Arrival

April 18, 1912

The silence was deafening. There had to be over a thousand people on the deck surrounding Meg as she peered off into the distance at New York City as it grew larger, but no one seemed to be saying a word. Only the gentle pitter patter of raindrops as they hit the metal railings and the sodden wooden planking broke the torturous sound of nothing ringing in her ears.

She still wore the same white shirtwaist and plaid skirt the stewardess who had been so helpful when they’d first come aboard three days ago was able to find for her, but she wasn’t much worried about how she looked. Her hair was pinned up more to keep it out of her way, but she noticed it was starting to fall out, and she tried not to touch it for fear her hand would pull away a fresh clump.

For three days, she and Jonathan had taken turns sitting alongside Charlie’s bed. He was lucid at times, very much aware of where he was, of who he was. Other times, he had no ide