Louise's Crossing Read online

  ‘It’s convincing when the weather is as bad as it usually is,’ I answered him.

  Popeye allowed Bruce, Alida and Corrie to outline a shuffleboard court with chalk on the main deck. The three of them used deck brooms to shove shuffleboard cocks made from the lids of paint tins around, shouting with excitement. The sunshine and the sound of their fun lifted my spirits.

  I sat on one of the wooden spools that littered the deck, leaning back against the bulwark of the superstructure, my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth on my face.

  To my surprise, Blanche came and sat with me. I’d assumed she wouldn’t have anything to do with me after my accusations.

  ‘Oh, Blanche!’ I said. ‘I want to apologize to you for suspecting you and for creating that scene in the master’s cabin yesterday. I had no business—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Blanche said. She pulled her pack of Luckies out of her coat pocket and lit one with a gold cigarette lighter. I wondered if the lighter was Eddie’s. ‘You had every right to suspect me. I behaved badly. It was the same when my husband died. I already had a reputation as such a bad wife that the gossip that I might have killed him was perfectly natural.’

  I was stunned to hear her admit that.

  ‘I couldn’t hide how unhappy I was, or how bad the marriage had become. If I’d had any sense, I would have avoided Tom completely, but I figured playing cards and listening to music with him was the last fun I would ever have. Once we got to the States, I’d be trapped with Eddie, living with him and his parents for the rest of my life.’

  Bruce and Corrie crashed into each other on the makeshift shuffleboard court, but after disentangling they set up for another game.

  ‘It feels like eons since I was their age,’ Blanche said. ‘I’ve made so many mistakes – well, maybe just one. But it was a big one.’

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Marrying Eddie?’

  ‘Indeed. I thought marrying him would be so exciting. I mean, I was virtually working as a barmaid in my parents’ hotel, endlessly cleaning off tables and pulling beer. Eddie took me to dances at the American base, out to dinner, for rides in a friend’s car. He said that after the war he could become a pilot for an airline and make real dough.’

  ‘And then he had the accident?’

  ‘Even before then I knew I’d made a mistake. He was self-centered and bad-tempered. But I had no choice but to return to the States with him. I wasn’t sorry when he killed himself, and I suppose it showed.’

  ‘So you do think he killed himself?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that Nigel left him alone to get a cigarette lighter?’

  ‘Eddie’s squadron gave him that lighter as a farewell present. This one, in fact,’ she said, holding her lighter up. ‘He kept it with him all the time. He’d want Nigel to find it right away. Then I guess he saw his chance to escape what he considered his miserable life and roll off the deck.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Smoking a cigarette at the other end of the ship. Alone. No alibi. But no one saw me anywhere near Eddie either. Of course, the master had to report Eddie’s “suspicious” death when we arrived in port. I didn’t exactly look at it that way, but I was sure he suspected me. Then, of course, I booked my return journey home on the same bloody ship, with some of the same people, all of whom had nothing to do but gossip about me.’

  ‘You did rather vanish, you know,’ I said. ‘We all thought it was quite suspicious, that you were avoiding us. We couldn’t figure out where you were – you were never in your berth.’

  ‘You thought I was making out somewhere with Tom, right?’

  ‘Well, the notion that you were caring for a fourteen-year-old stowaway didn’t occur to us.’

  Blanche held out her hand to me. ‘Truce?’ she said.

  ‘Truce,’ I answered, accepting her hand.

  ‘I’m off your suspect list, then?’ she said.

  ‘Definitely.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette butt on the deck. ‘From what little I know of you, I’ll bet you’re still wondering about Grace.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ I said. ‘The facts don’t fit an accident.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t know all the facts yet?’

  ‘That’s what Olive said.’ I didn’t think Olive was completely convinced that Grace’s death was an accident either, but we were both stymied. All the passengers and crew who knew Grace before this voyage had alibis, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone else would want her dead.

  ‘I’ve been wondering something,’ I said. ‘How did Eddie get up on deck? He was in a wheelchair.’

  ‘His arms were strong. He would hang on to the stair rail and pull himself up while Nigel carried his legs. Then he’d sit on the floor at the top of the stairs while Nigel got the wheelchair. When we boarded the ship, the crew winched him up with one of the davits.’

  If it hadn’t been such a clear, sunny day, the seaman on watch in the bow wouldn’t have seen the torpedo headed our way. Nor would the ship have had enough time for any response at all.

  The siren sounded just as the shout of ‘Torpedo!’ rang out from the seamen ranged along the rail of the starboard side of the bow. ‘All hands on deck!’ blared out from the bridge loudspeaker and the ship’s crew appeared from every nook and doorway of the ship, running in organized confusion toward their battle stations. The noise from the siren, orders shouted and commands from the bridge deck was deafening.

  A seaman grabbed Blanche and me by the arm. ‘Get to the lifeboats and stay there. Tell the others if you see them. Stay out of the way.’ Blanche collared Bruce and the Smits had their girls. We ran to the boat deck where the lifeboats were rigged, dodging seamen who ignored us as we ran by. We gathered next to our designated lifeboat. Ronan joined us, then Gil and finally Olive. The ship shuddered as it veered sharply to starboard, throwing us to the deck, where we stayed huddled together. Below us, two seamen began to winch down the accommodation stairs so we could climb down into the lifeboats once they were launched. Thinking of the munitions stored in the hold, I doubted we’d have that chance if a torpedo hit.

  ‘They can blow up the torpedo with the deck guns, can’t they?’ Bruce asked. He was squeezed between Ronan and Blanche, who each had an arm around him.

  He was too old to lie to.

  ‘The twenty-millimeter guns aren’t powerful enough to detonate a torpedo, even if they could hit it,’ Gil said. ‘And the anti-aircraft guns aren’t angled properly. They’d just blow a hole in the deck.’

  ‘Don’t worry, lad, half the time these German torpedoes are duds,’ Ronan said. ‘Feel how sharply the ship is turning? The master’s trying to evade the torpedo. He wouldn’t be doing that if he didn’t think it might work. We’d already be in the lifeboats.’

  The Amelia Earhart wasn’t making her sharp turn gracefully. She groaned and creaked, and I thought of the tear in her deck from the gale. And the lack of rivets in her construction. I could visualize the ship pulling itself in half under the stress of its maneuvers, although I supposed that would be easier to survive than a torpedo hit.

  The Evans was the closest vessel to us. We could see it across our bow, far too close to us than seemed reasonable. ‘She’s trying to get clear of us so she can take a shot at the last known location of the sub,’ Gil said, reading my thoughts.

  ‘That submarine will have long left its position by now,’ Ronan said. ‘They must be tracking it on sonar.’ Which wouldn’t help us survive one bit. The torpedo would hit us any second, I thought, unless we managed by some miracle to escape.

  How much time had gone by? How fast was a German torpedo? It seemed so long since we’d first heard the alarm. I stood up to peer over our lifeboat. A clutch of seamen had gathered at the bow, gesturing to Popeye on the bridge deck to keep the ship moving to starboard. The torpedo must be close, very close.

  Even though the guns were supposed to be of no use, I could see Tom and several of his gunners
crowded around the gun position at the bow. Tom held a small crate under one arm and a hand grenade in the other. Even I knew that was ridiculous. You couldn’t stop a torpedo with a hand grenade, even if you did manage to hit it.

  Blanche pulled me back down.

  ‘Listen,’ Gil said to us all. ‘The women and children will need to load the lifeboat before any general evacuation can happen. A seaman will go down the stairs first to help us board. Mrs Smit, I suggest that you carry Corrie down the staircase next, followed by Alida and Bruce, Olive, Blanche and Louise, then Mr Smit, Ronan and me. The seamen assigned to our boat will follow and we can launch, and the rest of the crew can abandon the ship.’

  ‘I’d like to stay behind,’ Olive said, ‘there may be injuries.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Ronan said, ‘you’ll have a much better chance of helping any injured men if you get off the ship right away.’

  I thought this was an excellent plan, but unlikely to be successful. And I wished I had eaten up all the pralines.

  When the explosion came, it wasn’t as loud as I expected, but had a muffled, thick quality. The ship responded by lurching even farther to port, throwing us all up against the boat deck rail. The seaman standing there, waiting for an order to abandon ship, caught Alida before she slid on to the staircase. Then, instead of bursting into flames and continuing to tip to port, the ship righted itself, rocking on heavy swells. I felt the engines slow and the ship almost seemed to breathe in relief.

  ‘Godzijidank,’ Mrs Smit said, clutching her daughters. Ronan pulled a crucifix on a chain from under his shirt and kissed it. I remembered the good luck charm Milt had given me and patted it through my life preserver and multiple layers of clothing.

  Then came the next, much louder, explosion. Corrie screamed, and I covered my ears to protect them from the pain. The munitions, I thought. We were done for, after all.

  But the Amelia Earhart just rocked in the turbulent ocean that followed the explosion.

  ‘I’m going to find out what’s happened,’ Gil said. ‘Stay here, I’ll be right back.’

  But we all got to our feet anyway, eager to see what was going on. Bruce pulled out of Blanche’s grasp and scaled a ladder halfway up to the bridge deck. ‘I don’t see any fire or anything,’ he shouted down to us. ‘Everyone on deck is cheering. I think the torpedo missed us!’

  Mrs Smit began to sway, so Olive helped her sit back down. I felt shaky myself. I remembered what Winston Churchill once said – ‘Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at with no result’ – and understood it perfectly.

  ‘But I think the torpedo hit the Evans,’ Bruce said. ‘I can see fire and smoke billowing out of a hole above the rudder!’ In the distance, we could hear the sounds of alarms from the ship.

  ‘Are they abandoning ship?’ Ronan shouted up to Bruce.

  ‘No, I can see seamen on deck with fire hoses,’ Bruce answered.

  Gil returned, elated with excitement and relief. ‘You won’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Our ship was evading, but it still looked like the torpedo would hit. But Tom had a box of grenades at the gunner’s station. He pulled the pin on one, put it in the box with the others and threw it into the ocean between the ship and the torpedo. The explosion knocked the torpedo off course!’ It hit the Evans instead, but it doesn’t look like there’s much damage there.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ Ronan said. ‘What were the odds that would work?’

  ‘Did the grenades damage our ship?’ I asked.

  ‘The chief engineer has a crew over the side already looking,’ Gil said. ‘The master told me we need to stay here for a while longer until we’re sure the ship is still seaworthy.’

  ‘What about the Evans?’ Bruce asked.

  Chief Popeye appeared on the ladder from the bridge deck, forcing Bruce back down.

  He raised his fingers to his lips. ‘We require absolute silence now for the listening gear. We’re trying to locate the submarine. Stay here until I tell you otherwise.’

  We huddled together on the deck near our assigned lifeboat, trying to stay warm. We were out of the wind, which was something, but still freezing and getting very hungry.

  After a couple of hours we sent Bruce up on the ladder to report on what was going on below. ‘I can see the rope ladders over the sides where they’re inspecting the skin of the ship,’ Bruce whispered. ‘Especially near the bow, where I guess the grenades exploded. And there are chaps lining the rails with those microphone things that hang over the sides, and headphones, listening.’

  The second mate arrived with a message for us from the master. We were to go to the wardroom and pick up a cold dinner, then return to our berths. ‘Stay fully dressed and wear your lifejackets,’ the man said. ‘Be absolutely quiet. Don’t even whisper. We’re still trying to find the submarine.’

  The last thing we saw before we headed below was the sloop HMS Robin passing by us faster than our ship could dream of, her deck stacked with depth charges.

  In the wardroom we picked up sandwiches and apples, carrying them back to our berths. It was good to be alone, tucked up in my bunk, where I didn’t have to be brave. My heart still pounded with fear and my nerves were shot. My hands actually shook as I ate my ham sandwich. I could hear small explosions in the distance, and I wondered if they were depth charges detonating, and if that meant the sloop had found the submarine. By now the sky outside my porthole was pitch black, with an occasional flash on the horizon. I didn’t expect to sleep, but the next thing I knew the sky was lightening into dawn. I sponged myself off at my tiny sink and changed into the only clean clothes I had. Maybe later today I could get a real bath and a shampoo, and hand-wash what laundry I could.

  Breakfast was cold – cereal and toast – as I’d expected, but I wasn’t very hungry. Mostly I wanted coffee. After I’d drained two cups, I went out on the deck. I found Olive and Blanche leaning on the rail, peering over the side of the ship.

  The sea was full of debris, most of which I couldn’t identify. Pieces of sheet metal and jagged wood planks floated on the light swells. What appeared to be cushions, chairs and crockery drifted together like rafts. I noticed at least one suitcase and one life preserver – empty, thank goodness.

  ‘It’s all from the Evans,’ Olive said. ‘But the torpedo just glanced off it. It’s dropped back in the convoy to make repairs.’

  ‘Did anyone die?’ I asked.

  ‘Not that we’ve heard,’ Blanche said, ‘but the sloop and the other escort destroyer chased the submarine all night. Tom said the RAF would send planes up today to keep searching. Either for the sub or a debris field.’

  ‘So the sloop and the destroyers aren’t nearby, then?’ I said.

  ‘Nope,’ Olive said. ‘We’ve got a few corvettes for protection.’

  A group of seamen up toward the bow of the ship were winching up a set of ropes as thick as their arms, following orders shouted from below. A platform carrying Chief Popeye and several seamen appeared at the rail and was hauled over the side on to the deck.

  ‘There’s a dent in the side of our ship from the grenade explosion,’ Olive said. ‘Those men went down to check all the welds.’

  ‘Tom seemed really surprised at breakfast that the box of grenades diverted the torpedo,’ Blanche added. ‘He said he did it out of pure desperation. Then he was afraid he’d blown a hole in our hull. He didn’t look as if he’d slept much last night,’ Blanche said.

  Blanche and Olive went back to the wardroom for coffee, but I walked the length of the ship. I needed the exercise. And stupidly, I suppose, I wanted to see for myself that the Amelia Earhart was seaworthy. I didn’t want to go down with this ship just a few days out from Liverpool!

  I found the chief engineer and several of his men working on the tear in the deck that had opened during the gale, which felt as though it had happened months ago. The tear extended through the patch several feet at both ends, now stretching halfway across the main deck of the ship. The engin
eers were busy riveting sheets of metal over the now rather frightening wound.

  ‘The stress from the sharp turn the skipper made to evade the torpedo caused the tear to expand,’ the chief engineer said, seeing me standing nearby with a hand to my heart. ‘As long as the ship doesn’t experience any more structural stress, we should be OK.’

  ‘I thought all those stories about Liberty ships splitting in half were jokes,’ I said.

  ‘They had to build them so quickly,’ he answered, ‘I expect most of them will be scuttled after the war. They weren’t built to last long.’

  ‘What about the dent in the bow?’ I asked.

  ‘The hull is sound,’ he answered. ‘Ensign Bates is lucky. If he’d blown a hole in the ship, or if anyone had died on the Evans, he could have been court-martialed. Instead, he’ll probably get a medal.’

  A cheer went up on the deck and a couple of men pointed out a cluster of black dots in the sky that grew into a formation of fighter planes.

  ‘The RAF,’ a seaman said. ‘Bless them.’

  ‘We’ll be seeing more and more of them now that we’re getting closer to land,’ the chief engineer said.

  A rectangle of ocean to the west of Ireland was thick with German submarines and the infamous Luftwaffe, trying to pick off Allied shipping as it neared port. We were probably more in danger now than ever. I would be happy when the Evans and the Robin returned to their stations.

  I admit that my questions about Eddie Bryant’s death and Grace’s death, which I still suspected was a murder, receded into the back of my mind. I figured I’d done everything I could. Now I just wanted to get to shore and walk off this ship alive.

  THIRTEEN

  The master stood up at his table and tapped his glass with his knife. The room quieted. I noticed that Popeye left the table and opened the wardroom door into the seaman’s mess so the seamen could hear him.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ the master said, and then he nodded in our direction, ‘and ladies. As you know, since the US Navy has taken over wartime command of the merchant marine’ – he nodded at Tom – ‘for which we are eternally grateful, of course’ – at which we all chuckled, including Tom – ‘this ship has been dry as a bone.’ We heard boos from the mess next door. ‘However, the master of a ship, from time immemorial,’ he continued, ‘has been allowed to bring in a supply of his own drink for special purposes. I have not failed to honor this tradition.’ There was absolute silence next door. ‘So tonight there is beer for all!’ Thunderous applause commenced from the mess. ‘Two bottles for every man not on watch, and for the watch when it comes off duty,’ he said. ‘And, of course, for the civilian passengers if they are so inclined.’ At that point the door from the galley opened and two messmen pushed in a rolling tub packed with bottles of beer nestled in ice.