By the Light of the Silvery Moon (37 page)

With the promise of dawn came a realization of where they were and what had happened. With dawn came a resurrection of their pain.

Women around her sobbed. Their cries ripped at her heart.

“My husband.”

“My son.”

The sailor with them cried, though he tried to wipe away the tears as fast as they came. “The great ship,” he muttered now and again. Their pride swallowed up in the depths of the water.

An older woman next to him trembled. The sailor wrapped an arm around her, and she closed her eyes, perhaps remembering a son’s embrace.

Before and behind them a line of lifeboats stretched. As light dawned brighter, Amelia counted sixteen in all.

“I should have given my seat to another,” C.J. mumbled.

Amelia patted his hand. “No one else was getting in. They didn’t know there weren’t enough lifeboats. No one knew.”

The young mother with the boy sleeping on her lap jutted her chin into the air. “There were more boats on the other side. I’m sure of it.” Her bloodshot eyes peered at the waters. “The men are in those boats. They’ve gone off another way.”

The stewardess beside her nodded, but Amelia could see in her eyes that she had no hope of such a thing.

“We’re lost. All’s lost.” A young woman looked around at the sea stretching in all directions and then buried her face in her hands.

Amelia took the woman’s hands and squeezed tight. “A rescue ship is coming,” she said offering hope, praying she was right.

She closed her eyes again and tried to remember each moment from the time she first saw Quentin being dragged off the ship. She would rather have had four days with Quentin than four years with a common man. There had been nothing common about him.

Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks, but she was too numb, too weary, to wipe them away. Knowing this end, would he have boarded the ship? Would he have said death was worth reconciliation with his father and his God? Would he have said meeting her was worth it, too? Yes, he had told her all that. He had told her it was worth it.

Because of his willingness to set aside his pride and surrender everything, Quentin now stood in God’s presence. She tried to picture that—picture Quentin strolling at the heavenly Father’s side just as he’d strolled with her on the decks of the great ship just yesterday. Her shoulders shook more as she attempted to hold the emotion in. Death was never easy, but that image in her mind made it easier.

The wind rose, and Amelia wasn’t sure if she could move. Her body felt numb, half dead. Her emotions, too. How could life change so dramatically?

She looked to the old man who sat by her side. A father of two sons—one just recently found. How did he have the energy to breathe in the cold, ocean air at this moment? Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? To turn his soul over to God than to feel such pain?

Silence filled the space and seeped into her soul. She let her eyes flutter closed, wondering if this boat was where she’d breathe her last, too. It might be easier that way. Easier to die now than to live with the memories of what they’d just experienced.

They huddled together, and she could tell by C.J.’s face as he looked straight ahead that he thought of his sons. No father should outlive his wife and now two boys.

Amelia tried to tell herself that perhaps one or both had survived, but deep down she knew it wasn’t the case. C.J. had raised men of honor. Men who would go down with the ship.

Someone passed around a bottle of water, and Amelia took a small sip.

As the sky lightened, it looked as if many ships had come for them all with their sails set.

“Look at all the help that has come for us!” one woman proclaimed.

But not five minutes later the pink dawn brightened the air. “Those are not the sails of a boat. They are icebergs.” Amelia sucked in a breath as she took in the towering forms. She looked to the side of her, behind her. More icebergs rose up from the water as far as she could see. A shiver traveled through her. There had been no hope for the great ship. If they’d missed the first iceberg, they would have hit another.

She thought of the book of Job. Her aunt had been reading it just last week. “Who are we to ask?” she whispered, and Aunt Neda turned to her, a sad, acknowledging smile lighting her face.

Aunt Neda nodded. “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Her stomach seized as her aunt said those words, and for the first time Amelia allowed herself to acknowledge what she had lost—love.

As clear as the rays of dawn stretching over the water, she knew that in the span of a few short days she’d met the man God had planned for her. She also knew that as kind as Mr. Chapman was, she wouldn’t give him her heart. She’d worry about the excuses and about what she and her aunt would do in a new country, but she couldn’t imagine considering a new relationship now. How could she when the man who took her heart carried it into the sea with him?

“Maybe he lives,” her aunt spoke aloud, understanding what Amelia had been thinking about. A dozen eyes turned. Though she wanted to offer hope, it wasn’t something the women could grasp. They’d left their men on the boat. They’d seen it go down. They’d heard the cries in the water. What use was hoping now? She closed her eyes, the pain of what they’d experienced settling deeper in her aching heart.

Gasps from others in the boat caught her attention. She opened her eyes and noticed the glow of rockets.

“Do you have any paper? Any handkerchiefs?” a woman next to her asked. “We can light them on fire so whatever ship is looking for us will find us.”

In the distance the form of a ship neared. They didn’t need to light anything, as the sailors from the large vessel waved their direction. They were seen!

Tears filled Amelia’s eyes. They’d be safe soon. They would make it. A song of joy broke out of one stoker’s lips, but few joined. Amelia was silent as she listened to those who attempted to sing with quavering voices. Her jaw and teeth chattered too heavily to allow her to sing any words.

The ship appeared sooner than she expected. With its cabins alight, they could see it was a large steamer. Soon it stopped, sitting motionless on the water.

“We have to row to her. She cannot get to us because of the ice!” one man called out.

Dawn broke completely and tinged the thin clouds with pink. In the distance, the crescent of a new moon touched the horizon. Where had that moon been all night?

An image came over her as she sat there. Quentin’s smile had been broad when she’d sung along to her favorite song, “By the Light of the Silvery Moon.” Pain pressed against her chest. Why had she opened her heart so quickly, only to have it crushed?

Their steersman laughed as they rowed closer. “Never again can any of us say that thirteen is an unlucky number.” Amelia was confused until she remembered they were in lifeboat number thirteen. “Why, it’s the best friend we’ve ever had.”

As their boat rowed alongside the
Carpathia,
Amelia attempted to shift, but her frozen body felt stiff. She turned to her aunt, and she too looked chilled. Her face was pale. Her hair plastered to her forehead. She looked like a statue of the lively woman she used to be, and when Aunt Neda turned and looked into Amelia’s eyes, she saw a reflection of all the heartache she felt deep inside.

But it was Clarence Walpole’s face that surprised her. His cheeks were flushed.

She reached over and took his hand. “Are you all right?” It was a foolish question to ask a man who’d just lost two sons.

He nodded and squeezed her hand. “Days ago Quentin was dead to me. Knowing that he found true life at the end—that he allowed himself to be embraced and to fall in love—that brings me joy mixed with pain. Both of my sons loved God. Both of them … may they rest in God’s arms for eternity.”

Hearing his words plowed an iceberg into her heart. God had placed her within the arms of the first man she wanted to spend her whole life with—could imagine spending her whole life with—only to have him stripped away.

Tears came, springing up in her eyes. A soft moan released from her lips, even though she had tried to keep it at bay. Other whimpers joined hers, and she understood. They were going to be rescued. Knowing that made them consider those who never would. Consider those who lay in the icy water as floating forms devoid of life.

As they reached the side of the ship, Amelia saw ladders and ropes. The ache in her chest now seemed to cover every inch of her. Did she have the strength to carry herself up? She needn’t worry. As their lifeboat approached, a sling was lowered. They each waited patiently for their turn. Clarence helped her place Aunt Neda in the sling, and then he helped her next. He was silent, holding her hand until the last moment.

When she reached the top, Amelia was ushered to the crowd in the forward deck where she joined her aunt and the others. As she watched, their now-empty lifeboat was hoisted up and stored on the deck. Discarded life belts tumbled back into the water below.

One by one more lifeboats approached, and Amelia watched as the survivors were carried aboard. Amelia recognized some of the faces. The couple whom she and her aunt had dinner with. The two boys who had been playing on the promenade deck. Stewardesses carried them, but their father was nowhere in sight. The red-haired stewardess that Geraldine had introduced her to—the woman’s eyes met Amelia’s as she boarded.

“Geraldine?” Amelia mouthed.

The woman dabbed her eyes and slowly shook her head.

After they were empty of passengers, some lifeboats were left adrift. They looked so small as they floated away, yet the cargo they’d carried had been so great.

One lifeboat was full of first-class passengers. Margaret Brown, whom Damien had introduced Amelia to, manned one of the oars as it approached. Dorothea sat beside her, trembling in her red coat and life belt. Behind their lifeboat others waited, but she needn’t wait around to watch the passengers disembark to know that neither Quentin nor Damien were with them.

She turned to go find warmth in an interior salon when the mother and boy who’d ridden in her lifeboat approached.

“Ma’am.” The woman handed her the coat. “Thank you for letting me use your coat. I’m not sure my son would have survived without it.”

Amelia took the coat from the woman’s hands and then watched as she hugged her boy to her chest. “Yes, of course. You’re welcome.”

At 9:00 a.m. an Episcopal priest conducted a service in
Carpathia’s
first-class salon, in memory of the dead and in thanks for the living. Someone said that seven hundred survivors had been rescued, but looking around, Amelia saw that few registered what was happening, so great was their shock. Following the service, and throughout the morning, officers walked around, taking down the names of the survivors.

Amelia was on her own mission, too. She moved around the decks, searching the faces and listening to survivors’ stories. Almost anyone whom she paused to talk with was willing to tell their experiences. Many miracles had taken place. Her survival was a miracle. If it hadn’t been for Quentin’s quick thinking, she and Aunt Neda would have gone down with the ship. He’d insisted they get in the boat just in time.

After she’d searched every face, she approached one of the stewards who guarded the captain’s area.

“Sir, is there anyone in the doctor’s cabin?” She held her breath as she asked.

“Only Mr. Ismay. I hear they’ve given him a sedative.”

“Thank you.” Amelia’s heart sank in her chest, and she hurried away toward the spot where Aunt Neda rested.

“Ma’am?” A man approached as she entered the reception room. A woman stood next to him, and Amelia could tell from the look in their eyes they weren’t survivors.
They must be from the
Carpathia. Those who had been on the
Titanic
had a different look about them, as if part of their souls had died within those waters, too.

“My name is Mr. Hurd, and this is my wife Katherine. If you have time, I would love to hear your story.”

Her gaze met his. “Are you a reporter?”

He briefly lowered his eyes, and then lifted them again. “Yes, ma’am. My wife and I have been vacationing aboard the
Carpathia
.”

“I do have a story.” She placed trembling hands to her lips. “I haven’t heard from my mother for many years, you see. Yet I met a woman—a stewardess on the
Titanic
—who knew her. Don’t you think that’s a miracle, sir, to meet someone who knew my mother?”

His eyes stayed on hers, and she could tell he was disappointed, but as Amelia took in a deep breath, she knew that was the only story she could tell. Sure, he’d be thrilled to hear of the romance between her and C.J. Walpole’s long lost son, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The memories were too precious to her. Their time together too precious.

“Do you wish to tell more? Of the voyage or … the sinking?”

She folded her arms before her and pulled them tight to her chest. How could she tell him? Where could she start?

“Many are finding some relief in the telling,” he urged.

Heartache filled Amelia’s chest, and she thought she’d faint from the pressure. “Maybe later, sir. Right now I must go find my aunt. She’s my mother’s sister-in-law.” Amelia offered him a smile. She couldn’t even tell of their survival without mentioning Quentin’s name.

Later, as they waited in the warmth of the reception room, Aunt Neda’s face was pale, and worry rose in Amelia’s gut.

“We’ve lost everything,” Aunt Neda said. “And those poor, poor people. I don’t think I can close my eyes without seeing them, those shapes thrashing in the water. Their cries! I can still hear them.” She turned wide eyes to Amelia. “I think I envy them in a way. I’m not sure how I can ever live with these memories.”

Amelia pulled a blanket back around her aunt’s shoulders, tucking it under her chin. “There’s a reason we’re here,” she whispered to her aunt. “Look around.”

Aunt Neda allowed her gaze to scan the room. Men and women sat, some in the fine clothes they’d been wearing the night before. Others in nightclothes. They spoke in low voices. They huddled in groups.