EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Thirty-Six
"Antoinette, you can’t
stay here on account of me." Objects began to fly past me, down the
smoking room’s carpeted floor, away from me. People were screaming. Tables and
chairs began to topple, and my father just stood there, at this extreme tilt,
holding onto the fireplace for dear life, but only with one hand.
"Go." He pointed to the door, that led outside. "Go on, honey.
Go."
"I’m not leaving," I
said simply, planting my feet deeper into the carpet than before.
"You need to go on."
He sighed, taking a few steps towards me. "This isn’t sane."
"Daddy, I’m not
leaving!"
"Antoinette, go. I will
drag you out there myself if I have to—"
"Then, we can both get on
a lifeboat! That’s a great idea! Come on—" I took his hand and began to
drag him towards the door. He didn’t move an inch, but pulled me out of the way
from a rolling cart that came through the doorway.
"I’m not going with
you," he said softly.
"Dad, no…Not again,"
I whimpered.
"You know that I can’t.
You, you, you." He took my hands and squeezed them. "You need to go
on."
"Not without you," I
pestered on.
"He’ll take good care of
you."
"Who?"
"Harold Lowe, of
course!" laughed a familiar voice. We both looked in the direction of the
voice and standing there in full uniform was Will.
"Will?" I then
practically shrieked, "Will!" I ran towards him, throwing myself into
his arms and hugging him as tight as I could. I kissed him on the cheek, not
wanting to let go. He didn’t die.
"Antoinette, what are you
doing? What are you even doing here?" he asked me, hugging me back before
letting go.
"What are you doing here?
You died!"
"No, I didn’t," he
laughed. "Come on, let’s take you back…" He took my hand and began to
lead me towards the doorway of the smoking room.
"No, no, no! Wait!"
I turned back to my father. "We’re not leaving without him."
"Yes, you are," my
father disagreed. "Go on, Will, take her back to where she belongs."
"Daddy, no!" My eyes
welled up with tears as he glanced down at his pocket watch. "No."
"There’s only so much
time left," he said, with half a smile.
"Who cares?" I asked
him. "Who cares?"
"I do," Will said,
taking my hand again.
"So do I," my father
added. I kept my eyes locked on him.
"I want to be here with
you," I told him.
"You’re going to miss
your ship to New York," my father conjured on.
"So?"
"You’re going to be there
in a day or so," he said, but it was as if he wasn’t talking to me, just
to the room. "Antoinette." For some strange reason, amongst all of
this panic, he smiled at me. "Go be with Harold."
"Dad…" Tears rolled
down my cheeks as he teetered towards me, wiping them away.
"Oh, honey, don’t
cry," he said soothingly.
"I can’t help it!" I
sniffled. "Come with me—"
"If you don’t go, who
else is going to read that book?" What is he talking about?
"What book?" He
looked surprised, as if he thought I’d know what he was talking about. I don’t.
"My book." The
notebook…? That must be it. "The notebook," he said, with a proud
smile, "on Titanic."
"You knew?" I asked.
"You knew you gave it to me?"
"No. I did when I
realized I didn’t have it. You take good care of it for me, okay?"
"Please," I begged,
letting go of Will’s hand and hugging my father tightly, "Please don’t
make me leave."
"Antoinette, it’s not
time." I looked up from him as he stroked my hair. "It’s not time for
you, yet. It’s not time for either of you yet."
"What?" I asked,
completely puzzled.
"It’s not time for Harold
or you. You two have your life to live. Don’t they, Will?" I glanced over
my shoulder at Will, who nodded with this bright smile.
"Yes, sir," was his
response.
"But, if I go, I’ll never
see you and I can’t leave without you—"
"Oh, Antoinette, that’s
not true. You can go on."
"No, I, I…I can’t."
"Yes, you can." He
paused, smiling down at me. "And you will see me."
"Wh-when?"
"When you come
home."
"Home?" I asked,
raising an eyebrow.
"Home," my father
repeated, with a nod. "You’ll understand, in due time."
"I don’t want to
understand! In due time?! What the Hell does that mean!?" I glanced over
my shoulder at Will, who looked just as confused as me. "I want to stay
with you! I don’t care about the future!" I wrapped my arms about his neck
once again and my father chuckled. Why is he laughing!? This is not the time to
be laughing!
"Ann, Ann," he
laughed, hugging me back, "You and Harold are going to be so happy, you’ll
see. Go be with him. Spend as much time with him as you can, before it slips
away." I hear him, but I’m not comprehending any of it.
"Harry got on a
lifeboat," I murmured, "He’s fine." He’s the one who isn’t fine!
"And so did you. Go find
Harold, alright?" He sighed, his smile not seeming to fade.
"Antoinette, darling, don’t you remember what I told you?" I looked
up at him, clueless. "I will always be with you." He kissed me on the
cheek. "And I never break a promise, honey." He smiled, brushing hair
out of my eyes. "I never break a promise."
*****
And that’s when I woke up.
I was shaking and as I sat up
from the bed, I felt hot liquid pouring down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes. Tears.
Not surprising. My heart is pounding. Dear God. I wiped the beads of sweat from
my forehead and attempted to calm myself down. What was that? What just
happened? One minute I was thinking about Will and the next, I’m back in that
damn smoking room. That dream felt so real, I could’ve sworn I was back on that
ship. I could feel Titanic tilting, I could hear the screams of all of those
people, I know I hugged my father and touched Will…How will I ever get to sleep
after that catastrophe? I thought I’d never be able to sleep after I left my
father, but now, I may become an insomniac. Great. I turned my legs over to the
side of the bed and rubbing my forehead, I looked up at the porthole window.
It’s dark now.
"Alright, alright," I
said aloud to my father, in the big empty room. Maybe he can hear me, after
all. "I’ll take your advice." He was right—even in my lucid dream.
"I’ll go find Harry." I stood up and searching for the door key, I
found it at the bottom of my coat pocket and walked towards the door. I shoved
the key into the door, feverishly unlocking it and I swung the door open,
expecting Harry to be there. He’s not. Huh.
I took a step out into Carpathia’s
hallway, and looked down the corridor on my left. Nothing. My right. Still
nothing. What about his, "I’ll be back, Love" line? Does he not
listen to his own promises? I glanced over my shoulder, back at the room I had
been occupying for the past…two days. Has it been that long? I merely looked
just to make sure I had everything. I do. The bed looks to be a little messy,
but that’s not my problem at this point. Time to find Harry.
I began my way down the hallway
in front of me, unsure of where I’m going. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I
must look awful, but I haven’t passed anyone. Nobody’s screamed in fright
yet—but, the night is still young. What am I doing? I’m searching for someone
on a ship with at least two-thousand people on it, if not more! I have no idea
of where I’m going and yet, I have this unbelievable idea that I may actually
find Harold Lowe. I have truly lost my mind. I almost feel as if I’m on the
Titanic again, but I pushed that thought away and out of my mind. I must keep
focused on the task at hand: finding Harry.
I went down hallway after
hallway, looking in every open room—only to find confused passengers staring
back at me. I apologized to so many people and it’s only been ten minutes,
maybe fifteen, of this little journey. Maybe I’d be better off going on deck and
looking for him. He might be there. If not, maybe Margaret Brown is up there
and she might have an idea of where he is. Who am I kidding? I probably won’t
see either of them. Harry’s probably sleeping by now. Who knows how late it is.
The night is merely young for me, probably no one else. Harry probably took up
residence in the officers’ quarters or a spare room—but more than likely, a
spare room. He was okay on the floor outside my room, he just needed a chair.
"I know how to operate
this!" shouted a familiar voice. I turned immediately and stopped myself.
"Come on! This is ridiculous!" I began to follow the voice and there
was more talking. I know the voice—It’s not Harry’s, but I know the voice. It
sounds so familiar, I just can’t place him. I walked towards the open door of a
room where all of the commotion seemed to be and silently peeked my head
through the door. The Marconi operating room. "Blimey, Lowe! Give us a
second, would ya!?" Harold Bride! The poker player, one of the Marconi operators
from the Titanic! He survived. It’s nice to know those lifeboats saved some.
He’s sitting in a room beside
another man I don’t know—perhaps the operator for the Carpathia—headphones
about his neck, as the other man began to tap away, reading from a piece of paper.
And standing there, beside Bride, in full officer’s uniform was Harry.
"You have nothing better to
do than torture Harold?" I asked through the doorway. Bride and Harry
turned and both of them burst into a smile. The other Marconi operator didn’t
even hear me. Those headphones are truly soundproof.
"Antoinette." Harry had
said it as if he had been in a dream, so dazed. Bride took the lead at that
point, before his counterpart could say anything more.
"Antoinette Andrews!"
Bride stood up and ran towards me, only to practically choke himself with his
headphones. He blushed a tomato red and throwing the headphones onto his chair,
he pulled me into the room before hugging me. "It is so nice to see a
familiar face!" I just played poker with him! I barely know him and yet, I
hugged him back—completely thrilled to see him, too.
"Aw, it’s nice to see you
too, Harold," I laughed as we dropped the hug.
"Wasn’t sure if you made
it," he said, trying not to blush crimson. "You are the best poker
player this side of the water, I swear to you!"
"And they’ve got you
working?" I gasped jokingly, pointing to the table. "This is
unbelievable! You should be lounging!" He laughed nervously.
"Oh, it’s nothing I can’t
handle, I assure you." I smiled.
"Mind if I steal away Officer
Lowe?" I asked, taking Harry’s arm.
"Go right ahead. Keep him
out of here, would you? He’s harassing us." I smiled and pulled Harry out
of the room, into the rather bright hallway. "And stay out for the
night!" he laughed, shutting the door behind us. As soon as the door
clicked shut, I wrapped my arms around Harry, trying not to cry.
"Oh, Ann, what is it?"
he asked gently into my ear.
"I love you so much," I
whispered. He managed a slight chuckle, a chuckle of pure confusion.
"I love you, too," he
replied, puzzled. He unlocked the hug and saw that I was crying. I’m
crying…again? Alright, I’m getting ready to knife my eyes out. "Oh,
Antoinette, there’s no reason to cry. I’m right here."
"I know you are and I pushed
you away and—" He shrugged a shoulder, wiping my tears away gently with
his fingertips.
"Who cares?" he asked,
with a smile.
"But…" My voice trailed
off as he kissed my cheeks, where my tears had fallen these past few days, so
sweetly.
"But nothing," he said,
touching my right cheek. "And look at that." I looked down and an
eyelash was on his finger. "An eyelash." He looked at me, smiling.
"Aren’t you going to make a wish?"
"What?"
"You’re supposed to make a
wish whenever an eyelash falls out. You blow it away and your wish comes
true."
"You believe that?" He
smiled.
"At this point, I believe
anything." He laughed. "Go ahead, make a wish." I sighed. I’ll
play along. About to make that dumb eyelash disappear, he shook his head.
"No, no. Close your eyes and make a wish." I laughed at myself, more
than him. Alright, alright. What to wish for, what to wish for…My mind went
back to my dream, when my father commented on how happy Harry and I would be,
that we’d have to wait and see. I smiled.
I wish Harry would find it in his
heart to forgive me for telling him to go the Hell away—and may we live that
happy life my father wants us to. I blew away the eyelash and opened one eye
and then the other.
"Is it gone?" I asked.
"Sure is." He smiled at
me. "Now, what did you wish for?"
"I thought you weren’t
supposed to tell what you wished for!" I giggled. He shrugged.
"We can change tradition,
you know!" He stopped. "Now, tell me, what did you wish for?" My
eyes glazed with tears. "Oh, come now, don’t cry," he begged, tiredly
laughing. "Whatever it is—"
"I wished you would forgive
me." He glanced down at me, furrowing his brows. I’m confusing him so
much.
"Forgive you? For
what?"
"For yelling at you to go
away."
"I don’t give up easily,
Antoinette, you know that!" I smiled. "…And if you thought I would
forget we ever met because you wanted time alone, you’re insane." He
pulled me into his arms. "Then again, I’m not that sane myself."
"You’re not angry?" I
asked skeptically. He shook his head.
"My Love, consider your wish
granted."