1:3 | The Sea Remembers
Aboard the Olympic, Nora finds the past impossible to forget. When the memories finally break through, she is back on the Titanic, seeing her father for the last time.
When the Sea Was Still is a historical novel inspired by Titanic survivor Helen Ostby. While the heroine of the story, Nora Osterly, is entirely fictional, her journey draws on the incredible life of Helen Ostby. After surviving the Titanic disaster and losing her father, Helen went on to help run the family jewelry business, Ostby & Barton, which required her to face the sea again for business in Europe. Remarkably, she found herself in Germany on the eve of the First World War.
The novel starts two years after the sinking of the Titanic, when Nora Osterly is forced to cross the Atlantic again—this time aboard Titanic’s nearly identical sister ship, the Olympic. To save her father’s legacy, Nora must do the one thing she swore she never would: return to the sea that nearly killed her.
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The Sea Remembers
Nora
June 1914
Onboard the Olympic
Nora woke early the next morning after a restless night. The nightmare had come again—always the same, always dreadful. She was back on the ship, walking through the corridors as water surged around her ankles. The floor slanted beneath her feet. She could barely breathe; thick air was all around her. Above, she heard the scrape of chairs sliding across the deck and the thud of panicked footsteps. Up ahead, she saw her father, reaching out his hand. “Nora!” he shouted. She tried to run, tried to reach him, but the sea came faster, dragging her down. The screams faded. Then—silence. The same terrible silence that always jarred her awake.
She lay still for a moment, heart pounding. At first, she wasn’t sure where she was. She drew in a deep breath, then another, until the movement of the ship pulled her back to the present. With no porthole, the room was utterly dark. She switched on the light and reached for her pendant watch to check the time.
Nora sat for a while on the edge of the bed, listening to the groan of the timbers as the ship rolled through the swells. She wasn’t sure if the movement or the noise was more unsettling. To steady herself, she thought of her father and the business he had built. Slowly, she felt her courage gather and she rose to dress. After pinning on her diamond bar pin, she collected her sketchbook. It was time to face her first day back at sea.
The first-class lounge was nearly empty at that early hour. Only two other passengers were in the room—a gentleman reading his paper by the fireplace, and a young woman absorbed in her book at a corner table. Morning light streamed through the tall windows that looked out over the sheltered promenade.
Nora hesitated just inside the doorway. She had come intending to refine the design for a brooch she’d been sketching for days, but the sight of the room caught her unprepared. The ornate coffered ceilings, the oak paneled walls, the brocade chairs sitting on thick carpet—everything was almost identical to the lounge aboard the Titanic. For a moment she thought of turning back, but where could she go? Everywhere she turned, the ship confronted her with reminders of that ill-fated voyage.
But it hadn’t begun that way. The first four days aboard the Titanic had been brimming with spectacle. The dining saloon had been alive with music and conversation, the tables set with more courses than she could count—oysters, consommé, roast duck, puddings crowned in cream. The service had been impeccable. It had started as a grand passage across the sea, filled with optimism.
Nora shook her head slightly, unwilling to let her thoughts drift any farther toward what followed. Instead, she turned to a happy memory, her first voyage across the Atlantic with her father.
She had been eighteen when he took her on the Grand Tour to Paris, London, and Oslo. It was an early summer crossing, much like this one, and she had hardly slept for the excitement of it. But her father, ever the teacher, had made sure to weave in lessons among the sightseeing. That trip had given her the first true glimpse into the world of Osterly & Co., not merely as the founder’s daughter but as a future successor.
She remembered his lively lessons on design and light. In Paris, he would guide her along the elegant Haussmann boulevards, pointing out how symmetry and proportion gave the buildings their grace. His excitement for the architecture was infectious. With each set of tall windows, ironwork balconies, and sculpted cornices, she’d found herself falling more in love with the Paris he saw.
She could still hear his voice from those days, warm with conviction. “You have an eye for detail, Nora,” he had told her once as they paused before a sunlit façade. “Not many do. Trust it, for it will take you far.”
Later, in the evenings, they would sit in quiet cafés discussing their favorite moments of the day. Lamplight glowed softly against the windows, while the murmur of French conversation drifted about them in a pleasant undertone. Her father would share a wry anecdote or tease her with affectionate good humor. She could not remember a happier time.
In a society that placed its expectations upon sons, her father had never treated her as if her place were merely ornamental. He had always seen her mind, her talent, and spoke often of her potential. He had believed in her.
That first crossing with her father had changed her. What had begun as an adventure became something deeper, the dawning realization that Osterly & Co. was not simply her father’s life’s work but would become her own. In the midst of their shared lessons and laughter, she had felt something awaken inside her, a growing confidence that she belonged in that world. Now she was on a ship again, crossing an ocean for him and the company that was now hers.
She sat for a long moment, lost in her memories, until the warmth of Paris and the sound of her father’s laughter receded like the tide. All that remained in their wake was the cool quiet of the lounge.
Nora reached for her sketchbook when she noticed a broad-shouldered man in an officer’s uniform approaching. He had a distinctive pair of mutton chops extending below his cap, framing his beardless face.
“Miss Osterly,” he said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Nora rose instinctively. “Captain Haddock. Good morning.”
“Please,” he said. “Do take your seat.”
She sat back down, and he settled into the chair across from her.
“I came to pay my respects,” he said. “When I saw your name on our manifest, I recognized it at once. Your father and you sailed with me on the Oceanic some years ago. And I remember you were onboard Titanic. My condolences on the loss of your father.”
The words struck her. Of course he would have reviewed the passenger list. Of course he would know.
“That is very kind of you, Captain,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“Your father was a fine gentleman. I found him to be excellent company aboard my ship.”
“He is greatly missed, Captain,” Nora said.
“You are very brave to cross again,” he said. “Your father would be proud.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “It’s not been easy.”
“Then if you’ll permit me, I’d like to offer a word of reassurance,” he said. “This ship is not what she was two years ago. The company took many lessons to heart after that night. Olympic is better for it.”
She held his gaze for a moment. “And may I enquire about the lifeboats?”
“Of course you may. I am happy to answer,” he said. “I can assure you that White Star Line took the matter of the lifeboats most seriously. The crew at Southampton would not sail until they had firm assurances on that point. Olympic now carries more than sufficient boats for every soul aboard, with room to spare.”
“Thank you, Captain,” she said. “That’s… reassuring to hear.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Osterly. You are in safe hands aboard this ship. And it is my honor to carry you forward.”
With that, he rose and stepped away with a slight bow of his head.
Nora reached for her sketchbook, then paused. The captain’s words lingered in her mind. More than enough boats for every soul aboard.
She glanced around the first-class lounge and found the familiar routines to be a steadying comfort. A steward passed between the tables collecting abandoned teacups. A gentleman read the paper by the fireplace. Two ladies gossiped over tea at a corner table.
At last, she opened the sketchbook to her brooch design. The ship creaked softly as it moved through the swells, gentler now than they had been when she woke. She traced a new curve into the design and gradually lost herself in the work.
That evening, dressed in their finest, Nora and Astrid made their way to the first-class dining saloon on D Deck. Nora had dressed with care in her favorite evening gown, a blue silk that had always made her feel more like herself.
The familiar staircase came into view. Nora slowed her step as they descended, her gloved hand sliding carefully along the wooden rail. She found herself admiring the craftsmanship of the gilded railings and carved oak despite herself.
As Nora and Astrid entered the dining room, a steward stepped forward to guide them to their assigned seats. They passed rows of tables dressed in crisp white linens, set with cut glass, and polished silver. Waiters moved quietly between them, carrying trays of wine and the evening’s delicacies.
The Harroways were already seated at one end of the table as Nora and Astrid approached. Josie Harroway looked up with a smile.
“Right on time, my dears,” she said warmly. “Dinner is half the pleasure of the voyage—everyone worth knowing is here.”
“As it always is,” Nora said, smiling.
Charles Harroway, impeccably tailored as always, nodded from his seat beside Josie, and raised his glass in acknowledgment.
Charles carried himself with the assurance of a man entirely at ease in his place in the world. Having built his fortune in textiles, he was as comfortable discussing the price of silk as he was the virtues of a fine port. Josie was his perfect complement—graceful, sociable, with a youthful spark that refused to dim.
Nora had long admired the Harroways. The couple was as much a fixture in Providence society as Osterly & Co. itself. Their friendship had helped her through the worst of the past two years, and now, aboard the ship, their company felt like a small piece of home.
Across the table sat a tall, lean man in his thirties dressed in a navy suit with a gold watch chain glinting at his waistcoat. Sitting next to him was a woman slightly younger, pale and composed, in a grey silk gown with a heavy garnet brooch at her throat. He stood as Nora and Astrid settled into their seats.
“Lionel Cartwright,” he said. “And this is my wife, Mrs. Marion Cartwright.” She offered a smile but said nothing.
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Nora said.
Mrs. Harroway turned to him with interest. “And what line of business are you in, Mr. Cartwright?”
“Finance,” he replied. “Wall Street. I’m on my way to Paris to meet with clients.”
“And Mrs. Cartwright?” Mrs. Harroway asked. “Have you crossed before, or is this your first voyage?”
“I have crossed numerous times,” Mrs. Cartwright said. Her German accent was unmistakable. “My family is still in Berlin. I find I am always going one direction or the other across this ocean.”
“We met when I was in Berlin on business a few years ago. I’m afraid I quite swept her away from her family,” Lionel said.
“How charming. And does your family come often to America?” Mrs. Harroway asked.
“Not so often as I should like,” Mrs. Cartwright replied, lowering her eyes to her hands folded in her lap.
“Mrs. Cartwright’s family is in textiles, as it happens.” He said, reaching for his wine glass. “Though I confess Wall Street keeps me far busier than any loom.”
Astrid, who had little patience for talk of Wall Street, turned instead to Mrs. Harroway. “And how is Bridie getting on?”
“She has been a wonderful addition to our staff,” Mrs. Harroway replied. “Very capable and quick to learn.”
Just as Lionel set down his empty wine glass, a waiter appeared to refill it. “Remarkable service on these White Star Line ships,” he said. “I’ve crossed on several lines, but White Star remains the standard.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Harroway agreed. “Our own Bridie served with them before joining our household. She was a stewardess aboard the Olympic before being promoted to—” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze shifting to Nora.
Nora set down her wine glass with careful fingers and gave Josie a small forgiving smile.
Astrid stepped in at once. “Competent staff is rather like good bookkeeping. You only notice it when it’s absent.”
Across the table, Mrs. Cartwright gave a timid smile. “We have been able to manage without staff.”
Astrid blinked in surprise. “Without staff?”
Mrs. Cartwright looked unsure of herself. Mr. Cartwright answered for her, “Yes. My wife and I prefer to do for ourselves. It keeps one grounded.”
Mrs. Harroway’s fork paused midair. “How very modern,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Cartwright replied, “but certainly economical. And rather freeing, I assure you.”
A mild discomfort rippled around the table.
“Well, times do change,” Nora said with a composed smile. “I dare say Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright may be ahead of us all.”
Lionel’s eyes met Nora’s across the table. “And you, Miss Osterly? Are you and Miss Lund visiting Europe on holiday? The summer season draws so many Americans across these days.”
Nora set her spoon down lightly, meeting his gaze with polite composure. “Not this time, Mr. Cartwright. We have family business to attend to.”
His expression grew curious. “And how modern of you, Miss Osterly. May I ask what business?”
“My family’s jewelry firm, Osterly & Co.”
That seemed to surprise him, though he masked it quickly. “Ah,” he said, recovering with a polished smile. “A woman traveling on business. Quite admirable.”
Before Nora could reply, Josie Harroway interjected. “Have you heard of Osterly & Co., Mrs. Cartwright? You look like a woman of fine taste.”
Mrs. Cartwright’s face lit with recognition. “Yes, indeed. I’ve always admired the designs. I remember seeing a feature in Town & Country several years ago. It was a beautiful Art Nouveau tiara worn at the Astor ball.”
Nora nodded. “That was one of ours, yes. My father was particularly proud of that one.”
For the rest of the meal, the conversation turned to stories of past holidays in Europe, the merits of various London hotels, and light speculation about the summer season. The ship’s quartet played a lilting waltz from the corner. The soft lighting of the dining saloon radiated warmth as gentle laughter drifted from the nearby tables. Nora found herself thinking how strange it was—this feeling of belonging and displacement at once. Yet for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility that peace might still be found at sea.
Back in her stateroom, Nora unpinned her hat and sat on the edge of the bed. It was impossible not to think about Titanic tonight. The dining saloon was too much like its twin to ignore. Her last dinner aboard Titanic had been so similar—good company, lovely music, and a sumptuous dinner. And both evenings ended with Nora settled beneath her covers with pleasant thoughts of the evening’s conversation replaying in her mind.
But that night had a very different ending.
Sunday, April 14, 1912
It had been a beautiful day. The sky was a bright blue, and the sea was as still as glass. After breakfast, Nora and her father had stood on the promenade deck gazing out at the vast ocean, the sunshine dancing across the water in asymmetrical flecks of light. Friends and acquaintances strolled by, exchanging cheerful greetings. On that morning, aboard the grandest ship at sea, it felt as though anything were possible.
As the day wore on, the temperature began to drop sharply. By evening it had become too cold to take their customary pre-dinner stroll on deck. Rather than don their fine furs and overcoats, they chose to remain indoors, joining the other first-class passengers who preferred comfort over the bracing cold.
Sunday night was a gala dinner, a glittering affair in the first-class dining saloon. It was the night on board the ship when both men and women alike dressed in the finest of their finest. The gentlemen wore dinner suits, crisp white shirts, and gleaming cufflinks. The ladies arrived in silk gowns meant to be admired and fine jewels, worth more than the cost of their first-class ticket.
Nora had found herself caught up in the spectacle of it all. Around her moved some of the wealthiest people in the world. Across the room, her gaze landed on Lady Duff Gordon, the celebrated fashion designer whose very gown she wore. Nora had chosen it in Paris after her father remarked that it reminded him of her mother. Lady Duff Gordon sparkled in her jewels, engaged in conversation with her husband. She looked entirely at ease, as though the evening had been arranged for her pleasure.
After the gala dinner, she and her father sat in the reception room with their friends from Providence, Mr. and Mrs. Morris. Nora settled onto a velvet settee, sipping coffee and trading opinions with Mrs. Morris on the gowns worn that evening, while her father and Mr. Morris reminisced about the Parisian exhibitions. When the clock chimed ten, they exchanged cheerful goodnights and planned to meet for breakfast the next morning.
Nora had been drifting into sleep when a shuddering jolt stirred her awake. It was a strange, unsettling tremor, as though the great ship had scraped against something solid. It was odd, but not alarming. For a moment she lay still, listening, wondering whether she’d imagined it, until she realized the engines had shut off. She’d crossed the Atlantic multiple times, and never once had the engines gone silent.
She slipped from bed and pulled on her wrap. Passengers gathered in the corridor, a few still in slippers and nightgowns, murmuring with curiosity. Her stateroom was just across from her father’s. He had come out, his coat hastily thrown over his nightclothes, and joined her in the hall.
“Did you feel that?” he asked.
She nodded.
Together they went up to the open deck. The night was colder than any on the crossing so far. The sky glittered with countless stars, too bright, too still above the black, glassy water.
Mr. and Mrs. Morris were already out on deck, huddled together for warmth among other curious first-class passengers.
“What is it?” her father asked Mr. Morris.
“They say we struck an iceberg,” Mr. Morris replied. “But it is nothing to worry about. They’ll right the ship and start the engines again soon.”
Nora glanced around at the passengers gathered along the rail. Seeing the lack of worry on their faces relaxed her. It almost felt as though they were all outside on a grand, midnight adventure.
Soon she noticed more stewards moving among the crowd, speaking to the passengers. Then one came their way and instructed everyone to return to their staterooms to fetch their life belts. “It’s just a precaution,” he said kindly. “We’ll be transferring to another vessel, but we’ll be back aboard Titanic for breakfast.”
Nora looked at her father for reassurance.
“It’s all right, dear,” he said. “Let’s go down and retrieve them.”
Back in her cabin, Nora struggled into the awkward, stiff life belt, her fingers shaking from the cold. When she emerged from her room, the mood had shifted. Stewards were hurrying from room to room, helping with life belts, and answering questions in strained voices.
Nora rejoined her father and they walked through the corridors, urgent whispers drifting around them. As they ascended the grand staircase, Captain Smith passed them going the other direction. His face was unreadable. A moment later, the sound of steam shrieking from the pipes near the funnels drowned out every attempt at conversation.
They reached the boat deck on the starboard side. A group of first-class passengers had already gathered. It was a strange mix of men in dressing gowns beside women in full evening attire, with others in an odd combination of both. The usual rules no longer seemed to apply.
Nora stood quietly by her father, shivering in the cold. She watched as passengers were directed toward the lifeboats. A couple was arguing softly about whether to get in the boat or remain aboard the ship. “Surely we are safer here!” she heard the woman insist.
Soon Nora and her father were directed to a lifeboat already being prepared for lowering.
“Go on, dear,” her father urged her.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked him.
“I’m going to run back down for warmer clothes,” he said. “You’ll be all right. I’ll join you soon.”
Nora nodded and watched him walk away.
First Officer Murdoch’s voice cut through the noise: “Come along, ladies!”
He ushered Nora and the other women toward Lifeboat No. 5. A small group had already formed near the rail. Nora recognized Mrs. Helen Newsom with the young tennis player and her parents. Beside them stood Mr. and Mrs. Kimball, whom she had met at the gala dinner earlier that night.
“Mr. Ismay,” Mrs. Kimball asked in a tight voice, “may our husbands come with us?”
Bruce Ismay had an urgency about him as he moved quickly along the row of boats to help load them. “I see no objection, madam. There is room.”
Nora’s heart thudded. She searched the deck for a glimpse of her father. Men were being permitted to board. If he returned in time, he could step in with her. She tried to wait, but the small crowd pushed her forward.
Third Officer Pitman helped her into the boat then called out. “Any more ladies?”
No one moved. A few shook their heads, still unwilling to believe the ship was in danger.
Officer Pitman climbed back out of the boat. Then Officer Murdoch’s voice rang sharply over the din. “Mr. Pitman, take command of that boat!”
Pitman obeyed at once, stepping down into the lifeboat.
Nora estimated thirty, perhaps forty people aboard. There were almost twice as many seats still empty. Surely, she thought, they would fill it if there were real danger. She took solace in that thought as she scanned the deck again for her father.
But the boat started to descend…and she didn’t see him.
She began to panic. He hadn’t returned in time. How would he find her? Her heart hammered, her pulse quickened. The boat was being lowered slowly into the water, first one side then the other, jerking back and forth. Suddenly there was a huge jolt as two men leapt into the boat. A woman cried out in pain as one of the men struck her. Before Nora could make sense of it all, the boat hit the water with a hard thud, splashing cold water on the boat’s occupants.
As the seamen rowed the lifeboat farther from the ship, Nora tried in vain to look back at the mighty Titanic, desperately wanting to lay eyes on her father. Each stroke carried her farther from him.
Flares went up in the air, lighting up the dark night.
