They were barely away from the gangway when Annabelle asked the question she had to ask. She could guess the answer, but she couldn’t bear not knowing. She whispered it to her mother, “Robert and Daddy?…” Her mother only shook her head, and cried harder as Annabelle led her to the car. Her mother suddenly seemed so frail and so much older. She was a widow at forty-three, and she seemed like an old woman as Thomas gently helped her into the car, and covered her carefully with the fur blanket. Consuelo just looked at him and cried, and then quietly thanked him. She and Annabelle held each other tight in silence as they rode home. Her mother didn’t speak again until they reached the house.

All of the servants were waiting in the front hall, to embrace her, hug her, hold her, and when they saw she was alone, to tell her how sorry they were. Within the hour, there was a somber black wreath on the door. There were many in New York that night, once it was clear who hadn’t come home and never would.

Annabelle helped to bathe her mother and get her into a nightgown, and Blanche fussed over her like a child. She had taken care of Consuelo since she was a young girl, and had attended both Annabelle’s and Robert’s births. And now, it had come to this. As she plumped Consuelo’s pillows up behind her, once they got her into bed, Blanche had to constantly wipe her eyes, and made little comforting cooing sounds. She brought up a tray with tea, porridge, bland toast, broth, and her favorite cookies, which Consuelo didn’t eat. She just sat staring at both of them, unable to say a word.

Annabelle slept in her mother’s bed that night, and finally in the darkest hours, when Consuelo shook from head to foot and couldn’t sleep, she told her daughter what had happened. She had been in lifeboat number four, with her cousin Madeleine Astor, whose husband hadn’t survived either. She said that the lifeboat had only been half full, but her husband and Robert had refused to get in, wanting to stay back to help others, and allow room for the women and children. But there had been plenty of room for them. “If only they’d gotten in,” Consuelo said in desperation. The Wideners, Thayers, and Lucille Carter, all known to her, had been in the lifeboat too. But Robert and Arthur had steadfastly stayed on board to help the others into lifeboats, and given up their lives. Consuelo spoke too of a man named Thomas Andrews, who had been one of the heroes of the night. And she made a point of telling Annabelle that her father and brother had been very brave, which was small consolation now.

They talked for hours, as Consuelo relived the last moments on the ship, and her daughter held her and cried as she listened. Finally as dawn streamed into the room, at last, with a sigh, Consuelo fell asleep.





Chapter 2




There were hundreds of funerals that week in New York, and elsewhere. Newspapers everywhere were filled with poignant stories, and shocking accounts. It was becoming clear to everyone that many of the lifeboats had left the ship half empty, carrying only firstclass passengers, and the world was shocked. The much-acclaimed hero was the captain of the Carpathia, who had rushed to the scene and picked up the survivors. There was still little explanation as to why the ship had sunk. Once it struck the iceberg, they couldn’t avoid her going down. But there was much comment and consternation about why the Titanic had pressed on through the icefield, after it had been warned. Fortunately, the Carpathia had listened to their desperate pleas for help on the radio, or perhaps none of them would have survived.

The doctor had come to check Consuelo, and found her in remarkably good health, although grief-stricken and shocked. All the life seemed to have gone out of her. And Annabelle was left to plan her father and brother’s funerals in infinite detail. The joint service would be held at Trinity Church, which had been a favorite of her father’s.

The service was somber and dignified, with hundreds of mourners there to pay their respects. Both caskets at the Worthington funeral service were empty, as neither body had been recovered, and sadly, never were. Of the 1,517 who died, only fifty-one bodies were ever found. The others disappeared quietly into a watery grave at sea.

Several hundred of the people who attended the service came back to the house afterward, where food and drink were served. Some wakes had a festive atmosphere to them, but this one didn’t. Robert had been only twenty-four, and his father forty-six, both in the flower of life, and had died in such a tragic way. Both Annabelle and Consuelo were swathed in somber black. Annabelle with a handsome black hat, and her mother in a widow’s veil. And that night, when everyone had left, Consuelo looked shattered beyond belief. So much so that Annabelle couldn’t help wondering how much of her mother was left. Her spirit seemed to have died with her two men, and Annabelle was seriously worried about her.

It was a great relief to Annabelle when her mother announced at breakfast two weeks after the funeral that she wanted to go to the hospital where she did volunteer work. She said she thought it would do her good to think of someone else, and Annabelle agreed.

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mama?” Annabelle inquired quietly, with a look of concern. She didn’t want her mother getting sick, although it was early May and the temperature was warm.

“I’m fine,” her mother said sadly. As fine as she was going to be for a long time. And that afternoon, both women wore their black dresses, and white hospital aprons, and went to St. Vincent’s Hospital, where Consuelo had worked as a volunteer for years. Annabelle had joined her mother there since she was fifteen. They worked mostly with the indigent, and dealt more with wounds and injuries than infectious diseases. Annabelle had always been fascinated by the work, and had a natural talent for it, and her mother had a gentle manner and a kind heart. But the medical aspect of it was what had always intrigued Annabelle, and whenever possible she read medical books to explain the procedures they saw. She had never been squeamish, unlike Hortie, who had fainted the only time Annabelle had convinced her to join them. The messier a situation got, the more Annabelle liked it. Her mother preferred to serve food on trays, while Annabelle assisted the nurses whenever they let her, changing dressings and cleaning wounds. Patients always said that she had an amazingly gentle touch.

They returned exhausted that night, after a long, tiring afternoon, and went back to the hospital again later that week. If nothing else, it was keeping both Annabelle and her mother distracted from their double loss. Suddenly, the spring that had been meant to be the most exciting time of Annabelle’s life, after her debut, had turned into a time of solitude and mourning. They would accept no invitations for the next year, which worried Consuelo. While Annabelle would remain at home in somber black, all the other young women who had just come out would be getting engaged. She was afraid that the tragedy that had struck them would also now impact her daughter’s future in a most unfortunate way, but there was nothing they could do. Annabelle didn’t seem to think about what she was missing. Appropriately, she was far more distressed about their losses than about her future, or the absence of a social life.

Hortie still came to visit them often, and in mid-May they quietly celebrated Annabelle’s nineteenth birthday. Consuelo was very upset at lunch, and commented that she had married at eighteen, when she came out, and Robert had been born when she was the age that Annabelle was now. Thinking about it reduced her to tears again, and she had left the two girls in the garden, and went upstairs to lie down.

“Your poor mother,” Hortie said sympathetically, and then looked at her friend, “and poor you. I’m so sorry, Belle. This is all so awful.” She felt so badly for her that it took her another two hours to admit that she and James had set the date for their wedding, in November, and plans for an enormous reception were under way. Annabelle said she was thrilled for her, and meant it. “You really don’t care that you can’t go out right now?” Hortie asked her. She would have hated being stuck in the house for a year, but Annabelle accepted it with grace. She was only nineteen, and the next year wasn’t going to be fun for her. But she had already grown up immeasurably in the brief month since her brother and father had died.

“I don’t mind,” Annabelle said quietly. “And as long as Mama is willing to work at the hospital, it gives me something to do when I go with her.”

“Ergh, don’t talk to me about that.” Hortie rolled her eyes. “It makes me sick.” But she knew that her friend loved it. “Will you still go to Newport this year?” The Worthingtons had a beautiful cottage there, in Rhode Island, next door to the Astors.

“Mama says we will. Maybe we can go up early, in June, instead of July, before the season starts. I think it would do her good.” Caring for her mother was Annabelle’s only concern now, unlike Hortie, who had a wedding to plan, a million parties to go to, and a fiancé she was madly in love with. Her life was what Annabelle’s should have been, and no longer was. Her world, as she knew it, had been interrupted, changed forever.

“At least we’ll be together in Newport,” Hortie said happily. They both loved to go swimming, when their mothers would let them. They talked about the wedding plans for a while, and then Hortie left. For Annabelle, it had been a very quiet birthday.

In the weeks following the funerals, Consuelo and Annabelle had several visits, as was expected. Friends of Robert’s came to call, several elderly dowagers came to offer their condolences to Consuelo, two men from Arthur’s bank whom they knew well, and finally, a third one, whom Consuelo had met several times, and liked very much. His name was Josiah Millbank, he was thirty-eight years old, and was much respected at Arthur’s bank. He was a quiet man, with gentle manners, and told Consuelo several stories about Arthur that she’d never heard before, and which made her laugh. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed Josiah’s visit, and he had been there for an hour when Annabelle came in from a ride with Hortie. Annabelle remembered meeting him previously, but didn’t know him well. He was more her father’s generation than her own, and was even fourteen years older than her brother, so although they had seen each other at parties, they had nothing in common. But like her mother, she was impressed by his kindness and good manners, and he was sympathetic to Annabelle as well.