HEARTS CAN BREAK
Chapter Eleven

Jack and Rose locked hands as they continued to fight against the angle of the ship's deck. Now, they were on they were on the landing of A-Deck on the aft Grand Staircase--and it didn't go any higher. Thinking quickly, Jack decided to cut through the smoking room to get to the A-Deck promenade.

He pulled Rose behind him, his heart falling when her steps became weaker. She's giving up, he thought to himself painfully.

Not yet. He'd keep her going by himself if he had to, but she was not going to quit on him until the end. There wouldn't be an end. Not this night.

He pushed through the swinging, smoky glass door and into the richly decorated room that still lingered with the scent of cigars and brandy. The ceilings were embossed and the walls were covered with stained glass portraits. The room was empty save one lone man, who was leaning painfully against the mantle of the fireplace. Orange light from the fire threw patterns and shadows across his chiseled face.

Rose recognized him but couldn't place his identity with his back to her. As she raced past him, it hit her. Stopping suddenly on the lush green carpet, she cried out, "Mr. Andrews!"

He turned slowly, as if it hurt to move, to see who had called his name. His appearance was the same--he had the same graying brown hair, square jaw, and honorable height she remembered. He was wearing the same heavy black overcoat, and his tie was still a bit crooked. But something was different--horribly different and wrong.

"Oh, Rose," he murmured, his eyes darkening when he saw her. She was so young and innocent; she had just fallen in love; she had a promising life ahead of her…and because of him it was all going to end. If he knew anything, he knew the shipping world. He knew the sea. And he knew that more than a thousand men, women, and children would die tonight.

Her shoulders sagged when she saw the expression on his face. He had resigned himself to this noble fate, she thought, her vision misty. "Won't you even make a try for it?" she asked, knowing what the answer was.

"I'm sorry…I did not build you a strong enough ship, young Rose," he mumbled, tears in his hazel eyes. Rose's heart suddenly shattered like ice. No! she wanted to scream. No…no…it's not your fault! No ship is unsinkable! Please! She wanted to take away his guilt in his final minutes. How could he blame himself? No one could control the Atlantic. She thought of the horror he must be feeling--being responsible for the deaths of hundreds. She couldn't imagine it.

Jack stood there, transfixed by this man's shame. He could not put into words what he felt right then, staring as the most honorable man he knew collapsed to the floor of hurt. He was relatively young…probably had a family waiting for him. How…why…

The ship groaned loudly, awakening Jack to the ever-present threat of death. "She's going fast," he whispered to Rose, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Andrews. "We have to move." He began to walk towards the door. Rose unwillingly followed, not wanting to leave a fellow human in such anguish.

"Wait," Thomas Andrews said suddenly, holding out a powerful hand to stop them. He had thought it over and he knew he was going to go down with Titanic. He couldn't live with himself otherwise. His only regret was having so many others come to such a bitter end.

Shaking, he picked up his padded lifebelt in both hands and held it out to the girl who had inspired him to do what was right. He attempted to smile, but failed miserably. "Good luck to you, Rose."

She hesitated, but seeing the firm look on his face, took the vest. "And to you," she answered, knowing that it was useless. She was about to turn away when, overwhelmed with an impulse, she turned around and embraced the proud Irishman.

These were things that would never leave her mind about Titanic, the bravery, the honor, the pride, the dignity, and the acceptance that was being displayed tonight. She knew that Mr. Andrews had been stripped to the quick and all that was left was the true man he really was--the man that was willing to take responsibility from all others for this terrible, terrible mistake and die, even if he was innocent.

He hugged her back briefly, and then released her, signaling her to go. Somehow, she managed to stumble out of a turning door. Jack nodded his thanks to Mr. Andrews--someone who he would never forget, no matter what tonight brought for him.

After the young couple had left, Thomas stood still for a moment. With a pang in his heart, he thought of the love Jack and Rose shared, how they were willing to risk all just to be with each other, just to be in the other's arms. Sadly, he thought of his own wife, with her brilliant smile and long blonde hair, and his young daughter. The pain in Thomas Andrew's eyes now overflowed into tears. He leaned back over the fireplace and wept.

*****

On the boat deck, the orchestra members finished the last note of a cheerful ragtime melody that was meant to lift the spirits. The screaming however, had, if anything, become louder and more desperate. All were aware that the last boat had left and now the passengers were tossing things below into the sea to use as floatation devices. Some slipped or jumped into the ocean themselves.

Wally, the leader, watched in horror as the lights flickered and the water below them churned.

"Right," he murmured, realizing that it was now or never for the three other players. "That's it, then."

He let his lips upturn into a tiny smile as William, his fellow violin player, shouldered his instrument and patted him on the arm. "Good-bye, Wally," he whispered. "Good luck." Wally nodded as the others, the cellists Peter and Charlie, muttered their farewells. They all began to walk away, their minds turning over and over with fear.

Wally looked briefly down at his chest, where two fabric white stars were sewn into his black suit. What did they symbolize? Maybe he belonged to be here tonight, under all of the glittering stars.

He had never really been good at praying. Sure, Wally believed in God, and he thought prayers several times a day. He breathed them during worship services. But now, on seeing so many lives ending before his own eyes, it didn't feel good enough. They slid down the hull, they fell into metal railings, they splashed, screaming, into the Atlantic. And during it all the beautiful, ailing ship, who knew what she was causing, continued to silently slip beneath the waves.

He looked every direction, but all he could see was black--the black of death, the black of the sea, the black of Titanic, the black of the sky.

Right then, no prayer could possibly seem large enough to cover all the death and horror and terror he was seeing. There was only one way that could.

Tears formed in his eyes as he lifted his violin to his shoulder and nestled it against his neck. He arched his bow and drew it across the strings, slowly, sweetly, and painfully. He knew that the song would drift into the sea like everything else, but maybe, just maybe, a piece could reach heaven.

The melody of his song, Nearer My God, to Thee, strained over the terrified shrieks of the people, the groans of the ship, and the churning of the water. Near him, a young sandy-haired man lay on the deck. His blood was spilt on the floor and his friend was smoothing his shirt, his tears plopping on the deck.

This was what April 14 and 15, 1912, would always mean. Blood and water and tears.

Nearer, my God to Thee, Nearer my God to Thee!

The other members froze. What a sweet, sad song--one that they all knew. William took in a deep breath of sea air and with it allowed the notes to flow over him. It was a time to be brave.

He turned and joined Wally, picking up his instrument and melting in with the melody on the next line.

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.

Peter and Charlie stood, staring ahead, their cellos by their sides. Fear like ice washed over them and then was burned away by fire. If there was ever a religious moment, it was now. They spun around and walked back to the very place they had stood moments ago, a feeling of trust refreshing their low notes when they joined in.

All four members stood in the haunting tune of the song, sending up their prayer to God for all of the victims of Titanic. Their hearts sang a pleading for the souls of all of the innocents that would be covered by the sea, one again with their Maker.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone.
Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God to Thee.

Captain EJ Smith stood staring fixedly at the head of his ship. It was being covered with blackness, like the sky had melted and poured itself on Titanic. He watched the new white railings submerge under the ocean and the solid wooden decks flood.

He stood; his shoulders square and his heart trembling. As he closed his blue eyes, he allowed himself to see his wife's face, soft and smiling, her almond brown hair falling around her neck. She sparkled with love and joy. He always had taken it for granted that he had been able to come home to her.

And Clarissa…how his heart broke when he thought of his daughter! She was a mere twelve years old. She had a child's sweet, gentle grin and beautiful hair that was just like her mother's. She was turning into a young woman and he couldn't be more proud of her.

And then, with a sudden darkness, he remembered the speech his father had given about his grandfather, who had died in a sinking accident.

"As every true man knows, a real Englishman must go down with his ship."

It hurt horribly to know that, out of courage and nobility, he had to die tonight. He wished he could just go home, in the comfort of his family. Their hearts would be broken.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

"Capitan! Capitan!" A young voice behind him brought him out of his memories. Was he really the same Edward Smith, captain of Titanic, that he had been moments ago?

He turned to face the woman behind him. She looked back with fear in her eyes, not of the man before her, but of the night that lay ahead. She was Swedish, perhaps, and her blonde hair was pulled roughly into a knot. She couldn't have been more than twenty, maybe not even that old. A shawl was slung around her shoulders.

"Where should I go?" she asked. Watching his confused expression, she added, "Please."

It was then he noticed that she was carrying a bundle in her arms. It was a tiny baby. Horrified, he watched as a tiny, perfect little hand reached out of the blanket, followed by small, soft little toes.

There were no more boats. The baby…there were no more boats! The infant would…she would…

The water lapped louder beneath him, hungrily.

He could just stare at her, his mouth open wide, until he couldn't stand it anymore. Finally, he turned away and began to walk to the bridge, his dress boots clicking on the floor.

"Captain!" another voice cried out. "Captain! Sir!"

A crew member whom Edward had never met raced to him and held out a lifebelt. Good God. Could they possibly think that he could even try to survive while more than a thousand others struggled in the icy sea?

He brushed the vest aside with his dignified shoulder and gazed ahead of him. Beneath the main steering wheel, the deck was already underwater. Barely suppressing a sob, he turned into the second wheel cabin and quietly shut the door.

There let the way appear, steps unto heav'n;
All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee.

The water continued to slip over the ailing ship, threading its way down corridors and into rooms. Now the screams were chilling to the soul--they spoke of no hope, of horror, and of death. Terrified, men and women were thrown off of Titanic and into the ocean. The water penetrated instantly--icy, freezing, and unimaginably cold. They shook violently from the first second. Some shrieked and cried and wept, others were already still in the small waves. Children had been left abandoned on the ship when their mothers were thrown into boats and stood sobbing, looking helplessly about them. The tilt was steeper than it had been yet. Slowly, the propellers rose out of the water.

Trudy, Rose's maid, held on for her life to a section of rail, her dress dragging her down. She looked up. This is our punishment, she thought. God is showing his power and might against the impossible. The stars twinkled back at her, affirming her assumption. It's in God's hands.

*****

Below, in the already flooded rooms, bodies drifted in the currents, beautiful dresses billowing. The windows shattered against the pressure as the massacre continued. The beautiful creation of Thomas Andrews was slashed by the force of the mighty Atlantic.

There had been a time when all praised Titanic. All had marveled at its strength and luxury. It had been the pride and joy of Europe.

Now she would lay in the ripples of mud on the bottom of the sea, silent for all eternity.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee.

In steerage, the Irish woman herded her two children back to their deserted cabin.

"Mommy!" Her youngest one, her boy, Ryan, tugged at her sleeve as she shut the door.

"Yes, darlin'?" she replied, having to work to keep the sobs out of her voice.

"Mommy, when are we goin' on the boats? You said we were goin' on the boats when the rich people are all gone. They must be gone now!"

Horror glazed over her heart. Yes, they were gone now. However, there were no more lifeboats left. Her precious children, both of them--they--

She fell back on the bed, weeping, her tears falling like rain. Her husband in America--he would be so heartbroken. How would she get through it? She could almost feel the ice on her skin; hear the screams of her babies…

"Mommy?" Now her girl, lovely little Katie, looked close to crying herself. "Mommy! What's wrong?" Her fine green eyes clouded with worry.

She could do nothing but sob a response, her shoulders shaking. Dear God, don't take my children! Not my beautiful, precious, innocent children! I love them so much! Please…

Anger filled her, anger at the steward who had kept them locked below, anger at the iceberg for gashing Titanic's hull, anger at the captain for keeping her children from safety.

There was no other way to escape from the ocean, and she knew her children would die on the ship of dreams.

"Darlings," she whispered, maintaining composure. "Mommy's just tired. So, so tired."

"Daddy will make you feel better when we get to America," Ryan stated matter-of-factly.

"I hope so. I hope so."

Her eyes stared off into space, seeing Thomas' tears, his confusion, his hurt. She wished he knew she was thinking of him.

My love, please don't mourn me.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to her children. "Katie, Ryan, it is bed time. Time to sleep."

Sleep into the eternal blackness of death. God, have mercy on my babies, have mercy on our souls!

Without a murmur, they kicked off their boots and removed their outer coats; hanging them on the hooks by the door. Because of the accommodations, they both shared a bunk. The climbed in next to each other and snuggled under the covers. She removed Ryan's hat and placed it next to her on the floor.

"Tell us a story, Mommy." Katie yawned, her eyes already closing.

A story about the pain of letting go, of leaving it all behind. She searched her mind for a story to comfort the little ones.

"Once upon a time," she began in a whisper, "there lived two children. They made their homes in a dark, dark world, a world whose people had lost the light and hope they had been created with. The only spot of happiness in Ireland was these two little children. They were angels sent from heaven."

She hardly heard herself speak as she told the tale of her own two babies. They lay listening, wanting to hear it all. Their eyes were wide with interest and belief. She allowed them to watch her keenly, but her heart was elsewhere. In Ireland. With Thomas. In the sea with her children.

Two months ago, Katie had first seen death. Her grandfather was a ripe old age and had passed quietly in his sleep. It was then that Hope had decided to join Thomas in America, knowing she couldn't wait any longer.

"Mommy?" Katie had asked, her fine green eyes wide with fear.

"Hmm?" Hope had replied, sitting by the cot where the man now lay, washing his face for burial. She had asked Mary to take the children for her, but Mary had other things to do. Ryan was outside playing, but Katie wouldn't leave her mother. Death affected her more than her younger brother.

"You're never goin' to leave me, are you?" She spoke with tears in her voice. "And what about when I die? Will it hurt?" She suddenly started to cry.

Hope threw down the damp cloth and rushed to her child, taking her in her arms and smoothing her hair. "Oh, darlin', I will never leave you. I'll always be right here. Shh."

"Mommy, I'm afraid! I'm afraid to go to heaven! I don't want it to hurt!"

"Baby, it won't hurt. You're so young; you don't need to worry about this! You will die when you are old so you can see Jesus. It's just like going to sleep--you won't feel a thing at all. Except you'll wake up to see God. And everyone you know will be there."

The six-year-old eyes had widened. "Oh…good. As long as it doesn't hurt."

"Why are you so worried? You are still so small and you have your whole life ahead of you. Shh…there now."

It would hurt. Hope could almost feel the pain of the icy depths that were swallowing the ship. She braced her children with her body as the ship continued to climb higher and higher. She barely noticed the story was almost finished.

"And so they lived, in the land of Tir Na Nog, land of eternal youth and beauty."

She watched the look on her children's faces as they snuggled to each other, satisfied. Slowly, their eyes closed as they fell asleep.

Panicked, Hope watched their green orbs as they fell behind soft eyelids. It was the last time she would ever see them. Now she cried openly. Maybe it wouldn't be so painful for them if they were sleeping. She stroked Ryan's brown strands and Katie's long red curls. Their faces turned tender with the sweet dreams of a child.

She gathered the resting babies in her arms, her tears falling on their faces, her heart breaking. She looked at Ryan. He had such acting talent, even at a young age. She could see him in the new moving films or speaking in plays. There was such promise in his life.

And Katie…her voice could take the chill out of a January morning and paint a smile on the stormy sky. She was gifted with any instrument and when she danced her feet left the floor. She had the makings of a famous musician. Her crying turned to weeping as she was haunted with what might have been.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
Or, if on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I'll fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.

Isaac held his wife close to his body as they lay on the bed. They had been married for fifty-one years. He couldn't love her anymore than he did. He had begged her to get on a lifeboat, but she had refused. Her words still rung in his head.

"We have lived together many years. Where you go, I go."

With that, she had thrown herself into his arms, and he had quietly backed away from the lifeboat line. She knew what she had risked by staying with him and she refused to be swayed otherwise.

"I'm so afraid," she murmured now, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm so very afraid."

Isaac didn't answer. He simply squeezed her tighter. He was terrified. They had decided that if one must go, the other was going, too. Calmly, they had returned to their stateroom to wait for death. Anyone who wasn't afraid now wasn't human.

He felt so helpless, just waiting to die.

There was a crash and their door was ripped off of its hinges. Water began to sweep into the room, churning over the fine carpets and swirling over the furniture.

There was a frenzied scream from his wife. He had known the fullness of what was going to happen, but it was obvious she hadn't. She began to weep. The tears fell on the fine bed comforter and stained Isaac's heart. It hurt to see her in so much pain and terror. Now the sea was beginning to seep around their bodies. He held her closer and kissed her silver hair. She continued to cry as she leaned back into his arms. His eyes closed.

"I'll be waiting," he whispered.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
There in my Father's home, safe and at rest,
There in my Savior's love, perfectly blest;
Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee.

Now, Captain Smith nervously fingered the steering wheel. He had watched the blue-green water rise against the bridge windows and he knew they couldn't hold much longer.

He looked around him, suddenly remembering the baby. Please, God, let the baby live. He felt so stupid now, remembering his thoughts just weeks earlier.

"Captain, there aren't enough boats for the whole lot," Thomas Andrews had stated while checking over the ship. "I can install more. I think that would be best."

"Oh, Thomas," Edward had scoffed. "This is the unsinkable Titanic we are discussing! We don't need anymore lifeboats. It would take too much space. Make the deck look too cluttered. No, this is exactly the way it should be."

Thomas had nodded. There were only enough boats to fit about a thousand people, when more than two thousand had already booked passage.

God, they had needed those boats. If only he had accepted Mr. Andrews’ proposal. His heart chilled when he recalled the same man's words two hours ago.

"The water will spill over the watertight bulkheads at E-Deck, back and back and back. There's no stopping it."

"The pumps!" Edward had exclaimed triumphantly. "If we hook them up, we could--"

"The pumps buy you time," Mr. Andrews had interrupted, out of patience. "But minutes only."

Realizing what he was saying, the captain looked at him in horror.

"From now on, no matter what you do," the Irishman had continued, "Titanic will founder."

There was a stone silence.

"But this ship can't sink!" Bruce Ismay, director of White Star Line, yelped.

"She's made of iron, sir," Thomas had returned curtly. "I assure you, she can. And she will."

That was when Edward had known he wouldn't be returning to his home, with his wife and child. He missed them already and he shuddered at knowing what heartbreak they would go through.

"Oh, my dears," he murmured. "I love you both." He wished they knew his last thoughts were of them.

He played his fingernails on the wood of the steering wheel as he heard the windows groan. This is it. God! Here it is! he thought. He lowered his head instinctively.

He didn't have time to complete the movement. The glass shattered and solid walls of water threw themselves upon him. The power and cold of the sea was the last thing his mind registered before the ocean closed over him.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

Wally played the last, sweet note. He didn't know what was truly happening in the water below him or what would happen in the minutes to come. The sea was racing up the deck. He hoped his prayer of song had been heard. Somehow, he knew it had.

He knew his world would be crashing down soon, very soon. As terrified passengers clawed their way up the deck, he spoke to his fellow players, never taking his eyes off of the waiting Atlantic.

"Gentlemen, it has been a privilege playing with you tonight."

His heart began to pick up pulse as he finally looked up to the stars. He closed his eyes and felt a fresh breeze around his chilled body. As he began to pray to his blessed Savior, his feet were suddenly pulled out from under him.

The ocean tore him and swept him down the deck, throwing him against several metal objects. Pain enveloped his mind. Without warning, it was as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. All of his regrets and hurt were wiped away into total blackness.

*****

Thomas Andrews knew now that there was almost no time left. He was drowning in memories of his wife and child, recalling their sweet voices and love-filled eyes. He hoped they would be all right without him. He spoke to them, in his mind, begging them to go on with their lives and not to feel the pain he was feeling now.

The familiar guilt came back as he heard the screams from outside. Out of the two thousand, two hundred people on board, he knew that a thousand would not make it home. Why did the world have to be so cruel? Several times in his life, he had complained bitterly about small things that had caused discomfort--little food, the loss of salary, a banked fire…he now realized how foolish it had all been. This, tonight, was truly unfair. He could imagine the sparks that would explode as the Titanic slipped beneath the waves, the shrieks of the people left in the dark Atlantic, the blackness of the sea.

Then there would be silence.

He paused now, looking at the orange embers in the ashes, and glanced at the clock on the mantle. He had to brace himself using the wall because of the ship's angle. His glass of wine crashed to the floor and went rolling past him.

The time was wrong. It had stopped at two o’clock AM. He exhaled deeply. Time would stop tonight for all of the souls left onboard, all of the children…

He took out his pocket watch and closely examined it. It was still working and read 2:12. He opened the face of the elaborate clock in front of him and appropriately set it. Now time would stand still.

As his tears fell, he leaned back to look into the yellow and orange flickers of the dying fire.

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone.
Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God to Thee.
Nearer my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
There let the way appear, steps unto heav'n;
All that Thou sendest me, in mercy given;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
Or, if on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I'll fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
There in my Father's home, safe and at rest,
There in my Savior's love, perfectly blest;
Age after age to be, nearer my God to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!

Chapter Twelve
Stories