Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

Her mouth fell open. “A crush ?” She closed her mouth and affected a haughty air. “I refuse to answer that.”

He laughed a little. “You do! It’s okay. I’ve seen pictures of him. He was a handsome man. A good person, too.”

Her face bland, she stood and moved to a chair, tucking herself in with a book. “Think what you want. And I don’t need anything to be okay with you.”

That stung a little, but it was worth it to see her blush.

August 1906—September 1906

Casey had to collect reports and deliver supplies to all the departments at the yard, and it turned out there were a lot of departments. Tom Andrews was Head of the Designing Department, which evidently involved a lot more than just drawing pictures of ships. They drew plans for every part of a ship, from the tiny screws used in a switch plate, to the huge funnels that graced the skyline. Tom worked with all the other departments as they turned those drawings into three-dimensional reality. He dashed in and out all day, eventually settling at his desk to do paperwork for a couple of hours, then off again. Everywhere he went, he smiled or laughed. After just a few days, as she made her rounds of the yard, Casey noticed that it was always possible to tell when he was nearby. The men would stand taller or work faster, or with more precision. She would hear his laugh as he made his way through the crowd, and the men always smiled or laughed, too. He loved his work and that love rubbed off on everyone around him.

He thought it was important that Casey understand what they were doing and why they were doing it, but he never sat her down and lectured. He just talked while they worked, and somehow it all made sense. After just a few weeks, she was convinced that he paid attention to every single detail, that he felt nothing was too small or unimportant to be ignored. He believed, in a way Casey almost couldn’t quantify, that every ship they built had to be safe, had to be perfect.

“Which is why,” she mentioned to Sam as they ate dinner one night toward the end of August, “I don’t understand how I’m getting away with my impersonation. He notices everything, but he has not noticed that I’m a girl.”

Sam laughed. “You’re disappointed at that, aren’t you?” He laughed harder at her blushing protest.

She finished her soup in sullen silence. He’s right, I am disappointed. I don’t want to get caught, exactly. But what if he notices and likes what he sees? She shook her head. More likely, he’d be furious that I lied to him all this time. Made him look like a fool in front of everybody.

Guiltily, she cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen, even though it was Sam’s turn to wash dishes. Will that happen? When people find out, will they make fun of Mr. Andrews?

That had not been her intent. She didn’t feel guilty about taking the job, even under false pretenses. Sam had needed medical care, which had led to his new job. They had settled with relief into a solid middle-class lifestyle, soon renting a small house in one of the good neighborhoods near the university. They were furnishing it in small increments, and they had both purchased several new pieces of clothing. They loved shopping for food at the market on Saturdays, when all the farmers brought in their produce, and they made frequent stops at the butchers for fresh meat. Casey had put on a few badly needed pounds, and Tom Andrews had observed that she seemed more energetic. It was true. She did feel better, with a constant supply of decent food and safe shelter. Best of all, they had running water, and Sam was building a system to heat the water in the pipes. Hot baths at the turn of a faucet! They could hardly remember the luxury.

They had also hired a housekeeper, Ann Malone, who came twice a week, making them feel like royalty when they came home to swept fireplaces and floors, dusted furniture and clean laundry. They only had to make sure all of their twenty-first century gadgets, as well as their journals, were locked safely away on these days.

Sam continued to write to Einstein, amazed as the relationship blossomed. Einstein never actually said he believed Sam, but he discussed future physics discoveries as if they had already happened, and was using the knowledge in his own work. They began making tentative plans to get together at a future time.

The shipyard was an inveterate source of gossip. Casey would not have thought this, since she’d always heard men were not prone to the habit. Harland & Wolff in 1906 proved beyond doubt that they were. A thought whispered out on the slip before the breakfast break would reach the last of the five thousand workers by lunch.

The free-flowing talk had one advantage for a new worker: it was possible to quickly learn who did what for the company, why they did it, and who was related to whom.

The gossip mill focused, normally enough, on upper management. Even before meeting him, Casey had already formed an opinion of the managing chairman, Lord William Pirrie, as a charismatic and powerful businessman who ran his company with an iron fist.

“Departments can’t do anything without ‘is approval.” (From a low-level foreman).

“He wants detailed reports every week.” (From Saxon Payne, the secretary).

“All that running around you’re doing? Goes right into a report for Pirrie.” (From Ham).

Micromanager, Casey sniffed disdainfully to herself. She knew better than to say anything aloud, though.

“He’s ambitious.”

“Happy as a lark when the king made him viscount.”

“Used to be Lord Mayor of Belfast.”

“Lost the ’06 run for Parliament. His position on Home Rule cost him.”

The family connection was something else the gossips made sure she knew about. Lord Pirrie was Tom Andrews’ uncle. Alexander Carlisle (Tom’s supervisor) was Lady Pirrie’s brother (and therefore, brother-in-law to Lord Pirrie) and all of them were cousins. It screamed of nepotism, but Pirrie and Carlisle had started in the company together and Tom had been through the normal apprentice program. They were all very good at their jobs.

Lord Pirrie spent a great deal of time at the company’s administrative headquarters in London, but he also had a home in Belfast. Casey had her first glimpse of him during her third week on the job. He was about sixty years old, rather short, attractive, with gray hair and beard, a forceful and talkative nature, and eyes that showed a happy temperament, which Casey decided made some sense. He was related to Tom Andrews, after all.

When they were in Belfast, both Pirries worked many hours at the shipyard. Casey never knew what Lady Pirrie did, but she often saw her working at a desk near Saxon Payne, Lord Pirrie’s secretary. The gossips let her know that Lady Pirrie had almost as much power as her husband. He seldom made a business decision without her.

Casey managed to keep her interactions with them to a minimum. She was introduced to Lord Pirrie on his first day back from London. He was quite friendly, shaking her hand and thanking her for being such a help to “Tommy.” After that, he pretty much ignored her.

But Lady Pirrie was intimidating. Entering Mr. Payne’s office one day, her arms full of reports, Casey came up short to find Lady Pirrie sitting at the polished oak desk, papers spread around her. A deep brown dress covered her large frame in soft folds, and her gray hair was piled on top of her head, held with a pearl clip. Matching pearls graced her neck, and rings glittered on her hands. Casey quickly bowed when Lady Pirrie glanced up at her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. I have some figures to enter in the logbooks. I’ll just be over here.” She indicated the work table along the wall and started to turn, but Lady Pirrie’s voice stopped her.