Hearts That Survive Part 21

"The Mackay-Bennett is the s.h.i.+p that left Nova Scotia to find survivors before we even reached New York," he explained, and she nodded.

"John has been identified."

She drew in a breath but could not expel it.

He opened the envelope. "You can read it, or I will. Or I can leave it."

She'd never known him to be so unforthcoming.

She motioned at it, and he looked at the paper.

"The Mackay received a pa.s.senger list from White Star. There weren't many first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers his age. His stateroom key was in his pocket."

He glanced at her, but she said, "I want to hear it all."

"A small black mole at the jaw below-"

"The right ear," she finished for him.

She was nodding when he read the description of the suit and the clothing label. She had helped John pick out his formal clothes. Not as expensive as those Craven wore. But certainly acceptable. John wasn't competing with anyone. John didn't need to. He had his youth, and his nice face, and excited blue eyes, and . . . his woman.

"Wearing an unusual kind of gold wedding band. Shaped more like a small wheel than the usual bands that lie flat against the finger. There were a couple of almost imperceptible nicks as if it had been cut by a sharp object."

She looked over at Caroline and gave a self-conscious laugh. Caroline smiled but wouldn't know what that was about. That would be the toy train wheel. It could be checked against other wheels. Lydia knew they would match.

"There will be additional fingerprinting and-"

She shook her head and held up her hand.

He replaced the paper. "Do you want this?"

"No." She had enough, in that envelope on the dresser.

"Caroline, there's no word yet on William." He paused and said, "I'm sorry."

Lydia wasn't looking at him but at her hand in Caroline's. Was he sorry William hadn't been found or that John had? Maybe both.

She was glad. He wasn't out there on that cold, icy ocean anymore. She looked up. "Where is he?"

"On the s.h.i.+p."

That didn't tell her much, but before she could think of anything else to ask, anything that would make a difference, he said he needed to get back to the hearing and left with the envelope.

The door closed.

The three of them sat in silence, as though in a boat on a vast sea. It felt cold. Except for Caroline's hand.

Lydia looked down and noticed the ring. Her hand moved to it.

"No," Caroline said. "Not now. Do you want to be alone?"

Her breath was still hung in her throat, so she nodded.

The two women stood, and Lydia was glad they didn't try to hug her. Caroline seemed to understand. "We will come back later."

"Oh, one more thing," Lydia said and went into the bedroom. She returned with the paper bag containing Harriett's wedding dress. It didn't mean anything to anyone now. The designer wasn't on the survivor list. All those lovely creations would never be shown. The models would never wear them. It would never be in the newspapers throughout the world. "Do whatever you like with this, will you?"

Without asking what it was, Caroline took the bag and left.

Lydia picked up a pen from the desk in the living room and returned to the bedroom. She opened the envelope, signed on the appropriate line, and wrote the date. She laid the pen down.

Everything seemed so unreal. The wonderful fairy-tale wedding. Then the disaster. Her gaze moved to her finger. John's engagement ring that would never be paid for. The wedding band that belonged to Caroline Chadwick. Who ever heard of such a thing? She took off the rings and laid them beside the envelope.

What kind of marriage was that for the heiress to the Beaumont fortune?

Her signature on that paper meant there was no marriage. John's family would receive the identification about him. They would never know of her nor she of them. It all began with his father whittling on a piece of wood until he had made a little wooden train.

John said the t.i.tanic probably started with a little wooden boat and a paper sail. That idea became a s.h.i.+p made of steel. Now it lay on the bottom of the ocean.

Like her dreams.

She was no longer married to John.

With one more glance at the envelope, she felt she needed to change that thought.

The marriage was annulled.

She was never married to John.

She began to laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Until she fell across the bed and thought she'd surely drown from the liquid laughter that filled her eyes and spilled onto the pillow she clutched to her heart.

39.

Lydia awoke late in the afternoon and sat up with a start. The clock on the bedside table indicated she had slept for a couple of hours. Her eyes moved to the dresser. The rings were there. The envelope wasn't. When had he slipped into the room and taken it?

Had he heard her cry?

Or laugh?

He'd done his duty. He had protected her father's heart and Beaumont Railroad Company from threats of a scandal or litigation or making a settlement. That's what he was paid to do.

And Lydia, don't you know who you are?

To find out, she pushed the pillow aside, stood, smoothed her dress, and went over and looked in the mirror. You are heiress to the Beaumont fortune, she told the reflection. And should not have those puffy, red eyes or a red blotch on your previously acclaimed, beautiful face or a wrinkled dress or be sobbing into hotel pillows.

She would hold her head high. And she did, all the way to the telephone. "Shall we put on a new frock and find a place to lunch?" she asked Caroline when she answered her phone.

"Yes, let's do."

"Hats and all," Lydia said.

"Indeed," Caroline said with enthusiasm. "We will hurry. I'm famished."

We, Lydia was thinking as she hung up and hurried to the closet. How amazing that Caroline treated Bess like a friend. Lydia didn't mind, but she could not imagine having done that with Marcella.

Determined not to let her mind stay there, she opened the closet door with a little more force than she'd intended. This was a new day. A new beginning. She chose the conservative dove-gray suit she had purchased yesterday. The light pink blouse with the high neckline bordered by fine lace complimented it perfectly. It would match the red blotch on her face, she thought with a hint of flippancy.

However, after was.h.i.+ng her face and applying makeup, the spot had faded. She brushed her hair back from her face, holding the curls down with jeweled clips, and turned it into a roll at the back of her neck and fastened it with pins.

After donning the clothes, she stepped into rather tight, new, pointed-toe black shoes, and perched the gray hat on her head, tilted it slightly to one side, and flicked the little black and pink feathers with her fingers.

Observing herself in the mirror, she nodded. One final touch, fastening the strand of pearls, and she was ready. Pleased with herself for having managed all this by lunchtime, she picked up Caroline's wedding band, and grabbed her black purse and gloves.

She was not surprised when she stepped into the hallway and the next door opened.

"Good afternoon," Craven said. "Might I ask where you are going?"

"Out." She continued on, then realized she hadn't been to Caroline's room, although she thought it was on a lower floor. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Where might I find Caroline Chadwick's room?"

"Take the elevator down to the next floor, get off, and her room is two doors down on the right."

With her head high, she marched to the elevator, resenting his grin. This was no occasion for a grin.

Lydia thought both Caroline and Bess looked equally smart, but not so much so that they might attract undo attention. Just three ladies going out. The desk clerk recommended a little restaurant nearby, since they didn't want to eat inside the hotel. It was lunchtime, and everything would be crowded.

"Especially with the hearings going on," Caroline said. "The reporters will be hounding them and maybe not notice us."

They walked out onto the sidewalk. Never in her life before had Lydia appreciated the feel of a sidewalk beneath her feet. Had never given it a thought unless it were a negative one, like it had a crack in it or a chunk torn out. "Suns.h.i.+ne," she said appreciatively.

Caroline smiled and mentioned how caring the people of New York were. "The newspaper and radio are still reporting how survivors might get help. So many are volunteering out of compa.s.sion."

"You always see the good in people, Caroline."

"Not really. But I try to concentrate on the good. Sometimes we have to look for it, but it's around us."

Lydia nodded. She must try working on seeing the good.

"I believe this is it," Bess said.

They entered the restaurant on the corner, and Lydia asked if they might have a table near a window. The waitress led them to one where they could look out onto the street. She laughed when they sat down. "I've never before thought of myself as a people watcher."

"Even the horses are a welcome sight," Caroline added.

They ordered coffee and sandwiches and talked about ordinary things like the smell of the food, the taste of the coffee when the waitress brought it, if they'd get dessert or try to find a chocolate shop, whether they'd make a trek through Central Park later, and how nice Bess looked, particularly in that cute little hat.

"Blame her for that." Bess directed her glance at Caroline. Lydia wondered if she called her Caroline or Mrs. Chadwick.

The waitress brought the sandwiches, and they discussed lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise or mustard. Incidentals now seemed important, or at least a worthy topic of conversation.

They found a chocolate shop, delighted in the delectable morsels, then took a carriage ride to Central Park. Lydia felt they might be able to talk about that other life now.

She opened her purse and took out the wedding band. "Thank you," she said.

Caroline took it and slipped it on her finger, then just looked at it for a while.

"How do you do it, Caroline? How do you stand it? Losing William?"

Caroline took a breath of the fresh, cool air and looked out before her. "I don't know that I've really faced it yet, Lydia. I can't really a.n.a.lyze myself. But I know that people behave differently in the same situation. Just as they did on that s.h.i.+p."

Lydia felt the possibility of an overwhelming wave stirring in her stomach. But she could do this. It had to be done, faced. She nodded, remembering some had been brave, strong, helpful, while others were panicked, fearful, jumping, pus.h.i.+ng.

"You see, we even behave differently in love."

Lydia wasn't sure she could handle this, but listened. "You react differently about John because you loved him differently. You were fortunate to love like that, against what you were raised to do, to have, to be."

She liked hearing John's name connected with love. He would always be in her heart.

"I loved William in my way. He loved me in his way. I was younger, pretty, he said, and would be a perfect wife."

She made a little sound. "Perfect," she repeated. "Neither of us knew I could not carry a child to term. But I tried to be what he wanted and needed. I don't think he ever knew how much having a child meant to me."

Caroline's eyelids closed for a moment.

Lydia touched her hand. "We don't have to talk about this."

"I want to, if you don't mind listening. We need to accept the facts of life and try to move on."

That sounded like good advice.

"But to answer your question of how I do it," Caroline said, "the hardest part of my life has been in losing my children. Others call it a miscarriage. But he, or she, was part of my body as much as any other part."

She gestured toward a woman pus.h.i.+ng a baby carriage. "I see babies, and I see perfection. We may turn into something else, but we start out so wonderfully made."

Lydia breathed deeply. She and John had begun to see their baby that way. Had just begun. He said it was the most wonderful miracle.

"So you see, I blamed myself. William could give me a child, so he was all right. I have some defect, some problem within me. And how I handle it is to go directly to the ones who break my heart. The little ones. Instead of turning from them, I go to other people's children, and I love them as if they're my own."