No Greater Love Part 4

EDWINA AND PHILLIP STOOD ON THE DECK ON THURSDAY night, in a sorrowful rain, as the Carpathia pa.s.sed the Statue of Liberty and entered New York. They were home again, or back in the States at least. But it seemed as though there was nothing left for them now. They had lost everything, or so it felt, and Edwina had to silently remind herself that at least they still had each other. But life would never be the same for them again. Their parents were gone, and she had lost her future husband. In only four months, she and Charles would have been married, and now he was gone ... his gentle spirit, his fine mind, his handsome face, the kindness she had so loved, the tilt of his head when he laughed at her ... all of it, and with him her bright, happy future, gone forever.

Phillip turned to her then, and saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, as the Carpathia steamed slowly into the harbor, a.s.sisted by tugs, but there were no sirens, no horns, no fanfare, there was only sorrow and silent mourning.

Captain Rostron had rea.s.sured them all the night before that the press would be kept away from them for as long as possible, and he would do everything he could to a.s.sure them a quiet arrival in New York. He warned them that the ship's radio room had been besieged by wires from the press since the morning of the fifteenth, but he had answered none of them, and no journalists would be allowed on his ship. The survivors of the t.i.tanic had earned the right to mourn in peace, and he felt a responsibility to all of them to bring them home quietly and safely.

But all Edwina could think about now was what they had left behind, somewhere in the bowels of the ocean. Phillip quietly took her hand in his own, as he stood next to her, the tears streaming down his face as well, thinking of how different it all might have been, had the fates been only a little kinder.

"Win?" He hadn't called her that since he was a small child, and she smiled through her tears as he said it.

"Yes?"

"What are we going to do now?" They had talked about it on and off, but she hadn't really had time to think about it, with Teddy so ill, and Alexis so distraught, and the others to worry about too. George had hardly spoken in the last two days, and she had found herself longing for a little of his naughtiness and mischief. And poor little Fannie cried every time Edwina left her, even if it was only for an instant. It was difficult to think, with all the responsibility she suddenly had. All she knew was that she had to take care of them, and Phillip as well. She was all they had now.

"I don't know, Phillip. We'll go home, I guess, as soon as Teddy is completely well." He still had a dreadful cough, and the day before he'd been running a fever. And for the moment, none of them were up to the long train ride back to California. "We'll have to stay in New York for a little while, and then go home." But the house, and the newspaper? It was more than she cared to think about. All she wanted to do now was look back ... just a moment ... a few days ... to the last night she was dancing with Charles to the happy ragtime music. It was ail so simple then, as he whirled her around the floor, and then swept her into the beautiful waltzes she loved best of all. They had danced so much in four days on the ship that she had almost worn her new silver shoes out and now she felt as though she would never dance again, and never want to.

"Win?" He had seen her mind drift away again. She kept doing that. They all did.

"Hmm?... I'm sorry ..." She stared out at New York Harbor, looking at the rain, fighting back tears, and wishing that things were different. And everyone on the Carpathia felt the same, as the widows lined the railing, with tears streaming down their cheeks, mourning the men and the lives they'd lost less than four days before. Four days that now seemed like a lifetime.

Many of them were being met by relatives and friends, but the Winfields had no one in New York to meet them. Bert had made reservations for them at the Ritz-Carlton before they left, and they would stay there now until they left for California again. But simple details were now suddenly complicated for all of them. They had no money, no clothes, Alexis had somehow managed to lose her shoes, and Edwina had only her now tattered pale blue evening gown and the black dress someone had given her the day they'd been rescued from the lifeboats. It was a problem for all of them, and Edwina found herself wondering how she would pay for the hotel. She would have to wire her father's office in San Francisco. Suddenly she was having to solve problems that only a week ago she had never even thought of.

They had radioed the White Star Line's London office from the ship and asked them to notify Uncle Rupert and Aunt Liz that all of the Winfield children had survived, but Edwina knew that her aunt would be hard hit by the news of the loss of her only sister. She had also radioed her father's office with the same information. There was suddenly so much to think about, and as she stared out into the New York mist, suddenly a flotilla of tugboats came into view, there was a shrill whistle blast, and then suddenly there were salutes from every boat in the harbor. The spell of the somber silence they had all lived with for four days was about to be broken. It had never occurred to Edwina and Phillip that their tragedy would be big news, and suddenly as they looked at the tugs and yachts and ferries below, crowded with reporters and photographers, they both realized that this was not going to be easy.

But Captain Rostron was as good as his word, and no one except the pilot boarded the Carpathia before they reached the pier. And the photographers had to satisfy themselves with whatever photographs they could take from the distance. The lone photographer who had snuck on board had been seized and confined to the bridge by the captain.

They reached Pier 54 at 9:35 P.M., and for a moment all was silent on the ship. Their terrible journey was about to be ended. The lifeboats from the t.i.tanic had been taken off first, the davits had been moved into place, and the boats lowered as they had been when they left the sinking ship four days before, only this time the boats were lowered with only a single seaman in each, as the survivors stood at the rail and watched while lightning bolts lit up the night sky, and thunder exploded overhead. The sky seemed to be crying over the empty boats, as the mourners watched them, and even the crowd below stood in silent awe as they were made fast and left there bobbing in the water. And it would be only a matter of hours before looters stripped them.

Alexis and George had joined Edwina and Phillip as the lifeboats were lowered toward the deck, and Alexis started to cry as she clutched Edwina's skirt. She was frightened by the storm, and her eyes were wild with fear as she watched the lifeboats go down and Edwina held her close as Kate had always done. But in the last few days, Edwina had felt like such an inadequate replacement for their mother.

"Are we ... going in them again?" Terrified, Alexis could barely speak as Edwina tried to rea.s.sure her. And Edwina could only shake her head. She was crying too hard to answer ... those boats ... those tiny sh.e.l.ls ... and so precious few of them ... had there been more, the others would have been alive....

"Don't cry, Lexie ... please don't cry...." It was all she could say to her as she held her tiny hand. She couldn't even promise her that everything would be alright again. She no longer believed it herself, so how could she make empty promises to the children? She felt as though her heart were filled with sadness.

Edwina saw, as she looked at the pier, that there were hundreds if not thousands of people waiting there. At first, it looked like a sea of faces. And then, as lightning lit up the sky again, she saw that there were more. There were people everywhere. The newspapers said later that there were thirty thousand at the pier, and ten thousand lining the banks of the river. But Edwina was unaware of most of them. And what did they matter now? The people she loved were gone, her parents and Charles. There was no one waiting for them there. There was no one left in the world to care for them. It was all on her shoulders now, and even poor Phillip's. At sixteen, he was no longer a child, he would have to become a man, a burden he had willingly a.s.sumed from the moment they were saved, but it seemed so unfair to Edwina as she looked at him, telling George to put his coat on and stand next to Alexis. It made Edwina sad all over again, just looking at them, in their ragged clothes and ravaged faces. They all suddenly looked like what they were. All of the Winfield children were now orphans.

The Carpathia pa.s.sengers disembarked first. There was a long wait then, as the captain gathered all the others in the dining saloon where they had slept for three days, and he said a prayer, for those lost at sea, and for the survivors, for their children and their lives. There was a long moment of silence then, and only the sounds of gentle sobbing. People said good-bye to each other then, a touch on the arm, an embrace, a last look, a shake of the head, a touch of the hand for a moment, and then they shook hands with Captain Rostron. There was little that anyone could say, as the silent group left each other for the last time. They would never be together again, yet they would always remember.

Two of the women reached the gangplank first, hesitated, started to turn back, and then walked down slowly with tears streaming down their faces. They were friends from Philadelphia, and they had both lost their husbands, and they stopped midway as a roar went up from the crowd. It was a roar of sorrow, and of grief, of sympathy, and fascination, but it was a terrifying sound, and poor little Alexis dove into Edwina's skirts again with her hands over her ears and her eyes closed, and Fannie set up a terrible wail as Phillip held her.

"It's alright ... it's alright, children...." Edwina tried to rea.s.sure them, but they couldn't hear her above the din. And she was horrified as she watched reporters dash forward and engulf the exhausted survivors. The flash of cameras exploded everywhere, as the heavens rained, and the lightning bolts continued to flash across the sky. It was a terrible night, but no more so than the night that had brought them all to this end only days before. That was the worst night of their lives, and this ... this was only one more. Nothing more could happen to them now, Edwina felt, as she gently shepherded her brothers and sisters toward the gangplank. She had no hat, and she was soaked to the skin, as she carried Alexis, who clung to her neck with trembling desperation. Phillip carried each of the two youngest ones in his arms, and George walked right beside him looking very subdued and more than a little frightened. The crowd was so huge, it was hard to know exactly what they would do. And Edwina realized as they reached the end of the gangplank that people were shouting names at them.

"Chandler!... Harrison!... Gates? Gates!... Have you seen them?..." They were family members and friends, desperately looking for survivors, but with each name, she shook her head, she knew none of them ... and in the distance, she saw the Thayers being embraced by friends from Philadelphia. There were ambulances and cars everywhere, and again and again, the explosions of light coming from the reporters. There were wails from the crowd, and sobs, as the survivors shook their heads at the names being called out to them. Until then, no complete list of the survivors had been published and there was always hope that the news was wrong, that a loved one may have in fact survived the disaster. The Carpathia had refused to communicate with the press, maintaining a barrier of silence around the survivors for their own protection. But now Captain Rostron could no longer do anything to shield them.

"Ma'am ... ma'am!" A reporter lunged out at her, almost causing Alexis to leap from her arms, as he shouted into Edwina's face. "Are these all your children? Were you on the t.i.tanic?" He was bold and brash and loud, and in the frenzy around them, Edwina couldn't escape him.

"No ... yes ... I ... please ... please...." She started to cry, longing for Charles and her parents, as the dreaded flash went off in her face, as Phillip tried to shield her but he was too enc.u.mbered with the younger children to help her very much, and suddenly a sea of reporters surrounded them, pushing George away, as Edwina shouted to him not to lose them. "Please ... please ... stop!..." They had done the same to Madeleine Astor when she'd gotten off with her maid, but Vincent Astor, and her own father, Mr. Force, had rescued her and taken her away in the ambulance they had brought for her. Edwina and Phillip were not to be as lucky, but they left as quickly as possible, Phillip had gotten them into one of the waiting cars sent by the Ritz-Carlton. They were driven down Seventh Avenue, and walked slowly into the hotel, a ragtag-looking group with no luggage. But there were more reporters waiting there, and a solicitous desk clerk quickly escorted them to their rooms, where Edwina had to fight back a wave of hysterics. It was as though they had never left. The beautiful elegantly appointed rooms were the same as they had been only a month and a half before, and now they were back, and everything had changed completely. They had given them the same rooms as they'd had when they arrived from San Francisco, before they took the Mauretania to Europe to meet the Fitzgeralds and celebrate Edwina's engagement.

"Win ... are you alright?"

She couldn't speak for a moment and then she nodded, looking deathly pale. She was wearing the tattered blue evening dress, her rain-drenched coat, and brogues, the same outfit she had worn when she left the t.i.tanic. "I'm fine," she whispered unconvincingly, but all she could think about was the last time she had been in these rooms, only weeks before, with Charles and her parents.

"Do you want me to get different rooms?" Phillip looked desperately worried. If she fell apart now, what would they do? Whom would they turn to? She was all they had now, but she shook her head slowly and dried her eyes, and made an effort to rea.s.sure the children. For now, she knew only too well that everything rested on her shoulders.

"George, you look for the menus. We need something to eat. And Phillip, you help Fannie and Alexis get into their nightclothes." She realized again then that they no longer had any. But when they walked through the other rooms, she saw what the owners of the Ritz-Carlton had done. They had provided an a.s.sortment of women's and children's clothes, and some things for the boys, too, sweaters and trousers, some warm socks, and some shoes, and laid out on the bed, two little nightgowns for the girls, two new dolls, a nightshirt and a bear for Teddy. The kindness was so great that it made Edwina cry again, and as she entered the main bedroom of the suite, her breath caught. There on the bed were clothes carefully laid out for her parents, and a bottle of champagne, and she knew that in the last bedroom, she would find the same for Charles. Her breath caught on a sob, and with a last look around her, she turned off the light, and closed the door, and went back to the waiting children.

She seemed calmer then, and once the little ones were put to bed, she sat down on the couch with Phillip and George and watched them eat a whole plate of roast chicken, and then some cakes, but even the thought of eating just seemed too exhausting to her. Alexis had that wild-eyed look again just before she went to bed, and all Edwina could do was urge her to hold her old doll, Mrs. Thomas, tight, and cuddle her new dolly. Fannie had gone to sleep in the big comfortable bed next to her, and baby Teddy was already sound asleep in a large, handsome cradle in his new nightshirt.

"We'll have to wire Uncle Rupert and Aunt Liz in the morning," she told the boys. They had wired them and Charles's parents via White Star from the ship, but she owed it to them to let them know they were safely arrived. There was so much to do and to think about. Nothing could be a.s.sumed anymore. Nothing could be taken for granted. She had to get clothes for them to get to California, she had to go to a bank, and get the little ones to a doctor. Most of all Edwina wanted to see a specialist to make sure that Teddy was alright and Fannie did not lose her frostbitten fingers. They looked better now, and in spite of the tempestuous arrival, Teddy had not run a fever. In truth, Alexis seemed the worst affected of all of them, the trauma of losing her mother seemed to have left her bereft of any interest in what was happening around her. She was despondent and afraid, and she got hysterical if Edwina tried to leave her even for an instant. But it was hardly surprising after what they'd all been through. The shock of it would stay with them all for a long time, and Edwina could feel her own hands shake whenever she tried to write something down, even her own name, or b.u.t.ton the children's b.u.t.tons. But all she could do was force herself to keep on going. She knew she had to.

She went down to the front desk then and spoke to them about hiring a car and driver for the next day, or at the very least a carriage if all the cars had been hired out, but they a.s.sured her that a car and driver would be put at her disposal. She thanked them for the clothes they had left for them, and the thoughtful gifts for the children, and the manager of the hotel somberly shook her hand and extended his sympathy for the loss of her parents. They were old patrons of the hotel, and he had been devastated to learn when she arrived that they had not survived the disaster.

Edwina thanked him quietly and walked slowly back upstairs. She had glimpsed two or three familiar faces from the ship, but everyone was busy now, and exhausted with the business of surviving.

It was almost one o'clock in the morning when she found her two brothers playing cards in the living room of the suite. They were drinking seltzer water and finishing off the last of the cakes, and for an instant, she stood in the doorway and smiled at them. It saddened her to realize that life went on as though nothing had happened, and yet at the same time she realized that it would be their only salvation. They had to go on, they had a whole life ahead of them. They were only children. But Edwina knew that for her, without Charles, it would never be the same. There would never be another man like him, she knew. Her life now would consist of taking care of the children and nothing else.

"Going to bed tonight, gentlemen?" She blinked back tears again as she looked at them. They smiled at her, and then suddenly, looking at her in her now ridiculous outfit, George glanced up at her and grinned. It was the first time she had seen him look like his old self since they'd left the t.i.tanic.

"You look awful, Edwina." He laughed, and even Phillip smiled in spite of himself. She did, and suddenly in the elegantly appointed rooms, her incongruous costume looked less n.o.ble and really only foolish.

"Thank you, George." She smiled. "I'll do my best to put something decent together tomorrow morning so I don't embarra.s.s you."

"See that you do," he intoned haughtily, and went back to his card game.

"See that you two go to bed, please," she scolded them both, and then went to soak in the luxurious bathtub. And as she took the dress off a few minutes later, she held it for a long moment and stared at it. At first, she thought she would throw it away, she never wanted to see it again, and yet another part of her wanted to save it. It was the dress she had worn the last time she'd seen Charles ... the last night she'd been with her parents ... it was a relic of a lost life, of a moment in time when everything had changed, when everything had been lost forever. She folded it carefully then, and put it in a drawer. She didn't know what she'd do with it, but in a way it seemed like all she had left, a shredded evening gown, and it almost seemed as though it had belonged to someone else, a person she had been, and would never be again, and now could scarcely remember.

Chapter 7.

THE MORNING AFTER THEY ARRIVED, EDWINA PUT ON THE black dress she'd been given on the rescue ship, and took Fannie and Teddy and Alexis to the doctor the hotel manager had recommended. And when she got there, the doctor was actually surprised at how well the children had survived their ordeal on the t.i.tanic. Fannie's two smallest fingers on her left hand would probably never be quite the same, they would be less sensitive and a little stiff, but he doubted very seriously that she would lose them. And he thought Teddy had made a remarkable recovery as well, perhaps even more so. He told Edwina that he considered it quite extraordinary that the child had survived the exposure at all, and in an undertone, he told her he thought the entire experience tragic and amazing. He tried to ask her questions about the night that the t.i.tanic went down, but Edwina was reluctant to talk about it, particularly in front of the children.

She asked him to examine Alexis as well, but other than a number of bruises she'd gotten when she was thrown into the lifeboat, she appeared to be surprisingly unaffected and healthy. The problem was that the damage done to Alexis had been to her spirit far more than to her body. Ever since they'd found her again on the Carpathia, Edwina felt that she was no longer herself. It was as though she couldn't face the fact that their mother was gone, so she faced nothing at all. She spoke seldom if at all, and always seemed removed and distant.

"She may be that way for quite some time," he warned Edwina when they were alone for a moment, as the nurse helped the children dress again. "She may never be the same again. Too great a shock for some." But Edwina refused to believe that. In time, she knew that Alexis would be herself again, although she had always been a shy child, and in some ways too attached to their mother. But she made a commitment to herself now, not to let the tragedy destroy their lives, not the children's anyway. And as long as she was occupied with them, she had no time to think of herself, which was a blessing. And he told her that within a week, he felt they'd be ready for the journey to San Francisco. They needed a little time to catch their breath before being moved, but then again, so did Edwina.

When they went back to the hotel, they found Phillip and George poring over the story in the papers. Fifteen pages of The New York Times were devoted to interviews and accounts of the great disaster. And George wanted to read everything to Edwina, who didn't want to hear it. She had already had three messages from The New York Times herself, from reporters wanting to speak to her, but she had thrown the messages away, and had no intention of spending any time with reporters. She knew her own father's paper would carry the story of his death, and the circ.u.mstances of the giant ship going down, and if they wanted to speak to her when she got home, she knew she would have to. But she wanted nothing to do with the sensationalism of what was happening in the papers in New York. And she growled at a photograph of herself leaving the ship with her brothers and sisters.

She had also gotten another message that morning when she got back to the hotel. A Senate subcommittee was to begin meeting the next day, at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, and they were inviting her to come and speak to them within the next few days, about the t.i.tanic. They wanted the details of what had occurred, from all the survivors who were willing to speak to them. It was important that the committee understand what had happened, who, if anyone, was to blame, and how a similar disaster could be avoided in the future. She had told Phillip about that, and that she was nervous about appearing but felt she should, and he tried to rea.s.sure her.

They had lunch in their rooms at the hotel, and then Edwina announced that she had work to do. They couldn't live forever in borrowed clothes, and she had to do some shopping.

"Do we have to go?" George looked appalled, and Phillip buried himself again in the papers, as Edwina smiled at them. For a minute, George had sounded just like their father.

"No, you don't, as long as you stay here and help Phillip take care of the others." It reminded her of the fact that she would need to hire someone to help her once she got home. But even that thought reminded her of poor Oona. Whatever she thought of just now always took her back to painful memories of the sinking.

She went first to the bank, then to Altaian's, on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street, and bought as much as she could for all of them. And then she went to Oppenheim Collins and bought the rest of what she needed. Her father's office had wired her a fairly large sum, and she had more than enough money for herself and the children.

It was after four o'clock when she got back to the hotel in a somber black mourning dress she had bought at Altaian's. And she was startled to see George playing cards again with Phillip.

"Where are the others?" she asked as she deposited her bundles on the floor of the sitting room, as the driver staggered in with the rest. She realized suddenly that it took a great many things to properly outfit five children. And she had bought five serious black dresses for herself. She knew she would be wearing them for a long time, and when she'd put the somber-looking gowns on in the store, she realized with a sad pang how much they made her look like her mother.

But now as she looked around the suite, she couldn't see any of the younger children. Only her two brothers playing one of their pa.s.sionate card games. "Where are they?"

Phillip grinned, and pointed toward the bedroom. Edwina quickly crossed the room, and gasped when she saw them. The two little girls and their two-year-old brother were playing with one of the maids and what must have been at least two dozen new dolls, and a rocking horse, and a train just for Teddy.

"My word!" Edwina looked stunned as she looked around the room. There were still unwrapped boxes halfway to the ceiling. "Where did all that come from?"

George only shrugged, and threw a card down that infuriated his brother, and then Phillip glanced over at Edwina, still gazing around in awe. "I'm not sure. There were cards on everything. I think most of it is stuff from people here at the hotel ... there's something from The New York Times ... the White Star Line sent some things too. I don't know, they're just gifts, I guess." And the children were having a wonderful time tearing through them. Even Alexis looked up happily and grinned at her sister. It was the birthday party she had been cheated of on the day they sank, and more. It looked like ten birthdays and a Christmas.

Edwina walked around it all in amazement, as Teddy sat happily on his new horse and waved at his big sister. "What are we going to do with all this?"

"We'll just have to take it home, of course," George answered matter-of-factly.

"Did you get everything you needed?" Phillip asked as she attempted to make some order in the room, and divide up her purchases according to whom they were for. He looked up at her then and frowned. "I don't much like the dress, it's kind of old-looking, isn't it?"

"I suppose," she said quietly, but it had seemed appropriate to her. She didn't feel young anymore, and wondered if she ever would again. "They didn't have much in black at the two stores I went to." She was so tall and slim that it wasn't always easy to find exactly what she wanted. Her mother had had that problem too, and they had shared dresses sometimes. But no longer. They would never share anything again ... not their friendship, their warmth, their laughter. Like Edwina's childhood, it was all over.

Phillip looked up at her again then, and realized why she was wearing black. He hadn't thought of that at first, and he wondered if he and George would have to wear black ties and black armbands. They did when their grandparents had died. Mama had said it was a gesture of respect, but Papa had said that he thought it was silly. Which reminded Phillip of something he had forgotten to tell her.

"We got a Marconigram today from Uncle Rupert and Aunt Liz."

"Oh, dear." Edwina frowned. "I meant to send them a wire this morning and I forgot, with all the excitement of going to the doctor. Where is it?" He pointed to the desk and she picked it up and then sat down with a sigh. It was not exactly news that she wanted, although she appreciated their good intentions. Uncle Rupert was putting Aunt Liz on the Olympic in two days, and they were to wait for her in New York, and she would then bring them back with her to England. Edwina felt her heart skip a beat as she read it, and she felt sorry for her aunt's having to come over, knowing how desperately seasick she got. Besides which, the very thought of an ocean crossing now made Edwina feel ill. She knew she would never get on a ship again for as long as she lived. She would never forget the sight of the t.i.tanic's stern sticking straight up out of the water and outlined against the night sky as they sat watching her from the lifeboats.

She wired an answer back to them later that evening, urging Aunt Liz not to come, and telling them that they were going back to San Francisco. But another response came back to them the next morning.

"No discussion. You will return to England with your aunt Elizabeth. Stop. Regret circ.u.mstances for all of you. Must make the best of it here. See you shortly. Rupert Hickham." The very prospect of going back to Havermoor Manor to live almost made her shudder.

"Do we have to, Edwina?" George looked up at her with ill-concealed horror, and Fannie started to cry and said she was always cold there and the food was awful.

"So was I cold, now stop crying, you silly goose. The only place we're going is home. Is that clear?" Five heads nodded and five serious faces hoped that she meant it. But it was going to be a little more difficult convincing their uncle Rupert. Edwina fired off an answer to him at once. And a two-day battle ensued, culminating in their aunt Liz's coming down with a ferocious case of influenza, which forced her to postpone the crossing. And in the interim, Edwina made herself more than clear to her uncle. "No need to come to New York. We are going home to San Francisco. Much to settle, many things to work out. We will be fine there. Please come and visit. We will be home by May 1st. All love to you and Aunt Liz. Edwina." The last thing any of them wanted now was to go and live in England with Aunt Liz and Uncle Rupert. Edwina wouldn't consider it for a moment.

"Are you sure they won't come to San Francisco and just take us?" George's eyes were huge in his face, and Edwina smiled at the obvious concern there.

"Of course not. They're not kidnappers, they're our aunt and uncle, and they mean well. It's just that I think we can manage on our own in San Francisco." It was a brave statement for her to make, and one she had yet to prove, but she had decided that she was determined to do it. The paper was run by a fine staff well chosen by her father, and well directed by him over the years. There was no reason why anything had to change now, even without Bert Winfield at the helm of the paper. He had often said that if anything ever happened to him, no one would ever know it. And they were about to be put to the test, because Edwina had no intention of selling the paper. They needed the income, and even though it wasn't vastly profitable like The New York Times, or any of the truly great papers, it was still a very comfortable little venture, and she and the others would need the money if they were to survive and stay together in their home in San Francisco. And she had no intention of letting Rupert, or Liz, or anyone else force her to sell the paper, or the house, or anything else that had belonged to their parents. She was anxious to get home now to see that everything was sorted out, and no one made any decisions that affected her and that she didn't approve of. She had decided they were going home. But what she didn't know was that Rupert had already made plans to have her close up the house and put the paper up for sale. As far as he was concerned the Winfield children would not be returning to San Francisco, and if so, not for long. But he had not fully reckoned with Edwina, and her determination to keep her family where they belonged. Together, at home, in San Francisco.

The Winfield children spent the next week in New York, went for long walks in the park, saw the doctor again, and were pleased with the reports about Teddy's health and Fannie's two fingers. They had lunch at the Plaza, and went shopping again, because George informed Edwina that he wouldn't be caught dead wearing the jacket she had bought him. It was a time to relax and to rest, and to be slowly restored, but at night they were all still strangely quiet, haunted by their own thoughts and fears, and the ship that had caused them. Alexis still had nightmares, and she slept in Edwina's bed now, with Fannie in another bed just beside her, and Teddy in a crib close beside them.

They had dinner in their rooms at the hotel on the last night, and they spent a quiet evening, playing cards and talking, and George made them laugh with embarra.s.singly accurate impersonations of Uncle Rupert.

"That's not fair," Edwina tried to scold him, but she was laughing too. "The poor thing has gout, and he means well." But he was funny anyway, and easy prey for George's wicked sense of humor. And only Alexis didn't laugh with them, she hadn't smiled in days, and if anything, she was growing more withdrawn, as she silently mourned their parents.

"I don't want to go home," she whispered to Edwina late that night, as they lay cuddled close to each other in bed, and Edwina listened to the gently purring breath of the others.

"Why not?" she whispered, but Alexis only shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in Edwina's shoulder. "What are you afraid of, sweetheart? There's nothing to hurt you there...." Nothing could hurt them as much as the loss they had sustained on the t.i.tanic. And there were times when even Edwina wished that her own life had been lost, there were times when she didn't want to go on without Charles or her parents. She had so little time alone to think about him, to mourn him, to just let her thoughts drift back to their happy moments. And yet, thinking about Charles at all was so painful, she could hardly bear it. But with the little ones counting on her, she knew she had to pull herself together. She could only allow herself to think of them and no one else. "You'll be safe in your own room again," she crooned to Alexis, "and you can go to school with your friends...." But Alexis shook her head vehemently, and then looked up miserably at her older sister.

"Mama won't be there when we get home." It was a sad fact they all knew, and Edwina also knew that a part of her was somehow childishly hoping that they would be there, and Charles with them, and it would all be a cruel joke, and none of it would have happened. But Alexis knew better, and she wisely didn't want to have to face it when they went home to San Francisco.

"No, she won't be there. But she'll be there in our hearts, she always will be. They all will-Mama, and Papa, and Charles. And once we go home, maybe we'll even feel closer to Mama there." The house on California Street was so much a part of her, she had done so many things to make it lovely for them, and the garden was entirely magic of her mother's making. "Don't you want to see the rosebushes in Mama's secret garden?" Alexis only shook her head, and her arms went around Edwina's neck in quiet desperation. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart ... don't be afraid ... I'm here ... and I always will be...." And as she held the little girl close to her, she knew she would never leave them. She thought of the things her mother had said in the past about how much she loved her children. Edwina thought about it, as she drifted off to sleep holding her little sister ... it was true, she remembered how much her mother had loved her ... and there was no greater love than she would have to have now for her brothers and sisters. And as she drifted off to sleep, and thought of Charles and her father, she remembered her mother's face and felt the tears sliding into her pillow, as she held Alexis near her.

Chapter 8.

THE WINFIELDS LEFT NEW YORK ON APRIL 26, ON A STORMY Friday morning eleven days after the t.i.tanic had gone down. The car from the Ritz-Carlton Hotel took them to the station, and the driver helped Edwina check in their bags. There were precious few of them now, and they carried with them only the things she had bought for them in New York. The toys and gifts from well-wishers had been packed and sent on ahead by train. And now there was nothing left for them to do but go home, and begin to live their life without their parents. For the little ones nothing much had changed, but Phillip felt an enormous responsibility to them all now, and for a boy of not quite seventeen, it was an awesome burden. And George felt the difference too. With Edwina, he didn't dare be quite as wild, because she was stricter with him than his parents had been, but he felt sorry for her too. She had so much to do now to take care of the younger children. She always seemed to have one of them in her arms. Fannie was always crying, Teddy always needed to be changed, or had to be carried, and Alexis was either clinging to her skirts, or hiding from people in a remote corner or behind the curtains. It seemed as though Edwina needed to be an octopus now, and although George still liked keeping amused, he no longer dared to do it at the expense of his older sister.

In fact, both boys seemed absolutely angelic to her as they helped her board the train and settle the younger children. They had two adjoining compartments on the train, and after sleeping on mattresses on the floor of the Carpathia for three days, she knew no one would ever complain again about the accommodations. They were grateful to be safe and warm, and to be going home, and as the train pulled slowly out of the station, Edwina felt a wave of relief sweep over her. They were going home again, to a familiar place where they would be safe, and nothing terrible would ever happen to them again, at least she hoped not. It was odd for Edwina now. At times she was so preoccupied with taking care of all of them that she didn't have time to think, or to remember, and at other times, like at night, in bed with Alexis or Fannie, all she could think of was Charles, and his last kisses, the touch of his hand ... their last dance ... and his good spirits when she had last seen him on the t.i.tanic. He had been an elegant, kind-hearted young man, and she knew he would have made her a wonderful husband. Not that it mattered now. And yet she tortured herself thinking about it, and she did again on the train, hearing his name repeated over and over and over again as she listened to the sound of the wheels speeding along the train tracks ... Charles ... Charles ... Charles ... I love you ... I love you ... I love you ... she wanted to scream as she imagined the words and she could hear his voice calling her. And finally she closed her eyes just to shut out the face that still seemed so real to her in the darkness. She knew she would never forget him. And she envied her parents staying together till the end. Sometimes she wished she had gone down on the ship with Charles, and then she had to force her thoughts back to the children.

Edwina and the children read the newspapers as they crossed the States, and news of the t.i.tanic was everywhere. The Senate subcommittee hearings were still continuing. Edwina had appeared before them briefly in New York. And it had been emotional and painful, but she had felt it her duty to oblige them. And their conclusion thus far was that a three-hundred-foot-long gash on the starboard side had caused the t.i.tanic to founder. It no longer seemed to matter now, but people appeared to have a need to find a reason, a cause, as though that would make it all seem right, but Edwina knew only too well that it wouldn't. More importantly, people were outraged at the loss of life, and the fact that there had been lifeboats for less than half of those aboard. The committee had asked her how the officers had conducted themselves and what her impression was of how people had behaved in the lifeboats. There was a general outcry over the fact that there had been no lifeboat drill, and not even the crew knew which were their stations. The most appalling fact of all was that the lifeboats had been sent off the ship half empty, and had then refused to pick people up out of the water after the ship sank, for fear of overturning. The whole episode was one that would go down in history as a heart-wrenching tragedy of monumental proportions. Testifying had left her feeling spent and desolate, as though going there somehow might have changed it, but it didn't. The people they had loved were gone, and nothing was ever going to bring them back. Somehow, talking about it now only made it more painful. It was even more so to read in the newspaper on the train that three hundred and twenty-eight bodies had been recovered, but Edwina already knew before she left New York that none of them had been her parents or Charles.

She had gotten a touching telegram from the Fitzgeralds in London, offering their condolences to her, and a.s.suring her that in their hearts she would always be their daughter. And for some odd reason, it made her think of the beautiful wedding veil that was being made, and Lady Fitzgerald was to have brought over in August. What would happen to it now? Who would wear it? And why did she care? She had no right to mourn the little things, she told herself, or to care about things like that now. Her wedding veil was no longer important. And at night, on the train, she lay awake, trying not to think about all of it, and staring out the window. Charles's gloves, which he had thrown to her to keep her own hands warm as she left the ship, were still in her valise. But she couldn't bear to look at them now. Even seeing them was painful. But just knowing that she still had them was a comfort.

She was awake when the Rockies appeared high in the morning sky, with the first pink streaks of dawn splashed across them, on their last day on the train, and for the first time in exactly two weeks, she felt a little better. Most of the time, she didn't have time to think about how she felt, which was just as well, and that morning she woke all of them and told them to look outside at the beautiful mountains.

"Are we home yet?" Fannie asked with big eyes. She couldn't wait to get home again, and she had already told Edwina several times that she was never going to leave home again, and the first thing she was going to do when she got back was make a chocolate cake just like Mama's. It had been one of Kate's frequent treats for them, and Edwina had promised that she'd help her do it. George had already said that he was not going back to school, he tried to convince Edwina that the trauma had been too much for him, and it would be better for him to rest at home for a while before resuming his schoolwork. Fortunately, his sister knew better than to believe him. And poor Phillip was worrying about school. He had only one more year before going east to Harvard, like his father. At least that was what the plan had been, but now it was difficult to plan anything. Perhaps, Phillip thought to himself, as they rode home on the train, he might not even be able to go to college. But he felt guilty for his thoughts in the face of their far greater losses.

"Weenie," Fannie asked, using the name that always made Edwina laugh.

"Yes, Frances?" Edwina pretended to look very prim and proper.

"Don't call me that, please." Fannie looked at her reproachfully and then went on. "Are you going to sleep in Mama's room now?" She looked at her oldest sister matter-of-factly, and Edwina felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

"No, I don't think so." She couldn't have slept in that room. It wasn't hers. It was theirs, and she didn't belong there. "I'll still sleep in my own room."

"But aren't you our mama now?" Fannie looked puzzled, and Edwina saw tears in Phillip's eyes as he turned away to look out the window.

"No, I'm not." She shook her head sadly. "I'm still just Weenie, your big sister." She smiled.

"But then who'll be our mama now?"

What to say? How to explain it? Even George looked away, the question was too painful for them all. "Mama is still our mama. She always will be." It was all she could think of to say to them. And she knew the others understood, if not Fannie.

"But she's not here now. And you said you'd take care of us." Fannie looked like she was about to cry as Edwina tried to rea.s.sure her.

"I will take care of you." She pulled the child onto her lap, and glanced at Alexis sitting huddled in the corner of the seat, with her eyes on the floor, willing herself not to hear what they were saying. "I'll do all the things that Mama did, as best I can. But she's still our mama, no matter what. I couldn't be Mama, no matter how hard I tried." And she wouldn't have wanted to try to replace her.

"Oh." Fannie nodded her head, satisfied finally, and then she had a last thought to clear up before they got home. "Then can you sleep in my bed every night?" But Edwina just smiled at her.