Hearts That Survive

by Yvonne Lehman

  She'd gone into labor on the fifteenth and her little Beau came December sixteenth, nine months and two days after he was conceived. Her friends who came to congratulate and celebrate believed him to be a month early.

  Craven set sail as soon as possible after being wired, and arrived on the twenty-second. She was sitting in a rocking chair holding Beau when Craven quietly slipped through the doorway. Myrna rose from her rocking chair and busied herself at the crib. Craven could handle a railroad company over two continents but appeared ill at ease in the nursery. Beau was asleep. She stopped rocking.

  Craven kissed her forehead, then straightened. She watched his eyes studying the child. His gaze focused on the white fuzz on Beau's head. Did he suspect? No, of course not. John's hair was brown. Hers was blonde. Craven would want his son to have his dark hair, his perfect face.

  His expression showed no joy. He said, "I'm sorry, Lydia." She caught her breath. Somehow he knew. And then suddenly she knew: this was about her father.

  He spoke quickly, "Arrangements are being made for your father. You and I have something here we must concentrate on." He looked at Beau again. "He has your hair. Otherwise he looks like . . . a baby?"

  Her laugh was nervous. But he was right. Who could tell at this age who he looked like? But she saw John. Craven put his finger in the palm of the baby's hand, and Beau's little hand grasped it. That's what John would do. Accept everyone.

  "He's a good size," Craven said with a hint of pride.

  "Healthy. The doctor says he's a wonder."

  "Mmm. Wonder how many wonders he's delivered."

  "All of them, I suppose."

  "Quite true. With one difference. This is Beaumont Keefe Dowd." Yes, that would make him a wonder of the world. "I should hold him."

  She thought that a good decision. He was careful about Myrna putting Beau in his arms. But he did well. And he smiled.

  John would have cried.

  Beau did not cry when he opened his eyes but studied this man right back, though he could not keep his eyes open very long. Craven sat in the other chair and rocked. "I think he likes me." He seemed fascinated watching the movement of little eyes covered by eyelids fringed by long lashes and the little mouth that puckered. "He's trying to talk." The baby's nostrils moved as he took in a deep breath, and then he settled back into a relaxed pose. "No, maybe he's just breathing."

  After a long moment he said, "I won't be handing out cigars. In fact, I'll give them up. This child doesn't need to breathe something like that."

  Lydia wondered where this person had come from. This was not the Craven she knew. He said then, "What a Christmas present." He looked over at her as if she'd done something marvelous. "A family Christmas."

  She had thought her father might spend Christmas with them. He wouldn't. But the following day she was made aware that he had given them their presents. She inherited the business and although she doubted anyone questioned Craven's business acumen at Beaumont, his total control would be undisputed, he being the owner's husband.

  He behaved as if he were a permanent fixture in their lives without any reason to be otherwise. Then, she supposed, he might as well stay around for a while.

  At least until he noticed who her son really looked like.

  60

  If we were to get serious," Armand said, soon after his blasphemous display in church that thrilled her so, "would you prefer not to live in a house where another woman has lived?"

  She felt at home in his house. "Our memories, Armand, are in our hearts, not in wood and fabric and gold." She held out her hand, exposing her rings. "The good ones should stay with us no matter where we are. This house, or another, won't determine what you and I are to each other."

  "I thought you'd say that, but I needed to know. So, I have a proposition."

  She tilted her head, waiting.

  "We have long winters here and can be snowed in at times. Your work in the office has slowed, and I know you want to do things."

  She couldn't imagine where this was headed.

  "I'd like you to consider redecorating the house."

  "Yes, I could do that for you."

  "In your style. What you like. How you think the house should look."

  He had told her much about Ami. She had been from a middle-class family. Caroline knew now it had been Ami, and not Armand, who had decorated in the middle-class style. Ami likely hadn't known a great deal about decorating. But they wouldn't have cared.

  "Yes, I would love to do that." She wasn't sure if she should add, for you, for me, for us. But already the wheels of her mind were turning. She'd contact Lydia. They could discuss this together. She wouldn't achieve anything near what Lydia described as her home, but it would be the kind of place that reflected much of who she and Armand were. Not pretentious, but elegant and welcoming.

  Winter came early in November, and snow lay on the ground at the beginning of December. This slowed down any furniture deliveries. Darkness came early, and she'd look out the window and see lights on in the lake house and smoke curling from the chimney.

  Armand and Willard went out into the woods and brought a huge Christmas tree for the house and a smaller one for the lakeside cottage. There were two things she wanted to do before Christmas.

  The first, she needed to do at the office. She made a list of items. Logged them into the ledger. Wrote the tribute she knew better than anyone else, in memory of William Chadwick, a fine man who lost his life in the tragedy. What's in the heart is what mattered, but the rings she wore represented William.

  She took the rings off her finger and laid them in a little box. She had no one to pass them down to and if she ever had children, they would not be a part of William. These would be kept in the room reserved for items to be put in a museum. A memory. She sealed the box and marked the appropriate number on it.

  "I'll take these up," she said to Jarvis. She needed to do it all. And while in the room, she shed a few tears. She could do that now. Not hold it in. Let go.

  That done, she could focus on her second task. Armand sat in his office not looking at her. She marched right in, and he looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "Guess what?"

  He did not look at her bare finger on the hand holding the edge of the desk. He looked everywhere else. She didn't think he would say, you took off your rings. And he didn't. "I'm inviting you to Christmas dinner," she said. "I'm going to make Rappie Pie."

  "Rappie Pie?" That opened his eyes. "That's harder to make than chi . . . chi . . ."

  "Oh, you!"

  The way he looked at her made her heart flutter. "I'll be there," he said.

  He was the first to arrive on Christmas Eve for the drop-in after the service and play. It seemed the entire congregation came. They drank the punch, and ate the sweets Bess prepared. But they had really dropped by to see the colorful electric lights on the tree, a sight like none had seen before. Caroline loved to see the eyes of the children open as wide as walnuts and shine bright as the lights.

  She felt proud of her new living room, the only room she'd had time to redecorate. The old furniture had been donated.

  After everyone left, even Bess and Willard, Caroline sat with Armand in the living room sipping Christmas punch and enjoying the lights. "I'd like to ask you something." He moved to the couch where she sat. "I never thought I could love again, Caroline. But now I know loving and losing just prepares the heart for a greater understanding and a deeper love. Will you marry me?"

  Her heart filled with joy. "I really would like to do that." He took a jeweler's box from his pocket, removed the ring, and slipped it on her finger. She asked that he switch on the lamps so she could see it better. "It's perfect," she said, and he took her in his comforting, loving arms and they sealed the commitment with a lingering kiss.

  He soon left and Bess returned. They admired the ring, a large diamond circled with smaller diamonds and emeralds set in white gold. The kind of ring a very wealthy woman, who knew style, could wear without pomp
but with pride.

  Christmas day dawned with the ground covered with a beautiful blanket of snow. Armand and Willard came early for the gift exchange. They had promised to be conservative. They each had already made a donation to the church fund for helping the needy and making sure all the children in the area got something for Christmas.

  Bess gave Willard a tackle box he'd mentioned to Armand, and Armand had filled it with fishing needs. Bess and Caroline gave each other scarves and gloves they'd picked out together and pretended they'd never seen them before. Bess gave Armand an inspirational book. Caroline gave him phonograph records.

  Just when everything was sailing along, happy and perfect, Caroline opened her gift from Armand. She gasped. It took her right back to the Titanic and the night of the tragedy.

  61

  Caroline had instructed Armand to sell the house and furnishings in London, including her clothes and jewels. The best ones were at the bottom of the ocean. At first she told him to get her books, particularly Once Upon an English Country Garden, because of the connection with Phoebe and Henry, then she changed her mind and said, no, she would break from everything in the past.

  Now she held in her hands a copy of Once Upon, and her hands shook.

  Armand apologized, "Should I not have done this?"

  "This is the best present you could give me. No, next to the best." She waved her ring-finger hand. "Negative memories of losses washed over me. But that's gone." She looked at it lovingly. "Now it brings the good ones. This is written by Phoebe and Henry's father."

  Of course he knew that. "I suppose his books are available in America."

  "No," he said. "The attorney in California said Phoebe's relatives had a few copies but wouldn't part with them. But with a little effort, we managed to find a new copy in London."

  "Thank you. I'll cherish this. I'd like you to read it. You can identify with S. J.'s story." She paused. "And his recovery."

  That afternoon she hoped the Rappie Pie would turn out to be a good memory. Or at least a decent meal. Bess had heard about it from Willard, who said it had come from the French Acadian region in southwest Nova Scotia over 150 years ago. It was a delicacy people especially liked to make at Christmastime and Easter.

  Preparation took time, being done in stages. The recipe called for chicken or beef, and Caroline chose beef. Bess cooked the beef in water with onions, chives, salt, and pepper.

  Caroline grated potatoes and added butter, salt, and pepper. Figuring out the directions, she poured the broth in three stages over the mixture of potatoes. Bess read the instructions aloud while Caroline spread half the mixture into a greased pan, added chunks of meat evenly, covered the meat with the rest of the potatoes, set a timer, and stuck it in the oven to bake for three hours.

  "To brown," she said to Bess, "not blacken."

  They laughed and checked the pie periodically.

  Caroline dressed in green silk. Armand seemed to have a liking for that color. "This time I brought champagne," he said. It bubbled merrily in the flutes.

  They celebrated her, and Bess's, successful dinner, along with Christmas day, as the savior's entrance into this world.

  When she and Armand were alone, Caroline told Armand, "In my marriage to William, I may have become obsessed with trying to have a child. I want to put you first in our marriage. I'm happy with only you right now, and believe I can be for the rest of our lives."

  "I believe you," he said, looking into her eyes.

  They chose not to marry until after the April 15 memorial service of the next year. Caroline decided May was an ideal time for a wedding, marked by new life springing up, green and lush, across the landscape. In the little church, after they were pronounced married, they knelt and faced the cross while Armand sang "The Lord's Prayer."

  They honeymooned in Cape Breton, an island off the southern tip of Nova Scotia. They could have been ferried over, but Armand wanted to drive and show her Cabot's Trail, named for the explorer who founded Cape Breton. He pointed out Beinn Bhreagh, which meant "beautiful mountain," where Alexander Graham Bell resided part of the year. He had named it after his ancestral Scottish highlands. "We can thank him for our telephones," Armand said with pleasure.

  They spent their nights in the resort area of Baddeck. One pleasant day they hired a boat for a sail on the lake. Along the way on their journey to historic sites, they visited the fortress of Louisberg, where the French and English had fought. "The English won," Armand said.

  "That surprises you?"

  "No," he said and kissed her. After they returned from their honeymoon, Bess and Willard married and lived in the lake house until he sold his Peggy's Cove house and they found a place not too far from the church. Willard became a part time fisherman, carpenter, and caretaker of the grounds. Bess continued as Caroline and Armand's housekeeper and occasional cook. By the time the house was finally renovated to Caroline's liking, Bess was pregnant.

  That old feeling welled up in Caroline, but she cried for joy with Bess and turned to Armand for love.

  Bess and Willard's little Caroline Joy came screaming into the world in March the following year. By that time, Caroline suspected she might have her fourth miscarriage.

  She decided not to worry Armand with her fears and hope. "Will you go with me?" she said to Armand when the preacher invited anyone with a commitment to come forward. Armand walked down the aisle with her. She asked to be baptized.

  She wasn't afraid of the water, but afraid of what she might hear. The memory of people in the water, freezing, screaming for help, dying, voices fading.

  Could she stand it? But the Lord was baptized. He said, follow me. She knew she had his spirit in her heart. But she wanted to walk through. Commit to this symbol of being raised to new life, a spiritual life, a new beginning.

  Knowing her fears, Armand wanted to assist. She walked into the baptistery, and Armand stood behind her. The pastor said, "I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." He put the handkerchief over her mouth and nose and his hand on her back. She felt Armand's hands on her shoulders, letting her know he was there.

  Completely submerged, she felt the letting go of anything to hold on to, but knew others were holding on to her. She came out of the water, stood on her own two feet, and felt the handkerchief being moved away from her face.

  After a deep breath, she said, "You can let go."

  Armand and the preacher moved their hands away. She stood, with no one holding her but the invisible arms around her shoulders.

  She heard silence. She knew the big decision had been asking Jesus into her heart, but in that moment she felt as if all her sins had been washed away and she stood clean and perfect because Jesus had died for her. Whether she lived or died in this physical body, she was now alive forevermore. More alive than she'd ever been.

  And whether or not she carried the baby to term, she dedicated that life inside her to the Lord.

  The child is yours, Lord.

  62

  In early November, Caroline had a difficult delivery. Armand was on his knees praying when the baby came, crying as if he protested coming out of his warm cocoon and having to face whatever might be in store for him.

  Caroline propped herself up, and the nurse placed the baby on her heart.

  The nurse said that Armand had had a worse time during the delivery than Caroline had. "He's out there trembling, his knees like reeds swaying in the wind."

  She'd already had a mirror held up so she could try and be presentable, but knew there were circles beneath her eyes, her face was pale, and her hair was a mess. Armand came in and said, "You're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. Are you all right?"

  "Armand. We have a son. Our David."

  He touched the baby. He kissed her face, laid his hand on her and the baby, fell on his knees, and thanked the Lord.

  The doctor told them she would not have more children.

  But their son grew, handsome, strong, healthy, and a little ru
gged like his dad, and kind. A little David.

  The following spring, Lydia, Craven, and Beau, nearly two and-a-half years old, paid a visit. Caroline's country home was an elegant but cozy place to visit, the lawn ideal for Beau to torture Bravo, who had outgrown his fear and licked and pawed. Beau tried to ride him like a horse and ended up on his behind every time. While Beau chased Bravo, Joy chased Beau while taking steps and falling and crawling, and six-month old David bounced in his stroller, observing and applauding.

  Willard and Armand proclaimed the joys of fishing. When asked if he wanted to try it, Craven shook his head. "I believe you. I'll leave the catching up to you. But I'd like to see that lake house."

  They spent a somber time when they left the children with Bess and Willard to visit the Titanic victims' cemetery. Afterward, Caroline showed them the room in Armand's office building that resembled the beginning of a museum, including the shelf lined with champagne bottles. She pointed out William's rings and her tribute.

  Craven laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. She looked up at him and nodded her thanks. She knew the observant Craven saw the wistful sadness on Lydia's face. No one wanted to do this. Each one needed to.

  For the moment, the happiness of friends and family and little children was forgotten, and tragedy remembered, as the conversation turned to the war that the world was fighting.

  But they moved on to see happier places and returned home to the laughter and enjoyment of their families and the demands of children. When the little ones became too rowdy, Armand sang silly songs, and they loved it. He took them to a place where he had learned to find peace.

  Caroline thought Lydia and Craven might not want to be on the water after the memories they had faced that day. But Lydia said, "We've spent time on yachts with friends." So they went out on the boat.

  The lake was a peaceful place, being surrounded by land and trees and mountains. The sun painted a pastel sky while drifting toward the horizon. They listened to the silence. Beau sat between Craven's legs, wide-eyed as if memorizing the scene. David took a nap.