Hearts That Survive (10 page)

A
ll these first-class passengers had taken time and effort to give her the best day of her life. The least she could do was stay around to thank them and let them have their pictures taken. These pictures would be in newspapers throughout the world.

She couldn't wish her father were here, knowing he'd never have allowed this, but when he learned of this event, and saw the photos, he would accept John.

Would she stay in John's room tonight or he in hers? She had a sitting room, and he did not. She didn't like the thought that Craven was in the room that adjoined both hers and John's.

She must stop thinking about Craven. They both might need time to get over the sparring between them. But they could never be that familiar again. He worked for her father. He had no hold on her. No control whatsoever.

Those days were over, and she'd have to recondition her mind. It would be a pleasure. No longer her escort. No longer able to advise her or correct her or condemn her about anything.

With John's arm around her waist, the two of them walked into the reception room aglow with light from the crystal chandeliers.

"Oh, John," she said, "no one could ask for a more perfect wedding."

"And to think," he said with a smile, "S. J. reminded me that all this probably started with a wooden boat and a paper sail."

"Speaking of a boat!" She gasped at the table in the center of the room. On it was the largest wedding cake she'd ever seen, a replica of the ship, on a sea of blue. The huge silver tray it rested on was surrounded by red, pink, and white roses accented with green leaves. On each side of the edible ship were great platters of individual frosted cakes with roses on top.

"How could anyone do this on such short notice?" Lydia said.

Captain Smith wore a pleased expression. "By having the finest chefs in the world." He motioned and the chefs entered the room. The guests applauded. The chefs nodded and returned to their kitchen.

Molly called out, "I think it's time you stuffed some of that cake in each other's mouth so we can eat, and drink that champagne."

They all laughed. Photographs were snapped. John picked up the pearl-handled cake knife and glanced at her as he moved it toward the smokestack. She nodded. He cut off the top, laid it on a china plate, and looked for a utensil.

"This is the way." Lydia pinched off a bite of the white cake. They fed each other the cake while everyone cheered again.

"By the way," she said amid the applause. "Did you get your wedding band from the jeweler?"

"No," he said with a small grimace. "I didn't want to go back to him again. So I tore up a train for this."

He held out his hand. It did look a tad loose.

She laughed. He was so delightful. She couldn't help thinking that her dad and Craven would be willing to tear up their lives, and hers, for the sake of their trains. But John would tear up his trains for her. She gazed into his loving eyes. "Thank you."

By that time the individual cakes were gone. Waiters came and cut the wedding cake. Champagne flowed. The guests, some three hundred of them, came around to congratulate them. No, that would be two-hundred-ninety-nine. The best man had other things to do.

Mrs. Straus, holding her husband's hand, came up to her. "You look absolutely radiant, my dear. The glow of love suits you. But please excuse us, it's past our bedtime."

Lydia could imagine their curling up together on this night that seemed to be getting colder. She'd like to do that with John. But she owed these people their time after they'd given her the most wonderful night of her life.

Harriett came by to tell Lydia that she could keep the dress. "By the time we make it to New York it will already be the talk of the fashion industry. Besides," a sly look touched her eyes, "I still have my showstopper with which to wow the world."

Lydia smiled at her. "I believe you have already wowed the world, Harriett."

She murmured, "I do admit at least half the ladies here are clothed in my creations. The one-of-a-kind, of course." She spoke in an appreciative tone, "For example, the one you wore to dinner this evening."

"Of course," Lydia said. "A special dress for my pre-wedding dinner."

"
Oui.
But I'm holding up others who want to congratulate you."

S. J. walked up with Phoebe. "Mother has already taken Henry to the suite. It's time Phoebe and I do the same."

Phoebe's face crumbled.

"After our dance," he said, and her face lit up.

Just then Lydia realized the band had arrived. Soon, there'd be dancing, and she'd be in the arms of her husband.

L
ydia thought everyone in the room had finally completed their congratulations and compliments, more than enough photos had been taken, too much cake eaten, champagne enjoyed, and women's pointed-toe-shoe-clad feet weary from dancing. But it was a lovely scene. Better than anyone could really capture in a picture or in words.

"I must sit for a moment," she said to John. He led her to a small table against the wall, and a waiter brought champagne and cake.

The Astors joined them. "I know how you must feel," the lovely girl said. Lydia smiled, her thoughts speeding to what she hadn't thought about in a while.

"Perhaps we should call an end to this," Madeleine said. "Otherwise, I might cause a scandal, take off these shoes and go barefoot."

They all laughed. John Astor gestured toward the cake table. "Our
Titanic
has been devoured. So, if it's all right with you, I'll make an announcement."

Lydia and John assured him it was all right and thanked the Astors for their generosity and thoughtfulness.

"Least we could do," Astor replied with a smile.

"Our pleasure," Madeleine added.

Yes, they knew how to throw a party.

Mr. Astor held up his hand. The band stopped playing, and the guests ceased dancing.

"May I have your attention, please." He graciously thanked everyone, expressed the bride and groom's delight, and suggested that the newlyweds should share a final dance while others made their departure.

The group extended polite applause and began to leave as the band resumed their playing.

"You're wonderful," Lydia said to the Astors. The two Johns shook hands and said good night.

Lydia and John danced, waltzing ever so slowly to "Der Rosenkavalier," the popular waltz by Strauss that Lydia and her friends had enjoyed at many gatherings. It was one of her father's favorites, to which he'd sit and listen with closed eyes. Lydia liked to think he was fondly remembering his wife.

As John held her, she trembled.

Or was it John?

Both?

The band played a discordant note?

Was it their swaying while dancing that upset her equilibrium? It was only slight, but enough to draw her attention. Many had said this trip was as if the ship were on land. However, it was not. They were on the sea. Surely, although they'd seen none, there would be at least an occasional wave.

Maybe it was the champagne.

Or her condition.

Or her imagination.

She wasn't sure if the guests had gone, but she raised her face to John's and their lips met. "I love you," he whispered, his lips against hers.

"Never let me go."

"Never," he promised. "Even when you're not in my arms, you'll forever be in my heart."

It was the best of times,

it was the worst of times . . .

we had everything before us,

we had nothing before us . . .

Charles Dickens,
A Tale of Two Cities

W
illiam engaged Caroline in conversation about the wedding. "Craven did the right thing standing up for Ancell." They walked along the promenade deck, heading for their stateroom.

That was a strange way to put it. "What do you mean, William?"

"Although Craven pointed out he understood the young couple wanting to do this, he knew Cyril Beaumont would not approve. They don't know the boy that well. He's promising but still just an up-and-coming young man. Quite likeable, I do say."

He chuckled. "Had I known the wedding would turn out to be such an event, I might have been more conciliatory toward John myself."

She hadn't observed him being rude to John, just indifferent. And she knew what he meant by being more conciliatory. The event of the decade, perhaps century. All the publicity. A romantic, fairy-tale event, instead of Cinderella marrying the prince, the up-and-coming young man married the princess. This would be talked about, written about, and approved by the general public.

"I was thinking," he mused, "when you walked across that deck, I would like to have been in Craven's shoes, with that lovely woman in this exquisite gown walking toward me." His glance roamed over her approvingly.

"Why, thank you, William," she said, not bothering to add she had walked down the aisle toward him six years ago. They had just forgotten some of the magic of that day and had settled into being an established married couple. Tonight, however, Lydia and John's love story touched even him.

Having witnessed the love exhibited between Lydia and John, Caroline decided,
I think I will stop evaluating mine and William's relationship and just love him, not question.

Her resolve to show more love pushed aside the doubt trying to resurface. If others had not been strolling along, she might have stopped and kissed him right there.

But they had reached their stateroom. William opened the door and stepped aside for Caroline to enter. She felt a faint shudder beneath her feet and glanced over her shoulder. William shut the door, giving no indication anything was amiss.

Mentally shrugging it away, she walked on into the room, telling herself that it had not been a shudder but rather a shiver. Others had noticed the colder air. This warmth she was feeling for William likely caused a physical reaction. She smiled at that. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be young and giddy like Lydia and John.

She almost laughed. She'd been young, but never giddy. Just accepting.

William asked her to excuse him. "I want to freshen up a bit. I'm either not used to all that dancing or I'm getting old."

"Oh, it's the dancing, to be sure." How nice to joke with William. She sat on the edge of the bed and took off one of her shoes.

She was leaning over with her hand on the heel of the other shoe when he surprised her further by saying, "We will have to do it more often."

The shoe slid off. "Yes, let's." She straightened and looked at him. He was staring oddly.

"William?"

A curious expression crossed his face. "Do you hear anything?"

She listened. Her glance moved around the room as if to see what might be making a sound. Water running in the lavatory? The curling iron? The electric heater? Maybe it had to work harder since the temperature had fallen. Or he could have heard something or someone outside. She disregarded what might have been a door opening or closing because the partiers would be heading for bed. With a slight shrug, she said, "Nothing."

"That's just it." He looked thoughtful. "There's no noise."

He was right. She'd become accustomed to the hum that was as familiar as breathing. One didn't think about it. It made the ship move. Her mouth felt dry, and she needed to swallow. Had the ship stopped?

William dismissed the uncomfortable moment with a lift of his hand. "Nothing to be concerned about." He headed for the door. "But I'll check it out."

Caroline sat for a moment, listening to the silence. She could get undressed. However, she walked barefoot to the window and looked out, but saw nothing. And for lack of anything else to do, she slipped her feet into her shoes.

She clasped her hands, felt her ring, and remembered Lydia had her wedding band. She and John were still in the reception room when Caroline left. They likely hadn't returned yet, but she might spy them in the hallway.

On second thought, she wouldn't ask for the ring. Lydia could give it to her in the morning. There was no rush. But she might peek out and see if they were heading for their room. Or if William was returning.

She mentally reprimanded herself for this indecision. What was wrong with her?

She opened the door and saw a few passengers in the hallway, speaking in soft tones or not at all. Likely, they had left the reception and were just talking. Or they might have felt the vibration and were waiting for an explanation. Where was William? She didn't see him, but Bess hurried to her.

Caroline stepped back, and Bess entered. Her maid's face was pale, and her voice thin. "I came to see if you needed anything?"

Or know anything?
First-class passengers would be informed of anything before other classes or servants. Earlier that evening, Caroline had told Bess she wouldn't need her after she'd dressed for the wedding. "But you could come on deck and see the wedding," she'd said.

"No, ma'am. I won't be allowed," Bess had said flatly.

"I'm allowing you." But she knew Bess wouldn't chance being shooed away like a moth coming to the light, considered a nuisance.

Now that she was here, however, Caroline felt the sense of comfort she often felt around Bess. "I would like you to stay with me until William returns."

Bess looked relieved. And as if she wanted to say something. Caroline decided to make it easier for her. "Is everything all right, Bess?"

"I just wondered why the ship stopped. I overheard passengers say they're just changing course. Or something." She unclasped her hand. "Shall I lay out your night clothes?"

"Not yet. Let's just sit."

"Sit?"

"The dressing table chair," Caroline said with a wave of her hand. She sat on the edge of the bed.

Bess looked like she'd been sentenced to a jail cell. She wouldn't mind chatting with Bess the way she did with Lydia. But Bess had never been able to reciprocate. In spite of Caroline's attempts at being friendly, Bess remembered her place, and strictly kept it.

"I know what," Bess said, standing, "let's see what you might wear tomorrow." She was heading for the wardrobe when the door opened and William entered.

He and Caroline stared at each other. Finally he spoke. "Nothing to be alarmed about. The stewards said the ship struck a little ice." His laugh seemed forced. "Third-class passengers are out on their recreation area having snowball fights with the pieces." He shook his head as if he disapproved and took his timepiece from his vest pocket. "My word, it's almost midnight. Let's call it a night."

He began to shed his formal coat, and Bess waited to hang it in the wardrobe when a knock sounded.

William shrugged into the coat again and answered the door. A steward spoke in a level voice. "Everyone should put on life vests and come on deck."

"Why?" William said. "I was just up there and nothing's happening. What's this about?"

"The captain's orders, sir. Please hurry." The steward wasn't asking, he was demanding. He turned and almost collided with Craven, but quickly stepped aside.

Craven entered the stateroom, holding his life vest. "Checking to make sure you were informed."

"Did you check on Lydia and John?" Caroline asked.

"Oh, yes," he said. "No answer to my knock." His shoulders rose, as did a speck of color in his face. Caroline knew he didn't like the idea of the two being in there and not answering. An instant passed, and he said lightly, "They're apparently still dancing the night away." He held up his life vest. "Maybe we can help each other into these things. A fine time to have a drill."

"Is that what it is?" Caroline felt an easing of the twinge of fear that had begun to twist her insides.

"Must be. Nobody's concerned about a problem. I didn't see Ismay or the captain on deck. On Sunday mornings, there's been a drill on every ship I've sailed on. But on this one," he scoffed, "they wait until midnight."

"Why a practice drill for a ship that can't sink?" William said, and ordered Bess to get the life vests.

She already had them in her arms.

"Oh," he said. "Caroline will need her fur."

Bess laid the vests on a chair and opened the wardrobe.

"A drill," Caroline said. "That might take some time. Get a coat for yourself, Bess." Caroline stepped into the bathroom. Fortunately, she was still in her evening clothes, but she should at least, as William had said earlier, freshen up.