JOHN AND MIRIAM
Chapter Twenty-Two
John awoke some time later. The boats were
gathered together, and as he struggled to sit up, he looked around for Mary. He
didn't see her. He consoled himself, however, that in the darkness it was hard
to see anything, much less a small child who might well be asleep in the bottom
of a boat. The Carpathia arrived near dawn to pick up the survivors. After
being brought aboard, John began searching for Mary.
In the confusion, it was difficult to search
for anyone. People wandered around, searching for missing loved ones; children
called for their parents; the occasional family was reunited. After searching
most of third class, John still hadn't found her. Exhausted, he decided to sit
down for a minute to rest before resuming his search.
John sat down, closed his eyes, and was
instantly asleep. A few hours later, he was awakened by a commotion. A man from
first class had made his way to third class and was walking around, looking for
someone. John noticed a young woman sitting a few yards away look at the man,
then pull her blanket up over her hair, as if hiding from him. John watched as
the man left, heading back up to first class. He recognized him now. Caledon
Hockley, who had used Mary to get into a boat and then nearly let her drown.
Hockley's presence reminded him that he still
didn't know where Mary was. Rising to his feet, he walked over to a steward who
had a list of names of survivors.
"Who are you looking for, sir?" the
steward asked as John approached him.
"Mary Calvert, my daughter," John
responded, trying to see the list.
The steward checked the list, then shook his
head. "I don't see her, sir." When he saw John's expression, he
hastily added, "A lot of children haven't been accounted for yet. We've
been trying to find their parents before taking their names. Might she be with
her mother?"
"I hope not," John mumbled. The
steward looked at him in confusion before realizing what he meant.
"Chances are, she just hasn't been
accounted for yet. If I find her, I'll let you know."
"Thank you." John turned away,
tears brimming in his eyes. He'd lost Miriam and their unborn child; he
couldn't bear to lose Mary, too.
Walking toward the staircase, he nearly
collided with a man dressed in the garb of a first-class servant. A
high-pitched yip sounded from near his feet.
Blinking back tears, John recognized the
puppy that Mary had wanted to play with on the ship. Looking up, he recognized
the servant who had so cruelly put a stop to the game.
Anger rose up inside John, replacing his
grief. This man, who had little respect for others, and this dog, had survived
the sinking, while Miriam--and so many others--had not.
For a moment, John considered picking a fight
with the servant, but changed his mind when he saw the man's face. All traces
of arrogance had disappeared, replaced by a look of profound exhaustion and
sorrow. John started to walk by him, realizing that he probably couldn't win a
fight right now, anyway, when the servant suddenly spoke to him.
"Excuse me...uh, Mr..."
"Calvert. What do you want?"
"Sir, I...I want to apologize for what
happened on board the ship a few days ago. It was uncalled for."
"You're right, it was. Why are you
apologizing now?"
"I've been looking around the ship,
trying to find you or your wife or your little girl...I think your daughter
would like this puppy."
John was startled. He hadn't expected this.
"Won't your employer be upset if you give away his pet?"
The servant shook his head. "My
employer, Mr. Niethammer, went down with the ship. His wife doesn't want the
dog, and frankly, I don't have any place to take this animal. My wife is
allergic to dogs, and she'd be very unhappy if I brought it home."
"Why didn't you think of that before you
gave that animal some person's spot on board a boat?"
The servant shrugged. "I didn't really
think about it. Allegro here, that's his name, is so small that he could easily
fit in a lap. I was recruited to help row, and he whimpered until I put him in
the boat. He spent most of the night at my feet."
John was weakening. He knew that Mary would
love the puppy--if she was even still alive. "I don't even know where my
daughter is, or if she's even alive. I've looked all over third class, and
she's nowhere to be found."
"Maybe your wife--"
"My wife went down with the ship."
The servant looked startled. "Sir, I'm
sorry...about your wife." He paused. "Have you checked any of the
other areas? There were a number of children in the second class dining salon.
I tried to go in there, but it was too crowded. Someone did mention, though,
that the orphaned children were being taken in there until things could be
sorted out. She might be in there."
John turned and headed for the stairs, a
flash of hope burning through him. Why hadn't he thought of it? Mary could be
elsewhere on the ship.
"Sir..."
John turned.
"Do you want the puppy? If your daughter
is there, she'll probably be happy to see him, and it might help soften the
blow of her mother's death."
John had been avoiding that thought--how to
explain to Mary that Miriam was dead. The man was right, he realized. The
animal's presence might help to comfort Mary, and, in the event that he didn't
find her, the puppy might be a comfort to him. "All right." He
nodded. "I'll take him."
"Thank you, sir."
The servant handed the puppy's leash to John.
Giving the animal one last pat, he turned and walked away.
The puppy followed as far as the leash would
go, then began to whimper loudly. John picked up the little animal and cuddled
him, quieting him. He felt an affinity with the creature, who had also lost
those he cared about.
Still cradling the puppy, John turned toward
the stairs again, and headed for the second-class area; hope and trepidation
warring within him.