The Thorn Bearer Page 9

  Oh dear God, where are you? Please help me.

  “Ashleigh.”

  Sam came up beside her, but his voice melded in with a new chorus of screams from above. Wood screeched and pounded louder, closer. A crescendo of screams chorused in terrifying reality as another passenger-laden lifeboat careened out of control. Sam’s eyse grew wide. Ashleigh turned her face into Sam’s shoulder. Not again.

  “Oh dear God.” Sam’s words quivered through his body to her. She knew what he witnessed, and the sudden silence of screams alerted her to the same fate as the first boat. He pressed a life vest into her hands. “Put this on.”

  She blinked up to him and took the cumbersome item, untwisting the ropes of the white flotation device. He helped it over her head, zipped the straps of the vest into a tight bow, and tried to lighten the moment with a grin. “Aren’t you glad I taught you how to swim now?”

  She rolled her eyes at his banter. “I certainly hope I don’t have to practice it.”

  Sam’s gaze sobered. “Me too, Ash.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the steep incline through the mass of people, sandwiched between an open sea and the unyielding wall of the Lusitania. She could barely keep her balance. The deck tilted to her left as she climbed higher up the ship, toward the dangling lifeboat nearby. Ashleigh glanced behind her down the long sweep of the deck. The front of the ship dipped into the ocean now and wept waves over the wreckage of humans and white wood, pulling more of the ship downward. Fear as palpable as the cool spring breeze pinched at her breath.

  Children with wide-eyed stares, mothers screaming, and men trying to keep busy, busy and unthinking, because the next few moments dangled as precariously as the lifeboats over the open sea. They were sinking fast. No more than ten minutes had passed, if that, and already the water seeped over the edges of the ship. How many would never make it to the lifeboats? Or even out of the bowels of this great dying ship? Oh God, please keep us safe. Keep Sam safe.

  “Take this one, Ash.” Sam pushed her forward into the crowd, his gaze fixed ahead on the white boat. An officer, voice commanding calm and order, allowed women and children through.

  She turned at Sam’s command. “Where is your life vest?”

  Her hand went to the knot of her own vest and she began to untie it, but Sam covered her hand. “No, Ash.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll find one, but first we have to get you out of here.”

  Tears, hot and unwelcome, surfaced at the edge of her vision. If she lost him? “You must promise me, Sam.”

  He pushed a tendril of her hair back and his fingers dropped to touch the tip of her chin. “I promise I’ll try. Now, hurry ahead. They’re loading.”

  She held his gaze, a sudden need to memorize his face, savor his voice. “Sam, I…You…” Her voice floundered, heavy with emotion and uncertainty.

  He placed a finger to her lips and crooked a grin. “Not necessary, Ash.” He stepped closer, one hand gentled against her shoulders. “We’ve gotten beyond words in this friendship, don’t you think?”

  She nodded, unable to voice anything even if she wanted. She blinked back another onslaught of tears and forced a smile. Women and children first, like three years ago on the Titanic when hundreds had died. Hundreds, thousands.

  Sam knew he’d never see the inside of a lifeboat.

  “You need to go, Ashleigh. Now.”

  A convulsion of clarity riveted her to the spot. Her heart ripped at the seams. She loved him. Without a hue of doubt, she knew she’d never love anyone else, and even if her past kept her from sharing her future with him, she had this moment. This second and maybe never again. She touched a palm to his cheek and leaned in, trailing his smile with her thumb. “Sam, I—”

  “One more seat.”

  The voice, the warning, killed the moment. She pressed her eyes closed.

  “Go.” Sam’s voice came out in a rasp as he took her arm. “Here,” he called. “Here is one.”

  She lost Sam’s touch within the crowd of hands moving her forward. They guided her up the steps and into the lifeboat, blocking her view of him. Women and children pressed together on the benched seats, welcoming her forward. She looked back onboard to catch another glimpse of him, but only strangers’ faces stared back – men. All men. Staying behind to die.

  Sobs and whispers passed through them and the boat began its slow and uneven decent. Two officers aboard took the boat’s paddles and pressed them against the side of the Lusitania, pushing the boat free from scraping the ship as it scaled down the side toward the water.

  “Sit still, Stephen.”

  Stephen? Ashleigh came face to face with Michael’s wife, her navy hat still in perfect place on her golden head. She wrestled with her fidgeting son, who struggled for freedom from his mother’s hold…and he didn’t have a life vest.

  The boat teetered back from another push against the side of the ship and a few women screamed in response. Some people from a lower boat deck even tried to climb aboard, angling the boat in a precarious dip toward the sea. The boy’s mother screamed and loosed her hold on him to grab for the bench seat and Stephen fell forward into Ashleigh’s arms. She scoured Mrs. Craven with a look, and then wrapped an arm around the boy as she began unlacing her life vest.

  “It’s all right, luv. Just a bit bumpy, isn’t it?” She tapped his nose to keep his attention on her instead of the women screaming at the back of the rocking boat. “Would you help me unlace this bit here?”

  She put a loose string in his hand to keep him busy as she continued to remove her vest.

  Ashleigh pulled the life vest around the lad. It was too large, but with some quick, inventive tying, she strapped him into it.

  “What are you doin’?” Michael’s wife asked, wide-eyed, hands gripping the seat.

  Ashleigh barely grazed the woman with a glance. “He needs a life vest.”

  “I planned on holding him. I keep a tight hold on the men in my life.”

  Ashleigh fixed her with a stare, much too aware of the implication in the woman’s words. Of all the things to do as they teeter in a lifeboat of a sinking ship? Insult her? A wicked smile itched to reply. Maybe Michael did deserve her. She was going to cause a whole lot more trouble for him than a fiancée with a tainted history.

  She bit back a retort and tightened the straps around Stephen with a sharp zip. The boat inched lower, until the ship’s onlookers were barely visible above the railing. Where was Sam? She searched the faces, desperate to locate him before she lost sight behind the massive wall of the ship.

  Her gaze landed on Michael’s face. Tears marked trails down his cheeks as he watched. Her fingers fisted the life vest straps around Stephen until her fingernails dug into her palm. He leaned forward, the look in those sea mist green eyes penetrating through her hurt like a cry for help.

  Thank you. He mouthed the words and she released the breath she’d been holding. Michael. She’d wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to feel pain like she’d felt, know the sting of loss…

  But not like this. Never this.

  What if we always received the first wish of our hearts? She shuddered at the cruelty of her own reaction and blinked at the burning in her eyes. With the next shift of the boat, it dipped below the railing’s view and out of sight of the onlookers. Please, Lord, keep Sam alive. The boat scraped against the side of the ship and Michael’s wife pulled at the boy’s arm.

  “Give him to me.”

  Ashleigh released the boy and at the same time, a loud crunch shook the lowering boat. The little boy tumbled from his mother’s arms back against Ashleigh’s chest and then…they were airborne – falling toward the sea. A chorus of screams rose around her as people rained to the ocean. She wrapped her arms around the boy and closed her eyes, as the cool waters of the Atlantic swallowed her down into darkness.

  Sam nearly crawled over the edge of the ship when Ashleigh took off her life vest and wrapped it around Michael’s son. Ridiculous woman! She couldn’t swim well
enough to give her life vest to someone else, but even in the middle of his frustration with her, a rush of pride settled around his heart. There she went again – risking her life for someone else. He smiled. Like she’d done for him.

  He gripped the railing and whispered a prayer for her safety, watching until her dark head disappeared with the curve of the ship. His face still hummed from the warmth of her touch. His mind still reeled from the look in her eyes which almost urged a kiss. He warmed to the thought. He could give his heart to someone like her. Blazes, he could give his heart to her!

  The ship creaked beneath him as he clung to the railing for one last look. The forty degree angle of the deck made it harder to stand, but he’d hold on until time ran out. She glanced up to the railing, searching for him, and he tried to move into her line of vision – reassure her and see those beautiful dark eyes on him again, but the lifeboat lowered out of view.

  Heat pressed behind his eyes. At least she would survive to touch other people’s lives like she’d touched his. Her friendship had been one of the best things that had ever happened to him. How it had evolved from a tag-along to this vital existence, he couldn’t remember, but he was pretty sure it started the day Catherine sailed away.

  A loud crunch of metal pulled his attention to the railing, followed by screams from below – from where Ashleigh’s lifeboat had disappeared. An officer at the lifeboat chain stared over the edge, motionless, eyes wide and face pale.

  Heat fled Sam’s body. He pushed through the crowd to hear the commotion.

  “What happened?” an officer demanded over the crowd.

  The young sailor blinked up to the officer. “I…I lost control, sir.”

  Lost control? Of what?

  The young man blinked. “The chain, sir, it broke...”

  The life boat?

  Sam pressed against the railing, leaning as far as he could to see, but his attempts proved futile. Where was Ashleigh?

  Another officer pushed forward, his face pinched in concern. “She can’t suspend from mid-air for long without−” Another crunch sounded, followed by more screams. The other chain broke, releasing the full weight of the boat to the ocean below.

  A lifeless thud silenced the screams.

  No!

  Ashleigh!

  The officer took off his hat and ran a hand through dark hair. His gaze steeled forward. “To the next boat. There’s nothing more we can do for boat 12.”

  Whatever just happened to Ashleigh’s lifeboat was not good, and from the deadening silence of screams? He had to find her. From all he could piece together, Ashleigh’s boat came unhinged from one side and dumped all its passengers into the sea. And the thud when the remaining davit broke? Sam’s stomach dropped. It had to be from the lifeboat falling on top of the passengers it had spilled into the sea.

  He half ran, half slid down the port side deck of the ship toward the bow. The strict tilt of the vessel pushed him starboard and his back slammed against the ship’s white wall of metal, stealing his air. He leaned forward to catch his breath and took in the heart-wrenching portside scene. An avalanche of people, deck furniture, and shattered lifeboats slid like lifeless pucks on a shuffleboard toward the sea. Smoke-filled air blew around him, carrying screams and a boy’s cap. People climbed over each other to gain the highest spot on the boat, away from the waiting water. And Ashleigh was somewhere among wreckage and the savage ocean.

  Against the tug of the slanted deck, he crawled to the railing and hung on, sliding toward the bow until sea water lapped over his shoes. Keeping his balance with a hand on the railing, he tossed off his shoes and jacket, took a deep breath, and dove into the cold Atlantic.

  Sam broke the surface to as much chaos in the water as aboard ship. Wreckage and bodies littered the sea, blocking his search. Most of the dead wore life preservers, and the tragedy was no respecter of age. A baby basket drifted by, overturned and a woman floated facedown, golden curls waving behind her with a trail of deck chairs and overturned furniture.

  Was Ashleigh among these unfortunate souls, where not even their life preservers saved them? Wait, Ashleigh gave her life vest to Michael’s son.

  Oh no! Sam swam harder, looking from emotionless faces to the panic-stricken. Wails of infants and moans of women hemmed in on all sides. The great ship’s stern loomed above him now, almost parallel to the ocean, and casting a giant shadow over part of the wreckage below. The liner tipped away from him, ready to collapse into the sea.

  “Ashleigh!”

  His voice barely made a ripple in the waves of agony around him, but he had to try. “Ashleigh!”

  With a groan above all others and a dying heave, the great Lusitania rolled over into the ocean, its massive funnel’s sinking last. Water poured into them, creating a whirlpool of bodies and debris and tugging Sam into it. He fought against the vortex, against the suction of the merciless sea.

  It held like death.

  He couldn’t keep fighting. His muscles protested, his lungs screamed for relief. He filled them with air as the current sucked him beneath the waves. Down passed swirling debris and darkness, pulling him into one of the massive funnels and a watery grave. Ashleigh’s face entered his mind. Dear God, save her. Then all went black.

  Chapter Eight

  Ashleigh swayed down the ramp as she exited the fishing boat. After four hours on an overturned lifeboat, clinging to little Stephen and the next breath, and then another few hours on the fishing rig with other ragged survivors, her body rebelled. Her legs trembled, weak from long-term exposure to the freezing Atlantic, and her mind wafted between grief and numbness.

  After the boat spilled them into the icy sea, Ashleigh swam away from the dangling lifeboat before it spiraled like a bullet toward the water. She squeezed her eyes closed, the deafening thud and sharp silence of screams still clear in her ears. It was a miracle they’d survived.

  A miracle? Sam’s words came to mind. Sometimes God sends a miracle…

  A voice softly nudged her spirit. I am with you.

  Are You? Then why didn’t You stop the torpedo? Or Michael’s deception? Or Father? Or Sam’s…?

  She tightened a tattered wool blanket around her and Stephen, but it couldn’t ward off the internal chill. Stephen’s head nestled in the crook of her neck, his blond curls matted from dirt and water. He whimpered and she squeezed him closer.

  Lord, don’t let him remember this day.

  Her thoughts rammed to a stop. She’d prayed? She groaned against it. The prayer came without effort. Naturally. If only it really mattered.

  Queenstown’s dock welcomed the motley crew of survivors into the lantern lit dusk, a beacon of safety for the living and resting place for the dead. People crowded the pier, half looking for loved ones, half offering assistance, but not one familiar face greeted her.

  Her body protested the walk down the gangway but she shuffled to the dock and caught her breath. A gruesome procession lined the far end. Tens, if not hundreds, of bodies lay in rows on the ground, waiting for identification. Ashleigh moved mindlessly with the crowd toward the corpses. Wails of loss, sobs, and incoherent mumbles spun a tale of tragedy all around her. She released a slow breath, bracing herself for whatever might come next in this story. Her mind wouldn’t consider Sam among those bodies. She tucked Stephen closer. Or Michael?

  No, not even Michael, as misguided and harsh as he had been.

  An endless sea of lifeless faces were strewn on the dock, with more being added as each recovery boat arrived. Tears she’d kept controlled during the arduous ride aboard the fishing rig rushed to the surface as she passed the small bodies of a baby and little girl.

  The price of war?

  She paused before Stephen’s mother’s body, but held Stephen’s face close to her chest so he couldn’t see. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognize this shadow of her in the faint evening light. How had she died? When the lifeboat fell? Or like others who’d fought to stay alive while they waited in the water, exposed to the
baking sun and chilly sea?

  The trail continued – and she followed, catching a breath as she paused before each male victim, but there was no sign of Sam or Michael. Her knees almost buckled when she saw a small body with a familiar scarf tied about her neck. No.

  Just when she thought she’d cried all her tears, warm and silent fresh ones trailed across her cool cheeks. Alice.

  Ashleigh looked away and turned her attention to town.

  Though a few of the bodies were unrecognizable, none of them fit Sam’s or Michael’s build or clothing. Should she feel relief yet? Would she find them alive, maimed, out of their minds? Or would they disappear with numerous other nameless faces into the grave of the sea?

  She followed the lantern lights beyond the dock into town. Half the people were partially dressed, some wrapped in blankets, others weeping. Worst still were those with vacant expressions – where pain pushed them beyond their minds’ capacities.

  Quaint buildings framed the cobblestone street as it rose up a hillside. At the peak of the hill, pale spires crowned the roof of an enormous cathedral. Its white tip shone in stark contrast to the black night.

  I am here.

  The voice came again, but Ashleigh ignored the whisper. She forced her mind into action. She needed food and a room for her and Stephen. A small pouch between her breasts contained enough to purchase both, but where?

  Stephen whimpered again.

  “Hungwi.”

  Hungry? Of course he was hungry. The biscuits aboard the fishing skiff had long since been forgotten.

  “No worries, luv. I’ll see to you.” Her raw voice scratched out the words and she forced another step. Her wet skirt slowed her pace and the cobblestones pinched into her stocking feet. At least they were off the water.

  Warm lights from a shop window welcomed her forward. There were others from the wreck already inside, their wool blankets and disheveled appearances giving them away. She reached up to run a quivering hand through her tangled hair and caught her wearied reflection in the window glass. Half of her hair matted against her head, thick and flat. Dried blood?