Hearts That Survive Part 4

The man, whom John recognized, touched the boy's head. "You need to watch where you're going, son." He extended his hand to John. "Henry Stanton-Jones."

John shook his hand. "John Ancell. Pleased to meet you."

Henry introduced the boy as Henry George and the pretty young girl near him as Phoebe. An elegant middle-aged woman John had seen with them before walked up and was introduced as Lady Stanton-Jones, his mother. The gracious lady extended her gloved hand, and John bent his head and touched it with his lips.

"Come along, children, let's get to the dining room. Henry George, don't run ahead."

The woman and two children walked on. John wasn't sure what he should say. He'd never say to Cyril Beaumont, I've ridden on your trains. But he might as well plunge in. "Mr. Stanton-Jones, I've read your books. And I was particularly intrigued with Once Upon an English Country Garden."

The author smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that." He paused, as if weighing his thoughts. "I've seen you with Miss Beaumont and Mr. Dowd."

John wasn't surprised that he knew Lydia. And Craven, who was well known in the right circles, just as were Stanton- Jones and his mother. Elation swept through John at the thought this would be his first real announcement. The one to Craven had been an informing of intentions. "This morning," he said, "Lydia Beaumont and I decided we'd like to get married aboard this ship." He shrugged. "I need to track down the captain to ask if that's a possibility."

"What a marvelous idea." The author's eyes brightened. "A wedding on the t.i.tanic would be a wonderful memory. The first wedding on the t.i.tanic will be an event to interest the world."

John nodded. Maybe his idea wasn't so far-fetched. "If I can pull this off, you're invited. And your-" John knew the novelist noticed the catch in his breath before he quickly finished his sentence by saying, "your mother."

John felt terrible. He'd been caught up in his own good news and quite forgot that he had read that the novelist's wife had suffered a long illness before finally succ.u.mbing to it. He didn't know if Stanton-Jones had remarried, so he had no idea if he should offer condolences or congratulations.

Stanton-Jones began to walk along the deck, and John fell in step with him, hoping to redeem his faux pas of rattling on about his own good fortune. "Judging from your book, you're apparently a man of great faith."

Stanton-Jones glanced his way. He must have sensed the misery John was feeling. He smiled. "I came to faith through the worst struggle of my life. The Once Upon book is a tribute to my wife. It's based on our personal story."

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me-"

"No, no." He stopped to look straight into John's eyes. "Writing about it was my healing. That, and the fact G.o.d forgave my years of ranting and questioning. I was angry and turned my back on him. But he wouldn't let me go and has blessed me tremendously."

John nodded, now remembering that the book's male character had had a similar experience.

"You see, the purpose of the book is to let readers know there is still life after death, on earth and in heaven."

John wondered if his own faith could be that strong. But he'd never experienced the kind of loss this man had faced.

"I refuse to live in grief," the novelist said. "I keep alive my wife's memory within myself and alive to our children." As if fearing John would again apologize, he added quickly. "But I fully expect to marry someday if I can fall in love again."

A brief pause ensued as if each must respect a moment of acknowledging the late wife of this famous novelist. Then Stanton-Jones continued the conversation, "If you can join us in the reception room before lunch, I'd like us to become better acquainted." His smile lit up his face, reminding John of an interview he'd read, proclaiming the novelist as most fortunate, being a stereotypical tall, dark, handsome man with alluring dimples.

John wasn't one to compare one man's looks with another, but Stanton-Jones made a striking appearance. John was most impressed, however, with his friendly manner.

"And too," Stanton-Jones leaned closer as if confessing a conspiracy, "perhaps we shall discuss this floating plot of a novel that might have a main character who marries on a ship of dreams. Believe me," he added, "James Abington, whom you may know is a fellow-pa.s.senger, has made it clear he is interested in publishing my books in America. I can almost see the wheels in his mind turning as fast as those propellers at the bottom of this ship."

"I dare say," John said and joined his good humor with a laugh.

"Sorry." Stanton-Jones sobered. "I'm monopolizing what should be a two-way conversation. It's just that I'm so overwhelmed with my surroundings and-"

John interrupted, "Not at all. I understand how all this grandeur whets the creative appet.i.te."

Stanton-Jones stared for a moment, before realization struck his eyes. "You wouldn't be the poet, John Ancell?"

John nodded.

"You had a reading at the Library in London."

"You were there?"

"No, sorry. I was deep into research at the time. But I've read of you in the Art sections of newspapers. I confess, although I admire a poet's ability to capture so succinctly what takes me an entire book to say, I was never good at getting a clear grasp of poems without some instruction."

John appreciated his honesty and smiled. "Such sentiments are not uncommon."

"But I'd love to hear how a poet's mind works. You must already have numerous possible themes about something on this ship."

"To be sure." John thought of the poem he was writing to Lydia. "And thank you for the invitation. I would like to join you in the reception room."

"Bring Miss Beaumont, of course." As he turned to walk away, he said, "By the way, I'm known informally as S. J." He paused. "Ah, there's a steward. Perhaps he can a.s.sist you in locating the captain."

That was handy. Within a short while John's emotions had gone from the extreme elation of becoming an engaged man to the distress of having to abide Craven's disapproval and finally to an easy camaraderie with S. J. He'd not thought through how to reach the captain.

The man in charge of this floating city wouldn't be sitting around awaiting his presence. "A moment, please." He lifted a finger.

The steward stopped. "How may I a.s.sist you, sir?"

He asked how he might speak with the captain. "There's no problem," John hastened to say. "Just a request to speak with him about a personal matter."

"You might write a note," the steward said. "Then it will be pa.s.sed along to the master-at-arms who will ensure it gets to the captain."

"Yes. Of course."

"Anything else, sir?"

"No. That's quite all. Thank you."

Embarra.s.sment wafted through John. The steward would know he wasn't accustomed to the protocol of first-cla.s.s.

Then he felt discomfiture for having such a thought. He was of no more worth than the steward or anyone else. How easily one might fall into the trap of illusion. In the sight of G.o.d, all men are equal.

He knew that, of course. But as he'd reveled in the opulence and luxury surrounding him, and the reported worth of first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers on this ship described in newspapers as The Millionaire's Special, the words of the poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, came to mind.

Equal-born? O yes, if yonder hill be level with the flat.

Charm us, Orator, till the Lion look no larger than the Cat.

8.

Marcella opened Lydia's sitting room door after John's knock, and he stepped into the lion's den. Craven and Lydia stood facing each other, he with a heated face and she with a determined one.

The air became thick with silence, and Marcella's eyes doubled in size with her obvious concern.

Lydia stepped toward John. "Have you spoken with the captain?"

"I've sent a note by the steward, requesting a conversation with the captain." Since a quick glance revealed that Craven neither sneered nor balked, that had been the proper procedure. However, the man's expression reminded John again that he likely wished it had been John he had flipped over the ship railing rather than his cigarette.

But John felt it time that Craven stepped away from his role of Lydia's guardian, protector, advisor, and wishful fiance. All these roles were John's responsibility, and he intended to fill them.

Strange, what had happened as a result of his weakness was giving him newfound courage. He was no longer oppressed by whether Craven, Cyril Beaumont, or anyone else thought him worthy. His thoughts were on Lydia and their child.

With G.o.d in their hearts and lives, they need not cower before anyone's disapproval. Their love would see them through. To deny that would be an ultimate transgression.

John felt confident as his thought blocked any negative ones from Craven. "I b.u.mped into the novelist, Henry Stanton-Jones. He has invited us-" he made a quick motion with his finger at Lydia and back to himself, despite pointing being considered undignified, and did not look at Craven, "to visit with him and his family in the reception room before lunch."

"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 ap.r.o.n 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 antic.i.p.ation 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.

Sat.u.r.day, 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 a.s.sembled pa.s.sengers. 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."