A Family for the Titanic Survivor: An uplifting love story

By Lauri Robinson

From third class on the Titanic…

…to upper-class bride?

When barmaid Bridget McGowen boarded the Titanic, she never could have imagined the crossing ahead of her. The resilient Irishwoman saves four-year-old Elsie, the niece of New York banker Karl Wingard. Swept into Karl’s world, Bridget feels like a fish out of water, except for the quiet moments she shares with him. As her connection to Karl and Elsie grows, can she break free from the shackles of society so they can be a family?

From Harlequin Historical: Your romantic escape to the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Historical
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781488071669

Lauri Robinson

Lauri Robinson lives in Minnesota where she and her husband spend every spare moment with their three grown sons and their families—spoiling the grandchildren. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and Northern Lights Writers. Along with volunteering for several organizations, she is a diehard Elvis and NASCAR fan. Her favorite getaway location is along the Canadian Border of Northern Minnesota on the land homesteaded by her great-grandfather.

Book preview

Chapter One

1912

Bridget McGowen had always known that this day would come, but now that it had arrived, a mixture of emotions as thick as a pot of stew that had simmered too long filled her stomach. America. Da had saved every penny possible for this dream to come true. To send her to America. It was the dream of nearly every Irish family—saving enough money to send a child across the ocean.

Not to become a household servant or laborer, but to rise above, like others had, including Da’s cousin Martha.

Martha had become a wealthy woman, a successful woman, all on her own.

A heavy and long sigh slowly seeped out of Bridget.

Today was so bittersweet.

Leaving everything she’d ever known to embark upon a voyage across the sea and arrive in a new country, an entirely new world.

It was exciting—the jubilance of so many people surrounding her, talking, cheering, giddy about their adventure, made it so. But to her, it was also sorrowful.

Da had died last week.

That pain was still strong, still so consuming it made her eyes sting. If anyone was to notice, they might think it was the mist from the salty sea air. A silly thought, indeed. Everyone was too busy, too excited to board the steamer, to notice she had tears in her eyes, or a broken heart in her chest.

In Da’s last breaths, he’d told her to lift a board beneath his bed and take out the metal box hidden there. She had, and she’d cried because she’d known the significance of the money in that box. It was for her trip to America. The pennies, nickels and dimes he’d pinched, saved and hidden away for her to have this opportunity.

I’m here, Da, in Southampton, and will soon set sail for America. I’ll make your dream come true.

Da had made her promise that she’d do just this. Travel to America and open a boardinghouse like his cousin Martha had done in Chicago. Martha had returned to Ireland several times dressed in the latest finery and touting to friends and family that the opportunities in America were endless.

Bridget had promised to go, but not until Da no longer needed her.

A nudge in the center of her back urged her forward, shuffling shoulder to shoulder and toe to heel with a crowd the likes of which she’d never seen, up the angled wooden pier that creaked and swayed with the weight it upheld as people made their way aboard the Titanic. A ship so massive, so long and wide and tall, Bridget had a hard time believing it could float.

She also had a hard time believing she was boarding it. The greatest luxury liner ever built. The greatest luxury she’d ever known was when there was a slow night at the pub and she’d slip away to enjoy a long soak in a hot tub of water, reading until the water grew cold.

Uncle Matt had claimed the Titanic had a bathtub made of pure gold. She’d heard him say that from the kitchen of the pub, where she’d been washing the constant flow of mugs and cups used by the patrons, just as she had for as long as she could remember. Da had always said that Uncle Matt had kissed the Blarney Stone more than once; that’s why he could talk at the rate of two men. Normally the constant rattle of Uncle Matt’s voice had entered one ear and gone out the other without taking any sort of root in her mind.

That night though, mere days after they’d put Da in the ground, the way Uncle Matt had been boasting made her step away from the wash pan and move closer to the door. She’d heard of the great ship. Of its maiden voyage. Men had been peddling tickets for the ocean liner for months. Just as they had for every ship heading for America. The Titanic had been built in Ireland, which gave Uncle Matt more to brag about.

Disbelief had entered her when she’d heard him boast about securing a ticket on the ocean liner.

For himself.

That’s when her disbelief had turned into something more. She’d hurried up the stairway in the back room, to the living quarters she and her father had shared above the pub, and into the room that was barely large enough for her bed and chest of drawers. Upon opening the top drawer, digging past her ironed and folded aprons, anger like she’d never known had coiled into a hard knot in her stomach.

It had been taken. The metal box. Her money.

Back downstairs, with the room full of men—family, friends, foes and strangers—she’d demanded her money. The money that Da had saved for her and that had been in her dresser drawer until her uncle, her very own flesh and blood, had stolen it.

It had a been a row, one that had made her squeamish, because of the shame it had brought upon her family, that her very uncle would steal from her, but she’d gotten her money back.

Right there.

Right then.

Uncle Matt claimed he’d only been teasing her, testing her so that she’d put the money in a safer spot, but she knew blarney when she heard it. That night, upon closing and locking the doors of the pub, she’d packed her bag and had left early the next morning. Upon securing a ticket, she’d taken the ferry and train all the way to Southampton, and now would travel upon the Titanic across the Atlantic to start a new life. In America. Where she would make all those dreams, all those hopes Da had had for her, come true.

Another nudge urged her forward again, although it was merely half a step up the packed walkway. The entire wharf was crowded, full of women wearing dresses and hats as fancy and frivolous as those seen in pictures, and men who looked just as dapper in their suit coats and shined shoes. There were plenty of people dressed like her, too, wearing what had to be their best clothes, homespun and home sewn serviceable clothing.

While huge nets full of traveling trunks and suitcases were being hoisted high in the air and over the edge of the ship, the people on this pier were like her, carrying various bags and cases that held all the earthly belongings they were taking along for their journey.

The trunks and suitcases in those overhead nets belonged to the people on the piers and stairways above her, boarding the ship in their fancy clothes and hats—first-class passengers.

Their walkway was high overhead. Below that was the second-class pier, and below that was where she stood. On the third-class pier. The separation was designed to keep people in their rightful places. She wasn’t bitter or surprised by that; it was the way of the world. There was the upper class and lower class in everything. Cousin Martha had said things were different in America, though. Bridget was a bit concerned about that because different could mean a lot of things. In this instance, she hoped different meant everyone had the same opportunity to achieve their dreams. Humble beginnings were food for the soul, but they shouldn’t rule a person’s life.

They shouldn’t make them want to steal from their family, either. Uncle Matt and Da came from the same place, the same womb, but they sure had been different. Da had been the salt of the earth. Honest, kind, loving. He’d taught her the importance of those things, too.

So, although she had taken her money, that which was rightfully hers, she had also left a note for Uncle Matt, bequeathing him her share of the Green Door, her half of the pub that she’d inherited upon her father’s death. And more importantly, she forgave him. Uncle Matt was family.

The faint shrill of a child’s scream shattered Bridget’s thoughts. There was so much noise she wasn’t sure where it had come from. There didn’t seem to be a commotion on the pier. Yet, she’d distinctly heard a child scream.

Glancing up, she spied something tumbling through the air. Without concern or thought to the people around her, she leaped onto the piped handrail of the pier and stretched out an arm just in time to grasp ahold of a corner of the fluttering material and draw it close.

A doll. A cherub-faced doll with bright blue eyes and pink cheeks wearing a ruffled, white eyelet dress. Memories filled her as she glanced up, saw the small arm of a little girl extended over a man’s shoulder as the man entered the doorway of the ship on the first-class pier. She’d had a similar doll, years ago, that she had loved dearly.

Set upon entering themselves, no one on her pier seemed to have noticed her rescue, or if they had, they weren’t concerned, nor did they make room to allow her to step off the rail, to gain a spot back in the boarding line.

A young man finally paused. Thanking him, she stepped off the rail and kept a tight hold on the doll while the ushering aboard continued, along with the inspection of boarding cards and the shouting of stewards for passengers to proceed to the D, E, F or G decks. Once inside, the sound of the crowd, the stewards shouting and the rumbling of the engines echoed between the heavy walls and vibrated in her ears. The process seemed to take hours, and by the time she finally found her berth, Bridget’s nerves were frayed.

A crowd at the Green Door had meant two, maybe three dozen people, not thousands, and she’d already been traveling for over a day and a half.

Opening the door, a tiny gasp caught in her throat. The cabin was small, but certainly accommodating. A set of bunk beds, complete with linens and blankets, were connected to one wall, a sink and mirror on the far wall, and two folding chairs sat along the wall across from the beds. The floor was pink, the walls painted white, and there were small white towels folded so they stood up on top of the holding tank above the sink and below the mirror.

Closing the door, the first thing she did was examine those towels. They were truly the fanciest things she’d ever seen.

When the time came, she would do that with towels at her boardinghouse. Fold them so they stood up, looking pretty while waiting for use.

She set her bag and the doll on the top bunk, leaving the easier-to-access lower bed for whoever her berth mate might be, and removed her wool coat, which had caused her to grow warm during all the hustle and bustle of boarding and finding her cabin. After hanging the coat on a hook, she made sure the small, crocheted purse holding her money was still safely tucked in her skirt pocket, then picked the doll off the bed.

The ocean liner was very large, and once she’d entered the inside of the ship, she’d taken so many turns, walked along so many hallways, that she wasn’t sure which way was north, east, south or west, but there was a little girl who was sure to be worried about her doll.

Opening the door, she stepped into the hallway and pulled closed the door she’d been so relieved to find only moments ago. Lines of people filled the corridors at both ends of the hallway. She chose the direction from which she hadn’t trekked to arrive at her berth, hoping the steward down there would be a bit more friendly.

The line extended the length of the corridor, and it took a long time before someone allowed her to squeeze in and start shuffling forward. Upon arriving at an intersection of corridors, she waited for her turn to speak to the young steward directing the persons in line as to which way to proceed. Left or right.

Excuse me, she said, a child from first class dropped this doll. Would you be able to see it’s delivered to her?

Without looking her way, he said, No. He glanced at the card the person behind her held over her head. Left.

She held the frustration that bubbled inside her as she said, I’m sure the child was upset and—

Where’s your boarding card? He glanced at another person’s card. Right.

In my berth, she answered.

Then return there until we set sail, he snapped, and went on shouting left and right as people showed him their boarding cards.

Frustration filled his voice and actions. It filled the faces of those around her, as well. There was a set of steps behind the steward, so, with no other option, she turned, excused her way through the line of people proceeding that way, and once across the hall, quickly climbed a different set of stairs.

She requested help from more stewards, with the same luck as the first, and therefore continued working her way through crowds and up stairways. The higher the sets of stairs took her, the more changes she noticed. Painted white walls and doors along the corridors became solid wood doors and the pink flooring became carpet that muffled her footsteps. Higher yet, the walls of the corridors had wooden wainscoting with wallpapered walls above it, and the doors were elegantly carved with gold number plates rather than painted on numbers.

The final set of stairs led her down a hallway that ended in a large foyer, with the grandest staircase she’d ever set eyes on. The double set of steps led to a massive landing of two open corridors and the arched windows filled the ship with sunlight, making everything sparkle and shine.

Awed, she crossed the room to the very center, then turned a complete circle, pausing to watch people stepping in and out of the elevators before completing her turn to face the stairway again. Impressively carved woodwork surrounded an elegant clock at the top of the steps where the corridors met. It was all so gorgeous.

Oh, Da, you wouldn’t believe this.

Excuse me, miss, I believe you must be lost.

She twisted, nodded, then shook her head. No, no, I’m not lost. At least she hoped she’d find her way back to her berth. I’m in need of some assistance.

There are stewards that can help you on your deck, said the man, who was dressed in a black-and-white formal suit.

No, they couldn’t help me, Bridget said, easing the hold on the doll still clutched to her chest. I believe a child boarding on the first-class walkway dropped this doll. I need to return it to her.

Very well, I will see to that. He held out his hand.

She was about to hand the doll over but, having encountered so many stewards who weren’t concerned about the doll, became suspicious. How?

How?

Yes, how will you see the child gets her doll?

He stiffened, lifted his chin a bit higher. I will inquire if anyone has reported one missing.

All right.

He reached for the doll.

She clutched it to her chest again. I’ll wait while you inquire.

The look he cast down his nose was full of disgust. I will inquire after we set sail. You need to return to your berth.

Why can’t you inquire now?

Because not everyone has boarded. Now if you will just—

The child has, Bridget interrupted. She normally wouldn’t be so rude, but this man wasn’t being any more helpful than the others had been. No one seemed to care about anything but setting sail. A man was carrying her. Wearing a black coat. Her coat was pink.

Miss, do you have any idea how many—

Betsy! Betsy!

Bridget stepped around the steward. A little girl was rushing down the massive staircase as fast as her little legs would let her, closely followed by a man and woman. Certain this was the doll’s owner, Bridget knelt down and held out the doll.

Betsy! Oh, Betsy! Long brown hair bounced on her shoulders as the girl jumped off the bottom step and ran forward, arms out.

Bridget’s heart swelled as she handed the doll to the girl, who clutched the toy tight to her chest as tiny tears fell from big brown eyes.

Oh, how are we ever going to thank you? the woman asked, kneeling down beside the girl.

How did you find her? the man asked, kneeling down on the other side of the child.

I saw her fall, Bridget said. And caught her.

I hadn’t known she’d fallen—what had made Elsie scream—until we were inside. The man shook his head and then whispered over the child’s head. I was sure she’d fallen in the water.

Bridget shook her head. She fell right into my arms.

She did? the girl asked, still hugging her doll.

She did, Bridget answered. And I told her that I’d help her find you.

The steward cleared his throat. Excuse me, sir.

The man nodded, stood and picked up the little girl. I’m Benjamin Wingard. This is my wife, Annette, and our daughter, Elsie, he said to Bridget.

And you’ve already met Betsy, the wife said. Elsie’s uncle Karl gave Betsy to Elsie for Christmas, and she hasn’t let the doll out of her sight since. We are so grateful to you. What is your name?

Bridget was about to introduce herself, but the steward cleared his throat again.

We were on our way to the café for a refreshment, Mr. Wingard said. Please join us.

The steward cleared his throat yet again, louder.

Tall, with brown hair and eyes, like his daughter, Mr. Wingard looked at the steward. Thank you, your services are no longer needed.

The steward stiffened. The café is reserved for first-class passengers only, Mr. Wingard.

This young woman is our guest, Mr. Wingard said.

Bridget shook her head, fully prepared to find her way back to her cabin now that Elsie had been reunited with Betsy.

She most certainly is, Mrs. Wingard said, looping an arm through Bridget’s. We promised Elsie cookies and lemonade. Please join us.

Bridget saw the scowl on the steward’s face, but she was already being pulled along by Mrs. Wingard.

What is your name? the woman asked.

Bridget McGowen.

Bridget, what a lovely name, and you are a true angel. There was no consoling Elsie over the loss of Betsy. Benjamin and I tried everything. We were relieved when she finally agreed to a cookie, and then seeing you with Betsy... She patted the corner of one eye. I just can’t thank you enough.

I’m glad the two are reunited, Bridget answered, gradually slowing her footsteps as they neared the entrance to the café. I really should return to my deck.

Is someone waiting on you?

No, I— She swallowed because it still hurt to say, especially seeing how loving the Wingards were to their daughter. I’m alone. Alone in the world. That was still hard to admit.

Then you simply must join us for lemonade, or tea, or whatever you prefer.

Bridget’s insides bubbled at the pleading in the other woman’s blue eyes beneath her stylish purple hat that was encircled with a wide band of white silk, and matched her purple and white dress. Bridget’s dress was blue, a dull blue, and not nearly as stylish. Most certainly not stylish enough for a first-class café. She wasn’t stylish enough, either.

Not wanting to disappoint anyone, yet, knowing her place, Bridget whispered, I’m not allowed in there.

Nonsense, Mr. Wingard said, walking on the other side of his wife and still carrying Elsie. You are our guest.

It will be fine, Annette said. Benjamin and his brother are bankers. They are the reason this ship was built.

The only banker Bridget had ever known was George O’Reilly, and Da claimed George was so greedy he’d rob a blind man.

Mr. Wingard laughed at his wife’s claim. My brother and I did assist in gaining capital for the White Star Line to build this magnificent ship, but we are not the reason it was built. He winked at his wife. But I agree with my wife. You must join us for a refreshment.

Is that why you’re on the maiden voyage? Bridget asked.

Annette’s eyes grew sad. No, it’s just a coincidence. We are going home. We’ve been here for a month. My father was ill and died two weeks ago.

I’m sorry, Bridget said. My Da died last week.

Oh, I’m so sorry. Annette’s hold on Bridget’s arm tightened. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Being an orphan? I know I’m an adult, but that’s how I feel with both my mother and father gone now.

Bridget did, too, and couldn’t say if it was their common losses, or her part in reuniting Elsie with her doll, but from that moment on, she felt a connection to the Wingards.

---

The four days that followed were truly wonderful. Benjamin and Annette had several dinners and events they had been invited to attend, and because Elsie’s nanny had broken her foot while they’d been in England and had remained behind, Bridget offered to watch Elsie whenever they needed her during the voyage.

Because she was a friend of theirs, Bridget was also able to join the Wingards, seeing sections of the ship that were only for first-class passengers. The restaurants, library, even the swimming pool. Each night, she would share her daily adventures with Catherine, her berth mate, who was also from Ireland and traveling to America with her brother Sean. He was traveling as a steerage passenger, sleeping and eating in a large bunk room for single men.

I sincerely wish I could convince you to stay in New York, Annette said one night while getting ready to go to an evening party. Mrs. Conrad is a dear, but she was Benjamin and Karl’s nanny, and just doesn’t have the energy for a four-year-old. Elsie adores you.

And I adore her, Bridget replied, placing the final pin in the back of Annette’s hair. Elsie was such a little darling, and Annette and Benjamin were two of the kindest, most generous people imaginable. But I can’t stay in New York. I promised my Da I’d go to Chicago, to his cousin Martha’s boardinghouse, and eventually start my own boardinghouse.

Annette sighed, but smiled into the mirror. I understand, and I’m happy for you. She turned around on the stool. "I’m just going to miss you. It’s silly, but I feel like you’re the sister I