WOW! Over 100 reviews and almost 9,000 views! Thank you to all my loyal readers for making these amazing milestones happen!
Thank you also for your encouragement and enthusiasm about the last chapter. I am thrilled to hear that so many enjoyed hearing Harry's perspective; I hated having to hold back on his POV myself, but thought it important to keep his state of mind enigmatic until just the right moment. And hi again, Rose1421! Thanks for the kind words, I'm excited to delve into this aspect of the Titanic disaster. And as for officer fics, there are very few Lightoller stories (hint, hint!); the man never gets enough love - probably because he was married in real life, but I'd still love to see more stories about him ;)
So, to recap: Harry wants Corrine, Corrine wants Harry. But otherwise, they are at loggerheads. She wants to lose her virginity to him as soon as possible; he wants to preserve it as long as possible. She's convinced that the only way to deal with her trauma is to drown herself in him... and he's convinced that the only way he can retain his humanity is by resisting her. She's terribly insecure, and he's fighting demons she can't see.
I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
The air was different between them after that.
Harry still came to visit that night and sit beside her bed, but he was withdrawn, distant. There were several awkward pauses in the conversation, followed by long silences. He seemed cold, closed off somehow, and she didn't know how to reach him. Corrine wasn't sure if it was because of their pending arrival in New York, or because of what had passed between them earlier. But for the first time since they had met, she felt uncomfortable around him. She wanted to cry, to beg him to tell her what was wrong, to plead with him to return to her, to himself, but the words stuck in her throat.
Eventually, he said a stilted good night, lightly kissing her forehead but carefully avoiding every other part of her body. The click of the closing door as he left sounded like the turning of a key, locking her out of his heart.
After he left, she picked at the blankets anxiously, a thousand scattered thoughts racing through her head, all eventually converging on a single point:
What was wrong with Harry?
It was as if she didn't know him anymore; in the span of a few hours, he had become a stranger to her. That small, mean voice from earlier spoke up again. Maybe he's tired of you already, it told her. Perhaps you were a mere infatuation to him... and now that the novelty had worn off, he's ready to move on. Especially now that he's become famous... and likely has his pick of proper, socially acceptable ladies to choose from. Maybe that's why he didn't respond favorably to your advances earlier-
She quickly pushed those fears down, refusing to indulge in the temptation to feel sorry for herself and wallow in melodrama. Instead, she tried to quell her disquiet with too-bright reassurances. Whatever's bothering Harry, he'll confide in me when he's ready, she told herself firmly. After all, he's in love with me...
...isn't he?
She lay staring at the ceiling for a long time that night, her mind flitting back and forth like a frantic bird beating its wings against a cage. And when sleep finally overtook her, it was fitful, plagued by fragmented dreams, disturbing visions, and a vague, unspecified dread.
The morning they were due to arrive in New York dawned dreary and cold. She could see mist swirling outside the porthole in her room. Everywhere, crew members, passengers, and survivors were preparing. She could hear them moving around outside, knocking about and conversing in both cheerful and somber tones, depending on the group. She knew she, too, should rise and start preparing. Although she had little in the way of possessions to pack, she did have a few people that she would like to speak with before they parted ways forever in New York.
And Harry... how did she prepare for that? What would become of them, now that their journey was over? Would his coldness from the previous evening continue, or would he become his old self once they docked? How long would they be able to be together before he had to leave? She still didn't know any more than she had a few days ago - his strange reluctance to discuss it had discouraged her from bringing it up again - and just the thought of their uncertain future made her heart rise in her throat.
Harry burst into her stateroom suddenly, without knocking. Her surprise and delight at seeing him soon gave way to unease, however. His expression was tempestuous, his movements animated, jerky. His demeanor was such a sharp contrast to last night's cool indifference that it sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine.
He sat down in the chair and got right to it. "Corrine, Mr. Ismay has managed to secure passage on the Cedric for Titanic's officers and himself. The Marconigrams have been flying back and forth since last night, but it's finally settled. We're to leave New York tomorrow afternoon."
She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Just like that, he was going to disappear from her life - for how long, she didn't know. They both knew it was coming... but she never thought it would be so soon, and in the form of a mandate from the director himself.
"Why?" she managed to choke out.
"Probably to avoid the American press. They're howling for our blood, wanting to know why all those passengers died while so many from the crew were spared." He said it dully, carefully avoiding her eyes as he spoke.
She drew in a startled breath. What exactly did he mean by that statement? Did he not think the crew had as much right to life as anyone else? Or was he implying something even more sinister? Surely... surely he wasn't condemning himself, was he? He had survived the catastrophe because his superiors needed someone to man that lifeboat, to take charge and keep the passengers safe. And he was ordered in, for goodness sake! And yet that look in his eyes... it almost seemed as if...
As if he felt guilty.
"Oh, God, Harry, no-" she pleaded, voice breaking, but he cut her off, reaching out and grasping both of her hands in his.
"Never mind that now. Come with me," he begged. "I'm sure I can get Mr. Ismay to pay for your return trip. Or," and his eyes lit with a wild new hope, "better yet, maybe you can sign on a stewardess! That'll cover your passage, and we'll be together... yes, that's it! I'll talk to them, convince them that you have to be assigned to whatever ship I'm on, because we're betrothed, and..." He was babbling, desperation tinging his voice.
The sudden change in his mood, and the direction of the conversation, was dizzying. Trying to calm his racing mind, she put her finger on his lips to hush him. "Harry, you know I can't do that," she said gently.
"Why not?" he asked warily. His expression was beginning to change, from jubilant to apprehensive.
She rubbed her thumbs gently on the backs of his hands. "Harry, I promised I'd wait for you. I never said I'd travel around the world with you. I want to settle in America, get on my feet, like I told you. I want to... make a home... for both of us..." She trailed off, uncertain and vulnerable.
He looked at her, his expression incredulous. "In America? I have no intentions of ever living in that upstart, backwater country, Corrine, and you know it." The dismissive, non-negotiable nature of the statement, said with such finality, cut her deeply, although she tried not to show it. "Besides... after everything that happened, I thought you'd have changed your mind about living there as well. I need you, Corrine," he said, gripping her shoulders tightly to emphasize his words. "I don't... I can't live without you."
The naked honesty in his expression broke her heart. She choked back a sob, knowing that this hopeless, futile fantasy of his would only lead them into pain and disappointment. She knew the truth, even if he couldn't face it. She couldn't follow him where he went. His suggestion to sign on as a stewardess was heartfelt, but unrealistic. They would probably never serve on the same ship - especially once the management learned of their relationship - and thus she would see him even less than if she remained on land. And of course, the thought of sailing again - especially for a living - made her heart race and her blood run cold. No, a life at sea was not an option.
"Harry, you're not thinking clearly," she said soothingly. "Please, think this through. There are a million reasons-"
He interrupted, bitterness lacing his voice. "Are you telling me your dreams of being a- a... seamstress, or whatever, are more important than our future?"
She recoiled as if struck. With his lashing words, he had torn open a part of her soul that she thought was sacred with him: her dreams, her plans, her very existence. Now, he was making a mockery of it - all to cause her intentional pain. She could hardly believe this was the same man who so tenderly held her, cried over her, and promised her a future.
No; she refused to believe that he would change like this. There was more to his behavior recently, she was sure of it. Something had happened to him, something that had poisoned his mind and set off a torrent of primal emotions, causing him to lash out at her. She had to calm him, convince him, make him see...
"No," she whispered, slowly shaking her head. "No... that's not it at all. Harry, you're suffering, you're scared... you don't understand what you're saying. Please," she begged, her voice cracking, "Please don't do this to us."
His face went expressionless and his eyes shuttered. He spoke deliberately and coldly, and it was like staring into the face, the soul, of a stranger. "To hell with your plans, Corrine. To hell with your pleas, your objections - to hell with all of it. You either leave with me tomorrow, or it's over."
Shock filled her like icy water as she stared at him, stunned. She had never heard him talk to her that way before. Her adoration of him was near-worshipful, and she had been naive enough to believe that he had reciprocated those feelings. But this wasn't the gentle, affectionate, considerate man she had come to know and love. No - this Harry was hard, cruel, hurtful... and there was no trace of compassion, no room for compromise, in his steely tone.
And his threat to break off their relationship forever... even though their future was uncertain, and even though he would have to leave sooner than they had anticipated, never in her worst nightmares did she think that it would mean the end of them. What about all their tentative plans? What about her promise to wait for him? Did all that mean nothing now? She wanted to double over in pain at the unbearable thought.
But his words also lit a small ember of anger deep in her heart. It was an ultimatum - and she wouldn't - couldn't - stand for it. No matter her feelings, her hopes, what they had been through together... she couldn't let anyone, even the man she loved more than anything in the world, make her decisions for her. It was the reason she had left home in the first place, the reason she had left the restrictions of both Ireland and England behind her. And it was the reason that she quietly said, "I won't, Harry."
He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stood, backing away hastily. "So this was just a shipboard romance, then?" he whispered, averting his face. "And everything between us - that was all a lie?"
His heartless words, the distance between them, cut her to the very bone. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and devastation spilled over her features. She needed him to turn back, to look at her; she had to tell him what he already knew was in her heart. "No! Harry, no! You have to know how I feel about you. I lo-"
He whipped around, face full of fury. "Don't say it, Corrine!" he shouted at her, restraint snapping. Grief and pain wracked his handsome features, and he fisted his hands at his sides, as if to ward off her words, her feelings. "Don't you dare say that to me!"
He gave her one last, long, tortured look, tore the door open, nearly snapping it on its hinges, and stormed out. The slam of the door behind him echoed hollowly in her heart.
She was too shattered to cry.
They called it the ship of widows.
Corrine wasn't a widow, but as she stood on the deck of the Carpathia as it sailed into New York harbor on April 18th, she felt like one. Harry had never come back to her room after their final argument. His promise that he would be glued to her side until they reached New York had been broken, along with all the other promises he had made to her. She hadn't gone to look for him, either. She had no idea where he went when he wasn't with her, and anyhow, she knew that if he didn't want to be found, he could probably vanish without a trace. Plus, it would have been pointless: he had made it perfectly clear that there was nothing left to say - nothing left between them at all.
It was over, a permanent sundering that forever divided her life into 'before' and 'after'. Even the sinking of Titanic itself had not affected her as profoundly - probably, she knew, because she had had him to stitch the torn fragments of herself back together. Their relationship, fleeting as it was, had left such a mark on her soul that she knew she would never be the same again. The deep sense of loss had all but crippled her during the final day on the ship. In her darkest hour, she almost wished she were back in the icy north Atlantic. There, at least, she had hope... and only her body was frozen, not her heart.
But she knew she couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity for long. Somehow, she had to pick up the threads of her life and find a way to keep moving, keep breathing in spite of the anguish and heartbreak of losing him. On the evening of their arrival she dressed in the torn but clean dress she had worn the night of the sinking, put on her coat, and walked out on the promenade deck, prepared to see her new home for the first time. As she stood at the railing, she realized dully that her former fear of heights no longer bothered her so much. She had found over the past week that there were far worse things to dread.
It was foggy, and she could barely make out the gargantuan buildings looming in the background like menacing giants in the mist. A cold rain chilled her skin, but the crowds at the dock were heedless of the weather. Hundreds of people silently watched the ship churn slowly through the water to the pier. Their progress to the Cunard dock was delayed, however, as the ship took a surprising detour to the White Star docks, where Titanic's lifeboats were offloaded into the water. A collective sigh arose from the crowd at the pathetic and eerie sight of all that remained from the once-great ship. Finally, the Carpathia steamed toward the pier and the waiting crowd. Flashbulbs popped, and she knew that her face, as well as that of the other survivors, was being memorialized for posterity.
A reporter caught her eye and shouted out to her, "Are you a Titanic survivor?"
After some hesitation, she replied, "Yes."
"Do you need anything?" the reporter pressed.
She thought about that question for a minute. Did she need something? She needed many things: for that terrible night to have never happened, for fifteen hundred souls to be saved. She needed her carefree life before the sinking, she needed absolution... she needed Harry. But these things were nothing that the reporters, this crowd, even this city, could give her.
"No," she said softly. The reporter respectfully hung his head and said no more.
She watched along the railing with her fellow survivors as the Carpathia passengers disembarked first. The crowd remained silent as they passed through the gauntlet of people lining the pier. Then, all eyes fixed on the gangway as the first of Titanic's survivors began to emerge. A ripple through the crowd, and the first cry, high-pitched and keening, tore through the assembled spectators. Soon the air was ringing with exclamations of grief and joy.
Suddenly, she saw a commotion near the gangway: it looked as if a knot of men were shoving their way toward the ship. One broke through at last, a short, fast-moving man in a flapping coat. He stormed up the gangway, a small group close at his heels. He waved papers at the ship's officers and stewards and was allowed to pass.
She waited, continuing to observe the chaotic scene below. She knew that third-class survivors would be disembarking last, after an on-board inspection. She should probably head down to the steerage quarters now, and join Katie and Kate... but something stopped her. That group of men that boarded the Carpathia: they didn't look like reporters, and anyway, she knew Captain Rostron wasn't permitting any newspapermen on his ship. What were they about, then?
She was soon to find out. They reemerged, escorting several men. She spotted the tall White Star executive who had survived the sinking in the lifeboat she had left - Ismay, she remembered - and following closely on his heels was Charles Lightoller. Two other officers that she didn't know trailed them... and then... Harry.
He was bringing up the rear of the little group. At the sight of him, a pang of longing shot through her, and she put her hand to her heart, as if to keep it from flying out of her body after him.
She watched from the upper deck as they were escorted down the gangway by a crowd of reporters, politicians, and police officers. Harry held his head high, defiant, daring the world to challenge him, to question him. He didn't once look back.
He didn't look for her at all.
Dry-eyed and empty, she stood there, watching them disappear into the crowded street. For a long moment, she remained frozen to the spot. Everyone else around her drifted off, and for a time, she was alone. Eventually she sensed a presence at her side. A purser waited there, respectful and attentive.
"I have something for you, miss," he said, offering her a small packet.
He touched his cap and left. Corrine let the packet dangle from her nerveless fingers as she stood in the gentle drizzle.
Kate found her there about half an hour later, still gazing off into the distant city.
She had heard about about the demise of Corrine's relationship with Officer Lowe from Katie, who had snuck up to the promenade right outside Corrine's stateroom that morning to surprise her and accidentally overheard everything. "His voice was like ice when he told her it was over," Katie confided when she returned to steerage. Her face was white with shock, and she was near tears herself. "He was in a right rage when he left, and Corr wouldn't answer the door when I knocked and called her name." They had waited all day, hoping Corrine would come to them, but she hadn't... and now it was time to leave, and they were worried sick about her. When Kate finally found her at the railing, soaked to the bone and staring sightlessly out at the crowds, she knew at once that things had only gotten worse.
Kate came up behind her slowly so as not to startle her, but her friend didn't so much as look in her direction. "Corrine, they're letting us off the ship now," she said gently, taking her hand. As she did, a packet dropped from her fingers onto the deck, and Kate picked it up. "What's this?" She peered at Corrine. "Do you want to open it?"
Corrine shook her head silently, motioning for Kate to do it instead. She untied the wrapper. Inside was a piece of brown paper wrapped around several rather large bank notes. A scrap of paper fluttered out. Quickly, before it could become soaked with rain, Kate snatched it up and read aloud:
C-
For you, to start your new life.
H.
The casual, irrevocable cruelty of it hit Kate like a hammer. "Oh, Corrine," she breathed, "I'm so, so sorry." She put her arm around her friend, trying to rouse her. She seemed to be in a state of shock, Kate noticed with alarm. The only acknowledgement of the note was a single tear sliding down her cheek.
Kate's heart broke for her friend. She had seen her experience such intense joy this last week - but it had been more than matched by pain and suffering in equal measure, more than anyone should have to bear... and now this. It was too much. For once, Corrine - who had been the leader of their little group for as long as Kate could remember - needed someone to help her. Kate guided her gently away from the rail. "Come now, Corrine, you have to go inside. It's raining, and we have to disembark now." She wrapped the note and the money back in the brown wrapper and stuffed it into Corrine's coat pocket. "I'll just put this in here for- what's this?" Her hand had touched something soft and velvety at the bottom of her friend's pocket. She pulled it out - a wilted but still beautiful pink rose.
She was still trying to figure out how it had gotten there when Corrine collapsed to the deck in a boneless heap.
Songs that inspired the writing of this angsty angst: Say Something - Great Big World; Let Her Go - Passenger; Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi (Harry POV).
Historical note: While still on the Carpathia, Ismay - aided and abetted by the ever-loyal Charles Lightoller - concocted a plan to get the Titanic's surviving officers on a ship back to England ASAP, and thus the Cedric was held back from its scheduled departure date to ferry them back the afternoon after they landed in New York. Unbeknownst to Ismay, however, Senator William Alden Smith (the 'short, fast-moving man in a flapping coat') had already laid an ambush of his own, in the form of a subpoena for the officers and Ismay to appear before the American inquiry into the Titanic disaster. So in the story, Ismay's real-life non-negotiable directive was the tipping point for Harry's desperate demand and subsequent freakout. But this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment impulse on Harry's part. No, he has been quietly broadcasting his intentions for several chapters now; for example, in 'Stories', when he said 'hopefully they'll give me a little time to... well, get things sorted', his plan was to convince her to go back with him. And in 'A Tall Tale' when he said the heroine 'lived with him in his castle happily ever after, never having any desire to roam again'... well, that message was loud and clear. Even in 'Confessions', Harry's dissatisfaction with Corrine's plans to stay in America permanently is pretty obvious. But while it's been in the works for awhile, his original approach - which was to use reason and gentle persuasion - changed to an uncompromising ultimatum not only because Ismay forced his hand, but also because of Harry's own deteriorating mental state. Although this was a completely unexpected and devastating turn of events for Corrine, given what you now know about poor Harry from the previous chapter, I hope his behavior wasn't an utter shock to you, dear readers.
To expand on my notes from the previous chapter, I think of all the passengers or crew aboard Titanic that night, RealLowe would be a prime candidate for survivor's guilt (although that wasn't a recognized diagnosis back in 1912). As a ship's officer, albeit a junior, he was not exactly an innocent bystander: he had an active role both in navigating the ship and in loading and lowering lifeboats the night of the sinking. Then there's his ambiguous entry into a lifeboat; unlike in this story, he wasn't ordered in by a senior officer. Rather, he and Moody discussed amongst themselves that several boats had gone without an officer aboard, and Moody told him to take 14, while he would take another. Tragically, Moody never did, and that must have weighed on Lowe's mind as well. And then there's the horrifying spectacle of all those people frozen to death in the water; not many people bore witness to that ghastly image, but Lowe, as one of the few men in that returning boat, certainly did.
In addition, there was the implication - at both inquiries - that he had waited too long to go back for survivors, as evidenced by his own defensiveness on the topic: "I made the attempt, sir, as soon as any man could do so, and I am not scared of saying it. I did not hang back or anything else...You could not do otherwise, because you would have hundreds of people around your boat, and the boat would go down just like that...It would have been suicide" (American inquiry) and "Because it would have been suicide to go back there until the people had thinned out...I had to wait until I could be of some use. It was no good going back there to be swamped" (British inquiry).
So I'm basing much of Harry's behavior in this and the previous chapter on my interpretation of what would probably now be diagnosed as post-traumatic stress disorder. Pulling on that thread a bit, and coupling it with the (fictional) trauma from Corrine's near-death experience, I came up with his reaction here. The man has truly gone through it, and I hope that in light of everything he can be forgiven for losing his shit.