Hearts That Survive (27 page)

She heard her intake of breath and knew he did too. He had someone. She should say that was wonderful.

"That someone puts his arm around my shoulders and walks with me when I cry. He leads me out of the storms. The fog will dissipate. The rain will dry up. They're temporary. What remains is steadfast. The sky and the sun are still there. So is God."

"Up there," she said.

He touched his chest. "In here."

"You walk through the storms singing."

"Exactly. When I'm not crying."

"I don't sing well."

"Then do what you do."

Bess brought the plate over to the table, and Armand got a dining room chair for her. "Thanks, Bess," he said, "for the great meal you made for Willard the other night. I ate it for you."

"You could have put it in the refrigerator."

"Willard did. But you see, my dinner plans changed, and by the time I got to the lake house I was famished." Caroline and he seemed to think that was funny. "But," he promised. "I'll make up for it by cooking dinner one night for you ladies."

He would, would he? "I suppose Willard will join us too," Caroline said, feigning consternation.

Bess grinned. "If you insist."

"I certainly do. I've been kept in the dark too long, but I did notice we were eating a lot of fish lately."

Caroline felt a great burden had lifted. She had faced her fears, laughed about her limitations, and made new friends. And thinking of Armand's words, "Then do what you do," a new idea began to form.

She had delayed facing the inevitable, but doing so had had a freeing effect. Now, instead of trying to bury something that would not die, something that couldn't be forgotten, she could help it be remembered.

C
hampagne bottles," Caroline grumbled, along with the sound of the train wheels returning her and Armand to Bedford after a long day in the office. "My goodness, you'd think all one was expected to do on that ship was imbibe."

"No," he said with a faint smile. "It's just that bottles float more easily than steel."

But she'd counted hundreds of bottles that the currents had washed up on the beaches of Nova Scotia. "I'm not complaining, just commenting."

"I should hope not," he reprimanded. "After I worked on that project for weeks."

She leaned back, letting her head rest against the back of the seat, and closed her eyes. She had him read the newspaper accounts of items from the
Titanic
being found on the ocean and in other places, including New York. Armand contacted Craven. Although Armand's expertise was unquestioned, she suspected Craven's influence might have something to do with the plan coming to fruition and the legal process begun for them to start collecting the items.

Mrs. Jessup moved her desk over and set Caroline's next to it. She had her own telephone and file cabinet. A bedroom upstairs became a storage room for items found in their area. Jarvis seemed to think he'd been given a promotion by lugging boxes up the stairs. Since this was not a full-time job, Caroline kept no certain hours, but worked as needed.

The train's coming to a stop roused her, and she realized she'd been dozing. She was wide-awake, however, as soon as Armand rented the car. "Don't mind if I drive, do you?" She opened the door to get behind the wheel.

"Not at all," he said. "It increases my prayer life."

After she had playfully hit him, she drove the speed limit and laughed all the way home while he prayed. Bess invited him in for supper. While Bess cleaned up afterward, Caroline and Armand sat at the table, and he had fun discussing her driving.

When they settled down from laughing at her expense, she said, "I've been thinking about something."

He leaned back and held up his hands. "You want me to get the speed limit increased."

"Now, that's better than the idea I had."

"Sorry. I can't do anything about that one."

"Perhaps you can with this one." She hardly knew how to speak of it. "I don't know how to analyze myself. But I know I've been trained to be proper all my life. And then, crossing that ocean changed everything. I've rebelled and tried to be an ordinary person. But I failed at that."

She couldn't go on if he didn't take this seriously, but his nod encouraged her to continue. "I thought I should observe a year's mourning period for William. But that wouldn't change what is or isn't in my heart. And I don't need to wonder what people think. I'd like to see a little more of the world. I'm going to start—" How should she phrase it? Yes, "Stepping out. I mean, I am not an aged woman. What do you think?"

He looked tense. "Well, being a man who isn't exactly aged either, I can understand what you're saying. And since you asked, I'll tell you what I've observed."

She nodded.

"You'll never be an ordinary woman. You're a tremendously wealthy woman. That's who you are. You can be an influence on women of means. The Lord has blessed you that way, so don't try to be like everyone else. You have beauty, and brains, and depth, and goodness. And—"

He sounded agitated and appeared rather disgusted.

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him. He stared back and colored. "I've said too much. I should leave. Thanks for supper, Bess."

His shoes padded through the house. The front door openeed and closed.

"What was that about?"

Bess sighed. "I've heard the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Must be something I cooked."

Almost as soon as she heard the car door slam and thought he was leaving, the front door opened again. Then he stood over her, his unruly curls awry. "One more thing. Since you're working in my office and we're traveling together, but you'll be stepping out, might I ask—" He looked like a child asking for a cookie, "with whom?"

"Youm?"

And so they did. On some Saturdays. He showed her the city, and the bays; and the four of them visited Peggy's Cove, where Willard lived; fed worms to the fish from the boat; went to church on Sunday and he sang to the Lord. He cooked once a week and she ate, and they played cribbage or bridge or whist.

Stepping out was fun, and Caroline felt as though she'd begun to live again. Then, to top it off, the attorney in California reported all appeared well with Phoebe and Henry.

Caroline wrote to Phoebe. The day she got a letter from Phoebe, she thought her heart would burst. She rushed into Armand's office and told him about it.

"Phoebe says she likes it there. The Freemans are fun, and they're going to have a baby. School's starting back soon, and she's continuing her piano lessons." The next part hurt Caroline's heart. She read it the way Phoebe wrote it.

Henry has nightmares. I hold him until he goes back to sleep. He's a little brat and won't let anyone play with his Meccano set. But I love him.

Caroline dropped into the chair and held the letter to her heart. "I fell in love with those children." She almost said something about the wedding. But that was best forgotten. That was Lydia's life. No, her past. "Mary Freeman is going to have a baby. Lydia is going to have a baby. Seems the whole world is."

"I think that's the idea," he said. Then he straightened. "You love children so much. So I assume, if I'm not being too personal, either you or William were unable—"

"Why no." That surprised her. "Why did you think that?"

"Because you said you were married at age nineteen and—"

"Let's talk about it on the train." She wanted to be near home. On the train, along with the rumble and huffing and chugs and occasional whistles, she told him about her good marriage with William and the joy of pregnancy. "I never carried one to term. Three months was the longest."

"I'm so sorry." He told her about his marriage with Ami. His face darkened. "She had a terrible time. The baby was stillborn." She felt his suffering when he said, "It was torture for Ami emotionally and physically. She died two days later. Then, it was torture for me."

When they reached the station, she let him drive.

"Have you thought of adoption?" he asked.

She felt uneasy. "Yes, and particularly concerning Phoebe and Henry. But I would love to have children of my own."

"I couldn't bear to chance my wife going through what Ami did."

She felt a chill and hugged her arms. "I intend to try. I'm young."

His face looked like the foreboding cloud, coming closer. "I wouldn't mind adopting."

They were at a stalemate. She wanted children. He did not want to chance a wife dying in childbirth.

The car stopped in front of the house. Caroline looked at the clouds. Lightning could strike. The rain could pour. She must hurry inside. Or walk through it.

"Armand, are you sorry you had that short time with Ami?"

His answer was quick as a wink. "Of course not."

"You would do it again, knowing?"

His grip was tight on the steering wheel, and his face was set toward the clouds' teardrops on the windshield. He spoke as if to himself. "It's better to live a short while with someone you love than deny yourself because you fear the other person will suffer or die."

"Yes, as you taught me that I shouldn't fear getting into a boat just because a ship sank." She opened the car door. As if he had just noticed, he said, "It's raining."

She stepped out into it and bent to look at him. "Someone implied I should try walking through it."

She shut the door. And walked.

He didn't call that evening nor had they mentioned an outing for Saturday. She awoke early, saw the morning fog and thought she'd try it. The thicket of trees was barely visible but served as a landmark.

She thought she'd bumped into a tree but this was softer than a tree and the branches steadied her and there was no lifejacket between them. But the fog, like enveloping arms, held them fast and the voice in the trees whispered don't be afraid and the fingers like a caressing mist touched their faces and the warm breath hovered like a vapor. When their cold lips had been warmed, considerably so, the fog was dissipating.

They walked from the trees and into the sunlight and turned to each other. Caroline removed her hand from his just long enough to caress the curls over his forehead but did not push them aside. She liked them there.

He had gold in his gaze, and he said with a sense of wonder, "You have a hint of green in your eyes."

"Must be the reflection of the grass."

"Ahhh," he said, looking up into the sunshine as if the most wonderful, amazing thing was a speck of green.

Laughing, hand in hand, they advanced along the vast green lawn, and she joined him in his morning song.

Armand did not sing the solo on Sunday morning. After the choir sang, a prayer was said while they bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Caroline felt a nudge, and there he was without his robe and she scooted over. He sat beside her on the pew.

Everyone stood to sing the final hymn before the sermon. Armand had the songbook opened to the right spot before the choir director said, "Please turn to page 75," and the organist began. Caroline opened her mouth to sing, but it got stuck. Armand ran his finger along the bottom of the words, "I love thee, I love thee, I love thee" and covered up the words "my Lord."

She thought, my Lord, what's he doing? He kept on for all four verses. But he didn't finger-underline any words except the
I love thee
ones and the phrase
how much my actions will show.

She didn't think that exactly proper and it certainly wasn't ordinary and it might even be blasphemous and what would people think? They sat and to keep him from doing anything like that again she held his hand between them. She didn't know what the sermon was about, but from the way she felt, it must have been divine.

L
ydia's getting a letter from Caroline was like getting a present on a special occasion. Oh, Caroline would laugh about that when she saw the present Lydia's father gave her and Craven. But his present satisfied the aesthetic senses, as Craven had said. The letter touched her heart in a way no residence could.

She'd reveled in the letter all morning. Following her afternoon nap, she began to write. Craven walked into her upstairs sitting room. She laid aside her Sheaffer pen and lifted her face to his. "Home already," she said. His first priority, after her, was his presence in the New York office while keeping abreast of happenings in London.

Other days and evenings were filled with discussion of plans for the house, the baby, going out, having friends in. She hardly had time to think.

"I was able to leave earlier than usual." He began caressing her shoulders. "How was your day?"

"Wonderful." She held the letter up to him.

"Ah, a letter from her always cheers you." He sat on the loveseat in front of the window to read. He chuckled. "Doesn't surprise me. I thought they might just hit it off."

"We're both reading between the lines," Lydia warned. "But with Caroline living in his house and working in his office, something's going on."

"Caroline's a special person," he mused. She was glad he liked her. "I suspect Armand is too, although I don't know a lot about his personal life. He had a rough time. His wife—" He seemed to lose his train of thought. "She died quite young."

"Caroline didn't mention that." Lydia was about to ask how she died, but Craven began to discuss Armand's father.

"His father came from a long line of shipping. Quite successful. After the accident that killed his parents, Armand sold the business and became an attorney. He's quite a wealthy man but lives modestly."

"Caroline invited us to visit."

"That's out of the question for now. I have to get Robertson settled into the London office. But after the first of the year, that changes."

Yes, it had been arranged so he would be in New York permanently since everyone, except her and the doctor, expected the baby to be born in mid-January.

He handed the letter back to her. "Continue your writing, and give her my regards. I want to arrange for a nurse to be with you while I'm gone. And you might consider a downstairs bedroom. Don't want you falling down the stairs."