Disclaimer: I own nothing! For the origins of all characters and events, please consult James Cameron's Titanic first, historical fact second. See References for more information.
III. An Interesting Chance Encounter
Sometimes, when you've only just met someone, you already know that they're honest and kind. Thomas Andrews was one of those people. His speech and clothing screamed "socialite," yet he had firm, calloused hands that were clearly acquainted with hard work. He was humble and easygoing. After admitting that he built the Titanic, he blushed slightly and rushed to say, "With the help of fifteen thousand good, hardworking Irishmen, of course."
"So where are ya from? County Down?" I asked. Having observed he was Belfast-outskirts genteel, I had about a fifty-fifty chance of being right. (The other good guess would've been County Antrim.) I only ventured a guess at all because, after knowing the man for just two minutes, I already wanted to see if I could make him laugh.
His eyes widened in shock. "I am, indeed! I grew up in Comber. You've quite an ear, Mrs. Brown!"
"Thanks. Ya know, I don't hear Ulster accents much. Most of the Irish immigrants I work with are from further south."
He nodded politely. "I take it you're a philanthropist, then?"
"I am," I said, with a stroke of pride. "And a suffragist."
"Really?" he raised his eyebrows. "And what is it you do, Mrs. Astor?"
"Not much," Maddie giggled. "I got engaged straight out of finishing school, and am just now returning home from my honeymoon."
"Oh! Well, congratulations." He gave her a smile that could melt ice.
The conversation bounced from topic to topic. Maddie would compliment Mr. Andrews on some aspect of the ship, which would prompt an anecdote from him about his "pals" (the shipyard workers) who had constructed that part of Titanic. Then I would step up with a story of my own: about my J.J.'s days as a mine manager back in Leadville, or about my charity work…
I mentioned the Carnival of Nations, which had been a crucial fundraiser for the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Denver. Maddie was astounded that the carnival included booths not just for every European heritage present in the city, but also the Chinese, Mexican, and Indian folk. "Weren't you afraid of the crowds becoming… unruly?"
"My critics were, but I wasn't," I replied. "Everyone was there for a good cause, after all."
"Raising funds for a Catholic cathedral; I trust Ireland was well represented," Mr. Andrews said wryly.
"Very," I smiled, and with that, conversation turned to the topic of the shipbuilder's homeland.
Moments later, Mr. Andrews was explaining to us: "You see, in some ways we're still a nation in recovery, what with the famine only now beginning to fade from living memory…"
"The famine?" Madeleine asked curiously. "What famine?"
"The potato famine of the 1840's," he said grimly. "The potato is by far our most important crop, being a hardy food source that grows well in the northern cool. But back in the forties, the crop failed for five years on end; one in three people either fled the country or starved to death." He sighed, looking down at the abundance on the table before us. "It's tragic, really, how easy it is to be brought low by one small problem, when all your faith is one resource. Sometimes the best insurance is diversity of options."
"Well said, Mr. Andrews." I thought of Leadville's extreme struggle in the silver crisis of 1893. It was my J.J.'s reckless determination to find a way to dig deeper, and for gold instead of silver, that pulled the entire city back from the brink of ruin.
"But what happened to the potatoes?" Maddie asked.
Though still somber, Mr. Andrews was quite focused on the topic. "Blight invaded the entire crop." He gestured as he spoke, emphatic but gentle, keeping his hands close to his body. "To this day we're not sure where it came from."
"What's blight?"
"A fungus," I explained to Maddie.
"A… fungus?" She frowned down at the mashed potatoes in front of her.
"The potatoes either never grew, or came up rotted through," Mr. Andrews continued, carried away by morbid enthusiasm. "Eventually, the blight ran its course. Though we've never seen it as bad as the forties again, it does come back from time to time."
Maddie had turned an interesting shade of green. She pushed her own potatoes far, far away from her. "Um… Molly, I think I'll head back to my cabin, now."
"Want me to escort ya back?" I offered.
"No, it's fine, I have the guidebook." Her voice was faint. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Andrews."
He nodded politely as she stood. That was the first he saw of her figure, and I saw the surprise written on his face. As soon as Maddie was out of earshot, he leaned in close to me, his wide brown eyes full of worry. "Mrs. Brown, is Mrs. Astor, by any chance, erm…" he whispered, "in the family way?"
I winced. "Yup."
"Oh." He leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply, a hand against his forehead. "And I just went off about blight, of all things. While she was eating! Dear God…" His face was turning red. "I can't believe I… It's been a long day, Mrs. Brown."
"I'm sure it has."
There was something endearing about a man of Mr. Andrews' station feeling remorse over making an eighteen-year-old girl queasy. In those days, some so-called "gentlemen" would have brushed off the incident as owing to the "silliness" of women, rather than to any fault of their own.
"Don't worry," I reassured him. "Maddie's a sweetheart; she'll forgive you. Actually, she'll be flattered when I tell her that you didn't already know."
"And why is that?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
I was a little incredulous. "Don't ya know who John Jacob Astor is?"
"I've heard the name, yes. But since he's neither involved in shipbuilding, nor frequently in Ireland, I can't say that we've met… I suppose Madeleine's his daughter-in-law, then?"
I sighed. They say there's no snakes in Ireland. This gentleman had just designed the grandest ship in the world and somehow didn't realize that its most luxurious parlors would become rattler pits. I couldn't let him fall into that unprepared.
So I debriefed him on the Astors' "scandalous" marriage. I warned him that the amorous lady he'd see on Benjamin Guggenheim's arm was his mistress, not his wife. I told him to never, under any circumstances, cross the valet of steel heir Caledon Hockley, as the dreadful manservant was retired from Scotland Yard… There were so many pitfalls to avoid! As Mr. Andrews tucked in to a main course of chicken cordon bleu, he actually began jotting notes of all my warnings in his little book!
When I finally ran out of things to tell him, he said, "Thank you, Mrs. Brown. Truly. Though, you must be thinking that I don't know how to socialize…"
I shook my head. "That's not what I was thinkin at all, Mr. Andrews." I was thinking, How refreshing to meet a man who treats not just me, but little Maddie Astor, with genuine respect; proves himself compassionate to his employees and dedicated to his craft; and then patiently lets me talk his ear off!
He rushed to explain: "I seldom leave Belfast, except for White Star maiden voyages. I do know how to handle a 'snakepit,' as ye call it; I'm just not familiar with these particular snakes." He dug a large, gold pocket watch out of his vest and flipped it open. He sighed at the time. "Speaking of which, I should be getting to the smoking room…"
"Of course." I was deadpan. "Ya sound just thrilled to go."
He gave me an impish half-smile, and muttered, "According to a Mr. J. Bruce Ismay, my work duties include wading through a cloud of cigar smoke each night, in order to congratulate our wealthiest passengers on being masters of the universe." He whispered the last bit, feigning an air of conspiracy.
I chuckled. I recognized the name of Ismay, of course. You'd never guess it today, Josephine, but in 1912, Ismay had his mustachioed mug plastered next to photos of Titanic herself at every opportunity. And the press gave him a lot of opportunities.
I suppose I should explain Mr. Ismay's and Mr. Andrews' relationship. You'll know that infamous old J. Bruce was chairman of the White Star Line, which owned Titanic. But they contracted Harland & Wolff, in Belfast, to build her. Harland & Wolff was the biggest and most advanced shipyard in the world at the time. They were not entirely immune to the egotism plaguing any prestigious business. Which made Mr. Andrews' gentle nature all the more surprising, to me, since I knew he was somewhere near the top of the heap at Harland & Wolff- even if he hadn't mentioned his actual title during our conversation.
At any rate, while it would be inaccurate to call J. Bruce Ismay his "employer," you could say that Ismay did have some control over Thomas Andrews on the voyage. If only when it came to publicity matters, which I could already tell were not Andrews' forte. He spoke far too much in jokes and anecdotes, rather than haughty opinions and veiled boasts.
"Say, what time is it, anyway?" I asked as he stood up, brushing crumbs off his suit.
He flipped open the watch again. "Quarter past nine."
Observing the ship's stillness, I asked, "When're we liftin anchor?"
You have to understand that when I refer to Mr. Andrews being humble, I mean about himself. His ship, on the other hand, could bring out a stroke of pride. My question made him playfully toss his pocket watch in the air a bit before snapping it shut. Another smile now, playing at his eyes more than his mouth. "We started moving about an hour ago, Mrs. Brown. Smooth as glass, isn't she?"
We said our goodbyes, and I used the guidebook to find my way to the reading and writing room, still smiling a little to myself. I recall thinking, That was an interesting chance encounter. I did not expect to see Mr. Andrews much during the voyage. I didn't admit to myself how quickly his gentle charm had warmed me.
(line)
A/N: Let me take this opportunity to say that while I use historical fact to furnish their personalities and the details of their conversation, Thomas Andrews and Margaret Brown as they appear in my story are fictionalized. In reality they ran in rather different social circles among Titanic's first class. I don't know if they ever even met, and if they did, they were most likely just cordial acquaintances.
But while doing initial research for "Yours, Tommie," I decided to make Thomas and Margaret friends in my story, based on some uncanny common interests and what I perceived to be compatible personalities. (Not to mention the fact that they sit next to each other in two meal scenes in Cameron's film!) Then, while writing "Yours, Tommie," I had the idea to make the friendship a little bit more than that, only from Margaret's side of things- hence the current story project. :-)