Mission

Stepping off the ferryboat onto dry land was one of the most wonderful feelings Carrie had ever experienced. Even though she’d spent the last couple of days in Queenstown, getting back on the water had been terrifying. She’d spent much of the time clinging to Jonathan’s hand wondering how he had ever managed to convince himself to get on a ship again after the first time this had happened to him.
At Liverpool, they made their way to the train station. Carrie spent much of the time looking out the window, dreading the long passage back to New York and thinking about Robert. Was he there, lying on the dock somewhere in Queenstown, and she’d just missed him? Or was he still floating in the water?
“Carrie? Did you hear me?” Jonathan’s voice was rich with sympathy. “We’ll be arriving in Southampton soon.”
She jerked her head around to meet his gaze. “Sorry. No, I don’t suppose I’ve heard much of what anyone has said to me these past few days.”
“I understand.” He inhaled, and she assumed he was going to say more, but then he didn’t, and she had to assume that was because there was nothing more to say. They’d each been through their own personal hell the last few days. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d gone through this. Carrie prayed it would be the last time for both of them. For all of her lofty ideas about exploring the world, once she found herself safely back in New York, she didn’t think she’d ever leave town again except for possibly by motor coach or train. Even then, it would take some convincing.
For a moment, the plans she’d allowed herself to dream about when she was with Robert came back to her. She’d seen herself stepping away from taking care of Mrs. Ashton and the little ones to become a bride, maybe someday even a mother. Now, with Robert missing, she had to let go of those dreams. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she resolved herself not to let them. It seemed wrong to mourn for him when there was still a chance he was alive.
“Once we’ve collected Mrs. Ashton’s things from her mother, I’ll stop by and see if we have any telegrams,” Jonathan said as the other passengers prepared to disembark. He’d had a sum of money in his pocket that allowed them both to buy traveling clothes, but the other people from their shared disaster were sitting near them in a mishmash of borrowed clothing from the kind people of Queenstown. Carrie felt thankful that she wouldn’t have to face Mrs. Westmoreland dressed in something that wasn’t her own.
“Have you heard from Mr. Ashton since you sent the original message?” Carrie remembered that Jonathan had sent word home the day before that they had survived, but she couldn’t remember if he’d told her anything more.
He shook his head. “No, but I told them we would be in Southampton later today, so I’m hoping to receive word from them while we are there.”
She nodded but couldn’t think of anything else to say. As they prepared to disembark, Carrie had to wonder how in the world she was going to hold a conversation with Mrs. Westmoreland. Despite knowing what a terrible mother the woman had been to Mrs. Ashton, Carrie needed to act professionally, and she wouldn’t be able to do that if she couldn’t articulate a sentence.
The train pulled into the station, and the two of them waited their turn to disembark. Thankfully, Jonathan still seemed to have all of his wits about him. Perhaps he was used to this feeling–the sense of floating around in one’s body that may or may not deserve to be alive. At any rate, she took his arm, and he led her about as if she were an invalid or a small child. He hired a car, and what only seemed like a few moments later, they arrived at the convalescent home where Mrs. Westmoreland resided.
“Carrie, are you well?” Jonathan asked before they stepped out of the vehicle. “I know Mrs. Westmoreland can be intimidating. While I intend to let you handle the situation since Mrs. Ashton appointed you to do so, I will be right there with you the entire time.”
“I’m fine.” She managed a smile, though she imagined it didn’t look natural. He tipped his head slightly to the side in disbelief but still nodded before paying the driver, and the two of them got out of the motorcoach.
The smell of antiseptic hit her lungs the moment they walked inside. Nurses wearing white with large hats made their way down the corridor, carrying charts or pushing patients in wheelchairs. Carrie tried not to stare at the residents, all of them elderly, many of them looking out of sorts. She imagined one day she’d be in a place like this if she were lucky enough to live that long.
“May I help you?” The woman behind the counter off to the side had a sharp tone about her and a thick British accent, but her eyes were kind, giving her the sense of being someone who was caring but didn’t have much time to spare.
Clearing her throat, Carrie called upon her memory to get her through. How many times had she rehearsed this conversation, and the next, on her way across the Atlantic? Too many to count. “Good day. We’re here to see Mrs. Mildred Westmoreland.”
“Are you family members?” she asked shrewdly.
“No, we are employees of her daughter, Mrs. Mary Margaret Westmoreland Ashton,” Carrie explained. “Mrs. Ashton is with child and was unable to make the trip to meet with her mother.”
“I see.” The woman took a moment to flip through a binder on her desk before she nodded and said, “This way.”
Relieved that she wasn’t given any additional run-around, Carrie followed the nurse down several hallways, Jonathan behind her, until they reached what had to be Mrs. Westmoreland’s room.
“Here we are.” Pushing the door open for them, the receptionist nodded and stepped away, leaving Carrie staring into a dark room where she could only see the outline of a small form sitting in a bed amidst the shadows.
An overwhelming scent of lilacs rolled out of the room causing Carrie’s eyes to water. She forced herself to ignore the smell, though, and stepped inside. Not sure whether or not Mrs. Westmoreland was even awake, she approached the bed.
“Who are you?” a gravelly voice demanded.
“Good day, Mrs. Westmoreland. I’m Carrie Boxhall, and this is Jonathan Lane. I believe the two of you have met. We are here on behalf of Mrs. Ashton.”
“Who?” she demanded. “Mrs.--” She stopped abruptly and nodded. “Oh, yes. Meg.” Mrs. Westmoreland was a tiny woman, frail, thin, with skin so white it nearly glowed in the darkness of the room. When she spoke her daughter’s name, her mouth drew into such a thin line, it nearly disappeared.
“That’s correct. She apologizes that she couldn’t make it herself. She’s about to give birth to your second grandchild.”
Mrs. Westmoreland snorted dismissively. “I’m not entirely surprised my daughter did not come to see her mother on her deathbed. All these years, and she still has absolutely no respect for me. Well, it’s no matter now.” She turned her head toward the wall as if the conversation were over.
Carrie turned to look at Jonathan who shook his head slightly and bit down on his bottom lip.
Turning back to Mrs. Westmoreland, Carrie continued. “Ma’am, it’s my understanding that you have a package for her?”
“For her.” She didn’t even turn her head. “I would give it to her, but she is not here.”
“No, but we are here on her behalf and have traveled many miles over perilous seas to reach you.” Irritation began to grow in Carrie’s tone, no matter how badly she fought it.
Snickering, Mrs. Westmoreland asked, “Perilous?”
“Yes. Our ship was torpedoed by Germans, and many people did not survive.” Her annoyance shifted into something else, overwhelming grief, and Carrie found herself becoming more demanding by the moment. “Now, if you will please give us whatever it is you intended to bestow upon your daughter, we’ll make our leave and let you go on about your day.”
“Does it appear as if I am far off from those you lost at sea?” Though her neck was unsteady as she turned, Mrs. Westmoreland managed to focus her eyes on Carrie’s face. “If you have any messages for them, let me know, and I’ll be by to tell them shortly.”
Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Carrie prepared to tell the wretched old woman what she thought, but before she got the chance, Jonathan said, “Very well then. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Westmoreland.”
Carrie turned to shout at him, but then she saw him tucking something into his jacket and decided he must’ve found the package for Mrs. Ashton. It wouldn’t be like him to simply walk away. “Good day, ma’am,” she said before spinning on her heel and walking away.
They’d almost reached the door when Carrie heard the slightest whisper. “Tell her I love her.”
She stopped in her tracks, her back straight, and turning to look at the woman, who was now facing the wall again, she said, “I will.”
Then, the pair of them left, and Carrie hoped no one from their family ever had to see Mildred Westmoreland again.
Outside, Jonathan pulled a thick envelope from his jacket. “It was sitting on the nightstand with her name on it, so I figured we should save ourselves the trouble of trying to reason with the unreasonable.”
“That makes sense,” Carrie admitted. “Now, let’s check the telegram and get out of here. As much as I hate the thought of getting back on a ship, I don’t think they’ve created trains that go across the ocean yet, have they?”
“Sadly, no. We’ll have to book passage home.” Jonathan took her arm, and they walked to an area with shops until he reached the telegram station. She stayed outside while he went in to check.
While she was standing there, a boy came by selling newspapers, shouting about the Lusitania disaster. Carrie wanted to cover her ears, but when he said, “Survivors can be found in Liverpool!” an idea hit her.
Jonathan came out. “Mr. Ashton sends his regrets for our troubles and says they are all thankful that we are well.” His eyebrows furrowed. “What is it, Carrie?”
“That boy,” she began, not sure how to arrange her thoughts into sentences. “He is announcing that survivors are being brought to Liverpool.”
“Yes, and?” Jonathan waited for her to continue.
“Well, what if I… tell the newspapers that I’m staying in Liverpool?”
Cocking his head to the side, he studied her face for a moment before saying, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“What if we return to Liverpool, and I give an interview to the papers? I’m sure they’re clamoring for anyone from Lusitania who is willing to speak. I don’t want to do it, mind you, but if it’s possible Robert might see the article and track me down there, well, it will be worth it.”
Jonathan listened to her carefully, scratching his chin for a moment. “We would have to stay in Liverpool for a couple of weeks in order to make it worth the while, and there is always the possibility Robert is already on his way home to New York.”
“I don’t think he would’ve given up looking for me so quickly. He knows I had to come here. I think he would continue to search for me.” What it was in her gut telling her this, she wasn’t sure, but she was confident.
“All right then,” Jonathan agreed. “We shall give it a shot.”
“Thank you.” For the first time in days, Carrie felt she had something to be hopeful about. The two of them headed back to the railway station to catch a train back to Liverpool where Carrie would do what she could to try to reach Robert.
If this didn’t work, she had no idea what she would try next. She just might have been out of options.