Residuum

by ID Johnson

  “Mr. Ashton!” Dr. Morgan said, his quiet voice still showing excitement. “Nice to see you again.”

  Charlie turned to grasp his outstretched hand. “You as well, doctor. Please, call me Charlie,” he reminded the psychiatrist.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  The doctor led him into a cozy office with more leather furniture and a dark desk and bookshelf, almost black. The smell of leather and a faint whiff of cigar smoke filled his nostrils, and he absently thought one of the doctor’s previous patients must be a smoker since, as far as he knew, Dr. Morgan was not.

  “Would you care to have a seat there, on the lounger?” Dr. Morgan asked, sitting in a chair across from it. “You can sit or recline. It’s up to you.”

  Charlie chose to sit and settled himself in the corner. Dr. Morgan held a pad of paper and a pen but said nothing as Charlie took in the rest of the room. The paintings were what one might expect; hunting scenes, a picnic, the seaside, all in darker hues. On a small table next to the doctor sat a lamp with a white fabric shade, a picture of Dr. Morgan and a woman about his age in a golden frame underneath.

  “Is that Mrs. Morgan?” Charlie asked, nodding in the direction of the photograph.

  Dr. Morgan tipped his head down and looked at the portrait next to his elbow, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “It is.”

  “She’s lovely,” Charlie said politely, though there wasn’t anything particularly striking about her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you any children?”

  “We have. Two boys and a girl. All in various levels of study at universities here in the city.”

  Charlie nodded. Ordinarily, he might ask more questions about Dr. Morgan’s family, but he knew this was not a conversation. This was about him.

  Dr. Morgan offered, “My wife, Rachael, decided not to travel with me to visit my mother after having had a premonition of a ship sinking. After Titanic, all she could say was, ‘I told you so.’”

  Charlie raised both eyebrows. “You don’t say? Do you think there’s anything to it?”

  “Possibly,” Dr. Morgan shrugged. “It’s difficult to say. I suppose we’ll know someday exactly what the human mind is capable of, though we don’t know for now.”

  Charlie nodded again and cleared his throat. He was out of objects to stare at. He looked at his hands, folded in his lap.

  “Tell me about your family, Charlie. How are your relationships with your mother and father?”

  “Wonderful,” he replied, no thought needed. “I’ve always gotten along quite well with them. My father is very nurturing. He’s allowed me the opportunity to learn the business on my own, under his guidance. My mother is quite loving. She has become a bit more involved with the social scene these past few years, but I think that’s more my sister’s influence than anything else.”

  “And you get along well with your sister?’

  “Oh, yes. Grace is a wonderful older sister. She’s a bit overprotective from time to time, but nothing outrageous. She and her husband Peter live in Buffalo.”

  “No nieces and nephews?”

  “Not yet. Although, Meg’s friend—who is really more like a sister to her—she has two little girls. Ruth and Lizzie. They are like my nieces.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes. Precious little girls those two. Ruth is a bit of a troublemaker, I suppose. But I love them. Getting to see them… lightens the load, I guess. It makes me feel like all of my worries are gone, at least for a bit.”

  Dr. Morgan nodded. “Sounds lovely. Tell me about Meg.”

  Charlie knew he was grinning like a school boy with a crush, but he didn’t care. “Meg is… perfect. I’ve always known she’d be my wife, but I had no idea we would love each other so completely. It really is quite a relief to know that I will spend the rest of my life with such an incredible woman.”

  “It doesn’t bother you at all to know you had little say in who you would wed?”

  “No, not anymore. Oh, there were times when it did, I suppose. As a matter of fact, I know that there were. But that was before I knew her. Now that I have Meg in my life, I can’t imagine living without her.”

  “How wonderful,” Dr. Morgan offered with a small smile.

  “It is. It really is,” Charlie nodded, still grinning ear to ear at the thought of her.

  “And the wedding is soon?”

  “Yes, in two weeks. You must come. I’ll make sure my mother gets you an invitation.”

  “I don’t typically attend events held by my patients….”

  “Dr. Morgan, if my mother and sister get their way, everyone in town will be talking about this wedding for years to come. You simply must be there.”

  Letting out a low chuckle, Dr. Morgan said, “I suppose Rachael will have my head if I say no.”

  “Likely,” Charlie agreed. “Bring your man. Edward, is it?”

  “That’s him,” Dr. Morgan nodded. They shared a knowing smile but said nothing more on the topic they both had in mind. “Now, Charlie, what is it exactly you’d like for me to help you with?” Dr. Morgan asked, setting his notepad aside.

  Charlie swallowed a lump in his throat. “I should like to get back to my former self. I feel that, ever since Titanic sank, part of me is missing. As if it were dragged down beneath the sea, and I can’t get it back. It’s been replaced with… thoughts of despair and distress. I don’t like feeling that way, Dr. Morgan. I don’t like jumping at loud noises or feeling as if I’m about to cry—or shout at someone—for no apparent reason.”

  Dr. Morgan was slowly nodding, his hands bridged in front of his face. “All of that is normal, Charlie.”

  “Is it? I mean… Meg’s been through so much more than I have, and she seems just fine. Jonathan has gone on about his life, as have Kelly and Daniel. Other people from the ship are making the papers, going on like nothing has ever happened. And I’m… a puddle of emotions.”

  Dr. Morgan straightened his glasses. “I am aware that some of the other survivors are also having a hard time, Charlie. You are not the only First Class passenger seeking psychiatric help. I have heard that one of the other gentlemen has already turned a pistol on himself, ending his life. There are others who may never recover, Charlie. You were wise to ask for help. It will do your friends good for you to keep an eye on them.”

  While he was glad to know he wasn’t alone, the stories were tragic. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Dr. Morgan.”

  “Why don’t we start at the beginning, Charlie. Why don’t you tell me about what it was like to board Titanic? Slowly, over the course of the next few weeks—months if necessary—we’ll get to the dismal part, the part of the story you’re trying so hard not to remember. I believe, if we go slowly and truly work through all that has happened, we will restore you to your former self. What do you think?”

  “I like that idea very much,” Charlie nodded, relieved that they would take it slow and that he wouldn’t have to try to remember the worst of it right from the beginning.

  “Very well, then. Charlie, tell me about how you arrived on Titanic.”

  With a deep breath, Charlie thought about the beginning of the story and replied, “I boarded Titanic at the last moment in an attempt to change my fate. I had no idea I was really walking into the hands of destiny. It’s funny how we think we can control our lives, but honestly, Titanic has taught me that we are all part of a much bigger picture, and while we may have a bit of influence on our circumstances, there’s no avoiding the inevitable.” He set his hat next to him on the sofa and ran his hand through his hair. “Do you believe in fate, Dr. Morgan?”

  “I’m not sure, Charlie. Do you?”

  “Yes,” he said without a moment’s thought. “And fate had decided I was going to wed Mary Margaret Westmoreland or die in the process. As a matter of fact, I did die—and even that wasn’t enough. Thankfully, my fate is one I no longer wish to escape.”

  Dr. Morgan smiled. “Tell me about that f
irst day—when you came aboard.”

  Charlie closed his eyes and remembered that morning, only a few months ago. He could smell the sea air, feel the breeze on his face. He was standing on the deck, looking down. A crowd stood on the pier waving, shouting goodbye. The vast ocean spread out all around them. And there, below him, looking around at the crowd as if she was missing someone, was the most beautiful blonde woman he’d ever seen. He’d had no idea the person she was looking for was him.

  Sitting next to Meg alone in the overly opulent dining room, Charlie couldn’t help but smile. Even though the voices still clung to him, he had a feeling Dr. Morgan could actually help. For the first time since he’d arrived back in New York City, he felt hopeful that he could return to his former self.

  “You look awfully chipper this evening,” Meg said, as she took a sip of her soup. “I suppose that means Dr. Morgan was helpful?”

  “It does,” Charlie admitted, noting how lovely she looked in the light blue gown she wore. It made her eyes sparkle. “He really does know precisely what to ask and how to ask it.”

  “Are you studying him as much as he’s studying you?” she asked, amusement pulling at the corners of her exquisite lips.

  He looked at her for a moment, his head tipped to the side a bit, seeing if she would break into a giggle. She did. “And what if I am?”

  “No, that’s fine,” she replied. “So long as you feel he’s helping you.”

  “I feel he’s helping me or he is actually helping me?”

  “Either.” She shrugged and carefully raised a spoonful of broth to her mouth. “Wouldn’t he argue that perception is reality?”

  “I believe you’re mistaking him for a philosopher,” Charlie noted.

  “Two very similar fields.”

  “I suppose so, but I’m not sure Dr. Morgan would agree that thinking one is being helped is the same as actually being helped. And I’m sure he would say he is actually capable of helping me.”

  Meg nodded, though Charlie didn’t know if that meant she was truly convinced. “I hope so. I’d love to see you jovial all the time, the way that you used to be.”

  “That was you, Meg. Believe me, I didn’t walk around the streets of New York City with a sappy grin on my face all of the time before we met.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I don’t make you happy anymore?”

  “Of course not,” he said with a sly smile. “It only means that I’ve lost a bit of myself. Now that I’m seeing Dr. Morgan, I think he shall help me find it.”

  She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “I hope so.”

  “You know, I’m sure he could help you, too. If you’d let him.”

  Setting the napkin back on her lap, she asked, “What is it, exactly, that you feel I need help with?”

  “You’ve been through quite a bit, Meg. Perhaps it isn’t healthy to push everything down inside.” He knew he was walking a thin line between offering a suggestion and upsetting her, so he attempted to be nonchalant.

  “I’m fine, Charlie. In fact, knowing that my uncle is gone for good has renewed my energy. I feel much more content than I have in years.”

  He nodded, not sure he believed her but certain she believed herself. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

  “With the wedding approaching, and the knowledge that we will soon be man and wife, I haven’t the time to be upset about anything. I’m just fine, Charlie. I assure you.”

  “I’m glad, Meg,” he said, deciding to let it go. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps she had found a way to deal with all of the horrific experiences of her short life. “Tell me how it went today. Did you decide on a pattern for your dress?”

  “I did,” she said, her face lighting up. “More importantly, Grace and I have reached an understanding.”

  “Really?” Charlie asked, perking up a bit. “That’s great.”

  “Yes, she cares so much for you. It’s no surprise she wanted to protect you.”

  “And control everything,” Charlie muttered, returning his attention to the bowl in front of him.

  “That may be true,” Meg shrugged, “but I don’t mind. I’ve never been one for throwing parties or events. I’m certain the wedding ceremony will be lovely.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t mind postponing the honeymoon?” She’d already agreed the first time he’d mentioned it, on their way back from Southampton, but he felt guilty asking her to put it off.

  “Not at all,” she replied. “In fact, I’m relieved that I’ll have the chance to move in here and get settled into the role of being your wife straight away.”

  Charlie smiled and let go of a deep breath. “Good. I feel I must return to work and get things straightened out with the textile factory as well.”

  “It will be nice to see Westmoreland Textiles up and running properly again,” Meg noted.

  “And once we are ready, I shall take you wherever you’d like to go. France, Egypt, China—anywhere.”

  A grin broke out on Meg’s face. “I think I should like to see America,” she replied.

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. “America? Why is that?”

  “Why not? I’ve always dreamt of visiting, and now here I am. When you first awoke, you asked if we could take a slow train. Let’s do that instead. Let’s go to St. Louis, and then on to the Grand Canyon. We’ll go to California and see the Pacific Ocean. We’ll stick our toes in the water but won’t get in. What do you think?”

  “I think…that sounds lovely,” Charlie replied, smiling widely at her. “As long as you are there, I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

  “You know I’ll be there, Charlie. You can’t get away from me. Surely you must know that by now.”

  “Luckily, I don’t want to,” Charlie said with a wink, and he wished the next two weeks would fly by so he could finally make Meg his wife at long last.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meg stood in a room crowded with over four hundred people, approximately a dozen of whom she knew, and that was being generous with the definition of the word “knew.” Wearing her long white gown, which poofed out around her in just the fashion that would’ve made her absent mother beside herself, she shook hands with faceless, nameless well-wishers and smiled until her cheeks began to ache.

  Charlie seemed every bit the carefree soul he’d been the night they’d fallen in love at the Third Class dance. That was the Charlie she pictured most times when she thought of the man she loved. He’d been there, too, at dinner that night in the First Class dining hall—at least until she’d shouted at Mrs. Appleton and run out, leading Madeline Astor to reveal Meg’s true identity.

  But that Charlie was here now, or at least he appeared to be, though she thought his expression showed from time to time that he was still battling the voices. Perhaps Dr. Morgan’s tactics were helping him win the fight.

  Ruth looked adorable in her pink dress, which hung to the floor, nearly tripping her as she danced around her parents. Kelly had stood beside Meg, along with Grace, and Charlie had been proud to have both Walter—who turned out to be every bit as silly as Charlie had described—and Quincy by his side.

  Now, it was all over, except for the reception. Then, Meg would return to Charlie’s house—the house they would share together—and embark on a new adventure, that of being Mrs. Charles Ashton.

  “Meg Ashton,” she said aloud, once the last of the well-wishers had moved along. “What do you think?”

  Charlie was already grinning from ear to ear, but his face brightened even more. “I think it sounds remarkable.”

  “That’s my name now, you know? Meg Ashton.”

  “What about Mary Margaret Ashton?” he asked, leaning close to her ear.

  “Heaven’s no. That’s such an awful name anyway. Mary Margaret. There’s way too many Mars.”

  He laughed so loudly a few people standing nearby turned to look. “Are you going to give up Westmoreland forever? It was your father’s name.”

  “That’s t
he only reason I can tolerate it at all,” she admitted. “Perhaps Meg Westmoreland Ashton, though that’s very complicated. Meg Ashton is nice and crisp.”

  He bent down and kissed her temple near the veil that hung over the back of her head. It was made of tulle, an idea her mother-in-law had come up with after she insisted the veil have no lace, and it had been fastened over the back of her hair the entire ceremony, with only one thin layer needing to be flipped back once she was standing in front of the altar—on Jonathan’s arm. She couldn’t think of another soul worthy of giving her away in lieu of her father.

  “Do you know all of these people?” she whispered while he was so close to her.

  “No, only about half. Possibly,” he admitted.

  Meg giggled, glad she wasn’t the only one who felt like she didn’t quite belong. “Grace has planned for us to cut that enormous wedding cake and then everyone shall have a slice.”

  “Cut the cake? You and me? How interesting.”

  “Well, I think only one piece. She is a bit of a trendsetter, that sister of yours.”

  “She’s yours now, too,” Charlie reminded her.

  “She suggested I smear some all over your face. She thought it would be a lark.”

  His eyebrows raised. “And did you agree to this prank?”

  Meg grinned at him slyly. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.” She had no intention of playing the joke, though she thought it might be fun to see him squirm a bit between now and then, unsure of what she might do.

  “It would be a shame to get cake all over that dress, but if I’m forced to defend myself….”

  It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. He began to laugh, and she resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, since his mother had asked that they please attempt to be as serious as possible when standing at the head of the room.

  Grace walked in front of them, looking as though she was on her way to direct the Master of Ceremonies to get on with it, her pink gown nearly dragging on the floor as she went. Once she’d passed through her line of vision, Meg’s eyes fell on another somewhat familiar face. Stella.