Lydia needed that. She was feeling like a princess.
"Now it's my turn," Caroline said. The band played, and she leisurely moved across the deck in her elegant pink and rose gown and gleaming jewels. She took her place near the right side of the captain. Lydia saw the look of delight on her face.
Lydia knew this wasn't the usual order of wedding procession. But, as many said, nothing on the Titanic was like anything in that other world out there.
"Now you, beautiful girl," Harriett prompted, and Phoebe began her slow steps along the deck, holding a white basket and dropping an occasional pink rose petal, the color of her satin and lace dress. The blush of youth adorned her cheeks. Her every gesture was perfect, and not a single shiny black curl moved.
A moment of silence followed. Glancing down, past the elaborate railing of iron scrollwork, Lydia glimpsed the happy, smiling faces of those who wanted to celebrate with her and John. Farther back were staff members and ship officers.
She ordered her tears not to fall.
Harriett handed her a bouquet of pink, red, and white roses tied with a satin bow and said, "Breathe, dear." The band began to play "The Bridal Chorus."
She hardly saw anyone, but kept her eyes on John, facing her. She reached him and took his outstretched hand. They stood for a moment looking at each other with their sides to the audience.
"The bouquet," Caroline whispered, and she handed it to her. She and John faced the captain.
"Who gives this woman to be wed?"
"We do," sounded a few feminine and a couple of masculine voices in unison. Lydia suppressed a nervous giggle. They'd rehearsed a few things without her knowledge.
"Dearly beloved," Captain Smith said solemnly. Lydia felt the light squeeze of John's fingers.
The only other time she held her breath was during the part about objections being stated or one should forever hold his peace.
He . . . did.
At the appropriate time, little Henry held out the cushion on which gleamed two golden wedding bands. One was Caroline's. John must have gotten the other one from the jeweler.
She could hardly believe the words, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
There was a pause.
No applause?
The captain couldn't keep the humor from his face. "You may now kiss the bride."
John leaned toward her.
That's when the applause sounded. And the cheers.
For a moment she detected restraint in them both, but then she felt the touch of his hand behind her neck. She raised her face to his and closed her eyes and felt his warm, soft lips touch hers. They did not demand but rested gently, and she felt the overwhelming feeling of passion rising within her, so strong, so beautiful, so knowing they belonged together.
Their lips did not seem to move, and it was as if the life flowed from each and they truly became one. Like a first kiss. Like a first time.
The other time was forgiven and—
Well . . . forgiven.
John drew away and looked into her face with moist eyes, reflecting what she felt. Well-brought up men didn't cry in public, perhaps not at all. Ah, let them not. Her man did, because he loved her. And those were the first words he said to her as her husband.
"I love you."
"I love you right back."
As the applause receded, Caroline told her to stay there for a moment. "The photographers must have their day."
While she and John held hands and faced the guests, Lady Lavinia took Henry's hand. They descended the staircase amid applause.
Phoebe descended like a princess. Lydia knew that girl would never forget this night. She wouldn't be content to have an ordinary wedding after being a part of this.
With what Lydia called his practiced smile, Craven stepped up and offered his arm to Caroline. She handed the bouquet to Lydia and placed her hand on his arm, and they descended together.
The captain stepped up and put a hand on their shoulders. "Before I formally present the bride and groom, I believe they have a chore to perform. All the single ladies gather to my right and the single gentlemen to my left, please."
Several gathered, even some divorcees and widows. Phoebe was the youngest. When Lydia leaned over the railing and threw her bouquet, the older ones didn't attempt to catch it. It was caught by a young lady who looked to be about seventeen.
The captain smiled. "One more little chore." He gestured to a chair someone had set against the wall.
"Do the honors," said a voice that sounded like Molly's.
Lydia looked at John, and he shrugged. She walked over and sat in the chair, turning away from the crowd. John knelt in front of her.
Her ankles had been exposed for all to see, but the location of the garter was for John's eyes only. She'd placed it right above her knee. John discreetly removed it, stood, and held it up amid applause and a couple "Hear, hear's."
They walked to the railing.
"Come on, men," John said. "Chance of a lifetime."
Lydia was not surprised that only a few males gathered near where Craven had stopped at the landing, along with Caroline, now accompanied by William. They moved back, and S. J. walked up to stand beside Craven.
A couple of mature gentlemen and a couple of teens joined the group with sly glances toward the girl holding the bouquet.
Just as Craven stepped back to abandon the gathering, John tossed the blue garter. It sailed right to Craven's chest, and his automatic instinct was to raise his hand and catch it. Although he shook his head as if this was totally unexpected and unwanted, he nevertheless had the garter and was applauded.
"Now if the bride and groom will step this way, please."
Finally, she could descend that staircase. The photographers had been primed and snapping from the outset. She felt as though she was in a perpetual pose, and she was loving every minute.
"Right here, please," the captain said. She and John walked over and stood in front of him at the top of the staircase. He spoke firmly, "May I present the first couple to exchange vows on the greatest ship ever built. Mr. and Mrs. John Mark Ancell."
Oh, my, she'd never heard such a rowdy-sounding crowd of refined ladies and gentlemen. But as many had said, this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, worthy of celebration.
John offered his arm. While the band played, they slowly made their way down the grand staircase, while the guests clapped hands in time with the rhythm of the band. She looked up once at the great glass dome and remembered someone had called this the stairway to heaven.
She had ascended and descended the staircase as a single girl. But this was different. Another first. She and John descended as husband and wife, and with a blessing only he and she were privileged to know.
She was happier than at any moment in her life. She, on a ship of dreams, walked down the grand staircase with the man she loved, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.
19
Sunday, approximately 10:40 p.m., reception room, April 14, 1912
All these first-class passengers had taken time and effort to give her the best day of her life. The least she could do was stay around to thank them and let them have their pictures taken. These pictures would be in newspapers throughout the world.
She couldn't wish her father were here, knowing he'd never have allowed this, but when he learned of this event, and saw the photos, he would accept John.
Would she stay in John's room tonight or he in hers? She had a sitting room, and he did not. She didn't like the thought that Craven was in the room that adjoined both hers and John's.
She must stop thinking about Craven. They both might need time to get over the sparring between them. But they could never be that familiar again. He worked for her father. He had no hold on her. No control whatsoever.
Those days were over, and she'd have to recondition her mind. It would be a pleasure. No longer her escort. No longer able to advise her or correct her or condemn her about anything.
With John's arm around her waist, the two of them walked into the reception room aglow with light from the crystal chandeliers.
"Oh, John," she said, "no one could ask for a more perfect wedding."
"And to think," he said with a smile, "S. J. reminded me that all this probably started with a wooden boat and a paper sail."
"Speaking of a boat!" She gasped at the table in the center of the room. On it was the largest wedding cake she'd ever seen, a replica of the ship, on a sea of blue. The huge silver tray it rested on was surrounded by red, pink, and white roses accented with green leaves. On each side of the edible ship were great platters of individual frosted cakes with roses on top.
"How could anyone do this on such short notice?" Lydia said.
Captain Smith wore a pleased expression. "By having the finest chefs in the world." He motioned and the chefs entered the room. The guests applauded. The chefs nodded and returned to their kitchen.
Molly called out, "I think it's time you stuffed some of that cake in each other's mouth so we can eat, and drink that champagne."
They all laughed. Photographs were snapped. John picked up the pearl-handled cake knife and glanced at her as he moved it toward the smokestack. She nodded. He cut off the top, laid it on a china plate, and looked for a utensil.
"This is the way." Lydia pinched off a bite of the white cake. They fed each other the cake while everyone cheered again.
"By the way," she said amid the applause. "Did you get your wedding band from the jeweler?"
"No," he said with a small grimace. "I didn't want to go back to him again. So I tore up a train for this."
He held out his hand. It did look a tad loose.
She laughed. He was so delightful. She couldn't help thinking that her dad and Craven would be willing to tear up their lives, and hers, for the sake of their trains. But John would tear up his trains for her. She gazed into his loving eyes. "Thank you."
By that time the individual cakes were gone. Waiters came and cut the wedding cake. Champagne flowed. The guests, some three hundred of them, came around to congratulate them. No, that would be two-hundred-ninety-nine. The best man had other things to do.
Mrs. Straus, holding her husband's hand, came up to her. "You look absolutely radiant, my dear. The glow of love suits you. But please excuse us, it's past our bedtime."
Lydia could imagine their curling up together on this night that seemed to be getting colder. She'd like to do that with John. But she owed these people their time after they'd given her the most wonderful night of her life.
Harriett came by to tell Lydia that she could keep the dress. "By the time we make it to New York it will already be the talk of the fashion industry. Besides," a sly look touched her eyes, "I still have my showstopper with which to wow the world."
Lydia smiled at her. "I believe you have already wowed the world, Harriett."
She murmured, "I do admit at least half the ladies here are clothed in my creations. The one-of-a-kind, of course." She spoke in an appreciative tone, "For example, the one you wore to dinner this evening."
"Of course," Lydia said. "A special dress for my pre-wedding dinner."
"Oui. But I'm holding up others who want to congratulate you."
S. J. walked up with Phoebe. "Mother has already taken Henry to the suite. It's time Phoebe and I do the same."
Phoebe's face crumbled.
"After our dance," he said, and her face lit up.
Just then Lydia realized the band had arrived. Soon, there'd be dancing, and she'd be in the arms of her husband.
20
Sunday, approximately 11:30 p.m., reception room, April 14, 1912
Lydia thought everyone in the room had finally completed their congratulations and compliments, more than enough photos had been taken, too much cake eaten, champagne enjoyed, and women's pointed-toe-shoe-clad feet weary from dancing. But it was a lovely scene. Better than anyone could really capture in a picture or in words.
"I must sit for a moment," she said to John. He led her to a small table against the wall, and a waiter brought champagne and cake.
The Astors joined them. "I know how you must feel," the lovely girl said. Lydia smiled, her thoughts speeding to what she hadn't thought about in a while.
"Perhaps we should call an end to this," Madeleine said. "Otherwise, I might cause a scandal, take off these shoes and go barefoot."
They all laughed. John Astor gestured toward the cake table. "Our Titanic has been devoured. So, if it's all right with you, I'll make an announcement."
Lydia and John assured him it was all right and thanked the Astors for their generosity and thoughtfulness.
"Least we could do," Astor replied with a smile.
"Our pleasure," Madeleine added.
Yes, they knew how to throw a party.
Mr. Astor held up his hand. The band stopped playing, and the guests ceased dancing.
"May I have your attention, please." He graciously thanked everyone, expressed the bride and groom's delight, and suggested that the newlyweds should share a final dance while others made their departure.
The group extended polite applause and began to leave as the band resumed their playing.
"You're wonderful," Lydia said to the Astors. The two Johns shook hands and said good night.
Lydia and John danced, waltzing ever so slowly to "Der Rosenkavalier," the popular waltz by Strauss that Lydia and her friends had enjoyed at many gatherings. It was one of her father's favorites, to which he'd sit and listen with closed eyes. Lydia liked to think he was fondly remembering his wife.
As John held her, she trembled.
Or was it John?
Both?
The band played a discordant note?
Was it their swaying while dancing that upset her equilibrium? It was only slight, but enough to draw her attention. Many had said this trip was as if the ship were on land. However, it was not. They were on the sea. Surely, although they'd seen none, there would be at least an occasional wave.
Maybe it was the champagne.
Or her condition.
Or her imagination.
She wasn't sure if the guests had gone, but she raised her face to John's and their lips met. "I love you," he whispered, his lips against hers.
"Never let me go."
"Never," he promised. "Even when you're not in my arms, you'll forever be in my heart."
Part 2
During
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times . . .
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us . . .
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
21
The collision, Sunday, 11:40 p.m., April 14, 1912
William engaged Caroline in conversation about the wedding. "Craven did the right thing standing up for Ancell." They walked along the promenade deck, heading for their stateroom.
That was a strange way to put it. "What do you mean, William?"
"Although Craven pointed out he understood the young couple wanting to do this, he knew Cyril Beaumont would not approve. They don't know the boy that well. He's promising but still just an up-and-coming young man. Quite likeable, I do say."
He chuckled. "Had I known the wedding would turn out to be such an event, I might have been more conciliatory toward John myself."
She hadn't observed him being rude to John, just indifferent. And she knew what he meant by being more conciliatory. The event of the decade, perhaps century. All the publicity. A romantic, fairy-tale event, instead of Cinderella marrying the prince, the up-and-coming young man married the princess. This would be talked about, written about, and approved by the general public.
"I was thinking," he mused, "when you walked across that deck, I would like to have been in Craven's shoes, with that lovely woman in this exquisite gown walking toward me." His glance roamed over her approvingly.
"Why, thank you, William," she said, not bothering to add she had w
alked down the aisle toward him six years ago. They had just forgotten some of the magic of that day and had settled into being an established married couple. Tonight, however, Lydia and John's love story touched even him.
Having witnessed the love exhibited between Lydia and John, Caroline decided, I think I will stop evaluating mine and William's relationship and just love him, not question.
Her resolve to show more love pushed aside the doubt trying to resurface. If others had not been strolling along, she might have stopped and kissed him right there.
But they had reached their stateroom. William opened the door and stepped aside for Caroline to enter. She felt a faint shudder beneath her feet and glanced over her shoulder. William shut the door, giving no indication anything was amiss.
Mentally shrugging it away, she walked on into the room, telling herself that it had not been a shudder but rather a shiver. Others had noticed the colder air. This warmth she was feeling for William likely caused a physical reaction. She smiled at that. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be young and giddy like Lydia and John.
She almost laughed. She'd been young, but never giddy. Just accepting.
William asked her to excuse him. "I want to freshen up a bit. I'm either not used to all that dancing or I'm getting old."
"Oh, it's the dancing, to be sure." How nice to joke with William. She sat on the edge of the bed and took off one of her shoes.
She was leaning over with her hand on the heel of the other shoe when he surprised her further by saying, "We will have to do it more often."
The shoe slid off. "Yes, let's." She straightened and looked at him. He was staring oddly.
"William?"
A curious expression crossed his face. "Do you hear anything?"
She listened. Her glance moved around the room as if to see what might be making a sound. Water running in the lavatory? The curling iron? The electric heater? Maybe it had to work harder since the temperature had fallen. Or he could have heard something or someone outside. She disregarded what might have been a door opening or closing because the partiers would be heading for bed. With a slight shrug, she said, "Nothing."
Hearts That Survive Page 9
