Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

They waited to examine Olympic before giving any new dates for turning Titanic over to White Star. The new date ended up being Tom’s decision, since he was most familiar with both ships, and the Titanic’s schedule. He based the decision on his knowledge of the materials needed to repair the Olympic , what they had in stock, what needed to be constructed or delivered, and how much time, almost to the hour, this would put the Titanic’s fitting out behind schedule. He spent twice as much time on the equations as he needed and even had George Cummings look over his figures, because he could not believe the date the figures insisted was correct.

The first of April, 1912. The exact date planned for her turnover in the other timeline. Sam had told them that with the April first turnover, White Star would schedule the maiden voyage out of Southampton for the tenth of April. Wind would keep them from leaving Belfast until the second of April, but White Star would not change the date for the maiden voyage again.

Really, he had no way of knowing why or how White Star chose any particular date for sailing. The options were myriad and even Ismay couldn’t predict it. So he told them April first, and prayed that Casey would never find out it had been his decision.

Olympic’s accident had the unfortunate effect of providing an excuse for overconfidence in the new liners. Olympic had all the same features Sam and Casey had insisted were needed for Titanic , and she performed exactly as they had built her to perform, when she collided with the HMS Hawke. The damage was easily contained, and the ship was never in danger of sinking. The builders and owners were justifiably proud of this result, but it was the press that took it to the absurd conclusion that the ships were truly unsinkable. Worse, it was the shipping industry’s own journal, Shipbuilder Magazine , that perpetuated the myth when they ran an article about the collision, and the repairs being done. Newspapers worldwide gleefully picked it up as a sensational headline, and the ever-gullible public ate it up.

Tom wrote a furious letter to the magazine, sternly reminding them that no ship was unsinkable. They printed his letter, but never actually made a retraction, and the newspapers that received a copy of the letter never printed it at all.

Despair numbed Casey, as if part of that Atlantic iceberg had settled in her chest. She moved through the days automatically, feeling alive only when Tom was around. Now, on the patio at Ardara House, she picked up the fussing baby and settled into a rocker, surrounded by the other women. Bees buzzed behind her in the surprising October heat, providing accompaniment to the squeals of children and the shouts of their fathers as they all played football on the lawn. As she nursed Terry, Casey closed her eyes and let the women’s conversation drone overhead.

She hurt. Not in any specific part of her body, and certainly she had no injury. She just hurt everywhere, inside and out. Fear seemed to be an unavoidable companion. I don’t want to be alone. The thought came again, as it had every day for weeks, filling her with chills. Tom will die with Titanic and I’ll be alone in this century. She knew this wasn’t true, that she had her children and Sam, and Tom’s family would always include her. But none of them could provide the love and companionship she had found in Tom. It was not fair to him, it was wrong to place such responsibility on him, but it was true.

Her misery was interrupted as the children were herded inside for drinks and naps. The men began a rougher game of football. Little Jamie had escaped the women and stood at the edge of the patio, watching the game. At three, he was still too young to be in a game, and he had only played on the sidelines for a few minutes.

Casey laid her sleeping daughter on a mat and moved to stand behind Jamie, picking up another ball from the ground. He didn’t notice her, his eyes following the men on the grass as they dashed back and forth. She could practically feel his longing, and she dropped the football in front of him, reaching to halt its movement with her foot. She didn’t look at him, so that when he glanced up at her, she was searching for something several yards away. She motioned with her chin. “See those two birches beyond the roses?” He nodded and she looked at him appraisingly. “Right between them is our goal. Whoever kicks the ball through first, wins.”

She kicked the ball, not hard. When his glance went briefly back to his father and uncles, she went after it, skirts lifted in both hands, feet nudging the ball quickly toward the trees. Not about to be left behind, Jamie forgot the men and raced after her, reaching the ball just as she prepared to give it an exaggerated, but gentle kick. He kicked hard, sending the ball to the right. Casey let go of her skirts in surprise as he ran to catch the ball. She took a long moment to lift her skirts out of her way before following.

He kicked it again, with more control. He kept up with it, instinctively moving in the direction of his goal. She caught up with him, but he turned to block her. The ball started down a slope toward the creek and he threw himself in front of it, blocking it with his stomach, then scrambled to his feet and kicked hard toward the trees. Casey whooped, and ran toward it, but it rolled haughtily through the goal and continued its interrupted trek to the creek.

He was right behind it, fishing it out before Casey reached him. He looked up, his face bright with joy that changed suddenly to alarm, as he shouted, “Look out, Mum!”

She turned in time to see the ball from the men’s game heading straight for her. Briefly aware of Jessie’s scream from the patio, and shouts of dismay from the men, she jumped to meet it. It bounced off her head, dropping a few feet from her. She lifted her skirts to run with it toward the nearest of the men’s goals, defying their chivalrous concern for her safety.

Tom recovered first. He raced in, shouting to John to block the goal. He spared her no quarter, or at least not much, and the two of them wrestled with the ball to gain or keep control.

Exhilarated, Casey nudged them nearer her goal, occasionally using her long skirts to good advantage; Tom could not see the ball when she let them drop a bit, but she could always feel where it was. He laughed a bit in frustration, then took a chance and kicked where he thought the ball was. It escaped them both, but Casey was closer and she kicked it hard, startling John, who had not taken Tom’s order seriously.

As it sailed an inch above John’s outstretched arm, accompanied by yells and whistles from the spectators, Casey’s melancholy returned in full force, slamming her to a complete standstill, heart racing and lungs unable to fill with air. Tom touched her shoulder in alarm.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She looked up into his anxious face, twitching once at the concern in his eyes, and her own fear. “Don’t go.”

“What?” He looked confused.

Her eyes flashed in sudden rage and she moved back a step, away from his arm. “On Titanic . I don’t want you to go.”

If she had turned him to stone, he could not have been more frozen. They faced each other, the breeze dancing through the trees and through Casey’s hair, which had come loose from its pins. Willie’s voice came to them just as a shaft of sunlight lit the ground at their feet: “Everything all right? Is she hurt?”

Tom raised an arm, keeping them all at a distance, as he continued to stare at Casey. The others drifted away, taking Jamie with them, mystified, but giving the couple space. Casey’s chin quivered a moment, then she lifted it defiantly, returning Tom’s stare; the course was committed and she couldn’t take back her words.