The Edge of the Ocean
Chapter One
Thursday, April 4, 1912
The letter had been read so many times that, though it had originally been folded, it now lay flat on the dark oak of the writing desk, the elegantly written words now a blur behind the veil of tears that threatened to fall from the young woman's eyes. She turned away from the letter, the desk, and the window that overlooked the long, dirt drive that wound down the long field and through a thicket of trees leading, eventually, to the main road. With an impatient swipe at her tears with the back of her hand, she picked up the letter without really looking at it, placing it unceremoniously in the ornate box beside it. When she saw, however, that it didn't quite fit, the edges of the heavy parchment paper hanging over the side, the young woman picked it back up and, in a fit of burning hot rage, tore it cleanly in two and then again so that the four remaining pieces fit quite neatly into one of the little compartments of the Chinese sewing box.
"Miss Catharine?"
The voice of the handmaid startled her from her thoughts. She quickly shut the lid of the box and turned to the bedroom door as it opened, her hands behind her back like a child who had been caught sneaking biscuits from the jar. The maid, Esther, however, did not look remotely suspicious as she walked in with two large, flat boxes.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss," she said briskly, placing the boxes on the closed lid of the brown steamer trunk, "but Mrs. Murray finally found the last two boxes. They were in Miss Lillian's room, which explains why we had such a time finding them. You've got everything you'll want?" Esther straightened up in her task of placing the two large, wide-brimmed hats in their delicate tissue-paper wrappings and looked at Catharine, who still stood guiltily before the desk.
Instead of answering her question, rather preferring to put off their inevitable departure just a little longer, Catharine fiddled with the long sleeve of her white glove.
"I do wish you would call me Cate," she said, trying to make sure her voice stayed light and airy. "Honestly, Esther, no one calls me Catharine except my grandparents and no one calls me 'Miss' except the milkman."
"Oh, I couldn't, Miss," Esther replied cheerfully, placing the lids over the boxes once more. "If it would please you, though, I could call you Miss Cate as a compromise."
"I suppose that will do," Cate said at last, although smiling slightly at Esther's infectious good spirits. "You make me feel far grander than I am."
"I don't know if that's the case, Miss Cath—Cate." Esther corrected herself quickly. "I would imagine there are great many people who would dare to call you the grandest lady they've ever laid eyes upon."
Now Cate laughed. "Esther, you flatter me," she said. Her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the small mirror that had been fixed to the wall some years ago, now so far in the past that it seemed like it had always been there. With her hair pinned just so and the long, lavender dress that reached the floor, covering the corset that restricted her every breath and the layers upon layers of petticoats and underthings, Cate felt like a prim doll, one that could be found high on the shelf of her grandmother's parlor, looking down imperiously at all who entered. Such a thing surely did not belong in the humble cottage nestled in the Scottish hillside.
"Where's my Sunflower?" A man's voice boomed from downstairs, causing both women to start, their conversation halted. Esther looked questioningly at Cate, who smiled.
"It's my grandfather," she explained. Although as quickly as her smile and elation at hearing his voice had come, they vanished; Samuel Murdoch's presence meant that the time had come for her to leave the cottage at last.
Nevertheless, in spite of her growing dread, Cate left her bedroom and walked down the stairs to where her father's father waited in the small sitting room, examining a painting that hung over the mantle, painted by some artist whose name Cate didn't know, given to her father some time she couldn't remember. It seemed hard to believe that anything in the cottage had been different or changed from the way it was now, as if all of the mirrors, and paintings, and rugs, and china, and furniture had simply appeared there the day they moved in when Cate was a little girl.
When he heard her footsteps, Samuel turned around and smiled widely, his light eyes taking in her elegant, albeit uncomfortable, appearance.
"Look at my little Sunflower," he said, holding his arms wide. "You've truly blossomed, lass."
Cate hurried forward to receive his embrace as quickly as her garments permitted. As she stood in his arms, she breathed in, taking in the smell of the sea and pipe tobacco, knowing it would be a long time before she smelled them again.
"Hello, Papa," she said softly, her eyes remaining closed.
They stood there for a moment before, finally, Samuel cleared his throat and pulled away, picked up his hat from the mantle and placing it back onto his head.
"We'd best be hurrying, lass," he said. "Your Uncle James and Uncle Sam are waiting outside. They've come to help," he added when he saw her questioning look.
Her father's elder and younger brother worked quickly, dragging down her two large steamer trunks and placing them in the carriage, as well as the seemingly endless pile of hat- and coat boxes. Cate watched from beside the old writing desk as her bedroom was slowly taken apart, leaving only the barest pieces of furniture and her Chinese sewing box.
"That's everything, lass," said her Uncle James as he entered the room one last time. "We'd best get a move on if we want to get you to the train station before nightfall."
Cate nodded once, her jaw clenched shut as she turned and picked up the ornate box, her hands now shaking as she held it. She was screaming inside, begging silently to stay nestled under her bedclothes, but no sound emerged. Instead, she dutifully followed her uncle downstairs, said goodbye to Mrs. Murray in the kitchen, and sat beside Esther in the back of the carriage, the world once more blurred by tears.
"Oh, my dear Catey."
Cate found herself enfolded in her grandmother's arms the moment she stepped down from the carriage. Unlike Samuel, Jane said nothing about her granddaughter's beautiful dress or her gloves. She saw nothing, it seemed, but the little girl with the dirt-stained cheeks and the scraped knees coming to bring her a sloppy bouquet of wildflowers.
"I'm going to miss you, Nana," Cate whispered, wishing she could keep her voice from breaking as it did.
"And I you, my little Sunflower," said Jane as she straightened up, reaching up to wipe the stray tears from her granddaughter's cheeks with her thumbs, calloused from a long life of hard work. "But don't think of this as a goodbye, Catey. Think of it as a 'see you soon.' The green hills of Scotland will be waiting to welcome you home soon enough."
The rest of Cate's family gathered slowly, all come to say farewell to their niece and cousin. She embraced each one of them, wishing she could hold on and never let go. Even little Thomas, the six-year-old who claimed he didn't like anyone, cried as he held onto his cousin's skirts, begging her not to go to "'Merica with them fancy people." Cate managed to hold in her own tears until her cousin Gwendolyn, who was only a few months younger than she, approached, her cheeks already tearstained, a look of resigned sadness upon her face.
Growing up, the two girls had been inseparable, getting into all sorts of mischief with one another. They ran through the woods and pretended to be little Indian girls, and rolled down the green hills, and swam in the ponds. As they grew older, they maintained that they would find two handsome brothers to marry and have a joint wedding, both girls wearing crowns of twisted wildflowers like the ones they had made as children. Their laughter, as if from another life, echoed in Cate's ears as she hugged her cousin.
"You write to me," Gwen said fiercely as they parted. "I mean it, Cate Murdoch. I don't care if you marry the President himself, you don't forget your family here in Dalbeattie."
Little Thomas cried even harder as Samuel gently pried Cate away and led her back to the carriage. Esther watched from her seat, her eyes glistening, her hands clasped in her lap, feeling like she had stumbled upon a scene of mourning to which she did not belong. Cate's family—her grandmother, her eight aunts and uncles, her eight cousins, and several childhood friends from the village—called out different goodbyes and wishes as Samuel flicked the reins and the carriage rattled off down the road. Cate turned back to wave at all of them, waving and crying in unison, until the carriage rounded a bend and her grandparents' cottage disappeared from view.
"Are you alright, Miss?"
Esther's soft question startled Cate from her thoughts and she quickly lifted her forehead from where it had been resting on the rattling windowpane and sat up straight, smoothing out some wrinkles in her dress. She tore her gaze from the black countryside as it rushed past, the steam engine screaming in the night.
"Yes," Cate lied quickly, plastering a smile onto her face, "quite alright."
But though the two women had only known each other for a short time, Esther saw through Cate as easily as if she were made of glass.
"There's no shame in being sad, Miss Cate," Esther said quietly, lowering her voice so the other passengers in the compartment—a large old woman and her heavily-mustached husband—couldn't hear, "or missing your home. It's a hard thing you've done, to be sure."
Cate looked at her, the forced smile slowly fading. "Do you miss your home, Esther?" As soon as she said these words, however, she regretted it; what if she made Esther sad or homesick?
But Esther smiled. "Of course, Miss," she said. "I miss England every day, as well as my mum and dad, and my little brother. But I don't regret emigrating to America; I've made a good life for myself, which is more than a lot of people can say." She paused and looked at the window, able to see her reflection more than the landscape outside. "It seems hard to believe that that's England herself right out there, doesn't it?"
The sky began to lighten as the train slowed, pulling into the station for the final time. Cate, who dozed fitfully with her head resting once again on the window, was woken gently by Esther as the conductor called out their arrival in Southampton. She rose to her feet as Esther picked up two of the most delicate hat boxes that had been deemed too fragile to be placed with the cargo. In her own hands she carried the Chinese sewing box. Once they had stepped down onto the platform, Esther immediately made it her business to locate the rest of the luggage. She wandered off toward the cargo hold, leaving Cate to stand alone, feeling foolish with her ornate box and an air of complete uncertainty.
Southampton was chilly, a light breeze blowing and mingling with the steam billowing from the train. Passengers swarmed around her, greeting their loved ones, gathering their luggage, calling out goodbyes to others whom they had met during the long voyage. As she stood there, she began to feel quite overwhelmed, though she had been in Southampton and on that very platform many times. But Lillian had always been with her and now, standing by herself, she felt quite thrust into adulthood and even farther away from Dalbeattie than ever, though she had not even left the continent yet. The hotel she and Esther would be staying in, the South Western, loomed above them, right next to the railway platform. Cate knew most people would have left their maid and other servants to sort out the luggage while they went to check in and relax in their rooms, but she felt rooted to the spot until Esther returned.
"—sets sail in just five days!"
A snatch from someone's conversation reached Cate's ears and she froze, suddenly realizing for the first time that somewhere in the sprawling city of Southampton, whether already on his ship or perhaps in one of the many buildings, was her father. Where was he? Was he thinking of her? Did he realize that she had arrived? Cate looked around automatically, almost expecting to see him approach from the train's fog like a ghost, though deep down she knew better, knew he would be too busy, having said so in a letter he sent last week, a letter so different from the one she had torn to pieces.
"I shall meet you at your hotel at noon," he had written at the end of the long letter, the tail of his y's curling in the exact way hers did when she wrote, though she wrote with her left hand he his right. Her fingertips had traced the thin lines of his signature, lingering over the surname that she still used in Dalbeattie but had long since shed whenever she left her country's borders.
Friday, April 5, 1912
The bedroom door was closed, but she could still hear Esther bustling about, putting away a few things into the wardrobe that she thought Cate might like to wear over the next few days. The four-poster bed had thick, velvet hangings that blocked out the bright light from the large window and its lacy curtains, but as hard as she tried, Cate could not sleep. The ticking of the clock in the corner seemed incredibly loud, louder than Esther's footsteps and humming to herself, positively screaming the seconds away. Cate nearly jumped out of her skin when it chimed nine o'clock.
At ten, after lying there restlessly for an hour, she finally gave up and rose, shaking her long hair down her back and pulling on a dressing gown. It had been such a relief to shed her dress and corset like they were a second skin and collapse onto the soft mattress, throwing the drapes around her bed closed and ignoring the world, awaiting the blissful unawareness of sleep. Of course, that hadn't happened, and now, feeling no more rested and even more tired than before, she called her maid's name blearily.
Esther was there a moment later, a yellow dress draped over her arm, having agreed on that particular one before Cate went to lie down. It was with much reluctance that she shed her dressing gown and allowed herself to be laced up into the corset, clutching the bedpost for support and trying not to think about the fact that she was getting dressed up for a man who would have preferred to still see her as the little girl from Dalbeattie. When she was all wrapped up in the yellow dress with the long sleeves and white, decorative lace, Esther seated her at the vanity and began artfully styling her hair, keeping it in place with pearl pins.
"You have the most beautiful hair, Miss Cate," said Esther as she worked, her fingers moving deftly. "It's like spun gold."
"Honey, my Nana called it," Cate said, her eyes lingering on the long, golden strands in the mirror before focusing on some spot in the room behind her. "She was always calling Lillian and me 'The Girls with the Honey Hair.'" She paused and sighed. "Or some such nonsense."
"I don't think it's nonsense, Miss," Esther said quietly. "And I don't think you do, either."
"No, I don't suppose I do," said Cate. "Perhaps it's easier to pretend that I do, though." She was silent for a moment before continuing. "When Lillian and I were little, four or five years old maybe, I remember arguing with her about the color of our hair; I said it was the color of straw and Lillian said it was the color of sunshine. So we asked Nana who was right, and so Nana took us on her knees and told us a story. She said we were born with hair as dark as our Aunt Maggie's. When we were still very new, not long after our father brought us to Scotland, he left the window open in the room where Lillian and I were sleeping. In the night, she said, little fairies came in and blessed us, laying their little golden hands upon our heads and whispering that we would both be good girls who would live long, happy lives and be loved and strong." Cate paused. "Nana said that when our father came to us the next morning, our dark hair had turned golden like honey from the touch of the fairies."
Esther smiled. "That's beautiful, Miss."
Cate could not help but return her smile. "It did not, however, answer our question," she said, "something Lillian and I realized only a month later."
When Cate's honey-colored hair was pinned perfectly in place, she rose from the low stool in front of the vanity and glanced at the clock again. Still an hour to go. She followed Esther into the sitting room and walked out through the double French doors, which had been opened onto the balcony, a light breeze rustling the curtains. Southampton, a stark contrast to the quiet village of Dalbeattie, was alive with people, sights, and sounds. Everywhere she looked were people walking, calling to one another, stopping to buy a newspaper, or to climb into a carriage, or to look longingly to the window of a shop. Southampton seemed to be the center of the world that day.
Having stayed at this particular hotel many times in the past, Cate looked to the left where she knew the pier was, but she could see nothing of interest. She assumed that other guests on the left side of the hotel (which was built on a corner and thus presented two sides of Southampton: its bustling city and its docks) had a marvelous view of the pier and, most likely, its celebrated occupant. Indeed, the concierge had sounded rather apologetic when he informed Cate where her room was located, even more so when he learned that she, along with many other guests in the South Western Hotel, was due to sail to America aboard the R.M.S. Titanic in five days' time.
Cate moved restlessly about the suite, smoothing her dress, walking back and forth from the balcony to the sitting room, to her bedroom, to the wardrobe. Esther watched her apprehensively, the pot of tea she had boiled forgotten on its silver tray by the chaise. At five minutes until noon, Cate returned to the balcony, looking down at the passerby and wondering if she would be able spot her father yet knowing simultaneously that he would be most likely be coming from the direction of the pier. Still, she couldn't help but search for the honey hair that matched hers, the dark uniform of a ship's officer, the blue eyes she wouldn't be able to see from such a height anyway….
"How long has it been since you've seen your father, Miss?" Esther asked, walking out onto the balcony beside her.
Cate thought a moment. "It's been since the summer of last year," she said at last. "He wasn't able to return for Christmas this past year. But Lillian hasn't seen him since the year before since she decided to stay in Philadelphia."
Esther smiled. "You must be excited to see him."
Cate looked at her. For a moment, she was almost tempted to deny any such thing, to say that seeing her father meant very little to her, if anything at all. After all, that's what Lillian's response would have been, always cool and collected, refusing to show her true emotions. But when had Cate ever wanted to be like her sister?
"I am rather," she admitted, a smile creeping onto her lips. "I can't believe how long it's been. I wonder—"
But what she was wondering, Esther did not get to find out, for at that moment, there was a sharp knock upon the main door of the suite. Both women froze, their eyes widening, the maid seeming to momentarily forget what she was to do now that that highly anticipated moment had arrived. The noise from the streets was extinguished as Cate stared at the door, dimly aware that she was shaking. To steady herself, she stumbled back into the suite, clutching the back of the chaise for support as Esther scurried to answer the door.
It might not be him, Cate reminded herself, her own voice in her head sounding extremely far off in the distance, muddled underneath the pounding of her heart. I mustn't get my hopes up.
Time seemed to slow as the door was finally opened. Cate had imagined the reunion with her father countless times over the past few months and even more over the past few days, hours, and minutes. In these questioning visions, she had sometimes remained haughty and aloof, her face cold and impassive. In others, she had rushed into his arms without letting him say even a word of greeting, dissolving into a puddle of tears. Then, finally, after waiting for so long and wondering so often how she would act, she got the chance to find out.
Her father stood in the doorway, looking just as she remembered him. Will Murdoch was a tall man, dressed impeccably in a dark uniform with brass buttons and golden accents, the White Star Line crest displayed on his hat, the long sleeves of his jacket ending with two golden, looped braids. Their eyes, the same light blue, met and everything else seemed to melt around them. Will smiled and stepped into the suite.
"Catey."
Everything—the letter, leaving Dalbeattie, everything that had happened over the past few months—welled up within her at the sound of her father's voice. When she was little and her father had to leave on long voyages while she and Lillian were home from school, she would cry herself to sleep. Tears on account of her father had long since dried up, and Cate had told herself that she had spent too much time crying over the aching feeling his absences left, that she would never cry over him again, working hard to seal her emotions into a bottle and cast them away. Lillian was so good at that, becoming a mask and hiding what she actually felt. But Cate didn't want to be like Lillian.
Any dignity befitting an nineteen-year-old debutante was whisked away as Cate hurried across the room and launched herself into her father's waiting arms. For a moment, she was transported back to Scotland and was six years old again being swung into the air as she ran to meet him outside their cottage. Will held her close, his embrace strong and warm, quelling any ill feelings she might ever have had towards him.
"I've missed you, Da," she whispered.
"I've missed you, too, lass. You've no idea how much."
Cate didn't know how long they stood there. At some point, she heard Esther hurry away, presumably to give the father and daughter some privacy and, perhaps, to make another pot of tea. Eventually, though, Cate stepped away, thankfully not needing to dry her eyes. Will took a moment to look at her, the younger of his twin daughters, identical to her sister and yet so inexplicably different at the same time.
"You look beautiful, Catey," he said. "You grow more beautiful each time I see you."
"Imagine how I shall look when I am a hundred, then," Cate teased, yet knowing at the same time that it was strange for her father to see her in such an ensemble, not a hair out of place, wearing a dress that probably cost more than their whole cottage back in Dalbeattie.
"Positively radiant, I'm sure," Will chuckled.
There was a slight pause. Her father removed his hat, revealing the same blond hair, though his was streaked with just a hint of gray, his face a bit more lined than the last time she had seen him. But his smile was the same, his blue eyes twinkling the way they always did. As he placed his hat on the back of the chaise, Esther returned to the sitting room with a new tray topped with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.
"Thank you, Esther," Cate said quickly, suddenly remembering to be a good hostess. "Da, this is Esther, my handmaid. Esther, this is my father, Officer William Murdoch."
Esther gave a short curtsey. "It is an honor to meet you, sir," she said, her eyes lowered. When she looked up and saw, however, that he had his hand out to shake hers, her eyes widened. Nevertheless, she shook his hand.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Esther," said Will.
As they sat down across from one another, each with a cup of tea and a saucer in hand, Cate struggled to think of things to say. What were they supposed to talk about? The weather? The Titanic? Scotland? No, that would be too painful, probably for both of them.
"How long have you had a lady's maid?" Will asked as Esther left once more, his eyes on her back.
"Since mid-March," Cate replied, stirring the tea absently with a small spoon. "She was sent over from Philadelphia to assist me on the voyage. Apparently she was Lillian's maid before—the poor girl."
As expected, Will suddenly became stern. He looked at her in the same way he always did when one of his daughters said something unkind about her sister, which was a good majority of the time. Though he himself had four siblings, Will had always gotten along capitally with all of them. Thus, he had never been able to understand why two sisters, twins even, would fight and bicker so often, even seem to truly dislike one another.
This time, though, Will seemed to see that it would be fruitless to scold her, so he merely sighed and shook his head a bit.
"Interesting that you should need a maid this time," he remarked. "I don't recall you and Lillian ever needing one during your previous voyages."
Cate shrugged a bit. "She and I were there to assist each other," she replied, "albeit rather unwillingly. Now that I'm alone, Esther's help is greatly appreciated. I didn't realize I would need a maid until I attempted to sail back to Scotland last year without Lillian."
"How is she?" Will asked, setting his teacup onto its saucer, emitting the tiniest chink of glass hitting glass. "We write occasionally, but I haven't heard from her since I received the wedding invitation."
Will's tone had suddenly grown bitter and Cate could understand why: Lillian had been off in her own world since deciding to remain permanently in Philadelphia, communicating with her family on the other side of the ocean only to announce her engagement to a Mr. Daniel Norcross and to invite them to the wedding in late April. (Truthfully, Cate had been a bit surprised that Lillian had remembered to invite her paternal family at all.)
"Neither have I," Cate replied dryly. "And she and I correspond even less frequently." She, too, set down her teacup with another light clink.
"I assume you're attending the wedding?" Will asked. "I imagine that's why you're traveling to the United States two months earlier than normal, isn't it?"
Cate nodded. "Yes," she said vaguely. "That's why."
At the mention of the impending voyage, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Will watched Cate staring blankly at the still-open French doors, now appearing as far away as New York itself, completely lost in her thoughts.
"Have you seen the ship yet?" Will decided to change tact, to bring her back to the present.
Cate turned back to him. "No," she said. "We only arrived this morning, and, as you can see, the balcony faces in the opposite direction."
Will smiled. "Would you like to?"
It took a small bit of coercing, Cate insisting she could see the ship when she boarded, but eventually Will managed to convince her to accompany him, saying he wanted to give her a tour before it was filled with people. After telling Esther that she was going out, she took the arm that her father offered and allowed herself to be led from the suite, down the lift, through the magnificent marble lobby, and out onto the street.
The air of Southampton was salty with the breath of the sea, the same breeze billowing lightly. The streets were as crowded as ever, but Will and Cate navigated them easily, heading across the road and down to the docks. Cate was so busy looking at all of the people on the pier, some of them workers and some merely sight-seers, that she did not see the ship until Will stopped and patted her hand, which rested on his arm.
Rising above them, looming like a palace of iron and glass, was the largest ship in the world. It was so tall that Cate had to tip her head back to see the top of the black and red-painted funnels, three of which belched black smoke into the air. It was so long that she had to turn her head to see the whole thing from its pointed bow, the words "TITANIC" painted in white on the sides, its windows glinting in the sunlight, countless round portholes, its wooden, white lifeboats perched on the top deck, all the way back to the rounded stern.
"Oh, my," Cate breathed, positively captivated by this floating marvel. "It's incredible."
"You know, she's only a little bit longer than the Olympic," Will said teasingly, speaking of the Titanic's elder sister ship.
"I've never even seen the Olympic," Cate reminded him, still gazing at the ship. "Lillian and I usually sailed on smaller liners."
"Would you like a tour?"
Cate looked at him, her eyes wide. "What? she sputtered. "But passengers aren't to board for another five days."
Will smiled. "I've already asked the skipper for permission," he said. "It's perfectly alright."
Still apprehensive and not altogether reassured, Cate nodded at last and took her father's arm once more, heading toward the great ship, soon completely covered in its shadow.