Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

Casey sat back in her chair and stared at him, an ache of despair beginning to build deep in her stomach. “I saw the movie.” Sam rubbed his forehead, unimpressed, but she ignored that and grabbed his hand. “Sam, he dies! In the movie, Thomas Andrews dies! Is that true in real life? He doesn’t wear his life belt or get into a boat?” Her heart clenched, as she thought of that smile and those hands…

Sam jerked his hand back, irritated, and began to cough. He wearily got up and moved to the bed. Casey poured some hot water into a cup with the herbs and brought it to him, her thoughts jumbled.

“Tell me, Sam. Is that what happens?”

Sam nodded, sipping the tea and looking very sad. “He was one of my childhood heroes. I studied him a lot when I was twelve or so. I can’t believe you went to school in Belfast for two years and never knew about this. The Titanic is a big deal to this city.”

Casey shrugged, miserable. “So are the pubs. Where do you think I spent most of my time? Sam…” she hesitated, then went on, “I’ve never met anyone like this guy. He was so kind… if he’s the same person, I…” She looked away, biting her lip in misery, “I can’t let him die. I have to warn him.”

Sam’s short bark of laughter degenerated into a coughing fit. Casey rescued the cup and waited for him to recover, worry eating at her. Sam was in bad shape and now she had to worry about Thomas Andrews as well. She didn’t trust the doctors in this time, but what was she supposed to do to help Sam? They needed money, whether for medicine, or a doctor, or both. That job would come in handy at a time they really needed it. It also gave her the opportunity to work with Andrews and maybe figure out a way to warn him about his future.

Sam tried to speak and finally was able to rasp out a few sentences. “You can’t ‘warn’ him. He’ll never believe you. The most you can try to do is make some suggestions that will get him thinking along certain lines.”

“Like more life boats?” Casey asked.

Sam waved his hand. “Everybody harps on the life boats. Sure, more would have been, or would be, great, but how about keeping the ship from sinking to begin with? Andrews supervises the drafting department, he’s in charge of the ship’s design. Let me think about it. My mind is too muddled right now. But listen, Casey,” he leaned forward, gripping her arm, “You keep your wits about you and your eyes open. This is June ’06. I don’t think they’ve even thought of building these ships, yet. You can’t warn him about a ship that isn’t even on paper.”

“Oh.” That brought Casey up short. She thought about what she knew of the Titanic , which wasn’t much. “Let’s see, it sinks in 1912, right?”

Sam nodded. “Hits the iceberg just before midnight on 14 April. Sinks in a couple of hours.”

“I guess it takes a few years to build a ship like that. When do they start?”

“Soon, I imagine,” Sam replied, coughing again. “Seems to me they start on the plans sometime next year. Let me think about it,” he said again. “It’s just too much to remember all at once.”

Casey nodded, worried at his weakness—all the coughing was wearing him down. She blinked away tears and tucked the blanket around him. “Get more rest, okay? I’ll have to be out of here pretty early. Will you be all right for breakfast?”

He patted her hand. “I’ll get through. Keep in mind that I’ve got sixty years of good medical care behind me. I should be in pretty good shape, generally. I’ll shake this.”

June 1906—July 1906

If she had not already known where Harland & Wolff Shipyard was located, Casey could have found it by following the noise. Even in the midst of town, it was possible to hear a rhythmic banging coming from Queen’s Island. The sound increased with every step as she approached the gate shortly before eight the next morning. The yard was crowded with the second shift, hundreds of workers, several of them young boys, moving through the gate, or loitering as they waited to be hired for the day. They were all dressed as she was, in dark pants and shirt, with dark caps covering their heads.

I guess I look the part. Maybe this will work.

She paused when she saw a guard. “Casey Wilson, sir. I’m to report to Mr. Thomas Andrews.”

He looked over and nodded, indicating a big man heading in. “Follow Albright, there. Hey, Albright! Drop this lad off for Mr. Andrews. You’re goin’ that way.”

The big man gestured a “come on” without slowing down. Casey scrambled through the crowd, afraid to lose him. As they entered the building, the smell of burning coal made her cough, mingled as it was with grease, cigarettes, and superheated metal. The source of the banging wasn’t obvious, but it saturated everything, overriding the lesser sounds of boilers building up pressure for steam, generators providing electricity, the taps and clacks of a thousand hammers, pulleys, and chains, and the jovial shouts of men as they performed their tasks.

I guess I’ll get used it. No one else seems to mind it.

One thing for certain, the scale of everything in this place was simply huge. The building was cavernous and filled with machines and equipment, some of them reaching over twenty or thirty feet high. She couldn’t begin to guess the names of any of it. The cranes and gantries were visible from many points of town, and here, as she caught glimpses of them through doorways, Casey almost couldn’t tear her eyes away.

How can they do this kind of thing with their level of technology? These things are basically built by hand!

After a few minutes of walking through rooms filled with people, machines, and noise, Albright waved Casey toward a doorway. “He’s in there. Office in the back,” was his only comment as he rushed onward.

“Thanks!” Casey called after him, not sure if he heard.

Heart pounding, she stepped into the room indicated: a large, cathedral-like space with beams rising from the floor to arch over the high ceiling. Each beam alternated with a large skylight on the ceiling and a window on the walls. Even this early in the day, the room was filled with natural light. Row after row of long tables provided workspace for men to stand or sit, all of them sketching or measuring, or discussing their drawings. This was obviously the drafting department.

They pretty much ignored her as she made her way to the back, which she nervously took as a good thing. Can I pull this off? The first person I talk to is probably going to realize I’m a girl! Maybe I should just leave. Timid, she stepped through the door into the office. If no one’s in here, I’ll just run. Um…if I can find my way back out, that is.

Nearly gasping with relief that she didn’t see Mr. Andrews, Casey jumped as a head appeared from behind an open cabinet to the side of the room. The head had black hair, gold-framed glasses covering the eyes, and a pair of really big ears. When the eyes saw her, they lit up and a big grin split the face. The head was followed by a long, thin body in a dark suit, belonging to a young man who was holding several pencils and a cup. He tossed the pencils in the cup and came toward Casey, hand outstretched. “Mornin’! Ye must be Casey. Boss said to expect ye!”

Casey took his hand and tried to speak past her dry mouth. “Yeah. I mean, yes sir, I’m Casey Wilson. Are you Mr. Andrews’ secretary?”

“I am, I am. Thompson Hamilton is the name. Everyone calls me Ham, so’s not to confuse me with the boss!” This was accompanied by a hearty laugh that clearly said “ Not bloody likely!” as Ham placed the cup on the desk and turned back to Casey. “Really glad you’re here, Casey. Mr. Andrews said he expects big things from ye. Ah, and here’s Himself, now!”