Chapter Forty-One Tula
Chapter Forty-One
Tula
Once Nathan and I had returned to the boat, I was breathless.
I pulled off my mask and shrugged off my tanks.
Neither of us spoke as the other divers chatted about what they’d seen.
He piloted the boat along the shore, and soon we were docked in the harbor.
After the other divers had left, I lingered.
“You okay?” he asked.
I stared at the still, calm waters under the vivid blue sky. “I am.”
“Your mom would have been proud.”
I shook my head. “If she were here, she’d ask what took me so long.”
His smile didn’t dim the concern in his gaze. “You’ve jumped a big hurdle. What next?”
“Good question.” I could no longer see myself back in the cubicle. Like it or not, I was bound to the ocean. “I might stay here for a while. Kaitlin will rent me a room.”
“I’ll be here for the summer.”
He let the statement trail. No promises or big asks about the future.
“I was anchored to my mother. I was anchored to Dave. I don’t want to be tied anymore because I’m too afraid to take care of myself.”
He frowned. “I’m not asking you to do that.”
I sighed. “I know. But you’re the kind of person I could become attached to very quickly.”
A brow raised. “And that’s bad?”
“Not bad. I just need to figure me out a little. I need to know I can handle life without a prop.”
“I know you can, but you need to see it for yourself.” He lowered his tanks to the deck. “You aren’t really like your mother. She was always impatient, unapproachable at times. Often, she jumped before she thought. You were always more careful. And that’s a good thing.”
“Maybe too cautious,” I said.
“We can’t fight our nature.”
I closed my eyes. “I’ve read the manuscript. My employer said I could keep it. You can have a copy of it and use it for your film.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’ve made my peace with the Oceanus. And Mom. But I don’t know who died with the wreck and who survived. I need to get to the historical center in Manteo and see if they have a survivors list. I’m hoping the list will tie up a lot of loose ends.”
“Want me to come?”
“No. Thank you. I need to see this through myself.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned toward me and gently kissed me on the lips. The warm, soft touch made me want him more. “Meet me for burgers at Arthur’s later?”
Dinner I could commit to. “Sounds good.”
I dried off and changed out of my suit and into shorts and a T-shirt. I left Nathan on the dock and hurried to my car. By this time of day, folks generally were off the beach and shopping or hunting for an early dinner spot in Manteo.
The Outer Banks History Center was located near Festival Park, which overlooked Albemarle Sound. The center’s one-story building was nestled in a cluster of trees.
The air was hot and humid, and by the time I reached the front door, sweat dampened my neck and upper lip. Inside the air was cool and the lighting low. I crossed to the central desk, where a woman was studying a computer. She looked up as I reached the desk.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping to find out more about the Oceanus shipwreck. The ship was sunk by a U-boat torpedo in April 1942.”
She looked at the clock. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. Do I need one?”
“Usually, yes.” She studied my damp hair and the faint line of the dive mask still on my face. “What do you need?”
“I found an old manuscript that details the ship’s last voyage. But the story kind of stops. I was hoping there was a list of survivors.” I decided to play the mom card. “My mother died diving that wreck seven years ago.”
“Mariah Cassidy?”
“That’s right.”
She studied me a beat. “I remember that accident. You’re Tula Cassidy.”
Hearing my name reminded me again of small-town living. “That’s right.”
“I thought you’d moved to Norfolk.”
“I did. And now I’m back for the summer. I’m cleaning out Atticus Brooks’s house in Southern Shores.”
“Ah, Dr. Brooks was very generous to us. We wanted to dedicate a room to him, but he refused.”
“He was very private.”
“Makes sense you’d be curious about the wreck.”
I hated looking back, but I couldn’t go forward until I understood the past better.
“I think Atticus Brooks wrote the manuscript, but there’s no name on the pages.” I removed my phone from my pocket and pulled up the black-and-white images. “This is Dr. Brooks and a mystery woman, around 1946. I’d also like to figure out who she is.”
She pulled glasses from the top of her head to her nose and looked closely at the phone screen. “Let me search the database.”
“What do you know about Dr. Brooks?” I asked.
“A scholar, benefactor, kept to himself. Made several generous donations, not only to us but to ocean-related foundations. Everyone knew of him, but no one really knew him.”
She typed, pressed keys, and then leaned forward. “I have a list.”
“Seriously?”
She pressed another button, and a printer on the desk behind her came alive.
“That was easy,” I added.
“We try to stay organized.” She leaned forward. “What does the manuscript cover?”
“A handful of people who were on the ship at the time it sank.”
“And it’s definitely nonfiction?” she asked.
“I think. It doesn’t feel made up.”
“The best fiction books don’t.”
“If you think of anything, call me,” I said. “I’ll give you my number.”
“Of course. Can you text me those pictures of Dr. Brooks? I’d like to add them to the database, and I might be able to figure out who the woman is.”
When she gave me her number, I texted the pictures, along with my name and number. As I scanned the printed list, I searched Margaret’s name but didn’t find it. “My great-grandmother was on the Oceanus. But I don’t see her name on any list.”
“What was her full name?”
“Margaret Riggs. There was a Chief Mate Kevin Riggs on the Oceanus. I think she married him. I do know Margaret and her husband lived in Norfolk.”
“Maybe the chief mate told her stories that she recounted as her own,” she said.
“I have no idea.”
“Let me see what I can find.”
“Thank you,” I told her.
“If you want to find a permanent home for the manuscript, send it to us. We’d love to have it.”
“Once I’ve copied it, I’ll give it to you.”
“Excellent. So glad you stopped by today, Tula.”
I left the center and slid into my hot car, fired up the engine, and switched on the air-conditioning.
I studied the list of names. It was on US Navy stationery, and the typeface was from an old typewriter.
I scanned the list. Among the living were Dr. Brooks and Sigrid Stein.
The DuPonts had survived, as had Margaret’s husband, Chief Mate Riggs.
Captain Stoddard was listed among the dead.
William was listed among the dead. There was no mention of Gertrude Werner or her baby.
Gertrude had taken Sigrid’s identity papers. Maybe she’d entered the country under her name. But what happened to Sigrid? And Alfred? As much as I didn’t like either of them, I wanted to know their fate. I had many pieces of this puzzle in place, but the picture wasn’t complete.