Three Fates

hours after the torpedo had struck the liner, in a narrow bed in a small room with sunlight streaming through a window.
    He would never forget the first sight that greeted him when his vision cleared.
    She was young and pretty, with eyes of misty blue and a scatter of gold freckles over her small nose and round cheeks. Her hair was fair and piled on top of her head in some sort of knot that seemed to be slipping. Her mouth bowed up when she glanced over at him, and she rose quickly from the chair where she’d been darning socks.
    “There you are. I wonder if you’ll stay with us this time around.”
    He heard Ireland in her voice, felt the strong hand lift his head. And he smelled a drift of lavender.
    “What . . .” The old, croaking sound of his voice appalled him. His throat felt scorched, his head stuffed with rags of dirty cotton.
    “Just take this first. It’s medicine the doctor left for you. You’ve pneumonia, he says, and a fair gash on your head that’s been stitched. Seems you tore something in your shoulder as well. But you’ve come through the worst, sir, and you rest easy for we’ll see you through.”
    “What . . . happened? The ship . . .”
    The pretty mouth went flat and hard. “The bloody Germans. ’Twas a U-boat torpedoed you. And they’ll writhe in hell for it, for the people they murdered. The babies they slaughtered.”
    Though a tear trickled down her cheek, she managed to slide the medicine into him competently. “You have to rest. Your life’s a miracle, for there are more than a thousand dead.”
    “A . . .” He managed to grip her wrist as the horror stabbed through him. “A thousand? ”
    “More than. You’re in Queenstown now, and as well as you can be.” She tilted her head. “An American, are you?”
    Close enough, he decided, as he hadn’t seen the shores of his native England in more than twelve years. “Yes. I need—”
    “Tea,” she interrupted. “And broth.” She moved to the door to shout: “Ma! He’s waked and seems to want to stay that way.” She glanced back. “I’ll be back with something warm in a minute.”
    “Please. Who are you?”
    “Me?” She smiled again, wonderfully sunny. “I’d be Meg. Meg O’Reiley, and you’re in the home of my parents, Pat and Mary O’Reiley, where you’re welcome until you’re mended. And your name, sir?”
    “Greenfield. Felix Greenfield.”
    “God bless you, Mr. Greenfield.”
    “Wait . . . there was a woman, and a little boy. Cunningham.”
    Pity moved over her face. “They’re listing names. I’ll check on them for you when I’m able. Now you rest, and we’ll get you some tea.”
    When she went out, he turned his face toward the window, toward the sun. And saw, sitting on the table under it, the money that had been in his pocket, the garnet earbobs. And the bright silver glint of the little statue.
    Felix laughed until he cried.
     
     
    HE LEARNED THE O’Reileys made their living from the sea. Pat and his two sons had been part of the rescue effort. He met them all, and her younger sister as well. For the first day he was unable to keep any of them straight in his mind. But for Meg herself.
    He clung to her company as he’d clung to the plank, to keep from sliding into the dark again.
    “Tell me what you know,” he begged her.
    “It’ll be hard for you to hear it. It’s hard to speak it.” She moved to his window, looked out at the village where she’d lived all of her eighteen years. Survivors such as Felix were being tended to in hotel rooms, in the homes of neighbors. And the dead, God rest them, were laid in temporary morgues. Some would be buried, some would be sent home. Others would forever be in the grave of the sea.
    “When I heard of it,” she began, “I almost didn’t believe it. How could such a thing be? There were trawlers out, and they went directly to try to rescue survivors. More boats set out from here. Most were too late to do more than bring back the dead. Oh sweet God, I saw myself some of the people as they made land. Women and babies, men barely able to walk and half naked. Some cried, and others just stared. Like you do when you’re lost. They say the liner went down in less than twenty minutes. Can that be?”
    “I don’t know,” Felix murmured, and shut his eyes.
    She glanced back at him and hoped he was strong enough for the rest. “More have died since coming here. Exposure and injuries too grievous to heal. Some spent hours in the water. The