EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Thirty-Eight

Thunder. Of all things on this Earth, why did it have to be thunder? My heart just won’t stop beating so fast, as if I had run a marathon. It sounds like my heart may explode from my chest at any moment. With every sound of thunder or crack of lightening, my mind goes back to my father. My mother was never one to put up with one of my supposed phobias, she thought I was merely using the thunder as a way to get attention. Why would I use this as a way to get attention? I had enough attention from everyone around me. My father alone, managed to practically smother me when I was a child. I think he was so giddy to have a daughter, that he couldn’t think straight.

"You need to get over it," my mother would say. "Real women learn how to deal with nature and everything that comes with nature." Well, then, just shoot me for having a soul and being afraid of something in this world. Besides, my father was the only one who actually knew this fear was real. It’s as real as each new day.

I remember distinctively, when I was maybe seven or eight, my mother had gone out, and it had started to rain. The thunder began and I panicked, couldn’t find my father, and ended up hiding under my bed. I don’t know why this incident sticks out in my mind—every time it rained or was predicted to rain, my father never left the house or wherever we were, he always stayed close by. I already miss that. I glanced up from my tea that Harry had gotten me to him, and he has the same look on his face that my father always did during the storms. Anticipation, as if he was waiting for me to flip. I haven’t yet. Anyhow, during that whole Antoinette-hid-under-the-bed incident, my father had to practically drag me out of there and we sat in the living room, him being the sweet man I knew and loved so much, until the rain stopped. I used to think the sky would fall down on me, enclose me and that would be that. I know the thunder can’t hurt me, it’s just a fear. A phobia. Whatever you’d like to call it, I panic.

I have no idea what time it is, but the storm has been going for a good hour or so, if not longer. The thunder seems to have dissipated. I really thought for a while there that it wouldn’t stop and I just found myself hiding in Harry’s arms. He had no idea what to do, but he did his best to comfort me and I sincerely love him for that. I think he feels guilty, for not realizing the terror I have over thunder, but he compensated for it, more so than he had to. He didn’t know, but he made everything alright, like he always seems to do.

Thinking back, when storms came, my father and I used to count how many times the thunder roared. He always said it meant the storm was just that much closer to being over. My father. Thomas Andrews. I sighed. I know he wants me to somehow go on—Unless that dream was an extreme hallucination…Either way, he’d want me to go on. That was his nature: don’t worry about me, just go on. I’ll be fine. But, he’s not fine. He’s dead.

Harry had convinced me to try to sleep after about twenty or so minutes of there not being any thunder. He thought it would be a good idea, probably as a way to calm me down. Well, I was tired, anyway, because I didn’t argue. The thunder had panicked me so much, and now, I was just exhausted from the mental trauma. There I was, wrapped up in who knows how many blankets in that bed, and not to mention, my father’s coat—and Harry was just sitting in the only chair in the room, his head on the bed, half-asleep himself, his hand holding onto mine. He looked so handsome, I couldn’t even believe it. That’s how I dozed off and it was sure Heaven. The next thing I know, Harry was shaking me awake.

"Love?" he asked sweetly. "Love, I think we stopped." Oh, no, not again.

"Harry, I’m sure we didn’t, please—"

"No, Antoinette, really. I can see the lights of the city." I sighed, not wanting to open my eyes.

"I don’t believe you," I mumbled. He laughed, moving from the chair next to the bed to the bed itself, sitting down beside me.

"The engines stopping jolted me awake." He nuzzled my cheek, kissing me a few times, forcing me to open my eyes and hold back my fit of giggles.

"Are you sure it wasn’t the rain?"

"It’s not raining anymore, Love," he said, shaking his head before smiling at me. That sweet smile. I can’t take it, he knows I can’t! He uses it against me. "Let’s go see if we’re here."

"You’re so anxious!" I yawned. He ignored that.

"And no more thunder," he said cheerfully, brushing hair out of my eyes. "We’ve got nothing to lose by going to see."

"Yes, we do," I argued tiredly, "my sanity."

"Come now!" he laughed, standing up. "Don’t you want to see New York?"

"Not really." Suddenly, I was lifted up and out of bed! I almost screamed, out of pure shock!

"I’ll carry you there, if I have to," he jokingly threatened.

"Harry, put me down!" I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. "You’re going to give me a concussion!"

"Can we go on deck?" he asked, anxious. I didn’t answer, too scared for my life to think of anything reasonable to say.

"Please, just put me down!" I laughed, hiding my face in his neck.

"I’m not going to leave you in here, so you’ve got to come." He kissed me on the cheek once or twice, trying not to laugh himself. "How’s that for an argument?"

"Alright, alright!" I exclaimed.

"Alright, what?" he asked, with a smirk.

"We’ll go up on deck."

"Now, I don’t want to force you—"

"Harry, good God, I want to go!" I said, almost frantically.

"Thank you." He let me down and I straightened out my dress. "I wasn’t going to drop you," he reassured me.

"Oh, sure," I replied, sarcastically. He shrugged.

"You don’t weigh that much."

"You’re not ever supposed to comment on a woman’s weight!"

"Woman?" he questioned, pulling me in closer to him. "I don’t see any women here. Just you." He laughed and so did I, before he kissed me on the lips. And even through all of these kisses, he still takes my breath away. How pathetic is that? I smiled at him. "And I got you to smile. Now, you owe me." He took my hand and led me out into the hallway.

I practically lost him in an instant, but I held onto his hand tighter than before. The hallways were filled to the brim, with people of all nationalities—I assume most are Carpathia passengers, but I don’t know at this point. I heard shouts in every language under the sun, but barely any in English. Any yelling at all in English was broken, as if it was that person’s second language. Harry managed to push through the crowds in the hallways, some with luggage, many without, just as he had done the night Titanic sank… when he was trying to find a lifeboat for me to get on.

"Still with me, Ann?" he asked above the noise. I nodded.

"You’re out of your mind!" I shouted at him. Then again, my sanity is questionable at this point.

"I know, isn’t it grand?" he asked me, smiling.

"No, it’s not!" I argued, trying not to giggle. We went down another corridor to our left and then another hallway to our right before going up a flight of stairs, and then another. I’ve pushed past so many people, I’ve stopped apologizing. Everyone’s on their own. Harry let me go through the door that led to the deck and I kept my eyes on him, my back to the water. We both turned at the same time when the door behind us shut and I had to stop myself.

Well, Harry had been right, first off. The Carpathia seemed to be in the harbor. I can see buildings as tall as the Heavens lit up. It was merely sprinkling above us now, and it was completely dark. Except for these continuous flashes, it was dark. I think the bursts of light are from photographers, using their cameras below us. The flashes are lighting up the entire Carpathia and the deck! Incredible, but how could it be possible? Are there really that many photographers in New York Harbor?

"I think we’re here," I told him as people passed us on the deck. He pulled me towards the railing of the Carpathia, which was crowded enough, and we squeezed in between complete strangers. I leaned over the rail, gasping at what I saw. Thousands and thousands of people, some photographers, mostly people who looked as panicked as we had, the first time we boarded the Carpathia, were standing on the harbor, watching almost in awe at us and the gangway that was being attached to the ship from the pier.

"Look at that," he whistled to me, squeezing my hand, refusing to let go.

"That can’t be people’s family," I hissed at him. "No one has twenty-seven aunts!"

"It has to be press," Harry said aloud.

"…This is going to be Hell," I breathed. I stood up straight again, looking down to my left and right, down the deck. Where did all of the lifeboats go? They were crowding the deck beyond belief and now they’re gone, as if they disappeared, into thin air. "Hey." I tugged on Harry’s arm. "The lifeboats are gone."

"Oh, they’ve been gone for a while, Miss!" a man explained, a stranger who had been standing beside me when I was leaning over the rail to get my view of the crowd.

"How?" Harry asked him.

"She pulled into White Star Line’s port, dropped them off, and here we are!" He hit his hand on the railing for effect.

"Well, what the Hell time is it?" I asked Harry. Do I even dare to ask?

"About nine-thirty." And all it did was rain…all day. The day’s already over.

"Are they going to let us off or what?" I asked him.

"Let’s go find out." I held onto his arm as we made his way towards the gangway entrance. Directing other officers were Carpathia’s officers and of course, Charles Lightoller—we all remember him. "Charles!" He turned to face us as Harry gestured to the leading towards freedom. "When are they going to let us off?"

"In a minute or so," Lightoller replied. "We have to make sure the gangway is safe for the passengers."

"How long have we been here?" Harry pestered on. How many questions could he possibly ask in a matter of seconds?

"Maybe twenty, half-an-hour!" he shouted, above the noise to Harry. He looked down at me, shaking his head.

"How could we not have heard this?" he asked.

"You heard it," I corrected, as an officer brushed past me, yelling to someone on the pier before proceeding to walk half-way down. What’s he going to do, jump up and down to make sure it’s safe? "Who are they letting off first?" I asked Lightoller.

"Probably first-class Titanic passengers," he said aloud, shrugging. "I don’t really know, you’ve got to ask someone from this liner! I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go!" Harry nodded, pulling me away from the entrance to the gangway, merely a few feet away, but away just the same. I’m not going to fall into the water.

We sort of watched, in silence, the camera flashes, the people shouting to others on the ship, and amongst all of the commotion, we just stood there, our fingers intertwined with each other’s. I checked my pocket with my free hand to make sure my father’s notebook was still there and thankfully, it was. If it had been gone, I would’ve fetched it before getting off the Carpathia. I would’ve had it before I left, that’s for sure. Harry can only drag me so far, I wasn’t going to leave without one object my father held dear. Minutes seemed to pass, but it all felt like seconds, because before I knew it, Harry was behind me, urging me to get in line behind other first-class passengers, who were beginning to make their way down the gangway, onto the pier. I stood in line, squeezing Harry’s hand every now and then, to make sure he hadn’t disappeared amongst all of the confusion.

"First-class Titanic passengers, first!" shouted a Carpathia officer.

"Harry…" My voice trailed off as a woman two people in front of me began down the gangway, looking as scared as a ghost, even with an officer helping her along. "Stay right behind me, okay?"

"I will, Love," he promised as the woman in front of me began her way down. I glanced over to my right at Lightoller, who was watching carefully as people made their way down to the pier. I nodded at him, a sort of good-bye nod. "I’ll see you, Charles," Harry promised as I took my first step onto the gangway. Oh, this is really high! Higher than I expected. I froze. "Ann, don’t look down! Just keep going…" Harry urged, pushing me along.

Well, it’s not thunder, that’s for sure, we’re just extremely high up. I slowly, but surely continued my way down and with each step, I could hear the sounds of shouting newspaper men getting closer and closer to me. Maybe I should’ve stayed on the Carpathia…No, no, I couldn’t deal with Harry being so anxious for another hour, let alone another day. But, I bet staying on the ship until tomorrow morning wouldn’t have been that big of a deal—and I doubt there would be as many people as there are now. I kept looking over my shoulder, to see Harry, urging me along, with a smile—I just want to make sure he’s still here and he is. I took my final step, from the gangway to the pier as an officer from the Carpathia helped me down. It was a big step, let me tell you!

"There you are, Miss," he said, as sweetly as he could. I nodded at him, and Harry jumped onto the pier behind me, and I took a firm hold of his arm seconds later. We’re safe. We’re on solid ground. Thank you, God.

"What happened?" asked one voice as we began to make our way through the crowd. I have no idea where we’re going, but Harry sure has an idea. He’s obviously leading. Shouts from reporters filled my ears.

"What happened?" shouted another.

"Did Titanic actually sink!?"

"Were you witness to it?" Yes and yes.

"What about Captain Smith? The officers!" I didn’t say a word and neither did Harry as we continued through the crowd. Flashbulbs seemed to go off in my face, but I pretended not to notice. But, how could I not notice? People were pushing, shoving, trying to get towards the gangway with their bulky cameras, while others were praying that whoever they knew was okay. It’s a madhouse.

"Someone, give us an account!" Not on your life, buddy. Not on your life. One photographer, I now realize, is following us. I thought maybe he was just trying to get forward shots of people getting off of the Carpathia, but with every zigzag we took, he followed. He looks as if he just wants to get a picture. Of what, I don’t know. I held onto Harry’s arm tighter than before.

"Miss Andrews, a statement?" the stalker asked me. Great, he knows who I am! I thought I was somewhat unknown in America. I acted as if I had no idea who he was talking about, not opening my mouth as his camera flashed in the direction of Harry and I. "Nothing to say at all?" he asked skeptically, writing everything down in a notebook as he let the camera hang from its’ strap around his neck. I could feel Harry tense up. "And who is this, Miss Andrews?" he pestered on, gesturing to Harry. "What about your father? What happened to Titanic? What sunk her?" A flash of his camera.

"I’ll tell you what sunk her!" Harry suddenly yelled angrily, taking the camera from the photographer and smashing it to the ground. He ripped out the film and snapped it in half, and then into even smaller pieces! Oh, dear God. I must be dreaming. I covered my face in my hands, watching the spectacle between my fingers.

"Harry, stop it!" I shouted at him. He, inevitably, ignored me.

"And that is what sunk Titanic, my good man!" he told the photographer, pointing to the mess as we quickened our pace through the crowd. The photographer looked as though he was ready to cry, but wasn’t easily going to give up. He’s still following us! Can’t he take a hint? He must be related to Ismay, that’s the only logical explanation for it.

"You’ll have to pay for that, Officer! Both the camera and the film!" he yelled at Harry, as we continued to try to get away. We’re not having any luck with this, we need a new plan. "That’s property of the New York Ti—"

"I don’t give a damn whose property it is! Charge it to the White Star Line for all I care!" Harry called back, not looking at the startled photographer.

"I’ll get my lawyer and see you in court, I swear to you—" Harry suddenly swung around and the crowd practically jumped back, away from the three of us. And this pier is completely packed, let me tell you. I can barely see the ground with all of the feet here.

"I don’t care who the Hell you are," he told the stalker between clenched teeth, "Don’t you dare question and then proceed to photograph traumatized survivors of Titanic! You are a disgrace to newspaper men everywhere!"

"Why, I just wanted a statement from Miss Andrews—"

"Does it look like she wants to talk to you!?" he yelled angrily. The photographer actually scowled at that. I love Harry. Have I ever told him that? I need to tell him again. As long as he doesn’t actually kill this man, I love him. Even though he somewhat deserves it. What am I even saying?

"Harry, stop…" I begged him softly. "Let’s not cause a scene!" I hissed.

"Oh, we’re way past that, Miss Andrews!" the photographer practically laughed, gesturing around us. Everyone is either staring at us or at the Carpathia—but more than not, they’re staring at us. Harry grabbed him by the collar and it looks as if he’s ready to kill him.

"I will sink you if I ever see you near me or Miss Andrews again, is that clear?" Harry said, with no emotion in his voice.

"Can I quote you?" the photographer asked simply.

"Sure! Why the Hell not? My name’s Harold Lowe, Fifth Officer Harold Lowe of Titanic!" He took my hand, taking in a deep breath. "Come along, Antoinette," he told me, rather calmly, and we continued through the crowd, me trailing behind him, leaving a started news reporter to wallow in his own misery. As the people population lessened with each passing step, I kept glancing back, expecting to see that photographer/news reporter following us. We kept on walking, until I finally tugged on Harry’s arm to get him to stop. We’re safe.

"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, gesturing to the crowd.

"He had no right to shove a camera in your face," he said nonchalantly.

"I thought you were going to break his neck!"

"All threats, Ann, all threats."

"And you broke his camera," I pointed out. "Harry, you didn’t have to get violent—" He nodded, making me stop.

"I know I didn’t. I lost my head. I apologize. But…" His voice trailed off, rubbing his forehead as he held onto my hand tighter than before. "Is it wrong to say I wanted to take that film and choke him with it?" I’m about to nod, that is wrong—until I thought back and remembered what a jerk that reporter actually was.

"No." He burst into a smile at me.

"I only threatened to sink him," he promised. Sure, he did.

"I didn’t realize how fragile those cameras are," I noted aloud.

"It just…" He stopped.

"Smashed into a million pieces?" I suggested sweetly, finishing his sentence. We both whistled, in awe before bursting out with laughter. Okay, it was insane and maybe even dangerous, but it was fun! "You are going to get quoted in whatever newspaper he works for," I decided, with a nod.

"And maybe I’ll end up on the front page!" he said, with almost a dreamy sigh. "Can you imagine? What will the other officials at the White Star Line think of that?"

"I think Bruce Ismay would be extremely jealous!" We kept on laughing, myself having a giggling fit for a few seconds until, the rain, which had been cooperating with us, began to hate us, falling harder on each of us with each passing second. "What are we going to do now?" I managed to yell as the rain became more violent and all sound around me became practically inaudible. And not to mention, thunder could be coming any moment.

"Well, we’ve got to find a hotel!" I think that’s what he said. I think.

"They’re probably all full by now!" I shouted back.

"I doubt it!" Thunder echoed across the harbor, lightening lit up the sky and I screamed, but Harry pulled me in closer to him as he took off his overcoat. "You’re alright, Love, I’m right here," he reassured me, covering my head and his own with the coat. "Everything’s fine." I got as close to him as I could, holding onto his officer’s uniform as tightly as I could. I wish we had an umbrella, or better yet, I wish we were somewhere…anywhere, just away from this damn thunder! No, Antoinette, just a little bit longer and we’ll be inside. No need to panic. Harry’s right here. I know he won’t let anything happen. I need to conquer this phobia, sooner or later, because right now, it is controlling me and I can’t do anything to stop it! "We’re going to have to make a run for it!" he decided.

"Wait a second, how are we supposed to get a hotel room?" I asked, panic-stricken from the thunder and now the thought of being out here all night. "We’re broke!"

"You may be," he laughed, "But, I’m not."

Chapter Thirty-Nine
Stories