Hearts That Survive Part 17

Madeleine and two other women were a.s.signed to the captain's quarters. Many first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers gave up their rooms and suites. When Lydia was taken to the room, she saw an adjoining door and didn't have to ask who would be on the other side.

A knock sounded. The stewardess stepped aside to allow a young woman to enter. A maid accompanying her held an armload of clothes.

The young woman introduced herself as Kathryn, on the way to New York with her parents to visit relatives. "You look about my size, Miss Beaumont. Choose any you like."

Lydia sat on the bed. "Just anything. I appreciate this."

"Oh. I want to help." Kathryn looked tearful and turned to show another dress. "They don't compare with what you're wearing."

"They're lovely." How different this was from when Harriett presented her originals.

She reached out to take the blue day dress but drew back her hand. She might be wearing it for a couple of days and should take one that wouldn't as easily show wear. "The brown one, if you don't mind."

The girl nodded. "I'll leave the blue one too." The maid put them in the empty closet. Lydia didn't ask where the girl and her parents were staying. They would know that if they'd been so fortunate as to have traveled on the t.i.tanic, they could be on this side of things.

"Do you want my maid?" the girl asked tentatively.

"No. I'll be fine. Thank you."

"Bye. Oh, here's a nightdress."

Lydia bathed, aware that she'd washed her hair only yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago. And yet, a lifetime.

Soon, she stared into the mirror at the brown dress with delicate fawn lace designed to enhance one's feminine charms. But she was wearing a stranger's dress and Caroline's wedding band. She couldn't use the name of the man who'd given her the happiest day of her life. And inside her, she carried the child of her husband, who was . . . where?

She faced . . . what?

She didn't know what to do. But a meal was announced. Which one?

She left the room and saw Caroline, Bess, and the children coming from their suite. Immediately they were joined by her . . . escort?

There was hushed conversation at dinner. She was glad to return to the room, get into the nightdress, and take one of the sedatives the doctor had given her.

She crawled between the sheets that had probably been slept in before and then laundered. The ones on the t.i.tanic had been slept on by only her. Now they were wet.

These would be too, because she cried herself to sleep.

She awoke in the night, freezing and terrified, and repeated the cycle.

32.

Henry wanted to sleep with his sister. He wanted to hold the package in bed, but there wasn't room.

"We can put it on the table, and you can watch it," Phoebe said. "Hold my teddy bear."

He lay on his side with eyes wide until he could keep them open no longer. He clutched the teddy bear while Phoebe kept her arms around him and soothed him in the night when he awakened screaming for her.

Caroline knew his little ears had heard it all. His little heart beat with as much fear as a grownup's. She could not grasp the immensity of what had happened. How could a child's tender mind even know what to ask?

Finally the children slept, and so did Caroline. But they were all awake before breakfast was announced. She and Bess dressed the children in clothes other pa.s.sengers had given them.

Caroline saved Lydia and Craven a seat in the dining room. When Craven ushered her in, she noticed how delicate and young Lydia looked. Last night-was it only last night?-she had been gorgeous. Now, she wore the brown dress, no makeup, and her hair stuck out in unruly curls. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature in that natural state that Caroline had ever seen.

No wonder Craven hovered nearby. Caroline noticed Lydia's turning from him several times. At least Lydia had someone to . . . resent.

She wouldn't ask for her ring. Lydia might feel she was giving up another part of John if she removed it.

Children were much easier to approach than adults. Many spoke to Phoebe and Henry. Even Lydia joined in, "What's in your box, Henry?"

"My birthday."

"When's your birthday?"

He put the box on his lap. "Tomorrow."

"Today," Phoebe corrected. "Grandmother planned for us to have a party in the French restaurant."

Glad to get her mind onto something cheerful, Caroline a.s.sured Henry he would have a party. Right after breakfast she spotted the captain, who delighted in the idea of their making up a small cake. He even had a little toy put on top.

Word was pa.s.sed around, and in the afternoon they gathered in the dining saloon for the party. Five Carpathia children sat at the table with Henry and Phoebe.

Molly led in singing "Happy Birthday." Then the children ate cake and drank cocoa, but kept eyeing the package. Finally Henry tore the paper away and exclaimed, "Oooooh."

Phoebe held up the box for others to see. "He had one like this but lost most of the parts."

"Those are great for children," a man said.

"And their dads," another said, and a discussion followed about the Meccano construction toys.

Henry joined in eagerly, "I can make a frog. With biiiiiig eyes."

Soon the children became occupied, taking turns making funny animals and shapes, even laughing.

Caroline noticed Craven looking at the bulletin board and walked toward him. He had taken over for the first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers. He relayed messages from the captain, gave messages to stewards, and was consulted about sending wires to families and friends. He took control, made decisions, and gave information.

She stood beside him, looking at the list, and thanked him.

"Could I be of a.s.sistance to you, Caroline? I'll be glad to handle any matters for you, personal or financial."

She had no reason to resent Craven Dowd. "I would appreciate that. I'll write down the information for you."

He nodded.

"I'm sure," she said, "Mr. Beaumont will be proud of how you're taking care of his daughter."

"As I am the president of her father's company, she is among my responsibilities." He said that in a formal, businesslike tone. But she thought a little grin hovered about his mouth before he bade her a good day.

Watching him walk away, she thought of his dignified manner of acting and speaking. Not only did he have a commanding, controlling way about him, which was very much needed in this situation, but he was one incredibly good looking man.

33.

Halifax, Nova Scotia, April 17, 1912 Much of the time, Armand stood alongside throngs of others on the dock, watching in horror what was taking place. To return to the safety of their homes except when absolutely necessary seemed a sacrilege.

He and the pastor had stayed in Armand's home above his offices. One or the other would get up in the night to listen to radio reports and read any wires coming through.

They spent the days with other people as they all became united in disbelief, horror, uncertainty, hope, despair, waiting.

The pa.s.senger list reported not only the names of survivors but their cla.s.s. The t.i.tanic had carried more third- than first- and second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers; these were making their way to America, considered the greatest nation, the land of opportunity.

Many working on the docks and in other jobs available to immigrants had been expecting relatives and friends from many countries. Reportedly, therein lay the greatest number of victims.

The t.i.tanic had carried some of the richest men and women in the world. Those considered most important. But the survivor list didn't include the names of the most prosperous, prestigious, and successful. They were out there beneath the sea or floating on the water like chunks of ice.

"If this could happen to the world's most technologically advanced s.h.i.+p," those standing around said, the wires said, the radios said, "then where is mankind's hope?"

There was mention that G.o.d went down with the s.h.i.+p. He was dead.

Armand scoffed inwardly.

The only way G.o.d was dead was when his son died on that cross. But he rose again so man could have life.

Then he reprimanded himself. Hadn't he, himself, asked at times, where was G.o.d?

But right now, the world was trying to find someone or something to blame, and G.o.d was closest. He was right down there in their hearts, even if they didn't know it.

On Wednesday Armand went down to the dock and saw a doctor friend standing there with the pastor.

"What's all that?" Armand asked.

"Embalming fluid," the doctor replied.

The pastor expelled a deep breath. "They've asked for tons of ice, more than one hundred coffins, canvas bags, weights for burial at sea, and," his voice lowered further, "supplies for embalming."

Armand felt as sick as the pastor looked.

He hated being helpless, unsure, ill at ease. If there was anything he could do, even though he knew there were times you couldn't do anything to ease another's pain. Just do something.

He watched in awe at the cargo being loaded. When two men boarded together, the doctor said, "That's the minister and the mortician."

There was only one other time when Armand had felt totally helpless. With the Lord's help he'd been able to get past it, even though he still struggled when the memory and the feelings threatened to overwhelm him again.

A lot of people needed to know that someone else knew and understood loss and grief. He was one of those. Strange, his own loss was little compared with all this; at the same time, he felt his loss even more keenly, as if it were happening all over again.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel worse, Jarvis hurried up to them. "I thought you'd want to know."

Armand really didn't want to know.

But Jarvis was trying to be efficient, even if his eyes had doubled in size during the past days. Perhaps it was true of them all. "The Mayflower Curling Rink is being turned into a morgue."

He gestured toward Agricola Street, a few blocks from the dockyard.

Armand couldn't find it within himself to say thank you for the information.

He and the horrified throng on the dock watched the Mackay-Bennett sail out from the harbor into the miasma of an ice-laden sea.

There weren't any pa.s.sengers, or survivors, coming to Halifax.

Just bodies.

Part 3.

After.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

John Donne, Meditation XVII.

34.

Thursday, 9:25 p.m., April 18, 1912.

Lydia didn't try to keep track of the time or the day. The important thing was getting to New York. Craven relayed her options of where to stay. He had friends in New York. Executives of Beaumont had wired a.s.surance that they were welcome to stay in their homes or guesthouses.

She would feel even colder staying with people she didn't know. "I'll go to a hotel. Or where Caroline goes."

"Caroline will stay in the hotel until she knows what will happen with Phoebe and Henry," Craven said. "Lady Stanton- Jones had made contact with distant relatives she planned to visit while in America."