Hearts That Survive

by Yvonne Lehman

  Like . . . Caroline was to her?

  "I know," he said, "everyone else in this world could abandon me, by their own choice or by my stupidity, and you may not believe this, but I'm not perfect. But I know you will always stand by me, loving me."

  She started to come out of her chair, but he halted her, perhaps aware her insides were doing the Charleston and her fingers were nearly broken. He took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. "Like it or not, want it or not, I have another dad. And he has reached out to me from the grave."

  A tremble of her lips replaced what she intended as a smile.

  He pointed to the paper. "In this, I was trying to make some connection with him and who I am and what I am."

  She reached for the paper, unfolded it, and read.

  Life as a Boat

  a tiny white speck

  adrift in the sea

  I loosened the knot

  and set myself free

  one little vessel

  no rudders, no oars

  so without care

  with no confinement of shores

  I thought what I thought

  and did what I pleased

  or so it would seem

  to the boat that was me

  the clouds and the sky

  and the birds and the breeze

  all beguiling and tempting

  my new liberty

  singing soft songs

  and spinning great tales

  of exotic new cultures

  and swimming with whales

  I rocked and I listened

  and I soaked it all in

  skimming the ocean

  with a proud little grin

  life was so new,

  so adventurous, so splendid

  but on the horizon

  was a scare that could end it

  an inky gray spilled

  into my sky of lush blue

  and the wind and the waves

  were confirming bad news

  the blue now all gone

  and the clouds began crying

  the waves, once so gentle

  now quarrelsome and fighting

  and me just a boat

  who had longed to be free

  now caught in the fray

  of a battle at sea

  the wind that once whispered

  now came in great puffs

  whipping across me

  and roughing me up

  and the sea that once rocked me

  now leapt in my hull

  making me heavy,

  uncertain and full

  and now I could see

  the glory of shores

  the need for my rudder

  and the need of my oars

  what once held me captive

  and held me in place

  was not done in spite

  but to keep me all safe

  the fates it seemed

  had a lesson for me

  a headstrong little boat

  who had set himself free

  I need ropes, and shores

  to hold me in place

  I need anchors and piers

  and a good dose of grace

  and wants with no thought

  that consume me each day

  can make me unhappy

  and make me their slave

  so seek anchors and make peace

  in that place that you float

  and that is the story

  of my life as a boat

  Her son. The poet.

  As if reading her mind, he said, "I'm not a poet. But I wanted to speak to my dad in a language he could understand. I've had a few classes in poetry and I know the one he wrote has form, but I don't understand much about it. Mine is, I suppose," he shrugged, "free verse maybe."

  "It's the meaning that counts."

  "Mom," he said softly.

  She looked at him then. His eyes were kind. "You've bared your soul to me. I know it was hard. I don't share my deepest feelings, not even with Angel."

  He gazed beyond her, as she'd seen John do when new thoughts came to him. "No one has ever said they want to meet me in the world beyond, in the other life, live with me forever. He wrote that in his dying moments. I was real to him. He loved me before I could do anything to deserve it."

  His gaze met hers then. That sounded like church words. And if it was or wasn't, that was fine. He could say anything. They were friends.

  "To become what he wished for me, what and who I should be, I need sails, and ropes, and anchors, and shores, and piers." He breathed deeply. She thought he could sometimes be as talkative as his mom, his friend, had been.

  "Speaking of boats," he said, "I'd like to take Angel to visit with David and Joy. Will you go with us? Although I expect you'd prefer to stay with Caroline."

  "But suppose Angelina goes into labor?"

  "She doesn't let anything hold her back. Besides, Joy's a nurse. Hospitals are nearby. If the baby comes early, I'll say what Dad always said."

  They said in unison, "We can handle it."

  They laughed together. "I'd like to go. Enjoy my friends." Maybe it was time to let go of her smother love. "Get to know . . . Angel better."

  73

  After talking it over, Lydia and Beau sold their holdings in the Beaumont Company. He'd rather invest in movie production and be able to survive any box office failure. However, his successes increased. Craven would have been proud of Beau's becoming known as a major filmmaker in Hollywood.

  Armand was one of the attorneys who handled the negotiations, and Beau carefully reviewed them.

  "Mom," he said, "a year after John Ancell's death, his company was sold by his beneficiaries, his parents." Beau looked at her. "Sold to Beaumont Company for a considerable sum. The Ancells benefited more than if they'd kept the company. Later, the company was dissolved."

  She drew in a sharp breath. In the 1920s Beaumont Railroad introduced their unique train design, which was far beyond the designs of any other company, and one of the reasons Beaumont continued to thrive during the Depression.

  She must have said some of those words aloud.

  "I suppose you might say that both my dads contributed financially, making possible what I've been able to do."

  She returned his warm smile. A mischievous glint sparked his eyes. "How would you like to visit London?"

  After all these years? While the idea was taking shape, he told her of his plans. "I'm considering making a movie of Stanton-Jones's novel. I'd like to check out the setting. You'd be an invaluable source, that having been back in your day—"

  "My day? I beg your pardon. I happen to be sitting right here. This is my day."

  They laughed. "Your . . . younger days?"

  "Mmmm." She felt the excitement. "Maybe Caroline would go. Oh. And Joanna. This would be the trip of a lifetime for her. I think she knows every word of Once Upon by heart."

  He agreed. "And Bess," he said. "I'm still gathering information for the Titanic movie."

  She was doubtful, like before. "You think anyone is interested now?"

  "Many lessons should have been learned from that tragedy. If I film Once Upon, written by a Titanic victim, that will reawaken interest."

  She was nodding and thinking about who might like to take the trip with them.

  Caroline hesitated at first and so did Bess, both being uncertain about visiting the past. Armand had retired and after a bout with cancer, was declared free of the disease. His favorite pastime was fishing and Caroline's was the grandchildren, the oldest being David and Joy's daughter, Joanna, now sixteen.

  Joanna read Once Upon when she was only twelve and insisted Beau make a movie of it. He finally considered doing it. "You know I would be invaluable to you on this trip," she reminded Beau. "I know every detail of that book."

  "I wouldn't dare film a scene without your direction." Beau grinned.

  Lydia had watched the close bond develop between these two through the years and thought it
lovely. In her teen years Joanna had reminded Lydia of Caroline when they first met.

  Willard had no interest in leaving his part of the world. Joy and David would stay behind to check on Armand.

  Caroline had lost contact with Phoebe several years ago, but Beau located her. She didn't want to make the trip, but said she'd love to visit with them in Nova Scotia some day. She had lost track of her own brother a long time ago.

  Several months later, Lydia thought of the saying that time flies when you're getting older.

  Well, so did she. Fly, that is.

  She flew to London with Beau, Angel, their daughter, Missy, and the two-month-old Simon in Beau's private plane, along with Caroline, Bess, Joanna, and members of the film crew.

  Some places in London presented a war-torn scene, but for the most part the women—no longer an heiress, a lady, and a servant—toured their past as equals, thrilling Angel and Joanna with their stories, which to the young women seemed like ancient history coming excitingly alive.

  The highlight for Joanna was visiting where Stanton-Jones had lived with his beloved. She cried, standing at Once Upon's actual country garden.

  Beau filmed her, saying this would be a perfect scene for an actress he had in mind. This was a speculative trip, but Lydia had a feeling the Once Upon movie had become a sure thing.

  At dinner Joanna couldn't contain her excitement and her descriptions of what she had experienced made it all come alive for Beau. "You know that would be one of the greatest movies ever."

  "Sure," Beau replied. "But we haven't been able to locate Stanton-Jones' son, little Henry. We need him for permission, if he's alive. We can't just take someone's book and make a movie. The heirs and beneficiaries and relatives have to be considered. Otherwise we open ourselves up to lawsuits."

  "But if nobody knows . . ."

  His gaze reprimanded her. "We know."

  She grimaced, well scolded.

  "So we will not proceed with filming until we know if he's alive or dead. But we'll keep searching."

  Joanna held up crossed fingers. "You have to find him. His daddy has one of the two most beautiful love stories in the world."

  Lydia knew the other one was her and John's love story. The girl must have a penchant for unhappy endings. On the other hand, maybe that romanticism was about love that hadn't had time for any unhappiness to mar it, but was in the heart always as perfect and lovely. A fairy tale?

  Was that why Stanton-Jones titled his book Once Upon?

  Regardless, her heart skipped a beat when in a private moment Beau said, "Mom" in a tone that caught her attention. "I plan to locate my ancestors."

  She didn't think he meant the Dowds.

  "I want to know his background. But I will approach his relatives as a movie producer seeking information for the Titanic movie."

  He assured her that this was not deceptive since John would be a vital part of the movie. Besides, John Ancell was his dad. But they need not reveal that.

  "Would you like to accompany me?" She would.

  Later, they visited his grave: JOHN ANCELL, TITANIC VICTIM, 1887–1912.

  His relatives, who were pleasant, hard-working middleclass people, were eager to give any information that would honor John. She and Beau laughed with them, hearing of his childhood. His siblings were proud of John, who had shown a special creative aptitude. He'd lived a happy life. Lydia thought he was happy now, looking down upon his lovely son. John's relatives gave legal permission for any information to be used as the movie producer saw fit.

  They didn't suspect John had loved her and had loved Beau.

  But she knew. And Beau knew.

  74

  He's started talking mushy," Joanna complained at dinnertime after Armand said the blessing and they began to eat his delicious roast.

  Armand reached for her plate. "No dinner for you, young lady. Calling my blessing 'mushy.' "

  "I'm talking about Michael." Grinning, she held tightly to her plate. He knew good and well who she meant.

  So did Caroline. "How mushy is his mushy?"

  Joanna loved these dinner talks. She could be open with her grandparents. Her parents said she could tell them anything, but she was more comfortable confiding in Caroline and Armand. They weren't just grandparents. They were confidants and friends.

  She'd learned the difference from Beau. She asked him about referring to Lydia by her name sometimes. He explained it depended upon the situation. He revered his mom. Sometimes she was a friend, like people who aren't related.

  She found that fascinating and asked Caroline and Armand if they could be friends like that. They liked the idea. She began to understand the difference. When she had a cold or flu she'd moan "Grandmooootheeeer," and accept Caroline's loving comfort. When Armand had cancer, she called him Grandfather and read to him. Other times they were Caroline and Armand.

  "Well," she said, "Michael and I went to a movie and then to get a burger. I wanted to talk about romantic things."

  "Hold it," Armand said. "What kind of romantic things?"

  She batted her eyes innocently. "English Country Garden things."

  He nodded. She rolled her eyes and continued, "Michael reads mainly inspirational books." She expected another question, but Armand kept eating. "So then he starts asking how many children I want when I get married. I told him I wanted three before and five afterward. Don't look that way—I didn't. Just wanted to know if you were listening."

  "I'm listening."

  She and Caroline grinned at each other.

  "Then he asked what kind of house I wanted. And this is the truth, I said I like where I'm living, with Armand and Caroline."

  "Oh, boy," Armand said. "How long do I have to put up with a sassy ol' woman?"

  Joanna quipped, "Until she leaves you."

  "Ohhh." He got up and went over to Caroline and kissed her. "I'm not talking about this one. She's my sweetheart."

  On the way back to his chair he grasped Joanna's shoulder. "You're all right too."

  Joanna knew that. She'd come to live with them when she started to college since they lived close to the university she wanted to attend. After her dad retired and started preaching at the Peggy Cove church, she preferred staying here.

  "Joanna, if you don't care for Michael, why do you date him?" Caroline asked.

  "Because he's a good Christian man, a youth director even. He's everything a girl should want. Maybe I've been overexposed to great, fantastic, sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of love stories. Some of my friends say I've seen too many movies." She sighed. "Maybe I'm destined to live a life of books and Beau's movies."

  Caroline touched her hand. "There are all kinds and many degrees of love. If you marry someone, it should be your decision, not what others think is best."

  Joanna nodded. She knew her grandparents' stories. But even the first one Caroline settled for didn't sound all that boring. After all, they had traveled first class on the Titanic.

  "Let's pray about it." Armand held her hand and asked for the Lord's leading.

  "Thanks," she said after the "amen." "I have a man right here whose love fills my heart."

  They all smiled at each other. She certainly didn't want to settle down with someone without the Lord's leading.

  The mood passed. She basically liked her life. After graduating with a degree in English, she started working at the museum in Halifax. Caroline and Armand had been great contributors through the years, with items Caroline had collected, her volunteering, and their financial support. Many people were saddened when they visited the museum. Joanna was sorry so much grief came from that disaster, but she thought of the items as representing people and wondered about their lives and liked having them remembered.

  She wondered if Beau would ever get around to a Titanic movie. And the Once Upon might have to be forgotten too. Maybe some of her novel ideas wouldn't come to fruition either.

  Well, maybe hope did spring eternal, she thought when she got a letter from Beau.<
br />
  She read the information.

  Henry George Stanton-Jones

  Adopted by Mary and Bobby Freeman – name

  changed to Henry Jones Freeman

  Bobby Freeman—deceased—WWI

  Mary Freeman married Frank Morris—owned

  small business in California

  Frank Morris adopted Henry Freeman—

  changed name to Henry Jones Morris

  Henry Jones Morris marries Betty Lou

  Holcombe

  Henry and Betty Lou Morris have one child:

  Alan Freeman Morris

  Betty Lou (high school teacher) and parents

  (Holcombes) died in house fire (child saved by

  Henry)

  Henry Jones Morris occupation: US Army 8

  years, handyman/janitor (cause of death: alcoholic

  cirrhosis)

  Living son of Henry and Betty Lou Morris:

  Alan Freeman Morris

  Military Service: Korean Conflict

  Education: GI Bill, Journalism

  Occupation: Freelance writer, tabloid reporter

  Residence: New York suburb

  Father: Henry Jones Morris, deceased

  Mother: Betty Lou (Holcombe) Morris,

  deceased, child Alan witnessed burning house

  with father

  Joanna sat and cried at the sadness. The Titanic first class little boy she'd heard so much about had had such a sad, unsettled life. He had experienced two horrible events, losing his dad and grandmother the night of the Titanic sinking, and then watching his wife and her parents burn in a house fire. The reason for alcoholism seemed obvious.

  His little boy had watched a house burn with his mother and grandparents inside. He might have turned to the bottle too, like little Henry. She cried for them all.