, truly.”

Casey did want to pay their servants well and in this, Tom agreed with her. As an apprentice, he had been appalled at the conditions in which the shipyard workers lived. He often had vehement discussions with his uncle about their pay, pointing out that most of them were highly skilled and the work was hard. They deserved a wage good enough to support their families. He’d had only a little luck in convincing his uncle, but he was determined to pay his own workers a respectable wage.

“But good conditions bring increased responsibility,” he told Casey, almost lecturing, somewhat to her amusement. “Sloppy work will bring dismissal.” She agreed to be firm about it.

The plans for the new ships were a top priority, and Tom fell full tilt into the designs. He spent several evenings a week discussing those plans with Sam and Casey, trying to get an idea of what new features might be needed. Sam offered to have his researchers run experiments.

“We might look into more efficient pumps, for one thing,” he told Tom during one of their discussions. “You need something to slow the water filling the compartments.”

Casey sat on the desk, watching them. “Are ships in the future made of the same kind of metal, Sam?” she asked. “Aren’t there lighter metals that won’t sink as fast?”

“The alloy’s a bit stronger,” he said slowly. “I don’t know very much about it, though. I think our ships were made of heavy, dense steel just like now.” He shrugged. “For the most part.”

Sam was at Dunallon so often that by October he decided he may as well move in. “The food and company,” he said, “are both better than what I get at my own place.” His gaze was on Mrs. Pennyworth as he said this, and Casey noted that her housekeeper seemed pleased when Sam moved in, preparing his favorite dishes for dinner and wearing a new brown ribbon in her hair.

Casey asked Tom if she could have a greenhouse. “If we get it done before winter, I can start growing vegetables and herbs for us in there. We’ll always have a steady supply.”

“Certainly.” He seemed pleased. “It won’t be fancy, but I can draw up something. I’ll call the builder and see if he can do it.”

She and Tom did the design for it together, joking that while Tom wanted dream ships, Casey wanted a dream greenhouse. With Tom and their maintenance man, William, helping, the builder was able to have it finished by early November, and Casey stocked it with tables and rows of soil and potted plants. She continued to help out at the Palm House, and with the horticultural and agriculture societies. She was busier than ever, and slowly began to feel comfortable with her role in this strange time.

~~~

Sam’s secretary tossed a journal on the desk in front of him, interrupting his review of an experiment. He glanced at it, then up at MacDonald.

“You’ll want to see the letter on page six, sir,” MacDonald informed him, turning to leave again. “And the chairman of the Albright group is expecting your call.”

Sam groaned. Colin Riley had begun a prolific campaign of letter writing to several newspapers and science journals, berating industry for hiring “charlatans” and “yes-men” to invent or test new products. So far, he stopped just short of libel, managing not to actually mention the telephone company, or Sam, by name.

But it was clear enough who he was after, hence, the phone call to the Albright chairman. Sam would have to call him and explain away Riley’s latest diatribe.

He thought Riley’s campaign was childish and useless, but it did serve to upset Lord Dunmore, who was concerned that if the king heard degrading rumors, he might rescind Dunmore’s appointment. Or that investors, such as the Albright chairman, would back out of funding them. So Dunmore had been keeping Sam on a tighter leash, administratively. He wanted documentation to prove he’d kept control, if it were ever needed.

Sam had always kept thorough records, and he met with Dunmore to go step-by-step over the procedures he had set up. Dunmore was impressed, muttering several times that “Riley won’t be able to get through this.” He didn’t know, of course, that Sam was thorough because he wanted a record left for future scientists. He didn’t notice that Sam was handpicking his team using criteria beyond what was needed in communications, nor that Sam was grooming them to carry on a vision. The scientists themselves didn’t know this, yet.

They had already taken several steps toward Sam’s goal. The hot water heater that Dunmore had sold for an obscene amount of money had been a practical application of the team’s research into recycling steam escaping from factories. He’d simply encouraged them to think of a way to capture and re-use the steam for energy. Not even Sam had been thinking of hot water heaters for homes. One of his young recruits had done that. Sam reminded Dunmore often that by allowing his team freedom to explore, he was enriching himself, and providing a better standard of living for everyone.

~~~

Casey felt a little thrill when she began to suspect she was pregnant. It happened almost immediately. By the middle of October she was certain enough to tell Tom.

They sat on the divan in their bedroom. He just looked at her, the corners of his mouth turned up a bit, and he didn’t move at all. He held her hand, watching her in silence, until she bit her lip in concern. He shook his head, his smile abashed. “I’ve never felt this before,” he said, squeezing her hand, then placing his hand over his heart. His voice was husky. “I love you so much, Casey. You…” he paused, and motioned downward to encompass her whole body. “Everything in my life, in my heart, is in you. You have no idea the power you have over me.”

She had no words for that, so she just slipped her arms around him and rested against him.

~~~

Even after four months of marriage, Casey still felt awkward around her mother-in-law, although she was quite fond of her. They had begun weekly knitting lessons at Ardara House, and on a cold December morning, Casey sat in front of the fire, holding her hands up for Mrs. Andrews to roll the yarn around. Outside, rain was falling, but the sitting room was warm, with winter decorations on the mantle and hot cocoa laid out on a silver tray next to the divan. Casey thought it all very Courier & Ives, and although she had no patience with knitting, she did enjoy these cozy mornings. But today, she couldn’t relax. “Mother, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course, dear. With the caveat that I may not want to answer it.” Mrs. Andrews smiled gently to show she was teasing, and continued to put the yarn in its place.

“Will you tell me about your childbirth experiences?” Casey asked the question in one big rush, afraid to bring the subject up but too concerned to ignore it. Tom had told her that traditionally, no one must be told about a pregnancy for at least three months and then, only those closest to the couple. They had just recently let his parents know, although Casey had told Sam right away, since the rules didn’t apply to him. But now that her mother-in-law knew, Casey was desperate for answers about childbirth in this era.

“I don’t know how most women handle it. Do they use a doctor or a midwife? Do they have the baby at home or a hospital?” She paused to take a breath and then waited as Mrs. Andrews put the yarn down and stared with tight lips at Casey, her expression shocked and unhappy. Casey cringed inwardly. Was this a taboo subject?

After a moment, Mrs. Andrews’ expression softened and she shook her head. “You poor child. You really have missed out on so much by not having sisters, or your mother around. Normally, it would be she who would tell you about this. But Casey, you don’t need to worry about it yet. You have several months before your child comes.”

Casey bit her lip, staring at the yarn on her hands, then shook her head. “But I will worry about it. I need to be prepared. The more I know, the easier I’ll feel.”

An eyebrow went up and contributed to the doubtful look on Mrs. Andrews’ face. “Not all knowledge is helpful. However, I do understand what you mean.” She picked up the yarn again. “Now I had all my children at home, of course, but my youngest is twenty-one years old. Since that time, I believe more doctors have begun to handle deliveries.” She looked uncomfortable, but continued. “I don’t know that I approve of that, but one mustn’t block progress, I suppose. Still, I would never recommend that an upper-class woman use a hospital. Jessie and Nina had their babies at home, although they were attended by a doctor, as that is considered much safer than a midwife.”

She tilted her head and considered her youngest daughter-in-law. “As to my own experiences, I will only tell you, Casey, that childbirth is absolutely the hardest thing you will ever do. It is painful, as the good book tells us, and also humiliating. You just need to remember that this is the lot of women, and most get through it just fine. At the end, you have a precious little baby in your arms. That is worth all of it.”

Casey swallowed, eyes still on the yarn. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up at Mrs. Andrews and gave her a small smile. “Thank you. I really am looking forward to that part!”

Chapter 27

January—April 1908

“I’d like to see some colorful perennials along this border,” said a soft, whispery voice. Casey, engrossed in the garden design Mrs. Herceforth had presented to the Horticultural Society, looked up to see who had spoken. Lady Talbot was a tiny woman with a candy-sweet disposition. Casey could take her only in small doses, but she knew the woman meant well.

Lady Talbot was moving her finger along the border in question, which Mrs. Herceforth had so far left blank. Casey agreed that color would be nice, but her brows crinkled in puzzlement when the finger stopped moving before reaching the end of the design area. She put her own finger on the spot.

“Don’t you want to continue it?”

Lady Talbot shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid, dear, that this part of the design will have to be discarded.” Seeing that Casey did not understand, although Mrs. Herceforth was nodding in agreement, Lady Talbot offered an explanation. “It’s been declared a Catholic area, dear. Quite recently, you see. We can’t plant there.”

Casey rolled her eyes, unable to hide her annoyance. “Why not? Why is it we have no gardens planned for those areas?”

“Now Mrs. Andrews, you know the reason.” The speaker was Mike Sloan, who to Casey’s extreme displeasure, had joined the society, solely for his own political purposes. Or, she thought with bitter rancor, to torture me. He wasn’t interested in joining before.

“Remind me, Mr. Sloan.” She found it so hard to be polite to him.

He was always willing to repeat his beliefs. “We keep to our own areas. If they want gardens, they can make their own.”

She tightened her lips in an effort to not yell at him. She counted to three, then spoke. “That’s all you do, you know. Prevent us from building gardens. Why did you even join the society? You don’t care about gardens.”

“Aye, that’s true,” he admitted without shame. “Before, I had no problem just reminding the society, once in a while, to do the right thing for the loyal Protestants of Belfast. But since you joined,” he gave her a little bow, as if to a worthy adversary, “I felt it was necessary to step up my efforts. I know how subtle ye can be.”

A few of the others shifted uncomfortably and Mrs. Herceforth broke in. “For now, I suggest we plan the gardens we know we can finish. That will be a difficult enough job.” She patted Casey’s hand. “The rest will come in its own time.”

The others all agreed and quickly brought the discussion back to the plan. Casey watched and didn’t offer any other suggestions.

~~~

The Horticultural Society had a large wall map of the Belfast area hanging in the office. Push pins marked areas of planned and actual gardens as Casey stood gazing at the map in early February. A red line demarcated the Catholic areas, which were bereft of pins. She could see places where natural progressions for the landscaping were cut off because they would have gone into those zones. This is ridiculous, she told herself, and I’m going to do something about it.

So a few days later, she and Penny made their way to a bookseller who had maps. She purchased her own map of Belfast and brought it back to Dunallon, setting it up in a corner of the library. When she had time to spare, she worked on her plans, extrapolating from the plans put forth by the Society. Tom and Sam knew she was doing it. Both agreed that in the case of nature and landscaping, it was best to look at Belfast as a whole, rather than a series of disjointed neighborhoods. Tom cautioned her often to keep in mind that she could not just ignore the politics and she promised him she wouldn’t.

~~~

For a while, she had other things to worry about, especially her desperate wish that her mother could be with her at this time. Her mother, the former hippie, liberal and practical about all things related to sex. Her mother, the obstetrician, who had talked all the time about how to handle a pregnancy and prepare for childbirth. Casey could hear her lecture, as she railed about patients who thought the only thing they had to do to have a baby was screw somebody. “It’s a marathon. If you were going to run a marathon in nine months, you would start preparing. You would eat right, you would exercise, you would train, and you would find out all you needed to know about your body and what happens to it when running. You wouldn’t just ignore it until you were dropped off at the starting line.”

Theresa Wilson specialized in helping women deliver babies without drugs, in comfortable environments. She volunteered with shelters for the homeless and domestic violence victims. She took cases pro bono and passed out birth control and condoms like they were candy. Casey’s upbringing could not have been further from the uptight and oppressive Edwardian society in which she found herself. A society on the edge—still believing that pregnancy should not be mentioned in mixed company, but willing to let male medical doctors take control of deliveries. Casey had no doubt that the current practices of those doctors would horrify her mother.

“It turns out,” she told Tom as they walked through the neighborhood one evening, “that prenatal care is still a pipe dream at this time.”

They walked whenever they could, if Tom did not have to work late. Despite the immodesty of her condition, Tom basked with pride when people passed them, seeing him with his beautiful wife who was carrying his child.

Now, however, he screwed up his face in an effort to put sense to her words. “Pipe dream?”

“You know.” She gestured, drawing something in the air. “As in smoking opium or something. The hallucinations you get from that are pipe dreams.”

He laughed. “What a vivid description! But how is prenatal care a pipe dream?”

“It doesn’t really exist. At least, not in any real form, yet.”

“Oh. How so?”

“I saw a doctor today.” Casey stopped walking and looked at Tom, only her face visible under the layers of winter protection. “I liked him well enough and I’ll probably stick with him.”

Tom felt a wave of relief; he’d been worried she’d try to do without anyone at all. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart! What did he say?”

She shrugged. “The usual. The baby is fine…” she paused and rubbed her stomach, her voice softening slightly. Tom’s heart beat a little faster just watching her.

“…and,” she continued with a sigh, “I shouldn’t worry my little head about anything. He’ll give me ether and make sure I don’t suffer at all.” Her laugh was bitter, and Tom rubbed her arms.

“But you don’t want ether. Did you tell him that?” He was confused and worried. Her moods really did change quickly these days and he didn’t think she was as logical about things as she used to be.

“Of course I told him.” She resumed walking and Tom followed.

“And?”

“And he listened. He actually talked to me about it for a few minutes, instead of just patting me on the head and sending me away. He’s willing to let me try it my way as long as he can have his equipment nearby. I’m afraid I lied to him a little.”

“Lied to him? About what?”

“When I’ve talked to other doctors, I’d tell them my mother was a doctor, to help them see that I might know what I’m talking about. That she told me about this stuff.”

Tom nodded. He knew this much.

“It never seemed to do any good,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “They suggested she wasn’t properly trained or wasn’t able to be objective about birth, since she was a woman. So this time, I told him my father was the doctor. Immediate respect!”

Tom pulled her into a hug. “I am amazed sometimes, at how obtuse men can be. There’s no wonder so many women are protesting in the streets.”

“Tom, I’ll need you to help.” Her voice was muffled in his coat and he lifted her chin with a finger.

“Help how, dear? What do you mean?”

“I told him I don’t want drugs and I certainly don’t want him using forceps unless I agree to it. He has to really convince me it’s necessary and not just convenient for him. And he was willing to go along with it, but I could see he was unhappy about it.”

“What can I do?”

“Stick up for me, if he wants to force the issue. Especially when I’m in labor. I want to concentrate on having the baby, not arguing with my doctor.”

He felt sick with dread at her words. “I will always stick up for you, Casey. But if you’re suffering, or the baby is in danger, how will I know what’s the right thing to do? That’s why we have a doctor.”

“Just make him explain it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve told you how dangerous the drugs can be and about the damage forceps can cause. Even your own mother knows of babies permanently disfigured by them.”

She stood straighter, determined. “I’m going to do everything I can to do this right, Tom. But in the end, none of us knows how it will go, and I know that things can go wrong. That’s why I’m using a doctor. But help me have a chance, first.”

He nodded. Then he just held her.

~~~

Sam worried about her, too, and mentioned his concern to Mrs. Pennyworth. The two of them had gradually established a habit of sharing a spot of brandy or tea in her basement apartment after the other servants were dismissed for the night. She was a sensible woman and had no objections to an occasional nip, although she had been uncertain about the propriety of imbibing with her mistress’ guardian. But Casey seemed quietly pleased about the growing relationship. Sam suspected she was also amused. She wasn’t above teasing him occasionally.

“”Tis not unusual for a young girl to be frightened at this time,” Mrs. Pennyworth said with a thoughtful air. I imagine she really misses her mother, too.”

Sam nodded. “I know she does. I’m sure this is an experience she had always planned on sharing with her.” He stood to crank the gramophone, wincing at the sound of the music. I really need to work on that, he thought as he sat back down. “What about you, Gladys? Do you have any advice for her?”

She had expressive eyebrows and they registered severe disapproval at his question, but she answered. “I don’t, really.”

“No children?” Sam asked, somewhat carelessly.

Her lips tightened. “One. Stillborn, you see. I thought it best to not mention it to the mistress.”

Sam touched her hair gently, flushing with regret. “That’s probably wise. I’m sorry, Gladys. It must have been a difficult time.”

Her expression softened. “Ach, you’re a sweet man, Sam Altair. It’s kind of you to care.” She shook her head a little. “It was twenty-five years ago and I’ve learned to move on. It’s for the best, perhaps, since Mr. Pennyworth never did get a feel for work.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement and Sam moved a little closer to kiss her.

~~~

A March rain pounded the house as Sam finished a sketch in his journal one cold night. He gazed critically at it for a moment before putting the pencil down. The electric lights Tom had installed flickered occasionally, but managed to stay lit. He glanced over at Tom, who sat by the library fire reading through his copy of Maeterlinck’s “The Life of the Bee.” He didn’t realize he’d sighed until Tom looked up, finger marking his place in the book.

“Problem?” Tom seemed to bask like a proud Irish chieftain: his home was warm and secure, filled with industrious servants and artful treasures, his wife was pregnant and well-cared for, his land was ready for planting.

The household was settling down for the evening. Casey, whose back ached constantly in her last months of pregnancy, had decided a bath might help. Tom and Sam had retreated to the library, with drinks of choice and the chance to work on reading or writing.

Sam hated to disturb his peace, and with another glance at the drawing, he shook his head and closed the time travel journal. “Not anything you need to worry about at this point. Just working on a question you’d asked about recently; there’s time to deal with it later.”

Tom’s brows twitched downward in bemusement and he stood, leaving his book on the seat. “Ah now, you’ve got me curious,” he said as he reached for the journal, leaning against the desk. “Let’s have a look.”

Sam just watched, hands folded, as Tom flipped to the last entry. The sketch made an impact—Tom was still, his face thoughtful and tight as he stared at the page. After a moment, his fingers traced the outline of his ship, broken in two, with the bow all but gone beneath a still sea, represented by a wavy line, the stern’s broken end exposed and beginning to fill with water.

Sam cleared his throat. “You had asked me about the structural integrity. About how the ship held up during the sinking.” Tom nodded, not looking up, and Sam continued. “I don’t remember why it broke in two, I just know it did. I guess because of all the water pulling it down by the head.” He shrugged. “This is what I remember of the pictures I’d seen. Which, by the way, were all artist’s renditions. There were no actual photographs of the sinking, you know.”

Tom put the book down, his lips pursed as he continued to stare at it. “I wanted to know if the ship held up well enough to last for several hours. It won’t do any good to keep her afloat if she starts falling apart because of pressure.” He shook his head, dismayed. “This won’t do, at all.”

“Tom.” Sam held out a hand. “I remember that people had decided that the ship was as perfect as possible. There were arguments back and forth over various issues, but in the end, all the investigations proved she was as strong as your technology could make her. You couldn’t have done any better.”

The smile that touched Tom’s face was bitter as he regarded his friend. “Well, now I can do better. What twenty-first century technology will improve her?”

Sam shrugged again. “You figure out why she broke in two. I’ll give you any ideas I have.”

~~~

Tom stopped into Alexander Carlisle’s office the next day and tried to explain his concerns. Carlisle didn’t seem to understand.

“I don’t know what you’re after, Tom.” His boss interrupted his questions with a frustrated wave of his hand. “The steel is the best quality we can make, the frame you’ve designed is solid and true. It certainly meets all the requirements. What else do you want?”

Tom rubbed his face, the pencil he held clicking roughly against his wedding ring. He stared at the plan rolled out on Carlisle’s desk and muttered, “I don’t know what I did before. How can I know what to change now?”

“I’m sorry?” Carlisle hadn’t heard him at all, which was just as well. There was no explaining a remark like that.

Tom shook his head and tried again. “I want to understand what happens to the frame and the plates if the ship is sinking. What are the stresses? What are the vectors? What’s the weakest point?”

Carlisle sat back and blinked several times, lips pursed tight as he stared at Tom. When he finally spoke, it was with the air of a man humoring an unreasoning person. “I guess it would depend on the manner of sinking. On the location and extent of the damage. The rate of water flow.” He gestured helplessly. “It depends on a dozen or more variables, Tom. You can’t build the frame to withstand all of them. It would be impossible.”

“By the head.” Tom stood and picked up the small model ship on Carlisle’s credenza, tilting the bow downward. “Damage on the starboard side, forepeak through five compartments.” He stopped as Carlisle shook his head, holding up his hands.

“Is this your iceberg scenario from a several months ago? Honestly, Tommy, I thought we settled that.”

“We put it away,” Tom reminded him. “We haven’t settled it.”

“And we’re not going to.” Carlisle rose and gently took the model from his cousin’s hands and put it back on its stand. “White Star doesn’t expect us to justify every expense but we’ve never tried to pass on extensive research costs to them, either. You uncle won’t do it this time, that’s for sure. These ships already will cost a fortune.”

He put an arm around Tom’s shoulders, leading him to the door. “The ships will be fine, Tommy. Relax.” He smiled as a thought occurred to him. “You’re nervous about your upcoming fatherhood, lad. That’s all. Thinking about all the things that can go wrong in the world.” He held a finger before Tom’s face. “’Tis normal, lad. Shows you’re a conscientious fellow.” He patted Tom’s shoulder. “Go on with ye and let me get some work done. And give your wife a kiss from me.”

Chapter 28

Entry in Time Journal No. 2 of Casey Wilson Andrews, 1 June, 1908

Dear Mother:

It’s odd, how in all this time, it never occurred to me to write to you, but this time, this entry is for you, and for Dad. I have missed you so much and there have been so many times when I’ve said, “I wish my mother were here.” But I always accepted that you weren’t here and tried to carry on. Yet this is a way I can at least let you know what has happened. I really do wish you were here, Mom. You would be so happy and I think, you would be proud, too. Because, Mom, I have a baby.

He was born yesterday morning at 9:22 a.m., and he is simply amazing. I find I can’t take my eyes off of him. Even as I write, I keep glancing down at him, sleeping beside me as I sit in the bed. He is so soft and perfect, with a light brown fuzz of hair, and blue eyes. He’ll have his father’s strong face, I think, and if he has half of his father’s goodness, I’ll be satisfied. He’s a “bonny baby” as they say around here. His birth redness and wrinkles have faded already and he nurses as if he invented the concept.

His name is James Alan Wilson Andrews, in honor of Dad. This is a departure from Irish tradition, but when Tom suggested we name our first son and daughter after my parents, instead of his, I took the idea as the gift that it was. It helped to fill, just a bit, the emptiness where your voices used to be.

You’ll be happy to know, Mom, that some of your constant talk about pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding sank into my hard, teenaged head. You must have thought I wasn’t ever paying attention, but I was. Your wisdom has been with me constantly these last months, as I’ve dealt with primitive medicine and old-fashioned, misogynist viewpoints. I ate well, I walked and exercised, and I stayed active right up to the end. I tried to follow your ideas for labor and delivery, but in this time, they are so uptight about it. They keep wanting the mother to be “modest,” of all things! Stay in bed, stay covered up, don’t walk around, don’t squat… I had to keep arguing about all that so I could do what I felt I needed to do. I never had a chance to relax, like you always said to do. My doctor is very formal and kind of cold—where are all the kind country doctors I always heard about? But he did treat me with some respect and talked to me about what was happening. So my labor was hard and painful, but without any complications. It didn’t last horribly long; only about fifteen hours for the whole thing. It was a lot of hard work, but I was prepared for that. I heard your voice as I labored. You were with me in spirit, Mom, both as mother and doctor, and I will always be grateful.

It occurs to me that, even if you get this journal, you may not be the same James and Theresa Wilson whose 20 year old daughter went missing one night in Belfast. We are fairly sure that we’re in an alternate universe. If that is the case, I suppose this letter is more for me than for you. I just have to tell you both that I am well, and I am happy. That I miss you so much, and always, I will wish we could be together. I love you.

Casey Ashley Wilson Andrews

Belfast, Ireland

Chapter 29

July 1908

Tom watched in disbelief as his uncle and Bruce Ismay prepared to end the meeting without addressing his agenda item to discuss a double hull and higher bulkheads. This pretty much told him what his chances of success were, but he couldn’t let them just ignore it. As the end of July neared, they were approaching the final design conference before White Star gave the go ahead to start building the ships. There would be months of design work even after that happened, but right now, he needed Bruce’s informal approval. He rapped on the table and held up a hand.

“Gentlemen. There is one more item to discuss.”

Lord Pirrie looked at him in exasperation while Ismay turned to him with raised brows. “Well, Tom, I think we’ve more or less taken care of that item.”

Tom swallowed his anger and tried to speak with a reasonable tone. “Sweeping them under the rug, is not the same as taking care of them.” He leaned toward Ismay earnestly. “Bruce, you are going to have the largest, most luxurious vessels on the ocean. You want the cream of society to use your ships on all their runs between Europe and America. These are people who have choices, Bruce. You need to be able to tell them that not only will they travel in complete luxury, they will also travel in nearly complete safety. The only way to make these ships truly safe is to build the double hull and extend those bulkheads. The design you’ve approved does not do that.”

Ismay shook his head. “Thomas, we’ve been putting out ships all along without these features. You’ve been content with the safety of those ships, and indeed, there have been no major problems at all. With the double bottom and the fifteen bulkheads you’ve proposed, these liners will already be among the safest ships on the sea. Why, as large as they are, and with these features, they’re practically unsinkable. I fully intend to make sure the world knows that, don’t you worry about it.”

Tom gaped at Ismay. “Unsinkable! How can you say that? No one in this firm has ever said such a thing! Any ship can be sunk, and we are obligated to do all that our technology can do to keep them afloat and provide regress in an emergency. Any less is murder!”

Ismay smirked. “Your Irish passions are getting the better of you, Thomas. You and Carlisle have made a lot of demands, including up to sixty-four lifeboats. Now I will remind you, just as I reminded him, these are my ships. And according to our contract, I have final say on the design. I’ll not waste money on extraneous features, and I’ll not have so many of those little boats cluttering up my decks and putting fear into my passengers.”

Ismay turned to go. “Bottom line, Thomas, bottom line. The profit margins are nearly nonexistent as it is. We do what we know will work for these ships. No more, no less. Good day, Gentlemen.”

Ismay walked out and Tom rounded on his uncle. “How can you let him get away with that? He’s going to tell the world these ships are unsinkable? There’s no greater nonsense in the world!”

Lord Pirrie held up his hands. “Of course he’s not going to say that, Tom. You heard him. He said ‘practically unsinkable’ and lord knows that’s true. I can’t imagine a disaster that will sink these vessels. I know you’ve run up a scenario, but honestly, Tommy, it’s just too unlikely. I appreciate your willingness to stick your neck out on this, but keep in mind that Carlisle is heading this project. Although,” he said as he headed out the door, “like you, he does want more lifeboats. We’ll keep working on that, eh?”

He left Tom alone with his thoughts.

~~~

Later that night, Tom walked the baby to sleep, keeping near the fire in the nursery. The wind threw rain at the house and rattled the windows, and he could hear the trees brushing the roof. The peacefulness of the nursery surrounded him, but made no effort to enter. He watched his son sleeping in his arms, the little lips sucking quietly in his dreams.

He loved his work. This was as near a definition of the man he was, as anything in his life had ever been. For eighteen years, he had given himself, heart and soul, to the art of building ships. More than that, his dedication was to the firm that had nurtured him and given him a path through life that, in the joy and creativity it had engendered, surpassed any dreams of his hopeful boyhood. The idea of walking away was a necessity his mind understood, but his heart fought it.

The door opened and Casey entered, a small smile flitting across her face when she saw them. She settled in the rocking chair and opened her book. Tom knew she was just wanting to be nearby. He had not talked to her yet, but Casey usually knew if he was upset. He had not been able to eat dinner, but had just squeezed her hand at her concern. They would talk later, he had promised.

When he thought Jamie was well and truly asleep, he placed him in his crib, covering him as Casey came over to give the baby a goodnight touch. She then slipped her hand into Tom’s and followed him out, leaving the nursery to the storm and Penny’s watchful eye.

He tilted his head toward the parlor and they went, arms around the other’s waist, to sit on the divan in front of the fire. Tom cupped her face in his hands and gazed at her a moment, comforted at seeing the love she had for him.

She caressed his neck. “What’s happened, love?”

He looked away from her, seeing himself arguing with his uncle and Ismay, and tried to ease the tightness in his chest. “Uncle Will and I met with Ismay this afternoon. I knew it wouldn’t go well, but I was… I am… incredulous at how bad it was. Ismay is not giving me anything I asked for. It’s all out, as far as he’s concerned.” He heard Casey’s soft gasp beside him and turned back to her, squeezing her shoulders. “I have only one option left me, Casey. I knew as I left that meeting, and I have been thinking and thinking about it, but I see no other way.” His face twisted with pain. “I cannot build these ships. Tomorrow I’m going to give Uncle Will my letter of resignation.”

Just saying the words caused his heart to contract, and he closed his eyes. As he did, he saw, very clearly, Sam’s drawing of the Titanic, split in two, the stern in the air. Although Sam had not included them in the drawing, he saw the people frantically holding onto his ship, onto the one solid thing in that cold, watery existence.

He finally got a good breath and he opened his eyes. Whatever the cost to him, this one action he took now would forever change the fate of fifteen hundred people. Not just them either, but all of the others on the ship and their families. His family too, and the entire town of Belfast. Oh, they’d get the ships built and people would sail on them. But they wouldn’t be finished on time. Titanic would never sail in April 1912.

Casey was holding his hand as tightly as she could, and he slowly raised her hand to his lips, seeing his pain mirrored in her face. She followed her hand with her lips and kissed him softly. “I will hope that you find another way, but I know you would do anything else before this, if you could. I’m so sorry, Tom.”

He smiled sadly at her. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever even thought of doing, but Casey, if by doing this I save those lives…. There will be a life to live later. I know that.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. Then he stood up. “I need to work on the letter. I won’t come to bed until it’s done.”

~~~

In the end, he never got to bed at all. He worked for a while in the library, but as the house settled down, he felt somehow haunted. Casey had gone to bed, so he picked up his papers and pen and moved to the bedroom to be near her. He sat at the small desk in the corner, with the lamp shaded so not to awaken her. Once, after getting up to feed the baby, she touched Tom’s head softly as she went back to bed.

He wrote, scratched out, wrote more, thought often. Twice, he had to throw away paper when a tear smeared the ink. In those moments, every happy year he had spent at Harland & Wolff came to him, from the first bewildering and hectic years as an apprentice in each department, to the rushing days of management. His mind called up drafts, faces, ships of all sizes, rivets with their chalks of approval, crews, laborers, cranes and gantries.

Eighteen years.

In all that time, there had been many disagreements, artistic differences, and contrary opinions, many times indeed. Their work was not mindless; it required all their thought and love to perform to perfection. Disagreements were part of the process. Eighteen years of toil, excitement, joy, amazement, experimentation, laughter.

He saw no other way. Finally, as the clock struck 4:30, he finished a copy of the letter, which he placed in his safe. Then he dressed and woke Casey, needing her touch to get him through the next hours.

~~~

Last night’s rain had turned into a clear, gleaming dawn. Tom reached Lord Pirrie’s office before his uncle was there, and he decided just to wait. He stared at the floor, but saw nothing except snatches of his letter. He held his hat and unneeded umbrella, for all the world the picture of a man just dropping in and then leaving. It was odd enough that Saxon, the secretary, gave him a hard, concerned look before turning away to the files.

Lord Pirrie arrived within a few minutes, moving quickly and already giving orders to Saxon. He stopped dead at the sight of Tom, who raised his head to regard his uncle tiredly. Eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline, Lord Pirrie greeted him. “Thomas! Good morning!” He gave him an intent look and gestured into his office. “You look like hell, lad. Are you ill?”

Tom followed Lord Pirrie in and stood before the desk. He had not thought of a way to start this conversation, and now he simply removed the letter from his pocket and handed it to his uncle. “I’ve spent the night in thought, Uncle Will. This decision has not been easy, but I am turning in my resignation.”

Lord Pirrie stared at Tom in complete befuddlement, not reaching for the letter. His mouth moved a couple of times before any sound came out. “Well I won’t accept it!” He stated at last, his voice loud in the silent office. “This is about Bruce, isn’t it? Look, Tommy, I know he was out of line yesterday, but he does have final say…”

Tom silenced him by throwing the letter on the desk. “I will not build those ships using his criteria, sir. As a managing director of this firm, when I build a ship and declare it finished, it must meet my criteria, because the world expects no less. These ships are fragile, and you know it. Bruce Ismay does not want a shipbuilder, he wants a puppet. I will not be that puppet.” He straightened angrily. “The question came to this: ‘Would I put my wife and son on one of those ships’? The answer is no, I would not. And that, sir, is my bottom line.”

He seemed to deflate as he pointed at the letter. “My resignation is effective immediately. I would like time to clean out my office and then I’ll be gone.”

He turned to go and nearly reached the door before his uncle spoke. “Thomas.” A choked voice, a voice that made Tom blink and turn around. His uncle was staring at the letter that he had still not picked up. After a moment, Lord Pirrie raised his eyes to his nephew. “Tom, don’t clear out your office, yet. Give me one day. Please. Just go home and give me one day to see what I can do. That’s all I ask.”

Tom sighed. “Uncle, I’m not bluffing about this. I won’t be placated or coddled.”

Lord Pirrie nodded. “I know. Just one day, Tommie.”

Tom blinked back tears of anguish and exhaustion, then nodded, once. “All right. Call me tonight.”

He left and walked blindly to the drafting room. He had promised not to clean his office, but one book locked in his safe belonged to him and he could not leave it under these circumstances. Waving Ham back into his seat for the moment, Tom went in to his office and closed the door. Taking the small key from his pocket, he unlocked the safe and took out his time travel journal, placing it in the raincoat’s inside pocket. He stopped to talk briefly to Ham.

“There’s a situation, Ham. I promise I’ll talk to you about it later, but for now, just cancel today’s appointments. I’ll be at home, but no calls, no messages. Nothing at all.” He patted Ham’s shoulder and left Queen’s Island.

~~~

Tom was in the parlor after dinner, when the bell rang. He continued to stare into the fire as Mrs. Pennyworth went to the door. A wave of fear, mixed with relief, moved through his body when he heard his uncle’s voice greeting Casey and teasing the baby. He stood, dread nailing him into place.

“Where is that nephew of mine, dear?” he heard Pirrie say. “Will he speak to me?”

“I’m here, Uncle,” Tom paused in the parlor doorway. His uncle was holding the baby, laughing down at him. Was that a good sign? “Come on in.”

He waited as Pirrie handed Casey his coat, hat, and the baby. He returned Lord Pirrie’s appraising stare before gesturing him to a seat. Tom knew he looked terrible—his head had been pounding all day.

Pirrie opened his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. Tom followed his movements warily. Leaving the envelope on his lap, Lord Pirrie steepled his fingers as he gazed at Tom. “You had us running today, lad. I’ve spent most of today talking to Bruce, with a few telegrams to Morgan in New York.” He paused as Mrs. Pennyworth brought in tea and cakes, leaving them on the table.

“I’ll leave out the details for now, but,” he handed Tom the envelope, “you’ve got the higher bulkheads and sixty-four lifeboats, if Alex can come up with a davit design that works. Bruce won’t give on the double hull and I’m taking the chance that you’ll compromise. This is an addendum to the contract for the Olympic Line. All it needs is the Managing Director’s signature.”

For a moment, Tom didn’t move, his eyes on the envelope. We got it. Almost everything we asked for. Slowly, he reached out and took it, removing the papers inside. Lord Pirrie continued, “There’s the original and a copy for you. Take your time and look it over. If you decide to sign, bring it in with you in the morning.”

Tom nodded, laying the papers flat on his lap, then looking up at his uncle. He felt lighter, somehow. “Thank you, Uncle Will.” A twitch moved his cheek and he took a deep breath. “It could be better, but I promise, this will make White Star and Harland & Wolff better companies. These ships will be unbeatable.”

Lord Pirrie smiled at that. “I have no doubt, Tommy.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Tom, did you actually think they could let you walk away? Do you have any idea how that would have looked to the rest of the world?”

Tom laughed a little. “Casey mentioned something about that, today. Believe me, I hadn’t even thought of it. I just knew I couldn’t build those ships.”

“You’re considered one the best shipbuilders in the world, lad, maybe the best. If you had left us for these reasons, both companies would be out of business in a year. People wouldn’t sail on our ships. I’m just counting my blessings that you didn’t ask for a huge raise, too!”

Tom did laugh at that, shaking his head. Lord Pirrie reached over to pat his knee. “Some of us do know what it would have done to you to leave the firm, son. I have no doubt that you would have left, if it came to that. But Tommy, it would have killed you.”

Tom thought of a metaphorical death versus a cold, real one at the bottom of the Atlantic. He smiled sadly at his uncle. “Perhaps. I have certainly never hurt so much as in the last twenty-four hours.”

Lord Pirrie stood to go, reaching out to shake Tom’s hand. “You keep giving vent to those Irish passions, lad. They work well on you, but I want to get one thing straight.” He looked Tom sternly in the eye, still gripping his hand. “You have concerns in the future, you bring them to me and I’ll give them a hearing. But I am the head of this company, Thomas, and you still have a lot to learn. You can disagree, but you better back it up, and when I give the final word, it’s final. I need to know I can depend on you, Tom, like I always have. Can you work under those terms?”

Tom’s mouth tightened, but he nodded slowly. “Aye, Sir. I can.”

He walked to the door with his uncle. “I want you to know how grateful I am that you believe in me as you do. I really am devoted to the firm, Uncle Will. There’s nothing else I would want to do in my life.”

As he closed the door after his uncle, he heard Casey on the stairs, and turned to her. She stood on the bottom step and opened her arms as he walked into them.

~~~

Final approval for the Olympic class ships came on 31 July 1908, just in time for the new financial year. Lord Pirrie waved White Star’s letter of approval as he stood on the landing near his office, and the men on the floor erupted into cheers. The first two ships were numbers 400 and 401, and work would begin on them straight away. The directors and shareholders, along with their spouses, celebrated with a dinner at Ormiston House, where Lord Pirrie opened several bottles of champagne, noting that Harland & Wolff did not christen their ships at launching in the usual way, but by gum, they’d celebrate the contract correctly!

The work proceeded in all haste. Tom and the other directors put in many hours wrapping up the designs and preparing orders for construction. In September, they gave the orders to the yard and engine works to proceed with preparations, and made up their reports for material purchases. It seemed to Tom that the entire year would run on adrenaline. The meetings were endless, the workforce was expanding rapidly, and finally, on 16 December 1908, they laid the keel for the first ship. The keel for the Titanic would be laid in March; her construction would trail the Olympic’s by three months. As he watched them lay the Olympic’s keel, supervising from the plans rolled out in front of him, Tom felt as if he had just stepped up and shaken hands with destiny. There was no turning back.

Chapter 30

December 1908

Sam had his team working on technologies he secretly intended for the shipyard: higher capacity batteries, more efficient pumps, and stronger rivets, among them. That these technologies would have applications beyond shipbuilding was obvious. Now he was ready to get them started on another huge endeavor.

“Let’s assume something.” He glanced up at the group of scientists and research assistants reposed around the laboratory. They were all watching him, used to these meetings by this time. He would call them to attention, throw out a few ideas and ask them to come back with something. A way to invent it. A way to use it. Prerequisites. Whatever they could think of. They often laughed and shook their heads, but a job in Sam’s laboratory was the most coveted spot a local science student could get upon graduation. Graduate students clamored for part-time work. Word had gotten around that he even wanted women to apply, that he would hire them and pay them the same as the men, and let them do the same work.

Sam encouraged results, but the truth was, if they managed, just a few times a year, to invent something and sell it to a manufacturer, they made enough to support their work for the rest of the year. They came up with results a lot more often than that. Sam’s ideas were often bizarre, sometimes terrifying, but if a researcher followed through, the universe seemed to open up. Now they waited to see what he would throw at them, next.

“Let’s assume our world is heading for extreme technological change. That we’re going to discover ways to travel quickly, communicate faster and more clearly, learn about news from halfway around the world almost the minute it happens. Assume Jules Verne is right and we’ll explore space, travel to the moon.” There was a stir around the room and Sam grinned. It seemed that no matter the era, a scientist always got excited about space exploration. Why was that?

He continued, “What is the one thing we need in great supply, to accomplish all of this?”

He waited. A few of them looked at others, but most seemed lost in thought, staring at the floor or wall. Finally, Ellen Brendan spoke up. “Energy,” she said, and raised an eyebrow at him.

He wanted to cheer. Not only a right answer, but from one of the women on the team. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

“Indeed! Energy is exactly right! Where are we going to get it?”

“Rock oil.” Those words were the current name for petroleum, and they were spoken by several of them at once, the others all nodding in agreement. Sam put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the table behind him. Everyone got quiet. When he did this, they knew they had the wrong idea.

But they were frustrated. “Why not rock oil?” Alan Mackey gestured to the globe in the corner. “It’s everywhere, in nearly infinite supply. Companies are making impressive gains in extraction and refinement. It’s the way of the future, no doubt about it.”

Sam stood straight and paced for a minute. He had to go carefully, here. But if he were very, very lucky, he’d be able to completely turn the tide of several future crises. Of course, humans could always find other ways to screw things up, but that wasn’t his problem. He stopped and looked up at his team.

“All right. Let’s make another assumption.” He saw their amusement, but hey, he was the boss. “Let’s assume there isn’t enough rock oil. Let’s assume that there are problems we don’t know about, yet. Let’s just assume we can’t use oil. What else is there?”

With the air that they were humoring him, they began shouting out ideas.

“Water.”

“Wind.”

“The sun.”

“Elephants.”

They all laughed and Ellen spread her hands. “Well that’s how silly the other suggestions are. None of them can provide enough energy, all the time.”

Sam spoke over the agreeing murmurs. “You may be right. But let’s start there. With any energy supply, we need a way to put the supply into a usable form, store it and distribute it. Agreed?”

They nodded.

“Let’s do that with all three of our more practical suggestions. Sorry Ellen—no elephants.” He paused to let the laughter recede. “Think of ways to capture, develop, store and distribute energy from these sources. Wind and water have strong potential for local energy use, but sunlight just might be usable everywhere except for the southern and northern extremes. Let me give you a hint about sunlight.”

He watched them for a moment. Were they ready for this? “You’re going to think in terms of mechanics: what machines and processes do we need to use sunlight? That’s okay. I want to see your ideas on that. But also consider how the planet, and all living things on it, use sunlight. How is it captured, stored, altered? Can we replicate that?”

He left them to it.

~~~

“So, Altair, still twisting the minds of our youth?”

Sam sighed and turned toward the voice coming up to him as he was on his way to see the Dean of the Science Department at Queen’s. He’d noticed Riley in the office he just passed and had hoped he’d sneak by. No luck today.

“Dr. Riley. You’ll be happy to know that despite your efforts, I’m able to set them right in a relatively short time, once they come to work for me.”

Riley’s face darkened as he glowered at Sam. “You’re not getting all of them, Altair. I’ve managed to send some to safe employment on the continent.”

“Excellent!” Sam leaned forward solicitously. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir? I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“I intend to discuss your paper at the regents meeting later this month, Altair,” Riley told him.

Sam’s eyebrows nearly obtained orbit. “My paper? I have no paper out, Dr. Riley.”

Riley stood straight. “It makes no difference if one of your team wrote it, sir. You and I know the truth behind the work you are doing.” He reared back a little and examined Sam as if he were a specimen. “Capturing the sun? Is your plan to destroy the earth, Altair? Is that why you were sent here?”

Sam’s laugh was spontaneous and amazed. He found he couldn’t stop to even respond, so he just held up a hand, turned it into a wave, and stepped back to his path. He chuckled all the way to the dean’s office.

~~~

Later, Sam settled into his chair in the library at Dunallon, for a satisfying read of Einstein’s latest letter. Their correspondence had become a source of deep enjoyment for him, and he thought, for Einstein as well. Without ever acknowledging, in so many words, that Sam and Casey had traveled through time, Einstein had simply started writing as if it were all true and a simple fact of life. This allowed them to discuss all the ramifications, all the theories, all the dangers inherent in living in another time.

Although his theories were still new, and he had not completely worked out his General Theory, Einstein leaned toward the idea that Sam’s experiment had created an alternate universe. In that case, he admitted, he couldn’t see the point of trying not to change things. From his point of view, the future hadn’t happened yet, so he was open to any suggestions.

Sam loved Einstein’s sense of humor and joviality. Their letters touched on all subjects, including their own lives, frustrations, and joys. Sam wrote often about Casey and Tom, eventually telling him about Titanic and what they were doing. This was in response to Einstein once again inviting Sam to visit, so they could meet and perhaps work together.

“I will come out one day,” he had written, “but not until this situation is resolved. I’m actively helping Tom with the ship and with what I know happened that night. And I can’t leave Casey to face this alone. She is already afraid, but if we fail… I will never be able to leave her. She will need me, and I will stay with her until I die.”

Chapter 31

March—November 1909

As she packed up her map of Belfast, with its gardens running all over town, Casey hoped that Mike Sloan would be too busy with work at the shipyard to attend the Society meeting. She’d been working on the plans for a year and she knew they were good. There was room for the other members to debate about specifics, but she wanted the locations to stay constant. The locations were the point.

Sam offered to go with her. “You realize it could get nasty. You could use some support.”

She hesitated. “That would be nice, but since you never have attended, it might look strange. As if I’m trying to intimidate them.”

He grinned. “I’m not usually called intimidating, but I see your point. Still…”

She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine. Will you read to Jamie for me?”

“Sure. I have a paper on “The Electric Properties of Steel” I’m sure he’d love.” Sam laughed with her, and waved her off to her meeting.

~~~

Sloan was there. Casey sighed and took her seat, holding her rolled-up plan on her lap and staring at it in consternation. A year spent working on it, and it would be so much simpler to just pretend it didn’t exist. To let it go. To live quietly…

“Goodness, dear. Is that your last will and testament?” Mrs. Herceforth sat next to her and cocked an eyebrow at the roll Casey held. “You’re looking at it like you’re terrified of it.”

Casey flushed and put the roll on the chair next to her. “I might be, at that,” she said noncommittally, unwilling to explain much. “Just some garden plans. I hope someone likes them.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will, dear. Your plans are so inventive, and we haven’t seen many of them lately.”

As Mrs. Herceforth chatted on, Casey nodded and looked around the room. They still met in the social hall of the First Presbyterian Church and the walls were adorned with pictures of Jesus with the children, with the disciples, and catching fish. A large fireplace supplied the only heat, which worked fine when the large congregation was present with food and activities, but the Horticultural Society, like most groups, had a small number of active members. The room was cold and Casey still wore her gloves and a warm cardigan, although she’d hung her cloak on one of the racks in the back. A few long tables were set up front with rows of chairs facing them. The president sat in front and called them to order. They began with announcements.

Her nervousness grew as the time for new presentations approached. She knew it was radical. She knew she was asking for trouble. She closed her eyes and went over the words she had prepared, hoping to keep the group calm. Hoping to help them see the beauty behind the plans.

Members were required to place their names on the agenda if they wanted to make a formal presentation. She had done this a week ago, and was pretty sure that’s why Mike Sloan had made an effort to attend. A stab of resentment went through her. Tom was working late nearly every night. Sloan should be working, too, instead of looking for ways to cause her trouble.

“Casey Andrews. We haven’t seen new plans from you for a long time. It will be good to see what you have.” The president beamed at Casey as she stood and moved to the front.

Don’t look at Sloan.

She managed a smile for the president and turned it on the group. “I’ve been working on something for a while, but just in my spare time. It’s based on work done in Berkeley when I was young. Younger,” she added as several of them tittered. She was, by far, the youngest member of the society. The joke had been unplanned, but it helped loosen her up and remember that most of them actually liked her. It also helped that her words were true. She had based her plan on work done when she was a teenager. It was just that the work was done in the 1990s and early 2000s. They had needed to tear up developed areas to free the streams that had been covered over in previous decades. She hoped, in part, to prevent Belfast from making the same mistake.

She held the roll like a cane, letting its end rest on the floor. She wasn’t ready to unroll it yet, as she went on with her explanation. “The idea was to preserve natural spaces within the city, and nurture the riparian areas. Like Belfast, Berkeley has many streams that run through the town. So my plans are based, firstly, on the geology and topography of Belfast, which is a wide area.” They were nodding, their faces reflecting their anticipation. Despite her resolve to not look at him, she saw Sloan narrow his eyes. He was suspicious.

“As I’ve learned working at the Botanic Gardens, landscaping works best when it’s incorporated into the whole. Isolated, exotic gardens require a much greater effort, and much more expense, to maintain. So…” she unrolled the plan and the president rose to hold one end of it for her.

The first murmurs were because of the scope of the plans. They had not expected to see the entire city represented. The silence that began to descend over the meeting happened as they realized her plan did, indeed, represent the entire city. All of it. Casey spoke quickly into the silence.

“I’ll leave it up here for you to peruse. I hope we can take the time to discuss it in full.”

“You already know we can’t allow this.” Mike Sloan spoke before anyone could move. “Don’t pretend it’s just another idea we can discuss.”

“I will pretend exactly that, Mr. Sloan,” Casey said. “This plan takes into account the watershed and native habitats as they already exist. I propose that we build on them, in ways that preserve them for future generations.”

Sloan stood and the vice-president tapped a gavel. “Mr. Sloan, you do not have the floor.”

“Well, I’m takin’ it,” Sloan retorted and he turned back to Casey. “Watersheds and natives are all fine, Mrs. Andrews. But ye must keep your plans in the correct areas. Take it home and fix that and then we’ll consider it.”

“It won’t work if you try to truncate the natural environment,” she said angrily. “The watershed doesn’t know or care about political divisions. It just is.”

He pointed at her. “Ye better care about ‘em, lass. They exist for your protection.”

“The land belongs to everyone at once, regardless of religion or income, or…”

“We do not make plans for the Papists!” His voice roared. Timid Lady Talbot put her hands over her ears, and the vice-president stood, his gavel pointing at Sloan, who ignored him. Sloan pointed again at Casey, his face red. He spoke softly, but with more threat.

“Ye, Casey Andrews, have disregarded our laws, our rules, and our way of life, from the day ye got into town. Ye do what ye want, and ye manipulate the people around ye with deceit and lies. And when you’re found out, ye smile real pretty and say you’re sorry. Ye use your feminine charms to keep people under your spell. Ye charm the rich and influential so ye can spread your poison. You’re a danger to this society and to this town. I’m callin’ for your dismissal!”

The small crowd broke into whispers and gestures, some nodding in agreement, most looking uncertain and afraid. Casey held onto her plan and glared at him. “The only thing I disregard is your bigotry, Mr. Sloan. I recognize that all kinds of people live in this town and they all deserve a healthy and beautiful environment!”

Sloan looked over at the secretary, who had stopped taking notes and was staring in astonishment. “I move that Casey Andrews be stricken from the membership of the Horticultural Society, and not allowed to attend meetings. Due to her avowed disregard for the wishes of the Society, and incitement of members.”

Lady Talbot was weeping, but she said loudly, “Flowers. I just wanted some flowers around town. Why do we have to argue like this?”

“I second the motion.” The speaker was in the back, a businessman whom Casey did not know well. He stood and bowed slightly to Lady Talbot. “It is my hope, madam, that we can rid ourselves of troublemakers and get back to planting those flowers.”

Casey’s mouth fell open and she closed it with a snap. I’m the troublemaker! That’s really rich!

Mrs. Herceforth raised her hand and at the president’s nod, she stood. “I’d like to remind all of us that Mrs. Andrews is very young. We do her a disservice with the phrase ‘troublemaker.’ She is only too idealistic, perhaps. Youth seldom understands the larger ways of the world. I’d rather we let her stay and continue to nurture her to maturity. She has a great deal of talent and expertise that have been very useful to this society. I think we can all agree on that.”

“Aye,” Sloan said. “Maybe she doesn’t intend to cause trouble, yet that’s what always follows her. She never minds her place, either; she’s always out lookin’ for some way to meddle. She’s better off at home, taking care of her family, and learning how to behave herself in society.”

The murmurs that followed this were louder and more sincere. Casey fought down her fury and humiliation at the injustice of it, gripping the corner of the paper in her hand, causing it to crumple.

The president was still holding the other end of Casey’s plan and she slowly released it, glancing with regret at Casey before facing the group. Her voice shook. “The motion has been made and seconded, to strike Casey Andrews from our rolls. All in favor, please raise your hands.”

Far too many of them raised a hand immediately and Casey watched, as after a few moments, the stragglers joined them. Mrs. Herceforth sat grimly silent, hands in her lap and tears on her cheeks. Her lip trembled as she gazed at Casey.

“Let the record show…” the president stopped, unwilling to say what the record showed. “If there is no more business, this meeting is adjourned,” she said and they all stood, moving toward their cloaks at the back. But Mike Sloan walked forward, toward Casey, who was still standing in front, holding her plan in front of her like a shield. Everyone turned to watch. Mrs. Herceforth began moving quietly closer to the front.

Casey watched him come, tense, her eyes burning with unshed tears. He stopped in front of her and her chin went up. Her voice was ice. “Are you going to try stripping me again, Mr. Sloan?”

His face flushed with anger, and he clenched his hands into fists as he glared at her. Whatever he had been going to say, she saw him decide against it. Instead, he reached with both hands, and taking hold of her plan in its middle section, he tore it, pulling the Catholic section away from the rest and ripping it in several pieces, before turning and walking out.

~~~

“Ah, love.” Tom was there when she got home and he held her as she wept. He had not received a very coherent description of the evening due to her crying, but he had enough to know how humiliated she was. The ripped plan lay at their feet in the parlor. He stroked her hair, dropping kisses on her temple, feeling helpless to do anything useful.

“It’s a wonderful plan, Casey. I was so proud of you, watching you put it together. They would not have gotten a better plan if they’d paid a professional a hundred pounds for it.” He tilted her face up to look at him. “When you’re ready, love, you need to fix it and put it someplace safe. Maybe it’s too soon, maybe it’s too “American,” this idea that people of different backgrounds can work together. And too advanced. Remember, you have a hundred years of history and experience that the rest of us don’t have.”

She nodded reluctantly and he continued, “There’ll be a time when Belfast is ready for your plan. We’ll keep trying to get people to listen and maybe it won’t be long. There are people out there who want peace, sweetheart. They’ll like your plan.”

She choked on a bitter laugh. “If the people who plant flowers don’t want peace, who will?”

He hugged her tighter. “Some of them do. And some of the people who build ships, and some of the people who work in stores, or sew clothes, or cook food. There’s people everywhere, Casey, who want peace. They just aren’t very loud about it.”

She seemed to recover a bit as she listened to him and her smile, while small, was suddenly amused. “You would’ve made a great hippie, Tom Andrews.”

He looked alarmed. “If those are the same people Sam has told me about, I don’t think so. I know I’m not ready for Rock and Roll.”

She giggled at the awkward way he said the phrase, and let him help her fold the ripped sections of her plan. Then she locked them in a drawer in the library.

It was several months before she could make herself look at them again. Sometimes she just stared at the drawer. Once she actually touched the handle, her fingers folding around it, before she snatched the hand back and went outside to work in her own garden.

When Tom or Sam asked her about it, she just shrugged it off and said she’d get to it when she was ready. Just looking at the drawer brought back the humiliation and heartbreak of that night. She couldn’t bear the thought of actually looking at the pages.

But she couldn’t forget about it. Resentment simmered in her, that people she thought were her friends would turn on her so easily, that Sloan so effortlessly succeeded in obstructing her, that Tom went to work, day after day, with the man who had set her up as a sworn enemy.

That wasn’t fair, she knew. When Sloan, the next day at work, had tried to act as if everything were normal, Tom confronted him with quiet rage. Word had gotten around. Tom told her that the majority of workers had turned against Sloan, ignoring him outside of work-related discussions. Most of the less fanatic members of his evangelical group had dropped out. When it came to respect at Harland & Wolff, Tom was the clear winner, and no one was happy at Sloan’s treatment of Casey.

But she had to do something with the plans. She couldn’t face fixing them; she didn’t want to look at them. An idea began nibbling at her mind. After thinking about it for several weeks, she made a phone call. Then, on a conveniently windy day in November, with her head covered beneath her cloak, she walked alone through the streets, clutching a satchel, until she reached a Catholic church. This was a dangerous plan. But she could think of nothing else.

Inside, she paused and gazed at the elaborate beauty surrounding her. It really did evoke a sense of mystery or worship. A priest was coming her way and she stepped to meet him. “Good morning,” she said, wondering if he expected a ritual greeting of some kind. “I have an appointment with Father McCarrey.”

“Aye, welcome. I’ll take ye to his office.” The priest was young and polite, gesturing with a hand to have Casey follow him down a side aisle and through a door in the back. Father McCarrey’s office was in a building connected to the main church by a long corridor, windowless, but with large overarching beams every twenty feet or so. He greeted her with that kind, dignified air she associated with clergy of all types, and she let him take her cloak and usher her to a comfortable chair in his office. He took the chair’s mate, instructing his secretary to bring tea, then looked at her, fingers together and eyes twinkling.

“It’s not often I get a Protestant visitor, Mrs. Andrews. Not planning on converting, are ye?”

She laughed in surprise. “No sir, I’m not. I don’t have much interest in religion at all. I’m afraid I’m the bane of my husband’s family.”

“Well then,” he leaned back in his chair, “Ye said on the phone ye wanted to discuss a gardening plan for the Catholic areas.”

She nodded, licking her lips nervously. “You see, I’m in a bit of exile because of it.” He raised his eyebrows and she tried to explain what had happened at the meeting, without getting into the history she had with Sloan. At the end, she picked up her satchel and pulled out the ripped pieces of the plan, looking up to catch the blink of surprise from Father McCarrey when he saw the pages. His expression was sad.

“Ach, lass. What a dreadful thing to do.” He reached for the plans and moved to his desk, spreading the pages out and reassembling them. Casey sipped her tea and waited.

“What is it you’re hoping for, Mrs. Andrews?” He spoke respectfully, looking at her from his spot behind his desk.

She went to stand in front of his desk, gazing at the pages, before touching a finger to the largest section. “I want to give them to you.” Her gaze went to his face. “I want you to start your own horticultural society among the Catholics and engage them in this work.”

He sighed. “Lass, the Catholic people are poor and struggling. Building gardens is for the rich.”

Her brows lowered in puzzlement. “I know they’re poor, Father. Yet, they’re able to pay for grand church buildings. Gardens are an act of worship just as great. Better in fact, because they nurture the land and provide food, if you plant the right things.”

He stared at her a moment, pursing his lips. Then he nodded, once. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. I think you’re right about it.” He looked back down at the plans. “This is very generous of you. These plans are a work of art.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be happy to help any way that I can.”

“I’ll be in touch,” he told her.

Chapter 32

June—November 1910

The workforce had more than doubled at the shipyard. Tom found it increasingly difficult to be as personally involved with them. He liked the men who built his ships, but he missed the easy camaraderie they used to have. Now there were thousands of workers he didn’t even know.

Still, he had friends, and after lunch with George Cummings, he walked with him to the engine works. George was giving him a step-by-step report on North Down’s latest cricket match, which Tom had missed, and they paused beside the foundation for one of Olympic’s huge boilers. “Taylor smashed it over, but I was out for a duck!” George shook his head as he retold the story. “We really needed you, Tommy. The whole season will be shot if you don’t make it.”

“Can’t let that happen,” Tom agreed, removing a report from a pocket and scanning it. “Jamie’s walking well now, and he’ll need to start learning right away how to play the game.” He held up a finger in mock seriousness. “I promise he’ll only observe for the first few years. Too short for the team, I s’pose.”

They both laughed, continuing on to George’s office, going over the report Tom held. “We’ll need to have that new hydraulic machinery installed by the end of the year. It’s going to help immensely with the riveting; I want to have it available once Olympic is launched.”

“It’s on order,” George started to explain, when a shout interrupted him. They peered over the catwalk, looking down on the boiler room floor. Two men were arguing and it was turning violent. The smaller man was a foreman; they could hear him explaining about an infraction and what it had cost the company. The bigger man kept shouting about his pay being docked, and he began shoving the foreman with quick, short jabs, pushing him against a spare boiler. By the time Tom and George reached the floor, the bigger man was swinging, a blow landing severely on the foreman’s stomach.

Tom threw his coat into George’s arms, reached for the fellow and landed an upper cut right on his jaw. The guy fell against a boiler and Tom stepped back, raising his fists in readiness as the man struggled to his feet. But George and a few others grabbed him just as he began a roaring lunge at Tom. His glare remained fixed on Tom, but he gave in to the men holding him, his jaw the only thing moving. Tom dropped his fists. “See him to the gate. We don’t need troublemakers.”

Tom turned away, as the workers dragged the man through the building, following directions from George. The foreman was still leaning against the boiler, barely recovered from the hit to his stomach. Tom joined him and together they sank to the floor, each catching his breath.

“Thank you, Mr. Andrews,” the man said, shaking his head in shame. “I couldn’t have done that.”

“Aye, well.” Tom rested his head against the boiler and gingerly rubbed his knuckles. “We don’t usually hire supervisors on their ability to fight.” He gestured toward the Administration Office. “Can you go let ’em know what that was about? You’ll have to file a report.”

“Aye,” was the answer. “I got it all written down. He’s a careless sort. Broke some expensive equipment just because he didn’t want to follow the procedures. He was pretty blatant about it, too.”

Tom nodded and stood, reaching down to help the smaller man to his feet. “See to it, then. And thank you for pursuing the matter. We’ve got too much to do to let a lazy worker get away with trouble.” He watched as the man headed over to George’s office and reflected that this kind of thing was happening more often. He was afraid they were losing control.

He had just returned to his office when the emergency klaxon went off, with the signal that a man was down. Tom’s shouted “Dear God, not again!” blended with cries of dismay from the drawing office. Other shouts or groans could be heard from outside the office, as thousands of men reacted to what was the third emergency of the month, on the heels of one in May. All had ended in death.

Tom wondered, for a moment, if the angry worker had done more violence. He would almost prefer that, but as he raced through the drawing office, he knew it would make no difference. They had to get this workforce under control. He glanced toward George’s office, but no. Men were looking outside, toward the ships.

Toward Titanic.

Tom ran to the yard. Men cleared a path for him as he pushed his way through the crowd. He didn’t have to go far. On the deck, just a few feet from the ship, a small group was gathered around a body. Tom faltered at the sight of blood and flesh scattered around the victim, and his last steps were slow. There was no reason to hurry.

“John Kelly.” The name was supplied by the foreman as Tom knelt next to him. “He fell from the slipway.”

Tom stared at the body. “He’s just a lad.”

“He were nineteen, sir.”

Tom glanced up to see the owner of the choked voice. Another lad, blinking rapidly through free-falling tears, stood twisting his cap. The boy didn’t look at Tom. “We started workin’ here the same day. His Ma always let me stay for supper.”

Tom stood and put an arm around the boy, turning him away from the body. He saw a couple of men coming with a stretcher. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Danny O’Connor, sir.”

“You can take the day off, Danny. Go home, if you need to. Or…” Tom paused, glancing toward the men approaching.

The boy noticed them, and swallowed hard, swiping a sleeved arm across his face. “I’d like to stay with ’im, sir, if I may. I… I should be there when ’is Ma finds out.”

Tom nodded, patting the lad’s back. He had to swallow hard himself, to clear the ache in his throat, so he could give orders. Lord Pirrie insisted that all accident victims be taken to the hospital, even if they were dead. Tom helped them get the body onto the stretcher—a miserable job, but the men who would have to clean off the deck would have an even harder time. George was taking charge of that part of things, so Tom went to get one of the firm’s cars, kept on site for emergencies.

On the way, he spotted Ham. “Call Casey for me, will you? Ask her to meet us at the hospital.” He hated to get her involved. She was five months pregnant, and he knew this would greatly upset her. But she would be furious if he left her out, and in truth, she was a real help. She would be there to talk to the mother, help with other children or with cooking—whatever needed to be done. He couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten through these situations before marrying her.

But as the day went on, through all the painful confusion of helping the shocked mother deal with doctors and paperwork and funeral arrangements, another thought kept intruding. A thought that made him reel with fury and betrayal. But he blocked it off until he could get home and talk to Sam.

~~~

It was after ten before Tom and Casey limped into the house, having stayed with Mrs. Kelly until they were sure she was well taken care of. Casey had helped with the younger children until Mrs. Kelly’s sister arrived. The usual grapevine had made sure that all relatives and neighbors were aware of the tragedy, and by dinner, many of them had gathered at the Kelly home, bringing food and the comforting tumult of company.

Sam was waiting up for them in the parlor with his latest journal opened in his lap. He was staring into the empty fireplace, making no attempt to write. He looked up as they entered the room.

Tom stared at him a moment, fighting the rage he’d kept back all day. “Did you know?” he asked hoarsely.

Beside him, Casey started, caught unaware by his question. Sam returned the stare, not saying anything. Tom took another step toward Sam.

“Three this month, four in just two months. That has to be mentioned somewhere. Did you know these people were going to die, Sam?”

Sam was shaking his head, but he looked oddly guilty. “No. My god, Tom, no, I didn’t know.”

Tom took another step, hands clenched. “God damn it, Sam. This is not all just about me. It’s not all just about the sinking. People die, Sam, building these ships. If you know these things, you have to tell me. We have to stop everything we can.”

“I should have known.” Sam rubbed his face, wearily. “I’ve been sitting here trying to remember. I know it was told us at some point. And the memorial lists each person who died during construction, but I don’t remember the names. God help me, I should have known.”

“Stop it.” Casey stepped between them, near tears. “Both of you, stop it. Tom, Sam’s been trying to remember everything he can. Do you seriously believe he could have known this and not said anything?”

Tom’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. “Not deliberately. But we’ve got to do better. What else goes wrong with these ships? What else can we fix?”

“Labor issues, maybe?” She was suddenly angry and Tom stepped back as she rounded on him. “What’s wrong here is the upper-class notion that workers are expendable resources. Management doesn’t have to provide a safe environment, or living wages, because there are always more workers ready to replace the ones who die. Harland & Wolff does better than a lot of companies, but they don’t come close to the right environment. You want to provide safety training for workers? Training they take during work hours and get paid for? Extra safety equipment provided by the company? Safety procedures that are audited and everyone has to follow? Worker’s compensation for injuries or deaths? Giving them time to do their jobs safely instead of rushing to meet a schedule? Want to talk about asbestos? In twenty or thirty years, people are going to start dropping dead because of their exposure to it. Do you want to fix that?”

Stung, Tom looked from her to Sam. “Is that what we need to do? Is that what the company does in the future? All those things?”

Sam held out a hand as if to placate both of them. “Look, this is stuff it takes decades to accomplish. Casey, we can’t single-handedly tear down the social structure and rebuild it in our own image. You said it yourself. Harland & Wolf is way ahead of other companies with its safety practices. Give them credit, Case.” He rubbed his forehead. “So much of this is industry specific, too, and we tend not to think of dangers until they happen. This is exactly why the Titanic sank. A failure of imagination. Not imagining the dangers that could occur and providing a way to survive. It was before your time, Casey, but do you know about the fire in the Apollo space capsule in the sixties? Something as simple as a handle to open the door from the inside could have saved those men’s lives. But no one thought of it.”

“Even when they know, they ignore it if it costs too much,” she said bitterly. “They didn’t change the O-rings on Challenger. They didn’t do anything about the foam shedding on Columbia. Even these Olympic-class ships are going out without a double hull. All management decisions, made even though they knew of the dangers.”

Tom winced, but said nothing. Silence gripped them all, by turns accusatory, guilty, and hopeless.

Casey jerked suddenly with a spasm, reaching around to rub her back. Tom wilted as he watched her, pregnant and weary, but still full of passion. He took her in his arms and she slipped her own around him, hugging him tenderly. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m going to put you to bed. You’ve done too much today.”

She nodded, let go of him to drop a kiss on Sam’s head, and went to bed.

~~~

Work did not slow down, and on a late evening in August, Tom left the administration building to head home at last. Nine o’clock, and he had to be back before six in the morning. He was scrambling to have Olympic’s shell complete in time for the October launch date. There was a point in every ship’s development when he despaired that it would ever get done by the deadline. If one more vendor called him to ask for an extension…

He paused as a figure approached him, peripherally aware that there were a few other figures keeping out of sight in the shadows to his side. He was somewhat relieved to see it was Mike Sloan approaching. Trouble then, but not anything he wouldn’t live through.

“Mr. Andrews, do ye have a minute?” Sloan stood stiffly, with an offended air.

Tom thought of the figures waiting out of sight. “I suppose I do. What can I do for you, Mike?”

“Were ye aware, sir, that your wife has been visiting a Catholic church?”

Tom’s face scrunched in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about? I assure you we spend our Sundays together.”

But Sloan shook his head. “Not services, sir. During the week day. People noticed her a couple of times going into St. Patrick’s. Always alone, she is.” Sloan moved a step closer to Tom, who stood rooted to the spot. “Now I won’t suggest she’s working for Home Rule or anything like that. But she meddles, and if you’re honest sir, you’ll admit that. If ye weren’t already aware of it, we think it might be a good idea if you remind her of her place. For her safety, sir.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the man. “You’re coming to me with hearsay about my wife? You’ve no real proof it was even her. You call her a meddler? You are the meddler, Mike, never leaving people to live in peace.”

“There’s people willing to say it was her, sir.”

“I don’t care, Mike. You can come up with fifty people who’ll say what you want them to. Casey would not do something like that without discussing it with me. And my family, Mike,” Tom pointed a finger at him, “is not under your jurisdiction. You will not tell me what rules my family may or may not follow. Is that clear?”

“Aye, sir.” Sloan nodded briefly and stepped to the side. “Perfectly clear, sir.”

The problem, Tom knew, is that the situation was perfectly clear to him, too. As Sloan intended.

~~~

It was not in Tom’s nature to shout in anger, although he had done it at times. But he had never known anything to drive him to that state faster than Casey admitting she’d been to the Catholic church three times, and had talked on the phone several times with Father McCarrey. It wasn’t just anger that clinched at him, but fear, too. Did she not understand the danger?

He stood in their bedroom as she sat on the divan, her face pale and stubborn, feet tucked up under her, dressed only in her camisole and bloomers, the pregnancy pushing against the material. Her hands were folded under her stomach as she stared at the floor in front of her.

It was late, and he was exhausted. He’d said all the desperate, ugly things people say at times like this: how could she, why did she sneak around, how long had she been doing it, what was she doing? And the part he kept coming back to: Why didn’t she trust him enough to come to him, first?

He stood and stared at her, shaking with tiredness and anger and fear. And love. Weary, he sat next to her, joining in her investigation of the floor. His voice was hoarse. “I guess I’m done.”

She stirred then, her hands stroking her belly in an upward motion to rest there, as if to comfort the baby. She looked at him and he saw her flinch to do it. All the love between them, and they had still come to this.

“I was afraid you’d tell me I couldn’t go,” she said. “And I had to go. It’s one thing to do something on my own, even if I think you won’t approve. But it would have killed me to do it once you’d said not to.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Casey.”

“It’s the truth, though.” She ducked her head. “It shouldn’t be a crime to talk to a priest.”

“It’s not a crime,” he pointed out. “Just very unwise. I would have gone with you.”

Her eyes jerked up to his face and color flooded her cheeks. She looked like she might be sick. “You would have?” Her voice squeaked.

He nodded, feeling his heart break further that this had never occurred to her. “It’s the sneaking around that causes the trouble, Casey. People see you and they wonder what you’re up to. They expect betrayal, you see. They’re looking for it. And they punish it very swiftly. If you and I had just gone in the open and talked to the priest, and everyone knew you were handing over the plans—they’d have been unhappy, but it would soon be forgotten. This way…” He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the pictures there.

“They’ll believe what they want.” His face was bleak. “You could be tarred and feathered. Beaten. Stoned. They might burn our house. All of that could still happen, if they decide you’re actively working against them. My name and my family can protect you against a lot, Casey. But we can’t protect you forever if you keep…doing…these things…” he ended in tears, choking out the words. “They’ll find a way to get to you. Even if we went away, to England or America, if they feel there’s a debt, they’ll find us.”

She stared at him, cheeks flaming, breathing deeply, before abruptly racing to the chamber pot in their room and was sick in to it. He went to her, holding her until she was done, then carried her to the bed. He brought her some water, which she tried to drink, as sobs shook her body.

“I would never put my family in danger,” she said through the tears. “I would never hurt you or Jamie or the baby or any of your family. Those things… what you said, those are illegal in the future. It’s wrong,” a spark of her anger returned, slowing her tears. “It’s wrong that the people I have to be afraid of are the ones who are supposed to be my people.”

He stroked her hair. “I know. And I’ll take care of it, Casey. It’s not gone so far that there’s no hope. Just let it go for now, all right? You’ve given them the plans, now just let it be.” His hands went to her belly. “You’ll have another baby, soon. You have Jamie, and our garden, and the harvesting and canning coming up. You always do a lot to donate food to the poor at that time. Just stay busy here, and at Ardara. We’ll still have music nights, and it will be all right. Just give it time.”

“All right,” she whispered. “But what will you do about Sloan?”

He gripped her hands. “I’ll talk to him. I’ve had to handle this kind of thing for other people. I know what to say to him, although it’ll be different since it’s my own family in trouble. They’re just looking for certain reassurances.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll ask Uncle Will to talk to him. His reassurances might carry a lot more weight than mine in this situation.”

“Sloan hates me,” she murmured, her eyes haunted. “He hates me all out of proportion to what I did at the shipyard. He always has. Because I’m an atheist.”

Tom nodded. “Aye, that’s exactly right. And Casey, I know he’s wrong about it. But you still have to live as if he’s a danger to you. You have to stay on your guard and for now, at least, not give him any ammunition.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Her fingers caressed his cheek, her face splotchy and tear-stained as she gazed at him. He thought she looked fragile and beautiful. “I’ve done something incredibly stupid this time. Can we recover from this? Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“ Ah, lass.” He returned her touch, his fingers gentle on her cheek. “It’s not in me to stay angry at you. You are my life, and every year you grow more precious to me. The reasons to love you are beyond count.” He kissed her forehead and lay down next to her, cradling her in his arms. “We’ll get through it.”

~~~

Lord Pirrie’s talk with Sloan, along with Casey’s voluntary isolation, bought them some peace. The Pirries had begun to work for Home Rule, but on the whole, the Andrews family were all loyal advocates of Unionism, and Casey was not important enough to tip the scales away from that. Tom knew she chafed at being confined though, so he spoke to his father and uncle about arranging for her to have safe time to work with the Catholics. In the large scheme of things, gardens were fairly harmless. They promised it would happen eventually.

For now, Casey spent more time at Ardara or at Maxwell Court with her sister-in-law, Jessie. Jamie was happy with this arrangement and followed his cousins around learning to hunt snarks. It was his favorite game and Casey didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

She went to church a bit more often at first, admitting to Tom and Sam that it was a blatant attempt to get back into everyone’s good graces, but gradually, she went back to her regular schedule. Too many of the people at church were the same ones who had voted her out of the Society, and she wasn’t able to feel free about chatting with them.

~~~

As October moved through its days, Casey counted each one with trepidation, hoping the baby would wait to be born until after the Olympic’s launch. That would happen on the twentieth, and until then there were meetings and reports and lists and details that kept Tom at the yard until ten or eleven nearly every night. They joked that he would just come home one night and find another child in the nursery. But Casey did hope he would be able to be home for a while when the baby was born.

Normally, she and Sam would both have attended the launching, but her advanced pregnancy would keep her home. Although in their time, the Titanic was the most famous of the ships, the Olympic had really been the jewel of the trio. She was the first Olympic-class ship built, the first to sail, and the only one to serve for many years. Tom described her frequently. It was clear he was smitten with her. Her design had a leaner and more elegant appearance than older liners. He thought she was amazingly beautiful, even at this point, when she was just a shell.

“I know you’ve seen pictures of her complete,” he told them one Sunday afternoon as they rested in the garden. “But I have only our plans of what she’ll be like when she’s finished. We’re working on the fittings. The staircases will be grand, with detailed carvings. We’ll have wrought iron detailing in places, a glass dome, and artwork throughout. I can’t wait to have her finished.” He hugged Casey gently. “I hope you get to see her before her maiden voyage. I’ll take you on a private tour.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up at the thought and she teasingly leaned toward him. “If I get you alone on one of those ships, she may not be a maiden when she leaves.”

His hug tightened briefly as he laughed. “I can arrange that quite easily. I shall look forward to that tour, indeed.”

~~~

Launching Day dawned bright, cool and baby-less. Tom was at the yard by 5:00 a.m., seeing to the last-minute details for the 11:45 launching. Spectators began arriving by eight. There was no point in any department trying to get actual work done, although many people tried. Tom had not been happy about it, but the managing directors had decided not to pay workers for attending the launch of a ship unless they actually had duties to perform. All other employees were expected to continue working, but that was difficult with the public wandering in and out. They had to keep people safely away from work zones, one more detail to add to the other thousand things to deal with.

Tom had given Sam a ticket that placed him on one of the stands near the ship. He’d have a good view, and Tom hoped he enjoyed the spectacle. He knew that, for Sam and Casey, these ships represented something terrifying, and he really wanted to show them how wonderful they could be.

Indeed, Sam looked awed and happy as he stood with the crowd and watched as they knocked away the last of the boards, and released the hydraulic hold on the ship. Olympic floated backwards, silent and majestic. She settled in the water as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and out on the hills someone set off fireworks. Tom let his breath out in relief. She was on her way. There would be a celebratory lunch while a crew brought Olympic into the slip that would be her home for the next seven months for her fitting out. Then he had some time off.

Just in time to be a father again.

~~~

Theresa Diane Andrews was born bright and early on 23 October 1910, with the apparent goal of making her father smile. Casey said she looked like the grandmother she was named for, and it was certainly clear to everyone that she looked like her mother. Even Jamie was smitten with her, although he tried hard to remember she was supposed to be a pest. He had that on good authority from his cousins, but they had not warned him how much fun it would be to hear his sister laugh, something she did early and often.

~~~

Fitting out for the Olympic continued, and there were often sudden moments of wonder throughout the yard, as men paused to observe the beauty and craftsmanship that went into her. The ships they built were among the most beautiful in the world, as Lord Pirrie expected their liners to rival the grandest hotels. But they were doing more than ever with these ships, and it made them proud. Nearly every person in Belfast had something to do with building the ships, or had a close relative who did. Shipbuilder Magazine wrote about them in every issue. Harland & Wolff was on top of the world.

Chapter 33

January 1911

When Terry was about two months old, Casey began to chafe against her isolation. With the greenhouse, she always had plenty to do at Dunallon, and she had no intention of trying to get back into the Horticultural Society. But she and Penny had been used to frequent outings around Belfast, to the markets for just window shopping, or over to Susan Cummings’ house to let the children play together. Susan still welcomed her, but now William had to drive them over and pick them up. Casey wanted to walk again.

Tom gave it some thought when she asked him about it. “It’s been several months and you’ve two small children to care for, now. Sloan is ever suspicious of you, but I know he’s had nothing to complain about for a long time.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, staring into the library fire. Casey shifted next to him, restless. “Am I supposed to spend my entire life restricted like this?” she asked him. “It’s like house arrest, but without the judge and jury.”

He took her hand, shaking his head. “No. Uncle Will told Sloan that your mistakes were mostly due to being American. He told him that you have a hard time understanding the disagreements between the factions, and that you just misjudged what could be done. I don’t believe Sloan is convinced, but I think you have enough leeway to get back out there, take your walks, shop, visit friends. Just please, stay away from Catholic churches?” He smiled to take the sting from his words and she put herself in his arms, hugging him gently.

“I will never take the children anywhere it might be dangerous. And I’m never going out alone, again.”

So she and Penny began a daily routine of a late morning walk, Terry in her pram and Jamie traipsing along with them. Sometimes they walked to town for shopping, sometimes they walked through the university or the Botanic Garden, although Casey avoided the Palm House. She had stared at it for several minutes their first day out, as Jamie begged to see it.

She turned to Penny. “I can’t,” she said, swallowing hard. “I want to go, but I can’t.”

Penny placed a comforting hand on Casey’s arm. “It’s all right, Mistress. You’ll get back there someday, I’m sure of it.”

Casey nodded, her lips in a thin, tight line. “Yes. Someday. I’ll insist on it.”

~~~

Casey had noticed a beautiful red tablecloth in the window at Robinson’s, so on their next walk, she and Penny went shopping. They bundled Jamie in his coat and wrapped Terry snuggly in her soft wool cap and sweater, lovingly knitted by her grandmother. They would shop, walk around a bit, and if the children were peaceful, have lunch before coming home.

The day was cold and bright, with a breeze that carried the ever-present coal smoke and odors out to sea. They walked along a line of small stores, stopping to admire a miniature tea set in the window of one. Penny was talking about a set she and her sisters had shared as children, when Casey noticed an odd movement from the corner of her eye. She turned, just as a brick sailed through the air in front of the pram, crashing into the window like a bullet, bringing an immediate screech from Terry.

They all screamed as the glass shattered around them. Casey covered the pram with her body, yelling at Penny to get Jamie out of there. Glass fell all over her, and above Terry’s screams she heard other yells, and possibly gunshots. Don’t run with the pram. The incongruent thought was calm and clear in her mind. It tips over so easily.

Her shaking arms reached into the pram and picked up the baby and blankets. Holding her daughter tightly to her chest, she turned and ran, seeing Penny, with Jamie in her arms, disappearing around a corner. “Keep going!” she shouted as she caught up with them and they all ran, children screaming, both women determined and intent. Casey had never in her life heard an infant cry like Terry was crying—a screeching, piercing scream—and her heart pounded with fear as she wondered if she was hurt. She didn’t dare stop to find out.

“Yah! Run, ye Papist-loving cowards!” The yell came from behind them and a rock accompanied the words, missing them by a few inches before hitting the ground ahead of them. They ran, turning at the next street, instinctively heading toward Dunallon. There was no riot on this street, at least not yet, but the sounds from the next block could be heard, and people were taking cover.

“Here! Come in here!” A hand grabbed Penny and pulled her inside the shop they were passing. Penny screamed and tried to pull away, but Casey crowded behind her, pushing her inside.

“Go! I have to see… I have to check…,” breathless and terrified, Casey held her screeching daughter at arm’s length, letting glass fall away from the blankets and cap. She looked frantically for a place to lay her, but the shopkeeper reached over and snatched the baby, placing her on the shop counter, one hand holding her in place, the other placed firmly on Casey’s chest, holding her back.

“You’re covered in glass, ma’am. Let me undress her and we’ll see if she’s all right.” Without waiting, she turned to a young girl standing in shocked silence at the end of the counter. “Molly, take the lad and make sure he’s not hurt. Mind the glass.”

Jamie objected mightily as the girl reached for him, but Penny and Casey both ordered him to obey. Penny knelt next to him as the girl undressed him. A steady trembling shook Casey as she stood, unable to go to either of her children, her eyes moving from one to the other, looking for blood, watching as glass, mostly as shards, but some as large as a few inches, tumbled from their wraps. Clothing began to join the coat and blankets on the floor and gradually they all realized there was no more glass. Both children had several small cuts and scratches, but there was no gush of blood.

She had to hold her son. She had to nurse her baby. Casey began removing her hat and cloak, glass scraping her flesh before the shop girl grabbed her hands. “Nay, ma’am. Slowly. Ye must do it slowly.”

“Mum!” Jamie tried to move to her and Penny grabbed his arm. The shopkeeper picked up the naked baby, cradling her and covering her with her shawl, as she knelt by Jamie. He stopped and stared at the woman, his eyes wide, sobs suddenly quiet.

“Mum’s b’eeding,” he told her quite clearly. “Make it stop.”

She patted his head, gently bouncing the screaming baby. “Aye, lad. We’ll do that. Ye stay out of the way of the glass, though. Ye hear me?”

He nodded and stayed where he was. Casey’s heart melted. He was so brave and good. Just like his father.

Now that she knew the children were unhurt, her eyes went to Penny. Her maid was also removing her hat and coat, moving slowly and dropping the clothing on the floor. There was no blood apparent, and Casey remembered Jamie’s words. Her glance went to the shopkeeper, who was standing in front of her, now. She handed the still crying baby to the girl, who moved back to let the woman proceed with undressing Casey. “Where am I bleeding?” Casey asked. She seemed unable to feel her own body, so intense was her desire to get to her children.

“Your neck and back,” the woman replied, quickly undoing the buttons on Casey’s blouse and removing it. “’Tis not bad, I don’t think. I want to make sure we get all the glass away before stopping it.”

Casey nodded and tried to help, forcing her shaking fingers to undo buttons and peel away clothing. For a moment, the oddness of undressing in a public store unnerved her, but the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. The girl had gone to the door, checked the street, then locked it, pulling down a shade.

“The street’s still quiet,” she said, bouncing Terry, whose crying was reducing to whimpers, punctuated by an occasional wail that broke her mother’s heart.

Once down to her camisole and outer petticoat, the shopkeeper seemed satisfied that Casey was glass-free. “Give her the baby, Molly,” she instructed, “and bring me some water and clean towels. I want to check on her maid. I don’t see any blood, but we want to make sure.”

Relief flooded Casey as she took Terry. The baby began searching for a breast, her cry growing urgent again. Casey was led to a chair and commanded to sit. She held a hand out to Jamie. “Let the girl pick you up, sweetie and bring you here.” Molly picked him up and settled him on Casey’s lap. She held him with her free arm, trying to cover him a bit. He had to be cold, dressed in just his underwear and shirt. The shopkeeper retrieved a sweater from her stock and slipped it over his head. It was large for him and covered him completely. He pulled it tight and around his feet, and snuggled against his mother, patting the baby’s leg gently. Terry nursed fiercely, occasionally stopping to emit a heart-rending cry, as if she suddenly remembered what had happened to her. She went right back to nursing, though.

The shopkeeper gave Penny a chair and wrapped a blanket around her, and another around Casey, which she pulled forward to cover the children, too. Casey smiled up into the concerned face. “You’re an angel from heaven, ma’am. What is your name?”

The face crinkled into a small smile. “I’m Mrs. Hogan. Mr. Hogan and I own this store and Molly’s our daughter. Mr. Hogan just stepped out to oversee a delivery. He’ll be back, soon.”

Casey searched her eyes. “Not near the rioting, is he?”

“Nay. He went ’ta other way,” was the calm reply and Casey let it drop.

Mrs. Hogan began poking at Casey’s neck, pulling the blanket down a bit. “It’s clotting, some. I’ll have to wash it, though. We don’t want any small shards of glass stuck in there.”

Casey nodded, noticing that her blouse, crumpled on the floor, was covered in blood. She had bled a lot. “How long is it?”

“An inch or so. Your hat and coat protected you in that way. It’s deep, though, ma’am. Probably was a large piece.” Mrs. Hogan moved the blanket farther down and lifted Casey’s camisole. “Your back is pretty badly scratched, too. Some of those pieces went right through your coat.”

She could feel it, now that things were calming down, but she kept her arms around her children and sat straight, eyes closed, as Mrs. Hogan thoroughly washed the deep cut and staunched the bleeding. She was not entirely successful in this last part and set Molly to holding a towel tightly against it while she worked on sweeping up all the glass and checking the street for any signs of rioting.

Mr. Hogan returned while this was going on, upset at first about the door being locked, but shocked at the sight of the women and children wrapped in blankets, with glass everywhere. He said he’d heard the rioting, but that it was already stopped, the perpetuators driven off the street and scattered.

“Too bad they didn’t catch any of ’em,” he grumbled, on his way to his office in the back of the store. He glanced at Casey. “Would you like me to call someone for ye, ma’am?”

It would have been more practical to call Mrs. Pennyworth to arrange for clothing and a ride, but Casey dismissed that idea. She wanted Tom. Mr. Hogan took the information and disappeared in the back.

Mrs. Hogan provided tea for them all, with plenty of honey and milk for Jamie, who was finally coaxed off his mother’s lap and allowed to sit on the now clear floor and sip his tea. Molly got the bleeding to stop enough to tie a loose bandage around Casey’s neck. Mrs. Hogan suggested Casey see a doctor. “Might need to sew it up, Mrs.”

Once the bandage was on, Casey leaned back in the chair in relief and closed her eyes, rocking Terry gently in movements that were comforting to her, as well. After a minute, she glanced at Penny, who was sitting in her chair and watching Jamie with a tender smile. Her face was pale, every freckle standing out in bold relief, her eyes tired. Casey stood and knelt beside her, hugging her tight.

“My wonderful Penny. You never even thought about it. You just saved Jamie’s life. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Penny returned the hug, careful of the bandage and the baby. “Ah, mistress. I wouldn’t leave him. I love him, too, you know.” She touched Terry lightly. “And your wee one, too. I couldn’t love my own any more than them.”

Casey gave her another squeeze and returned to her chair. Jamie climbed into Penny’s lap and fell asleep.

After several minutes of silence, the door opened with a bang and rush of wind, as a dark nor’easter blew into the store, in the form of Tom. He filled the space with sudden energy and purpose. Casey gasped to see him, his face angry and terrible, but his presence the essence of comfort. She stood quickly, struggling to hold onto the baby and the blanket, but it didn’t matter, because he grabbed her, taking the baby in one arm, and holding Casey to him with the other. He buried his face in her hair with a sob.

“He said you were all right,” Tom told her, his voice breaking. “Are you? Are all of you all right?” She nodded into his chest and his arm tightened, then he pulled away long enough to gaze at his daughter, his face darkening when he saw the cuts. Jamie tugged at his leg. Casey took Terry while Tom lifted the boy and inspected the cuts on his face.

“Are ye okay, lad?” he asked softly. Jamie nodded, then abruptly began talking. He spoke quickly, his words tumbling over each other, as he described in the mostly incomprehensible babble of a two-year old, every detail of the event, complete with dramatic hand gestures and sound effects.

“Window CRASH…, g’ass hurt…, ran FAST…, baby cry HARD…, lady take c’othes off…, g’ass ALL OVER…, Mum b’ed and b’ed…, I had tea.” He stopped talking and stared at his father, who stared back in silent shock. Jamie slipped his arms around his father’s neck and buried his face in the comforting shoulder.

Casey wiped away a tear with the corner of her blanket and smiled slightly at Tom as he held his son, looking as if he might cry himself. “That about sums it up,” she said weakly.

He reached to squeeze her hand. “He said you were bleeding. Where?”

She gestured vaguely. “My neck.”

Penny spoke up. “She covered the pram with her body. Nearly all the glass fell on her.”

The tears in Tom’s eyes gave way and he pulled Casey into another gentle hug. Casey reached over and pulled Penny into the embrace, too, telling Tom, “She got Jamie out of there. She kept him safe.”

“They were all lucky.” This statement came from Mr. Hogan, who was standing behind his counter, his wife and daughter in the doorway behind him. Tom and the women looked over, releasing each other in slight embarrassment. “Good thing it’s winter,” Mr. Hogan continued. “Their coats and hats protected them from most of the glass.”

The moment dissolved into introductions and thanks. In the middle of that, William and Mrs. Pennyworth arrived, with clothing for everyone. They began the confusing task of dressing and showing off cuts and scratches, along with explanations, when Casey suddenly mentioned, “I left the pram on the street.”

Tom caressed her shoulder. “We can replace the pram.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But maybe it’s not damaged. And the tablecloth we bought was in it.”

William volunteered to go look while they finished dressing. Mr. Hogan went with him. Mrs. Hogan handed Tom two large packages, brown paper and newsprint wrapped around the bundles.

“These are the clothes they were all wearing. Ye may not be able to get all the shards out, and the lady’s blouse is ruined, but I thought ye might want to try.”

The men returned, quiet and disturbed, as the others were climbing into the cars. Mr. Hogan shook Tom’s hand, said he hoped they’d all be fine, and went into his store. William paused next to Tom. “The pram was set afire, sir,” he said quietly, but Casey heard him. “’Tis odd, it is. There’s not much damage to the street. The shopkeepers along there said the riot ended quickly. But they burned the pram.”

They were a quiet group as they returned to Dunallon.

Chapter 34

January—February 1911

That evening, they gathered with the servants in quiet contemplation before the fire in the parlor, trying to understand what had happened. The doctor had just left, after examining everyone and sewing Casey’s cut. His final words left more chill: “Watch the baby for internal bleeding.” Her mouth had been open in screams while the glass was falling and the doctor was concerned that she might have swallowed some slivers. They could only wait and see.

Casey sat on the divan, holding Terry and leaning on Tom. He voiced the thought she preferred to avoid. “Was it deliberate? Were you targeted?”

“But I haven’t done anything!” she protested in quiet despair. “We’ve only been walking, I swear it!”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, his eyes troubled. “I’m not interested in reasons, right now. I want to know if you just got caught in a random riot or did someone set you up? Are they still after you?”

No one had answers for that. Sam, holding Jamie on his lap in the big chair, considered the evidence. “All we know is that the shop you were in front of, was attacked. A few other buildings were damaged, but nothing like other riots. This riot ended quickly, with everyone running off when other people started fighting back. The pram was burned. It could all be coincidence.”

“Except…” Penny started, then glanced at Casey, reluctant to go on.

“What?” Casey encouraged.

“When we were running down the alley. Did you hear someone yelling at us?”

Casey thought about it, memory dawning as they watched her. “I heard someone yell and I think they threw a rock at us. I remember it missed us.” She stared at Penny. “He said something about Papist-lovers.”

Penny reddened. “I swear, Mistress. I’ve not been courting any Catholics. I’ve not been courting anybody!”

They all laughed, the surprised laugh of people hearing something unexpected. But they sobered quickly.

“No, but it might have been a reference to my plans,” she reminded Penny, then she sighed angrily. “But it makes no sense! Why now?”

“Because you’ve just started going out alone. You’ve been following a routine, always walking in the same few places, the same time each day.” Tom spoke with great reluctance. “They’ve just been waiting for a chance.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t know it though, Tom. We have no proof and no way of finding out who might be behind it.”

“Ach, that ye’ll find out soon enough,” William said, from his perch near the mantle. They all looked at him.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“If it was deliberate, they’ll be wantin’ ye to know it, sir. And to know why. Not who, mind ye. But why. They’ll let you know, one way or ‘ta other.” He shrugged. “If no information comes about it, then it was probably random.”

~~~

The letter came the next day, with the mail. Tom’s mother, and Jessie, his sister-in-law, had spent the day at Dunallon. His father and brothers came just before dinner. Mrs. Pennyworth had set the mail on a tray in the library. Tom was flipping through the letters when one made him stop. He stared at it, before looking up to see everyone watching him. “It’s odd,” he said.

Casey stepped closer and her brows crinkled in concern at the envelope. It was addressed to Tom, with no indication of who it was from. But it was the handwriting that got their attention.

“Looks like a child wrote it,” Sam commented. He looked over at Jessie. “Something from Jack, perhaps? Forgot to put his name on it?” She shook her head.

Tom touched a finger to the envelope, then resolutely picked it up, reaching for his letter opener. “Let’s find out.”

He had to sit before he’d finished the second sentence. He read it through, knowing the others were waiting, but determined to finish it. The letter was short, but while the handwriting was that of a child, the words were those of an adult. A bitter, hateful adult.

“My god.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “William was right.” He heard Casey catch her breath and she sat beside him.

“May I see?”

He handed it to her, pulling her close to him while she read it out loud so everyone could hear, although her voice faded to a whisper by the end.

“Yesterday was a warning. It was not intended that anyone be hurt. But you must keep your wife under control and not allow her to seduce the good Protestants of Belfast with her godless ways and papist sympathies. Keep her at home and away from unsupervised public contact. There will not be any more warnings.”

No one said anything. Tom stared at Casey as she finished reading. She didn’t look up from the paper, but he could see the bright red spot on her cheek, saw her hands shaking. His arm was around her and he rubbed her shoulder, trying to think of something to say.

He winced when her hands jerked and she threw the letter on the floor. “Gah!” she shouted. He reached for her but she thrust both her hands against his chest with a force that shocked him. “My children! They almost killed my children just to keep me from taking walks! How can we survive? How can I keep from doing the wrong thing?”

Tom finally got a good grip on her, holding her tight against him. He stared at his father, who stood, fierce and silent, behind Casey. “This is it,” Tom said, caressing Casey’s head as she sobbed. “It ends, now.”

~~~

He took two actions. The first was to file a report with the police. He had an officer come out to Dunallon, and showed him the letter. They explained all that had been happening, starting with Casey’s first meeting with Mike Sloan. The officer agreed they had no concrete proof against Sloan, but it was good enough for them to question him. He’d see about that and be in touch.

The second step was to write a letter. Tom wanted a letter sent to the Belfast Telegraph. “I’ve no doubt it was Mike Sloan, but it’s not only him,” he told everyone when the officer had left. “I already know he has an alibi. He was at work when the riot happened. It’s all the others, too, you see. All the hard-liners, all the extremists. That’s who we’re up against.”

He sat back, his expression tortured. “We can’t fight them quietly or in secret. It’s got to be out in the open. In public.”

His father nodded. “Yes, it must be. Secrecy gives them power and it gives them time to do whatever they want. You may not be able to name names, but frankly, we all know who these people are. They’ve gone against all common sense, with this act. You understand, though, we might not win this fight, not in time.” His expression was guarded.

Tom nodded, but Casey shook her head. “What do you mean, in time?”

Tom stared hard at Casey as he spoke, wanting to make sure she understood. “He means they’ll try to silence us, sweetheart. This is one battle in a long war. If we take this action, it’s possible one or all of us could be killed. Me. You. The children.” Casey closed her eyes. He waited until she opened them again, and looked at him. “If we do nothing, they’ll get bolder. Attacking my family is an attack against the leaders of this town, against any who work for moderation in Home Rule solutions.” He glanced at Sam, realizing that none of this had happened in their history, that every step taken now, was a new direction, in a new future.

“We need to make sure,” he continued softly, “that the whole town knows the truth about what happened. So that if anything happens to us, they’ll have a chance to do something.”

Sam whistled, low. Casey glanced at him before turning back to gaze at Tom. “All right,” she said, standing very still. “Go for it.”

He went for it.

~~~

The newspaper printed his letter in the next edition. It was an essay really, long and intense. But Casey and Sam helped, and the letter was hard-hitting and emotional. Indeed, the letter was filled with his agony and his anger at this treatment from his fellow Protestants. He included the entire text of the warning received at Dunallon, along with the information that a child had evidently been used to write the dictated message.

His father and brothers agreed with Sam’s suggestion to send copies of the letter to every major newspaper in Ireland. His letter asked the people to decide what life they wanted. If they continued to follow power-hungry fanatics, they would lose all that was dear in their lives, not to the Catholics, but to their leaders. He reminded them that even now, with centuries of loyalty to Britain, and with Protestant majorities across the board, the Protestants of Ireland were not able to live in peace. Their leaders always agitated for another battle to fight, or another war to wage, and now the fight had been brought into their homes and nurseries. They would have no privacy, no rights, when other men could tell them how and when to discipline their wives, or could place innocent people under house arrest, with the threat of murdering their children if the sentence was not followed.

He said a lot of things and ended by telling them that his wife was too afraid to leave her home and he was glad of that, because he was too afraid to let her. “Our home,” he wrote, “is beautiful. Dunallon is a warm and happy refuge for all of us, but it was never meant to be a prison. When did these men, who will not even put faces or names to their actions, become our judges and ministers? When will we stop them?”

~~~

Tom’s father and brothers followed that letter with letters of their own. Lord Pirrie wrote one as well, and a new movement was born. People talked about it everywhere. At home, at work, in pubs, in shops, on trains. Ministers preached about it the very next Sunday, and for many Sundays after, in every church of every kind in the country. Sentiment was mostly on Tom’s side, letters were printed in newspapers, not all of them signed, written by people who secretly longed for peace, to “get along” with all their fellow Irishmen, whatever the religion.

A few letters defended the violence, continuing the argument that they all had to show solidarity or they would soon be ruled by Rome. These letters brought immediate and profound protest. They would not be ruled by Rome or by bullies. People were demanding a third choice.

“This is unprecedented in Irish history,” Sam said as he and Casey filled out their journals one night. He held his up, the title of the first page a clearly written, Time Travel Journal #3.

“We’ve made a difference, Casey. It’s true that movements come and go. I have no idea if this one will be successful. But we’ve made a difference.”

Chapter 35

March 1911—April 1911

Casey tucked a just-awake Terry into bed with her and lay down to nurse her a while. Sunday morning was Casey’s favorite time of the week. The servants all had the day off, and most had left the night before to spend the day with their families. Sam usually had breakfast with Mrs. Pennyworth in her small apartment off the kitchen, so Tom and Casey had the rest of the house to themselves. She drifted back to a light sleep, Tom snoring on the other side of Terry. Casey waited for the usual Sunday morning ritual to begin.

The bed gave a sudden strong bounce, jarring her awake as a cannonball landed on Tom, announcing, “It’s Sunday! Pancakes!” Terry, who had been sleepily nursing, pulled away with a jerk that made Casey gasp. The baby ignored her mother, crawling quickly to join Jamie on top of Tom, who grabbed them both, growling ferociously and managing to fall out of bed, the children tucked safely in his arms as they screamed with delight.

Casey had long ago discovered it was best for her to leave the room, as she got too nervous watching them roughhouse. All three of them would be mightily disappointed if she put a stop to it. So she put on a robe and headed to the kitchen where one day a week, she got to cook for her family. They would join her there, Tom and Jamie helping her cook and set the table.

Several minutes later, Jamie entered at a run and stopped in front of his mother, an envelope held out to her. “This is for you!” he shouted and she barely grabbed it before he was across the room, trying to avoid his father and sister, who were obviously “it.”

It was one of Tom’s formal stationary envelopes. Her name was on the front and she could feel a card inside. She glanced curiously at Tom. “What’s this? It’s not my birthday.”

Terry had managed to grab her brother, but since she still did not understand the game, she hadn’t let go of him. Tom set her on the floor to wrestle Jamie alone as he turned to Casey, pulling her into a hug. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “Okay, I will. After I get a kiss.”

He obliged her, but only briefly, distracted by the clatter of pans. Left alone, she broke the seal and pulled out the card, scanning it quickly. At her little scream of delight, Tom turned back to her, the rescued baby in his arms, his face hopeful and happy at her reaction. Jamie jumped up to see.

“What is it? What does it say?” he yelled, trying to pull the card down so he could see.

She held it away from him and read aloud, “Mrs. Thomas Andrews, Jr. (that’s me)” she said in an aside to Jaime, “is invited to attend a private tour, this afternoon, of the RMS Olympic, in dry-dock at Harland & Wolff Shipyards. H&W promises to provide Mrs. Andrews with her own attentive, knowledgeable, and affectionate guide…, oh my,” she looked teasingly at Tom, who grinned salaciously at her. She continued reading, “…with access to all parts of the ship (safety permitting). Extra events are also planned, for her special enjoyment!”

Casey laughed with delight and hugged Tom hard, being careful of the baby. He hugged her back with his free arm, laughing with her. “I was hoping you would like it, sweetie. I’ve got quite a day planned!”

“I can’t wait! Oh my goodness, what should I wear?” She turned to Jamie with her question.

He stood with his legs straddled, arms folded over his chest as he pouted at his parents. “I want to see the RMS ‘lympic.”

“You will,” his father assured him. “But not today.”

Tom was not as strict as Edwardian child-rearing practices demanded, but Jamie knew better than to argue. He did, however, try to negotiate. “Tomorrow?”

Casey giggled and left Tom to deal with it as she continued with breakfast.

~~~

At two o’clock, they pulled up to the Yard. Tom, looking quite dapper in a neckband shirt, bowtie, twill vest and tweed cap, helped her out of the car with a gallant bow. She wore a red-orange blouse that brought out some color in her pale skin. She smiled as Tom stopped to gaze at her, then bent to kiss her gently on the lips. She shook her head. “Sometimes, Tom, you still make me blush.”

Squeezing her hand, he offered her his arm and guided her through the empty and silent building to the docks. As they stepped outside, Tom turned her to the right and she followed willingly. The Olympic was berthed at the Thompson Dock during her fitting-out, but just to the left, under the huge gantry, the shell of the Titanic loomed over the yard. I don’t want to see it, she thought, and with an effort controlled the shudder that threatened to shake her. Tom began prattling on about recent changes to the yard and she knew he was trying to keep her distracted. Then they turned the corner.

The Olympic towered over the dock, her funnels gleaming in the sun, her rails and hull newly painted, emphasizing her clean lines. Casey stared, struck silent in awe. Pictures in textbooks or movies just didn’t compare to the sight of the real thing, elegant and proud, as she waited here in the place of her birth. Tom smiled at her expression.

“Have we really managed to amaze the time traveler who’s flown on airplanes and seen spaceships?” he murmured, holding her from behind as she gazed at the ship. She tilted her head to look up at him.

“She’s magnificent, Tom. Airplanes and space shuttles were the workhorses of our day. This,” she looked again toward the ship, “is a work of art.”

He took her hand and led her through the cargo hold on the tank top. He lit a waiting lantern and held it up.

“I’m afraid we don’t have electricity today, except in a few spots. We should be able to see well enough, though.”

She nodded, distracted by the cavernous bay, and began walking the length of it, craning her neck to see how high it was.

“This is the top of the double bottom,” Tom mentioned, pointing to the deck they stood on. “We store fresh water below.”

There were compartments. Tom showed her the watertight doors that could be lowered automatically from the bridge, but at this point, everything was open. There was room for cargo, she saw the coal bunkers, and Tom told her that the huge casings rising from the deck to reach into the deck above them, were the foundations of the engines.

He helped her up a ladder to the next deck. There were more coal bunkers and boilers, and she had a good look at the engines, which continued upward into the next deck. There was a mail sorting room, food storage, and more storage for cargo or passenger luggage, as well as vehicles.

“Vehicles?” Casey looked askance at Tom and he just shrugged.

“Some people like to take their automobiles with them. Or they buy them in Europe and ship them to America.”

She nodded, then. “That’s right. I remember in the movie, there was a car stored on the ship.” She hugged him gently, dropping a flirtatious kiss on his chest. “Two of the actors made love in it in one scene.”

He returned the hug, laughing. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve often thought people consider ocean liners to be just a playground.”

“What happens at sea stays at sea?” She teased him, continuing her caress.

He looked embarrassed. “Sort of.”

They went up another ladder to G Deck. Here, there were portholes that let in more light. They had to step around construction debris, but he showed her crew and third class quarters with bunks attached to walls. There was more storage, the Squash Racquet Court for First Class, and the continuation of the engines, boiler rooms and coalbunkers. At a juncture between rooms, he paused and pointed upward.

“Watertight doors.” His face was thoughtful, then he smiled sardonically at her. “A victory of sorts. Normally, we would not have them on this deck.”

She returned his smile, but made no comment. She didn’t want to think about the sinking, right now.

This deck had the beginnings of the spiral staircases, fore and aft, and Casey paused to stare in amazement when they reached the aft stairway.

“This is amazing, Tom. I’ve seen you work, I helped with Adriatic and I thought that ship was incredible. But how do you do this?” She ran her hand along the detailed carving of the rail.

“It’s a talented workforce,” he murmured, standing behind her. He placed his hand on hers and followed it over the carving. Her body throbbed briefly at the sensual feel of the wood, and of his hand. She settled herself against him, teasing him with her hip. He rubbed against her, nibbling the top of her ear before he released her and guided her up the stairs.

At the next deck, he pulled her into a long kiss. She pressed against him in response to his hand on her bottom, the material of her skirt and petticoats sliding under his caress. She almost couldn’t look at the ship, anymore.

“F Deck,” he whispered, drawing her attention to the hull, then speaking normally. “Or sometimes called the Middle Deck. Directly along the hull, we have coal chutes that feed into the bunkers below.”

They continued arm-in-arm down the hallway. “Crew and Third Class Cabins, the swimming pool and a Turkish Bath.” They paused in front of an empty room. “This will be a kennel. For those passengers who must have their dogs along.”

They turned into the Turkish Bath and she gasped in delight at the marble tile and brass fixtures in the mirrored sitting room. The shampoo rooms had large chairs that lay back to reach the deep sinks behind them. The spa had marble benches nestled among steam vents and a space for heated rocks. The mirrors in the dressing rooms reflected all the glory around them.

“You know,” she whispered, snuggling against him, “you could get in trouble showing me these things. I’m going to expect the same thing at home.”

“I’d build it for you.” His voice was husky and his caresses became more insistent, demanding her attention. She let him lift her onto a massage table, leaning forward to kiss him. He returned her kiss, then stepped back to lift her foot and slowly unlace her shoe. She caressed his hands and arms, but was unable to reach any further than that. So she began to tease him, lifting her skirt by inches until it reached her thighs. He grinned as the skirt rose, and when her shoe was off, he ran his hands up her leg, squeezing her thigh as he bent to kiss her. She took advantage of the chance to unbutton his vest and shirt, before he moved away with a teasing smile to work on the other shoe.

She giggled in frustration, but got even by using the shoeless foot to stroke him, moving up his leg with light touches of her toe. At the same time, she began to open the buttons on her blouse. He went a little faster with the laces on the second shoe.

~~~

The sun had moved more to the west when they finally made their way down the grand staircase, to pause at the entrance of the paneled first-class dining room. Casey was speechless to find a table set with the best White Star dishes and tablecloth. The table stood next to a wooden beam carved with musical notes and a detailed lyre. It commanded a view of the grand staircase, curving upward to a huge round skylight.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed in disbelief.

Tom was laughing softly, his face bright with the pleasure he was bringing her. He gestured grandly. “Madam, your table,” and pulled out her chair to help her sit.

She curtsied to him and sat regally, then giggled in delight as he lit the candles with a flourish. Motioning for her to wait, he disappeared through a doorway, while she sat in bewilderment.

He returned in a few minutes with a cart laden with dishes. She laughed as he uncovered a variety of cold dishes and placed them before her, comically checking the name of the dish against a card placed next to each one.

“Poached salmon with fennel relish,” he declared, eyebrow raised as if daring her to deny it. “Scalloped potato, cheddar and chive pie—you know, that looks pretty good. Asparagus with parsley gremolata—hmpf.” He was not big on vegetables. “And for dessert—the lovely lady’s favorite: chocolate mousse!”

She clapped with delight, then rose and kissed him soundly. “You are the most amazing man in the world, my love. How did you do all this?”

“Me? You know I don’t cook like this!” He smiled wickedly at her. “I,” he stressed, “know people.”

He had one more surprise for her, presenting in grand fashion, a chilled bottle of French Chardonnay. He did his best to share it with her, but since he didn’t drink, he didn’t care for it, and managed no more than about half a glass. She assured him it was all right. “I’m a little out of practice, myself, you know. We’ll take any leftovers home to Sam.”

He agreed this was a good idea and if they felt tipsy at all, they walked it off by completing their tour. They ended at the boat deck stern, gazing at the setting sun, as the lights of Belfast came on and sparkled on the Lagan.

Chapter 36

April 1911

Heading into Monday evening’s cold darkness, Sam turned left to start the walk home. He liked the exercise as long as it wasn’t raining. Shifting his briefcase to the other hand, he looked up in surprise as he nearly bumped into Colin Riley, who looked just as surprised as Sam.

“Dr. Altair.” Riley blinked, but recovered before Sam. “I was just on my way to see you.”

“You were?” Sam was first astonished, then confused. “I thought you were at a conference.”

Riley shrugged. “Plans changed. Do you have some time to spare? My flat is nearby, I can offer you some tea.”

Sam didn’t bother to hide his bewilderment. “Why? What would you possibly want to discuss?”

The wind whipped Riley’s coat open and he pulled it closed, his lips tightening. “I have a proposition, sir. I won’t pretend that I’m not reluctant to pursue this, but its importance is greater than my pride.” He held out a gloved hand. “Please. I assure you, it’s quite important. An hour of your time, at most.”

Feeling like Alice—curiouser and curiouser—Sam reluctantly agreed and walked with Riley the five blocks to his flat. Riley offered no further conversation and Sam could think of nothing to say himself.

Unlike his office, Riley’s apartment was neat and clean. It was sparsely furnished with heavy Victorian pieces over a dark rug. The electric lights were dim, and the fire that Riley lit added welcome light and warmth to the room.

Riley was solicitous and anxious, hanging Sam’s coat and hat on a rack, and setting the water to boil after he got the fire going. He brought out some small sandwiches, “to cut your appetite, since you’re postponing your dinner.” Sam ate a couple, sipping tea as Riley brought out several sheets of paper and sat in the chair opposite Sam.

“So what’s up, Dr. Riley?” Sam asked. “Are we declaring a truce?”

Riley regarded him, fingers tapping his mustache before smoothing out the papers on his lap. He seemed disturbed and his nervousness had increased.

“I’ve decided I must ask for one,” he said at last, and an eyebrow rose. “I am not giving up, sir, but for the moment, I feel we must work together.” He held up the sheets. “I’d like to talk about your paper on sound waves. Your team just published it in Science.”

They talked for a while. Riley asked several observant questions. Sam began to enjoy the exchange, hoping that Riley might be coming around. He ate and drank more—they both did—and he decided he’d skip dinner, realizing at one point that Casey and Mrs. Pennyworth were expecting him and that he had not called. He would ask to use Riley’s phone before he left. In the meantime, he did ask to use Riley’s water closet, and he headed for the door Riley pointed out.

It was the last thing he remembered.

~~~

Sam woke, aware of raw pain across his cheek, and a sickening, disorienting dizziness. The ground was moving, he realized groggily, scraping his face as it went by. His head felt too heavy to lift. He tried to move his arms to help, but couldn’t seem to find them. He moaned, and the ground became blessedly still. He swallowed against the nausea that rose up, taking a deep breath, willing the dizziness to stop. Where was he? What was happening?

Something moved beside him and he knew it was Riley. A hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, then dropped it back to the ground. The rough movement caused stars to explode and abruptly he was sick, unable to move away. The figure was gone, and Sam heard noises but had no reference for them. There was a bang behind him, then he was moving again. This time he could feel Riley’s hands on his legs, pulling him along. He realized that his legs and arms were tied. What the hell was Riley doing? Had he gone completely crackers?

He was dragged over a threshold and left on the floor, watching Riley’s legs move past him. The door closed, plunging the room into darkness. He took a slow breath, trying to banish the panic filling him. Think, damn it, he told himself. Stay calm.

He heard footsteps. Light pierced his eyes as Riley lit a lantern. Pain shot through his head and he was almost sick again. Had Riley hit him over the head? Did he have a concussion?

“What’s happening?” he managed to ask. He could barely hear himself, but Riley, who was walking around out of his sight, answered readily enough.

“Oh, it’s easy enough to figure out, Altair. I tried to stop you, using civil means. But I haven’t had any success that way. I have to stop you. You know I have to.”

Sam waited for more information, but Riley had gone silent. He was still walking around though and Sam tried unsuccessfully to move, to somehow roll onto his side or raise his head. “Damn it, Riley! Untie me. We can talk about this. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

He thought the idea was farfetched, but the footsteps approached him and Riley knelt down at his head. Sam blinked and tried to focus up at Riley’s face.

“Yes, Sam. I’m going to kill you.” He might have been discussing the weather, or an unimportant physics problem. “More precisely, I’m going to arrange circumstances so that you have an accident.” He stood and Sam stared at the shoes in front of his eyes. When Riley spoke again, his voice was sad. “I like you, Sam. I wish you had been more reasonable, more willing to cooperate.” He sounded as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he sighed and moved away again.

“They’ll find you, Riley. You won’t get away with it. Don’t destroy your life because of this.”

Riley laughed. “Give me some credit for intelligence, Altair. I may not be capable of committing the perfect crime, but I can come awfully close. As far as everyone knows, I’m out of town. Even you thought so.”

A shudder passed through Sam as nausea and despair washed over him. He groaned and waited for it to pass. “Did you hit me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Chloral hydrate and antimony. You may feel so bad that death will be welcome.”

A sob escaped Sam as he moved his head against the floor. So damned helpless! “You accuse me of being insane! Jesus, Riley, don’t do this.”

There was no answer but after a long minute, Sam felt hands on his legs. “Hold still,” Riley instructed, “I’m cutting this rope.”

“Thank you,” Sam gasped at the relief flooding him, his face covered in tears.

“Oh, don’t thank me.” The rope fell away, but Sam felt too weak to move. He concentrated on his legs, trying to will them under him, then screamed in pain and terror as something large and heavy crashed over them. Smaller items showered around him, striking his head and upper body. He screamed again, as much in frustration and betrayal as in pain. He couldn’t see what had fallen on him, but he could see the outline of books lying near him.

Riley was moving faster now and Sam became peripherally aware of a dangerous smell. The rope holding his arms came away and Riley knelt again by his head. “I’m sorry, Altair,” he whispered. “I really am. Stay still. Breathe the smoke and you’ll die easier. I’d rather you didn’t suffer.”

Sam could hear the crackle of flames somewhere behind him, and already smoke was drifting through the room. The door opened and closed as Riley left, the added oxygen causing a whoosh of flames that Sam saw reflected on the floor in front of him. Shaking with effort, he got his arms under him and pushed against the floor. It felt as if he were fighting the weight of the universe. He nearly blacked out with the effort. He paused, sobbing again as he realized he hadn’t moved an inch. He could not move his legs at all.

Do it, Sam. Get up! He kept repeating it to himself, sick with the knowledge that no one knew where he was, that the only way out was through his own efforts. Nausea and pain battled his attempts, but he kept going. Push. Finally, he’d raised his head and upper body a few inches. Arms shaking with weakness, he turned his head.

The back of the room was in flames. A large bookcase covered his lower body, preventing his movement as efficiently as the rope had. He couldn’t even turn over. Facing forward again, he tried to drag himself free, pulling with his arms against the floor. He soon stopped in breathlessness and exhaustion. He was low enough to the ground that the smoke was not hindering him much, but he felt it with each breath. His eyes were streaming with tears as he looked up, desperately searching for something to help him.

A support beam rose from the floor a few feet from his head. He reached, arms shaking violently. He groaned as his fingers only grazed the wood. He stretched again, then collapsed as violent pain caused him to vomit, his stomach furious at the tortured movement. In the brief respite from pain, Sam reached again, stretching as far as he could, farther…

His fingers gripped the edge of the beam. He exhaled, breathing in and coughing as hot smoke burned his throat. Was it his imagination or could he really feel blisters breaking out on his skin? More of his fingers went around the beam and he began pulling himself, bit by bit, trying to get closer. It seemed to take forever, every inch filled with pain, his body bathed in sweat. Occasionally, he saw a spark flash onto the wooden floor near him. A few settled into the wood, gaining brightness. The heat had become intense. He focused on his task, ignoring the flames and the smoke.

He thought his back would break with the effort, but suddenly, he felt his whole body move. Crying with relief, he got a solid grip on the beam and pulled again. Now he could wriggle his legs and he frantically moved from side to side, inching forward a little more with each wriggle, the movement filling him with swirling blackness that nearly knocked him out again.

When he could move a knee, he began going faster, swimming out from under the heavy case, coughing violently as he tried to breathe with his effort. He kept going forward, past the beam, keeping his head down, but where was the door? In front of him, somewhere.

The room was filled with smoke, but it was fractionally cooler farther from the fire. He was at the wall and raised himself enough to feel along it, looking for the doorjamb or a crack.

There. Almost directly in front of him. Pulling his coat up to cover his mouth, Sam went to his knees, reaching for the doorknob. It took his last strength to get the door open and fall through it. He took a breath of blessed fresh air, then was sick again, vomiting weakly into the grass, blacking out as pain knotted his stomach and dizziness swirled around him.

~~~

He could breathe. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing was the absence of nausea, then the press of a hand holding his. Opening his eyes abruptly, he stared at the white ceiling over his head. He heard a gasp and turned his head slowly to see Gladys Pennyworth smiling down at him. Her round, practical face had never looked so precious before.

Casey appeared at Mrs. Pennyworth’s side, her face splotched from crying, but with a big smile beaming at him. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“Finally waiting on me,” he tried to say, but his voice was thready and cracked. He stopped to cough.

Mrs. Pennyworth bent down and kissed his forehead gently. “Now then,” she said, and he had the feeling she was addressing Casey, “ye see what has to happen to get him to not talk so much.”

Casey laughed, reaching to squeeze his arm. “I’m going to tell Tom you’re awake. We’ll give you two a few minutes.”

Sam turned his eyes back to Mrs. Pennyworth to see that she was picking up a glass of water with a straw. That sounded like the best idea in the world, and he let her put the straw in his mouth. He pulled the water in with strong gulps and coughed again.

She put the glass back and he reached up to wipe the tears from her face. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little clearer this time, “it sure is good to see you.” He didn’t know what his injuries were, but he sat up, ignoring the pain, and took her into his arms, holding her while she cried.

“I’ve never been so scared in all my life, Sam Altair,” she told him, voice muffled in his chest. “We didn’t know where ye were and then the hospital called…” She raised her head to look at him, touching his face. “But ye’ll be all right. That’s what the doctor says and I believe him. We’ll bring ye home and I’ll take care of ye.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” he said, then kissed her tenderly.

~~~

“You were in a deserted farmhouse outside of town,” Tom told him later that day, after Mrs. Pennyworth had returned home to pick up a few personal items for Sam. Casey sat in a chair next to Tom, legs pulled up against her as she rested her chin on her knees and gazed at Sam. “A passing farmer on his way home from the pub saw the flames. He was sober enough to pull you out of harm’s way and get help to put out the fire. They brought you to the hospital here, but you were unconscious for an entire day. We looked everywhere for you, but didn’t check with this hospital.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You’ll have noticed it’s a Catholic one” his eyes indicating the crucifix on the wall. Sam grimaced. He’d noticed. The nurses were nuns.

Tom leaned back. “Anyway, you came to enough to give them your name and have them call us, but it’s been another day while you’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness. You’re red as a lobster and blistered along your back. Your legs are black and blue and you’ve been throwing up like there’s no tomorrow. You’re lucky to have missed most of it. And that, sir, is all we know.” His eyebrows went up. “We’re hoping you can fill us in.”

Sam did, to the best of his ability, enduring their shocked interruptions and increasing horror.

Tom finally broke in. “You’ll have to talk to the police.”

Sam nodded, but looked uncertain. “What about Riley’s alibi? He’s right, even I thought he was out of town.”

“Well he wasn’t, was he?” Casey asked rhetorically. “Even if he left, he came back and then left again. Someone had to see him. Or maybe find out when he checked into his hotel.” She bounced her chin on her knees as she thought. “Is it too early for fingerprints?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sam told her.

Tom shook his head. “Not our problem. Talk to the police and let them handle it. They’ll take it from there.”

~~~

Since Riley’s conference was in Paris, the Belfast police could not do much to question him. They could not find anyone in town who had seen him on the day Sam was attacked. The university said that Riley had planned on staying in Paris for a few months, so they bided their time. Sam went home and settled down to recover from his ordeal. This was not as easy as he would have thought.

“Guess I’m too old for this sort of thing,” he joked to Casey as she brought him lunch a couple of days after he got home. He had tried to eat with them in the dining room, but his legs weren’t working well enough and he was just too tired. She positioned his tray and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at him.

“You probably are,” she teased him. “Too old for what, exactly?”

He sighed. “You just wait, dear. One day, you’ll look back and realize that you used to bounce right back after injuries or illnesses. And you’ll wonder why you don’t bounce like that anymore.”

He took a moment to look her over while she laughed. When they’d first met, she’d been practically a child, smart, but light-hearted and hopeful, despite the circumstances. They’d only been here five years, but she had matured far in excess of that time. She still looked like a child. She could pass for eighteen rather than the twenty-five years she was. Except, there was a seriousness that made one pause and re-evaluate her age. Was it due to motherhood? Responsibility? The strain of fear that she carried within her, for all of them?

He sipped his soup and tried to banish morbid thoughts. Casey was fine. The public support she’d received since Tom’s letter was published had heartened her considerably. She was working, unofficially, with the Horticultural Society again, and was a popular figure at ladies’ teas. Where, she often said, they usually managed to solve the world’s crises before the pudding. Quite satisfactorily, too.

Chapter 37

May 1911

The early mail on the second Tuesday in May brought a note from Casey’s sister-in-law, Jessie. The letter’s greeting made Casey’s heart squeeze in fear, but as she read on, laughter forced her to a chair in the parlor.

My Dearest Sister, the note began, John and I wish to extend our heartfelt condolences for whatever fate has befallen your husband. It has come to our attention (so we have acknowledged to each other), that the dear Fellow perhaps fell into the Lagan one day. Is it possible Uncle Willie neglected to inform you?

Well, we want you to know your family is ever full of love for you. As such, John and I request the honor of your presence at Maxwell Court for dinner, this Friday night. If, by some joyful miracle, you find our Tommy before then, by all means, bring him along. We shall expect you no later than seven o’clock, although I extend my personal wish to see your arrival even earlier than that.

In deepest love,

Mrs. John M. Andrews

As it happened, Casey did not see Tom that night, but she left the note in his dressing room, where he would find it. The next morning it was on his pillow, with his scribbled note promising to be home early on Friday.

Wednesday night, as Casey sat in bed reading, the bedroom door silently opened and her husband crept into their bedroom. When he saw that Casey was still awake, he sighed, and continued the removal of clothes that he’d begun on the way up the stairs.

Casey watched him place coat and cravat on the dresser, and slip his suspenders off his shoulders. When he sat on the divan to remove his shoes, she closed her book and joined him, gazing at his face.

He smiled at her, but the smile did not quite erase the wrinkles of exhaustion at the corners of his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I still live here,” he said, his tone lightly questioning. “I did sleep in that bed for a few hours last night.”

“Did you?” she asked. “I must have missed it. In fact, I’ve been thinking of renting the space out, it’s been vacant so often.”

He laughed, but pulled her possessively against him with one arm, while the other hand buried itself in her hair, tilting her face up so he could look at her. “I miss you,” he said. “I can’t do anything about all the work, but I promise it won’t be like this forever. Once Olympic is turned over to White Star, and Titanic is launched…”

“I know.” She placed a finger against his mouth, then stood, lifting the skirt of her nightgown and sinking onto his lap, legs astride him. “My mother was an obstetrician, remember. My father never gave her a hard time for the hours she worked. I try to follow his example.”

“Building ships is not quite comparable to delivering babies,” he said, but she shrugged.

“It’s your chosen career. Thank you for replying to Jessie’s note. I let her know we’ll be coming. But…” She hesitated.

“What?”

“Can I trouble you for another appointment?”

“I’ll try. What is it?”

She ran a finger along the buttons of his shirt. “I need a few minutes of your time tonight, say about ten o’clock. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He thought about it, then retrieved his watch from its pocket, flipping open the gold lid with practiced fingers. He nodded as he placed the watch on the table next to the divan. “I can arrange to be free at that time.” He traced a finger up her leg. “What did you have in mind?”

She sputtered a laugh, leaning forward to kiss him. “Keep still. I’ll show you.”

~~~

“Casey!” Jessie hugged Casey as she and Tom entered the stately foyer of John and Jessie’s home on Friday. “You look wonderful, dear. And who have you brought with you?” Her eye critically appraised Tom and she raised an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. “Such a handsome fellow, dear. Where do you find them?”

“Oh, this one was on the corner, Jessie. He looked so woebegone, that I had to bring him. I hope it’s all right?” Casey sounded serious, but Tom didn’t look concerned. He just hugged Casey to him, at the same time catching Jessie in an effortless head lock, making her squeal in comic protest.

“John? John!” Tom looked around for his brother, who entered just behind an anxious eight-year-old Jack, whose eyes widened at his mother’s predicament. “Ah, there you are, fellow! I’m keeping this one,” and Tom dropped a kiss on Casey’s head, “but what on earth should I do with this one?” indicating the squirming Jessie with his chin. “She’s frightfully noisy.”

John held up both hands. “You can let her go. She means well, really.”

“Ah, well then,” and Tom let her go gently, with a supporting hand kept to her back. “Do try to keep track of her, will you?”

Jessie straightened, dignity never wavering. “There’s no chance of that, you know,” she told Tom, tucking a strand of hair back under its pin. “He hasn’t been able to keep up for years.”

Young Jack was allowed to stay up for a few minutes to visit with his uncle and aunt, who had not made it to Comber for several weeks. They heard about Jack’s latest school project and then, at Jack’s insistence, Tom launched into a description of the great ships taking shape at ‘Grand-Uncle Willie’s shipyard’.

“Oh my, we are ever so busy these days,” he told them in his best story-telling mode. “The Olympic is nearly complete, and I must say, she is the grandest lady I’ve ever set to sail the sea. There’s not a ship in the world that’s larger than she is and there won’t be, until the Titanic sets sail later.”

Jack’s eyes widened more and more, as his uncle continued his description. “We’ve still got to finish painting the passenger’s quarters in third class and I’ve got ovens and hot plates and ice boxes to be delivered next week. Enough ovens to cook for over two thousand people! And the last week of this month, she begins her sea trials, then it’s off on her maiden voyage to New York on thirty-first May.” Tom leaned back in his chair, the bard keeping his audience enthralled as he went on with his story.

“Now, thirty-first May. Let me tell you, that will be some day! The Olympic finishes her trials, and returns to the dock in the morning. And at 12:15 p.m., the grandest sight of all will occur, for at that time, the Titanic will be launched!” Tom dramatically lifted a hand to his brow. “Oh the to-do! You’ve no idea what it takes to launch a ship, do you?”

His audience obediently shook their heads and Tom leaned forward in earnestness. “We have to let everyone know when it’s happening, for one thing. Announcements in the news, especially in foreign lands—we have to give the American and European journalists time to arrive. The ship’s owners, the insurers, the harbor commissioners, the Board of Trade… the list is as long my arm! We have to make sure the engines and boilers are ready to go. We have to test the ship itself to make sure all the drain holes are filled and the plates on the hull are closed. Oh, and we have to have plenty of chains and ropes connected to the ship. Can you imagine if we launch her and she just kept sailing off down the lough? We have to be able to stop her once she’s in the water!” This last was said with sternness and increased volume over the guffaws of his listeners.

“Caulkers and carpenters have to be ready, the flagpole installed, and woe is me if I forget to have the flags ready to fly! And do you have any idea how much tallow we need?” Tom spread his arms as wide as he could and stood to indicate a height much taller than himself. “More’n that, I’m telling you! Every bit of the ship bottom and sides has to be covered in tallow, so she can slide into the water. Och, the smell of that stuff as we cook it!” He sat down again, expression fretful. “But what we need most is men.” He nodded seriously. “Aye, lots of men, to knock away the boards and scaffolding so the ship floats free. Uncle Willie has tasked me especially, to make sure we have enough men to do the job.”

He looked at his brother, exceedingly worried. “I’m afraid I’m missing one. I need just one more, even a young lad will do, to help knock away the boards.”

Jack could not contain himself. “Me, Uncle Tommy! I can do it! I’m big enough!” He waved his arms frantically, and jumped up and down, as if to make certain his uncle could see him.

Tom turned a stern visage on the youngster, eyebrows nearly to his hairline. “You? Och, I’m not sure, lad. “Tis an important job, you see.”

“I can! I even launched my own boat of sticks a week ago! I know I can! Da’, tell him!”

“Oh, so you have experience, too, is it?” Tom looked to his brother for confirmation and received a quiet nod, although the eyes shone with pride and laughter.

“Aye, he did, and well enough.” But John was not so easily swayed. He stared at his son, lips pursed. “Ye’d have to miss school, lad. What about that?”

“I’ll write a report!” was the instant rejoinder, causing every adult to burst into laughter. Tom reached out a hand.

“All right, then. Consider yourself part of the Board Demolition Team, lad,” and he was nearly knocked over by sixty pounds of boyish excitement as Jack threw himself into his uncle’s arms, a loud “Yippee!” deafening all of them. Jack recovered enough to firmly shake his uncle’s hand, as Tom told him, “I’ll make sure your Da’ will know when and where to have you there. Mind you, you’ll have to do exactly as you’re told. It’s a dangerous place, lad.”

Jack solemnly promised to obey, and at his mother’s word he kissed each of them goodnight and followed his nanny to bed.

~~~

Tom’s story had not included even a small fraction of the tasks left to do to prepare for both the launching of one ship, and the turning over of another ship to its owners. Since he was sailing on the Olympic’s maiden voyage as head of the guarantee group, Tom gave that project his strictest attention. As the first of the grand ships to sail, the Olympic had the dedicated attention of the press, including an eight-page spread in Shipbuilder Magazine. The ship must be completely ready for its maiden voyage. Tom was leaving nothing to chance.

However, he was not going to be aboard for Olympic’s sea trials. Most of the guarantee group would be aboard. He was sending Ed Wilding in his place to run things. He could depend on a thorough report from Ed regarding the ship’s performance. Tom was conflicted about this. The Olympic was up to then the largest ship ever to sail, and her trials would last two days and be unaccountably thorough. In fact, if he had not been privy to future knowledge, and already aware that the Olympic would function perfectly, he didn’t know if he could have stayed away. But Lord Pirrie expected him to personally handle the launching details for Titanic, and for that he had to be at the yard, not at sea.

Until the Olympic sailed for her trials, Tom was able to depend on Ham to substitute for him as they prepared for Titanic’s launch. They had handled many launchings, and Ham knew the process frontwards and backwards. They met two or three times a day to quickly go over details, but all was proceeding smoothly, and Tom felt able to concentrate on the Olympic. After Olympic sailed off for her trials, he settled into the launching procedure and last-minute details for Titanic. They expected around a hundred thousand people to view the launch from various points around town, and several thousand of them would be watching from the shipyard itself. Three sets of bleachers were erected to hold them. One set alone was reserved for journalists, who would be coming from all points of the globe.

The millions of details that went into the launching of a ship had one important goal: to make Lord Pirrie look good when he gave the signal to release the ship, and she settled into the water for the first time. If they succeeded with this, then Harland & Wolff also looked good, and the people of Belfast could point with pride to what they could accomplish.

~~~

On the thirty-first, Tom was at the shipyard by five in the morning, having gone to bed close to midnight. Before leaving, he held each of his sleeping children for a minute. He would be gone six weeks, and every moment he would miss was pushing down on him.

The day dawned bright, with a sky of deep blue. The air was already warm at eight o’clock when Lord and Lady Pirrie arrived with J.P. Morgan and Bruce Ismay. Tom continued to supervise the final steps taking place on the dock and in the water, including the removal of any buoys, and the placement of tugs and flagboats to move the ship after her launch. He made sure the flagpole was secure in the stern, and with George helping him, unfurled the flags and hooked them to the pole: the flag for the White Star Line and a series of white flags spelling out the word “SUCCESS.” The flags would be raised moments before the ship was launched.

At eleven, they opened the gate for spectators to take their places. Jack Andrews reported to his uncle on the dock, ready for duty. Tom inspected him sternly, shirt tucked in, hair combed underneath the cap, shoes clean. Jack bore the inspection well, standing tall and straight, torn between gawking with wonder at the huge ship just a few feet in front of him, and watching his uncle for any sign of displeasure, which could result in his being packed off to the stands with his Aunt Casey and Dr. Altair. Tom made him bear it only for a moment. Then he smiled and clapped the lad’s shoulder, turning to the foreman standing nearby. “Ho, Albright. Here’s your final worker to help with the blocks.”

“Aye, Mr. Andrews.” Albright motioned for Jack to follow him, and Tom sent him on before continuing his inspection of the boilers. He looked up in time to see Jack join the crew, take a hammer, nod seriously at the instruction given him, and with an authoritative whack!, send the block falling onto the dock away from the ship. The men cheered and Tom flushed in delight at the look on Jack’s face. Such a simple thing, but the boy would remember it his entire life.

They were ready. Lord Pirrie began his final inspection of the ship, walking along the dock on both sides, before turning to an examination of the hydraulic launching equipment. He and Tom then walked back to the owner’s gallery, and Lord Pirrie gave the signal.

A rocket was fired and the flags were raised. In the stands, Casey held onto Sam’s hand with a fierce grip and stared in near horror as the ship, which in another time had claimed her husband’s life, slowly moved back and settled into the water. In just over a minute, the Titanic was floating, and the anchors and ropes easily brought her to a halt. The excited crowd roared its approval. Jack, next to Sam, jumped up and down, yelling with delight. Standing still amid the tumult, Casey had eyes only for her husband, as he stood in the owner’s gallery and accepted congratulations from those around him.

~~~

After the celebratory lunch, Tom hooked an arm around Casey’s waist and guided her to his office. It was empty since Ham was already on board Olympic; he would be sailing as far as Southampton to help with the administrative work until the ship left for New York. Tom took a moment to gaze at Casey as she leaned against his desk. She wore a new green dress that demanded his constant attention. A tiny smile moved the corners of her mouth. She had removed her hat. Her hair was up, but shorter strands of red framed her face with curls. Her eyes were large and intensely green, matching the dress. He allowed himself a good long look, then gripped both her shoulders as he smiled down at her.

“That dress is all eyes and cleavage, do you know that?” he asked her teasingly. She laughed and slipped her arms around his neck. Any reply she might have made was forgotten in the kiss that followed. It was all they had time for. He had inspections to do and papers to sign on Olympic before she sailed, but they made that kiss worthwhile. They held each other a moment longer, memorizing the feel of the other’s body before Casey returned to Dunallon, and Tom boarded his ship.

Chapter 38

July 1911—October 1911

The police investigator, the same man who took their report about the riot, came to see them one evening shortly after Tom returned. He commented that he was spending far too much time with the Andrews, and he hoped their lives “would settle down and not require his presence again, any time soon.” Then he sat in the parlor with Tom, Casey and Sam, and proceeded to explain how he had captured Colin Riley.

Riley had indeed come close to committing the perfect crime, the investigator told them, waving an unlit cigar in his hands. His alibi was solid, there was no evidence anywhere, and if the victim had died as expected, there would have been almost no questions at all. But like most amateur criminals, Riley was obsessed with his crime. Soon after his return from Paris, he had made his way to the burnt farmhouse, walking around, inside and out.

“I followed him, you see,” the investigator said nonchalantly. “I knew he’d trip himself up, eventually.”

Whatever Riley expected to see at the farmhouse, he didn’t seem to be finding it. He grew more and more disturbed, bending to look under the fallen and burnt bookcase, scraping in the ashes on the floor, searching the ground outside. The inspector finally took pity on him and put in an appearance.

“Startled him a bit, I did,” he said, eyes crinkling in amusement. “In fact, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Who am I? he wanted to know. What did I want? Like he owned the place.”

The inspector shrugged. “So I told him who I was, and asked what’s he looking for? He was nervous, you see. It never occurred to him that Mr. Altair hadn’t died, so he didn’t have a plan for dealing with that. He couldn’t answer my questions, kept contradicting himself. We talked for about fifteen minutes and I told him someone pulled a fellow out of a fire here a few months back, and he completely cracked. Broke down crying and confessed.”

The inspector smiled at Sam, who had tears in his eyes. “He’s in custody and will be going to trial in a week or two. You’ll be up to testifying, sir?”

Sam nodded, looking relieved and regretful all at once. “I wish it wasn’t like this,” he said, his voice husky.

The inspector nodded. “I understand. When it’s a colleague who turns on you…” he left it unsaid and shrugged again, slipping the never-lit cigar back in his pocket. He stood and shook hands with all of them. “I’ll be in touch. You people try to stay out of my life from now on, what?”

They promised to try.

Tom saw the inspector out. Sam stood and limped to the window. His legs still had not healed completely and he often used a cane for support. He stared out at the darkness, not seeing anything, a state of affairs he sensed matched his soul. He felt Casey beside him and smiled grimly in acknowledgement, but didn’t look at her.

She knew what he was thinking. “It’s not your fault, Sam.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly chilled. “What right did I have to just appear on his doorstep? To expect him to do something about us? I only knew his equation; I knew nothing about the actual person.”

“You have to let him be responsible for his own actions.”

“He’s insane, Casey. He’s not responsible.”

“Maybe.” She seemed unusually annoyed. “No one is guaranteed a stress-free life. Maybe our problem was stranger than most, but you did not send him over the edge, Sam. Anything could have done it.”

“What am I condemning him to?”

“He tried to kill you, Sam!”

He sighed and did not respond. She tried again, resting her forehead against his arm. “If he’s let go, you will always be in danger. Maybe I will be, too. He might even decide my children are abominations against the natural order of the universe.”

He turned to stare at her and Tom spoke up from the doorway. “Why would you want him to be free? I don’t understand.”

They both turned. “Our concept of crime and mental illness is different in the future, Tom,” Sam explained. “My experience with Riley convinced me he’s not sane. He should be helped, not punished. I feel responsible for him.”

Tom laughed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He held up his hands. “Not about him needing help. That’s fine. But you are not responsible. Even if all you say is true, you’d be the worst person to try and help him.”

“That’s true,” Casey chimed in. “He freaks as soon as you’re around. He needs a chance to be away from your influence, and deal with his own issues.”

Sam gazed at Tom. “What is the state of treatment for the mentally ill, Tom? What’s done with them, these days?”

Tom looked disturbed. “I don’t know very much. Most people are taken care of by their families, who try to keep them safe and someplace where they can’t harm others. There are institutions for truly violent people. Riley may fall into that category.” Tom moved into the room, his eyes glinting in the lamp’s light. “There are doctors who try to help them.”

“Not successfully.” Sam was bleak. “If he lives long enough they’ll start jabbing him with electric shocks and turn him into a sponge.”

“He’s going to jail, Sam,” Tom said. “Not a mental institution.”

Sam looked startled. “But if he’s insane…”

Tom shrugged. “He committed a crime. Maybe it’s different in the future, but right now, that means jail. In fact, with this degree of premeditation, he might be put to death.”

Casey gasped and Sam turned back to the window. “I’ll find a place for him. I’ll ask the judge to send him there. Where he can be safe. I’ll pay for it, myself.”

Tom’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Casey just nodded.

~~~

The shipyard’s conference room was stifling in the July heat. The managing directors were close to wilting as they compared notes on the progress of Titanic. As bad as it was for them, they were all aware how much harder it was for the men in the yard. George came in, shaking his head. “I just overheard a fellow promise to start praying to the pope if they would just get a breeze through the plating shop!” he reported with sardonic amusement as he took his seat. The laughter that met this story was only half sincere. With the Home Rule questions raised by Tom’s letter, the extreme factions were determined to cause trouble. Sloan’s group was quietly malicious. The heat was fraying tempers and making things worse. The managers kept the water boys hopping to supply water to the men, but even so, a current of fear ran underneath the work. Tom had just had to force the workers to remove anti-Catholic graffiti from the ship’s walls and funnels. The yard was on the tipping point.

Lord Pirrie was in London, but had sent a telegram to Mr. Kempster, who presented it to the directors. “Ismay is asking for a deadline when he can expect delivery of Titanic. Can you all give me an estimate?”

As they each reviewed their records and considered what was still needed, they began throwing out dates. Tom, already aware of the date that would be chosen, sat back and watched the byplay. These moments were problematic. He knew what the answer was, but not how that answer was reached. He was never sure what role he had played in reaching the decision, so was not sure if his actions now would change something, and in changing something, would it be for better or worse?

Thinking about it produced a headache. So he didn’t think, he just watched and waited. He did know his own schedule and tossed out the date of 15 March. After more discussion, they decided to tell Lord Pirrie the ship would be ready on 18 March 1912. Tom felt an eyebrow twitch. Sam had said the date was 20 March.

Later, when he told Sam and Casey what they had decided, Sam was unimpressed. “Is that the date Lord Pirrie is going to give to Ismay?” he asked. “Let’s wait and see before we get our underwear tied up in knots.”

Sure enough, the next day a telegram from Pirrie informed them that they would turn the Titanic over to White Star Line on 20 March, 1912. Lord Pirrie had given them two more days after consultation with Mr. Kempster revealed that a vendor would have trouble meeting the original deadline.

Tom made a notation in his time travel journal: The smallest details seem to fall into place without any prodding or manipulation from anyone. I don’t know whether to be confident or afraid.

~~~

Sam was determined to save Riley, and finally found an asylum in Switzerland that seemed accommodating. He then began the lengthy process to convince the powers that be to send Riley there, rather than to jail. He worked with Tom’s brother James, whose practice in law, Sam knew, would eventually lead to a Judgeship in Ireland’s highest court. James approved of Sam’s empathy, but warned Sam that he must not let his empathy for Riley overrule his common sense.

The judge was skeptical. He was inclined, based on the evidence, to use the death penalty, unless he could be convinced that Riley was insane and incapable of controlling his decisions. It was Riley who provided the final proof.

James told everyone about it over dinner at Ardara the Sunday before the trial, shaking his head in amazement. “Sam had hired a psychiatrist to talk to Riley and give the judge a report. So the fellow’s visiting Riley and ‘just chatting,’ he says, when Riley leans in toward him, all intent-like, and says,” James sat straighter, wagging his finger furiously in front of him at his audience, quoting his source who was quoting Riley, “’He’s from the future, you see! He knows things! He’s planning to take over the woooorld!’” James finished with an exaggerated flourish, extending the last word dramatically, as everyone around the table laughed or gasped in amazement.

Tom, Casey, and Sam all managed to smile, as if amused. After a piercing glance to Casey, Sam attempted some spin control. “I knew he thought that, he’s accused me of it, before.” He shook his head. “It’s why I thought he was insane, after all. He believed it enough and was frightened enough of it, to try and kill me. He needs help.”

James sipped his tea. “He’ll get it, now. Your doctor will recommend to the judge tomorrow that he be sent to that asylum you found. He said he’s only disappointed he can’t work with him, himself. He thinks it’s a fascinating case.”

They were all relieved at the satisfactory ending and the conversation moved on, but Sam noticed Mrs. Andrews, as she watched Tom with a thoughtful expression on her face.

~~~

Early in September, Casey was unpacking herbs in the greenhouse when Sam came in. He watched for a minute, then moved over to help. “You’ve been awfully quiet the last few days, girl. What’s up?”

She shrugged, not answering, but her expression could just about freeze the herbs. He tried again. “Did you and Tom have a fight?”

She gasped out a laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m just worried, is all.”

“About what?”

Her look clearly said, you’ve got to be kidding, as she picked up another container of herbs.

He moved to the next table and spread out a batch to help. When Casey spoke, her voice was small. “I wish he wouldn’t go.”

Sam turned in astonishment to stare at her. “He has to go, Case.”

She looked perplexed and angry. “Why? Where is that written?” She shrugged again. “He’s led the last three guarantee groups on maiden voyages. Maybe it’s time to let someone else take the reins. I’m thinking of asking him.”

“Don’t ask him to do that, Casey.” Sam couldn’t even look at her, he was so disturbed.

She threw the herbs onto the counter. “You have no right…”

“You have no right! Damn it, Casey! You have no right to ask this of him. You’ve lived with him all this time, you’ve loved him, and you don’t understand this one thing?”

“I understand he has children. He has a life, here.” Casey was shaking. “I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t let him walk onto that ship. If he doesn’t come back… how can I live without him? How can I live knowing I could have stopped him?”

“Casey, he can’t do it. No matter what you want, no matter what he wants, he can’t stay away. And if you ask him to, gods, Casey, do you have any idea what that will do to him? Think, damn it! If you force that choice on him, you destroy him. Do you see that?”

She shook her head, stubbornly. “No! It won’t! He has a right to stay with his wife and children. No one will blame him for that.”

“He’ll blame himself. You know that, Casey. If he’s not there and something happens, you’ll lose him anyway. He will never forgive himself and on some level, he’ll never forgive you for forcing it on him. Is that the life you want?”

He could see her shaking from across the room, as she gripped the table, trying to stay upright, tears falling on the herbs. “How can I live without him?” she whispered. “How do I do this?”

“You just let him go, Casey. You, of all people, understand that we all make our own choices. Yet you want to take his choice away from him and turn him into a prisoner.” Sam sat, trying to remain the calm one, and continued, “He’s worked—we’ve all worked—these past years to make this event a non-event. We have a very good chance of succeeding. But he must be there. If something happens, his knowledge, his skill, will be desperately needed by the two thousand people on that ship. If the worst happens, there are now enough lifeboats. He’ll be on a lifeboat. You can make him promise you that. I think he’d do it anyway, but ask him that. But don’t make him choose between you and those people. Because no matter what his choice is, Casey, you’ll be the loser.”

She looked at him, letting his words sink in. Gradually her shaking lessened, although her tears continued to fall. Eventually she nodded and left the room. He didn’t follow her. He’d stopped her from forcing a choice on Tom, because he sincerely believed the cost of that choice would be more than they would want to pay. But he had forced a choice on Casey, and he did wonder what the price would be for that.

~~~

The fallout, as Sam called it, from Tom’s letter, continued to hold the attention of Belfast’s citizens. The ladies of Belfast had rallied behind Casey, even those who had voted her out of the Horticultural Society.

“They were afraid,” Mrs. Herceforth told Casey over tea one afternoon in her elegant parlor, newly painted a delicate pink, with golden wood wainscoting. “A good many of them thought your idea was harmless, but no one was willing to stand up against Sloan. They were too afraid they’d be the only one doing it.” She offered Casey another sandwich. “Even I was afraid, dear. And I doubt that Sloan would ever try to hurt me.”

“And now?” Casey was still leery of their acceptance.

“Your husband has roused the entire town against them.” Mrs. Herceforth shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But somehow, your husband has convinced people that even Catholic rule would be better than being prisoners to those who are supposed to be our brothers.”

“You see, that’s where people have the wrong idea,” Casey put her cup down and stared firmly at her hostess. “I’m concerned that thinking like that will eventually turn people away. Tom isn’t advocating for Home Rule and certainly not for Catholic rule.” She held a hand out in supplication. “Secular rule. Ireland needs secular rule.”

“You mean like in America?” Mrs. Herceforth shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s possible in this country.”

“Nonsense. If the Irish were so afraid of it, they wouldn’t be moving to America in droves.”

Mrs. Herceforth laughed at that. “There’s a lot of truth to that, isn’t there? So when I hear someone say Tom wants Home Rule, I’ll correct them, I promise.” She tilted her head. “Will he run for office, dear?”

“Tom?” Casey shook her head again. “He’s been asked, but he always says the same thing. He wants to build ships.” And I don’t know which occupation will get him killed faster, she thought bleakly.

With effort, she turned her attention back to Mrs. Herceforth. “Tom and Sam and I have discussed it. We all think Tom can do more good on the sidelines, working with both sides. He still has the respect of everyone, even if he is married to me.”

Mrs. Herceforth nodded in slow agreement, her gaze amused. “Well, you should know that you and your children are probably the safest people in Belfast. If your son scrapes his knee, Sloan’s group is worried they’ll be blamed for it. If people continue to demand peaceful solutions, they’ll have to back down. And Tom is just the person to get the Catholics to demand peace at the same time, which is essential, of course.” She smiled broadly. “And thanks to your garden plan, the Catholics who prefer peace are putting the same kind of pressure on their fanatics.”

~~~

On 18 September, White Star placed an ad in newspapers worldwide, announcing that Titanic’s maiden voyage would be on 20 March, 1912. Tom and his time travelers, who knew the actual date would be the tenth of April, waited for the next proverbial shoe to drop.

The telegram came late in the day on September twentieth. Lord Pirrie, ill with an enlarged prostate, was at home in London, but he informed the directors that Olympic had been damaged in a collision, and would need repairs. The only dry dock in the world that was big enough for her was at Belfast, the dry dock that was currently occupied by Titanic.

They waited to examine Olympic before giving any new dates for turning Titanic over to White Star. The new date ended up being Tom’s decision, since he was most familiar with both ships, and the Titanic’s schedule. He based the decision on his knowledge of the materials needed to repair the Olympic, what they had in stock, what needed to be constructed or delivered, and how much time, almost to the hour, this would put the Titanic’s fitting out behind schedule. He spent twice as much time on the equations as he needed and even had George Cummings look over his figures, because he could not believe the date the figures insisted was correct.

The first of April, 1912. The exact date planned for her turnover in the other timeline. Sam had told them that with the April first turnover, White Star would schedule the maiden voyage out of Southampton for the tenth of April. Wind would keep them from leaving Belfast until the second of April, but White Star would not change the date for the maiden voyage again.

Really, he had no way of knowing why or how White Star chose any particular date for sailing. The options were myriad and even Ismay couldn’t predict it. So he told them April first, and prayed that Casey would never find out it had been his decision.

~~~

Olympic’s accident had the unfortunate effect of providing an excuse for overconfidence in the new liners. Olympic had all the same features Sam and Casey had insisted were needed for Titanic, and she performed exactly as they had built her to perform, when she collided with the HMS Hawke. The damage was easily contained, and the ship was never in danger of sinking. The builders and owners were justifiably proud of this result, but it was the press that took it to the absurd conclusion that the ships were truly unsinkable. Worse, it was the shipping industry’s own journal, Shipbuilder Magazine, that perpetuated the myth when they ran an article about the collision, and the repairs being done. Newspapers worldwide gleefully picked it up as a sensational headline, and the ever-gullible public ate it up.

Tom wrote a furious letter to the magazine, sternly reminding them that no ship was unsinkable. They printed his letter, but never actually made a retraction, and the newspapers that received a copy of the letter never printed it at all.

~~~

Despair numbed Casey, as if part of that Atlantic iceberg had settled in her chest. She moved through the days automatically, feeling alive only when Tom was around. Now, on the patio at Ardara House, she picked up the fussing baby and settled into a rocker, surrounded by the other women. Bees buzzed behind her in the surprising October heat, providing accompaniment to the squeals of children and the shouts of their fathers as they all played football on the lawn. As she nursed Terry, Casey closed her eyes and let the women’s conversation drone overhead.

She hurt. Not in any specific part of her body, and certainly she had no injury. She just hurt everywhere, inside and out. Fear seemed to be an unavoidable companion. I don’t want to be alone. The thought came again, as it had every day for weeks, filling her with chills. Tom will die with Titanic and I’ll be alone in this century. She knew this wasn’t true, that she had her children and Sam, and Tom’s family would always include her. But none of them could provide the love and companionship she had found in Tom. It was not fair to him, it was wrong to place such responsibility on him, but it was true.

Her misery was interrupted as the children were herded inside for drinks and naps. The men began a rougher game of football. Little Jamie had escaped the women and stood at the edge of the patio, watching the game. At three, he was still too young to be in a game, and he had only played on the sidelines for a few minutes.

Casey laid her sleeping daughter on a mat and moved to stand behind Jamie, picking up another ball from the ground. He didn’t notice her, his eyes following the men on the grass as they dashed back and forth. She could practically feel his longing, and she dropped the football in front of him, reaching to halt its movement with her foot. She didn’t look at him, so that when he glanced up at her, she was searching for something several yards away. She motioned with her chin. “See those two birches beyond the roses?” He nodded and she looked at him appraisingly. “Right between them is our goal. Whoever kicks the ball through first, wins.”

She kicked the ball, not hard. When his glance went briefly back to his father and uncles, she went after it, skirts lifted in both hands, feet nudging the ball quickly toward the trees. Not about to be left behind, Jamie forgot the men and raced after her, reaching the ball just as she prepared to give it an exaggerated, but gentle kick. He kicked hard, sending the ball to the right. Casey let go of her skirts in surprise as he ran to catch the ball. She took a long moment to lift her skirts out of her way before following.

He kicked it again, with more control. He kept up with it, instinctively moving in the direction of his goal. She caught up with him, but he turned to block her. The ball started down a slope toward the creek and he threw himself in front of it, blocking it with his stomach, then scrambled to his feet and kicked hard toward the trees. Casey whooped, and ran toward it, but it rolled haughtily through the goal and continued its interrupted trek to the creek.

He was right behind it, fishing it out before Casey reached him. He looked up, his face bright with joy that changed suddenly to alarm, as he shouted, “Look out, Mum!”

She turned in time to see the ball from the men’s game heading straight for her. Briefly aware of Jessie’s scream from the patio, and shouts of dismay from the men, she jumped to meet it. It bounced off her head, dropping a few feet from her. She lifted her skirts to run with it toward the nearest of the men’s goals, defying their chivalrous concern for her safety.

Tom recovered first. He raced in, shouting to John to block the goal. He spared her no quarter, or at least not much, and the two of them wrestled with the ball to gain or keep control.

Exhilarated, Casey nudged them nearer her goal, occasionally using her long skirts to good advantage; Tom could not see the ball when she let them drop a bit, but she could always feel where it was. He laughed a bit in frustration, then took a chance and kicked where he thought the ball was. It escaped them both, but Casey was closer and she kicked it hard, startling John, who had not taken Tom’s order seriously.

As it sailed an inch above John’s outstretched arm, accompanied by yells and whistles from the spectators, Casey’s melancholy returned in full force, slamming her to a complete standstill, heart racing and lungs unable to fill with air. Tom touched her shoulder in alarm.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She looked up into his anxious face, twitching once at the concern in his eyes, and her own fear. “Don’t go.”

“What?” He looked confused.

Her eyes flashed in sudden rage and she moved back a step, away from his arm. “On Titanic. I don’t want you to go.”

If she had turned him to stone, he could not have been more frozen. They faced each other, the breeze dancing through the trees and through Casey’s hair, which had come loose from its pins. Willie’s voice came to them just as a shaft of sunlight lit the ground at their feet: “Everything all right? Is she hurt?”

Tom raised an arm, keeping them all at a distance, as he continued to stare at Casey. The others drifted away, taking Jamie with them, mystified, but giving the couple space. Casey’s chin quivered a moment, then she lifted it defiantly, returning Tom’s stare; the course was committed and she couldn’t take back her words.

“I have to go.” His words sounded hollow, somehow.

She shook her head, slowly and carefully, her eyes still on his face. “You don’t. We need you, Tom. I need you.” Her voice was brittle.

“Casey.” He licked his lips, holding his hand out in an attempt to be reasonable. “For five years, we’ve planned this. I’ve done everything you and Sam suggested, I’ve made every change I could, I’ve made every contingency plan. Would you have me send someone else?”

Guilt tugged at her. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. But her lips tightened when he spoke again. “Should I send George? Or Ed?” He searched her face. “They have families, too. Would you have me send them off, with no warning of what’s to happen to them? With no knowledge of what needs to be done?”

He reached for her hand; she didn’t pull it away, but made no effort to hold his. He continued. “You and I and Sam have worked out the best method for unlatching the lifeboats, for loading people onto the boats. We’ve worked out how to get the third class people up to the boat deck. I’m taking an extra pair of binoculars and I know to give them to the lookouts. I can make sure Captain Smith gets all the ice warnings. If I have too, Casey, I can sabotage the engines. Sweetheart, there isn’t anyone else who can go.”

Tears trickled down his face. She knew what this was costing him. He stepped toward her, putting his arms around her and she felt something loosen in her heart. She slid her arms around his waist. “I know you have to go,” she whispered, not sure if he could hear her. “But I don’t want you to. I will never want you to. I don’t know how to live without you.”

He tightened his hold on her. “There’s never a guarantee about that, sweetheart, you know that. We always assume I won’t die before April fifteenth, but we don’t know anything about after that. It’s that way for everybody.”

“I know.”

He began to stroke her hair, urging her to look up, but she wouldn’t. So he just held her, and she listened to him whispering that he could never express how sorry he was for what he was asking of her.

Chapter 39

November 1911—April 1912

Tom had just arrived home and was in the library with Casey and Sam, when Mrs. Pennyworth appeared in the doorway, her arm resting lightly on the shoulder of young lad of about ten, who stood twisting his cap nervously in his hands. His gaze took in the three adults before he ducked his head and stared firmly at the floor.

“This is Johnny Peake,” Mrs. Pennyworth said, her face tight. “He just showed up at the back door, sayin’ he needs to speak with ye, sir.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Casey. “He told me what it’s about and I know ye’d like to hear him.”

“Certainly.” Tom took a step toward them, but stopped when the boy flinched. Thinking quickly, he slipped into the common Ulster dialect. “D’ye need to talk to just me, or to all of us, lad?”

Johnny looked the question to Mrs. Pennyworth, whom he had evidently decided was his ally. The corner of her mouth turned up for a moment as she returned his look. “All of ye, I think, sir. T’would be best.”

Tom nodded and held out an arm. Mrs. Pennyworth gave the boy a gentle shove into the room, before turning to leave.

“Perhaps some hot cocoa, Mrs. Pennyworth?” Tom asked. She nodded as she walked away. Tom eyed the nervous boy. “Sit ye down, Johnny.” He held a hand out to Casey. “This is Mrs. Andrews, and this gentleman is Mr. Altair, my wife’s guardian.”

Johnny perched on the edge of a chair, his wide eyes going from one to the other, hands continuing to twist his cap. He was pale, freckles visible on his face. His foot shook, as if he were prepared to dash from the room at any moment. Casey sat across from him, and Tom let her speak first, hoping the boy would be less afraid of her. “You’re out late, Johnny. Do your parents know you’re here?”

Johnny shook his head, back to gazing at the floor again. “Nay, ma’am. I told ’em I was down the street at my mate’s. They don’t know anythin’ about it, I swear.”

“About what?” Tom asked.

Johnny was trying valiantly not to cry, but tears sparkled in his eyes as he looked up. “About that letter. After the riot. They don’t know my little brother was ’ta one who wrote it.”

Tom froze, seeing Casey slowly lift a hand to cover her mouth, as if to hold back a scream. He placed a hand on her arm, not taking his eyes off the boy. Sam stood next to him, silent.

The boy continued. “Was Sloan made him do it. He didn’t know what it was, sir. He were only seven last year. Can’t spell right or nothin’. He said Sloan spelled the words for him to write.” He looked over at Casey, at the tears rolling down her cheeks, and his lips tightened. “It was in the paper. Our Da’ brought the paper home and read it out loud to Mum. Said whoever wrote that letter should be skinned alive.”

Johnny’s whole body was shaking now, but he seemed determined to finish. “My brother never said anythin’ to anyone. But he’s been sick all year, his stomach hurtin’ all the time and he stays in bed a lot. An’ he keeps havin’ bad dreams. Wakes me up all the time with his yellin’.”

Johnny stretched the twisted cap, playing it like an accordion. “He finally told me about it last night. He’s afraid Da’ will skin him if he finds out.” He looked up, his face earnest. “Da’ wouldn’t. I told him that. Da’ meant the man who made the boy write the letter should be skinned, but my brother didn’t know that. He’s been scared all year. He said Sloan made him promise to never say he wrote it and he was real afraid to tell me. Sloan’s mean, sometimes. I don’t know what to do.”

“Ah, lad.” Anger, regret, and triumph warred within Tom as he stood and pulled the boy into a hug, holding him tightly. “’Tis a miserable world where our children are used as pawns in adult games.” He stared at Casey over the boy’s head, seeing all her emotions play across her face—compassion for the children, fury at Sloan, fear. He was filled with uncertainty. What was their next step?

“We can’t pit a child against Sloan, in court,” he said. Casey nodded.

“Aye,” Sam said. “With no other proof, it would be the lad’s word against Sloan’s. Not good enough, I’m afraid.”

“My brother’s no liar!” Johnny was indignant.

“Of course not, lad,” Tom said, letting him return to his chair. “But Sloan could say an adult had put him up to it. It wouldn’t be fair to your brother.” He studied Johnny for a moment. “Did your brother say if anyone else was there when he wrote the letter?”

Johnny nodded. “Aye, the usual men who help Sloan. Teddy Clotworthy, John Cone, Billy Irwin. He said they were waitin’ by the door.”

Casey rubbed her eyes. “I know what it’s like to deal with them.”

Tom sighed. “Yes. The same men who were helping Sloan when he confronted you at the shipyard.” He shook his head. “But we already knew they would’ve been involved. They’ll never betray Sloan.”

Mrs. Pennyworth came in with the cocoa and they were all absurdly glad to see it. Johnny drank it as if it were liquid gold. Tom made a decision. “We need to help you, Johnny. This could put your whole family in danger. You may need to leave town. Do you have relatives outside of Belfast?”

He nodded. “Some have gone to America. My Mum’s brother lives in Cobh. But my Da’ has a job here. He works at the rope factory. He won’t want to move away.”

“I’ll need to talk to your father, Johnny. He needs to know about this and decide how to protect all of you. I’ll help in any way I can.”

Johnny looked frightened. “If Sloan sees you talkin’ to Da’…”

But Tom was shaking his head. “Nay, lad he won’t. The owner of the rope factory is a good friend, and he’ll arrange a safe place for us to talk. I’ll do it tomorrow. In the mean time, ye should head on home. You’ll have to let the grown-ups handle this. It won’t be easy, I’ll tell you. But you and your family will be safe. I’ll make sure of that, myself.”

Johnny nodded and stood. “What should I do?”

“Nothing.” Tom slipped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him toward the door. “It’s best if you don’t say anything. By tomorrow, this will be taken care of. But you don’t want to scare your brother any more than he already is. Let me handle it.”

Johnny nodded, with one longing look toward his empty cocoa cup before leaving.

~~~

The next day, Tom and Ham made their way to the rope factory and called Johnny’s father into the chairman’s office. “Ach, my poor lad.” Billy Peake rubbed his face, then curled his fingers in front of him. “If I could just get my hands around that Sloan’s neck…”

He looked at Tom, his eyes haunted. “My poor lad’s been so sick. My wife was afraid he was dyin’, it was so bad sometimes. All because of Sloan usin’ him like a grease rag!”

Tom’s cheek quivered in empathy. He knew how Peake felt. “We want to catch Sloan, Mr. Peake. We want him prosecuted and we want it made clear to these fanatics that we won’t tolerate them threatening our wives and children. But we need good, solid proof to do that, and I won’t put your son in danger, without it. You’ll have to decide: are you safe here? There’s a danger Sloan will find out your son told the tale. Or he’ll continue to use him for other things. He may even use the letter as blackmail, telling your son he’d be in trouble if anyone found out about it.”

Billy Peake was a big man but right now, he looked beaten. “I’ve got a good job here, sir. If I go somewhere else, how will I support my family?”

“I’ll see you have employment, wherever you decide to go,” Tom said. “I’ll see you’re moved safely and I’ll cover the cost of it. It’s my family that was the target, sir. I would not have your family suffer because of it.”

Peake nodded. “I appreciate it, sir. ‘T’wouldn’t be possible, otherwise.” He ducked his head. “I’ll have to talk to my wife.”

~~~

Two days later, Tom came home at three in the afternoon. He sat at the dining table with Casey and told her why he was home early, alternating between laughter and awe. “Those boys took matters into their own hands.”

“What boys? What do you mean?”

“Johnny Peake and his brother, little Willie.” Tom rolled his eyes. “If he’s anything like our Willie, he probably thought of the whole thing himself.”

“What did they do?” Casey was torn between concern, and amusement at Tom’s behavior.

“They got together with a troupe of older lads in the neighborhood. They all hid themselves in various spots and little Willie stopped Sloan on the street at the exact spot where they’d have a good ear. Told Sloan he was looking to earn some extra money so he could buy a bike. Since he helped Sloan with that letter last year, he was wondering if Sloan might have other uses for him.”

Casey stared at Tom in horror, her mouth hanging open, but she didn’t interrupt. His lips kept twitching.

“Seems they had an amiable conversation on the street. Sloan didn’t mind talking because he didn’t see anyone around. He told Willie he’d done a fine job with the letter but he hoped he remembered to never mention it to anyone. That if he had other work for Willie to do, Willie would have to keep it secret.”

“Willie was very assuring, saying he’d kept it a secret for nearly a year and could keep anything else a secret, too.” Tom paused. “He actually told the truth with that statement. He did keep it secret for nearly a year, but he made it sound like it was still a secret. Clever…”

“Thomas Andrews!” Casey’s voice carried a hint of threat, and he laughed again.

“I’m telling you! Willie even managed to mention my name and the fact the letter was written to me. So there’s no doubt at all. The boys went straight to the police. They arrested Sloan this afternoon. Came right into the Yard and took him and his cohorts to jail.”

Casey was breathing in deep gasps, unable to speak.

“Ah, lass.” Tom stood and pulled her into his arms, holding her until she calmed down. “It’s almost over, sweetheart. This is a big nail in their coffin. I don’t think the fanatics will recover from this.”

She gave him a gentle shove. “You’re proud of those boys, aren’t you? They could have been hurt, Tom!”

“Aye, it was dangerous. But they didn’t want to move away from Belfast. They’d have to leave their mates, you see.” He was looking at her earnestly, to see if she understood.

She shook her head, a small smile tugging her lips. “I can just picture you and your brothers planning something similar and trying to pull it off. Hell-raisers, I bet you were.”

He just smiled and kissed her.

~~~

The small details recorded about Titanic continued to happen exactly as if changes had never been made to the timeline. Sam dutifully recorded them in his journal, and fretted. Was anything they were doing going to make a difference? He would be happy even if something of no consequence happened in a different way. He would have thought that anything he or Casey did would cause a change, since neither of them had been born when Titanic sailed in the original timeline. But even Casey unwittingly contributed to one of legends on an innocent shopping trip in March.

Sam was setting up an experiment in his lab, bent over his wires, so he didn’t look up when the door opened. A smothered giggle and “hush!” made him smile, as he wrote a figure in his notebook before turning to greet his visitors. Flushed with the March wind, Casey and Penny stood in the doorway, Jamie anxiously jumping up and down to see what his surrogate grandfather was doing.

“This is a surprise.” He grinned down at Jamie. “Come to see what your future job will be, kiddo?”

“We brought you lunch!” Jamie informed him, rushing to clamber onto a stool so he could see better. “But I want to see! I won’t touch,” he added before any of the adults gave him the tiresome instruction.

“We were at the market and brought you some meat pies,” Casey offered, handing him a bag. “Feel free to share them out if you’ve made other plans.”

“No, this is great. Thanks! Have time to join me?”

They did, and everyone wandered into Sam’s office. Casey picked up Terry, leaving the pram in the hallway. Co-workers came by and admired the children, nearly all of them adding a comment or question about the upcoming Titanic departure. Casey answered in as few words as possible, trying to be polite. She cheered up when she remembered an encounter at the market and told Sam about it.

“I ran into Charles Joughin while we were shopping. He’s the chief baker on Titanic. He mentioned how much he enjoys sailing with Tom. He said he wanted to do something special for him, so he asked me what Tom’s favorite bread is. I gave him the recipe for the cornbread Tom loves so much, and he promised to fix it for him on the ship! It’s a surprise, so don’t mention it to him.”

Everyone promised to keep the secret and Casey seemed especially pleased. Sam was glad she found some enjoyment in the chance encounter, so he never told her that the surprise loaf of bread was one of the many anecdotes about Tom that was told to school children in Belfast, when they learned about the ship.

But how did it happen before, when Casey was not part of Tom’s life in the original timeline?

~~~

The wind woke Tom about four o’clock. First of April, 1912. Swallowing against the fear in the pit of his stomach, he turned and put his arms around Casey. She was awake already, listening to the wind they had known would be blowing. Her heart was racing. Tom kissed her head, massaging her shoulder and neck. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, kissing him thoroughly. Her hands made passages along his back, providing urging he didn’t need. He took his time, memorizing anew each inch of her. If he could, he would spend the next twenty-four hours making love to her.

He couldn’t, of course. Even with the extra day, there was enough work still to do, that he could work for the next twenty-four hours. He also had to show up as if he thought they’d be leaving today. He dressed, then with Casey by his side, he stopped by the nursery to kiss his children. Just in case.

~~~

Lord Pirrie was out recovering from surgery, so Tom and the directors met on the bridge with Captain Smith and the pilot. The wind tore through the channel, and even in the dock, the ship was in constant motion. With the narrowness of the channel, they didn’t dare try and take her out. Their decision was unanimous. The sea trials and subsequent departure would be put off until tomorrow. Tom gave up trying to shake the strangeness of it all. The next fifteen days of his life had been documented almost in detail in Sam and Casey’s time stream. Déjà vu was going to be his constant companion for a while, and he needed to get used to it. He felt like they were all following a script.

Joe Bell, who was chief engineer, had reported a coal fire in boiler room five. Sam had warned Tom about it, and he had tried to keep it from starting. But this was another thing that they weren’t able to change. The fire continued to smolder at the bottom of a pile of coal. It was not a problem at this point. The coal had to be removed, which they were doing, but any real progress would have to wait until Southampton and a full crew. Until then, it would have to smolder. Joe thought the bulkhead would be okay and it wouldn’t be necessary to report the fire to the Board of Trade inspectors. And it probably would be okay, under normal conditions. Tom had no doubt that in the other timeline, the weakened bulkhead had given out when flooded, and contributed to the ship’s rapid sinking.

Before heading for home, Tom made one more round of the boat deck, reveling in the number of lifeboats. Enough for everyone. Almost no room to walk though, and there had been a few complaints from first class passengers about the crowding on the Olympic, but Tom had managed to prevail. Ismay was unhappy, but by putting the extra boats on Olympic, they had placed the Board of Trade in an awkward position. People were beginning to ask why the rules were so out of date.

~~~

Despite the work, he went home a bit early. The children were napping and Tom coaxed Casey out of the garden and into the bedroom. He really did intend to make love to her as many times as possible before morning.

Afterwards, she held his hand and kissed each finger, then his palm. She started to speak, but hesitated. He lifted her head to look in her eyes. “It will be all right, Casey.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t know that, Tom. It’s your own choices that I’m afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam and I have talked a lot about what happens on the ship that night. But no one knows… Sam says there’s always been speculation about why you didn’t get in a boat or at least, wear your life belt. Some people said it was because you loved the ship. You felt like the ship was your child, and I know you feel like that about them.” Her whisper was agonized. “But I need to know that you’ll really try to live this time.”

Anger surprised him. He sat up, face burning. “That’s bunk, Casey,” he said. “It’s bunk, do you understand? I’ve talked to Sam, too. I know that I had a family in that other time. Do you think for one minute, that one of my ships is more important to me than my children? Than my wife?” His voice shook and he reached for her shoulders, pulling her to sit beside him. “I can tell you why I didn’t get in a boat, because I would do the same thing now, if the situation were the same. All those women and children who did not have a seat, Casey. All those men… how many men put their wives and children in boats and stepped back to die, or stayed to die when they had families at home, waiting for them? What right, how could I, of all those people, have possibly taken a seat on a boat?” He buried his hands in her hair, holding her head tenderly, feeling the preciousness of her. “If there were not enough boats, now, I could not make myself get into one, Casey. You have to know that. But there are enough boats. And I swear to you, Casey, I will be in one if there is any way possible. I swear I will have on a belt. I will do everything in my power to live, Sweetheart. I promise you that with all my heart.”

~~~

They gave Penny the night off and spent the evening with their children, eating with them and playing games, reading to them. Tom called his parents and had each child talk to them, especially their Granda, who was not feeling well. Sam hung around for a while, playing three-way catch with Tom and Jamie. After a while though, he pulled Tom aside to say good-bye.

“I wish I had some pearls of wisdom for you, lad,” he said, before heading upstairs. “But I guess I’ve told you everything I know, along with a hell of a lot of conjecture.” They both laughed a little, then Sam shook Tom’s hand and ended it with a hug. “We’ll see you in a couple of months, Tom.” Sam shook his head helplessly. “Good luck, son.”

Tucking the children into bed was one of his favorite tasks, and Tom tried to memorize each moment as he and Casey dressed them in nightclothes. He sat on Jamie’s bed, holding his son in his lap as he read a story, and Casey nursed Terry. He noticed how Terry played with a bit of her mother’s hair while she nursed, and how she fell asleep holding the strand in her little grip. He read the entire story, even though Jamie was sound asleep before he was done. It was almost as if he was looking at the scene from outside his body: the nursery seemed encompassed in a glow, like an out-of-focus picture. In his mind, he took the picture, then tucked it into a figurative pocket, to keep with him while he was gone.

He made love to Casey again, even though she wept the entire time, holding on to him desperately. How could he leave her? Was he a fool to walk away from this and force her to face his death?

~~~

In the end, leaving came down to putting one step in front of the other, no matter how difficult or heavy the step seemed. Staying behind came down to the same thing. Casey wandered through the day, as if she had lost something, but wasn’t sure what it was, or where she should look for it. Sam watched her with mounting concern, staying nearby rather than going to work. He felt guilty about not being on the ship with Tom, but Tom’s word had been final. Whether or not he had an answer for each of Sam’s objections, he flatly refused to allow Sam to come. So Sam stayed and did what Tom asked him to do: be there for Casey.

Toward evening, Casey seemed to waken and Sam heard her unspoken communication. Leaving Terry with Penny, they took Jamie, and climbed the hill behind the house, watching as Titanic came back down the Lagan after her trials. There would be a transfer of mail and workers, and the ship would leave straightaway for Southampton. Casey explained to Jamie that his Da did not have time to get off the ship at all; that was why he had woken Jamie early this morning to say good-bye. But they could watch the ship for a while and send him their love by waving as hard as they could. Jaime added a few shouts of “Bye Da! I love you!” just in case, he said, “the wind carried the sound, too.”

Chapter 40

14 April 1912

Titanic—North Atlantic

At 9:30 p.m., Tom made his way to the wireless room. As Casey and Sam had described, Jack Phillips and his assistant, Harold Bride, were swamped with messages to transmit. Phillips was polite, but short. The wireless had been broken, he’d just gotten it repaired, and he had a hundred messages to send out. If Mr. Andrews had a message to send, it would not be going out until morning. Tom assured him that he was only checking on things. On his way out he paused next to the box marked “Bridge.” There were several slips of paper in there, and he felt a chill that went through his entire body as Casey’s voice echoed in his head.

“The wireless operators had several ice warnings that they just never turned over to the captain. They were too busy…”

He turned to Harold Bride, his hand hovering over the box. “I’m on my way to the bridge. How ’bout I take these for you?”

Harold’s eyes flicked briefly over and he shrugged. “Sure, that’d be great. Just ice warnings. Nothing the Cap’n doesn’t know.”

Tom was gone in an instant, notes in hand, quickly flipping through them. Only four were about ice, with latitude and longitude given for berg sightings, including descriptions of a large ice field.

He put these together with the three warnings Captain Smith had received earlier, struggling with the idea of approaching the captain. He was enough of a seaman to understand the inviolability of the captain’s position. I’m not even a member of the crew. I have no right to offer unsolicited advice.

But with seven warnings, just today, and several others since Friday, could he suggest that the Captain at least slow down? Could he convince him to change course further south?

He had to do something. He was at the bridge, the captain and officers working efficiently inside. Tom shivered. Lord, it was cold, tonight! No wonder, as Casey had said, the passengers had not wanted to wait on deck or get into lifeboats. He entered the bridge, returning a nod from Second Officer Lightoller, and waited for the captain to finish his log entry before approaching him.

Captain Smith was happy to see him. “Tommy, my lad! Wonderful bread the baker prepared for you, tonight. Thank you for sharing.”

“Oh my pleasure, Captain. Wouldn’t do to eat it all myself, you know.” They both laughed. “I still have work to do tonight and I’m hoping to get a letter finished to my parents. You know my father is poorly, these days. I’m anxious to get to New York and hear some news.” He held out the wireless slips. “I was just in the wireless room. Poor lads are earning their keep tonight. I told them I’d bring these along with me to the bridge.”

He held his breath as Captain Smith looked through the notes. The captain shook his head, lips pursed, as he turned to beckon Lightoller to join them. “More ice warnings. Have Mr. Murdoch calculate our position relative to these sightings. Maintain course and speed, but keep a sharp watch; sounds likes there’s a large ice field ahead. I’ll be off duty. If it becomes at all doubtful, let me know at once.”

He turned to Tom. “Thank you for bringing these by, Tom. We don’t want to take too many chances, do we? These warnings almost never pan out, of course, but we’ll keep an eye out. We’ve changed course a bit farther south to avoid most of the ice, but we want to keep to our schedule, if possible.”

That’s what you did before! Tom tightened his lips against the outburst. “The ice is further south than I’ve ever seen it, this early in the year,” he said. “It won’t be such a bad thing if we have to change course further.”

Smith nodded. “We’ll see what Murdoch says when he’s checked our position. ’Night, Tom. ’Night, all.” He left the bridge, leaving Lightoller to follow the last set of orders.

Frustrated, Tom left as well, glancing at his watch. 9:50 p.m. Nothing new had been done, even with personally handing Smith the warnings. Sam had already told him about the course change. They needed to go further south, or better yet, stop for the night. He faltered for a moment before the enclosed promenade, looking hard at the ocean. Where was that berg? What about others? Sam had said there were several out there. He moved forward to the crow’s nest and called a greeting.

“Ho, there! All clear, then?”

The lookout responded laconically. “All clear, Mr. Andrews! Cold night, eh?”

“Bracing’s, what I’d call it!” At their laughter, Tom reached into his pocket. “You lads have your binoculars?” he asked. “I have an extra pair here, if you need ‘em.”

They conferred, then answered, “Why, that’d be great, Mr. Andrews. We seem to ‘ave misplaced ours.”

Tom made his way up the ladder and handed over the pair. “You know about the ice warnings the captain’s received. Seems we’re approaching an ice field and he’d like to avoid it. Keep sharp, lads!”

“Aye,” they answered. “Thanks for the touch-up, sir.”

He left the nest and paused once more on the deck. The chill in his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. What else could he do? His half-baked idea to sabotage the engines came back to him, but he had to keep in mind Sam’s doubts about that. They needed to be able to maneuver the ship.

He could wait a while before deciding. Best wait and see what happened once Murdoch had figured their position and, hopefully, noticed they were surrounded by ice. He’d wander back up to the bridge about 10:30 p.m. and see what was up.

~~~

Dunallon—2:00 a.m.

Casey sat in bed, fully dressed, and stared at the clock. With the four-hour time difference, it was ten p.m. on the Titanic. Every bit of her soul longed for a telegram from Tom, or better yet, a phone call. If she could hear his voice again…

Neither of those would happen, of course. Even if Tom sent a telegram, it would not be delivered until morning, and phone calls were impossible. If she wished hard enough, could she put herself on Titanic and see what he saw? Could she be there to help?

She slowly rocked herself, back and forth, face resting on her bent knees. His name filled her mind, her body tense with the desire to have him safe. The minutes ticked by.

Titanic—10:30 p.m.

Wrapped up tight against the cold, Tom moved out to the Boat Deck and over to port. The night was still pitch black, the sea still calm. The only breeze came from the movement of the ship as she raced through the water, her engines thrumming evenly. Looking over the rail, he could hardly hear the water splashing against the hull, far below.

He hailed the lookouts. One waved, the other was looking through the ‘nocs as the ship moved ahead. He turned to stare at the lifeboats, his mind rehearsing the steps to follow to most efficiently release them.

He realized what he was doing and closed his eyes. Dear Lord, I’m acting as if it’s actually going to happen. I’ve got to stop it from happening, not just give up!

After a minute, he walked to the bridge.

First Officer Murdoch and Sixth Officer Moody were discussing their position when Tom entered. Both were surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. “You’re wandering around late, sir,” was Murdoch’s casual inquiry.

“Aye,” Tom said, “just checking on a few things.” He looked curiously at the map. “Looks like you’ve found some ice?” he asked them, noting himself that the pin marking the ship was indeed surrounded by areas marked as icebergs.

They nodded and Murdoch answered. “At least according to the messages. Some of those are a couple of days old, of course. We’ve no accurate measurements.”

Tom shook his head in dismay, but tried to keep his voice light and easy. “You know, I’ve built you a good ship, gentlemen. But she will no’ appreciate a rubbing from a berg.”

They agreed, laughing a little. Then, as Tom continued to stare at them, Murdoch cleared his throat. “Cap’n said to let him know if we had any doubts. Hate to wake him, but he’ll be interested in our position.”

Tom nodded, not taking his eyes from Murdoch. It took all his willpower to not demand he get the captain immediately. Murdoch exchanged an uncomfortable look with Moody as he went to rouse the captain. Tom checked the time. 10:40 p.m. One hour to go. One hour!

Knowing he had no real right to be on the bridge, Tom moved outside and over to the railing. Give Smith time to check things. He can’t miss those bergs marked on the map!

At nearly 11:00, he felt a presence beside him and looked up into Captain Smith’s frown. “Jitters, Tommy?” Smith asked quietly.

“Sir?”

Captain Smith looked away, out into the darkness, and considered his words. “You know sailing, Tom. I know you understand the risks we take, the fine line between caution and cowardice.” He looked back at Tom. “It’s a good crew we have, in the bridge and in the nest. They know their jobs. I’ve been at sea a long time, you know. Long before these wireless messages came along to add confusion to what should be straightforward decisions. I’ll tell you, I don’t entirely trust them. You and I both know the bergs move with the currents and we can’t pinpoint their exact locations. I’ve often run at night and I’ve never hit a berg.”

Tom nodded, heart pounding as Smith continued. “Bruce Ismay has made a few suggestions regarding course and speed. You are pestering my crew. Now I know Bruce owns the ship and you know the ship. But Thomas, I’m the captain of the ship. You and Bruce need to back off and let me do my job.”

Tom struggled to swallow past the dread filling his throat. Smith’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Tom. “Do you have a premonition, lad? I’ll tell you, in forty years of being on the sea, I’ve never had a real problem, but I’ve seen enough and heard enough to not ignore an experienced seaman’s nerves. Are you that worried about the ice?”

Tom’s breath returned. “Yes, Captain. I’m not a superstitious man, but sir, we need to slow down. I know that as well as I know my name.” He turned to stare at the night. “There’s a berg out there with our name on it. I’m sure of it.”

He glanced back and saw Captain Smith’s blink of surprise. “It could be,” Smith said reasonably, “that slowing down will put us right in its path. If our name’s on it, it’s possible that any action we take will bring us right to it.”

Tom nodded at this, looking at Smith earnestly. “Aye, it might. But if we’re moving slower, or better yet, stopped, the damage will be less. We need to do what we can.”

Smith stared out at the water a moment, before nodding slightly. “I’ll take it under consideration, Tom.” He turned, his expression unreadable. “That’s all I can do on the strength of a premonition. I’ll not run my ship based on superstition, but I’ll re-examine the ice reports and our heading. In the meantime, I’ll request that you return to your stateroom and cease bothering my crew. Can I count on that?”

“Aye, Captain. Thank you, sir,” Tom said, and he moved to follow his orders.

Dunallon—3:30 a.m.

Sam wearily looked up from his journal as Casey limped into the library, arms around her stomach. She looked ill and old, pain etching her pale face, her eyes hollow and lined with dark circles. His breath caught in his throat and he stood to put his arms around her and hold her.

Neither one of them found anything to say.

Titanic—11:30 p.m.

Tom’s breathing was unsteady and his heart was pounding. He stood in his cabin, staring at the door, waiting. Another heartbeat went by and he knew he couldn’t take any more. The captain’s implied order had been for Tom to remain in his room, but as long as he didn’t bother the crew, Tom felt he could be outside. He couldn’t stay in place another minute. He walked quickly out to the forward boat deck and stood out of the way, watching ahead with complete intensity. He saw nothing.

The boats creaked against the ropes, the ship continued to sail at a fast clip; Captain Smith had not reduced speed. A powerful ship, clean and strong, but not indestructible. His spine straightened with rage. He had built her for a full life. Careless fools would deny her that.

11:40 p.m. He saw it at the same moment he heard the shout from the lookout.

“Iceberg, right ahead!”

God almighty! A black mountain was suddenly there in the darkness, blocking the stars. So close.

Too close.

He couldn’t move. For a wild, dizzy moment, he was filled with thoughts of home, feeling the softness of Casey as she moved beneath him, his nostrils filled with the smell of her skin, hearing her moans. If longing could move time and space, he could have reached out and twisted open a portal to take him home instantly.

The moment was gone in the same instant the ship shuddered around him. Screeching metal filled his ears as the ship scraped the berg, a stretch of time that seemed to last forever. Shouts from the crew rang out, orders were given and repeated.

With a vision of Sam’s description of the damage in his head, he raced for the crew stairway in the bow. He heard shouts from below. As he neared the Orlop Deck, he encountered frantic stokers racing up the stairs, and heard the watertight doors clanging as they closed. The saline smell of seawater reached him as he struggled past the men, pausing when he came to water, flowing along the deck. He saw no damage. The excited stokers milling about told him they’d barely escaped before the doors came down. A few mentioned names of those behind them; they had not seen them get out, although they still had access to the escape ladders.

“The hull buckled real sudden,” they told him, “like holes being poked all along the side. Water’s pouring in.”

He ran down the last flight of stairs to the tank top, which was really the top of the double bottom. The watertight doors to the sixth compartment were closed here, and as above, there was water pooling on the deck. He could see no other damage here, and he took a few minutes to run the length of the deck he could reach, checking for cracks. It looked clear.

Remembering that Officer Boxhall would perform a cursory examination and report no damage to Captain Smith, Tom abandoned his investigation and raced up to the bridge. As he approached, he heard Bruce Ismay’s voice.

“Perhaps we should restart the engines and head for Halifax. I believe it’s the nearest port.”

Tom moved faster, entering the bridge nearly at a run. “Don’t move this ship!” he shouted. Smith and Ismay turned, startled at his appearance. Ismay’s lips tightened in annoyance, but Tom addressed the Captain. “The hull’s been damaged in the forepeak and at least four compartments. Further investigation is needed to determine the full extent. But sir, you must not start the engines again until we know exactly where we stand. If the bottom is damaged the tank top could rupture.”

This is what happened in the other timeline, according to Sam. Moving the ship forward, even for a few minutes, had greatly increased the flow of water into the ship. It had been the final, fatal mistake.

Ismay spoke before Smith said anything. “Andrews, how soon can we be under way?”

Captain Smith stood straighter, his expression stern and determined.

“Have you seen the damage?” he asked Tom quietly, ignoring Ismay. “You’ve been below?”

“Aye, Sir. I need more time to look it over.”

Smith nodded once, and gestured to Tom to lead the way down. “Let’s go see for ourselves, shall we?” He turned to Murdoch. “Remain at full stop. Send the carpenter down to help sound the ship.”

Tom felt a brief rejoicing. At last! Something has changed! He left the bridge with Smith behind him.

At the first compartment, they climbed the short ladder to the upper hatch, swinging it open. They stared in dismay at the water flowing freely down the bulkhead and pooling on the deck below. It was worse the farther forward they went. The forepeak was completely flooded. Tom estimated the flow rate in each compartment as best he could. They discovered holes in the sixth compartment as well. The water flow was much slower there, moving in a thin, but solid, stream down the wall in three places.

“The post office is flooded,” Tom remarked as they reached the staircase on their way back to the bridge. He spoke quietly as there were a few passengers about, whispering to each other or to stewards. They looked curiously at Smith and Tom, but no one approached.

Smith’s face was tight. “I’ll see if they need help moving the mail. Would you bring the ship’s plans to the bridge? We’ll discuss the damage with the staff in a few minutes.”

They parted and Tom went to his room to retrieve the plans. He paused a moment as he entered. His stateroom was quiet and clean, just as he had left it. Vertigo seized him and made the room spin for a moment. He rubbed his face with his hands.

The entire world had changed. He’d known it was coming, but now that it was here, he felt inadequate and guilty, full of fear. All this time, I’ve never faced the reality of this. It’s all been hypothetical. I never believed it would really happen.

He should have stopped it.

Smith, Lightoller, Chief Officer Wilde, and Bruce Ismay were waiting in the chart room when he arrived. He spread the plans on the table.

Six compartments were flooding. Tom showed them the consequences of their collision, pointing out the sections on the plan. “The watertight doors are all sealed, but these compartments are filling with water. Once the water reaches C Deck, it’ll start flooding into the stair wells.”

Ismay sputtered, but Captain Smith held up a hand to silence him, never taking his eyes off of Tom. “Will she stay afloat?”

“No sir.” Tom thought for a moment that those words would kill him.

“That’s ridiculous! This ship can’t sink.” Ismay moved next to them, sounding angry, but uncertain.

“Without a double hull, the water is filling those compartments. It will reach the top of the bulkheads on C Deck and from there will flood the rest of the ship. We have no way of blocking off the stair wells past that point.” Tom could barely bring himself to look at Ismay, he was so angry.

“What about the pumps?” the Captain asked.

Tom shook his head. “The pumps have a new efficient mechanism developed recently, but they can’t stop it. They buy us time, though. A few hours, maybe.”

He reached for paper and pencil, making a rough calculation. “Conservatively, we can stay afloat for about four hours, maybe five.” Whatever else, they were in better shape than in the other time line, when the ship had sunk in two-and-a-half hours. “We need to get everyone off this ship, quickly, and call for help.”

~~~

RMS Carpathia, North Atlantic, 1:30 a.m.

Harold Cottam sighed with relief as he pulled off his dratted boots and pulled down the sheets. This was the last time he ever went to sea as the lone wireless operator. In the future, if he didn’t have a backup, he wouldn’t take the job. He had hoped to turn everything off and be in bed an hour ago, once he received a reply from the liner Parisian. But that reply had required a response, and now he was waiting for a confirmation to that. But that was it. He was going to bed the second the response came through.

Once he was ready for bed, to keep himself awake for the reply, he switched over to the Titanic’s frequency. He’d heard several messages come in for them, but they had not been replying. Eejits, he sniffed disdainfully. They had two wireless operators and still couldn’t keep up!

Ah, they were transmitting, now. Too tired to translate, he leaned on his elbow and listened to the clicks, until something made him sit up. What was that? Had that been a CQD? All Stations Attend: Distressed. He started translating automatically. The Titanic was broadcasting her position. He wrote it down and waited. Nothing else happened and he tapped quickly: Repeat your message. Did you say CQD?

The reply came back in an instant: Yes. Come at once. We have struck a berg Old Man. Going down by head. CQD. CQD. They repeated their coordinates.

“Blimey,” Cottam breathed. Throwing on his boots and jacket, but otherwise not bothering to dress, he grabbed the message and ran to the bridge. He presented his disheveled self to the first officer, who read the message and pulled Cottam with him to the captain’s quarters.

Captain Rostron had just fallen asleep, leaving him groggy and irritated at the interruption, but the message he read woke him instantly. Dressing quickly, he took the others to the chart room to determine distance and course. He sent Cottam back with a message for Titanic: we’ll be there in four hours. Then he immediately began giving orders to turn his ship into a rescue boat.

~~~

Dunallon, Monday 15 April 1912, 4:00 a.m.

Neither Sam nor Casey knew when they could expect news. The telegraph office opened at six, but they had no idea when a specific telegram would be sent to someone at Harland & Wolff and from there, to them. They did expect that telegraphed messages were flying through the airwaves from ship to ship as Titanic called for help, and these would be picked up by various news sources. News should be getting out soon.

If events followed the original timeline, Titanic would have hit the iceberg at 3:40 a.m., Belfast time. By 6:20, she would have sunk and Tom would be gone. Casey, fighting rising panic and despair, fainted twice, until Sam insisted she lie down on the sofa. He put a pillow under her feet and a cool rag on her forehead and forbade her to move.

At seven o’clock, the doorbell rang. Ham stood on the step, his hat in hand, his long face miserable, as he faced Sam. “Dr. Altair,” he began, and paused in shock as Casey came into view. Sam realized how strange her appearance must seem to Ham: her hair was loose and wild, her face pale and pinched, with deep lines around her mouth, her eyes groggy and unfocused.

Ham seemed to throw off his shock, though, stepping inside and gripping her shoulders. “Casey, I have some news. Let me say first that, as far as we know, Tom is okay.”

Her expression didn’t change and he took an uncertain breath. “We’re still trying to find out what’s happened, but wireless messages between ships at sea have been picked up by several news services. Mr. Kempster received a call about an hour ago from a reporter who had heard about the messages.”

He glanced at Sam, instinctively begging for help with Casey’s blankness. “Titanic hit an iceberg sometime last night. We don’t have details, so we don’t know when it happened or what the damage was. The last we heard, they’re loading people onto boats. We know that several ships are working their way to her. That’s all I know.”

Casey stared at him a moment, her hands on his chest, but before she spoke, Sam put a hand on each of them and turned them toward the parlor. “Sit down, Ham,” he directed, as he guided Casey to a divan. She went with no argument, staring blankly at the floor. Sam sat next to her, bringing his attention back to Ham. “Do you have any idea of when or how you’ll learn more?”

Ham swallowed, hard. “Carpathia is excepted to arrive within the hour. We’ll have to give them time to rescue everyone, which could take several hours. We hope to hear more sooner than that, but we’re uncertain.” He shifted as Casey’s haunted eyes moved up to watch him. “You see, they are much closer to New York than to us. The messages we’re getting are being passed on from other ships as they move in and out of range. It’s quite haphazard, I’m afraid. We’ve sent inquiries, but have not received any replies. We don’t expect to, really. We must allow them to concentrate on their situation, and understand they cannot take the time to send information.”

Casey placed a hand on Sam’s arm and stood up. Both men stood awkwardly, not sure what to expect. Her gaze at Ham was direct, with eyes that were suddenly clear. “Is there someone at the telegraph office? How is Harland & Wolff getting the information?”

“George Cummings is down there, with a few of the office boys. Since we’re not having any telegrams addressed to us, Mr. Kempster thought it best to remain on the scene. George is having the boys run information to us, although someone at the telegraph office is letting him use a phone there, too.” Ham twisted his hat and held out a hand to her. “We’re getting it in bits and pieces, Casey. I’ll return to the office and call you every time I get more news. Is that all right?”

“Has anyone contacted Tom’s parents?”

Ham shook his head. “We wanted to talk to you first.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to them. Go back, Ham. Let me know everything. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if you don’t trust it. Call immediately.”

He nodded, giving her a piercing look before heading for the door. She turned to Sam, lips tight, cheeks flushed with color against her paleness.

“There’s been no change.” She was almost accusing him.

“That we know of,” he reminded her. “We really have very little news. Remember, even if the collision occurs exactly as before, we have higher bulkheads, better pumps. This will certainly give them more time. We have forty-eight lifeboats and perhaps enough time to load them up. Don’t lose hope.”

She reached for his hand. “Will you gather the staff? I’ll speak to them after I talk to Tom’s parents.”

Chapter 41

15 April 1912 Titanic, 12:08 a.m.

Captain Smith ordered all hands on deck and assigned Chief Officer Wilde to see to the lifeboats. He sent crew to wake all passengers, to tell them to dress warmly, put on their life belts and where to wait. Blankets were collected. Tom offered the help of the guarantee group. His electrician, Billy Parr, was already below, but the others could help with the lifeboats and in assembling passengers. Captain Smith agreed.

Tom took immediate action. This scenario had been discussed at length with Sam and Casey over the years, and he already knew what he wanted the guarantee group to do. “There was chaos in third class,” Sam had told them when they first discussed it a few years ago while sitting in the garden. “No one gave them instructions, and they all just waited below until it was too late. Those who tried to find the lifeboats got lost because they didn’t know their way around the ship. A lot of them didn’t speak English, and there were no translators.”

Tom knew that some stokers had probably died when the iceberg hit. He was determined to not lose another soul to this disaster. That meant taking charge of third class. He gathered the guarantee group and gave them instructions.

“Billy is staying below to help the electricians keep the lights on and the pumps working. I need the rest of you to help out with organizing people. There are about seven hundred third class passengers, and they’ve been down in steerage the whole time. They’ll not have any idea of where to go in order to find the lifeboats. I want each of you to get down there and help organize those people and bring them in groups to the boat deck. It might be helpful to locate a few capable third class men to help you with this. They’ll respond best to each other. Work with the crew that’s down there, but don’t let them tell you those people can’t come up here or can’t go through first class areas.”

“One other thing,” Tom looked for Artie Frost and pointed at him, “A lot of those people will not speak English. Artie, this’ll be like when we work with the deaf people at Mission Hall. You know how to do that. Yelling louder at them in English won’t get your message across, right?”

Most of the group laughed at this, but Artie nodded; he knew what Tom meant. “I think you can figure out how to communicate with them, so I’m leaving that up to you. All of you,” Tom looked around at them, “make sure they all have their life belts and warm clothes. We only have about three hours to get everyone off, so move those people up here.”

The group took off for their assignment and Tom turned to the boat deck. The crew was working in teams to unhinge the lifeboats and swing them out. Tom went from team to team, racing from port to starboard, showing them the best method for working the davits. As he worked, he felt his mind narrowing to a focus: get everyone through it. Don’t stop, don’t hesitate. You know what needs to be done, Tom. Just do it.

At 12:20, when no people were queuing up for the boats, he stopped and looked around. Spying Lightoller releasing another boat from its davit, he stepped to his side and jostled his elbow. “Where are the passengers? Why aren’t they loading into the first boats?”

When he answered, Lightoller’s tone was high and frustrated as he kicked the davit loose. “Cap’n hasn’t given the order to load ’em, yet.” At Tom’s astonished expression, he continued defensively, “He only ordered the boats swung out. Said to wait for his order to load the passengers.”

“Hell and blast!” Leaving Lightoller to his task, Tom dashed for the bridge, but spied the captain near the bow, looking into the darkness. “Captain!” he called as he turned that way, but the man did not respond. Tom called again as he reached his side and slowly Captain Smith turned his head, taking several moments to recognize Tom. Oh, this is wonderful, Tom thought, exasperated. He’s in shock. Sam never said anything about that. “Sir, most of the first boats are ready. Shouldn’t we begin loading the passengers?”

It seemed an eternity before Smith nodded. “Quite right,” he answered, his voice sounding dead. He turned to Murdoch, standing behind Tom. “Give the order, Mr. Murdoch. People must load up.”

Murdoch exchanged one brief, frustrated glance with Tom as he turned to shout out the order. Tom headed through the first class entrance and into the fray of passengers milling around and on the grand staircase, and below in the promenades and dining rooms. Lifting his arms and raising his voice just slightly, he got the attention of most of the nearby people.

He spoke forcefully, but calmly. “Captain Smith has ordered all passengers to load into the lifeboats. Please begin queuing up immediately on the boat deck. Ship’s crew will direct you to your boat. Wear your coats and lifebelts and move with expedience. There are many people to load up.”

Instead of following his orders, they began peppering him with questions. What had happened? The ship was not going to sink, was it? Wasn’t it true that this ship was unsinkable?

Murdoch entered and repeated the captain’s order, ignoring their inquiries moved through the crowd. Tom followed his example and stopped answering questions. He moved quickly through the crowd, instructing them to load onto a boat, and moving on.

He realized his mistake when a waiter impeded his progress. “Would you care for a drink, Sir?”

Tom turned to stare in astonishment at the proffered tray of wine and champagne. He noticed another waiter with a tray of canapés and he turned in a bewildered circle, seeing the chatting groups, the orchestra playing jauntily, the fur coats and sparkling jewelry. He turned to answer the patient waiter.

“You are a member of this crew. Put these drinks down, put on your lifebelt, and report to a lifeboat. Encourage everyone you see to do the same. The Captain has given the order.”

The waiter nodded. “Aye, Mr. Andrews. I know. But it’s cold outside and people want to be comfortable while they wait their turn to load.”

“Comf…” Tom stopped. Sam and Casey had mentioned this. I always thought they were exaggerating. Trying to show me the excesses of this time.

He shook his head and moved to the starboard exit. He grabbed a crew member. “Put your lifebelt on, now. I need you to help me.”

The skinny boy nodded and fumbled with the belt in his hand. While he was doing that, Tom turned and tucked a hand under the elbow of a lady he recognized as Mrs. Appleton. She had come aboard at Southampton.

“Madam, please put on your lifebelt and follow this crewman to a lifeboat. I see your sisters are here as well. All of you, move smartly, please. We have many people to load.”

“Surely, this ship will not actually sink, Mr. Andrews.”

“We certainly hope not, madam. But the Captain refuses to take chances with the lives of the passengers and crew. Hurry now.”

He saw them out, instructing the young boy who was still buckling his lifebelt, “See them into a boat and return for more passengers. Move sharp.”

He repeated this scene, starting with those closest to the exit and slowly widening his circle. Murdoch had moved to the boat deck and was supervising the loading of portside boats. Everywhere Tom saw a crew member, he put them to work guiding passengers outside.

He stopped when he came upon John Astor for the second time. “Sir, I thought you already got into a boat. Where is your wife?”

Astor bit his lip and stood straight. “Women and children first, Mr. Andrews. I asked to go with my wife, as she is in a delicate condition, but the officers are not loading men at this time.”

Blast. He’d forgotten about that. He dashed to the starboard boat deck and found Lightoller. “Listen, I know it goes against the grain, but don’t turn men away. We don’t have time. Make sure every boat is loaded to the full. They’ll be warmer, too and there will be more people to help with rowing.”

Lightoller looked doubtful and Tom shook his arm. “I’m serious, man. Fill those boats up! We’re getting people out here as quickly as we can. Get them into boats! Don’t send any away less than full.”

He raced portside and gave Murdoch the same speech. Murdoch was more receptive. “Aye, I’m trying to load women and children first, but if they’re not here, I’m putting men in.” He hesitated, but went on. “The boats haven’t been completely full. We’re worried about the weight.”

“Nonsense!” Tom blew his breath out in frustration. “These boats have been tested for up to seventy men in weight! Fill them up!”

Damn, he thought as he turned away. How could I forget they’d do that? What else am I forgetting?

Back inside, he ushered Mr. Astor out again and reminded every crew member he saw to tell the men to load up along with the women and children.

“We have time to get everyone off this ship. But we can’t be sloppy about it.” They all nodded and agreed to see all passengers loaded.

He stopped in despair when he spied a group of ladies, lifebelts tied snugly around their warm coats, standing near the orchestra. What in thunder is going on now? “Ladies, I thought you were in line for boats. Why are you back inside?”

Miss Elizabeth Eustis, a handsome spinster traveling with her sister, placed a flirtatious hand on his arm. “Oh, Mr. Andrews, don’t be angry with us, sir. But it’s so cold outside. We thought it better to wait in here and listen to the music.”

An idea struck him and he reached for the first violinist, interrupting his playing. “Mr. Hartley. May I have your assistance?”

The orchestra had stumbled to a stop at Tom’s interruption and Mr. Hartley did not look happy. But he remained polite. “Certainly, Mr. Andrews. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have your coats and lifebelts?”

Hartley gestured behind the stage. “Aye, we do.”

“All of you, put them on and come with me.”

“What?” Hartley began to sputter. “Where? We’re needed, here.”

“No, sir.” Tom said. “I need you in a lifeboat. You can play once you’re on the water. It will help immensely with getting these people to load up. I’m afraid that by playing, you are slowing things down considerably.”

There were protests from the bystanders and Hartley considered Tom as if he’d grown a second head, but he put his instrument down and reached for his coat. The rest of the orchestra followed his example. Tom helped them with the belts, pushed their instruments into their hands and guided them starboard.

“Mr. Lightoller. May I ask for your sufferance for one thing? Please load these gentlemen into this boat and send it out straightaway. We’ll sacrifice space, just this once.”

Lightoller waved the orchestra into the half-filled boat, shaking his head at Tom. “Mr. Andrews, you are crazier than a fox in a henhouse. But if it will keep you happy…”

Tom turned his head back to see several more people crowding onto the deck after the orchestra and glanced at Lightoller with a grin. “Didn’t Handel write “Water Music” for the King of England, to be played on the Thames? We’ll have our own version.”

Hartley heard him and sputtered in laughter. “All right, Mr. Andrews. The first request is for Water Music. As soon as we’re down, I promise.”

The crowd waiting to load began to laugh, and the word got around: if they wanted to hear the music, they needed to get into boats.

With the party atmosphere subdued, loading began to move more efficiently. By 1:10, just one-and-a-half hours after the collision, they had launched twelve boats. A good number of people waited near their assigned spaces, and others stood ready to take their places once they were loaded. The guarantee group were coming and going at a steady clip, bringing thirty or forty third-class passengers as far as the first class promenade on A deck. From there, they could easily reach the boat deck and were loading onto boats as efficiently as first- and second-class passengers.

Tom had a chuckle seeing Roderick Chisholm, his chief draftsman, guiding a group from third class with a small girl sitting snugly on his shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than two, but she was looking around in a serious manner as Rod approached Tom. “Her parents are lost,” Chisholm informed him. “Don’t think they speak English. You haven’t noticed any frantic people looking for a child, have you?” Tom couldn’t say that he had, and Chisholm nodded briefly. “Well, I’ll head back down for another group. She’s got a good perch and she’ll spot them right enough. Doubt they got on a boat without her.” He headed off then, with the child clutching to what little hair he had, chatting a blue streak to her about keeping an eye out for her wayward parents. As Rod was approaching the stairs, the child suddenly spotted her parents, and with a shouted “Maman!” used Rod’s head as a launching pad to jump into the arms of her frantic mother. Tom treasured the moment.

~~~

The list of the ship was getting worse.

As the pumps began to lose their battle with the seawater, which relentlessly filled the bulkheads, the ship leaned more and more to starboard, making it harder and more dangerous to lower the boats on that side. Tom went below to see what was happening, stopping in waist-deep water at D Deck. He rested his head against the cold metal of the ladder, his body heavy with despair and fatigue. He felt the ship’s pain, heard her groans and creaks as she fought against the pressure of water where no water had a right to be.

A yell of anguish escaped him as he clung to the ladder. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I knew the danger and I built you anyway. I wanted you to live. I’m so sorry…” He hugged the ladder, trying to give her his strength. She would need all the spirit he had been able to build into her to accomplish her task.

I’m trying, he heard the ship tell him, I hurt all over, but I’m trying. I’ll float as long as I can. With a deep breath, he accepted her sacrifice, vowing to help her as much as possible. He went up and over to amidships, then back down to check on the engineers.

Engineering wasn’t flooded yet, but they were working in a couple of feet of water, laboring to keep the machines running and the lights on. He gave the chief engineer a quick report of conditions topside and in the bulkheads. Tom did not need to ask the question he most wanted an answer to.

“We’ll work as long as you need us to, Mr. Andrews,” Joseph Bell told him. “Just give us a shout when everyone is off, and we’ll head to a boat.”

Tom nodded in thanks, took a moment to clap an encouraging hand on Billy Parr’s shoulder—he was more proud than he could say of his guarantee group—and headed topside.

On the starboard boat deck, Mr. Murdoch continued to load people into a boat, but he paused to confer with Tom as he came over, dripping wet and shivering, from his excursion below.

“Finish the boats you’ve started, but it’s getting too dangerous to keep working from this side,” Tom suggested in a low voice. “We should start sending the others to port. Those boats will have to do.”

Murdoch nodded, touching Tom lightly on the shoulder in reassurance. “We only have about twenty-two hundred souls, Mr. Andrews. We won’t need all the boats, as it is.”

There was a sudden lurch as the ship dropped an abrupt few inches toward the bow. Tom instinctively grabbed a rope, watching in horror as a wave washed several feet up the deck, sweeping people off their feet. Some went overboard and he cried out in futile protest. But the real horror was much closer.

He heard Murdoch shout, “Christ!” and turned to the lifeboat, which had begun to rock in great arcs, passengers screaming in terror. Murdoch was shouting orders to the seamen working at the swinging ropes. Tom quickly tried to take the passengers in hand, hoping to calm them. Several stood up, or made as if to jump back to Titanic, and over Tom’s frantic shouts, a few determined fools began to push their way through the crowd on the boat. There was not even time to think: the boat tipped precariously, and three people on the edge fell out. Even over all the noise, Tom heard the crack of a woman’s head against the ship’s railing as all three fell into the water.

Complete chaos engulfed the passengers as every person in the boat attempted to jump out. A few made it, grabbing the railing and hanging on. But most didn’t make it, as the boat turned almost completely over, spilling its cargo into the cold darkness below.

Murdoch was weeping in great gasps as the survivors were helped back on board and he turned to Tom, grasping handfuls of Tom’s life-belt in his fists. “What was that?” he screamed, his face contorted. “Why did the ship fall like that?”

Dear God, the coal fire. The weakened bulkhead. Tom stared at Murdoch, silent with grief and guilt. But Murdoch didn’t seem to want an answer, anyway. He let go of Tom as suddenly as he’d grabbed him and straightened solemnly, his face stern and calm. “Mr. Andrews, take the remaining passengers portside and help them into boats. We can do no more on this side.”

Too numb to think or respond, Tom just nodded and turned to the cowed group of passengers crying and shaking as they leaned against the wall. He gestured toward the door. “All of you, we’ll go portside. It’s safer to use the boats over there.”

He moved them inside. The quickest way was down one level and over through the writing room, and as he guided the shocked group through the ship, he told everyone he saw, “Go portside. Starboard boats cannot be used. Go portside.”

How many people are left? Tom thought in despair, as his crowd of frightened passengers joined the throng still waiting portside. A quick glance at his watch told him it was three o’clock. An hour and ten minutes longer than they had lived before. But still an hour before Carpathia arrived. Would they make it?

~~~

At 3:30, an excited murmur spread through the crowd on deck, and out to the evacuees in lifeboats. People were pointing off into the darkness and for a short time, all activity ceased as everyone turned at the shout, “It’s Carpathia!” As they watched, the indiscriminate flickers of light far in the distance turned into larger, brighter, steadier lights. Final certainty came when the far away ship sent up a rocket and a full cheer went up from every person on deck, and in the boats at sea.

On Carpathia, the cheer reached them faintly, but there was no mistaking what it was. Captain Rostron exchanged a grin with his chief officer and went to have a word with the wireless operator.

Harold Cottam had been nearly non-stop on the wireless with Titanic and other rescue ships. He had to be exhausted, but Rostron needed further information. “It’s still dark and we don’t want to run over any lifeboats. Find out where the boats are in relation to Titanic. Tell them to make sure the boats stay on the other side of the ship from us. We’re slowing down, but we should reach them in about fifteen minutes. We’ll approach from the south and stop just west of the ship. We’ll start loading from the boats as soon as we stop.”

Cottam nodded, writing furiously, but Rostron’s hand on his shoulder made him look up. “You all right, kid? Need anything?”

A rueful grin tugged at Cottom’s mouth. “Coffee, sir. And maybe a big piece of chocolate cake.”

Laughing, Rostron tipped his hat and promised to send it right down. He did, too.

~~~

Dunallon, 9:00 a.m.

They all came to Dunallon: Tom’s parents, brothers, sister-in-law, all the children, and a few extra servants who came along to help the Dunallon staff. The usually boisterous crowd was quiet, gathered in the garden shade, watching children play. Talk was subdued: even the younger children seemed to catch the mood.

Casey held her mother-in-law’s hand as if it were a personal lifeline. Her face was nearly bloodless as she stared at something only she could see. Sam stayed near her, partly afraid she would say something that would require some damage control, but mostly concerned for her well-being. He was truly afraid, if the news was bad, that she would simply die.

The day crawled by. People moved in and out of the house as the weather warmed up, but Casey stayed among her flowers, and Mrs. Andrews stayed with her. Tom’s brothers took shifts at the telegraph office, unwilling to wait for news to filter down to them through the shipyard. Around eleven, James came in to say a telegraph had been received from Carpathia, stating they had reached the Titanic and were in the midst of rescue. The Baltic, Olympic, and Virginian were on their way, as well. The original message had been sent from Carpathia to New York about three hours ago. There were no details, but with word that the ship still floated, a little color returned to Casey’s face. She and Sam exchanged a glance. In their past, the ship was gone by the time the Carpathia arrived. Something they had done was working.

Titanic, 4:00 a.m.

They continued to work steadily, loading people onto the boats, lowering the boats, starting again with the next batch of people. By four o’clock, Carpathia was nearby, taking people from the lifeboats. Once water had reached the long hallway they called Scotland Road, it had begun to fill the port side, which had more open space to hold the water. This had straightened the list to starboard, but was now creating a list to port. She would not be able to right herself this time. The bow was completely submerged. Water had been pouring over the tops of the watertight bulkheads for thirty minutes. She would fill quickly, now. Tom thought they still had about a hundred people to get off.

Those still aboard had to hang on and pull themselves up the incline of the deck. As the boat tilted further, Tom slipped, and along with about thirty others, fell in a heap to the deck. He slid toward the water, desperately grabbing for rails or ropes. The deck burned his hands and ripped his nails as he tried to stop his slide. When he entered water, still on the ship, he made a desperate lunge and found a rail, stretching his body lengthwise to try and catch the others. Some slid past, landing against submerged rails, a few continued further and he could no longer see them. Bruised and aching, Tom began pushing people back, urging all of them upright again.

Looking down, trying to see those who had fallen further, Tom spied a couple of empty boats heading for them. One boat stopped to pick up the people who had fallen and Tom turned to his group.

“Go down! Hang on and go into the water. There are empty boats from Carpathia.”

They obeyed, too frightened to argue. Tom helped them past, watching until the sailors had them in hand, pulling them into the boats. Then he turned, shivering violently, and made his way back up, looking for people to help.

He stopped when the electricity flickered. The next moment, the ship plunged into darkness. Screams pierced the night, as those still on board panicked in the dark. They were practically at water level, and the remaining mob began jumping for the lifeboats floating at the ship’s side. A few men kept their heads and began cutting the ropes to free the boats. Tom added his shouts to the chaos, trying to encourage the people to help each other into the boats.

As the last few people climbed in, Tom looked around. Was everyone off? He and Captain Smith, along with Lightoller, made one more round of all the areas they could reach, wanting to make sure. Titanic was submerged to amidships now and the rate of sinking had increased so much, Tom could no longer estimate it. Wet and shivering, sick with sorrow, Tom hurried up and down ladders in the eerie darkness. Carpathia was shining lights on them and in the sporadic flashes, he splashed through water nearly to his chest, checking nearby staterooms, lavatories and sitting areas, calling out and listening for human voices. Through it all, his hands were constantly on his ship, touching her, offering comfort. He heard only sloshing water and the deep groans of fatigued metal and wood. Titanic was dying. He was saying good-bye.

Satisfied there was no one left, they agreed to abandon ship. They began to enter the freezing water, one by one, to swim toward Carpathia, several yards away. Tom and Captain Smith shared a brief look. With a twitch of his eyebrows, Tom acknowledged Smith’s final claim as Master of the Ship, and with grief filling him, he left his ship to her fate.

He was already wet and cold, but the freezing water stabbed every part of his body, even under the lifebelt, as if a million needles had fallen on him. He swam as hard as he could, forcing his exhaustion and grief to wait. Only his promise to Casey, that he would do everything in his power to live, kept him moving toward Carpathia. It would have been so much easier just to die.

After he reached Carpathia, after they helped him up the ladder and hauled him onboard, after he gave them his name and place of residence, after they gave him a blanket, Tom refused to go below. Shaking furiously with cold and shock, he turned, leaned against the rail, and watched his ship. As if in a dream, he heard a steward suggest again that he go to the saloon for hot soup and dry clothes, but was vaguely aware that someone shushed the steward, explaining who he was. He ignored it all. He just watched her, wanting her to know that she would not die forsaken.

Her death throes soon claimed the attention of everyone on deck and those still at sea in lifeboats. She was at an ungodly angle, her stern high against the stars. They had begun to move away but they were still so close, Tom almost could reach out and touch her. She began to groan, an unfathomable sound from deep within her, soon joined by the creaking and shriek of wood and metal. They watched, Tom with the dread of foreknowledge, the others astonished, as she began to break apart, right in the middle.

He had heard about it from Sam and Casey. He had seen Sam’s drawings of it. But nothing could prepare him for the horror and majesty of the actual sight. Although it was underwater and dark, he knew when the bow broke away, not quickly, but gradually breaking free, as the stern slowly settled back into the water. Tom’s breath came in short gasps of silent weeping at the indecent sight of the open stern, filling again with water.

It took just a few moments. As he watched, with one hand unconsciously reaching for her, what was left of Titanic faced downward, and slipped beneath the sea.

Chapter 42

April 15, 1912

As dawn lit the sky, the Virginian came over the horizon. Captain Rostron gave way for them to finish picking up the people in lifeboats. By eight, the Californian arrived, having spent some hours working her way around the ice field in which she had stopped the night before.

Baltic came in as they were loading the last of the passengers. Since the Baltic was heading to Liverpool, her captain offered to take Titanic’s crew on board. Most of them took advantage of this, especially since the White Star Line stopped paying them the moment their ship sank. The guarantee group was also welcome, and Tom sent them over with Bruce Ismay.

As Carpathia, Californian, and Virginian steamed away toward New York, Baltic remained, her only Titanic passengers consisting of the crew, the guarantee group, Captain Smith, and Bruce Ismay.

They had begun to pick up the bodies.

Baltic’s doctor was adamant that they could not handle too many bodies. The ship was over-full with passengers and Titanic crew, and he didn’t have the space or equipment to properly store so many dead. Tom unable to forget the sight of people falling out of the boat, could not bear the idea of deserting them to the lonely Atlantic. Finally, Baltic’s captain brought them news that the Mount Temple was on her way. Captain Moore had promised to pick up as many bodies as possible and transport them to New York. It was hoped most of the dead would have relatives there to claim them.

While they were discussing this, Ismay sent two telegrams, one to J.P. Morgan in New York, the other, at Tom’s request, to Lord Pirrie in London, letting him know what had happened, that the guarantee group was alive and well, and they were on Baltic, en route to Liverpool.

Once these details were finished, Tom, with slow and heavy steps, descended to the room they had found for him. It was little more than a broom closet, but it had a cot and was reasonably warm. He sat wearily on the cot, almost too exhausted to move further. After a few minutes, he undressed enough to justify getting into bed and slipped under the blanket. It was nearly two-thirty in the afternoon of April fifteenth. The plans and hope and dread of the last five years were finally coming to an end. In some alternate reality, he was dead twelve hours, the ship at rest in her grave on the ocean floor. It had happened sometime, somewhere, or Casey would not have been able to let him know.

~~~

Belfast was in shock.

The news that came through on Monday was sporadic and contradictory. People gathered in groups in pubs and street corners or offices, discussing the latest bit of information. At Harland & Wolff, work continued, but slowly, as if each man was working with one ear cocked toward the main offices, waiting for news. They had sent their beautiful ship into the world as perfect as they could make her. Their strength and skill, indeed the very blood and lives of some of them, had gone into her. With every breath, they waited to learn her fate and the fate of their mates.

“Bring ’er home,” they said to each other in low murmurs whenever they stopped work to give vent to their sorrow. “Just bring ’er home and we’ll fix ’er. She’ll be all right.”

At Dunallon, and at all the homes of the guarantee group, relatives waited, hearts soaring with hope and dread with each piece of indefinite news. When would they know for sure?

The businesses of Belfast had closed and people had returned to their homes, or gathered in pubs or churches, when a telegram arrived from Lady Pirrie. The telegraph office had stayed open and reporters waited there for each notice. Willie Andrews had stayed as well, taking this duty to himself, with young Jack at his side to run messages back to Dunallon.

Lady Pirrie’s message passed on the news from Bruce Ismay and thus constituted the first official notice they had received. At its news, the reporters raced to put out a special edition, some writing notices that would make the rounds of pubs and churches. Jack and Willie both raced for Dunallon, a hastily written copy in Willie’s hand.

Willie’s copy contained a private postscript from Lady Pirrie, and he and Jack burst into Dunallon, shouting to all, “He’s all right! He’s all right!”

Casey, still holding her mother-in-law’s hand, nearly fainted as relief made her heart first skip, and then begin racing. She covered her face with her hands, letting those three words echo over and over in her mind. Despite all the anxious relatives around her, it was Sam who got to her first, sobbing as he held her, at last able to let go of the dread he’d kept to himself for five years.

They stood, surrounded by Tom’s family, as Willie quietly read the message:

Deeply regret advise you Titanic sunk this morning fifteenth after collision iceberg resulting in loss life. Further particulars later.

All Guarantee Group alive returning Baltic.

Bruce Ismay

Personal to Andrews, Belfast:

No word from Tommy but all GG alive and returning.

Hope to know more soon.

All our prayers

M. Pirrie

London

Chapter 43

April—May, 1912

Subpoenas awaited the crew and guarantee group at Liverpool, and that meant traveling to London rather than the homes they had been longing for. Many passengers were suing, and the Americans had already begun an inquiry; Britain dared not lag behind. Although the ship was owned by an American company, most of the crew was British. The Wreck Commission was convened immediately, and presided over by Lord Mersey, whose first order of business was to obtain witnesses.

Captain Smith, bridge crew, Bruce Ismay, and the guarantee group, were required immediately. Lord Pirrie, already in London and still in poor health, would no doubt be required to testify at some point.

I cannot tell you what it means to have the pictures you sent with Ham, Tom wrote to Casey, as he rode the train to London. He gave me your package right away and I have devoured it, feeling as if I am starving. The photograph is my constant companion; I must look at it a hundred times a day. To see your precious smiles, the three of you blowing kisses—Casey, how do you think of these things? How do you understand so clearly what my heart needs?

I worry that my little Terry will not even remember me, that when I come home, I’ll be a stranger to her. If I am, then I will simply try every day to help her remember. When you write that she sleeps with my shirt and my picture held in her arms, I sit in wonder. How can she understand? But you say it helps her and I know you remind her always how much I love her. Do you know that you are the glue that makes the whole world stay together?

I have Jamie’s drawing in my pocket. I am a father drifting loose, but these gifts are like an anchor. I hold them and look at them often, hearing their voices and seeing them in my mind. I can picture Jamie sitting at his desk, drawing his picture, his tongue poking out as he concentrates. He is always so intense when he draws, so careful. I can tell that he actually wrote the message. I’m sure you helped him spell it, but to see the letters in his own hand makes me nearly burst. You see how silly I am? All children learn this, yet I am overcome.

Casey, I feel so furious, so bitter. All I want is be with you, to hold you and hold our children, and to just be home. I feel that I have reached some limit, that duty no longer holds me under its sway. I am not myself, dear, and that worries me. Have I lost that part of me that holds honor as precious? Have I become selfish and shallow, feeling that I have given all I can, and having it refused, I have nothing more to offer?

I know they need answers. People died. Others lost money and valuables. Some of them lost everything they had. And I remind myself that we have accomplished only half of our goal. It is not enough that we saved most of the lives. The rules must change. People must change and learn that all our lives are precious. These hearings are a necessary part of that, and until I have finished all my part, I cannot rest. So I will set myself to get through this, to get it done and then return to Dunallon, and my heart’s desire as quickly as possible.

I beg you, continue to write. Send me all the little things you can think of. Hold me to the earth a little longer, Casey, and then I will be home and can hold you myself.

I love you,

Tom

~~~

He was in London for two weeks, and had to testify for five days. His first session lasted nearly all day, with questions about the ship’s design and construction. He had to explain nomenclature, how to read a blueprint, nautical measurements. It went on and on. And then he’d have to explain it again when someone else stepped up to question him. Tom had always been told he was a patient man, but this was beyond his capacity. Before the first day was over, he was convinced they weren’t looking for true answers. Rather, they wanted a particular answer to support their own agendas.

He wanted nothing to do with a whitewash. He did not expect Harland & Wolff to accept accusations of building an inadequate ship. At most, Lord Pirrie was guilty of short-sightedness for rejecting Tom’s own scenarios for accidents. But that was for Lord Pirrie to answer, and Tom would not let them trick him into accusations. He explained the designs, he explained how construction proceeded from the designs. In this, he had many supporters. The workforce of Harland & Wolff was held in the highest regard by the shipping industry. The commission would not be able to blame the firm for shoddy workmanship.

He was asked to explain the damage to the ship and the reasons for his prognosis. They spent several hours having him explain why he made no effort to repair the damage, but none of them seemed satisfied with his answers. What would they have wanted him to do? He couldn’t understand them by this point—he was tired and depressed with describing the injuries to his ship. Good Lord, did they actually think that he would not have done everything possible to save her? That he uncaringly let her die?

They finally let him go as they adjourned for the day, but then he had to work his way through the reporters. He had been told to not discuss the collision with them, and could only tell them he was very tired and needed to rest. This was the truth, and they let him go after a few minutes.

After Tom had testified for two days, they put Captain Smith on the stand. He testified all that day. He touched on Tom’s actions during the evening of the fourteenth, including their conversation on the boat deck, but he left out any mention of a “premonition.” Tom realized this was probably wise. Another experienced sailor might understand about premonitions and the feeling of pending disaster one could get while at sea, but this commission would not understand, and the reporters would create a sensation with it. They would never live it down.

So when they put him back on the stand and had him describe his actions that night, he also left out that part. He was relieved to do so, since he knew it was no premonition he had, but actual foreknowledge. How could he ever tell them that?

Before letting him go, in the middle of his second week there, they asked him what could have been done differently. He was desperate for good to come of this, and he spoke earnestly.

“Differently? I am on record as asking for a double hull and for higher watertight bulkheads. I fought hard for the number of lifeboats we had, and you all know that number greatly exceeded the requirements in place.

“What do we need to do differently? Sirs, we need to grow up. As industrialists, as traders, as businessmen, we need to act like adults. I have children, sirs, as do many of you. Children do not understand danger. They plunge ahead without regard for their environment because they don’t know any better. But we do know the dangers. We have no right to build bigger and bigger ships that carry more and more people, without also putting in place the protections we know are needed. We need to change the rules. We need safer ships.”

They let him go home then, although they warned him he might have to return for further questioning. The rest of the guarantee group had been allowed to leave after the first week. He booked his passage and sent a telegram to Casey telling her when he would be home. He had stayed with the Pirries of course, and his last evening in London, he shared a meal with his uncle, who was confined to bed, unless needed to actually testify. They had talked often during the week, and Lord Pirrie was philosophical about the commission’s possible verdict.

“I’ve no doubt they’ll put some blame on White Star and possibly myself, since we chose not to heed all of your warnings, son,” Lord Pirrie told him. “I expect that poor Captain Smith will take the brunt. But when it comes down to the finish, the real blame will rest with the Board of Trade and the shipping industry as a whole. Your final speech to them was right on mark, Tommy. Already, every line has added more lifeboats to their ships. Bruce plans on sending the Olympic and other ships back to the yard to be fitted with a second skin, and certainly the Britannic will be built with it. You’ll have to handle that, Tommy. It will be a huge job. There are other rules to be changed as well. It will all happen, son. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s a start, Uncle Will.” Tom moved his uncle’s empty tray to the bedside table and stretched the kinks out of his back.

His uncle watched him with concern. Tom seemed to look much older than his thirty-nine years. Lines etched around his mouth, the skin around his eyes puffy and drooping, new gray speckled his hair. He was subdued, somehow, as if the joy he usually carried with him had been misplaced. Perhaps he just needed more time to put this all behind him. It would do him good to get home, too.

Lord Pirrie reached for Tom’s hand and patted it. “There’s a lot to do, lad, but take some time when you get home. I imagine your wife has been through hell these last few weeks. She’s a good girl, Tommy. Take care of her for awhile.”

Tom’s soft smile touched his eyes as he returned the hand pat. “I’ll do that, Uncle Will. You follow your doctor’s orders and get better, all right? I’ll take care of things at the yard.”

Chapter 44

May 1915

Tom watched as George signed off on the final paper turning the Britannic over to White Star Line. She was every bit as beautiful as her sisters had been. George was confident she would perform well. Despite the Titanic tragedy, he was looking forward to heading the guarantee group on this voyage. Handing Tom copies of the reports, he raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Sure you don’t want to come along?” he asked, only half joking. “We could use your expertise.”

Tom laughed a little, holding up both hands as if to ward him off. “Now you know my wife would have my head if I left on that ship. Not only that, I honestly don’t want to go.” He reached over to shake George’s hand. “She’s as safe as we can make her, George. The workers are confident, but even more, I think the world is confident about that. No other ship has been watched as closely as this one has been during her construction, yet she’s going off with nearly every berth full.”

“They must think we did something right,” George agreed, “thanks to all the rule changes since the inquiry. Listen, I appreciate you looking in on Susan while I’m gone. I know you and Casey can understand her nervousness.”

“Indeed we do. We’ll have her and the children over as often as they want to come. We’ll keep her occupied.”

The “all ashore!” whistle blew and Tom gathered his papers. “Good voyage, George.”

“Thanks, mate. See you soon.”

Tom walked down the gangway, meeting Ham at the bottom and handing off the reports. Saxon joined them, as they watched the Britannic make her slow way to the river and on to Southampton, before the three of them went back to their duties. Tom sent off a telegram to Lord Pirrie, informing him the ship was off without a hitch.

Back in his office, he pulled out his time travel journal and entered the information, staring thoughtfully at the page as he finished. After a few minutes, he continued writing.

So many changes. Fourteen hundred people that died in another timeline, still walk the earth, still building their dreams, because Sam and Casey chose to act. We now have shipping rules in place that reflect both the reality of the ships we build, and the dangers that nature can throw at us. World War I, as Sam and Casey call it, has been vicious, but is already contained. Sam insists the differences there are enormous. Was it because of someone on Titanic who lived instead of died?

Sam’s ‘inventions’ have begun to appear everywhere, even among the poor. His work to harness the sun’s energy is remarkable. I’m going to talk to Uncle Will about using his solar sails in the next ships we build. Sam thinks we’re ready to try that. He says if this is the primary energy source for the world, the changes from his future will be astronomical. He’s convinced it’s a good thing, and I believe him.

We are making real progress in keeping the various factions of Ireland talking to each other. Despite the effort it takes, Sam and I both want to concentrate on bringing our Ireland in this timeline to a peaceful existence, without all the bloodshed that occurred before. There are no guarantees, but ever since that letter, people have been insisting we live together in peace, and they’re voting like they mean it. I suspect we won’t be part of the UK much longer, but once again, Sam has helped with that. Ireland is the world’s technological leader, and we can deal with England from a position of strength, so breaking off will not beggar us. We can make it worthwhile for England, too.

From my point of view, these things are amazing, but I don’t see the future as changed. I am just living, with life going along as it always has, except for outside knowledge from a couple of future time travelers.

Tom smiled slightly, at the joy he always felt when thinking of one particular time traveler. His pen continued to move.

I am willing to just let life be. It’s good this way.

Epilogue

August 1972, Belfast

Avoiding the busy pedestrian traffic, 26-year-old Sam Altair parked in front of the house known as Dunallon, and waited a moment to gather his nerve, reflecting back over the strange invitation he’d received. He knew who Casey Andrews was, of course. Everyone in Ireland did. The widow of Thomas Andrews, the man who brought Harland & Wolff through the twentieth century with increasingly modern sailing ships, airplanes, and eventually space shuttles. He made Ireland a force in modern industry and gave her a real presence in space. The Andrews had been tireless advocates for a peaceful Ireland, and instrumental in bringing the warring factions together, even if they couldn’t always keep them together. They were heroes a hundred times over. But he could not imagine what her interest was in him.

Only one way to find out. He locked the car and approached the house, looking around him at the famous garden. A the door, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman who shook his hand, informing him she was Mrs. Andrews’ secretary. She guided him through the parlor and into a library at the back of the house, pausing in the doorway. “Dr. Altair is here, Ma’am.”

An old woman balanced on a cane in the center of the room. She turned from her contemplation of a box of books. When she saw him, her face crinkled into what could only be described as a huge grin. She limped toward him, taking his hand and studying his face intently. Sam took the time to study her in return.

He’d seen pictures of her as he was growing up and had even seen her on a television talk show once, but he wasn’t prepared for how small she was. Her hair was white, the eyes a vivid green. She was pale and wrinkled, dressed impeccably, and stood straight, supporting herself with the cane. He knew she was nearly ninety, and he was impressed with her bearing. He gripped her hand with care, afraid of hurting her, and bowed briefly. “Mrs. Andrews. How do you do?”

The smile widened. She shook her head as if amazed. “Incredible,” she murmured, then gestured to the divan. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

He acquiesced, as the tea service was already in place. She poured, her hand shaking a bit. As he took his cup, she sat back in her chair and looked at him. “This will all be very strange to you, Sam,” she said, then blinked. “Excuse me, may I call you Sam? I know it seems forward, but it will make sense, shortly.”

He smiled at the old world formality and nodded, not without some confusion. “I have no objections, ma’am. I’m honored to meet you, but I don’t understand what I can do for you.”

Her eyes were bright, as if tears had formed in them. “I read your Ph.D. thesis.”

He nearly choked on the tea. “My thesis? It’s not even published, yet.”

Her smile was enigmatic. “I have connections. I understand your hypothesis predicts time travel.”

He put the cup down. “Mrs. Andrews, my work is extremely esoteric, even among physicists. What is your interest in it?”

Still that smile. “I’m going to do the same thing to you, that I did to my husband over sixty years ago. I’m going to tell you the bottom line, then we’ll go back to fill in the details. I practically had to tackle Tom to keep him in the room after I told him. I’ll beg a little more forbearance from you. I’m afraid my tackling days are over.”

He couldn’t help returning her smile, deciding she was senile and harmless. He spread his hands in submission. “Consider me glued to the chair, ma’am.”

She laughed. “I’ll remind you of your promise. You see, Sam, in the year 2006, you create an experiment in time travel, with unforeseen results. You end up moving yourself backwards through time to the year 1906. Along with a not very appreciative twenty-year-old American girl who had been attending school at Queens.”

He thought of his hypothesis and stared at her. “I know what my hypothesis predicts, but even I don’t think that’s possible, Mrs. Andrews.”

Her lips tightened and she gestured toward the boxes on the floor. “These journals are yours, Sam.” She seemed to sense his alarm and smiled briefly. “I don’t mean they were all written by you. Some of them were. Some were written by my husband, some by me. But they will be given to you, Sam. For your work.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

She picked up the loose-leaf notebook on the table in front of her. It was very old, the binding cracked and torn, its pages yellow and crumbling. She made no effort to hand it to him.

“This is the first one. I had my backpack with me when we went through time and Sam and I started keeping our notes on these pages. It was all an accident, you see. He couldn’t get us back.” She rubbed the binder, her expression sad. She looked up at him earnestly. “You must try to accept it, Sam. Try to understand. Read the journals. Sam and I kept a section for memories of our time. We wanted a record of what had happened in our history and of what our world was like in 2006. For comparison, you see.”

He shook his head again. “Comparison with what?”

“We changed things, Sam. Some changes were inevitable, just because we existed in 1906. Some things, we changed deliberately. Other changes occurred as a result of the first changes, a domino effect. You realize we had almost no control.”

“I don’t believe this.”

She didn’t respond and he continued. “We don’t know what travel backwards through time would do. Are there parallel time streams? Tangential time streams? I don’t see how we can go back to the same time stream and create a loop, but maybe that’s what happens. We just don’t know!”

She held out a hand. “You didn’t know when it happened, either. We’re pretty sure we started a tangential time stream. But we don’t know. That’s one of things you’ll have to work on. But you see,” she handed him the book; he wouldn’t have taken it, but it was too heavy for her and he didn’t want her to hurt herself, “your older self did not want you to waste time redoing his work. He wanted you to have this information so you could begin where he left off.”

He closed his eyes, hoping it would all be gone when he opened them. That didn’t work, of course. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him. “Your husband was not from the future. I know about the Andrews family. Everyone does.”

Her smile was soft. “No, he wasn’t. Tom Andrews was born in 1873. I met him in 1906. I loved him almost at once. I didn’t know who he was, but Sam did.” Her gaze was direct. “I could not have just let him die, Sam. I had to warn him about his future and Sam agreed. It’s the first time we deliberately tried to change something.”

“Are you saying he died earlier in your history? Before 1961?” Sam struggled to keep up with the changing tenses and her confusing way of calling both him and this older self she said she knew, by the same name.

She thought about it, looking at her hands for a moment, as they rested in her lap, before looking back up at him. “Read the journals. I’m not willing to actually give them to you, yet. I’d like to request that you leave them here for now, but you are welcome to spend as much time here as you wish. You can even move in, if that would help you.” She stood, her gaze piercing. “There is a foundation established to provide you with funds for this work, should you decide to pursue it. There will be rules, particularly regarding my children and their descendants. I’m not willing for them to be hurt by this. I’ll give you some time, now. Please, look them over.”

He stared at the notebook as she made her slow way to the door. His hypothesis predicted this, but it made no conjecture about the consequences. Nothing was in there about the people and the lives affected by time travel. Perhaps it was fitting that his own life was disrupted by this. He looked up to ask her a question, but she was gone, the door closed. His own hand shook a bit, as he reached to turn the cover of the book.

About the Author

Marlene Dotterer grew up as a desert rat in Tucson, Arizona. In 1990, she loaded her five children into the family station wagon, and drove north-west to the foggy San Francisco Bay Area. To stay warm, she tackled many enterprises, earning a degree in geology, working for a national laboratory, and running her own business as a personal chef. She is a frustrated gardener, loves to cook, and teaches natural childbirth classes. She says she writes, “to silence the voices,” obsessed with the possibilities of other worlds and other times.

She is married to The Best Husband in the World, and lives in Pleasant Hill, California.

Her website is http://www.marlenedotterer.wordpress.com

Please visit for a peek at the next book in The Time Travel Journals series:

BRIDGEBUILDERS

Acknowledgements

There is a wealth of Titanic information in the world. I spent over a year plowing through a lot of it. Shan F. Bullock’s little book, “Thomas Andrews, Shipbuilder,” was the source of my inspiration. M.A. Kibble’s website, “Thomas Andrews, Builder of the Ship of Dreams,” while not a new site, is still the definitive page for information about Thomas Andrews. The people at Encyclopedia Titanica are always ready for advice or debate, and always good for a laugh. The Titanic Inquiry Project, with every word of both the British and American inquiries scanned into the World Wide Web, is a wonder of the electronic age. The Belfast Titanic Society is a constant source of inspiration. And jealousy. I always wish I was there. I am grateful to all the people who contribute to these sites.

Closer to home (sort of), I send humble thanks to the members of the Online Writers Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror. Amy Raby, Jesse Bangs, David Fortier, Rhonda Garcia, and Greg Byrne deserve several pitchers of beer for their faithful reading of forty chapters and three revisions. You guys made a real writer of me.

Special thanks to Daniel Hawkes, who never doubted I could do it, and whose thoughtful editing of the first version made it a book to be proud of. And also to Stefan Finsterle, who provided a review of the final draft that was the equal of any peer review given to a scientific colleague. You guys rock.

My most heartfelt thanks, and all my love, go to Rick, “the Best Husband in the World.” He didn’t know he married a writer, but he persevered when these strangers took up residence in our house via my obsessed mind, and I disappeared nightly behind my computer screen. For better or worse, indeed. I love you, darling.

And finally, to Thomas Andrews, February 7, 1873 — April 15, 1912. He had no idea of the inspiration he would provide to so many people through the ages. He just lived his life with all the goodness and joy instilled within him by nature and a loving family. I wish he could have had a full span of years. I hope he would be pleased with my feeble attempt to give him another chance at life.

Marlene Dotterer

Pleasant Hill, California, 2011

Copyright

Copyright 2011 by Marlene Dotterer

Cover design by Laura Shinn

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at www.marlenedotterer.wordpress.com/contact.

While based on historical events, this is a work of fiction. Characters, places, organizations, events, and dialogue are the products of the author’s imagination and may differ from the historical record.

Content

Marlene Dotterer
The Time Travel Journals
SHIPBUILDER

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Copyright