Hearts That Survive

by Yvonne Lehman

  will be made at a more appropriate time.

  "Let me see it again," Caroline said. She studied the picture and squinted. "I can't quite make it out, but that looks like an engagement ring on her finger."

  Bess looked again. "But if it's true, didn't it have to happen yesterday? How could it be in the paper so soon?"

  "They do that, Bess. You know, we've seen some of the papers that were printed before we were even on the Carpathia. Some of the reporting was false, but it was still there. For events like that, and this, they'd stop the presses to report it. And this is the mid-morning paper."

  Bess glanced at the clock. "It's almost noon, and she hasn't called. You don't suppose—? Oh, shut my mouth!" She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Caroline laughed. "It's true. Even in Southampton, I saw the tension between the two men. I suspected something."

  Bess nodded. "I suspected she was his prisoner."

  "You can be funny, Bess." But Bess didn't laugh.

  "Do you think she's on the rebound? I mean, isn't it a little soon?"

  Caroline thought for a moment. "Yes, but that's the kind of marriage that would have happened if she hadn't met John. And the Titanic tragedy can't be measured in days or hours or minutes. It was another lifetime. We have to forget."

  "I'd like to." Bess returned to her chair. "I'm glad she has someone if that's what she really wants."

  "Oh, I doubt it is right now." Caroline moved away from pillows she'd propped herself against and swung her legs off the side of the bed. "But she must wonder what else would be in store for her. A love like hers and John's doesn't come along every day."

  "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but do you think a lot of it has to do with her being so rich?" She said "rich" as if it were a dirty word.

  Caroline shrugged. "Who knows? But the likes of Craven Dowd could turn the head of any woman. I mean, a princess, a countess, a rich widow."

  Bess seemed taken aback and Caroline laughed. "No, not me. In earlier days, perhaps. But I don't really care to be involved with a man again. If I were it would have to be for—"

  "You can't mean for money. You have that," Bess teased. "You don't mean love?"

  "I really don't know." Caroline realized the truth of that. "Oh, now, shut my mouth. Let's go find Lydia."

  "Should we call first?"

  "Nope." Caroline tapped the paper. "She surprised us. We'll surprise her."

  They rode the elevator to the next floor, then traipsed purposefully down the hallway to Lydia's room. Caroline knocked hard on the door.

  Lydia, dressed in her gray skirt and pink blouse, opened it. "Oh."

  "May we come in?"

  "I was just wondering if I should call you." She closed the door and clasped her hands behind her. "Have a seat."

  They sat on the couch, and Lydia took the chair. Her hand was hidden beside her.

  "Have you seen the morning paper?"

  Lydia shook her head, a disturbed look coming into her eyes. Caroline began to think that she'd better not play around with this. "Your and Craven's picture is in the paper, Lydia. The engagement has been announced."

  Lydia jumped up. "You think I'm awful. This is crazy."

  Caroline stood. "No. I want to congratulate you."

  Lydia looked doubtful but swallowed hard and held out her hand.

  "Stunning," Caroline said. "Bess, come look."

  Bess did and congratulated her.

  "Now let me hug my friend." They embraced. Bess and Lydia looked at each other, not sure what to do, so Caroline gave Bess a little shove and the other two women hugged.

  Lydia swiped at her tears.

  "None of that. This is a wonderful occasion. What can we do?"

  Lydia returned to her chair. "We're going to do this soon. I need to get a—" her voice squeaked, "wedding dress."

  Caroline and Bess stared at each other. Neither could say they had one in a paper bag. Both returned to the couch. "Shall we go shopping?"

  Lydia sniffed and nodded. "I can't wear another white one. I just couldn't."

  "Maybe a fawn or cream," Caroline said. "Don't worry. We'll find the right one."

  "There should be photos of that too. For the papers here and in London. For my father."

  Caroline thought for a moment and had an idea. "The engagement photo looked wonderful. The weather is still cool. You could have the same coat but a different pose, perhaps coming out of the chapel."

  "Perfect." She sighed. "Want to see my engagement present?"

  Soon, the three of them took turns parading around like polar bears. And laughing.

  Caroline thought there might be something else Lydia hadn't thought of. "If you want a witness or someone to stand up for you, I'm available."

  "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

  "Nothing," Caroline said. "And isn't that the beauty of it? When you're friends, you stand up for each other and stick by each other."

  "I want to be a friend like that."

  "Then you will be." Caroline smiled. "Now, when are we going to hear about how all this came about?" She gave her a sly look. "Every detail."

  "I'll tell all. While we're shopping." She struck a pose and said saucily, "I must look perfect for Mr. Dowd."

  "I don't think you'll have any problem with that." And she really didn't. Lydia was more fortunate than she knew.

  Lydia told the story, and Caroline could visualize it all. Lydia invited her and Bess to come and stay while Craven was in Europe.

  As tempting as the house on Long Island sounded, Caroline knew if she went she would only postpone getting on with her own life.

  "Thank you, Lydia. But after we get you married and leave you in Mr. Dowd's capable hands, Bess and I are taking a trip of our own. Right, Bess?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Bess said. Curiosity furrowed her brow as if to say she would accompany her, but she had no idea what Caroline was talking about.

  45

  You're not thinking of returning to England?" Lydia said. Caroline shuddered at the thought of going out to sea. "White Star has chartered a train to take any who wish to Nova Scotia. That's where identifying information of loved ones will be."

  Lydia nodded, and Caroline knew then that the information about John had come from there. She quickly moved on, "Some, like I, have heard nothing. I'd like to go." She changed that. She wouldn't like it. "I need to go."

  Lydia trembled. "You're much braver than I."

  Caroline didn't feel brave. She might not have fathomed the reality of what had happened. Her mind knew it, of course. But she did not feel it. She'd shed no tears about losing William. She felt more the way she had when he went on a trip. Or when he hadn't felt the loss of a child the way she had and she smothered her feelings. But she'd excused that by telling herself he hadn't carried the baby in his body. Now a question occurred to her: Had she really carried William in her heart the way she should have?

  Looking at Lydia she could almost cry, partly because she had not cried about William. But her emotions seemed to have lodged deep in her heart. They did not surface into tears that ran down her face as they did with Lydia. She wondered about Bess, but this wasn't the time to ask.

  Lydia asked, "Will Bess go with you?"

  "Yes, of course." Caroline glanced at Bess, again knowing how valuable this woman was to her. But who could say what one might do or not do? The roof could fall in at any moment. Or a person could be deeply in love and marry. A few days later she could marry someone else. Right? Wrong? Was there such a thing anymore?

  She must concentrate on the subject at hand. "I'll let you know when we leave Nova Scotia and where we go."

  Lydia nodded. "Do you know anyone there?"

  "No."

  "The Beaumont trains would be the ones taking you to Nova Scotia. Craven may know someone you could stay with."

  "That would be nice." Caroline had thought Lydia might be too caught up in this wedding to remember that. Anyway, White Star would make some kind of arrangements or ha
ve someone available for advice. "But, we have to get you married before I go anyplace."

  The rest of the day they made certain the bride looked lovely in her new fawn- colored silk gown with small seed pearls inlaid into the bodice. The upswept hairstyle that Bess knew how to arrange was fastened with jeweled combs. Across the top of her head Lydia wore a circlet of seed pearls interspersed with just enough diamonds to look unobtrusive yet fitting for a woman of her stature.

  Caroline wondered if Craven would be able to keep that impassive look on his face and in his eyes when he viewed this vision of loveliness. Lydia seemed to have matured beyond the rather giddy girl she had been in that white gown. This was what Craven Dowd wanted. He was a very sharp-minded man.

  This groom did not just dress in a tuxedo and show up for a wedding. He planned the ceremony, the place, the pastor, and the guests. Bess was invited. The clergyman's wife sat beside her. The photographer and reporter sat on the back row.

  The lovely chapel that displayed a huge cross on one wall, stained-glass windows, and a discreet display of fresh flowers was a perfect place for such a wedding. Even in London she had heard the name of the prominent New York clergyman who would perform the ceremony.

  Craven's friend, Hoyt Graham, had been introduced to her, and a brief review of the procedure was given by the clergyman's wife. The church organist played, and the pastor nodded at Caroline and Hoyt. They took their places at each side of the pastor. At another nod, Lydia, holding a white orchid corsage, and Craven rose from the front pew and stood before him.

  The word "death" wasn't mentioned. For the rest of our lives was sufficient. He did not say kiss the bride, but when he pronounced them married, Craven touched his fingers to his lips and placed them gently on Lydia's.

  Lydia didn't look into his eyes. They faced the photographer, who posed them. Grooms didn't have to smile. Brides did, and Lydia smiled modestly considering this was both a joyous and a solemn occasion.

  The limousine was parked outside the church. The couple would go directly to Long Island. She and Bess and Lydia embraced again. Craven rather surprised Caroline when he stepped up to her and said, "Thank you."

  Caroline wasn't sure what he thanked her for. Not objecting? That wouldn't have mattered. She gave him a brief hug and wished them well. She had been supportive in the marriage to John, and would be with this one to Craven, for her friend.

  The last thing Lydia said, not as a bride anticipating a new life but as one rather dazed as if her world might fall in again, was, "You must come to see me."

  Caroline took Lydia's hands in hers for a final moment. "The trains run both ways, you know."

  The following day around noon, after White Star provided transportation to the station, a Beaumont passenger train sped and rumbled along the rails until it stopped at the intended destination.

  Caroline thought of it as a commencement. In London, her life was wrapped around William. She'd been a good, dutiful wife. If ever there was a time to find out who she was on her own, it was now.

  As soon as she was a few feet from the train and her feet steady on Halifax ground, she stopped and turned to Bess. "Now we must find our luggage and ask about hotels."

  "Mrs. Chadwick?"

  She turned quickly, wondering who would say her name. She had a sinking feeling it might be a first-class passenger here for the same reason as she.

  A man stepped up, removed his hat, and a flock of dark brown curls fell over his forehead. He attempted in vain to push them back. She was rather intrigued to notice the lighter reddish-gold highlights, which made her think of miniature halos.

  He must spend time in the sun. His eyes, however, did not reflect the sun. They were wide, so dark brown she at first thought them black. She studied his face for any recognition but saw only the sympathetic expression in his eyes, and his full lips that turned up slightly at the corners, not in a smile, but perhaps in a grimace of sympathy.

  For what seemed like an eternity she'd turned from suffering faces. Those of survivors, relatives, the population in general, and even her own reflection. Her defenses rose against it.

  Although he wore proper clothing for a gentleman and his suit was quite nice, she thought he looked rather out of place in it, and she did not understand her thought at all. Glancing around, she saw the trainload of people and wondered how he had picked her out of the crowd.

  "I don't believe I know you."

  "No." Before he could say more, she asked, "How did you know me?"

  "Mr. Craven Dowd described you, ma'am."

  That gave her pause. Craven had not seen her in this out- fit. What distinguishing characteristic did she bear that this stranger would recognize? She was a rather full-figured woman, with curves in all the right places and quite proud of it, but surely Craven hadn't said that. Or surely no man would mention such a thing.

  Color came into the man's face, giving it a rather ruddy appearance. Perhaps Craven had said she had big ears. She felt inclined to touch them to make sure. But there wasn't much one could do about that.

  "I'm Armand Bettencourt. Sorry to mention business at a time like this, but Mr. Dowd has transferred your information to my firm so that I might assist you in those matters. With your approval, of course. Also, I would like to offer my home, I mean my apartment, while you are here."

  He seemed to stumble over the words "home" and "apartment." But if he had a record of William's finances, perhaps he thought that what was a home to him would be but an apartment to her. She wanted no more of that. "I could stay in a hotel."

  "Yes, ma'am. But this would be more comfortable. At least, I find it so." He seemed a mite on the defensive. "And it's as close to everything as a hotel. It's located above my offices. I would be nearby to advise you."

  She felt her eyebrows lift. Surely he wasn't saying he'd be in the apartment too. An apartment above offices didn't sound appealing.

  His glance slid past Bess and around at others. "Mr. Dowd said you were traveling with your maid."

  What a difference a cap could make. "My friend." She caught hold of Bess's arm. "Miss Bess Hotchkins."

  "Please forgive me. I misunderstood—"

  Bess interrupted, probably concerned with his embarrassment, "One can be a friend and a maid."

  He nodded and gestured toward the only car in sight, into which someone was putting luggage looking very much like their tagged ones.

  "Rooms at the hotels may already be taken." His glance indicated the throng of train passengers. "If the apartment isn't suitable, we might try and exchange. I should not have assumed—"

  Bess interrupted. "Thank you, Mr. Bettencourt. We appreciate your generous offer." She began to walk forward. Mr. Bettencourt nodded and as if that maid had become his friend, they headed for the car and Caroline fell in step.

  Since Craven had engaged a firm to handle her finances, she expected they were reputable. That was one thing.

  But as for her personal life, she intended to begin taking care of herself. And now Bess was answering for her in the manner of a gracious lady. She'd developed a case of confidence all of a sudden. But Caroline could not allow a maid to make decisions for her.

  And if she stayed in Mr. Bettencourt's apartment, where would that leave him?

  Life, or existence, had become confusing, leaving her feeling adrift.

  46

  She'd tried to force herself not to think about John.

  And now she had to think about him.

  Everything about her was before and after John.

  Before John, she'd been courted and wooed by Craven. He never tried to force his attentions on her. He had expected to marry her and did nothing to upset her or her father. She knew he was a passionate man. She had enjoyed his kisses, his caresses, and even the game of teasing him, knowing he would not philander with Cyril Beaumont's daughter.

  She wasn't an experienced woman by any means. On their wedding night, she needed to convince an experienced man she was an innocent girl and kn
ew nothing about moments of uncontrolled passion. She had to move from loving John to marrying Craven. And now they were at Long Island, on their honeymoon.

  She became more distraught by the moment. Craven seemed the same as usual, knowing what to do. "You enjoyed the ride before. Shall we?"

  "Yes."

  Afterward she bathed, washed her hair and did not pin it back because he liked it curly, and dressed for dinner. They walked along the lake at dusk in the cool of the evening. She tried to think of this as being like old times. Except she did not tease. They did not kiss. He did not even hold her hand.

  Later, he touched his fingers to his lips and then touched hers. He whispered, "You don't need to be concerned about anything. You can tell me to go away. Any time."

  And so they kissed.

  A lot.

  Like . . . before . . .

  Only . . . more.

  For a long time.

  And she forgot to pretend.

  And then there was . . . after . . .

  And not just because a preacher said so, she became Mrs. Craven Dowd.

  He held her gently while she softly cried.

  In the night he touched her curls, her cheek, her lips, her shoulder, and pulled the coverlet up and tucked it in, in case she was cold. When she opened her eyes in the morning, she met his gaze and felt as if he'd watched her all night long.

  He looked pleased.

  After a moment, he reached over and pulled the cord by the bedpost. That meant breakfast would soon be brought to them.

  And so it went for three days.

  But he had to go. Business would wait no longer. She asked if he were afraid to sail, and he said he had already had the scare of his life and he could handle it.

  She had George and Ethel and Regina and Conners to take care of her, so she did as Craven said: Rest and enjoy the secluded estate on Long Island.

  She was a married woman now, the honeymoon had been all a woman could want, and just when she thought she could endure this new beginning, she knew her marriage had ended.