Found
“You what?” Meg asked, not sure she’d heard correctly.
“I found ‘im. I found Mr. Ashton, like you asked. I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you,” she continued.
Meg looked from the woman to Jonathan and back again. “What? Where? Are you sure? Is he….”
“Come along, then,” she said leading the way out of the crowd and back the other direction toward the First Class passengers’ cabins.
“Most of the crew don’t know the doctor arranged for a few of the more critical, higher priority patients, if you will, to have their own cabins. The doctor’s been so busy, as you can imagine. The whole medical crew has been….”
Meg was hurrying to keep up with her. “Are you saying he’s alive then?” she asked once again.
“To the best of my knowledge,” she replied, “though the gal I talked to said he wasn’t doing so well, and that was an hour ago. If we hurry, you might make it in time.”
“In time?”
“To say goodbye.”
* * *
There were voices again, soft ones, distant ones. He couldn’t understand them. It was if they were speaking into glass jars, or wads of cotton. Once in a while, he would catch a word or two. “Hot water bottle,” “warm wrap,” “amputation,” “expiration.” He had no idea who or what they were talking about. He didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to find a way to open his eyes, to look for… someone…, but each eyelid seemed to weigh a cubic ton, and even when he did manage to force them open, he could only keep them slitted for a moment, and he could only make out shapes and forms.
And then everything would go black again, and the welcome warmth of oblivion would overtake him. Existing was becoming more painful than he could bear. It would be so much easier just to stop.
He was contemplating that idea again when a new voice caught his attention, and then another. They both seemed familiar somehow, though he couldn’t be sure, what with the speakers insisting on muffling every word. For the first time, he was fairly certain he heard his own name, followed by a mumbled response, the only words of which he caught were, “not long now.”
What would not be long now? Would the boats be back soon? Then, he remembered; the boats were there. He wasn’t floating on the collapsible anymore. Perhaps the man meant they would be arriving in New York soon. Or maybe Meg would be there soon. There it was—that’s what he was trying to remember. Meg. How could he forget? He needed to find Meg.
As if summoned by angels, he heard her voice again then. It had been that sweet sound which had caught his attention only a moment ago. But it was closer now, hovering above him. She sounded upset. He was hopeful she had not been injured aboard the lifeboat. The lifeboat. Meg had been on a different lifeboat. He had been holding on for dear life, for hours, trying to get back to her. Now, here she was. But something was wrong.
He focused on her words with all of his might. “Get better,” she was saying. “Soon.” Perhaps she was saying he would be all better soon. That would be welcome. He should very much like to get better soon.
The pain in his hands had subsided the longer he had been laying here, and he began to wonder if they hadn’t given him some medicine. He felt Meg’s small, smooth hand on his, and even though it stung when she squeezed his fingers, it was nice. He just wished he could open his eyes so he could look at her, but try as he might, his eyes refused to open.
She was saying his name again, and it was melodic. There were other people talking, too, but he focused only on Meg. Beautiful Meg. To think, he’d almost walked away from her forever over a silly misunderstanding. None of that mattered now. She was here. And he would be better soon. She had said so.
He felt a burning sensation in his lungs. This was a new development, and he began to wonder if perhaps she had placed something heavy on his chest. He had no idea why she might do such a thing, but then, not a lot was making sense just now. He attempted to ignore the unpleasantness and returned his focus to her angelic voice. What was she saying? Oh, yes, Ruth. That little spitfire. He couldn’t wait to see her again. She sure had caused some trouble getting off of that boat. He should like to take her to see the dawfins off Coney Island someday soon. She would like that. Perhaps she would even want to ride the roller coaster.
There was that burning again. The worst part was, it was making it nearly intolerable to breathe. He could still feel Meg’s hand on his, but for some reason, it seemed as if she were backing away, her voice growing fainter and fainter. Why would she leave? Surely, she’d stay with him until he was able to open his eyes and look at her.
The feeling of floating was back now. But the water must have been warmer this time because the stabbing sensation from before, when he was holding tight to the collapsible, was gone. In fact, all of the pain in his body was beginning to fade, all of it except for the burning in his lungs. That seemed to be morphing a bit, as if his lungs were turning into something else. Maybe he was developing gills…. No, that wasn’t it. Where was Meg going? Why wouldn’t she stay with him? He could barely understand her now.
She was saying his name. Of that, he was certain. And she was saying it louder, almost the way she had been saying it when she was calling him to help her get through the gate. She sounded almost as frantic. But there was something else. What was it? “Stay.” “No.” Was she saying she couldn’t stay? “Love you.” Now that he heard. Perhaps she would just be gone a little while, and then she would come back. All was well. He just needed to rest a bit longer, to find a way to open his eyes, stop the burning, and the floating….
“Charlie! Charlie! No, please, stay with me! I love you so much. Please!” Meg was begging now, her head on his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
The doctor was there again now, checking for a pulse. “Miss Westmoreland,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid he’s gone.”
Meg sat up sharply. “No,” she pleaded. “You don’t understand. I just found him.”
“I assure you, we’ve done everything we can, even before you arrived….”
He didn’t understand. She didn’t mean literally. Now, after all of these years of suppositions and misguided loathing, she had finally substantiated the gift her father had granted her even before his death in prearranging not just a marriage, but an unparalleled, life-long gift of undying love and devotion. What’s more, despite the fact that she could not bear to think of her own life without him, Charlie deserved to live. He had risked his own life in order that so many others would have a chance to survive. He was kind, and good, and loving, and perfect in so many, many ways. And she refused to believe he could slip away from her—from them—so easily.
“Do something, please,” she pleaded.
The doctor looked at her sympathetically. “If there was anything I could do, Miss Westmoreland, I assure you, I would do it. But I’m not a miracle worker. Take a moment and say your goodbyes,” he added, looking from her to Jonathan who was standing at the foot of the bed.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
