By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  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 hav
e 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.

  Amelia leaned her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “Some are laughing. Some are crying … but even their tears prove they are alive.” She let out a low sigh. And I believe the fact that they’re alive is proof God still has plans for their future.”

  Aunt Neda offered the slightest nod.

  “Aunt, we cannot let this experience take our lives—rob our hearts. The icy waters have claimed enough lives today, don’t you think? You have to hold on. You have to fight.”

  Her aunt nodded again, and Amelia was sure she saw a tint of light in her eyes. Then, as if coming to life, Aunt Neda grasped her hands.

  “Amelia, did you look around at everyone from the other lifeboats? Quentin wasn’t among them, was he?”

  Amelia let out a low sigh. “I’m afraid I did not see him. Damien, either. Nor did I see them on the decks—with the rest of the survivors. I’m afraid they’ve both been lost.” Her words quivered, as did her chin, as she spoke.

  How is C.J. handling his loss? she wondered.

  Damien had been such a good companion to his father all those years. He’d given up his own pursuit of love and a family to make sure his father was not alone. And Quentin—he’d just recently been found.

  Amelia covered her face with her hands. “Do you remember the last time we saw him on the deck? He made sure we were in the right line for the lifeboat, Aunt, as if he was just parting for the evening. I didn’t see him after that, nor did I see him today.” Her throat grew thick, and she tried to swallow down her sobs. Those around her had just settled down on their make-shift beds. A few had already fallen asleep, and she did not want to wake them.

  “You loved him—you have to remember that, Amelia.” Her aunt took her hand and pulled it to her cheek. “Years from now you are going to look upon that time, and you are going to wonder. You are going to think that the story of how you saved him at the docks and how you fell in love with him walking the decks was just a fairy tale, just something you made up. But even if you marry and love again, a love like that deserves to be remembered.”

  “But don’t you understand? I can’t … I can’t think of him ever again, because if I do, I’ll realize it’s all my fault.” She lowered her head and looked into her hands. “No matter what Quentin said, it is.”

  “What’s your fault?” Aunt Neda seemed confused.

  “It’s my fault he is dead. I’m the one who gave him Henry’s ticket. If I hadn’t, he’d be—“

  “On the streets? Sleeping under a bridge? I’m sure if he could, he would say that God had planned it. You need not carry any blame upon yourself. He got to see his father one last time. He got to be reunited. God planned that. If ever a story of joy found in the midst of pain could be written, it would be this one.”

  Amelia nodded, and she tried to tell herself her aunt’s words were true. Then, closing her eyes, she rested her head on a borrowed pillow.

  “Ma’am, I have some clothes for you.” A woman approached with some clean clothes folded in her hands. Amelia had heard that the passengers of the Carpathia had been gathering them up for the survivors.

  Amelia looked down at her dress and coat. “These are fine.” She looked to her aunt, hoping the older woman would understand. These were the last clothes she’d worn—the last Quentin had seen her in.

  “Amelia, honey, a bath would be in order.” Aunt Neda cocked an eyebrow, and her gaze seemed to say, Remember what you just told me.

  Amelia nodded. She took the clothes and hurried to the bathing room. It was only as she slipped off her dress, preparing to take a bath, that she noticed a piece of paper inside her coat’s pocket. “What is this?”

  With trembling fingers, she lifted it out. Opening the paper she saw that it was signed by Quentin and it bore Saturday’s date. Had he tucked it in there last night when he’d been straightening her coat?

  Saturday, April 13, 1912

  Dear Amelia,

  This day spent with you I can honestly say is one of the best days of my life. Amelia, darling, you have captured my heart. More than anything I wish to ask that when we disembark off this ship you will kindly but firmly tell Mr. Chapman that your heart has turned to another. When I look into your eyes, I believe it has. Tonight with you, I believed you care for me, but then when I returned to my room and lay in the quiet of the night, I convinced myself I was just seeing things. I convinced myself it was only wishful thinking. After all, how could one such as you be in love with one such as me? Impossible. You saw me for what I am … what I am without these borrowed clothes and room. You saw me at my worst, and you looked upon me with compassion.

  And yet … still my love for you cannot be bottled in. I am sure that if I were to tie my love to an anchor and drop it to the bottom of the ocean, it would somehow find its way back to my heart.

  I have nothing to offer yet everything to gain.

  I have nothing to provide, but your smile has provided peace that I haven’t known.

  I belie
ved that by walking away from my father that I’d ruined all chance of reconciliation, yet because of your words, your encouragement, I would like to go to him. To seek his mercy.

  Tomorrow, if I am brave enough, I will approach him. Not as a son, but as a man in search of a decent job. I’d be happy to work in one of his rail yards. I’d shovel coal if that was the only job available. I will approach him, first because I must ask his forgiveness for what I’ve done. I’m tired of carrying the burden. Seeing your lightness in life has encouraged me to let it go.

  I will also approach him because, more than anything, I wish to provide enough of an income to provide a small home for our future. Oh … a future I’d like to think we could have someday.

  The letter ended there, and a gasp escaped Amelia’s lips. She bathed quickly, dressed in borrowed clothes, and then hurried to her bed.

  She curled against the pillow and pulled the blanket under her chin. It was then she heard Aunt Neda’s whispered words. Her aunt was praying—for Amelia—for the other survivors. Finally, after a night of heartache, Amelia found herself falling asleep. If she could dream of Quentin alive—that would be enough for tonight.

  CHAPTER 28

  April 18,

  1912 New York City

  Amelia stood at the deck. Even though she entered New York in a manner she hadn’t expected, she yearned to see the city lights. The land. As the lights of the city filled the horizon, she had a strange longing for Southampton. Would she ever enter its harbor again?

  A flotilla of small craft circled the larger ship, and Amelia placed a hand over her mouth, worried the small boats would be run over by the Carpathia. Men in suits and hats—whom she assumed were reporters—shouted questions. The intensity in their gazes and the gloom of the evening light caused a shiver to move from her neck to the base of her spine. Magnesium flares and flashes from photographers’ bulbs brought back memories of the emergency flares from Titanic, and in an instant, scenes from that dreadful night played through her mind once again.