Cold April: A 'Titanic' Love Story

Cold April (202 pp, $15.95, ISBN: 978-1-60381-822-3), by Phyllis A. Humphrey, is a heart-warming historical romance that takes place in a very cold setting—aboard the ill-fated luxury liner, the Titanic.

5 Stars from Midwest Book Review:

“The tragedy of the Titanic is not just the loss of life, but the shambles of personal stories lost within it all. Cold April tells the story of Elizabeth Shallcross, as she cares for her the child of Richard Graham on a trans-Atlantic voyage. During her journey, she has many offers of love, but her journey through life and across the ocean will be seriously threatened by the ocean tragedy history remembers most. Cold April is a riveting read of Titanic drama, highly recommended.”

5 out of 5 Rating from Book Wenches:

“Cold April brings together historical detail, sweet romance, and well-drawn and engaging characters into a reading experience that kept me captivated from beginning to end. From the moment that I opened the cover, I found myself drawn into the heart of the story, living the plot along with the characters, so involved that I was loathe to put the book down for even a moment. So I didn’t put it down. I read Cold April over the course of a Saturday morning, only taking breaks for life’s necessities, like procuring a refill of coffee or snagging a much-needed tissue or two.”

Bobby D Whitney, BookWenches.com   Read More ….

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Englishwoman Elizabeth Shallcross has big plans for her future, and they do not include remaining a lowly governess. First she has one last obligation to fulfill; she must accompany a dashing American widower and care for his child on a luxurious voyage to America. Their ship? The Titanic. On this fateful voyage two men vie for her attention. But when the ship hits an iceberg, who will survive?

“Writing Cold April did more than renew my life-long interest in my family’s connection to the Titanic,” says author Phyllis A. Humphrey. “My research also impressed upon me three important facts: how far women have come since then, how the British lower classes sacrificed themselves for duty, and how much history’s lessons can teach us. It has even opened new doors in my writing career.”

Phyllis A. Humphrey is the author of eight other romance novels, a non-fiction book published by John Wiley & Sons, several short stories and many articles that have appeared in national magazines. Humphrey’s long-time interest in the Titanic has a basis in family history; her grandfather emigrated to the U.S. from England on board the New York, the ship that almost collided with the Titanic on the first day of its tragic voyage. When not writing, Phyllis sings and acts in local theatrical productions. She has raised four children and currently lives with her husband in Southern California. Visit her website: PhyllisHumphrey.com.

Cold April is available in Kindle ($4.95) and print editions on Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de, and Amazon.fr. Bookstores and libraries can order by contacting info@Camelpress.com or through Ingram or Baker and Taylor. Other electronic versions can be purchased on Smashwords or at any of the major online ebook stores.

Keep reading for an excerpt:

Beth counted the rows of porthole lights again. Only five. She tried to quell her rising panic. After all, it had been an hour since she’d boarded the lifeboat, at which point all six decks had showed above the water line. The rescue ship would arrive in time. Except, the lights in the distance never became any brighter. If they belonged to a ship, it didn’t appear to be moving in their direction.

Kathleen slept, her head on Beth’s lap, never relaxing her grip on the beloved doll.

Beth wished she could sleep. She slumped on the bench, exhausted, no energy left, the muscles in her arms and legs unwilling to attempt so minor a thing as changing position. Yet, her mind refused to shut down. Over and over, one message cycled endlessly through her head: the Titanic was sinking. The ship that the newspapers had hailed as “unsinkable” had met her match—an iceberg—and now the massive wound in her side could not stop the relentless sea water from claiming her.

The oarsmen, having rowed a considerable distance from the ship so as not to be pulled under when she sank, stopped rowing and—like everyone else—simply gaped at the stricken vessel. All around Beth the many women, plus a few men, spoke in hushed tones, as if in church. Although their voices didn’t rouse Kathleen, words carried through to Beth. A few of the passengers obviously knew more about the ship, or had listened to more knowledgeable people explain its construction.

“They said the ship had six water-tight compartments,” a woman said.

“The water-tight compartments didn’t hold,” an elderly man said quietly, “because the partitions didn’t go all the way up.”

“You mean,” another asked, “the water could splash over the top?”

“Yes. As the compartments filled, one by one, the water rose over the partition, flooding the next compartment, and so forth.”

After a long pause, someone said, “Whoever could have guessed that scraping along an iceberg could do so much damage to a hull made of steel?”

There were now four rows of porthole lights. The ship was sinking faster. Her heart began to pound. The rescue ship would not get there in time!

She and Kathleen were safe, at least for the time being, but what about Richard? Had he managed to get into a lifeboat? Did he, even now, sit in one of the others that rested on the eerily flat ocean surface? Her stomach felt tied in knots, and a terrible dread choked her, making her gasp for air. Cold, freezing air. She closed her mouth and lowered her head, tears burning her eyes and coursing down her cheeks.

“Look,” someone shouted. “The funnel!”

Eyes snapping open, she saw the first funnel sway precariously. With a terrible roar, it toppled down, crashing onto the deck. It would have crushed any passenger unlucky enough to be in its path. Then it tumbled, as if made of cardboard, into the sea.

Cries of sympathy—and terror—went up from the others in the lifeboat. Some stood up for a better view. They were too far away to know if anyone had been killed outright by the massive funnel, but the sound of its falling carried across the water. Beth assumed many of the women had been praying silently, but now they prayed in audible tones. Others wept openly. Some had seen their husbands standing at the railings, simply awaiting their fate, and they sat mute, dazed and paralyzed.

Three rows of porthole lights were shining in the stern, only one in the bow. The stern began to rise in the air, revealing giant propellers. With another ear-blasting shriek, the bow separated between the third and fourth funnels and slowly sank below the water.

People screamed, then became silent again. The stern, released from its burden of hanging onto the bow, settled back into an almost level position. Finally all the lights on the ship disappeared, leaving the black hulk of half a ship. Then that, too, dipped beneath the waves. In the silence that followed someone said, “It’s two twenty.”