The Sky Beneath Her(95)

“Mariah Cassidy?”

“That’s right.”

She studied me a beat. “I remember that accident. You’re Tula Cassidy.”

Hearing my name reminded me again of small-town living. “That’s right.”

“I thought you’d moved to Norfolk.”

“I did. And now I’m back for the summer. I’m cleaning out Atticus Brooks’s house in Southern Shores.”

“Ah, Dr. Brooks was very generous to us. We wanted to dedicate a room to him, but he refused.”

“He was very private.”

“Makes sense you’d be curious about the wreck.”

I hated looking back, but I couldn’t go forward until I understood the past better.

“I think Atticus Brooks wrote the manuscript, but there’s no name on the pages.” I removed my phone from my pocket and pulled up the black-and-white images. “This is Dr. Brooks and a mystery woman, around 1946. I’d also like to figure out who she is.”

She pulled glasses from the top of her head to her nose and looked closely at the phone screen. “Let me search the database.”

“What do you know about Dr. Brooks?” I asked.

“A scholar, benefactor, kept to himself. Made several generous donations, not only to us but to ocean-related foundations. Everyone knew of him, but no one really knew him.”

She typed, pressed keys, and then leaned forward. “I have a list.”

“Seriously?”

She pressed another button, and a printer on the desk behind her came alive.

“That was easy,” I added.

“We try to stay organized.” She leaned forward. “What does the manuscript cover?”

“A handful of people who were on the ship at the time it sank.”

“And it’s definitely nonfiction?” she asked.

“I think. It doesn’t feel made up.”

“The best fiction books don’t.”

“If you think of anything, call me,” I said. “I’ll give you my number.”

“Of course. Can you text me those pictures of Dr. Brooks? I’d like to add them to the database, and I might be able to figure out who the woman is.”

When she gave me her number, I texted the pictures, along with my name and number. As I scanned the printed list, I searched Margaret’s name but didn’t find it. “My great-grandmother was on the Oceanus. But I don’t see her name on any list.”

“What was her full name?”

“Margaret Riggs. There was a Chief Mate Kevin Riggs on the Oceanus. I think she married him. I do know Margaret and her husband lived in Norfolk.”

“Maybe the chief mate told her stories that she recounted as her own,” she said.

“I have no idea.”

“Let me see what I can find.”

“Thank you,” I told her.

“If you want to find a permanent home for the manuscript, send it to us. We’d love to have it.”

“Once I’ve copied it, I’ll give it to you.”

“Excellent. So glad you stopped by today, Tula.”

I left the center and slid into my hot car, fired up the engine, and switched on the air-conditioning. I studied the list of names. It was on US Navy stationery, and the typeface was from an old typewriter. I scanned the list. Among the living were Dr. Brooks and Sigrid Stein. The DuPonts had survived, as had Margaret’s husband, Chief Mate Riggs. Captain Stoddard was listed among the dead. William was listed among the dead. There was no mention of Gertrude Werner or her baby.

Gertrude had taken Sigrid’s identity papers. Maybe she’d entered the country under her name. But what happened to Sigrid? And Alfred? As much as I didn’t like either of them, I wanted to know their fate. I had many pieces of this puzzle in place, but the picture wasn’t complete.





Chapter Forty-Two


Gertrude





Saturday, April 25, 1942, 4:00 a.m.


Eight hours after the Oceanus was torpedoed


I woke with a start and slowly realized it was early morning. For a moment, I was aware only of my aching body and the cold, wet wood pressing into my back. And then, just as quickly, I realized my stomach was as empty as my arms. I sat up, searched the women in the boat. The other women were dozing, all huddled in coats and blankets. Dr. Brooks sat against the side of the boat, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. The other lifeboat had drifted away from our tiny vessel and bobbed in the distance.

Sigrid sat beside me, gently rocking the baby.

“Give me my child,” I said.

She carefully lowered the infant into my arms. “He’s perfect. He reminds me so much of my daughter.”

The warmth of the baby’s small body against my arms eased some of the fear gripping me.

“I think he’ll be hungry,” Sigrid said. “Do you know how to feed him?”

I had a general sense, but I’d never had anyone show me.

Her face was barely visible in the moonlight, but I could see the seawater had washed off her makeup, revealing freckles splashed over her nose. “I can help you, if you’ll allow me.”

“You can’t have him,” I said.

“I don’t need him now. That torpedo has erased me and my past. Once we are saved, I’ll make up a new story.”