EVERYTHING’S NOT LOST
Chapter Forty

"Darling." The voice filled my ears, but I merely curled up into the bed more so than before, realizing whoever that was, definitely Harry, I know—was sitting beside me, on the edge of the bed. He stroked my hair and…wait a second, that doesn’t feel like Harry. What…? "Darling?" That voice—It sounds so familiar. But, can I place the voice? No, of course not. I tried to open my eyes, but I can’t. "Antoinette." A kiss on the cheek. "I love you." There was a pause, before, "Don’t feel guilty about going back to England. I know you care, you don’t have to prove it by going to the funeral." Funeral? What? I felt a hand touch my cheek, before hair was tucked behind my ear. "You’ve got much better things to worry about than going to a funeral. Your life is going to be fantastic, just you wait and see. Besides." A pause. "I’m here. I’m always going to be here. I love you, Baby." I sat up at that point. Looking around, nobody’s here. Oh, another dream! I rolled my eyes. I should’ve known.

How am I supposed to sleep with these strange dreams invading my mind? I rubbed my eyes, hiding my face in my hands before glancing around the room once again. "Harry?" I called out. No response. Maybe he had come early and I had been asleep, and he just left—and now, I’m awake. Maybe…? I went to tuck my hair behind my ear, but it was already tucked. I touched my ear. That happened in the dream. Maybe I did that to myself. Maybe. Huh.

I leaned against the bed’s headboard, biting my lip in thought. The voice, the voice. Darling. In the dream, they called me darling. Wait a minute, Harry never calls me darling! He calls me either by my name or that Love pet name, never darling or Baby. The only one that used to call me darling was…my father. And even, sometimes, in a extreme case, he would call me Baby. But, he’s not alive, he couldn’t have been here. Or could he have? No, no, I’m losing my mind, he was not here. He’s gone, he’s not here. But, it was him, he knew about me not wanting to go back to Europe for the funeral, his funeral. Besides Harry, no one else would’ve known that. That is, unless someone snuck in here. No. My father, he’s the only one that ever called me darling, and he’s the only one who used to touch my hair like that. It felt so real, but I know it couldn’t have been. I sighed. It makes no sense. And what about me waiting to see something fantastic happen? This all has to be because I went to bed on a full stomach. That has to be it. I looked to my left, where there would’ve been a place to sit, had this whole dream actually occurred. I can’t tell if anyone’s been here. Maybe I hallucinated. I pushed the blankets off of me and stood up. No, I don’t think I hallucinated. Oh, who knows at this point.

"Harry, you here?" I called, walking into the little kitchen every suite seems to have. I don’t think he would’ve come in without letting me know. Would he have? No. The kitchen’s empty. Alright, so maybe this whole thing did happen. Let me play with that idea for the time being. Either my father’s coming to me in my dreams or he’s really still here, like he said he would be. I think I’m losing my mind now. Great, just—Ow!

Being in my half-conscious state, I tripped over the area rug in the sitting room and here I lay, on the floor like an absolute imbecile. Fantastic, swell—this is…I sighed, sitting up. Once you fall, you must get back up. Well, nothing seems to hurt as I reached for the table nearby to stand up. I’m so clumsy. When I went to put my right foot down onto the floor, it seemed to buckle underneath me and I practically fell to the floor again. Thankfully, the table stopped me. Alright, my right ankle doesn’t want to cooperate with me and now, it’s throbbing. Great, Antoinette, great. Well, I can’t stand here all day, leaning on this table—It could collapse. I looked about the room and spotted a chair in the corner, with an ottoman in front of it—an ottoman I could put my foot up on. Okay, that’s about as perfect as it could get.

I jumped, with my working left leg towards the chair and threw myself into it, placing my right leg up on the ottoman. I pulled up my dress to get a good look at the problem and I put my hands around my ankle, feeling it. I’m no doctor, but it feels fine. It doesn’t even seem swollen and nothing feels out of place. I yawned. I’m still tired and now, my ankle’s going to keep me awake. It’s only…I glanced at the clock on that table that had assisted me in getting up. It’s only nine and I doubt Harry’s even awake yet. I’m not going to call to him through a closed door, even if he is across the hall. Am I that desperate? Yes, but…I leaned back into the chair. He’ll come, I’ll just have to wait. I’ll sleep while I wait, yes, that’s a fine idea—I yawned. Yes, I’ll sleep and he can figure it out later…

"Love?" Harry’s voice woke me and I opened my eyes to see him come bursting through the door, a newspaper in his hand. "There you are!" he laughed, holding up the front page of The New York Times with a large smile. It read in bold black print: TITANIC SINKS, 1500 DIE. I quickly scanned the page and on the cover was the Carpathia docking in New York and Captain Smith, Titanic’s Captain. I tried not to let that affect me, but let’s just say I won’t be reading the paper today. Or any other day, until next year, for that matter, until they stop writing about that God damn ship. "I didn’t make the first page," he joked as I stood, holding onto the chair for support. "But…" He began to rummage through the pages, "I made it onto the society page! I look dashing, let me tell you—" I went to take a step towards him, but my ankle gave way and he managed to catch me before I fell to the floor, for the second time in one day. Oh, my ankle! Stupid sleep, I always forget what happened before I fall asleep and with my horrible luck, I just caused more damage to my already-damaged ankle. "Are you alright, Antoinette?" he asked, still holding onto me for dear life.

"My ankle…" He sat me back down in the chair, himself sitting down on the ottoman, throwing the paper to the floor.

"Your ankle?" he asked, concerned. "Which one? Let me see—"

"Harry, it’s no big deal—"

"You can’t walk, I think that’s a big deal. Let me see." I hesitantly held up my right leg and placed it down on the ottoman, on his lap. He felt my ankle. "Well, I’m no doctor…" He touched it gently. "Does that hurt?" I shook my head.

"No." He moved his hands and touched my ankle again. I nearly jumped a mile. "Okay, that hurt!"

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he apologized, "It looks really swollen, Ann. What did you do to it?"

"I tripped over my feet on the area rug in here."

"When was that?"

"About nine."

"Why didn’t you call for me?"

"Harry, I was half-asleep myself, I fell asleep in the chair and—" I gestured to my ankle. "Either way, it happened." He managed a nod.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "How about we get some ice for this ankle of yours and then we can call for a doctor."

"Harry, please, no doctor. It’s not that bad!"

"Antoinette, it’s almost purple, it’s so swollen." It was fine when I looked.

"It’s not that bad." He gave me this skeptical look, so I am now opting not to argue with him.

"We’ll get the swelling down first and then we’ll see, okay?" I managed a nod as he placed my ankle down on the ottoman before standing up. He handed me the open newspaper. "I’m on page five," he smiled, before disappearing into the kitchen. I folded the paper, already on page five, to get a good look at the picture of him. Of course, you can see me slightly—I’m standing behind him, but he’s right. He looks great, especially since you can see the camera at his feet all smashed and broken.

"Great picture of you!" I called.

"Don’t you think?" he yelled back. He sounds like he’s smiling.

"Oh, it’s fantastic! You’ve got a great profile!" I quickly read the title above the picture. TITANIC OFFICER THREATENS TO SINK REPORTER.

"I know I do, don’t I?" he laughed, coming back into the room now with a bucket of ice and a white cloth all folded up. Ice already looks to be hidden in it.

"Don’t tell me that’s a dishcloth," I laughed as he sat back down on the ottoman, my ankle on his lap.

"It’s a clean dishcloth," he promised, before gesturing to the newspaper. "So, what do you think? I’m in the New York Times!" He smiled, proud of himself.

"I love the heading," I decided.

"I do, too. Now." He placed the cloth gently on my ankle and it is absolutely freezing. "How’s that? Not too cold?" He sounds so nervous, like he’s going to break me or something.

"Harry, it’s ice—Of course it’s cold." I could almost see red blushing out from under his collar, but decided not to bring it up.

"I just want to make sure it’s okay," he said, with a slight chuckle.

"It’s fine. It just…hurts."

"You either broke it or sprained it." I glanced up from the paper to him.

"Which is worse?"

"It’s not good, either way." I laughed at that.

"Oh, that’s comforting!" I said, slapping him on the arm, before folding the newspaper and tossing it back onto the floor.

"Well, I’m not going to lie to you!" He moved the ice around from the top of my ankle to the side and I felt a sharp piece of ice begin to dig into me. Well, it doesn’t hurt that much—It’s nothing to worry about. "I thought maybe we could do something today. Go for a walk in Central Park, something—" He brought the ice closer to my skin, and the sharp dagger known as frozen water dug into my already hurting ankle even more so than before. "But, then again, I suppose walking is out of the question for the time being."

"Why do we even have to go anywhere?" I questioned.

"Ann, look outside! It’s beautiful out there. Sunny, not too hot, not too cold, just a big windy, but other than that, it’s gorgeous." He brought the ice even closer to my ankle, which I didn’t think was possible. Turns out, it is possible. "Either way, it’s nice out…And besides, the shopping in New York is incredible."

"Oh, really?" I asked, with a smirk. He looked up from my ankle to me, smiling.

"Or so I’ve heard."

"Sure, sure," I said skeptically, "or so you’ve heard."

"I wanted to get you a new dress."

"A new dress?" I glanced down at my tattered outfit I have on now. I wonder why. He smiled.

"Pick out anything you want. On me."

"Harry, you’re already paying for the room here, I’m not going to—"

"No, no, no. You can’t expect to wear that…" He gestured to my dress, "forever. You need new clothes." I love this dress, though. I really do. I suppose it can be fixed. Even if it’s beyond fixable, I may just hold onto it.

"I have clothes," I argued.

"An ocean away," he pointed out. True, they are an ocean away… "All of the nice new clothes are in from Europe and…"

"Okay, stop it!" I laughed. "You’re enticing me and it’s not fair." He smiled.

"I know I am." He sighed, shaking his head. "Either way, I guess we can go anywhere later, it just matters how your ankle is."

"I’m so clumsy," I said, shaking my head.

"It was just an accident, but you caused some damage. As it is, your ankle might need to be bandaged up."

"Great," I muttered, "great."

"And then maybe you’ll be forced to stay in bed." He brought the ice even closer to my ankle. Oh! Now, that piece of ice is cutting off the circulation to my foot. "Of course, we don’t know anything yet, we’ll have to see—"

"Harry."

"The doctor will know what to do. I would bet any amount of money that there’s a doctor around here somewhere, this is New York, after all…" Okay, ice. Hurting. Me.

"Harry, what did you put in that cloth?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Just ice, Love."

"Let me see."

"It really should stay on your ankle—" I didn’t listen. I took the cloth from his hand and off of my ankle, placing it onto my lap. "…Or, or not." He cleared his throat as I opened up the dishcloth, searching for the one piece of ice that doesn’t want to cooperate. "Whatever it is, Ann…"

"Whatever it is, it’s going into the garbage." I searched through the frozen pieces of water with no luck. Although the cloth is solid white, I see something gold in the middle of the bundle. I blinked twice, thinking I must be hallucinating. I’m not. Huh. I moved a few cubes out of the way and sitting there, with the white cloth as its’ background, sparkling from the sunshine coming through the window—was a diamond ring. A gold-banded diamond ring. It’s so beautiful. It’s one solid diamond, with at least six smaller diamonds around it. It must’ve cost a fortune! I pulled it out of the ice and inspected it, the sun’s rays reflecting off of it, practically blinding me. I held onto the ring but managed to focus my gaze off of it to look at Harry. What is this for? Did some other woman leave the ring in the kitchen and he thought he’d hide it before giving it to me?

"I suppose you don’t want to put that in the garbage," he said, almost timid.

"Harry, what is this—"

"I went down to the White Star Line this morning," he began as I handed him the ring, afraid to break it, "…to see if I could get a paycheck. I didn’t care Titanic sank, I told them. They didn’t want to give me my paycheck until everything involving the ship had been filed and finished. They argued with me for a good hour, until I finally told them why I wanted…No, needed, I told them why I needed the money so badly." I stared at him, completely confused.

"Why did you?" I questioned. He smiled brightly at me, the diamond ring now facing me.

"I told them I needed the money so I could get my wife to marry me." What!? He took my hands, making me practically drop the bundle in my lap. "I did sort of have it planned out," he admitted, "but you can’t walk, so that plan went down the toilet." He cleared his throat. Is he going to do what I think he’s going to do? He took my hands. "Antoinette Andrews, would you…please do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Harold Lowe?" My eyes welled up with tears, for some strange reason—except for the fact that I’m a nutcase. I never expected this! How could I not have known? That’s what my father must’ve been talking about…had it been my father…

"Harry, I, I…" Just spit it out, Antoinette! Dear God!

"I know we practically just met," he began to babble, "but I’ve been in love with you since the first day I saw you. Life’s too short to go about and date someone you really, truly want to spend the rest of your life with." I smiled, holding back my tears all the way. "Life is too damn short, Antoinette! I think we both know that." Titanic. I managed a nod. "Either way, I love you and I want to marry you. Just you, only you." I realize he’s practically shaking now, his hands still in mine. He seems to be sweating buckets. "Will you marry me?"

"You know," I said softly, leaning closer to him, "you’re being awfully direct." How could I forget what he said when he first told me he loved me? He smiled. I suppose he remembers, too.

"I am being direct, aren’t I?" I nodded, kissing him.

"Yes." One word. Yes, I could marry him. Yes, I want to marry him! I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else, but Harold Lowe. He raised an eyebrow of confusion at me.

"Yes, I’m being direct or yes, you want to marry me?"

"How about yes to both?" His eyes lit up as he wrapped his arms around me into a hug.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you, too," I whispered into his ear. He squeezed me and things are beginning to get fuzzy around me. Now, he’s cutting off my air supply. We won’t make it to the wedding at this point. "Harry. You. Choking. Me." He laughed nervously before kissing me, then breaking the hug. He sat there, I think waiting for me to drop dead, but I smiled at him and he loosened up. I’m okay now. I can breathe now.

"Now." He took my left hand. "Now, this may not fit you quite right, I had to guess on your size, but we can go get it sized later on."

"That’s okay." He slipped the ring onto my finger and surprisingly, it fit perfectly, like a glove.

"Would you look at that!" he exclaimed, almost baffled, with a smile.

"Fits like a glove," I laughed. Oh my God. I’m going to get married! Who would’ve thought—me? Getting married! I laughed, in spite of myself as I leaned back into the chair, Harry getting the ice back into the cloth and placing it back onto my ankle. He looks like a kid in a candy store, he seems so happy.

"Do you like it?" he asked me, gesturing to the diamond extravaganza on my finger.

"It’s perfect," I told him, holding up the ring to admire it. "It’s absolutely beautiful." He looked up from the ice to me, his smile growing even wider.

"Not as beautiful as you—My wonderful fiancée." I giggled, leaning towards him to steal a kiss. "I’ll never get sick of saying that!"

"To be honest, I never thought I’d get engaged with a swollen ankle and looking as awful as I do!"

"Oh, we both don’t look our best, but that’s alright." He shrugged. "I did have a plan," he felt the need to remind me.

"I know." I’m sure he did.

"Trust me, it would’ve been much more romantic than this."

"It doesn’t matter to me." I brought myself as close as I could to him, teetering on the chair. "As long as it wasn’t Bruce Ismay who was proposing, I could care less where we are." He smiled.

"Well, he was there when I was begging for my paycheck. He was talking to some receptionist, saying that he wanted to get back to England as soon as possible."

"Really? Interesting." I shook my head. "No, not really interesting. But, I must know…Was he still complaining about the china?"

"No, I don’t think so." My smile must’ve faded, because he took my left hand, kissing it before fixing the ring to make sure it was facing him. "I’m sure he won’t give up on it, though!" he reassured me.

"I don’t think he’ll stop talking about it until someone comes forward. At least," I said, with a laugh, "there’s no pipe for him to handcuff us to."

"He’ll never find out, I’m sure." He then gestured to the bed over his shoulder. "You know, I never thought of this until now. Would you rather sit on the bed?"

"You sick of teetering on the edge of the ottoman?" I joked.

"No, I just think you’d be more comfortable over there. Not as confined."

"You’re ready to fall off of the ottoman, aren’t you?" He smiled.

"Alright, alright, you caught me!"

"Sure, I’ll move." He handed me the cloth filled with ice and moving my leg over, he stood up. He went towards the bed and quickly began to straighten the sheets for me.

"One second!"

"That’s okay, no rush." I’m too busy admiring my beautiful ring. It really is gorgeous. I can’t even believe it’s mine. It’s too lovely for me! Am I really worth it? It must’ve cost him a fortune, but glancing up from the ring to Harry, he seems to be almost in his own little world—humming to himself as he fixed the bed to the best of his ability. He’s giddy and I have to admit, so am I! I’m more than giddy, I’m ecstatic! I just wish my father was here to share the happiness, because my mother…Oh, my mother…I’m not even going to think about her right—Harry scooped me up into his arms, off of the chair. I almost screamed, not realizing he was getting ready to pick me up in the first place!

"Now, hold on," he warned. I giggled.

"Just don’t drop me!"

"I’m not going to drop you!" You never can be too sure. I held onto him for dear life as he walked towards the bed. "I thought this was supposed to happen after the wedding."

"Carrying the bride into the threshold?" I questioned.

"Something like that," he said, with a shrug as he gently placed me down. I’m not made of porcelain, so I’m not sure why he acts that way around me. I think my ankle looking as if it’s ready to explode might warn him to heed caution. "Pillows okay?" He had fixed them so I could sit up, I now realize. I nodded, leaning back into the fluffy softness.

"It’s perfect," I reassured him. "Can you please stop worrying?"

"I’m not worrying, Love," he said simply, sitting down beside me as I handed him the ice cloth. "I just don’t want to make it worse."

"My pillows not being perfect could cause some serious damage," I said, sarcasm in my voice. He smiled.

"Well, you never know…" I slapped him on the arm playfully.

"Oh, you’re going to pay for that!" He laughed, taking me up in his arms as he pushed me back onto the bed, before beginning to tickle me.

"Oh, my God! Harry!" I giggled, trying to push him off of me. He’s much too heavy to push off!

"Ticklish, now are we?" He laughed, continuing to tickle, killing me with laughter.

"Stop it!" I laughed, tickling his sides. "See?" I told him as he started to laugh, even more so than me.

"Now, you’re going to get it!" He went back to tickling me and I was howling with laughter, so much so that tears were practically coming down my cheeks.

"Harry! Harry!" I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to get him to stop. After what felt like an eternity of me just laughing, I feel my cheeks burning from all of the giggling. He stopped the tickling, suddenly and unexpectedly—and I looked up at him, my arms still around his neck. "What?" I asked, expecting more laughter to come. He smiled at me, not answering me. "What is it?" I asked again. A kiss. I should’ve expected it, we were so close—but I didn’t. Even with my swollen and painful ankle, that doesn’t seem to hurt right now, he’s a fantastic kisser. I don’t think either of us plan on letting go any time soon. Until a knock on the door. He broke the kiss before sighing, annoyed.

"I don’t even want to answer it," he said, kissing my forehead.

"Go answer it." More knocking. "Whoever it is, they’re not going to give up." He managed a nod.

"You’re right." Aren’t I always? He took his arms from around me away and handed me the sort of ice pack from the side of my leg to me. "Put the ice back on it, okay?" I nodded.

"Okay." He stood up and went for the door. I sat up, trying to keep my right leg as straight as possible. I watched down the hallway as Harry answered the door, before putting the ice back onto my ankle.

"Officer Harold Godfrey Lowe?" A man in a crisp suit asked.

"Yes?" His middle name’s Godfrey? Who would’ve thought! Maybe I should’ve found out his full name before saying yes to a marriage proposal. I turned my attention back to the scene in my suite doorway. The man held out what looked to be an envelope and then a clipboard, handing Harry a pen.

"Sign here, please," he said, pointing to the page on the clipboard. Harry clicked the pen open and scribbled his signature.

"What is it?" Harry asked him. The messenger shrugged.

"I have no idea, sir. I was just told to get this to you. All I know is that this should’ve been given to you last night. I apologize beforehand for the delay."

"Oh, well, thank you," was all Harry could say. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon to you, too, sir." With that, the man disappeared down the hotel hallway and Harry shut the door. He stared at the envelope in his hand, not moving an inch, before he ripped it open and took out its’ contents. It looks to be a letter and he unfolded it, his eyes moving quickly back and forth across the first page before flipping to the second page. That’s when he finally began to walk towards me.

"What is it?" I asked him as he stood merely feet away from me. He didn’t answer. "Harry?" He cleared his throat before looking up from the paper to me. "What is it?" He’s making me nervous.

"A trial." He sat down beside me, his eyes still focused on the paper in his hand.

"A what?"

"A trial. They’re investigating the Titanic disaster." Investigating? Who?

"Who?"

"I guess the Committee Commerce."

"But, an investigation? There was an iceberg. The end."

"I guess they’re not taking her hitting the iceberg as an answer," he sighed.

"Still…what’s there to investigate?" He shrugged.

"I don’t know. But, I’ve been called to testify."

"You, why you?"

"I was a part of Titanic’s crew, Antoinette. I was there. I suppose they must be subpoenaing everyone who survived, at least the crew." And I thought maybe I could put this behind me…I was wrong on that account.

"Wh-when?"

"Tomorrow morning." He looked up from the paper to me for the first time since he opened the letter. "You know," he said, almost cautiously, "I…I wouldn’t be surprised if they called on you to testify." The last thing I want to do is relive that night.

"God, I hope not."

Chapter Forty-One
Stories