By the Light of the Silvery Moon (39 page)

She looked back to the ambulance once more, just in time to see them closing the back doors with their patient tucked inside. Her aunt was right. She had searched the decks and studied each face. It wasn’t Quentin. Her heart ached at the realization of that.

Amelia turned back, nodded, and climbed into the car. She touched her hair. She hadn’t done much to care for it in the last few days. Now, that no longer seemed to matter. She thought about the dresses her aunt had sewn for her dates with Mr. Chapman. They were lost, too. Nothing could be done about that. They rested somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it was even better that way. Mr. Chapman knew her to be a simple woman born from questionable means. It seemed right in a way that there would be no layers to peel back to reveal her true self. All he saw was all she had to offer—a broken woman with a pained heart.

“We bought you some things—clothes, shoes, toiletries—Mr. Chapman was so kind to make sure all your needs would be cared for,” Elizabeth said. “Full suitcases are waiting back at the hotel.”

“I—I wrote you a letter on the ship.” Amelia managed to say to Earl. She’d actually written two, but the second one was the one she spoke of. It was one that told him they could be no more than friends. That she had grown to care for another.

April 19,
1912 New York

Amelia wore all black as she stood outside the doors of a tall church, waiting for Earl Chapman to park the car on the streets of New York.

Len and Elizabeth, her aunt, and Betsie stood next to her. Her eyes scanned the crowds of people who’d come to the memorial service to remember the victims of the
Titanic.
Amelia noticed a hand in the crowd waving. A face brightening. It was the mother she knew from the lifeboat with her son.

“Amelia!” The woman hurried up to her. The young boy walked beside her with quickened steps. “I am so glad I found you. I was worried I wouldn’t. I have something … something that belongs to you!”

The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a pearl necklace, pressing it into Amelia’s hands.

“I am so sorry. When I was washing my son’s pants, I found this in his pocket. He told me he got it out of your coat pocket when he was on the lifeboat. Please forgive him. Roger is only five, and with everything that happened …” Tears filled the woman’s eyes, and her voice trailed off.

Amelia looked down at the string of pearls, and her brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, but …” She shook her head, preparing to give them back when a memory flashed in her mind. It was Quentin with tears trickling down his cheeks, telling her about his mother saving his life. Telling her about her string of pearls that he’d found in his hand as he raced up to his house to find her father.

Had he slipped them into her pocket with the letter? She remembered his last smile. His last look of love. Suddenly she realized he had.

Amelia sunk to her knees on the ground as silent tears shook her. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Dear child. Are you all right? I don’t understand.” Aunt Neda grabbed her arm. And then Len’s strong arms helped her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said to the mother and son again, and they hurried inside the church. She didn’t follow them. Something inside told her she had another destination to go to instead.

When Amelia saw Mr. Chapman exiting the vehicle, she rushed up to him. “Sir, I need to—want to—go someplace else. Do you happen to know how far St. Vincent’s Hospital is?”

“Are you ill, Amelia?” Earl looked from her, to Betsie, back to her again. Amelia nodded and forced a smile. Betsie was a lovely young woman, and the more Amelia had been around her, the more Earl Chapman’s affection for the cook was clear. Because of that, Amelia was going to tell him about Quentin—about her own change of heart—but first she needed to get to the hospital. Something inside told her she could not leave the city without checking.

Elizabeth approached with eyes full of questions. “Aren’t you going to the memorial service, Amelia? All the survivors are expected to be there.”

Amelia shook her head. “Elizabeth, I have to go to St. Vincent’s. I know survivors were taken there. I have to go…. I have to check.”

“I’ll take you.” Earl stepped forward.

“Really?” Amelia reached her hand toward his and squeezed it tight. “Thank you.”

When she got to the hospital, guards were stationed by every hall. She guessed that reporters were still trying to get in—to get a unique scoop on the tragedy that had captured the world’s attention.

Amelia approached the nurse’s desk with Earl by her side. “Excuse me. I am looking for someone.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but you’ll have to go to the White Star Line and talk to a clerk in their office.”

“You don’t understand. I have to know. I was on the
Titanic.
Lifeboat 13. I’m a survivor, and I thought I saw them bring someone in—my cousin.” Amelia knew what the chart was going to say—that there was no survivor named Henry Gladstone—but she thought this would at least stall the nurse until she could think of another way to get inside.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I did not know. What is your name?” “Amelia Gladstone.”

“And your cousin?” The woman lifted a list of names.

“Henry Gladstone.” She watched the woman’s eyes scan the page.

“Amelia,” Earl leaned close, whispering in her ear. “Your cousin did not make it onto the ship. Don’t you remember?” A worried expression crossed his face.

Amelia ignored him.

The nurse stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head. “I’m sorry. There is no one by that name.”

A man rose from one of the chairs in the waiting room and strode toward her. She guessed from his hat, suit coat, and the intense look in his eye that he was a reporter.

“Wait, Nurse, can you check on one more name?” The words spilled out before she was interrupted again. “Quentin Walpole. Can you look one more time, please, and tell me if his name is on the list?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Earl stiffen beside her. He cleared his throat, and she wished she could explain. But there was no time.

Instead of answering, the nurse turned to the approaching man. Amelia turned to him, too, and noticed a small smile.

“Ma’am, may I talk to you for a moment? I work for Mr. Walpole’s estate.”

She nodded to him, but as she turned to follow him back to the waiting room, she noticed another man—an older man—walking out of a patient’s room just down the hall. She immediately recognized his white hair and his mustache. Her heart leaped.

Mr. Walpole wore a fine suit, but the thing she noticed most was his smile.

“C.J.” She rushed past the surprised guard. Mr. Walpole’s arms opened to her. As she reached him, she fell into his embrace.

“When we disembarked, I tried to look for you. I couldn’t see you anywhere,” she said. “Where did you go?”

“Just as I have been looking for you over the last day. New York is a big city. And to answer your question, I didn’t disembark right way from the
Carpathia.
I was down in the infirmary. He was conscious by then, you see. He was able to tell the doctor who he was. When he saw me, he asked about you. That was the first thing out of his lips, your name.”

“He?”

With her question, Mr. Walpole stepped aside. Amelia dared to look into the room.

He appeared so thin and frail in the bed. His feet stretched to the end, and when she gazed into his face, she noticed his eyes were open, fixed on her.

“Amelia.” He lifted a hand to her, and she saw that it took most of his strength to do so.

“Quentin! Quentin!” She hurried toward him, wanting to wrap her arms around his neck—to hold on—but she told herself to be gentle. Instead she pulled up a chair and sat by his side. With joy coursing through her, she took his hand between hers and pressed it to her lips.

“You’re really here,” she whispered.

“I was just going to say the same thing. My father told me you were alive. He told me you were the one who urged him to get on the lifeboat. Thank you. He hired a dozen men to find you. I was hoping….” Quentin let his voice trail off. “I had faith that they would.” He smiled.

She looked down and noticed one of his legs lying on top of the blankets. It was wrapped in a wide bandage.

“Did you get hurt? How did you survive? I didn’t see you on the
Carpathia.”

He smiled.

“I’m sorry. Those are more questions than you can answer at once.”

“My brother …”

“I know. He didn’t make it.”

“I was going to say, my brother did this to me.” He motioned to his leg. “He knew I’d never get on a lifeboat on my own. I’d never take the place of a woman or child. The last thing I remember was him lunging at me with a knife. Then I woke up in the infirmary.”

“He injured you—“

“So he could save me.”

Quentin’s eyes blinked slowly, and she was sure he was blinking back tears.

“You’re alive. You’re really alive!” Unable to contain herself anymore, she leaned forward and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

He took her right hand and pressed it hard against his chest. Quentin didn’t speak, but the message was clear in his gaze. He never wanted to let her go. His heart beat wildly beneath her palm. And she imagined wrapping up in his arms, laying her cheek on that very spot, and soaking in the realization that he was alive.

Quentin is alive.

His gaze moved from her eyes to the pearl necklace she wore around her neck. With her free hand, she touched it, running her fingers over the pearls.

“So you found it?”

“The letter and the necklace … yes. You should be applauded for your sleight of hand. I didn’t know I had anything in my pocket until I was on the rescue ship. I’m honored, and I wanted you to know something.” Her face grew serious. “I just want you to know, Quentin, that I love you, too.”

She would never question her feelings for Quentin again. It didn’t matter if they had to wander this earth to find a place where they could lay their heads. At least they’d be together.

A man cleared his throat from behind her, and it was only then that Amelia remembered Earl. He’d brought her here. He’d done so much.

She turned around and saw him there, mouth open. His eyes were wide, filled with questions.

A deep sadness came over her then, because she understood. He was seeing her love for Quentin firsthand without any sort of preparation, any word of warning. It was like a slap to his face.

Quentin released her hand, and she rose and moved to the door, approaching Mr. Chapman.

“Quentin and I, we met that first day on the
Titanic.
We became friends and … I thought he was lost to the ocean depths, but he’s here. He’s alive.” It was all she could manage to say.

Earl removed his hat and turned it over in his fingers. “I can see that.”

“I am so sorry. When I left Southampton I had every intention …” She let her words trail off. “I can work to pay you back for the fare.”

He shrugged. “There is no need. Actually you’ve given me hope.”

“How’s that?” she asked.

“If you can find someone you care that much about on such a short voyage, then maybe I can dare to ask the woman I’ve come to care for about certain matters of the heart.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed. She wished she had more to say. Opening them, she looked into his face. He was a kind man, handsome even. She grabbed his hand. “Betsie does care…. I saw it in her eyes.”

Mr. Chapman’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know?”

She smiled. “I could read it in your letters. It was very clear you were becoming friendly with your cook. She seems to be a wonderful woman.”

He nodded and took a step back. “Your aunt, she’s with Elizabeth. I can help you both until you’re on your feet.”

“There’s no need.” C.J. Walpole stepped closer. “I appreciate your kindness, sir, but you can be sure this young woman and her aunt will be well cared for. She—” His voice caught in his throat. “Because of her care, I was given a great gift—the return of my son.”

Earl nodded, and a smile lit his face. “I’ll go to the memorial and find your aunt. Then I’ll return.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and strode away with shoulders squared. She wanted to tell him more. She wanted to tell him that it was because of his kindness that she was here at all.

“To think it was only nine days ago when we were in Southampton at the docks.” Quentin’s voice spoke to her from behind. “I didn’t know you existed. I just wanted some bread and maybe a free passage. Now you’re … you …” He sighed happily. “I can’t imagine life without you. I can’t imagine not knowing I have my father’s love, and my brother”—he shook his head—“he cared enough to save me when he was certain I’d be lost.”

She returned to the chair and sat again. “I can’t believe it.” She placed her fingers over trembling lips.

“You saved me, too, you know,” he said. “You opened my eyes and made me look back on what I’d been running from.”

“No more running now. You promise? Because if you do …”

He put a hand on her jaw, silencing her words with the softest touch of his thumb.

“No more running. I promise,” Quentin whispered. “And what about you? Are you willing to risk your heart with a man who doesn’t even own the clothes on his back?”