Hearts That Survive

by Yvonne Lehman

  "Even the horses are a welcome sight," Caroline added.

  They ordered coffee and sandwiches and talked about ordinary things like the smell of the food, the taste of the coffee when the waitress brought it, if they'd get dessert or try to find a chocolate shop, whether they'd make a trek through Central Park later, and how nice Bess looked, particularly in that cute little hat.

  "Blame her for that." Bess directed her glance at Caroline. Lydia wondered if she called her Caroline or Mrs. Chadwick.

  The waitress brought the sandwiches, and they discussed lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise or mustard. Incidentals now seemed important, or at least a worthy topic of conversation.

  They found a chocolate shop, delighted in the delectable morsels, then took a carriage ride to Central Park. Lydia felt they might be able to talk about that other life now.

  She opened her purse and took out the wedding band. "Thank you," she said.

  Caroline took it and slipped it on her finger, then just looked at it for a while.

  "How do you do it, Caroline? How do you stand it? Losing William?"

  Caroline took a breath of the fresh, cool air and looked out before her. "I don't know that I've really faced it yet, Lydia. I can't really analyze myself. But I know that people behave differently in the same situation. Just as they did on that ship."

  Lydia felt the possibility of an overwhelming wave stirring in her stomach. But she could do this. It had to be done, faced. She nodded, remembering some had been brave, strong, helpful, while others were panicked, fearful, jumping, pushing.

  "You see, we even behave differently in love."

  Lydia wasn't sure she could handle this, but listened. "You react differently about John because you loved him differently. You were fortunate to love like that, against what you were raised to do, to have, to be."

  She liked hearing John's name connected with love. He would always be in her heart.

  "I loved William in my way. He loved me in his way. I was younger, pretty, he said, and would be a perfect wife."

  She made a little sound. "Perfect," she repeated. "Neither of us knew I could not carry a child to term. But I tried to be what he wanted and needed. I don't think he ever knew how much having a child meant to me."

  Caroline's eyelids closed for a moment.

  Lydia touched her hand. "We don't have to talk about this."

  "I want to, if you don't mind listening. We need to accept the facts of life and try to move on."

  That sounded like good advice.

  "But to answer your question of how I do it," Caroline said, "the hardest part of my life has been in losing my children. Others call it a miscarriage. But he, or she, was part of my body as much as any other part."

  She gestured toward a woman pushing a baby carriage. "I see babies, and I see perfection. We may turn into something else, but we start out so wonderfully made."

  Lydia breathed deeply. She and John had begun to see their baby that way. Had just begun. He said it was the most wonderful miracle.

  "So you see, I blamed myself. William could give me a child, so he was all right. I have some defect, some problem within me. And how I handle it is to go directly to the ones who break my heart. The little ones. Instead of turning from them, I go to other people's children, and I love them as if they're my own."

  "You're so wise and unselfish."

  "Not so much," she said with a sadness in her tone. "I wanted to help Phoebe and Henry. But I also clung to them because of my need. In that little boat on that huge sea, I comforted them, which comforted me."

  "That's not wrong, Caroline."

  "No. I know that. But I'm not entirely unselfish. I discovered what I need to be fulfilled. And it's to care for children. And if relatives hadn't come for Phoebe and Henry, I would have tried to adopt them."

  "I would love to have had a mother like you."

  Caroline looked over at her. "So would I."

  They were able to share a small laugh because they could be honest with each other, expose their hearts. Bess hadn't said a word, but Lydia noticed when she took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes.

  "You see," Caroline said, "out there on the sea, I suppose I expected to lose William. Even Phoebe and Henry. I'm accustomed to losing children."

  She did not say it like one who was bitter at life, but bravely, like one who tried to face reality.

  The idea seemed to ride on the breeze at first, just a hint of possibility, when the thought came. Anyone who cared that much about children who were not her own, would be the world's greatest mother. Better than she, herself, could ever be.

  That's when it came as clear to Lydia as that blue sky overhead. She knew. She would claim to be in seclusion over the tragedy. She and Caroline would find a place somewhere away from prying eyes. Bess would be there to help.

  She would give her friend something no one else could.

  She would give her baby to Caroline.

  40

  Lydia knew she had made the right decision. Knowing also that she could be impulsive, she would wait for the right moment. Perhaps at dinner. No, after dinner. Caroline would be overcome with shock. The joyful kind. They could plan together how to work this out.

  Caroline would give a child her undivided attention and raise him or her just right. And Lydia could be a part of the child's life. Perhaps, Aunt Lydia. There would be some kind of legal paper drawn up so that at the right time the child would be heir or heiress to the Beaumont fortune.

  They'd have to do that secretly. Get an attorney from some obscure place. Craven must never know. Not for eighteen or so years, anyway.

  At the same time she was facing reality, her heart felt heavy. She must ask herself what John would think. She was not married. He would not want her or his child labeled. He would want the best. Caroline was the best.

  As they left the park, Caroline said, "Lydia, it's so good to see you smiling again. This was good for us. I'm glad you suggested it."

  "Well, there's more," she teased. "Let's have dinner in my suite." She looked at Bess. "The three of us. I have something special planned." She had another thought. "It goes perfectly with champagne for the celebration."

  Caroline looked skeptical. "You're going to make a dessert?"

  Lydia scoffed, "Never. But you'll see."

  They became like children. Even Bess managed a laugh. Lydia thought Bess would be in her element again as a nursemaid or nanny. They would be . . . all right.

  After arriving back at the hotel, the expected knock sounded on her door. "I trust you had an enjoyable day," Craven said.

  Without him, he might have added.

  "Very," she said, "facing reality."

  "I'm glad. Would you like to have dinner with me and tell me all about it?"

  "I have other plans." Indeed she did! And she didn't have to explain. "Thank you."

  Observing his studied appraisal, she stepped back to close the door and held her breath, half expecting him to yank her into his room and demand to know where she had gone and what she had done.

  However, he said, "I'm having dinner in the hotel dining room with several men." He turned, and she watched him walk purposefully, heading toward the elevator.

  By dinnertime she, Caroline, and Bess had each changed into comfortable dresses and now sat at the table, where dinner was brought up. "And what did you two do for the rest of the afternoon?" Lydia asked.

  Caroline was hesitant. "You may not want to hear this, but we read the newspapers again. The hearing is being reported. There's a big article about Craven in the afternoon paper."

  Lydia started to say Caroline was right. She didn't want to hear it. But this was a new day. A new beginning. She would face things like a mature woman. "Yes, I'd like to hear it."

  While they ate, Caroline talked about the articles. "Most men who survived are portrayed as villains, like Ismay. However, Craven is seen as a hero, complete with great acclaim from the mother who credits him with saving her daught
er."

  "Sounds like he almost walked on water."

  Bess choked on that one, and Caroline patted her back. Soon they were finished, and Lydia's hand shook when she set her coffee cup on the saucer. "It's time."

  Her voice sounded rather shaky. She needed to be calm for this. "All right, you two get settled in the living room. Bring out the glasses. Roll the champagne cart near, and I'll be right back with the surprise."

  As she walked into the bedroom, she laughed, hearing Bess say to Caroline, "It's in the bathroom?"

  No, she went to the bathroom because nerves made her do so. And she'd brush her teeth for the clean, clear announcement. I mean, how often does one say, "Guess what, you're going to be a mother?"

  After coming out of the bathroom, Lydia glanced into the bedroom mirror at her smiling reflection. That proved she could. She would.

  With that resolve, her gaze moved to the engagement ring lying on the dresser. She would not need to wear it. She picked up the ring and opened her black purse. The beaded evening bag was inside. That's where the ring belonged. She would save it and think about it someday, but not now. She unfastened the top and something caught her eye.

  Something gleamed in the corner of the purse.

  She reached in and brought out the carnival ring, grasped it in her hand, gave a cry, and held the ring to her heart.

  She had kept that ring for months. It represented the fun times she and John had. The playfulness. He'd said it was an engagement ring until he could get her the real thing. They'd laughed like it was a joke. But he'd meant it. She'd wanted it.

  She'd valued and kept a cheap, worthless little ring.

  She couldn't bear to throw it away or to give it away.

  But she would give away John's child.

  What kind of person was she?

  Was John's child worth less to her than a cheap carnival ring?

  41

  Lydia's hand covered her mouth as she slumped to the bed and gave a muffled cry. Oh, she was going to throw up. She rushed to the bathroom and lost all her dinner. She heaved until her stomach hurt.

  She didn't know what worried her most. That she might lose her baby like Caroline had lost hers. Or that she wouldn't.

  "Lydia?" Caroline's arm came around Lydia's shoulders. Bess wet a washcloth and pressed it against her forehead.

  Following much heaving and gagging, she nodded. "I'm okay."

  They led her to the bed and she sat on the edge. Bess wiped her face with the cool cloth. "It's not going to work." No, the surprise was on her. "I . . . I . . . please go."

  "I don't think we should leave you."

  "Please."

  "All right. We'll check on you later."

  She nodded and stood to prove she could and walked behind them to the door. Seeing the champagne cart, she rolled it into the hallway. There would be no celebration.

  She closed the door and locked it. Maybe she wouldn't go out that door ever again. For what? Where? Why?

  She slumped into the nearest armchair. Her head throbbed.

  What would she do now? Moaning, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She felt every rap on the door in her head. Caroline must have found him or called him. She would not let him in.

  He came through the bedroom.

  "Lydia?"

  She would not answer. She would not look.

  "Caroline said you're sick."

  "Just a headache."

  He opened the door and brought in the cart. She heard pouring. "Here, have a sip of champagne."

  She waved it away. The champagne had been meant for a celebration.

  "You need something. Water? Caroline said you lost your dinner."

  What might have been a laugh was a heave. "I lost something?" Her mouth tasted rank. She squinted, saw the glass, and took a small sip. "Order coffee, please."

  He did, and a sandwich.

  "You think it was something you ate?"

  She moaned. "That's what came up."

  "You seemed to be doing so well."

  "I was." She moaned again. "I am." A sigh. "I will." She wanted to be left alone.

  Maybe instead of being frightened by the idea of sailing, she should get on a ship and disappear like John did. She felt as numb as if she were still on that cold ocean. But she couldn't destroy herself because then she would be destroying a part of John too.

  "How is Father?"

  "About the same. I wired him today that you were well and went out with friends. He was pleased, but he needs to hear from you. This is hard on him."

  On him?

  She moaned again. Suppose she did go to see him. And suppose her father died. She would need to stand in front of the board as the new owner.

  Pregnant!

  The wives would have great fun with that. All of London, in fact.

  She lifted her hands, but they returned helplessly to her lap. "I don't know anything about running a business."

  "I do," he said abruptly.

  She shrugged.

  "Lydia."

  "I don't even have a home," she cried.

  "I'm working on that."

  The food came. As soon as the waiter left, she sighed. "All I do is eat and sleep and eat and try to sleep and eat."

  "Don't throw it up, and you won't have to eat again tonight."

  She didn't find the humor in that. But after a few bites of food and a few sips of coffee, the headache lessened and she began to feel human again.

  "You've only been here two days."

  That surprised her. "It seems like forever. I feel trapped. I don't know what to do."

  "I do," he said.

  She thought she'd heard that before. Yes, he did. But that wasn't her.

  "And I know what you can do."

  Go shopping again? She picked up her cup of hot coffee and brought it to her lips.

  "Lydia."

  Oh, she wanted him to go away. Everyone to go away. She wanted to go away. What? her exasperated breath said.

  "We can get things set up for you the way they should be."

  She took a sip and swallowed.

  "Marry me."

  That took a moment to absorb. She hadn't believed she could ever hear anything more shocking than she'd heard on that ship, from that deck, in that water, in those little boats. Amazing. But of course she had heard wrong. This was somehow mixed up with John and his proposal. All the worry and problems were causing her to lose her mind.

  But this . . . person brought the desk chair over and sat in front of her. He said again, "Marry me."

  No, that wasn't John. John had a tender voice, hopeful eyes, loving face, gentle touch, the look of one who needed her for his completion.

  This one had the look of one who thought he was her hope, her answer, and the sound of his voice was somehow demanding. As though he was the answer to whatever beset her. But, most assuredly, she had misunderstood.

  She'd better set her cup down before it ended up on the floor, broken. She did.

  "Mar—?" Her voice failed.

  She tried again, "How could you want to marry me? I just married John. When—three days ago?"

  "I told you when I found out you were seeing him secretly that this was not the proper relationship for you. I warned you he wasn't right for you. I told him. Even up to the day he gave you that ring. You wouldn't listen."

  "I love him."

  The nodding of his head was not condescending, but more like agreement. "I know. Remember, I said he was different and that appealed to you. I understand you, Lydia. You're strong-willed. You're young and foolish."

  The lift of her head seemed to change his attitude slightly. He shook his head and sighed. "That's not an insult. It's the way of things. I've been there. I've had my dalliances in my day. I found someone I thought was the woman for me, and that led to divorce. So I understand how everything can look like a fairy tale that leads to happily ever after."

  Yes, she had thought that. It would have. With John.

  "Yo
u and I. We could be like—" He shrugged then. "Caroline and William."

  And what would that be? Caroline had seemed submissive to the more controlling and rather aloof William.

  "I did catch the blue garter."

  The garter that John took from her leg. She remembered his gentle touch. His tossing of the garter. And the applause when it struck Craven and he grabbed it. He'd been appalled.

  Now he used it as a sign of what should happen.

  She saw it as a sign of—

  She needed to chew on that as well as on the sandwich.

  Her thoughts went to why he would want to marry her. It would be to his personal advantage. Ensure his position. He could never face the fact that he was not the better man for her. It all had to do with position and pride.

  And why might she marry him?

  To keep her father alive. To keep the company from failing. To avoid scandal, although there might be talk initially. But that would end when someone else came along with a juicy topic whispered in drawing rooms and smoking rooms.

  Marry him?

  That could save her temporarily.

  And when he knew she carried another man's child, what would happen?

  Divorce.

  But would he dare tell anyone he was not the father of his wife's baby?

  Never in a million years.

  And who really cared when she conceived? She would be a married woman when she gave birth to the child.

  She and her child might be labeled by some. But not nearly the way they would if she were an unmarried mother, no matter how much money she had.

  Marry him?

  In the eyes of the world Craven was all and more than one should want. Handsome, wealthy, successful. She had sat there with vomit in her mouth and makeup washed off and her eyes swollen with tears. But he proposed.

  That just proved it. He was very much in love—

  —with the Beaumont Railroad Company.

  She looked him in the eyes. "You say my marrying John was fantasy?" Her head moved from side to side. "I say this is insanity."