Arrangements
Meg’s new gown was simple, but it felt much more elegant than anything she’d worn for weeks, except the night she’d gone to dinner with Charlie, of course. It was a royal blue color, which she knew went well with her eyes. Carrie had gotten her a charming new brush and comb set and had lovingly helped her work out all of the knots in her hair without supposing how they might have gotten there. Meg remembered there had been a crown of icicles around her head not long ago. Thoughts of the hours she’d spent in the lifeboat, soaking wet and then freezing, praying for Charlie in her mind and then aloud, made her shudder, and she pushed them away, back into a corner, into the same compartment where she kept remembrances of the awful things her uncle had done to her.
“You look absolutely stunning, Miss West,” Carrie said, smiling at Meg’s reflection in the mirror.
“Thank you, Carrie, but please do call me Meg,” she insisted, not for the first time that day. “If you keep calling me Miss West, I’m afraid I might not answer.”
The servant giggled, as if she assumed Meg was implying she just wasn’t used to being called by her surname, not that it wasn’t even her name at all. “I’ll try to remember.”
There was a knock at the door, and the girl moved in that direction. “That might be your room service,” she said over her shoulder. She went out of the bedchamber, and once the door was opened, Meg recognized the voice and knew it wasn’t breakfast. Standing, she made her way out into the living area to see Jonathan there.
He looked tired, as if he had spent another night sitting next to a hospital bed. But his clothing was fresh, a new un-wrinkled suit, a new hat, new shoes. He smiled at her, and Meg went to meet him at the door. “You look radiant, Meg,” he said as he embraced her.
“Thank you,” she said. “Please do come in. Did you spend another night at the hospital?”
“I did,” he admitted as he took a seat next to her on the plush, velvet sofa. “Charlie is doing well though. He is being dismissed this morning. The family physician, Dr. Shaw, came by first thing this morning and said he could be released into his care.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Meg said, though she wasn’t sure she even believed her own words. There were more questions she needed answered before she would trust all was well with the younger Mr. Ashton.
“He asked about you first thing this morning, Meg,” Jonathan said, glancing around to see that Carrie had gone back into the bedroom. “His very first words were, ‘Where’s Meg?’”
She swallowed hard. This was not the first time he remembered her only to forget her a few hours later. “And what did he remember?”
“Everything,” Jonathan assured her. “I asked him several questions about who you are and how he came to know you. He remembers every detail now, Meg.”
She wanted to believe him, but she’d need to see it for herself today. And tomorrow. And the next day. “Do you think it will last?”
“I do. I think it has just been that sedative, Meg, that has made him forget. He couldn’t remember Mrs. Brown the other day when I asked him about her either. It’s as if everything in his recent memory has been wiped out by the drugs. But then, as soon as they leave his system, he’s his old self again.”
She had to disagree with that. “No, Jonathan. He’s not his old self. Even when he remembers me, he’s still hearing the screams—still hearing the voices in his head.”
Jonathan let out a sigh and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair and replacing it. Meg hadn’t seen him without it often at all, and she’d assumed at first it must be due to a receding hairline, but it wasn’t. She absently wondered if he slept in it. “Meg,” Jonathan continued, “I can understand why you are concerned, but can’t you remember the voices, too, when you think on it? We’ve all been through a jarring experience. It’s natural to think some of the sensations from that night will stay with us for a while.”
“Of course, I remember them, Jonathan,” Meg replied, leaning toward him. “I remember everything that happened. The screams from the people in the water, though we were far away, were haunting, and I distinctly remember listening to see if I could hear Charlie, to see if maybe I would know where he was, so I could instruct the boatmen to go back. So… yes, I remember them. But that’s not the same as what Charlie is experiencing, and we both know that.”
The liegeman took a deep breath, as if he wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. “I think… Charlie may be experiencing a more traumatic effect due to his actually being in the water with the people who were… expiring. But I’m sure he’ll be back to his old self completely soon enough. If he’s not, then there are plenty of doctors who can help him.”
“Doctors? Do you mean psychiatrists?” Meg asked the question with knots in her stomach. She didn’t know much about psychiatric help, but she was familiar with asylums as she’d often wondered if her mother or uncle belonged in one of those places.
Jonathan swallowed hard. “Let’s not worry about that right now, all right, Meg?” he asked. “Charlie is going home today, and that’s good news. I’ll take you over to his house in a few hours, once he’s settled in. He’s asked to see you, but I think it might be best if we let him get situated first. Also, his parents will be there, along with his sister and Peter. I asked Charlie if he was ready to tell them the truth about you, and he said whatever you wanted to do was fine with him.”
Meg realized she was pulling on a lose thread on the sofa and stopped abruptly, thinking she might somehow unravel the entire piece of furniture and end up in a heap on the floor. “What if we tell them, and he forgets again, and when they ask if my story is true—if Charlie and I really do love each other and plan to marry—he says he doesn’t know who I am?”
He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. “I don’t believe that will happen, Meg. He knows you now. He hasn’t taken any more of that medication. It will be fine.”
“But does he know me, Jonathan?” she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him even more. “What I mean to say is, the last time we spoke aboard Titanic, he was still quite angry at me. Then, we parted, not knowing if we would both survive. What happened aboard Carpathia could easily be dismissed as a cathartic dream. Clinging to each other made sense when that’s all we had. Now, here we are, back where he belongs, with his family and friends. And I am also here, but that doesn’t mean he even really knows me, let alone wants me to be part of his life.”
“Meg, he has been planning to marry you since he was eight years old.” The reminder was gentle, but firm. “He knows who you are. He remembers what you told him—about your uncle.”
“You asked if he remembered?”
“No, I didn’t have to. He said you’d already been through so much at home, it was a shame you had to add the sinking of Titanic to your experiences as well. I could tell by his expression that he remembered precisely what you’d said. He also mentioned being well enough to travel back to Southampton so he could clear a few things up with ‘that bastard.’”
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