The White Hunter Page 14

  “Well, I’ll be that friend, Kathleen. But you know, I sing a song sometimes. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard it. It’s called ‘There’s Not a Friend Like the Lowly Jesus.’ ”

  “No, mum, I don’t know it.”

  Annie sang the song quietly. “There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus. No not one. No not one.” The tears flowed freely, and finally Kathleen found a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I believe God must have sent you to me, Miss Annie.”

  “Well, it will be a treat for me. I’m going to Africa as a missionary. There’ll be children there, and I don’t know much about children. I can practice up on Michael here.” She bounced the baby on her lap and poked his cheek with her finger and blinked her eyes at him. To her delight he chortled with glee and reached out and grabbed her finger and held to it tightly. “My, what a grip he has! You’re going to be a good strong man and take care of your mother, aren’t you, Michael?”

  Annie stayed with Kathleen and the children for over two hours. She saw her safely settled, and then, each carrying one of the children, they made a tour of the third-class section. She encouraged Kathleen and promised to come back soon. Before she left she gave Michael a hug, saying, “You’re a sweetheart, you are.” Then she kissed the infant, Mary, on the cheek, and whispered, “You’re going to grow up and be a beautiful lady just like your mother.” Then she turned and kissed Kathleen O’Fallon’s cheek. “You’ve got a friend now. Two friends, really—me and Jesus.”

  Kathleen O’Fallon shook her head. “I don’t know Jesus, but I know you.”

  The simple words brought a pang to Annie’s heart. I don’t have to go to Africa to be a missionary, she thought. Here is a young woman who needs the Lord Jesus, and I’m going to give my whole heart to bringing her to know Him.

  ****

  Annie resisted Jeanine’s urgings for a time, saying, “I don’t see why I have to dress up or even why I have to go. I’d just as soon go down to Kathleen and eat with her and the children.”

  Jeanine was putting on the final touches of her toilette. As she carefully tucked her hair into place, she glanced over and said impatiently, “What’s the use of paying for first class on this expensive boat if you don’t get any good out of it? Now, put on that dress we bought before we left London!”

  Annie shrugged, but she had learned better than to argue with Jeanine Quintana. The woman was the strongest human being she had ever met—at least the stubbornest. She went back to her own room and put on the dress that was much too ornate for her taste. The dress was made of pearl gray silk with a black lace and bead kimono over the high lace neckline and long, slim sleeves. The silk skirt was narrow and showed out from under the kimono, which was caught up at one side with a large pin just above the right knee. Moving back into the sitting room she found Jeanine, who, Annie had to admit, looked splendid. “That is a beautiful dress, Jeanine.”

  “It should be. It cost enough.” The floor-length dress was a bright yellow crepe with a low rounded neckline and short sleeves. On top of this was a drape-over dress of white lace and pearls that formed a V-front at the bodice and ended just above the knee in the front and trailed behind her in a long train.

  As the two women turned to leave the stateroom, Annie shook her head. “I’ve already noticed that some women change clothes three or four times a day.”

  “Yes, they do. That’s what people go on a ship like this for, to eat and drink and dress up. Come along now. We’re going to the Ritz. They say it’s the most luxurious part of the whole ship.”

  When they reached the restaurant, which was situated on the bridge deck, Annie thought it was beautiful. Jeanine was impressed, but she would not admit it. The two had to wait for a moment while the maître d’ seated another group, so they studied the room. It was done in Louis XVII style with French walnut paneling and furniture, and the deep pile Axminster carpet seemed so rich to Annie, she thought she would sink in to her ankles. The elegant paneling was beautifully carved, and the gilded details brought a grace to the room such as Annie had never seen. As they took their seats she saw that the plates repeated the Louis XVII decor. The china plate she touched with one forefinger seemed fragile and yet strong at the same time. Tables were scattered throughout the room, some seating two, and some seating four or more.

  The waiter who appeared was a pale-faced man of thirty with a pencil-thin mustache and a pair of sober brown eyes. He spoke with a slight French accent, and a mole dominated the right side of his face. “Here you are, ladies.”

  The women took the menus and studied them carefully.

  First Course—Hors d’oeuvre

  Oeufs de Caille en Aspic et Caviar

  White Bordeaux or White Burgundy

  Second Course—Potage

  Potage Saint-Bermain

  Madeira or Sherry

  Third Course—Poisson

  Homard Thermidor

  Dry Rhine or Moselle

  Fourth Course—Entrée

  Tournedos aux Morilles

  Red Bordeaux

  Fifth Course—Punch or Sorbet

  Punch Rose

  Sixth Course—Rôti

  Cailles aux Cerises

  Red Burgundy

  Seventh Course—Légume

  Asperges Printanieres, Sauce Hollandaise

  Eighth Course—Engremets

  Macédoine de Fruits

  Oranges en Surprise

  Sweet Dessert Wines (Muscatel, Tokay, Madeira)

  Ninth Course—Les Desserts

  Assorted Fresh Fruits and Cheeses

  Sweet Dessert Wines, Champagne, or Sparkling Wine

  After Dinner

  Coffee, Cigars

  Port or Cordials

  “Well, we are not going to starve—I can see that,” Jeanine mused. She was accustomed to fine restaurants and began to explain some of the items to Annie. “This first one, Oeufs de Caille en Aspic et Caviar, is only quail eggs in aspic with caviar.”

  Suddenly Annie glanced up and said, “There’s Clive.”

  “Yes. I asked him to join us.”

  Clive came over, bowed, and greeted the two women. “I’m starved,” he said.

  “Well, sit down, Clive,” Jeanine said. As he sat down, she grinned impishly. “That’s a nice suit. You look very fine indeed. If you drop dead, we won’t have to do anything to you except put a lily in your hand.”

  Clive looked startled for a moment and then laughed. “You say the awfulest things, Jeanine. I’ll have you understand this suit was designed by a Frenchman.” It was a white linen, double-breasted sack suit, and, in truth, Clive did look rather good in it.

  Looking over the menu, he groaned, “If I eat all this, they’ll have to carry me to my room.”

  He knew practically everybody and began pointing out many of the prominent figures of society who were on the maiden voyage. “That’s John Jacob Astor and his new wife,” he commented. “And that tall man there. That’s Major Archie Butt. He’s the advisor to President Taft.”

  “Is J. P. Morgan on board the ship?” Jeanine inquired.

  “No. I understand he was planning to come, but he took ill and canceled out.”

  “Who is that distinguished looking man with the white beard there?” Annie asked.

  “That’s the captain, Edward J. Smith. Fine chap. I understand he’s about ready to retire, but he’s so popular with passengers, they persuaded him to make one more voyage to break the Titanic in.”

  As the meal went on, Annie took in all the enormously wealthy people sitting around the tables. She herself was not impressed by money, and her thoughts were on Kathleen down below. She would much rather have been there, but her employer would not think of it, so she made the best of the elaborate meal.

  As soon as she had finished eating, Annie excused herself. “I’d like to go check on Kathleen, if you don’t mind, Jeanine.”

  “Go ahead. I knew you’d run away as soon as you could.”

  As soon as Annie left, Clive as
ked, “Who is Kathleen?”

  “A young Irishwoman. A widow with two children. Of course Annie’s gotten herself totally enmeshed with her. I don’t expect I’ll get much good out of her on the voyage. She’ll be down there caring for those children.”

  “Would you like a turn on deck?”

  “All right.”

  The two made their way out of the Ritz, and when they were on deck, they began walking slowly. The moon was out, and the glimmering reflection across the waters made a gigantic wedge shape wider than the apex of the moon—the broader part on the ship itself.

  “The Vikings called that ‘the whales’ way,’ ” Clive murmured.

  “Did they? It’s very beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  “None of that, Clive.”

  “Why not, Jeanine?” He stopped abruptly and said, “Come. Let’s talk.”

  He led her to the rail, where they stood leaning over. Far beneath, it seemed, the waters curled and glistened around the sides of the gigantic vessel. The deck itself appeared to be motionless, and the sea seemed to be rushing by. A bell rang, signaling the time, but neither of them knew what it meant. Overhead the stars punctuated the sky with diamond-sharp points of light.

  Jeanine said nothing and finally Clive confessed. “I did follow you, of course, Jeanine, and you knew that.”

  “Yes. But it’s hopeless, Clive.”

  “Don’t you care for me even a little?”

  “I care for you a great deal, Clive. That must have been clear. Even as rotten as I am, I don’t have an affair with a man unless I care for him.”

  “But isn’t it more than that?”

  “Not for me. I read books about love and don’t understand them. In many of the romances a man and a woman meet, and it’s like electricity suddenly connects them. They take one look and suddenly they know they’re in love and will be for the next fifty years. I don’t believe that, Clive.”

  “Don’t you? I do.”

  Turning to face him, Jeanine studied his clear-cut features. His lips were firm and his cheekbones high. He had the typical English nose, and there was strength in his face. “You really do believe that, don’t you, Clive? That things are going to turn out all right?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said simply.

  Jeanine studied him silently. “I’m glad you do, Clive, and I hope you always will. But as for me, life’s not that simple. I don’t know what love is.”

  “It’s when you want the good things to happen to someone else instead of to yourself.”

  “Oh, that’s just charity. I have some of that, I hope. Not much. I’m a terribly selfish person. I always have been.”

  “Jeanine, there’s something inside of you. A sweetness, and a goodness, and a charity that you never let out. I don’t know how you got this way, but you’ve built a huge wall around yourself. You’re demanding, and you immediately challenge anyone who tries to get you to do something.”

  Jeanine laughed shortly. “Well, you’ve made me out to be a pretty domineering sort of woman, and that’s right. I am, and I suppose I’ll always be that way.”

  “I don’t think so. I think I could make you love me, Jeanine. It might take a while, but I think I see more in you than most men do. Maybe more than any man’s ever seen.”

  “There’s nothing in me, Clive, except selfishness, and there never will be.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Neither does Annie, but she’s wrong. You’re both wrong.”

  They stood there together as if they were alone in the world. Overhead the stars glittered and moved, doing their old dance. Deep in the bowels of the ship the turbines hummed and the propellers spun, sending them through the dark waters. It was a moment that Jeanine knew she would not quickly forget. She was uneasy and did not want to prolong it. “Clive,” she said almost gently. Then she reached up and touched his cheek. “I don’t love. I don’t even believe God loves people. How could He?”

  “Jeanine, what a thing to say!”

  “Well, look at babies dying in fires. Look at the millions of orphans who have horrible lives. Look at all the terrible things. If God were love, and if He were strong, how could He let these horrible things happen?”

  He started to protest, but she put her hand over his lips. “No, don’t try to talk to me. I’ve had probably the best preacher in the world. I wouldn’t say this to Annie, but she’s a good woman. She’s a walking Bible, I think sometimes, and she’s had more influence on me than she knows. But it’s not enough, Clive.”

  Clive moved forward and took her in his arms. She did not resist as his lips touched hers. As the two stood there and held the kiss, a tempest howled through him, and he knew that this woman was the only one he would ever love.

  As for Jeanine, she felt something stir in her spirit, but she could not tell what it was. Whenever it seemed to rise, she quenched it immediately, and now she turned and said wearily, “It’s over, Clive. Let’s not see each other again. It hurts too much. For you, I mean.”

  Clive stepped back and released her. He looked at her, and the pain that he felt was reflected in his fine eyes. “I love you more than life, Jeanine,” he said. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone on the deck. Somehow, when he was gone and she turned back to face the water, there was an emptiness in Jeanine. It had always been there, perhaps, but now she felt it more than ever. “Clive, you’re the finest man I’ve ever known,” she said. “But I can’t love you. I can’t love anyone. Even God.” She spoke this aloud, and the deep pain that she kept hidden from the world tinged her words. She bowed her head there, leaned over the rail, and for the first time in years, tears came to her eyes. Her shoulders shook, and she cried out finally, “Why can’t I love anyone? Why?”

  Overhead the moon was silent looking down on her. The stars far away glittered, but they brought no comfort to Jeanine Quintana.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You Can’t Run From God”

  Captain Edward J. Smith straightened his back with a sigh, burdened by the fatigue and pressure of being in charge of the Titanic. It brought furrows between his eyes, and he brushed the neatly trimmed white mustache that almost concealed his lips. Smith was the most popular captain on the White Star Line, although no one was quite sure why. He was not, many argued, the most efficient and capable officer, insofar as operating the gargantuan ships. Those who did not admire him were prone to say, “He’s merely the most political captain alive and the best host at a dinner table.”

  Certainly this was part of Smith’s role, as was true of all captains of the White Star Line. The captains were to be visible to the passengers—especially the more affluent ones. They were somewhat like the heads of state who constantly went through ceremonials while the prime minister did the grubby business of running the country. Captain Smith’s officers, including First Officer Murdoch, were all capable men, and now as the Titanic forged rapidly through the gray waters of the Atlantic, Smith ran over in his mind the multitudinous duties that were the lot of any captain. He focused on the date of April the twelfth for a moment and rapidly made calculations concerning the arrival of the ship in New York. He recalled his conversation with Bruce Ismay, managing director of the White Star Line, which he could not seem to shake off. Ismay had insisted that the Titanic reach New York at the earliest possible moment. “We’ve got to show the world that we can compete with the Cunard Line,” Ismay had said, his eyelids narrowing and his lips drawn into a firm line under his curling mustache. He was a demanding man, this Ismay, and although he had not directly threatened Captain Smith, still there was, in his tone and in his attitude, an implied warning. “We’ve got to make all possible speed—or we may have to find a more aggressive captain.”

  Smith peered out over the choppy waters and through the soles of his feet sensed the throbbings of the giant turbines far down in the bowels of the ship. He had confidence in these powerful engines and in the ship itself, but there was more to navigat
ing the Atlantic than simply throwing the throttle wide open.

  Even as Smith thought of this, First Officer Murdoch came to stand beside him, waiting respectfully. When Smith turned, Murdoch said, “Sir, another ice warning.”

  “Where is it located, Murdoch?” Smith listened as Murdoch gave the location of the ice, but said nothing. He stood there silently for a moment, then finally nodded and left, saying, “You have the bridge, Murdoch.”

  First Officer Murdoch had expected the captain to change course, to swing farther away from where the bergs were reported. He had also half expected, and even hoped, that the captain would order the speed of the ship reduced. Murdoch was not aware of the struggle between the White Star Line and the Cunard Line. It was a fierce, competitive battle, and Murdoch, being a practical man, concerned himself with the business of running this giant ocean liner. That was enough for him. He had confidence in Captain Smith and filed the matter of the sighting of ice in his mind, then gave his attention to the business at hand.

  The Titanic was like a beehive in some ways. Down below in the very lowest part of the ship, men, stripped half-naked with sweat running down and making paths through the coal that coated their faces, shoveled fuel into the gaping mouths of the furnaces. It took a man of tremendous strength and endurance to stand a watch at this station, and there was no letup. With the ship running at top speed, there was a constant cracking of the officers’ voices. “Pour it on, men! No slacking here! Let’s have it!”

  Elsewhere on the ship, a huge staff was busy caring for the needs of the 2,223 souls. Most of the work was devoted to the travelers who expected excellent service. In actuality, there were as many staff as there were passengers in the first- and second-class sections of the ship. The majority were involved in preparing or serving food. The huge quantities of raw material were staggering, with separate refrigerators for each type of perishable, including meat, fish, fruit, vegetables, eggs, and dairy products, that lined the corridors. In addition there was separate cold storage for vintage wines and spirits. The books listed cereals: 10,000 pounds. And sugar: 5 tons. Fresh asparagus: 800 bundles. Oysters: 1,221 quarts. The Titanic’s supplies were full, pressed down, and overflowing.