Seven Minutes Late

On the afternoon of Monday, April 15, as Mama rested in her bedroom with the newborn twins sleeping in a bassinet nearby, Sara brought in the mail stacked atop the afternoon edition of The Memphis Press. After helping Mama into a sitting position and adjusting her pillows, Sara left Mama alone and returned to supper preparations in the kitchen. Mama thumbed through the mail. When she noted that there was nothing from Papa that day, she opened the newspaper. All the mail slipped from her hands and fell to the floor as she focused on the stunning headline: The Titanic had sunk! Reading no further, she screamed, “Sara! Sara, come quickly!” Having barely made it back to the kitchen, Sara reappeared within seconds and threw open the door. “What is it, Mrs. Urbancic? What’s the matter?” Sara saw Mama’s panic-stricken face, then the newspaper across her lap. “Sara, please! Send the children outside and come back as quickly as you can. And don’t say anything to them,” Mama Phyllis A. Titus 50 commanded. “Please, Sara! Hurry!” Mama began to feel weak and almost nauseated as she waited for Sara to get the children outside. She couldn’t bear to read any further than the headline above the fold, so once Sara returned, Mama asked her to read it aloud. The dreadful news was like a tornado appearing out of nowhere and blowing through Mama’s life, sweeping all her thoughts into a swirling cyclone. “This cannot be happening!” she kept telling herself. But Sara’s ominous tone and the newspaper reports confirmed the truth. The Titanic had indeed gone down after hitting an iceberg two-thirds of the way through its voyage, and there was great loss of life. Only about a third of those on board had been saved, and most of them were women and children. It was the worst civilian maritime disaster in history. By this time Mama was sobbing uncontrollably. Sara stopped reading and set the paper aside, then moved close to Mama near the top of the bed, wrapped her arms around her, and just held her tightly. For the longest time, they stayed like that, not saying a word. Fortunately, Sara had had the presence of mind to lock the door before entering Mama’s room. Since baby Lep was napping and the older children were all outside playing in the side yard just below her window, Mama had time to calm down a bit and collect her thoughts. “We mustn’t panic, Sara. We mustn’t. We don’t know for sure. Leopold might have been saved. Mightn’t he have? He could still be alive, couldn’t he, Sara?” “Yes, ma’am,” was all Sara could say. Seven Minutes Late 51 Then the fog began to clear from Mama’s brain. “Sara, would you please go fetch Father Louis? I must speak with him. Go through the alley so the children won’t see you. Please— go now!” Sara turned and dashed down the stairs and through the kitchen. The screen door slammed behind her as she ran across the yard. She headed into the alleyway in the direction of the parish rectory. It was at that moment that she saw Father Louis, the parish priest, hurrying toward her. He had already heard the news and was coming to see if he might be of assistance. He followed Sara into the house through the back door and into the front parlor. After offering the priest a seat, she rushed up the stairs to Mama’s room. Knowing that Mama had not bathed since the babies were born, Sara brought her a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a basin of clean water, then helped her sit up in bed so she could freshen up. Then she helped Mama brush and pin up her hair and put on a nice housecoat so that she would be presentable for the priest. Mama instructed Sara to check on the children and finish with the supper preparations, and then said, “I’m ready, Sara. You may bring him up now.” Mama felt an immediate sense of relief as Father Louis entered the room and seated himself in a chair at her bedside. Knowing her well, Father Louis took her hand and asked, “Julia, shall we pray?” “Oh, please, yes!” Mama answered, and he bowed his head and began to pray. This consoled her. Once he was finished, Phyllis A. Titus 52 she was able to converse with him and hear his counsel, but she reached that point only after she had barraged him with questions, the same ones she had asked Sara, and a few more. “I’m so afraid, Father,” Mama told him. “I don’t want to lose him. I’m not ready to be a widow. How can this be happening? This ship was thought to be unsinkable. He could’ve lived, couldn’t he have, Father? Surely God would not take a father away from his children—his nine children! Oh, Father, he doesn’t even know about the babies!” Father Louis just let her talk and cry. He had a gift for knowing when to speak and when to be quiet, and he used his gift. He also had a knack for knowing just what to say when words were needed. “Father, what do I tell the children? I must tell them tonight, or they’ll go to school tomorrow and hear it from someone else. I have no idea how to handle this. And I have no strength. This is beyond anything I can handle. What should I do, Father? What should I do?”