Hearts That Survive (18 page)

L
ydia 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 washing 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. "Sunshine," 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 compassion."

"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 analyze myself. But I know that people behave differently in the same situation. Just as they did on that ship."

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, pushing.

"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 pushing 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."

"You're so wise and unselfish."

"Not so much," she said with a sadness in her tone. "I wanted to help Phoebe and Henry. But I also clung to them because of my need. In that little boat on that huge sea, I comforted them, which comforted me."

"That's not wrong, Caroline."

"No. I know that. But I'm not entirely unselfish. I discovered what I need to be fulfilled. And it's to care for children. And if relatives hadn't come for Phoebe and Henry, I would have tried to adopt them."

"I would love to have had a mother like you."

Caroline looked over at her. "So would I."

They were able to share a small laugh because they could be honest with each other, expose their hearts. Bess hadn't said a word, but Lydia noticed when she took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes.

"You see," Caroline said, "out there on the sea, I suppose I expected to lose William. Even Phoebe and Henry. I'm accustomed to losing children."

She did not say it like one who was bitter at life, but bravely, like one who tried to face reality.

The idea seemed to ride on the breeze at first, just a hint of possibility, when the thought came. Anyone who cared that much about children who were not her own, would be the world's greatest mother. Better than she, herself, could ever be.

That's when it came as clear to Lydia as that blue sky overhead. She knew. She would claim to be in seclusion over the tragedy. She and Caroline would find a place somewhere away from prying eyes. Bess would be there to help.

She would give her friend something no one else could.

She would give her baby to Caroline.

L
ydia knew she had made the right decision. Knowing also that she could be impulsive, she would wait for the right moment. Perhaps at dinner. No, after dinner. Caroline would be overcome with shock. The joyful kind. They could plan together how to work this out.

Caroline would give a child her undivided attention and raise him or her just right. And Lydia could be a part of the child's life. Perhaps, Aunt Lydia. There would be some kind of legal paper drawn up so that at the right time the child would be heir or heiress to the Beaumont fortune.

They'd have to do that secretly. Get an attorney from some obscure place. Craven must never know. Not for eighteen or so years, anyway.

At the same time she was facing reality, her heart felt heavy. She must ask herself what John would think. She was not married. He would not want her or his child labeled. He would want the best. Caroline was the best.

As they left the park, Caroline said, "Lydia, it's so good to see you smiling again. This was good for us. I'm glad you suggested it."

"Well, there's more," she teased. "Let's have dinner in my suite." She looked at Bess. "The three of us. I have something special planned." She had another thought. "It goes perfectly with champagne for the celebration."

Caroline looked skeptical. "You're going to make a dessert?"

Lydia scoffed, "Never. But you'll see."

They became like children. Even Bess managed a laugh. Lydia thought Bess would be in her element again as a nursemaid or nanny. They would be . . . all right.

After arriving back at the hotel, the expected knock sounded on her door. "I trust you had an enjoyable day," Craven said.

Without him, he might have added.

"Very," she said, "facing reality."

"I'm glad. Would you like to have dinner with me and tell me all about it?"

"I have other plans." Indeed she did! And she didn't have to explain. "Thank you."

Observing his studied appraisal, she stepped back to close the door and held her breath, half expecting him to yank her into his room and demand to know where she had gone and what she had done.

However, he said, "I'm having dinner in the hotel dining room with several men." He turned, and she watched him walk purposefully, heading toward the elevator.

By dinnertime she, Caroline, and Bess had each changed into comfortable dresses and now sat at the table, where dinner was brought up. "And what did you two do for the rest of the afternoon?" Lydia asked.

Caroline was hesitant. "You may not want to hear this, but we read the newspapers again. The hearing is being reported. There's a big article about Craven in the afternoon paper."

Lydia started to say Caroline was right. She didn't want to hear it. But this was a new day. A new beginning. She would face things like a mature woman. "Yes, I'd like to hear it."

While they ate, Caroline talked about the articles. "Most men who survived are portrayed as villains, like Ismay. However, Craven is seen as a hero, complete with great acclaim from the mother who credits him with saving her daughter."

"Sounds like he almost walked on water."

Bess choked on that one, and Caroline patted her back. Soon they were finished, and Lydia's hand shook when she set her coffee cup on the saucer. "It's time."

Her voice sounded rather shaky. She needed to be calm for this. "All right, you two get settled in the living room. Bring out the glasses. Roll the champagne cart near, and I'll be right back with the surprise."

As she walked into the bedroom, she laughed, hearing Bess say to Caroline, "It's in the bathroom?"

No, she went to the bathroom because nerves made her do so. And she'd brush her teeth for the clean, clear announcement. I mean, how often does one say, "Guess what, you're going to be a mother?"

After coming out of the bathroom, Lydia glanced into the bedroom mirror at her smiling reflection. That proved she could. She would.

With that resolve, her gaze moved to the engagement ring lying on the dresser. She would not need to wear it. She picked up the ring and opened her black purse. The beaded evening bag was inside. That's where the ring belonged. She would save it and think about it someday, but not now. She unfastened the top and something caught her eye.

Something gleamed in the corner of the purse.

She reached in and brought out the carnival ring, grasped it in her hand, gave a cry, and held the ring to her heart.

She had kept that ring for months. It represented the fun times she and John had. The playfulness. He'd said it was an engagement ring until he could get her the real thing. They'd laughed like it was a joke. But he'd meant it. She'd wanted it.

She'd valued and kept a cheap, worthless little ring.

She couldn't bear to throw it away or to give it away.

But she would give away John's child.

What kind of person was she?

Was John's child worth less to her than a cheap carnival ring?