Hearts That Survive

by Yvonne Lehman

  "How delightful," Lydia said. "I've read his books and my parents were acquainted with the Stanton-Joneses, but I've never formally met them."

  Lydia's shining blue eyes darkened with doubt. "Oh, I hope we hear something soon from the captain. My trunks will need to be brought up. I must find something suitable for the—" her glance moved to Craven as her chin lifted, "the wedding."

  He scoffed, "Is that not getting the cart before the horse?"

  Lydia's euphoria wasn't daunted. "Like John, I am a dreamer."

  John wondered, if they were not expecting a child, could they resist Craven's displeasure? Having this secret, however, emboldened them. He would try to have a civil relationship with Craven. "Would you stand up with us, Craven? Be my best man?"

  Craven's dark eyes were steel beneath raised eyebrows. "I would not displease nor dishonor Lydia's father by agreeing to something that would be expressly against his wishes and my better judgment."

  "I understand. But you are invited."

  John had often heard his father say, Keep a stiff upper lip, ol' chap, but it didn't apply here. Craven was wearing his quite well.

  Craven turned without another word. Marcella had the door open by the time he reached it, and she closed it after him.

  "Congratulations," Marcella said softly, her eyes dark as the dress she wore but the twinkle in them as bright as her white apron and cap. She put a finger on her lips as if keeping them mum.

  Lydia laughed, apparently knowing her maid well. "You may tell, Marcella." She smiled and John nodded. He felt that made at least three on the ship who were pleased about a possible wedding.

  "Go, John." Lydia pushed him from the room. "I must dress for lunch in anticipation of speaking with the distinguished captain, who just might be as excited about a wedding as we are."

  "Impossible." John drew her to him for a tender touching of their lips. Although many people spoke as if servants couldn't hear, he mimed, "I love you."

  "I love you too," she said aloud. "Now go."

  He went, and within the half-hour rang her room. "The steward has delivered a message from a most important person aboard this ship." He laughed at his own words. "Perhaps in this case I should say the most important person, since he is the one in charge of this ship of dreams."

  9

  Saturday, April 13, 1912

  Caroline, who apparently waited on the promenade deck for Lydia to appear, exclaimed, "I heard a juicy bit of gossip."

  That's what Lydia had expected. The night they were in Southampton, Marcella had become friends with Caroline's maid, Bess. And Lydia had said Marcella could tell.

  Lydia brought her hand up to the throat of her lace-trimmed dress, displaying her ring finger.

  Caroline's delighted squeal pleased Lydia. Her eyes questioned. "John?"

  Confused by the question, Lydia simply nodded.

  Caroline grinned. "I wondered which one you would choose, your being pursued by two such eligible men."

  Lydia wouldn't exactly call it "pursued." Craven suffocated her. John liberated her. "I love John."

  The wistfulness in Caroline's reply of, "I know," took Lydia aback for a moment. But only a moment. Choices weren't always made according to one's heart. Many conformed to the expected, or what one's family had decided long ago, or what or who was acceptable. The wrong choice could result in the loss of position and favor.

  Lydia wondered about Caroline's reason for marrying Sir William. She hoped they'd become good friends. Caroline seemed the kind in whom she could confide and trust.

  "It's lovely." Her soft hazel eyes held warmth. Lydia had the impression Caroline wouldn't sneer even if she were wearing the carnival ring.

  Soon John joined her, and William joined Caroline. They walked onto the deck that surrounded the ship, then down the staircase to the reception room.

  "The band's ragtime was especially enjoyable last night," Caroline said. "Did you hear them?"

  Lydia replied that she hadn't but looked forward to it. She thought of how differently her late evenings had been spent. That's when she'd been so troubled by what to do, what to say to John, how to tell him.

  Amazing how one's anxiety could be dispelled in a short time. Her glance kept returning to the ring, glistening on her finger, and she felt her heart must surely be shining too.

  Reaching the entrance, Lydia's gaze scanned the assembled passengers. She recognized Stanton-Jones from the picture on his book covers. He wasn't difficult to see, being half a head taller than most of the men. Lady Stanton-Jones looked like her photos in newspaper society pages.

  John took the envelope from his pocket and said to a steward, "The captain said I might speak with him."

  He ignored the envelope. "Mr. Ancell. This way please."

  Caroline held up crossed fingers and the tilt of her head meant Go with my good wishes.

  Lydia and John followed the steward, who reported to the captain, "Mr. Ancell has arrived."

  The captain excused himself from Lady Stanton-Jones and the friendly Mr. and Mrs. Straus. Lydia thought how grand if she and John would have a long life together and be obviously in love like that older couple.

  John introduced her to the captain.

  "Miss Beaumont. I've looked forward to meeting you. I'm sorry your father is ill and couldn't make this trip."

  After a brief discussion of her father's health, Lydia told him what he likely already knew, and which was true of many travelers: "My father wouldn't cross any ocean without you at the helm of the ship."

  His smile enhanced his handsome, white-bearded face. "Cyril and I have had many a good conversation." He looked at John. "I believe your note mentioned a personal matter."

  "Yes, sir," John said. "Miss Beaumont and I are engaged to be married."

  He appeared genuinely pleased. "Congratulations."

  Seeing John's discomfort at how to ask, Lydia took over.

  "Would you consider performing the marriage ceremony?"

  His great white eyebrows rose, and his eyes twinkled from both the light of the chandeliers and his obvious pleasure. "You mean have a wedding on this maiden voyage of the Titanic?"

  "Exactly. Imagine the publicity," she said, as if there hadn't been a sufficient amount already.

  His fingers touched his bearded chin. "Ah, decisions. But Cyril would never forgive me if I refused a request from his daughter."

  She refrained from saying her father might never forgive him if he agreed to the request.

  "How about this?" he mused. "There are some who would want to have a deciding vote on such an event taking place. I mean, unless it were to be small and private."

  "I was thinking the grand staircase."

  He didn't seem surprised. "Barring any unforeseen circumstance I will be honored to perform the ceremony, privately or including the—" he grinned and his eyes danced merrily, "the grand staircase."

  He cautioned, "I don't make the plans, however, I just ensure they're carried out."

  He waited until the bugler wandered farther down the deck, announcing lunch with the blasts of his trumpet, and then spoke again. "Shall we discuss this further at dinner?"

  "Yes, thank you," Lydia said as John thanked him too.

  Captain Smith glanced at the steward standing a few feet away appearing to be deaf, but his nod indicated that he had received the silent message from the captain about dinner and would comply.

  10

  John watched Captain Smith walk over to a group of passengers. He'd never personally met the managing director of the White Star Line, J. Bruce Ismay, or Thomas Andrews, the ship's builder, but he had seen their pictures in the newspapers and in the Titanic's advertisements.

  He'd heard it mentioned that John Jacob Astor was the richest man on the ship. Lady Stanton-Jones engaged in conversation with Mrs. Astor, whom Lydia said was in the family way and in her teens; although Mr. Astor was forty.

  Seeing Andrews glance his way, John quickly averted his eyes. He didn't want to th
ink they might be as condescending about him or his toy trains as was Craven. However, he must remember that Craven had brought his designs to Cyril Beaumont. To think it had all started many years ago with a little train John's father had carved from a slab of wood, useless except for burning.

  The room of people began to stir. After having visited with others, they began leaving the reception room. Stanton-Jones walked up to Captain Smith's group, spoke briefly, then he and his mother headed John's way. Lady Stanton-Jones spoke to Caroline and William, who had joined them. A stewardess brought S. J.'s children.

  The Chadwicks and Lavinia, the name Lady Stanton-Jones insisted upon being called, had met on other occasions. John appreciated the informality but knew he'd never say "Lavinia" without prefacing her name with "Lady."

  "Henry told me the exciting news," Lady Lavinia said after introductions were made. "Let me see that ring more closely."

  Lydia offered her hand.

  "I can hardly wait to hear all about it," Lady Lavinia said. "Nothing I like better than a good romance story."

  "I want to hear it too," Phoebe said.

  Henry laughed. "John and I have already commented on the novel plot possibilities."

  "What isn't a novel idea to you?" Lady Lavinia said, with a fondness in her tone. As they entered the saloon, she said in invitation, "This is our table."

  John had noticed that most of the passengers seemed to congregate at the same table and with the same set of friends at dinner, although not at lunch. As he and Lydia had done one day, many lunched in the sidewalk café.

  "If you'll pardon me," William said, "I promised to lunch with Craven." Caroline smiled. He excused himself and headed for a table in a far corner where Craven and two other men were seated.

  Stewards pulled out chairs for the ladies. Master Henry, looking bored, played with the silverware. He used a spoon to tap every object within reach. He was discreet about it. Phoebe glanced at him and then away as if that were an ordinary occurrence.

  That reminded John of the writing of another Henry. Thoreau, to be exact. If a man does not keep pace with his com panions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

  He couldn't help being intrigued with the young boy's intensity in seeming to concentrate on the varying tones as he lightly tapped the objects with the spoon.

  As if thinking about different drummers, Lady Lavinia began a discussion about her son's novels, particularly Once Upon an English Country Garden, and Lydia and Caroline joined in.

  S. J. turned the conversation to John's poetry. John admitted he was not widely acclaimed outside his university and possibly London. "My recognition has come through my toy trains."

  "The Ancell trains. Of course." S. J. showed interest. "I've looked at those. Undoubtedly, jolly ol' Saint Nick will make a delivery of one under our Christmas tree this year."

  A clatter sounded as a spoon dropped onto little Henry's bread plate. His face became animated. "Is it Christmas?"

  They all laughed while his father leaned over to speak past Phoebe. "Not yet, Son. First is your birthday." He looked around at the others. "Henry will be three the day we arrive in New York." He spoke loudly enough for his son to hear. "And there will be a present."

  "A train?"

  "No. Santa considers bringing trains for good boys at Christmastime."

  Gentle laughter sounded, but Lady Lavinia said, "Henry is always a good boy."

  Henry tightened his lips and continued playing with the silverware while Phoebe gazed from one person to another as they talked, as if every word were interesting.

  John marveled at how different the conversation seemed. Lydia's engagement was the exciting news, of course. But to his surprise, those at the table discussed his toys as though they were as noteworthy as Cyril Beaumont's passenger trains.

  As if that were not enough, a steward appeared and held out an envelope. "Mr. Ancell, sir. The captain requested I give you this."

  John nodded, unable to catch his breath for a moment.

  The captain's regrets would be easier to deliver in a note than face-to-face with Cyril Beaumont's daughter.

  Or, he wondered, taking out a folded piece of fine quality paper . . .

  Is it Christmas?

  11

  Everyone at the table, except little Henry, turned their faces toward John, awaiting his response about the note. Lydia shot eye arrows at him, but he stared at the note, and after heaving a heavy sigh, he passed it to her.

  "Iiieee," Lydia squealed, then grimaced. Phoebe giggled.

  "Oh, I know what that is," Caroline said, "but what does it say? I'm assuming it's about your wedding."

  Lydia pretended to be nonchalant. "It's only a formal invitation to dine at Captain Smith's table this evening in the À la Carte Restaurant." But she felt euphoric and read it aloud.

  To

  Mr. John Ancell and Miss Lydia Beaumont

  It would be my distinct honor

  If you would dine at my table

  in the À la Carte Restaurant

  RMS Titanic

  Saturday, April 13, 1912

  From

  Edward J. Smith, Captain

  P.S.

  Mr. Craven Dowd will be welcome,

  along with a few friends of your choice

  Her first thought was Why Craven? But of course, Craven had sailed with her father many times. He'd been with her and John during most meals. The three of them were obviously traveling together.

  "You know what that must mean?" said Lady Lavinia.

  "Let's see," Lydia said innocently, "it means he admires my father, who will sail with no other captain?"

  Lady Lavinia clicked her tongue. "As long as nothing interferes with whatever makes the passengers happy, it will be done."

  Caroline scoffed, "What on earth, I mean what on the sea, could be more important than a wedding on this grand ship?"

  Lydia appreciated their playfulness. She'd witnessed the excitement and the nerves of friends anticipating their wedding, the plans that had to be made, the wondering daily if all was going to fall through. Some threatened to elope. "In case we can do this," she said tentatively, "I'll need help."

  Before the words left her mouth, Lady Lavinia said, "Done." Caroline touched her arm. "Of course."

  Lydia held up the invitation. "The captain said for us to invite friends of our choice. Would you join us?"

  "Already on my agenda, dear," Lady Lavinia said.

  "On mine now," Caroline added.

  "I would be honored," Phoebe said, like a confident young lady.

  All eyes turned to her.

  "Weren't you planning to be with some of the young girls in the sidewalk café this evening?" her father asked.

  Her dark curls bounced with the shake of her head. She looked at her crystal water glass, demurely picked it up, and took a sip.

  Unsure of what to say, Lydia smiled at Phoebe, then noticed a steward nearby. "Should we order?"

  While others were discussing who had eaten what, she perused the menu and noticed there were twice as many delectable items in the buffet column than for the luncheon and grill combined. "It all looks so good."

  Sensing a movement, she looked over at John. He discreetly placed two fingers against his cheek. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes seemed to say they had their own private joke.

  It was no joke, but she felt a delighted tickle in her throat. Yes, she was eating for two. She decided on the fillets of brill.

  After ordering, Caroline asked Phoebe if she had a favorite part of the ship.

  "The French sidewalk restaurant," Phoebe said immediately. "It's nicer here than in Paris." She paused. "And I like the band."

  "Our Phoebe is quite an accomplished pianist," Lady Lavinia said proudly. "Little Henry, on the other hand, is much like his father at that age, still trying to figure out what makes things work."

  "Henry, do you have anything favorit
e on the ship?" Lydia asked.

  He nodded. "The camel."

  "Oh, you've ridden a real camel?"

  He nodded.

  "No, he hasn't," Phoebe corrected. "Only the jumping one in the gym."

  Henry continued playing with the utensils, unperturbed.

  "I haven't ridden the camel," Lydia said, "but I looked in the window of the gym and saw it. The mechanical horses too."

  S. J. began to tell John about the gym. Lydia noticed Caroline and Lady Lavinia often spoke in soft tones as if the conversation were not for the entire table.

  Soon their lunch came, and while enjoying the sumptuous food Lydia tried not to be too obvious in observing Phoebe and Henry. She liked children just fine, but generally gave them little thought. Now she wondered if her child would be a girl like pretty Phoebe or a boy like the adorable Henry.

  While eating, she noticed Caroline and Lady Lavinia still engaged in private conversation. However, any uneasiness vanished when lunch ended and Lady Lavinia addressed Lydia. "Caroline and I have been scheming," she said. "We should meet for tea this afternoon with some of the other ladies and get this wedding event under way."

  As Craven had warned, she shouldn't put the cart before the horse. "The invitation is only for dinner. The captain didn't mention a wedding."

  "Well, if Caroline and I aren't convincing enough," Lavinia said, "we'll sic Molly on him."

  They laughed, knowing the flamboyant Molly Brown's charm and personal stories delighted and impressed everyone.

  John spoke up, "With you ladies ganging up on the captain, what can he say?"

  "What else?" Lydia said, finding John's playful mood contagious, "but, 'Ahoy mates'?"

  12

  Saturday afternoon tea, April 13, 1912