Chapter 15
The good thing about retching on an empty stomach is that there is no mess. I thought about little, impersonal things like that while my mother herded me back to our seats.
The deck is brown.
The breeze is cool.
The sky is cloudless.
Anything to prevent my anguish from running rampant. I had to keep the tears at bay, at least until I felt jumping into the ocean and joining the dead of the wreckage wasn’t a viable option. Crying was fine: there were dozens on women weeping about, but I felt if I shed one tear, everything would fall apart. When we got to our seats there was a man already standing there.
“Miss...Miss Ashby, isn’t it?” I looked up and froze. His features looked slightly different in the dead of night, but his face was unmistakable. It was the officer who took the lifeboat back to look for survivors. Mother realized I recognized him and left me to speak with him.
“Henry’s name wasn’t on the list.” I told him quietly, trying to remain as detached as possible. “I suppose you found the body?”
His brow furrowed. “No. I found him alive.” I looked up with a jolt of energy.
“Truly?” The words ‘too good to be true’ crossed through my mind.
The officer gave me a small smile. “I tried. And I succeeded.” This time it felt like my heart was going to burst. But from happiness.
“Then...then why wasn’t he on the survivors list?” I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I didn’t know his name. But I recognized his face.” He explained. Then I realized something else.
“Are you certain it was him? I haven’t seen him on deck.” I observed. I was starting to get annoyed with my own incessant questions, but they kept flowing out of my mouth. Was it really so bad that I was scared to become hopeful?
“I am positive it was him. He is, ah, in a delicate condition, so he has been moved in order to receive the proper medical attention.”
“I want to see him.” He looked glad that I finally gave up on my never ending inquiries. Mother had an idea of what had occurred, because when I tried to explain she hushed me and waved me away.
“Take me to him. Now. Now!” The officer jumped at my shout and asked me to follow him, taking off in ground-eating strides. I followed him away from deck and into the ship, trailing into what appeared to be the crew’s quarters.
“We tried to make some space for to people who were injured.” He explained, noticing how my breath caught when he lingered on the word ‘injured’.
“Not that your man is injured.” He retracted hastily. We walked past a few more doors until he came to a stop. “Ah, here we are.”
The first thing I noticed when I walked through the threshold was the temperature. A blast of hot air hit me square in the face, and I briefly wondered if I was stepping into a furnace. A short man appeared to be tending to a large pile of blankets.
Wait a second.
Underneath the large mountain of wool laid Henry, sickeningly pale and unconscious. I rushed out to him and reached out a hand to smooth back his hair, but pulled back at the last second. I was scared of watching him vanish in front of me and realize it was all a very good dream.
“It’s alright. You can touch him, just be gentle. He needs his rest.” The short (whom I now recognized as the doctor) said. I inched closer, ignoring the teary blurring in my sight, and lifted away a lock of hair that fell over his forehead.
The tears started flowing as I realized he was truly alive. I didn’t have to live without him. He was here.
“Thank you.” I hiccupped to the officer, whose face warmed.
“I don’t know if you should thank me, miss. He practically found us.” I didn’t really understand what it meant, but it’s not like a cared. Henry was alive, and that was all that mattered. I didn’t lose him.
For the next few days I watched Henry like a hawk, just to make sure he was still real. The doctor (who identified himself as Dr. McGee) explained that Henry was recovering from severe hypothermia. He also told me that Henry was nearly dead when he was hauled onto the ship, and he had been trying to heat his body as much as possible. His wet clothes were exchanged for dry ones, and the room was heated as much as possible. He was mostly unconscious, with the exception of some words he mumbled now and again.
His condition continued to improve. He regained consciousness and spoke slowly, like he had a sore throat. Henry insisted he didn’t want to eat, but I practically shoved everything Dr.McGee instructed me to down his throat. On the third day, the doctor finally allowed him to take a stroll about deck. I suspected Henry would force his way onto deck if denied, so the he had no choice but to indulge him.
We walked slowly and kept to an empty corner of the deck provided for first class passengers. We remained silent as Henry looked over the vast ocean in a bundle of wool blankets. According to the Captain, we would be making port in New York tonight.
“I didn’t think I would live.” Said Henry softly, the breeze catching on his chestnut locks. I held on to his hand a little tighter.
“I knew you would.” I murmured confidently. He glanced at me curiously.
“You said you would try.” I explained impatiently.
“Ah. So I did.”
I added quickly, as an afterthought, “I’m glad you’re here.”
He grinned crookedly. “I know. I’m glad, too.”
“I think my mother was also very glad you survived.” I recalled. She only checked on Henry and I once (because Stanley was still fishing for my whereabouts), but that one time she fussed over Henry like she would her own child. He had to practically beg Dr.McGee to kick her out.
“It seems like your mother rediscovered my charm, just like you did.” He said smugly. Henry could be on his deathbed and he would still tease me.
“Oh, please. Spare me your theories.” I muttered dryly, giving him an annoyed look. Henry ignored my annoyance and grinned.
“I’m afraid you're right. The theories of my irresistibility will have to wait until after the wedding.” I knew he was hinting at our new engagement, but this was my chance to get back at his banter.
“Don’t remind me.” I feigned. “Just thinking about having to stop the wedding to Stanley makes me want to run away.” His smug face fell instantly.
“I didn’t mean that wedding.” He grumbled, ignoring my chuckle.
“I know. I can’t wait.” I said, stepping into Henry’s arms as he held me close to him. Henry was of important standing back in England, so I knew it would take months to plan an appropriate wedding.
“Maybe we can elope in New York.” He mused.
“Henry, you can barely stand straight for more than ten minutes. We are not eloping.” I said, trying my hardest to sound stern, but barely managing to contain a smile.
“Maybe tomorrow?” He persisted.
“Let’s go back to bed.” I evaded. I wouldn’t be able to say no to him for long.
“Will you hold my hand?”
This time I couldn’t keep the radiant smile off my face. “Always.”
###
Author’s Note
Growing up, the Titanic was legend. The ship of dreams. It still is, and I hope this novel serves as remembrance for the events of that tragic night. Most of the research was done through my own incessant curiosity, but I would like to thank https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/ for its detailed records on everything Titanic and always having information on just about anything. The title of Duke when it came to Henry was purely fictional, as well as Ophelia’s surname.
The most difficult thing about writing of the Titanic was never being able to do it justice. There will never be enough for me to aptly describe the ship, in my opinion, but I hope I’ve done it justice.
Connect with S.S. Brown
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sara_sbrown
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with frien
ds