Hearts That Survive Part 10

Eighth Course COLD ASPARAGUS VINAIGRETTE.

Ninth Course PATe DE FOIE GRAS.

CELERY.

Tenth Course WALDORF PUDDING.

PEACHES IN CHARTREUSE JELLY.

CHOCOLATE & VANILLA eCLAIRS.

FRENCH ICE CREAM.

She slipped a copy of the menu into her purse. Lydia might like that as a keepsake but seemed too excited now to think of anything.

They went through the usual number of courses, which seemed to go more quickly than usual. No one bothered their table, and after the men left, no one lingered.

Lydia worried, "It's so late and getting colder on the outside deck. I wonder if some will simply go to their rooms and turn on their heaters or get beneath the covers."

"Not a chance," Caroline reb.u.t.ted. "Anybody who is anybody wouldn't miss this for the world."

Lydia laughed. "I've been a bridesmaid a couple of times. This hardly compares. I hope I won't fall down the staircase."

"Don't worry. There's not a chance of that."

Seeing the astonishment on Lydia's face, she laughed. "We have everything under control. We'll tell you every move to make, and all you need do is obey. After all, tonight you'll promise to love and cherish for the rest of your life and," she emphasized, "obey."

Lydia laughed with her and said, "I could manage a couple of those."

18.

The wedding, Sunday evening, 10:00 p.m., April 14, 1912 Shortly before 10:00 p.m. Lydia, in the white wedding dress and veil, wondered if she would ever breathe normally again as she rode up in the elevator with Caroline.

"Stay close," Caroline instructed as they stepped onto the upper deck. The band played a tune Lydia didn't recognize.

"Stand behind me," Caroline said, "and you can peek around."

The sight was unbelievable. Below the staircase, more than three hundred people-it seemed the entire first-cla.s.s-were adorned more elaborately than at the formal dinners. Jewels glistened more brightly than the chandeliers. Men stood in formal wear, gloves, white s.h.i.+rts, vests, and white bow ties.

Across the way, beyond the staircase, several people stood in a doorway facing her, and she knew John was there. Collette, a beautiful, widely acclaimed singer who had been pointed out to Lydia, walked to the edge of the railing near the clock.

The band played "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." Collette's beautiful voice seemed to rise up to the gla.s.s dome, over the guests on the deck, and out across the sea.

Even from a distance Lydia's gaze at John in the doorway said, I'm in love with you. He answered the words, Say you love me too, with an ever-so-slight dip of his head, and a smile curved his beautiful lips.

When Collette finished the song, Harriett appeared and quietly described the singer's gown to Lydia. Then she did the same for the captain, who walked from the opposite room to stand on the landing in front of the clock. He wore a white Edwardian tuxedo with miniature medals on his jacket and rank braid on the cuffs.

The band played "Be My Love," and Craven strolled across the deck and stood to the left of the captain. Craven looked perfect in his formal wear, but Lydia allowed him only a glance. John was the object of her attention.

Lydia's eyes did not veer from John as he took his place on the landing, in front of the s.p.a.ce between the captain and Craven. He stood with his side to the staircase, waiting for her.

The onlookers seemed to fade away as if the only reality were she and John. She thought her heart might burst.

But reality made an appearance in the form of young Henry, when he caused a slight commotion. Lady Lavinia tapped his shoulder, and he moved forward. He looked adorable in his formal suit, tails, and white bow tie, and holding a white satin cus.h.i.+on with ta.s.sels at each corner.

Lavinia coughed lightly. Henry stopped, looked back, then walked backwards and took his place beside Craven.

A few amused murmurs sounded. Caroline whispered, "That's what an audience looks for. That moment when a child delights them with a light moment amid the seriousness. Reminds us we're human."

Lydia needed that. She was feeling like a princess.

"Now it's my turn," Caroline said. The band played, and she leisurely moved across the deck in her elegant pink and rose gown and gleaming jewels. She took her place near the right side of the captain. Lydia saw the look of delight on her face.

Lydia knew this wasn't the usual order of wedding procession. But, as many said, nothing on the t.i.tanic was like anything in that other world out there.

"Now you, beautiful girl," Harriett prompted, and Phoebe began her slow steps along the deck, holding a white basket and dropping an occasional pink rose petal, the color of her satin and lace dress. The blush of youth adorned her cheeks. Her every gesture was perfect, and not a single s.h.i.+ny black curl moved.

A moment of silence followed. Glancing down, past the elaborate railing of iron scrollwork, Lydia glimpsed the happy, smiling faces of those who wanted to celebrate with her and John. Farther back were staff members and s.h.i.+p officers.

She ordered her tears not to fall.

Harriett handed her a bouquet of pink, red, and white roses tied with a satin bow and said, "Breathe, dear." The band began to play "The Bridal Chorus."

She hardly saw anyone, but kept her eyes on John, facing her. She reached him and took his outstretched hand. They stood for a moment looking at each other with their sides to the audience.

"The bouquet," Caroline whispered, and she handed it to her. She and John faced the captain.

"Who gives this woman to be wed?"

"We do," sounded a few feminine and a couple of masculine voices in unison. Lydia suppressed a nervous giggle. They'd rehea.r.s.ed a few things without her knowledge.

"Dearly beloved," Captain Smith said solemnly. Lydia felt the light squeeze of John's fingers.

The only other time she held her breath was during the part about objections being stated or one should forever hold his peace.

He . . . did.

At the appropriate time, little Henry held out the cus.h.i.+on on which gleamed two golden wedding bands. One was Caroline's. John must have gotten the other one from the jeweler.

She could hardly believe the words, "I now p.r.o.nounce you husband and wife."

There was a pause.

No applause?

The captain couldn't keep the humor from his face. "You may now kiss the bride."

John leaned toward her.

That's when the applause sounded. And the cheers.

For a moment she detected restraint in them both, but then she felt the touch of his hand behind her neck. She raised her face to his and closed her eyes and felt his warm, soft lips touch hers. They did not demand but rested gently, and she felt the overwhelming feeling of pa.s.sion rising within her, so strong, so beautiful, so knowing they belonged together.

Their lips did not seem to move, and it was as if the life flowed from each and they truly became one. Like a first kiss. Like a first time.

The other time was forgiven and- Well . . . forgiven.

John drew away and looked into her face with moist eyes, reflecting what she felt. Well-brought up men didn't cry in public, perhaps not at all. Ah, let them not. Her man did, because he loved her. And those were the first words he said to her as her husband.

"I love you."

"I love you right back."

As the applause receded, Caroline told her to stay there for a moment. "The photographers must have their day."

While she and John held hands and faced the guests, Lady Lavinia took Henry's hand. They descended the staircase amid applause.

Phoebe descended like a princess. Lydia knew that girl would never forget this night. She wouldn't be content to have an ordinary wedding after being a part of this.

With what Lydia called his practiced smile, Craven stepped up and offered his arm to Caroline. She handed the bouquet to Lydia and placed her hand on his arm, and they descended together.

The captain stepped up and put a hand on their shoulders. "Before I formally present the bride and groom, I believe they have a ch.o.r.e to perform. All the single ladies gather to my right and the single gentlemen to my left, please."

Several gathered, even some divorcees and widows. Phoebe was the youngest. When Lydia leaned over the railing and threw her bouquet, the older ones didn't attempt to catch it. It was caught by a young lady who looked to be about seventeen.

The captain smiled. "One more little ch.o.r.e." He gestured to a chair someone had set against the wall.

"Do the honors," said a voice that sounded like Molly's.

Lydia looked at John, and he shrugged. She walked over and sat in the chair, turning away from the crowd. John knelt in front of her.

Her ankles had been exposed for all to see, but the location of the garter was for John's eyes only. She'd placed it right above her knee. John discreetly removed it, stood, and held it up amid applause and a couple "Hear, hear's."

They walked to the railing.

"Come on, men," John said. "Chance of a lifetime."

Lydia was not surprised that only a few males gathered near where Craven had stopped at the landing, along with Caroline, now accompanied by William. They moved back, and S. J. walked up to stand beside Craven.

A couple of mature gentlemen and a couple of teens joined the group with sly glances toward the girl holding the bouquet.

Just as Craven stepped back to abandon the gathering, John tossed the blue garter. It sailed right to Craven's chest, and his automatic instinct was to raise his hand and catch it. Although he shook his head as if this was totally unexpected and unwanted, he nevertheless had the garter and was applauded.

"Now if the bride and groom will step this way, please."

Finally, she could descend that staircase. The photographers had been primed and snapping from the outset. She felt as though she was in a perpetual pose, and she was loving every minute.

"Right here, please," the captain said. She and John walked over and stood in front of him at the top of the staircase. He spoke firmly, "May I present the first couple to exchange vows on the greatest s.h.i.+p ever built. Mr. and Mrs. John Mark Ancell."

Oh, my, she'd never heard such a rowdy-sounding crowd of refined ladies and gentlemen. But as many had said, this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, worthy of celebration.

John offered his arm. While the band played, they slowly made their way down the grand staircase, while the guests clapped hands in time with the rhythm of the band. She looked up once at the great gla.s.s dome and remembered someone had called this the stairway to heaven.

She had ascended and descended the staircase as a single girl. But this was different. Another first. She and John descended as husband and wife, and with a blessing only he and she were privileged to know.

She was happier than at any moment in her life. She, on a s.h.i.+p of dreams, walked down the grand staircase with the man she loved, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.

19.

Sunday, approximately 10:40 p.m., reception room, April 14, 1912 All these first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers had taken time and effort to give her the best day of her life. The least she could do was stay around to thank them and let them have their pictures taken. These pictures would be in newspapers throughout the world.

She couldn't wish her father were here, knowing he'd never have allowed this, but when he learned of this event, and saw the photos, he would accept John.

Would she stay in John's room tonight or he in hers? She had a sitting room, and he did not. She didn't like the thought that Craven was in the room that adjoined both hers and John's.

She must stop thinking about Craven. They both might need time to get over the sparring between them. But they could never be that familiar again. He worked for her father. He had no hold on her. No control whatsoever.

Those days were over, and she'd have to recondition her mind. It would be a pleasure. No longer her escort. No longer able to advise her or correct her or condemn her about anything.

With John's arm around her waist, the two of them walked into the reception room aglow with light from the crystal chandeliers.

"Oh, John," she said, "no one could ask for a more perfect wedding."

"And to think," he said with a smile, "S. J. reminded me that all this probably started with a wooden boat and a paper sail."

"Speaking of a boat!" She gasped at the table in the center of the room. On it was the largest wedding cake she'd ever seen, a replica of the s.h.i.+p, on a sea of blue. The huge silver tray it rested on was surrounded by red, pink, and white roses accented with green leaves. On each side of the edible s.h.i.+p were great platters of individual frosted cakes with roses on top.

"How could anyone do this on such short notice?" Lydia said.

Captain Smith wore a pleased expression. "By having the finest chefs in the world." He motioned and the chefs entered the room. The guests applauded. The chefs nodded and returned to their kitchen.

Molly called out, "I think it's time you stuffed some of that cake in each other's mouth so we can eat, and drink that champagne."

They all laughed. Photographs were snapped. John picked up the pearl-handled cake knife and glanced at her as he moved it toward the smokestack. She nodded. He cut off the top, laid it on a china plate, and looked for a utensil.

"This is the way." Lydia pinched off a bite of the white cake. They fed each other the cake while everyone cheered again.