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.
Scene from Cameron's film: The Divine Service; note that I stick to historical accuracy rather than Cameron's film, by not closing with "Eternal Father, Strong to Save" (the Naval Hymn.) In addition, this chapter shares a scene with "Yours, Tommie." (Chapter 8: Business and Politics.)
XIV. Sanctuary
My 6:00 wakeup call came far too soon. My head pounded; my stomach turned; my limbs were like lead. Apollo was being rather unkind to me; all I wanted was the cool and dark, but as the sun rose on yet another cloudless day at sea, my entire stateroom glowed warm and orange.
I pulled a pillow over my head and fell back into sleep's welcome embrace. In my dreams, I saw a young woman with curly red hair burying her tearstained face against me… but her voice was lower than my Helen's. I felt the long, strong arms of a tall and sturdy man, guiding me across a dance floor… but his eyes, instead of my J.J.'s merry blue, were a warm brown…
My muddled mind began to put together pieces of the day before. My stomach tightened further; I tossed and turned. Dear God, what have we done?
Regarding Rose, my conscience was clear, but my heart was broken. It's not that I was afraid of provoking her captors. Rumors of sapphism tend to raise eyebrows, but cause little permanent damage, especially when they prove unfounded. Instead, I despaired because there was no way that I could help the poor girl. It wouldn't have mattered if Cal and I descended into a rumor war, or even if I had some proof of his abuse. Ruth was enamored of her future son-in-law, and thoroughly disgusted with me. She would remain allied to Cal no matter what. Therefore, nothing short of a calamity could free Rose from the engagement.
Regarding Tommie, the situation was simpler, but my emotions more complex. There was no question that, given just the true events of the past few days, the rumor mills would reinvent our friendship as a romance. After all, this was only eleven years after my J.J. was nearly sued by another businessman for "withdrawal of spousal affections," because the man's wife once had luncheon with J.J. at a restaurant alone. Josephine, can you imagine how such a paranoid society would react to my presence in Tommie's stateroom one night, and in his arms on the dance floor the next?
Remembering both the public hassle and the private pain that I endured from J.J.'s legal troubles in 1901, I felt ashamed before Helen Reilly Barbour Andrews. I had never met her, but in my mind's eye, there she was: loyal and kind, intelligent yet guileless, just like her husband. And married less than four years! I don't know how I would have coped if I had to face rumors of marital infidelity when my marriage was so young, when giving J.J. a happy home was still my highest calling, and discovering traces of him in our little children was one of my greatest joys…
Try as I might, I could not get back to sleep. So I rose and prepared for the Lord's day, praying for His strength every step of the way. A seltzer water for my stomach, a little extra makeup for my brave face, and then I was off to breakfast alone at the café…
I emerged onto the same promenade where Tommie and I parted ways mere hours ago. It was pleasantly cool, the air a bit moist, the northern sky a deep and sleepy blue. I was surprised to see quite a few first-classers strolling about. Many were walking fore from the a la carte restaurant.
"Everyone's taking breakfast up here today. They're setting up the saloon for a little church service. Very thoughtful of the White Star, but where was this kind of consideration yesterday for temple, I ask you?" Isidor Straus chuckled as he and Ida approached me.
"Molly, would you walk with us for a moment?" Ida's request was polite, but with an undercurrent of urgency. I fell in step with the older couple as they slowly strolled fore. We chatted about Isidor's business and about what a lovely voyage it had been thus far. Ida waited until we were out of others' earshot, then whispered, "A word to the wise, Molly: For now, you'll want to keep company with good friends, loyal friends. And don't listen to the talk going around."
She reached out and lightly squeezed my hands. They smiled gently at me, then walked off, arm in arm, sharing sweet whispers. I sighed as I turned back. God, give me strength.
When I first entered the restaurant, I pretended to admire the ivy-adorned trellises for a moment. Instead, I half-hid behind them so I could assess the damage unnoticed. Over the clinking of fine china and the light whir of ceiling fans, I heard my name repeatedly, in conjunction with words and phrases like "quite the scandal," "gutter rats," "wild drinking and dancing," and even "offensively irresponsible."
Well! Shame on me for forgetting the vested interest that others had in my standards of behavior! How dare I offend them with a lapse of judgment that had no personal effect on them! Still I was relieved over the words that I did not hear: "Hockley," "DeWitt Bukater," "Master-at-Arms," or, perhaps most importantly, "Andrews."
The cashier's eyes shone with mirth as she took my ticket. I entered the restaurant, and it was like walking through tall, snake-infested grass. Silence rippled before me, preceded by serpentine hisses. Psst! Behind you! With the restaurant crowded as it was, I inevitably brushed up against some wicker chairs. Their occupants recoiled. I muttered "'scuse me," and cast furtive glances up into the crowds. I caught Hockley's valet smirking at me over heavy, folded hands. Cal and Ruth shared a whisper and a giggle beneath a sunny window. Rose avoided all eye contact and blushed furiously into her teacup.
I found J.J. and Maddie Astor taking breakfast with the Duff-Gordons. "Mornin, folks. Mind if I join ya'll for breakfast?" They nodded; their quiet smiles were filled with pity. They pretended not to notice the Thayers staring curiously from a nearby table, or Madame Aubart rolling her eyes dramatically, or a dozen other tactless spectacles of first-class behavior.
"Well, Molly." Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon timidly broke the ice. "Cosmo and I are looking forward to the ship's tour this afternoon. I wanted to thank you again for telling us about it."
"Of course."
"Though I must say, that Mr. Andrews seems a bit shy to play tour guide…"
"He's not shy at all once he gets talking about one of two things: his ship, or his family," Maddie smiled.
On the one hand, I was relieved to hear them speak so lightly of Tommie; it meant his name wasn't being dragged through the mud. On the other hand, I had forgotten about the tour until now, and was a bit grieved at the reminder. Considering my current feelings, I doubted I should go.
(line)
The dining saloon tables had been removed, and the chairs arranged in pews facing aft. The crowds filed in reverently. They even stopped talking about me, instead falling into soft footsteps and fabric rustles. Captain Smith stood at a podium before the congregation, dressed in his finest suit and with all his naval decorations. The ship's orchestra was ready and waiting. I sat in the front pew, with the Duff Gordons and J. Bruce Ismay.
The captain gave a brief speech about God's blessings and our gratitude, then offered a moment of silence for personal prayer and confession. I found it vaguely disorienting, having church in English and with no Eucharist. I also had the eerie sense that someone was staring at me from behind, but I was afraid to turn and look. I knew the DeWitt Bukaters and Hockley were somewhere in the room.
I have no idea whether Tommie was actually present, but he certainly occupied my mind. As dust particles floated in the sunlight streaming through the portside windows, I recalled our talk on the boat deck on Friday. He had explained how he originally wanted the Olympic-class liners' first-class saloon on A deck, beneath a glass ceiling dome, but White Star executives pointed out that the same feature on Cunard's Mauretania and Lusitania made the saloons too warm on sunny days. I'd playfully asked if they put the saloon all the way down on D deck just to spite him:
Not exactly. The saloon ended up where it is because the smoothest ride on the whole ship is amidships on the middle decks. So the precious first-classers will never spill their fine wine. These are the sorts of considerations that make White Star the best in the world, I'll have ye know. Though I'm sure you've noticed I stuffed the walls full o windows anyways. Before ye ask, Molly, it wasn't to spite anyone. It's just that so much of architecture is about playing with light…
The captain led us in a few hymns from the White Star prayer book, as carefully nondenominational as the rest of the "service" had been. Titanic passed through the shade of one small cloud, and a momentary shadow danced through the angling light. The white enamel walls and pillars gleamed; the band played sweet and gentle; the patterned linoleum floor beneath us was ever firm and unmoving.
What a sanctuary Tommie had built for us all! I put my heart into singing the unfamiliar hymns, thanking God for so gifting my friend. I silently asked forgiveness for claiming his friendship too much for myself. For a moment I was at peace again.
At the end of the service, I turned and saw the source of my unease. Ruth DeWitt Bukater occupied the chair directly behind me. Rose stood beside her mother, staring at the floor. She was corseted extra-tight today, wearing virginal white lace and blue velvet. I nodded politely at them and then headed out, preparing to spend a quiet day alone.
I spotted Tommie in the crowds in the Staircase. Rose approached him and practically begged to start the ship's tour right away. At least when I told him Rose was interested in Titanic, I'd told him the truth after all!
When I saw the way he smiled at her, it was as if my recent confession flew out the window. Right or wrong, all I wanted was to be near him, to bask in his warm and quiet joy. But I could hear the snakes warming up their rattles again…
I kept my eyes forward and my ears shut, and almost made it up to B deck without incident. Then suddenly he was at my side. "Maggie, are ye still up for the tour later?"
"I'm afraid not, I'm a bit under the weather," I muttered. He looked concerned enough to ask me about the night before, then and there. But what would that accomplish? It would only drag his reputation down with mine! His happy home life was at stake, whether he realized it or not. So I warned him to keep his distance in the best way I could: "Good day, Mr. Andrews."
He stopped still as I walked on. "Mr. Andrews?" I heard him whisper in bemusement. Then he began to follow me, the fool. I fled to the reading and writing room. Of the two places on the ship where I could claim sanctuary from men, (the other being my stateroom,) it would be less of a scandal if he did have the gall to follow me in. Which, as I'm sure you've guessed, he did.
The room was completely vacant; it seems even the attendant had stepped out for a moment. Tommie stared at the empty upholstered chairs and the untouched bookshelves. "Doesn't anyone use this room?" he asked conversationally. "If not, perhaps I ought to convert it into-"
"Tom," I snapped. "We can't do this."
"I just want to make sure yer alright-"
"No, Tom!" I pulled away from him, towards the wide, sunny fore window. He was forced to almost squint down at me. "No. We can't be seen to be…" I shook my head, "…together. A man and a woman about the same age, both travelin without their spouses, befriendin each other, dancin together-"
"For heaven's sake, Maggie!"
He reached out and touched my elbows. Dear Lord, he touched anyone he had rapport with; I had seen him reach out like this to Jack, to Rose, to both the Astors at meals, even to stewards! Didn't he understand he couldn't treat the whole world like his shipyard pals? If only he wasn't so kindly, we could have avoided this entire bittersweet misunderstanding… Then again, could I really wish for him to be anything other than kindhearted?
"The dancing- we'd both had a bit too much of the old Irish ale, eh?" He gave me that sly half-smile of his. "As for the rest… aren't ye the feminist here? 'Gender doesn't matter that much' and 'we're all just people' and all that? You and I, we're just two people that hit it off and became pals, is all."
I squirmed. "That may be so, but people talk, and-"
"And I thought you didn't care about all that," he said pointedly. "I thought you were liberated, outspoken…"
"I'm outspoken for my causes, Tom!" I burst out. "Not for some silly friendship that's lasted four days and could mark us both for the rest of our lives!"
I paused, chest heaving. Tommie was as dumbstruck as if I'd hit him upside the head with a frying pan. I don't blame him; I couldn't believe what I had just said, either.
I tried to explain. "Look, ya can't understand what it's like for me-"
He scoffed. "Oh, and why not?"
"Because you're… you're perfect!" There. I'd said it. "You're brilliant and accomplished, but more than that, you're old money, you're Protestant,your marriage is new and happy, you're male. They don't scrutinize your every move, cause you're everything they want…"
I stopped to fight a wave of self-pity, something I never let myself feel. I thought of my J.J. turning his back on me because he was jealous of how often I was simply mentioned in the newspapers, whether good or bad. I thought of traveling nonstop from Rhode Island to Colorado, after receiving word of Lawrence and J.J.'s fistfight. My first priority was to make sure they were both alright, and instead I had to run damage control. I arrived at the Denver train depot in the middle of the night and was greeted by the press.
"I can't understand?" Tommie's voice was quiet and low. He set his mouth in a thin line; his eyes burned into me. "Well, I don't know how anyone can understand you,Margaret Brown. If ye suspected last night that this'd happen- and I know ye did- then why in God's name did ye come with me?" He leaned over me, bracing himself with a hand against the window frame. In quiet fury, he demanded, "Why?"
Oh, God. The truth tangled itself around my heart, my lungs, my windpipe. I just stood there, arms crossed, head down, fighting hot, shameful tears like a scolded child.
"I'm going back," I said brusquely, pushing past him. "Wait here a few minutes. Don't follow me."
(line)
A/N: The reading room scene is in "Yours, Tommie," but was not included when I first put up the story in May and June. For original "Yours, Tommie" readers, I recommend a reread of Chapter 8 to see this confrontation from Thomas's viewpoint; there are some different insights in there.