As I lay there, more images came—the posh women in the lifeboat refusing to let more women in even though there was still room; the boat tilting and scraping the side of the ship as the seamen lowered it into the water; the ice-cold wind as we floated on the black sea. I shivered, remembering how desperately cold I’d been. The images were as clear as if they’d happened yesterday, and a terrible fear came over me. It was as if the ice had broken on a river and I had fallen through, water crashing over me in all directions. My throat tightened and my breath came in short spurts. My heart hammered in my chest and I felt panic rising in me—the same panic I had felt that night. Then everything went black.

It was dark when I awoke. Mrs. Shaw hovered over me.

“How are you feeling, dear? We’ve all been worried about you.”

I tried to smile. “I’m all right. I had a dizzy spell and felt faint. I’m sorry I missed the tea.”

She patted my hand. “You mustn’t be sorry. It could not be helped. And besides, I believe we missed you more than you missed us. Young Martha—remember, you marched with her in the protest—is especially fond of you. She sends her regards.”

I tried to raise myself up from the pillow, but I hadn’t the strength. My head sank back down, and I let out a groan. Mrs. Shaw looked at me in alarm.

“Oh my dear, I think you had more than just a dizzy spell. I fear you might be coming down with something. You must rest. I will ask Beatrice to bring you up some soup.”

After she left, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But more images kept coming. I was running, holding on to a young man’s hand as we raced up one staircase after another. Someone behind us was calling after me. It was a girl, but I couldn’t turn around because the people behind were pushing me forward. When we got to the top deck there was a crowd of people. They were going mad, shouting and screaming, while seamen were lifting women into a lifeboat. The young man pushed me toward the boat and disappeared. I remembered hanging back, calling for the young woman who had followed us. “Delia!” I called, “Delia!” Then a seaman pushed me into the lifeboat.

I tossed from side to side in the bed like someone in a fever. I wanted the images to go away and give me some peace. But they wouldn’t. They kept playing over and over. I took deep breaths and tried to calm down. Mercifully, sleep began to take over. As I drifted off, I whispered the name Delia. Who was she?