Sure enough, the next day a telegram from Pirrie informed them that they would turn the Titanic over to White Star Line on 20 March, 1912. Lord Pirrie had given them two more days after consultation with Mr. Kempster revealed that a vendor would have trouble meeting the original deadline.
Tom made a notation in his time travel journaclass="underline" The smallest details seem to fall into place without any prodding or manipulation from anyone. I don’t know whether to be confident or afraid.
Sam was determined to save Riley, and finally found an asylum in Switzerland that seemed accommodating. He then began the lengthy process to convince the powers that be to send Riley there, rather than to jail. He worked with Tom’s brother James, whose practice in law, Sam knew, would eventually lead to a Judgeship in Ireland’s highest court. James approved of Sam’s empathy, but warned Sam that he must not let his empathy for Riley overrule his common sense.
The judge was skeptical. He was inclined, based on the evidence, to use the death penalty, unless he could be convinced that Riley was insane and incapable of controlling his decisions. It was Riley who provided the final proof.
James told everyone about it over dinner at Ardara the Sunday before the trial, shaking his head in amazement. “Sam had hired a psychiatrist to talk to Riley and give the judge a report. So the fellow’s visiting Riley and ‘just chatting,’ he says, when Riley leans in toward him, all intent-like, and says,” James sat straighter, wagging his finger furiously in front of him at his audience, quoting his source who was quoting Riley, “’He’s from the future, you see! He knows things! He’s planning to take over the woooorld!’” James finished with an exaggerated flourish, extending the last word dramatically, as everyone around the table laughed or gasped in amazement.
Tom, Casey, and Sam all managed to smile, as if amused. After a piercing glance to Casey, Sam attempted some spin control. “I knew he thought that, he’s accused me of it, before.” He shook his head. “It’s why I thought he was insane, after all. He believed it enough and was frightened enough of it, to try and kill me. He needs help.”
James sipped his tea. “He’ll get it, now. Your doctor will recommend to the judge tomorrow that he be sent to that asylum you found. He said he’s only disappointed he can’t work with him, himself. He thinks it’s a fascinating case.”
They were all relieved at the satisfactory ending and the conversation moved on, but Sam noticed Mrs. Andrews, as she watched Tom with a thoughtful expression on her face.
Early in September, Casey was unpacking herbs in the greenhouse when Sam came in. He watched for a minute, then moved over to help. “You’ve been awfully quiet the last few days, girl. What’s up?”
She shrugged, not answering, but her expression could just about freeze the herbs. He tried again. “Did you and Tom have a fight?”
She gasped out a laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m just worried, is all.”
“About what?”
Her look clearly said, you’ve got to be kidding, as she picked up another container of herbs.
He moved to the next table and spread out a batch to help. When Casey spoke, her voice was small. “I wish he wouldn’t go.”
Sam turned in astonishment to stare at her. “He has to go, Case.”
She looked perplexed and angry. “Why? Where is that written?” She shrugged again. “He’s led the last three guarantee groups on maiden voyages. Maybe it’s time to let someone else take the reins. I’m thinking of asking him.”
“Don’t ask him to do that, Casey.” Sam couldn’t even look at her, he was so disturbed.
She threw the herbs onto the counter. “You have no right…”
“You have no right! Damn it, Casey! You have no right to ask this of him. You’ve lived with him all this time, you’ve loved him, and you don’t understand this one thing?”
“I understand he has children. He has a life, here.” Casey was shaking. “I can’t do it, Sam. I can’t let him walk onto that ship. If he doesn’t come back… how can I live without him? How can I live knowing I could have stopped him?”
“Casey, he can’t do it. No matter what you want, no matter what he wants, he can’t stay away. And if you ask him to, gods, Casey, do you have any idea what that will do to him? Think, damn it! If you force that choice on him, you destroy him. Do you see that?”
She shook her head, stubbornly. “No! It won’t! He has a right to stay with his wife and children. No one will blame him for that.”
“He’ll blame himself. You know that, Casey. If he’s not there and something happens, you’ll lose him anyway. He will never forgive himself and on some level, he’ll never forgive you for forcing it on him. Is that the life you want?”
He could see her shaking from across the room, as she gripped the table, trying to stay upright, tears falling on the herbs. “How can I live without him?” she whispered. “How do I do this?”
“You just let him go, Casey. You, of all people, understand that we all make our own choices. Yet you want to take his choice away from him and turn him into a prisoner.” Sam sat, trying to remain the calm one, and continued, “He’s worked—we’ve all worked—these past years to make this event a non-event. We have a very good chance of succeeding. But he must be there. If something happens, his knowledge, his skill, will be desperately needed by the two thousand people on that ship. If the worst happens, there are now enough lifeboats. He’ll be on a lifeboat. You can make him promise you that. I think he’d do it anyway, but ask him that. But don’t make him choose between you and those people. Because no matter what his choice is, Casey, you’ll be the loser.”
She looked at him, letting his words sink in. Gradually her shaking lessened, although her tears continued to fall. Eventually she nodded and left the room. He didn’t follow her. He’d stopped her from forcing a choice on Tom, because he sincerely believed the cost of that choice would be more than they would want to pay. But he had forced a choice on Casey, and he did wonder what the price would be for that.
The fallout, as Sam called it, from Tom’s letter, continued to hold the attention of Belfast’s citizens. The ladies of Belfast had rallied behind Casey, even those who had voted her out of the Horticultural Society.
“They were afraid,” Mrs. Herceforth told Casey over tea one afternoon in her elegant parlor, newly painted a delicate pink, with golden wood wainscoting. “A good many of them thought your idea was harmless, but no one was willing to stand up against Sloan. They were too afraid they’d be the only one doing it.” She offered Casey another sandwich. “Even I was afraid, dear. And I doubt that Sloan would ever try to hurt me.”
“And now?” Casey was still leery of their acceptance.
“Your husband has roused the entire town against them.” Mrs. Herceforth shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. But somehow, your husband has convinced people that even Catholic rule would be better than being prisoners to those who are supposed to be our brothers.”
“You see, that’s where people have the wrong idea,” Casey put her cup down and stared firmly at her hostess. “I’m concerned that thinking like that will eventually turn people away. Tom isn’t advocating for Home Rule and certainly not for Catholic rule.” She held a hand out in supplication. “Secular rule. Ireland needs secular rule.”
“You mean like in America?” Mrs. Herceforth shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s possible in this country.”
“Nonsense. If the Irish were so afraid of it, they wouldn’t be moving to America in droves.”