Well, here it is - the last chapter of W&S. Fittingly, I'm posting on RealLowe's birthday ;) There's some smut in the middle, if you're looking to avoid the M sections. But stick around for the end - hopefully I've made it worth the wait. And once again, THANK YOU to all who had read my little book over the past year!
This chapter - and the whole story, really - is dedicated to my dearest friend, Rosie.
Harry left, but Corrine stayed in Washington. She had a steady job, she made a decent wage, and the work wasn't too taxing. Besides, she had grown quite fond of that 'upstart country', as Harry had so derisively called America while on the Carpathia. She had silently disagreed with him then as now, and, having nowhere else to be, and not wanting to return to either her father's house or her uncle's house now that she was a woman grown, she decided to stay for a time.
She followed the British inquiry intently, although by this time the Titanic had fallen from front-page news in America, and it was more difficult to find adequate coverage of the developments overseas. Still, she went out of her way to search out information - and Harry's constant letters helped keep her updated as well. To her immense relief, the Titanic's officers were not held culpable for the disaster. Like the American inquiry, the British one found that a combination of excessive speed and too few lifeboats were responsible for the tremendous loss of life, but stopped short of accusing the officers themselves of negligence. The good news meant that Harry was free to continue his career. As promised, he was shipped off to the Australian route after the inquiry ended, a voyage that took several months. And also as promised... she waited for him.
She moved to a boarding house closer to the Hotel Continental, but she still saw Katie as frequently as she could, mostly on Sundays at Mass, when Katie had the mornings off. But she kept to herself for the most part, and spent the majority of her time writing letters. She wrote to her father and uncle, of course, assuring them that she was doing well in America and telling them all about the country and its people. She wrote frequently to Kate, who was still living in New York and now engaged to Daniel Buckley, as well as to Charles Lightoller, who had returned to his beloved Sylvia at last but was now again at sea. She maintained a pleasant back and forth correspondence with both Rene Harris and May Futrelle. She wrote brief but heartfelt letters to every member of lifeboat 14's rescue crew, who had plucked her from the collapsible, as well as to Steward Hart. Olaus Abelseth also received a warm letter of appreciation. She sent an impassioned, emotional letter to Ada Murdoch, detailing the last moments of her husband's life, and expressing her unending admiration and gratitude for his bravery. She even wrote to Thomas's mother, to tell her that her son died bravely, helping others. A lie was the least she could do to ease a family's grief.
So she stayed, and she wrote, and each night after she finished her letter to Harry, she took out a blank book that she had bought as a journal, and she wrote some more, this time about her life with him. From their chance meeting that first day at Southampton, she described their stolen moments on Titanic, the terrifying evacuation, their separation and her near death, the joy and tension of the Carpathia, and the passionate reconciliation during the American inquiry. She recorded it all, little by little filling the small book. It was cathartic, but more than that, it allowed her to relive and savor every detail, however painful. It was their story, and it needed to be told, to be remembered.
She was four months along with their child when she finished.
When she feared she wouldn't be able to hide her condition for very much longer, she wrote to Harry. She knew he was between ships at the moment, so there was no better time to tell him. In truth, though, she was apprehensive. The sea was his life, and although she knew he loved her with all his heart, she wasn't sure if he had ever wanted the responsibilities of a family to support, even though they both knew it was a possibility, given the vigor and frequency of their lovemaking during the American inquiry.
His response to the news was rapturous. Come to me at once, his letter said. I need you. He enclosed enough money to book an entire second-class stateroom all to herself. Two days later, she took a train to New York, and sailed on the Adriatic for Liverpool.
She spent almost the entirety of the voyage in her cabin.
She never once set foot on the promenade deck, and only emerged for quick trips to the lavatories. She ate almost nothing; her stomach heaved with fear, anxiety, morning sickness, and mal de mer. She remembered laughingly telling Harry, a lifetime ago, that steerage passengers never got seasick. Now here she was, comfortably ensconced in a private second-class stateroom, vomiting away her days and nights.
A steward looked in on her once and saw her sleeping, fully clothed on her bunk, with her lifebelt on.
He was waiting for her on the dock as she disembarked.
He wore a natty-looking suit and a small bowler instead of his White Star uniform and cap. But he was still her Harry. At the sight of him, all her discomforts and fears were forgotten, and her knees went weak. It was all she could do not to fall to the ground at his feet. Instead, she flew down the gangway and into his waiting arms.
He swung her around in a wide circle, laughing, heedless of the crowds. She kissed him hard, right then and there, and she didn't care if the world was watching. They were together again; her heart had come home.
They could scarcely keep their hands off of one another in the hired cab on the way back to the small row house he had rented for them. Her hand was halfway down his trousers before she came to herself and realized where she was. His eyes were glazed with lust, and it took all his considerable self-restraint to pay the driver and escort her up the stairs to the front door. Stumbling, kissing, fumbling with buttons and fasteners, they found their way to the bedroom at last.
She was burning for his touch, needed to feel him on her, inside of her. And yet, he hesitated, gazing at her in the dim room, the lamplight casting shadows on the planes of his chiseled chest. He took her hand, guided her to the bed, and lay down beside her.
He let his eyes, and then his hands, travel slowly up and down the contours of her body. Gently, so gently, he stroked her cheek, her arms, her legs, her hip. "You're just as I left you," he whispered.
"Maybe a little different," she said huskily, touching the slight swell of her belly.
He kissed her then, a deep, penetrating kiss that brought a moan to her lips. He slid his hand down her stomach and parted her thighs. With his thumb, he began running lazy circles over her swollen, sensitive nub. She moaned again and leaned into him, needing more, more... but he kept up the gentle pressure, now sliding two fingers inside of her as he continued kissing and nibbling her lips. She thrust her hips upward, and he penetrated her deeper with his fingers, at the same time gliding his wet tongue down her neck. She gasped as his lips touched her erect nipples, and when his tongue circled around one, she arched her back and clung to him desperately. The gentle but insistent stroking from his tongue and fingers drove her into a frenzy in a matter of minutes, and to her embarrassment, she climaxed, abruptly and loudly.
When she came back to herself, she found him watching her, a crooked smile on his lips.
"I'm sorry," she blushed. "It's... been awhile," she said, realizing that she was mirroring his own words from a few months ago, "and... I think I'm more sensitive down there now that I'm expecting."
His grin widened. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, and slid his body over hers.
He was none too gentle with her that night.
He tried, he really did; he wanted to take his time, show her how much he loved her and missed her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her slowly, tenderly, ease into her and with gentle strokes, pleasure her all night long. Plus, he didn't know what effect their lovemaking would have on the baby in her belly, and he wanted to be cautious.
She was having none of it.
She thrust her hips at him, urging him faster, faster. Her nails scraped down his back, drawing blood, as she writhed under him. She screamed his name and begged for more. She even cussed a few times, which would have made him laugh if he hadn't been otherwise occupied. He took her from behind so hard that the headboard banged against the wall. Their frantic lovemaking pulled the sheets off the corner of bed. She decorated him with little love bites all over his neck and chest as she straddled him.
Twice, they heard a knocking on the door, loud and insistent. They ignored it.
Finally - finally - her lust had slackened enough that he was able to have his way with her. He slowed, locking eyes with her as he slid in and out of her with deliberate, unhurried strokes. The languid pace increased the sensation for both of them - and heightened their emotional connection as well. Ultimately, the unbearable sweetness of their reunion was too much for her to bear. She was weeping when they finally peaked and reached paradise together.
Afterward, he dried her tears and fussed over her, cooing endearments in her ear as he snuggled her tightly to him. When the tide of her emotions had receded, he brought a warm, damp cloth and gently cleaned her. When he found that this aroused her, too, he knelt between her legs on the bed. Gazing up at her, he flicked his tongue at her nub. He prodded and poked, licked and sucked, enjoying the view, the angle, the taste.
And it drove her mad. She was incoherent with desire, surrendering her body entirely. He thrust his tongue inside her, watching her grow more and more desperate for release, and savoring her helpless submission to him. Finally, with one final scream, and contraction of her muscles, she came with a pulse of fluid that wetted him thoroughly, to his utter delight.
When he crept up beside her, he found to his amusement that she was fast asleep. Whether she had fainted from the force of their extended lovemaking session, or just collapsed from exhaustion, she now lay peacefully, her long hair tangled over the pillow and her lips curled in a satisfied smile.
Three to one, he thought wearily as he flopped back beside her sleeping form. That's about right.
When she saw the damage she had done to his body the next morning, she was mortified.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," she gasped, touching the marks with the tips of her fingers. "I think I lost my mind completely last night." She went to get a cloth to clean them, but he grabbed her hand.
"It's fine, Corrine. I'm sure it won't be the last time." He couldn't stop looking at her, she noticed. And his smile... it seemed so, so... serene. Why, I think the darkness is finally lifting from his soul at last, she thought with surprise.
She soon found out the reason. He was full to bursting with anticipation about the baby - and their future.
He had grabbed a hasty takeaway breakfast from a pub around the corner, and she was eating ravenously. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance, and she devoured everything he put in front of her. While she was greedily scraping the last of the fried egg her from her plate, he asked, "Do you think we... hurt the baby last night?" His dark eyes were filled with concern.
"No," she hurried to reassure him. "The doctor said that intimacy is perfectly fine during this time." She smiled. "Besides, this is our child. I'm sure he will be quite a hardy soul."
"He?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," she replied confidently, and he just grinned and said nothing more.
Suddenly, she felt a flutter, low in her belly. She waited, sure she had imagined it... but yes, there it was again. The slightest movement... but unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was deliberate: the action of another entity, another soul, asserting itself in her body.
"The baby just kicked me," she whispered rapturously.
He eyes went round with wonder. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
"I just know," she choked out, her eyes filling with tears of joy.
He placed a hand on her belly, staring into her eyes as he waited...
"Was that it?" he asked, when he felt the tiny movement in the palm of his hand.
She nodded, heart too full for words.
He swept her off the chair and carried her back to the bedroom, where he lavished her with kisses - and a few tears as well.
"So what now, Corrine?"
They had been lazing around most of the afternoon, not saying much, just content to be in one another's presence again. Currently, she was laying across the settee, her head in his lap as he stroked her hair. At the sound of his question, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at him.
"What do you mean, Harry?"
"I mean, what's next for us?" he asked. She felt a tension in his body that had not been there a minute ago, and she sat up so that she was facing him. It dawned on her that she had asked him a very similar question months ago, during the inquiry. This time, though, she had an answer.
"I'm not going back," she said quietly. She had made up her mind as soon as she found out she was with child, and in the two days before she left Washington, she had quit her job, said a teary good-bye to Katie (who had finally found her match in a French diplomat that was just as passionate about her as she was about him), and packed all of her meager possessions to bring with her. "I want to stay here... with you. I mean, I know you're going back to sea," she amended quickly, "but I'd rather be waiting for you here than there."
"But what about your dream of living in America?" he asked in genuine bewilderment.
"My dreams have changed, Harry," she countered softly, taking his hand and twining her fingers in it.
He took a moment to process this, staring down at their linked hands before looking up at her with a look of dumbfounded, blinding gratitude. But that expression quickly gave way to one of sly amusement. "A pity, that," he drawled.
She raised her eyebrow questioningly.
"I was just becoming resigned to the fact that I was going to have to move there to be with you," he admitted, a twinkle in his eyes.
Her eyes widened. "You would... do that? You'd go to America, for me?"
"I would do anything for you," he vowed.
"But I thought you hated it there," she said, bemused.
"Well, then I suppose I love you more than I hate America," he grinned.
"Oh, Harry," she whispered, and threw her arms around his neck. Her gratitude and love for him threatened to overwhelm her, and she had to fight off another round of happy tears. "I don't care where we live, so long as we're together. But we can decide all that later... after the baby is born. For now, I just want to be with you for as long as I can." She sat back and gazed into his eyes, smiling deliriously.
To her surprise, he pulled away and stood abruptly. "Speaking of..." He left and went into the bedroom, emerging again almost immediately. He stood in front of her, hands hidden, looking suddenly nervous.
"Corrine, I have something to show you." He produced an intricate carved wooden spoon from behind his back. "I made this for you, on my Australia voyage." His hands were shaking as they held it out to her. "It's called a lovespoon. It's a tradition in Wales." He stopped and swallowed, as if gathering his courage. "It's a promise, of commitment, of love." He pointed to the designs carved into it. "The lock means that I will keep you safe and look after you, always. The anchor means I wish to settle down with you." To her shock, he lowered himself to one knee in front of her. "And the bells mean that I want to marry you, Corrine." Now his voice was trembling as well.
She sat there, mouth agape, staring at him in utter stupefaction. And here she thought her heart couldn't be more full... She fell to the floor next to him, threw her arms around his neck and burst into giant, gulping sobs.
He patted her back soothingly as her tears soaked his shirt. "Is... is that a yes, Corrine?" he asked, baffled.
She pulled back to look him in the eyes, still blubbering. "Can I say yes a million times?"
"Well, you do have to say it at least once," he scolded, still looking apprehensive.
"Then yes!" she shrieked, nearly bowling him over with her enthusiastic affirmation.
He sighed with relief, finally relaxing at last. She noticed, and looked at him incredulously.
"You were afraid I was going to turn you down?" she choked in disbelief.
"Well, no, actually," he said, his usual breezy manner returning. "As far as I'm concerned, we've been engaged since I called you my betrothed on the boat deck of the Titanic." He gave her an arrogant smirk. "But recently I received a letter from a friend of yours telling me in no uncertain terms that I needed to make it official." He quirked his eyebrow at her sardonically.
Corrine laughed through her tears. It had to be Charles.
She covered his face with kisses until they were both breathless. Finally, she asked, "What made you want to make an honest woman of me at last?"
He turned serious, staring intently into her eyes. "A better question might be, why did I wait so long? And the answer is, because I wanted to be worthy of you. I didn't want to come to you as I was: a broken and damaged man." He wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks tenderly.
She made a small sympathetic noise in her throat and reached out to caress his face. "Harry, you are not broken - any more than I am. We have both suffered, it's true; but together... together we are whole. We are one," she reminded him gently.
But he continued, undeterred, needing her to understand. "Before I asked you to share my life, I wanted to make sure I could give you everything you deserved - children, a stable life, a happy home. I want to make all your wishes come true, Corrine."
"Oh, Harry, you already have," she whispered. She thought about a wish made on a shooting star on a cold April night in the North Atlantic, on a ship that no longer existed... a wish that this moment would last forever. And now, at long last, it seemed it would.
It dawned on her now that her heart had known it instantly when they met in Southampton so long ago. Their destinies had been decided in that first moment, as if written in the stars above. And although the fulfillment of that promise had been fraught at times with pain and anguish, even in the darkest times, it was always meant to be the two of them together in the end.
As the epiphany flooded through her, she cupped his face in her hand, wanting to tell him all of it - but Harry stopped her with a finger to her lips. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispered, "I already know."
She gazed deeply into the eyes of the man she loved. For once, the storm of emotions usually present in them had cleared... and what she saw instead was a calm assurance of the beautiful future they would share.
She couldn't stop the tears leaking from her eyes any more than she could stop the love welling in her heart. "Mrs. Harold Lowe," she sighed blissfully, trying on the name for size. "Oh, Harry, I can hardly wait to spend the rest of our lives together," she breathed, nuzzling his neck and wetting him once again with her euphoric weeping.
Suddenly, he scooped her off the floor into his arms. "I can think of no better way to celebrate the beginning of it," he growled as he carried her off to the bedroom again.
That night, she was awakened by the press of his body against her back. She had been lying on her side, and was still half-asleep as he entered her. He reached around to cup her breasts, then her rounded belly, as he slid slowly in and out of her. Sleepily, dreamily, her body rocked back and forth in time to his movements, and she realized with a sense of peace in her heart that it reminded her of the rocking of a ship - only infinitely safer.
Southampton Times
Titanic Survivors Wed
By Emrys Owen, Barmouth Correspondent
On November 1, 1912 , Mr. Harold G. Lowe, 29, formerly Fifth Officer of the Titanic, wed Miss Corrine E. Donnelly, 22, at the Lowe family home of Penrallt in Barmouth, Wales.
The blushing bride, who was noticeably with child, was given away by both her father, Mr. Frank Donnelly of Clonakilty, County Cork, and her uncle, Mr. John Baker of Southampton. Representing the groom was his father, Mr. George Lowe.
Sources close to the couple say that they met on the ill-fated maiden voyage of the Titanic, and that Mr. Lowe saved the life of his bride, as well as many others, on that terrible night.
The bride and groom received many gifts, including a match case from Miss S. R. Compton of New York for the groom 'With Gratitude', and a set of the finest nautical instruments money can buy, which was sent from Mrs. H. B. Harris of New York, with the inscription 'The real hero of the Titanic'. The groom also received the strange gift of a small iron key from Mr. C. H. Lightoller, former Second Officer of the Titanic. The note accompanying it was most intriguing: 'Was finally able to track this down. I think you should have it, although I'm fairly certain you have already found the key. Don't lose it.' The same Mr. Lightoller also sent an exquisite and very expensive shawl, designed by Lady Duff Gordon, to the bride, 'so that you never have to feel cold again.'
For the time being, the couple plans to reside in Barmouth, although they remain open to the possibility of emigrating to America in a few years "if my bride wills it so."
When the groom was asked what he was going to do now, after the greatest marine tragedy in history, he was quoted as saying, "I just want to live an ordinary life, with an extraordinary woman."
Well, folks, that's it. We've reached the end; the two wanderers have found their way home at last ;)
This story could have ended very differently: with an obituary instead of a wedding announcement. It would have been very easy to bring everything in compliance with history by killing off Corrine and her baby in childbirth, allowing Harold Lowe to marry his real-life wife, Ellen, the following year. But... I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I grew to love Corrine too much during the course of writing this tale, and although it brings us firmly into alternative universe territory, I wanted to give them their happily ever after. So please forgive - and indulge - a sentimental author, Dear Readers!
Now that being said, if you're interested, please stick around for the Epilogues; there's still a little more of #harrine's story to tell ;)
