"A Thousand Points of Light"
Author: carmen_085
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters from James Cameron's Titanic, not any real people. I do not own Titanic or any characters from the movie. I do own all original characters.
Summary: Fifth Officer Harold Lowe and Titanic's Nurse Clara Barnett lives become intertwined on the ship's maiden voyage when a young drifter is brutally beaten.
Chapter Fifteen
June 1912
All over New York the landscape burst into summer color. Thick green trees, delicate purple freesia, and sweet honeysuckle wafted through her open windows. Normally Clara delighted in this time of year spending as much time outside as she could reading, sometimes for hours, on a bench in Central Park. It reminded her of home- the prairie where she grew up, and of course of her mama and her daddy.
Nothing felt like home anymore, though. She'd given her heart to someone who was incapable of doing the same for her. Clara stared at the ceiling- she was not going to cry, not again anyway. It was hot in the apartment and she lay on the settee in nothing but a night shirt, her tanned legs crossed at the ankle. She'd been over it a thousand times in the last month. The hows and the whys enough to drive her totally mad.
She left Washington the day after her testimony with a promise from Harry that he would meet her at the docks before he sailed back to England. She knew their time together would be brief and that he had obligations that needed seen to. The British Board of Trade would be waiting with their own inquiry, and all officers were due back in England within five days time.
So she went to the docks on an unseasonably warm day and waited. Naturally the press was there, along with security-police officers contracted by the White Star Line to keep any eager onlookers at bay. It was quite chaotic and knowing she wouldn't get anywhere close to the ship without a boarding pass, Clara stood back near the ticket counter and waited. It was only when the ship pushed back from the docks and drifted out into the harbor that she finally realized he wasn't coming. Still she stood there, feet aching and soaked with sweat, until every last person had gone and the man behind the counter closed and locked the window.
He hadn't come
As she sat on the train back home she consoled her wounded pride with rationalization. Perhaps he couldn't come; she could just imagine the feeding frenzy among the press if they got ahold of an officer. Certainly it had been arranged for them to embark before anyone else arrived. It was unfortunate but it was reality and it meant nothing….nothing at all.
Two days later the letter arrived in her mailbox. Posted marked from right here in New York it had no return address. She read it once in the entryway and then twice again in her apartment before the tears finally came.
My Darling Clara,
Please know this has nothing to do with you. In every sense of the word you are amazing, truly the most remarkable woman I've ever met. And that is why in time you will see that you deserve so much better than me. I am not what you think, turns out I'm not even what I thought. Shameful and cowardly, I can hardly look at myself in the mirror these days. Your willingness to not only forgive me but also accept me as I am still brings a tear to my eye. You told me that you loved me and I couldn't say it back. But that doesn't mean that I don't. For the rest of my life, Clara, I will love you. Please try to forget me and with it Titanic; those five days we had together were some of the best in my whole life.
Love Always
Harry
It made no sense. How could he love her so deeply and simply walk away ? Everything that had come to pass between them and somehow it wasn't enough. Shamefully she cried for an entire day, burying her face in her pillows and not coming out of her bedroom until the sun rose again. Clara's mama and daddy taught her to be a survivor and weeping for a man, was certainly not something to fold up over. But Harry wasn't just a man, and no matter what he said the connection they shared didn't just end after those five whirlwind days.
But still, he'd left without saying goodbye sending a letter leaving her no way to contact or find him in return. Clara covered her face with her hands. She was driving herself mad trying to figure this out when perhaps she should just take him at his word and let it be. The buzz of the doorbell nearly made her jump off the settee. It was the middle of the day and certainly not an unusual time to call on someone but she wasn't expecting anyone. Never mind that she was barely dressed. Maybe they would just go away, a traveling salesman or some kid selling candy, she was in no mood for it either way.
When the bell buzzed again she huffed un frustration throwing on her robe not bothering with shoes. If this was Steven or her Aunt Elaine checking up on her, making sure she was 'getting along' after 'what she'd been through' she had half a mind to tell them where to stick their concern. Bounding down the stairs she stopped at the landing her eyes falling on someone she never expected to see again.
The moment he saw her his face lit up in a smile as he waved almost awkwardly. Descending the last few steps she opened the door her breath catching her throat for a moment.
"Hello Clara." His hands went to his pockets, a familiar folder tucked under his arm.
Exhaling she shook her head, "Hello Jack."
The water in the bay sloshed against the rocks as the gray sky hung heavy above. Fine droplets of mist clung to his eyelashes as he blinked not caring one shit about the chill that penetrated his thin wool sweater. Behind him Penrallt stood on the hill, looming over his shoulder with silent judgement. His father certainly hadn't spared him, taking one look at his sorry face and offering nothing but a smirk. He had no where to go, though, as sad as that sounded, and perhaps rotting away here with the old man was a destiny that made sense.
Walking out onto the rocks he watched the cold water come in and then go out, the foam of the tide rising just below his feet. The British Inquiry lasted the better part of a month, and compared to the American circus it was quite intense. Actual mariners asking hard questions, not the dog and pony show of an American senator. Recounting the events of the sinking was becoming robotic and he found the more times he repeated the facts the easier it got; in some ways becoming more of story than anything else. With the passage of time, it seemed less real not only that it happened but that something like that could have happened in the first place.
Sitting down on one of the rocks Harry rested his chin on the back of his hand. He'd fucked up. There was no putting it mildly- Clara was the best thing that ever happened to him and now she was gone. Entirely his doing, he snubbed her on purpose before leaving New York slipping the letter into a mailbox before he'd arrived at the docks. Maybe if she was angry at him she would forget him a bit faster. Nothing good would happen for her if this continued. He was coward, that having been proven to him the night of the sinking. Waiting until everyone was dead to go back and then putting on a false show of searching for her. Absolutely fucking shameful.
Even if he was willing to put that aside and take advantage of her understanding, what kind of life would it be for her ? Either waiting in port for him for weeks at a time or a life at sea traipsing around the world. He knew Clara had been raised much tougher than most women of the day and would likely make the best of any situation. But still was that right ? She deserved to chase whatever it was she wanted and not simply submit to the life he'd chosen long ago.
The wind ruffled his hair as Harry stared out at the cold water of Abremffa Bay. The same water that he'd spent his childhood upon, there was a time when he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. The sea was had always been his home and truly the only place he ever felt like he belonged. Now he wasn't so sure. So much of the promise and excitement of being a mariner destroyed in a single night. Everything he'd ever done he told himself it was to become better, to get farther, and one day earn a prestigious posting. Well he did it. And in the end it matter one little fucking bit.
It was a warm day in New York, and as the sun shone through the trees of Central Park, Clara stuffed her hands into her pockets. Electing to wear a pair of loose linen pants and a short sleeved button up she looked quite strange against a canvas of pastel dresses and parasols. Her company didn't mind however as Jack talked about reading her testimony in the papers. She smiled and nodded as he continued going on about this or that. Eventually they came to a shaded bench and sitting down he opened his folder showing her some of his latest work.
The ship before the sinking bathed in charcoal sunlight, life in third class, and of course Rose. Clara smiled looking fondly upon how ordinary things had once been. There was a little girl in many of Jack's drawings, some by herself others with an older man. Idly she wondered if the child had made it knowing full well the answer was most likely a resounding no. So many third class passengers were surely trapped below decks and those that weren't hadn't fared much better, their fate left in the merciless grip of the icy water.
Surprisingly there was a sketch of her in the infirmary. Drawn from the perspective of a bed, she was in the background tending to a faceless patient. Remarkably detailed and accurate she gasped softly.
"You can have it if you want…" She met his eyes as he flicked the hair away. "I'm not sure if I did you justice though…." He smiled that crooked smile of his and shrugged.
"It's remarkable work, Jack, truly." She set the sketch aside, wishing selfishly that it were she and Harry in the photo. She had nothing of him; no way to remember him at all. Biting her lip Clara exhaled as Jack went on.
"I met a man downtown, said he could sell these for quite a bit." Clara nodded, she was certain the was true. Anything Titanic related was naturally fetching top dollar right now. He closed the folder sighing as he shook his head. "And that's how I'm going to get her back."
Clara paused her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. After everything that happened aboard the ship, she never imagined that Rose would have gone back to Hockley. It seemed utterly absurd and shaking her head she looked at Jack.
"What do you mean get her back ?" He himself didn't seem nearly as shocked as he tapped his hand on the folder a few times before finally replying.
"They found us in boarding house a week after. Took her back against her will." Jack sighed. "She's still seventeen so…" Clara had forgotten how young Rose actually was, or perhaps she never knew, either way she understood how the situation had become so complicated. Eyes wandering to the ground, she wondered if she hadn't interfered and they had gotten off on their own accord- without Hockley knowing- if they would now be better off. "Hey now, that's not why I came to find you…" He nudged her arm gently.
Clara couldn't help but to shake her head, "Yeah but maybe things would have worked out better if…"
He quickly cut her off, "Clara it's nonsense and you know it." She met his gaze which was surprisingly serious. "Everyone I knew from Third Class is gone…Fabrizio, Tommy, Helga…" He paused swallowing before adding quietly, "Cora." They were both quiet for a moment before he nodded, "Those of us that survived were because of you…."
She let out a sigh shaking her head. She could hardly believe that and knew it was nothing more than stroke of luck. Still Jack continued, possessing a certain clarity she herself wished to find. "We're meant to be here, Clara, everything was against us and still….we made it." A smile spread across his face. "That's how I know everything is going to work out; with me and Rose…" he paused for a moment gently nudging her, "And with you and Harry."
Clara gasped, "How…" Jack laughed a bit shaking his head before meeting her stunned gaze.
"We're the same, Clara. Two kids and who grew up on the frontier knowing nothing was guaranteed. Knowing the only thing that really mattered were the ones we loved. If nothing was wrong you would be with him right now, or at least finding your way back to him…"
The thought settled in her mind for a second before she burst into tears. It was all true, and it made her ache for Harry and her own family in equal measure. Her mama and daddy and the simple but loving life they once shared. And Harry, the whirlwind of their relationship and what she believed was the true love born from it.
Jack laid his hand over hers affectionately rubbing his thumb back and forth. "Love doesn't just die, Clara." Wiping her face she met his eyes.
"I just don't know what I'm supposed to do next…" She'd never felt so lost in her entire life.
He smiled his crooked boyish smile and nodded. "I think you do."
It was the middle of summer and uncharacteristically warm for Liverpool, but still he stood there in a proper shirt and jacket. He couldn't say he'd been surprised when he received her letter and the moment he told Sylvia she insisted that Clara stay with them. Much like the plucky American, his own wife had been unconventional. A beautiful Australian that he met on a voyage south, he knew within two weeks she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. Intelligent and headstrong, she balanced his own dominant personality challenging him when it needed to be done.
Lightoller wished that he could say he was shocked that Harry had sulked back to Wales. They'd exchanged the occasional letter after the British Inquiry wrapped up, but nothing more. Still, as the most senior surviving officer of the the Titanic, Lightoller was rather well connected and people were constantly wanting to meet with him. Naturally gossip was exchanged, and it hadn't taken him long to find out that Harry was back at his father's house along the coast. He didn't know much about Harry's personal life, but from what he'd gathered he knew there was friction between he and his father. Once describing him as a 'drunken painter', Lightoller could imagine how a life of frivolity chafed someone as practical as Harry.
With two inquests he was more than aware of the things Harry had done and seen that night. They'd all done and seen things, no one was spared from that, but wading through a sea of debris and dead bodies…well that was something else entirely. You'd have to be a fool not to see how that might affect a man, and he understood that. But if there was one good thing to come from this whole disaster it was Clara, and leaving her behind without so much as a good bye he could not understand. So when she wrote and said she was going to try to make this right, he knew straight off he would do his best to help her.
The Adriatic had taken over Titanic's route, providing passenger service between Liverpool and New York weekly. It had been the ship he, and the rest of the officers, sailed on in early May. Not even remotely close to the Titanic, she was worn in and her fixtures were old; but she was solid and safe and for that he was grateful. Passengers began filtering off the gangways going to cars or waiting trolleys, into the arms of loved ones, or off with their employers straight to work. The coordinated chaos of the docks was something he was used to.
Lightoller rocked from his toes to the his heels craning his neck above it all. She wasn't hard to spot; a navy blue dress with short sleeves showing her tanned arms. Almost scandalous for the English, he smiled upon seeing her rebellious nature was still intact. Had anyone asked she would have told them it was hot and what else did they expect her to wear. Jamming an arm in the air he waved her over as her lips twitched up into a tiny smile.
Clara brought nothing but a bag over her shoulder, everything else she reasoned she would gather along the way. Every other women had trunks and foot lockers galore; gowns and parasols, matching hats, and silk scarves. Half of which she mused they probably wore only once. She had the dress she wore and three more, under clothes, a cape, and one rain coat; what else did she need ?
The crossing was uneventful as the summer heat had melted all the ice and the sea was calm and clear. Still….she found herself unnerved by it all; traveling that same route again. She'd avoided the decks at night coming out only once and nearly dissolving into a panic attack upon seeing the dark and lonely water. The mournful wails of the dying, a sound she could never forget. Behind the smile it was all there in her dim gray eyes, visible to only those who knew where to look.
The moment he laid eyes on her the cheery greeting died on his lips and instead he opened his arms silently. It was not a gesture he was accustomed to, still this was Clara, and without her he would not be here either. She paused giving him a crooked smile before letting him wrap his arm around her and hold her against his chest. Exhaling a shaky breath she knew he understood, and without words they stood there on the bustling dock.
"Did something happen ?" He couldn't help but to ask; he was an officer and if someone with the company had been screwing about he made it his business to know. Clara was probably the toughest woman he knew, and these downturned eyes weren't like her. In fact her entire demeanor was rather hopeless and to be honest it unnerved him. She shook her head against him her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke.
"No. The sea….at night." She didn't need to say anymore. What else was there to say anyway ? He himself had not been on the open ocean since Titanic, tied up with inquiries and the newly created Safety Commission within the British Board of Trade. Still, he could imagine the loneliness of the North Atlantic, especially at night. And it wasn't over yet- not for them at least. There was no reason to speak of it, but by now the whole world knew about Collapsible A. Left behind and set adrift, she was found a month later and some two hundred miles south of the sinking. Three rotting bodies, one still in a dinner coat and lifebelt, retrieved by the Oceanic- her passengers gathering on the decks with binoculars to watch. Lightoller heard the arms fell one of them as they were being dragged away.
There was good reason to shudder when crossing the North Atlantic, and tightening his grip on her he nodded toward the street. "Alright…Let's go home."
Well not her home- techinically- but his, situated in the heart of Liverpool not far from the water. Standing in the parlor Clara looked around at the well appointed yet modest townhouse. Of course she felt nothing but welcome with Lightoller's wife, Sylvia, doting all over her. Within seconds a steaming cup of tea appeared followed by a small sandwich, and cookies she could only assume were homemade. Finally sitting down in a house, safe on dry land, she exhaled and realized she was starving. Seeing it Sylvia brought a second sandwich and smiled as she clicked her tongue.
"Charles, I told you the food on those ships is dreadful." Lightoller had shed his coat and now wore nothing but a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Smiling he hummed a reply as he came around the table taking a seat next to his wife. "Clara, I've heard all about your life on the frontier, and I'm dying to hear more."
Underneath the table Lightoller rested a hand on his wife's thigh and squeezed. Placing her own hand over his, Sylvia's warm gaze never wavered from their company as Clara visibly relaxed beginning the story with her daddy's service in the Union Army. Of course she knew; he made it a rule years ago to never keep secrets in his marriage, and this was no different. She knew about the overturned collapsible, about he and Clara holding onto each other for dear life, and of Harry and the terrible mess he'd made of things. She laughed when he laughed and cried when he cried, this woman knew him better than anyone in the entire world. And still Sylvia offered no hint of knowing, letting Clara share at her own pace.
Afternoon slipped into evening as the sun began to sink below the horizon. Reluctantly Sylvia excused herself from the table disappearing into the kitchen to begin dinner. Clara hoped that she wasn't bothering on her account, and yet she didn't say anything not wanting to upset the customs of the house. No matter how comfortable they made her feel she was a guest here. "Let me show you to your room…."
The second floor of the house had a view of the harbor and the English Channel beyond that. The water caught the setting sun and sparkled as she smiled walking toward the window. Funny how something could be so terrifying and yet so beautiful at the same time. For a moment she forgot she was alone.
"I wasn't able to find out much." Jolted back to reality she closed her eyes sighing. Behind her Lightoller leaned against the door frame crossing his arms. "He went back to Wales, staying with his old man who I've heard is a drunken artist." Clara turned; had she known that ? She thought so but now she wasn't sure. Their time together had been brief- barely more than two weeks all totaled up. And still here she was upending her entire life half way across the world trying to find a man who by all accounts didn't want to be found.
She nodded, he had tried and the was all she could ask of him. More than she could ask of him; he owed her nothing despite his insistence that he'd only survived the sinking because of her. "Thank you for trying. And for everything else." Pulling a few strings he'd gotten her assigned on a short Mediterranean cruise to Istanbul and back, ten days- enough to know if returning to the sea was what she wanted to do. Land would never be out of sight with the coast of Europe just a stone's throw away. It was a good way to ease back into this life and decide if it was really what she wanted. Harry was no guarantee, but still being here she felt infinitely closer to him than in New York.
'Love doesn't just die'
Jack's words ringing in her head she exhaled slowly. "Would it be alright if I took a walk before dinner ?" Lightoller shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't have to ask me, darling." Moving to leave he added, "No matter what happens, Clara, the whole world is open to you. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."
Her lips spread into a small but genuine smile as he left her standing there with a nod. Had someone told her this man would come to be a steadfast friend she would have laughed. Their first meeting was anything but friendly with he threatening her position on the ship and making her question her actions with Harry. When he came to the infirmary, just hours before the sinking, and she set his arm back in place she saw a flicker of respect in his eyes. Hours later they were all but thrust into each other's arms by chance and situation. What happened from there she supposed was always meant to be- this kinship that could only be found in shared suffering. No matter what happened between she and Harry, she knew that Charles Lightoller and his wife, Sylvia, would always be friends.
Slipping into another dress, one with sleeves that came to the elbow she excused herself out the front door and onto the street. Liverpool was nowhere near as large as New York, but nonetheless it still teemed with activity. Children playing in the streets and couples walking arm in arm. She was unescorted- and showing her arms- which was more than enough to earn her a few surprised looks. There were other women, though, young women like her waking here or there alone most likely leaving work- another novel concept- and with these women she exchanged a smile and nod. Times were changing, even in a place as traditional as England, women were becoming independent. Back in America the movement had begun to demand voting rights- it was remarkable and soon she knew she wouldn't be the only progressive, modern woman she knew.
Clara thought about Harry, and what Lightoller had told her about him being shacked up with his father. He'd spoken of him a time or two and she could recall nothing positive. She just could not understand why he was punishing himself in this way. Everyone aboard the Titanic made mistakes, either through their actions or their collective ignorance, but for someone reason Harry assumed the brunt of it himself. She really thought they had a break through in Washington, but she'd been wrong and now she wondered if it was even possible to get back what she'd lost. Just because she went back to the sea didn't mean they would magically find each other. Even if they did there was no guarantee they would just pick right back up where they'd left off.
Lightoller had warned her as much, his logical- and very realistic- side cautioning her that it was a gamble indeed. And she knew- really she did-no one was more practical than Clara, her mama's no nonsense frontier woman nature engrained just as deeply in her. But no matter what she did she couldn't get Jack's words out of her mind. Love doesn't just die. So the only thing she could do was put herself in the right position and let fate handle the rest.
However this ended up she would accept and walk away from the situation with no regrets. She saw everything through to the end and this would be no different. She loved Harry- was in love with him- and she needed to know if he felt the same.
The day the Canopic was scheduled to set sail for Istanbul she stood in her room quietly packing her things. The Lightollers had been nothing but gracious and she felt just as comfortable in their home as her own. As a part of her assignment on the Canopic she'd been sent to the White Star Line Officer in Liverpool where she'd received additional training on Muslim customs and attire. As a nurse this was especially important and she took detailed notes happy to have her brain engaged by something entirely new. Clara checked her bag for the head wrap she'd been issued making sure it was safely tucked in the pocket and ready for when they docked in Istanbul. Disrespect of culture was serious, especially by westerners, and her safety could not be guaranteed if she didn't follow the rules.
"Almost ready ?" Sylvia appeared in the doorway, her characteristic warm smile and easy demeanor more than apparent. Lightoller- or Charles- a she'd begun to call him had an amazing wife, and she'd asked him more than once how he stood to be away from her so much. Laughing he shook his head; in his life he had two great loves- the sea and Sylvia- each pulling him in a different direction. When crossing the Atlantic he'd often visit the stern sitting in silence knowing this was the closest he could be to her.
Clara returned the smile, "Almost." She was filled with sadness for the good byes and her face immediately fell. Seeing this Sylvia stepped into the room sitting on the bed as she let out a laugh.
"He's gone. Left this morning for a three day cruise to Ireland and back." Clara gasped, he'd not said a word about it, nor had he said good bye. His wife shook her head and smiled. "He's shit at good byes. Always gets choked up." Clara's face melted as she stood looking down at her bag, a round of tears springing up in her eyes. "Sit down, Clara." Sylvia patted the bed beside her.
In America, Clara didn't have the companionship of many women, in fact, she couldn't say she had a single friend, most women finding her off putting and bawdy. This kinship with Sylvia was new and comforting. The older woman touched her hand lightly causing her to lift her gaze. "I need to thank you." Clara opened her mouth. "No. Don't say a word !" Reluctantly Clara remained silent, Sylvia continuing before she could mount a protest. "Charles told me everything about that night; we've never kept anything from each other." Clara sat down, she imagined that Sylvia knew although she never let on until this moment. "You don't know this but Charles' father died last year suddenly, they were very close and the loss has been at times suffocating." She had no idea. "When he was washed off the deck of the Titanic, Charles was sucked under and pinned to a grate. He thought that was it, but then a burst of hot air pushed him back up." Clara did know that, she'd read about it in the Times at the beginning of the American Inquiry. "When he surfaced he told me he heard his father's voice, clear as day. 'Go to her.'"
The words echoed in Clara's mind as she shook her head. Opening her mouth she was stunned, unsure of what to say. Sylvia held up a hand. "My husband has always been a man with a purpose. That night, in that moment, you gave him a purpose." Clara's eyes filled with tears. "To see that you survived and to get you back to Harry, just like he promised."
Clara inhaled sharply shaking her head, "Sylvia, I don't know what to say."
The other woman laughed lightly. "I do." Staring at Clara, her face was suddenly quite serious. "You find him, Clara, and don't let him go. Love that can survive something like the Titanic is love that will last a lifetime."
Sylvia's words echoed in her mind as she unpacked her things taking a look around the infirmary. Nothing at all like the Titanic, everything about the Canopic was worn and aging. Still it was clean, comfortable, and most importantly afloat. This was going to be an easy trip, five days to Istanbul and then five days back, she would be back with the Lightollers before she even had a chance to miss them. Exhaling slowly, she nodded her head. Right.
Strangely the Canopic had two nurses on staff and yet only carried a third of the passengers that Titanic did. Her co worker was an older Irish woman with a reddish complexion and a flame of curly hair to match. She was kindly but kept to herself, which was more than fine. The ship also had a doctor, a middle aged Welsh fellow who wore glasses and a tweed coat, he was friendly enough and stopped by to introduce himself. Should they need anything at all he was available. Well Clara thought how quaint….how ordinary….how utterly appropriate. As time went by she began to realize that nothing about Titanic was ordinary or appropriate. The novelty of her size making even the most practical of men lose their minds entirely.
Clara missed the casting off of the Titanic, and while there was considerably less fanfare she still wanted to see her current vessel steam out of port. Stepping from the infirmary she nearly ran straight into a steward who was sweating profusely. An emergency already….great.
"I'm here for a Miss Clara Barnett ?!" Staring at him she paused for a moment.
"That's…that's me." What could someone want with her already ?
"Ma'am I've been ordered to bring you with me at once. The Medic is about to leave port with no medical staff at all !" Clara paused. She knew that she was probably late addition on her own ship, Lightoller pulling strings to get her an easy assignment. She'd never heard of the Medic, and she had no idea where it was headed. "Ma'am ?!" He stared at her urgently.
Huffing Clara turned grabbing her bag and followed the steward more than a bit flustered. Down the gang plank and back onto the dock he pushed through a crowds, led her around freight loaders, and then over a mess of ropes. She wore the same work boots she'd worn on the Titanic and she was glad for it right now. Finally they came to a stop, Clara pausing to look up at the ship. Similar to the Canopic, the Medic was much smaller than Titanic with only one funnel and a deck half the size. Another old ship, she began to realize this was what she could expect from here on out.
Seeing them an Officer turned looking her up and down with a scowl. "Took you long enough…"
"I was at my assigned post, sir." The second he heard her flat American voice he shook his head.
"Right you were, Yank. And now you're assigned here- to me and this ship. So move your ass, we're already running twenty minutes late…" Clara bit the inside of her lip not entirely surprised by the attitude but nonetheless stung. Seeing the mix of annoyance and hesitation on her face he notched his own irritation up raising his voice, "If you want to keep your job with the White Star Line you will come with me now !"
He could fuck straight off as far as she was concerned but still sending a whole boatload of people off without anyone medical staff was nuts. Putting her head down she nodded, she could do this- she'd done harder, way fucking harder. Still it wasn't unreasonable to ask, "Where are we going ?"
"Sydney."
Sydney…as in Australia.
40 days one way, nearly three months total at sea. She inhaled sharply. This wasn't what she'd planned on at all. Clara stopped looking at her shoes, if this was where fate had led her it was where she was meant to be. She could only hope that this twisted road would somehow lead her back to Harry.
Cigarette perched between his lips Harry watched the coast of Africa slip past the port side of the ship. This was a good assignment for him, the Australia run, three months at sea on a nondescript vessel where no one gave a fuck about the Titanic. Had he been at his father's house one more day they most likely you have killed one another. At each other's throat for the last month, Harry had sent word to Liverpool that he wold take the next tender available. He didn't care about position, pay, or where he was going; he just needed to get the fuck out of Wales.
And now here he was, Fourth Officer aboard some mixed cargo liner that he couldn't even remember the name of. Taking a long drag he looked up at the stars and closing his eyes and thinking of her. Leaving Clara that way that he did was the biggest mistake of his life. She said I love you and he said absolutely fucking nothing. Big surprise there- Harold Lowe is a coward.
He thought plenty about what his problem was sitting on the beach at Penrallt, about why he couldn't take the next step and love her like she deserved. He thought about why he couldn't move on from Titanic; why he was still there in the water wading through those bodies every night. And he thought about why he single handedly fucked up every last good thing he ever had.
Away from home more years than he ever lived there, Harry had found no place he belonged aside from the sea. But then Titanic changed all that, and he found a person who became home to him. And what did he do ? Piss all over like a right stupid prick. Surely by now Clara has moved on, and rightly so- she was amazing, way better than anything he deserved. She'd find a bloke in New York, maybe a doctor at that hospital where she worked, or perhaps a businessman; someone who treated her like she should be, someone who could give her everything. God knows that wasn't him; he couldn't even make it through the night without waking up drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Dead bodies floating everywhere; on the good nights they were faceless, on the bad nights they were her.
It took Harry a moment to realize he was clenching his fist so tight his hand was bleeding. Ragged nails that he'd bitten off now gouged his clammy palm as he forced himself to exhale. He needed to get a grip, lest he lose his job along with everything else. The last thing on earth he intended to do was return to Penrallt. Even if he had to shovel chum he was staying on the docks.
"Officer Lowe ?" Closing his eyes for a moment he pitched his smoke overboard before turning. One of his junior officers- Downing- or something like that, could be Drowning for all Harry cared, either way the man stood in front of him with the same petulant look as always.
"What ?" Decorum could be damned at this point, they had enough decorum to rival the Palace of Versailles on Titanic and look at where that got them.
"Uh Sir…the infirmary is full from a fight below decks, an uprising among the fireman." An uprising on a forty day voyage to Sydney, great. Harry didn't respond, what was he going to do ? Drop anchor and head into the jungles of Africa for some new help ? "I handled things and before we left port I secured a nurse so the infirmary is staffed." Yes he heard about that situation, all medical staff bowing out at the last minute. Did he care ? Fuck no. He was more than capable of treating himself and anyone else having a real emergency. Passengers with the Mal de mar could kiss his ass, this was the open sea, get over it.
"Great. And the nurse is handling things ?" Downing nodded the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "I gave her a right tongue lashing for holding us up even though she is a looker." Harry inhaled sharply.
"The nurse they hired is something else though….saved the man's life all on her own." Harry raised an eyebrow. The ship had several doctors, all of which had been lollygagging about the decks, shaking hands and smiling for photos. That figured. "She's a looker too. Course it took everything I had to keep my breakfast from splattering on the floor." Harry rolled his eyes this time, Moody was such a kid.
Blinking a few times he squinted at Downing before the fuse popped. "Shut up and get your ass back on the bridge. NOW !" The junior officer was stung but did as he was told slamming the door with more force than necessary. Heart pounding and hands shaking, Harry went back to the rail closing his eyes as his chest heaved.
It had been ten days and Clara didn't think she'd left the infirmary once. The Medic hauled mostly freight, some passengers, but there were far more immigrant workers aboard than Titanic. A mix of languages, cultures, and next to no education which meant one thing- fights, and a lot of them. There was also a coal strike which meant they had to ration what they had. No hot showers for anyone, she got accustomed to tepid water which was alright because it was hot outside. Once they crossed into the southern hemisphere, however, she wondered what would happen. It was late August which meant winter below the equator. If nothing else Clara was busy all the time which took her mind off of other things.
From what she could see on her rare excursions out onto the deck, Africa was very flat. Beyond that she couldn't tell much except when the land faded from sun baked deserts to lush green jungles. Clara received a wireless a couple days ago from Lightoller apologizing and asking if she was alright. She responded simply that she was making the best of it to which he answered- of course you are ! She smiled and tucked the Marconi into her bag to read again when they were in the depths of the Southern Ocean and she needed a little reminding.
For now all she could do was work; swollen lips, black eyes, cuts, abrasions, and burns- so many burns. Officer Dipshit from her first day had made her and the infirmary his own little project and while he was primarily still an asshole, he'd eventually conceded that she knew what she was doing. He'd even taken the time to the wrestle up a doctor from second class who, by the grace of God, was a combat veteran of the Boer War. Much more willing then Dr. OLaughlin ever was, the man spoke little to no English. They made do, though, and Clara knew where to find him if something really serious happened. Otherwise she was on her own.
The sun was beginning to set as orange light bathed the infirmary in a warm glow. Thankfully she'd been able to patch everyone up well enough to return to their cabins for the night and no one was needing to stay in the infirmary. She half hoped that she would get a good night's sleep and was even contemplated turning in early when a steward came to the door in a rush.
"Ma'am…one the Officers has fallen and broken his leg. They're bringing him at once." She stiffened a bit knowing that even on a vessel this insignificant the Officers were still treated like celebrities. Nodding she immediately turned to take stock of what she had to set a bone, her hands coming to her face as a strange surge of something shot through her.
On the aft deck Harry sat looking up at Downing and the Able Seaman. He'd told them to move the goddamn rope tangled around his feet six hours ago and now, not seeing it in the dark, his feet had been yanked out pitching him down the stairs. Any fool could see his ankle was broken from the way it angulated to the right and once the blinding anger wore off Harry was sure it would hurt like a bitch.
"Did I NOT tell you to move the bloody rope hours ago ?!" The Seaman looked at Downing who immediately averted his gaze. His usual smug expression wiped away he knew he'd fucked up and wanting to put the heat elsewhere he turned snapping at the steward.
"Ready the infirmary !" Harry grit his teeth, they were off the coast of equatorial Africa- not like they could just drop anchor and find a hospital. This would need to be dealt with onboard and regrettably he couldn't do it himself. So much to his dismay of his pride he would need to relay on someone else to help him.
"This nurse better be as good as you say she is…." He shot daggers at Downing. Within seconds a steward showed up with a high back whicker wheelchair. "No !" He wasn't about to be carted around the ship like an invalid. "Get me up. I can walk."
They stared at him like he was crazy and then wordlessly came to each side hoisting him back to his feet. Harry couldn't stop the yelp of pain that came out of his mouth. Jamming his teeth down on his lip he forced a stoic expression as they began to move. "Sir…really the wheelchair.."
"Shut up and walk." He snapped. Harry was being an asshole and he knew that, but as the pain shot up his leg and into his back he could do nothing to control his temper or his mouth.
By the time they jostled him down two decks and half the length of the ship he was sweaty, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. Downing was relieved that the small clinic was empty as as they stepped through the door he saw the nurse, her back turned as she sorted through some splinting supplies.
"Ma'am ?" She turned and just as Downing had promised she was beautiful. Long dark hair and light grey eyes that looked at him and right through him. Harry gasped, the pain in his leg forgotten as he pushing himself upright holding onto the closest bed frame.
She stood speechless, meeting that familiar dark, turbulent gaze. His hand shook as he forced himself to stand up. Clara's lips parted as tears came to her eyes. All the twists and turns and last minute shuffling had meant something…it had meant everything.
"Go !" Downing and Seaman looked at each other quickly before leaving. They'd done their job and saw no reason to hang around for another tongue lashing. After they left the room was empty and quiet and it was just the two of them. Before she could come to him and begin fussing over his leg, there as something he needed to do.
Gathering all the strength he had left Harry didn't stop the tears a they spilled over his cheeks. Limping forward he stood on his broken leg in front of her intending to say this like the man he hoped to be.
Taking her hands into his own shaking, sweaty palms he opened his heart, "I love you, Clara. I always loved you. From the first second I saw you I knew that was it, I would never find anyone like you ever again. I know I made a mess of things but if you give me a second chance I promise I won't screw it up. I can't. You're it for me- the greatest thing I've ever done. So please…." He faltered the pain evident in his face.
Squeezing this hands she didn't bother wiping the tears away. "I love you Harry. Everything I've done since the moment we met was to find you, to get back to you, to survive long enough to show you that you're worth it."
When their lips finally met Harry knew that he was home.
THE END
Possible Epilogue ? Let me know what you think
I'm sure you thought I gave up on this, unfortunately in the last three months both my mom and my beloved soul dog passed giving a deeper meaning to Jack's words. "Love doesn't just die." It doesn't in fact, and in the end it is the only thing you can take with you.
Thanks for sticking with me. Loved writing this !