Fate
Meg swallowed hard. Charlie had made other such statements, but this time he had that far off look in his eyes again. “It could’ve been one of them in my seat as well. Or Jonathan’s or Daniel’s. There’s no way to say how God decided who lived and who did not.”
At the mention of God, Charlie’s head whipped around and his eyebrows raised. “Do you think He chose?” he asked. His voice was calm, but there was an air of amusement in it. “Do you think He was looking down at the Atlantic that night and put us into categories of who deserved to make it and who did not?”
She put her hands in her lap, absently tugging at the stitches in the hem of her dinner napkin, not sure how to respond. She had little knowledge of Charlie’s religious beliefs except for the few he’d mentioned in a letter from time to time. Since they’d arrived in New York, he had given no indication as to whether or not those sentiments had changed. She’d certainly done her fair share of swearing off all things of faith over the years. But she knew that night, as she sat on the unsteady lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, God had heard her prayers. “I believe we all have a reason for making it out of the Atlantic,” she said quietly.
“The reason most of the people who made it out alive were able to do so was because they were First Class passengers. It was their wealth that won them their seats.” He folded his hands above his plate and looked across the room at a large painting on the wall of an English fox hunt.
“Money wasn’t everything, though, Charlie. JJ Astor, Ben Guggenheim, there are others who could’ve written a check large enough to pay the salaries of every crew member for the rest of their lives who didn’t find a seat in the lifeboat and didn’t have the capacity to hang on until they were rescued as you did.”
“Capacity?” Charlie asked, looking at her with wide eyes. Again, his voice wasn’t angry, but that condescending tone was present. “I didn’t do anything miraculous or spectacular, Meg. I was just… lucky.”
The servants came in again, and Meg set her napkin down. “I won’t be having anything else, thank you,” she told one of the servants she’d learned was called Victor, and he nodded as he took her plate. Once they were alone again, she said, “Charlie, I have no idea what happened to you while you were in the water. I have no way of knowing. Unfortunately, neither do you.”
“I’m not sure that’s unfortunate,” he remarked quietly as he leaned back in his chair.
“It would be nice to know you have a full memory, I would think,” she said. “Anyway, my point is, I spent hours praying that you would be spared, and you were. I don’t know if that was divine intervention, luck, or something else. But I won’t be ungrateful for it.”
He was quiet for a long time before he turned to her and took her hand again, this time a bit more forcefully. “I’m not asking you to be ungrateful, Meg. I’m just questioning… everything now. I don’t know how a God could stand by and watch newborn babies freeze to death in the middle of the ocean while boats floated nearby less than half full of women wrapped in enough furs to clothe an entire apartment building full of factory workers. I don’t know how a God could pick and choose who lives and who dies and not send the Californian over to rescue passengers aboard another ship before she even went down at all. I don’t know how a God could’ve allowed an idiot like Bruce Ismay to order an untested cruiser to pick up speed while plowing through ice fields without giving the lookouts proper tools so that they could see the icebergs. But that’s what happened, I suppose. So… if there is a God, and I’m no longer convinced there is, I guess He must’ve had His reasons.”
Meg stared into his green eyes for the longest time, and while her initial reaction was to hurl the same sort of comparisons at him—who was he to sit here in all this finery while somewhere out in the night, a little girl was too afraid to close her eyes for fear a monster would shadow her doorway?—she knew the pain that caused him to make such statements wouldn’t respond to her logic. “I don’t blame you for questioning God right now, Charlie. And I suppose He probably doesn’t either. All I know is that I am thankful that you’re here, that we are finally together, that I never have to step foot in Southampton again, and that for once in my life, I finally feel safe, even though I can also remember the terror of that night as clearly today as I could when it was happening.”
He leaned in closely and licked his lips, but she could see the pain in his eyes. “Meg, do you hear them?” he asked quietly, his voice just a whisper.
She felt her heart catch in her chest. She’d hoped that it had finally stopped. He hadn’t mentioned the voices since he’d been home, but she knew now he’d only been trying to go on about his life like everything was all right. They’d never stopped at all.
Meg slowly shook her head. “I don’t, Charlie. But I believe you. And I’m sure you’re not the only one. The others who were in the water—they might hear them, too.”
His face fell, and he stared at her hand for the longest time. “I can’t talk to them. There were only a handful, and they’re scattered now. I don’t even know any of them. I ….” His voice trailed off. She knew he wouldn’t finish that sentence.
“What can I do?” she asked, lifting his face and slowly stroking his cheek as she met his eyes again. “How can I make it better, Charlie?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his other hand resting on hers. “I wish I did, Meg. They never stop. Even now, as I’m talking to you, they don’t go away.”
She wished with all of her heart she could take it away from him, but there was nothing she could think of to make the voices quiet. “Did you talk to Dr. Shaw?”
“No,” Charlie admitted. “I’m afraid they’ll drug me once more, and I don’t want to forget you again.”
“Maybe there’s a different medication they can give you.”
“Possibly. Or they could lock me up in an asylum somewhere with the other loons.”
“You’re not crazy, Charlie. You froze to death along with two thousand other people. That isn’t insignificant. It’s quite traumatic. Everyone else might think we can just be thankful to be alive and go on about our business, but it isn’t that simple, now is it? You need to give yourself some time.”
“They’re driving me up a wall, Meg.” His eyes narrowed, and she could see exactly how much he meant it. “It takes me hours to finally fall asleep, and when I do, they wake me several times each night. I give up.”
“Then tell Dr. Shaw that you need something for sleep,” she suggested, hopeful that it might be a helpful alternative.
He shook his head and she removed her hand, which he clasped in his. “I told you, I don’t trust any of those medications now. I don’t want to discover I’ve missed you again.”
“Maybe Dr. Shaw will have a different suggestion, then,” she said with a shrug.
He let go of her to run a hand through his hair, and she knew that meant he was anxious and disregarding her statement. “Perhaps.” He looked like he might want to say more.
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