by ID Johnson
“It depends on what they were giving you, but I should think so,” the doctor nodded. “Do you happen to know what it was?”
“No,” Charlie admitted. He thought he might mention that it made him forgetful, but he kept that information to himself. He also thought he might mention the voices, but then, he didn’t think there was anything in Dr. Shaw’s black bag to help that either.
“I’d say give it a go when you feel tired, and see if you can go to sleep on your own. If not, there are remedies I can provide for you.”
That was exactly what Charlie was hoping to avoid. The last thing he wanted was another prescription that would make him feel like he wasn’t himself. He only nodded, and the doctor drew the salve he’d mentioned out of his bag and explained how to apply it and how often before setting it on the nightstand next to Charlie’s bed.
“Is there anything else?” Dr. Shaw asked, his eyebrows raised. He wore the same friendly expression he always did, and Charlie was tempted to trust him with the secret he was carrying—that even as the doctor stood before him, his mouth closed tightly, there were voices in the room. Charlie shook his head. “Very good then. I shall be back tomorrow to check on your progress. In the meantime, if anything comes up, ring the office.”
“Thank you very much, Dr. Shaw,” Charlie replied, offering his hand, which the large man enveloped before he let go and gathered up his bag.
“Your mother mentioned a young lady is staying in the carriage house who was also aboard the boat. Would you like for me to check on her while I’m here? Has she any injuries?”
So many phrases in the statement stood out to Charlie, he wasn’t even sure where to begin. A young lady? The boat? Any injuries? Charlie opened his mouth, as if he might attempt to explain away all of those misunderstandings, but instead he closed his mouth and continued to shake his head.
“No? All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Ashton.”
“Have a good afternoon, doctor,” Charlie replied, and he watched Dr. Shaw make his way back into the hallway, where he was certain Jonathan would scoop him up and see him out of the house.
Charlie rested his head against the headboard and glanced out the window. Perhaps Meg did need to see a physician, but he knew she wouldn’t want to see Dr. Shaw. She’d made that clear earlier. She was fine physically, but Charlie didn’t think it would be possible for her to be fully recovered mentally. Even now, in a room that should’ve been perfectly still, there was no silence. He took a deep breath and resituated on the bed, thinking perhaps a nap might be in order, if he could find a way to make his mind quiet enough to find sleep. He closed his eyes and saw their faces and knew in his heart his mind would never be quiet again.
Chapter Five
Charlie’s dining room table was large and opulent, like most of the other furnishings in his house. However, Meg had come to learn that his mother had chosen most of the décor, and when Charlie said he’d just as soon be surrounded by simpler things, Meg believed him. Nevertheless, seated next to him at the baroque revival dining table made her feel small and insignificant. Luckily, whenever he smiled at her, she felt like the most important person in the world.
“How was your day?” he asked as they sipped bowls of freshly made soup. Meg had learned that there would be at least four courses, sometimes as many as seven depending upon who was present, so she paced herself. “Did you do any shopping?”
“Not today,” Meg replied, setting her spoon aside to take a sip of water. She’d declined the wine she’d been offered. Drinking anything stronger than tea made her head ache. She was happy to have Charlie to herself for once. Every other night this past week, at least a few members of his family had been present, if not work associates and friends as well. Charlie had been modest about his valor and quiet about all that he had endured, and Meg had been less than forthcoming about who she was and how she’d come to be living in Charlie’s guest house, but most people didn’t pry, though everyone wanted to know exactly what it was like to be aboard Titanic, and neither of them could ever answer that question to their satisfaction.
The servants brought in the next course, and when Meg recognized lamb and potatoes on her plate, she knew this would be a less elaborate meal than some of the others or else this main course would’ve been served later.
Charlie looked a bit paler than he had the last few days when he had seemed almost himself again, though not quite. There was always the lingering jumpiness they were both experiencing, the timidity at new or unfamiliar noises or sudden outbursts. Tonight, he seemed a few shades whiter than he had recently, and she knew his interview must have taken its toll. “Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather put it out of your mind?” she asked before she took a small nibble of the well-done meat on her plate.
He exhaled and took a sip of his wine before setting his glass down and offering his hand to her, which she took. She knew Jonathan was nearby, though she couldn’t see him, and if there was even the suggestion that something inappropriate might be about to happen, he would suddenly be in the room, but Meg had learned from experience that hand holding was not an alarm to the liegeman.
“It was not pleasant,” Charlie admitted, looking off in the distance as if he was trying to remember, or trying to forget. “I’m glad I got to speak with them today because I hear they are moving the interviews to Washington in a few days, and I’d rather not travel again any time soon if it can be avoided.”
Meg nodded. “Did they ask you all sorts of questions you didn’t want to answer?”
“They asked me all sorts of questions I couldn’t answer,” he confessed with a shrug. “I haven’t the foggiest idea how the ship came to hit the iceberg. Nor do I know how the crewmen determined how many people to put aboard each lifeboat. I just know it wasn’t nearly enough.’
His voice trailed off at the end, and Meg squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Did they ask you how you came to be on the collapsible?”
“They did. I told them the truth. I honestly don’t remember.”
She nodded. He hadn’t been able to tell her either, though she’d asked while they were still aboard Carpathia and then again a few days after they arrived in New York. He said he remembered kissing her goodbye, spending time below the main deck unlocking gates and trying to help some of the Third Class passengers find the lifeboats, but those who spoke little English had no idea what he was saying, and once the boat became so submerged she was noticeably listing, he’d given it up and went back to where the boats had been launching. He remembered seeing the collapsible fall into the water, and then he couldn’t remember anything else. He said there was a loud cracking noise, and he remembered being cold. After that, he was aboard Carpathia, and everything was sketchy. It came and went. Sometimes, he could remember talking to Meg, asking her to marry him all over again. Other times, she’d had to remind him of that conversation. Thankfully, he hadn’t forgotten who she was since that day in hospital when they’d just arrived.
“At least it’s over with now,” Charlie said with a sigh. “You know, I went to several such hearings after the fire in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, and those things are never pleasant. They ask such demanding questions with little or no concern for what the person they’re speaking to has been through. I wish all of those people had to go through a similar situation before they could be placed on those boards so that they could be a bit more… understanding.”
“Was it mostly people from the government and the shipping industry?” Meg asked as he released her hand so they could return to their dinner.
“I’m not sure. There were reporters, too, I think. I recognized a few other businessmen in the galley and wondered if they were selling tickets.” He scoffed and took another drink, almost draining his glass. Even though he’d been drinking quite a bit the last few days, Meg had yet to see him intoxicated, and she hoped tonight would not be the first time. Thoughts of drinking too much immediately led her mind to her uncle, and she pushed him back in
side his box.
“I hear they’ve raised quite a sum for the passengers who need it, particularly the Third Class widows,” Meg commented, taking a sip of her water. The lamb was delicious but she hadn’t had much of an appetite lately, and she set her fork to the side of her plate hoping whatever the next course was it wouldn’t be too heavy.
“Yes, they’ve collected quite a bit. I should like to contribute as well. I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“It seems odd that you would, in a way. That is, being a victim yourself.”
“While I see your point, I feel as if I owe those families. It could just as easily have been one of their husbands or fathers clinging to the collapsible instead of me.”
Meg swallowed hard. He’d made other such statements, but this time he had that far off look in his eyes again. “It could’ve been one of them in my seat as well. Or Jonathan’s or Daniel’s. There’s no way to say how God decided who lived and who did not.”
At the mention of God, Charlie’s head whipped around and his eyebrows raised. “Do you think He chose?” he asked. His voice was calm, but there was an air of amusement in it. “Do you think He was looking down at the Atlantic that night and put us into categories of who deserved to make it and who did not?”
She put her hands in her lap, absently tugging at the stitches in the hem of her dinner napkin, not sure how to respond. She had little knowledge of Charlie’s religious beliefs except for the few he’d mentioned in a letter from time to time. Since they’d arrived in New York, he had given no indication as to whether or not those sentiments had changed. She’d certainly done her fair share of swearing off all things of faith over the years. But she knew that night, as she sat on the unsteady lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, God had heard her prayers. “I believe we all have a reason for making it out of the Atlantic,” she said quietly.
“The reason most of the people who made it out alive were able to do so was because they were First Class passengers. It was their wealth that won them their seats.” He folded his hands above his plate and looked across the room at a large painting on the wall of an English fox hunt.
“Money wasn’t everything, though, Charlie. JJ Astor, Ben Guggenheim, there are others who could’ve written a check large enough to pay the salaries of every crew member for the rest of their lives who didn’t find a seat in the lifeboat and didn’t have the capacity to hang on until they were rescued as you did.”
“Capacity?” Charlie asked, looking at her with wide eyes. Again, his voice wasn’t angry, but that condescending tone was present. “I didn’t do anything miraculous or spectacular, Meg. I was just… lucky.”
The servants came in again, and Meg set her napkin down. “I won’t be having anything else, thank you,” she told one of the servants she’d learned was called Victor, and he nodded as he took her plate. Once they were alone again, she said, “Charlie, I have no idea what happened to you while you were in the water. I have no way of knowing. Unfortunately, neither do you.”
“I’m not sure that’s unfortunate,” he remarked quietly as he leaned back in his chair.
“It would be nice to know you have a full memory, I would think,” she said. “Anyway, my point is, I spent hours praying that you would be spared, and you were. I don’t know if that was divine intervention, luck, or something else. But I won’t be ungrateful for it.”
He was quiet for a long time before he turned to her and took her hand again, this time a bit more forcefully. “I’m not asking you to be ungrateful, Meg. I’m just questioning… everything now. I don’t know how a God could stand by and watch newborn babies freeze to death in the middle of the ocean while boats floated nearby less than half full of women wrapped in enough furs to clothe an entire apartment building full of factory workers. I don’t know how a God could pick and choose who lives and who dies and not send the Californian over to rescue passengers aboard another ship before she even went down at all. I don’t know how a God could’ve allowed an idiot like Bruce Ismay to order an untested cruiser to pick up speed while plowing through ice fields without giving the lookouts proper tools so that they could see the icebergs. But that’s what happened, I suppose. So… if there is a God, and I’m no longer convinced there is, I guess He must’ve had His reasons.”
Meg stared into his green eyes for the longest time, and while her initial reaction was to hurl the same sort of comparisons at him—who was he to sit here in all this finery while somewhere out in the night, a little girl was too afraid to close her eyes for fear a monster would shadow her doorway?—she knew the pain that caused him to make such statements wouldn’t respond to her logic. “I don’t blame you for questioning God right now, Charlie. And I suppose He probably doesn’t either. All I know is that I am thankful that you’re here, that we are finally together, that I never have to step foot in Southampton again, and that for once in my life, I finally feel safe, even though I can also remember the terror of that night as clearly today as I could when it was happening.”
He leaned in closely and licked his lips, but she could see the pain in his eyes. “Meg, do you hear them?” he asked quietly, his voice just a whisper.
She felt her heart catch in her chest. She’d hoped that it had finally stopped. He hadn’t mentioned the voices since he’d been home, but she knew now he’d only been trying to go on about his life like everything was all right. They’d never stopped at all.
Meg slowly shook her head. “I don’t, Charlie. But I believe you. And I’m sure you’re not the only one. The others who were in the water—they might hear them, too.”
His face fell, and he stared at her hand for the longest time. “I can’t talk to them. There were only a handful, and they’re scattered now. I don’t even know any of them. I ….” His voice trailed off. She knew he wouldn’t finish that sentence.
“What can I do?” she asked, lifting his face and slowly stroking his cheek as she met his eyes again. “How can I make it better, Charlie?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his other hand resting on hers. “I wish I did, Meg. They never stop. Even now, as I’m talking to you, they don’t go away.”
She wished with all of her heart she could take it away from him, but there was nothing she could think of to make the voices quiet. “Did you talk to Dr. Shaw?”
“No,” Charlie admitted. “I’m afraid they’ll drug me once more, and I don’t want to forget you again.”
“Maybe there’s a different medication they can give you.”
“Possibly. Or they could lock me up in an asylum somewhere with the other loons.”
“You’re not crazy, Charlie. You froze to death along with two thousand other people. That isn’t insignificant. It’s quite traumatic. Everyone else might think we can just be thankful to be alive and go on about our business, but it isn’t that simple, now is it? You need to give yourself some time.”
“They’re driving me up a wall, Meg.” His eyes narrowed, and she could see exactly how much he meant it. “It takes me hours to finally fall asleep, and when I do, they wake me several times each night. I give up.”
“Then tell Dr. Shaw that you need something for sleep,” she suggested, hopeful that it might be a helpful alternative.
He shook his head and she removed her hand, which he clasped in his. “I told you, I don’t trust any of those medications now. I don’t want to discover I’ve missed you again.”
“Maybe Dr. Shaw will have a different suggestion, then,” she said with a shrug.
He let go of her to run a hand through his hair, and she knew that meant he was anxious and disregarding her statement. “Perhaps.” He looked like he might want to say more.
“Well, tonight, if you can’t sleep, telephone me, and we’ll talk,” she said with a shrug.
A half grin pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Telephone you? In the middle of the night?”
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s not as if I have something I need to do tomorrow. No one cares if Meg W
est has important information about Titanic to share.” She had been lucky to escape the inquisition. None of the men running the interviews seemed to realize who she was at this point, and she wanted to leave it that way, though Mr. Ashton had informed her that her mother had sent him a telegraph a few days ago asking if he’d heard from Mary Margaret. He had yet to respond.
“You really wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Meg assured him. “In fact, I’d say come over, but something tells me Jonathan would immediately awaken and appear in my apartment the moment your slippers hit my living room floor.”
He laughed, and Meg was glad to hear the sound. “I honestly don’t think Jonathan would care at all, if it weren’t for my mother.”
She nodded. “Yes, well, Mr. Lane seems to be of the opinion that you and I cannot be trusted to conduct ourselves as responsible upright youths.”
“Mr. Lane might be on to something,” Charlie admitted, and Meg realized his mouth was quite near to her own now. She took a deep breath and his lips were on hers. His hand slipped up to cup her chin, and he drew her to him. There was a screech of wooden chair legs on the floor, and Meg found herself on his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers in his hair. Charlie’s hands had slipped down to her waist, and just as she was hoping they might find their way elsewhere, the door slammed closed behind her, making them both jump.
“Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised that leaving the pair of you alone for dinner has had this result, but I am a bit disappointed.”
She turned to see Jonathan’s words didn’t match his amused expression. Meg climbed off of Charlie’s lap and straightened the light green dress she was wearing, one Carrie had gotten for her the week before. “Jonathan—you frightened me. Don’t you know we still can’t handle loud noises?” she asked, breathing hard, though she didn’t think the startle had much to do with that.