I had been told the housekeeper from the house where I was to work would meet me at the dock. She would have seen my name on the manifest and would be waiting for me. Nora was to have been met by Mr. O’Hanlon’s housekeeper. I decided to look for her first. Even though she surely knew by now that Nora’s name was not on the survivor list, she, like the other people here, might still be hoping the information was wrong. I knew by now it was not wrong and thought the kindest thing to do was to let her hear it from me.

I picked my way through the bustling crowd, paying close attention to the signs. As I neared the fringes of it, I saw a small, thin woman with a hard face holding up a sign bearing my name. I halted. My stomach tightened, and I swallowed hard. I peered at the sign again, hoping I had been mistaken, and then at the woman’s disagreeable expression.

“Would you be Delia Sweeney?” she rasped.

I took an instant dislike to her. She conjured up images of Ma. I backed away. I wasn’t ready for this yet.

“The third-class passengers are still on the boat,” I said. I turned and hurried on, sick at the thought that I would have to return to her once I had located Mr. O’Hanlon’s housekeeper.

The crowd was finally beginning to thin out, and I was just starting to turn back when I saw a large-bosomed woman, her shoulders slouched with fatigue. As she turned to walk away, I glimpsed the sign she carried, with Nora’s name on it. I squared my shoulders and walked toward her, preparing to give her the sad news.

As I walked, time began to slow, and the sounds around me became muffled. I was oblivious to the rain pouring down my face and flooding my shoes. As I drew close, the woman turned back, and her eyes settled on me. I smiled at her. She smiled back and, dropping the sign, held out her arms. I walked straight into them and let her wrap me in her embrace. I looked up at her and opened my mouth to speak.

“I am Nora Sweeney.”

I was so shocked at the words that came out of my mouth that I was almost paralyzed. I stood stiffly as the woman let go of me and clasped her hands together.

“’Tis a miracle,” she said in a thick Irish brogue. “Wait ’til I tell Mr. O’Hanlon. ’Twas himself insisted I come here to meet the rescue ship even though ye were not listed as a survivor. He was sure the reports were wrong!” She paused and beamed down at me. “And look at ye,” she said, “like a wee angel. God has blessed ye, saving ye from a watery grave. He must have great plans for ye, darlin’, great plans indeed!”