O-62 - Erulisse - Memories and Salt Water
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b2memPAY ATTENTION TO THE RATINGS, THIS IS A STORY WITH MODERATE SLASH. DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T READ SLASH STORIES
B2MeM Challenge: O-62 – Maglor in History 1 – The Titanic Sinks
Format: Short Story
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG13
Warnings: M/M Sexual Situations
Characters: Maglor
Pairings: Maglor/OC
Word Count: 3462
Summary: Maglor leaves his Chateau in France to play several concerts in Ireland. He and his companion Denis sail on the Titanic.
Memories and Salt Water
Denis and I left the chateau early on that Good Friday; Horace was up on the box driving the matched greys and coach to the train station while the two of us sat comfortably inside. The foggy day was broken by the silvered ribbon of the nearby river.
“Some rain would be good. With luck we will have a good crop this year,” I said as we passed the estate vineyards.
I looked to my right and my glance softened. Denis has been my companion/lover for more than ten years now. His soft brown hair is wavy, his deep green eyes pierce my soul, and he has the most kissable lips I have tasted in several centuries. That gorgeous head is perched atop a body that is equally praiseworthy.
He is a talented painter who can be as intense and focused when he is producing his artwork as I can be when working on my music. Fortunately we are rarely both drowning in our arts at the same time, so one of us can usually rouse the other to eat, sleep, and make love. It is a very French thing, to make love; other places I have lived in the past were not so poetic. But France had offered Denis to me, and I had gratefully accepted her gift.
“Are you excited, Michel?” his rich contralto asked quietly, his tone betraying his own anticipation.
“Not really.”
“But it’s supposed to be the most luxurious ocean-liner ever made with no expense spared, and it is unsinkable.”
“Feh, any ship can sink,” I responded. My thoughts jumped back to a night of fires on the water at Losgar for one split second, then quickly moved away again, discomfited. “I wish you would tour Ireland with me,” I continued. “Come with me and enjoy the music and the green hills of Erin. It would only be for two weeks, and then we could continue on to New York together.”
“Michel, you know I must go on ahead.” This was an argument that we had repeated often over the past few weeks and our positions were firmly entrenched, yet I could not stop my attempts to change his mind.
“I have a meeting scheduled with Arabelle for the 15th,” he continued. “She wants to feature my artwork in a one-man show, but if I am late, I will have lost my opportunity to break into the New York art scene. As you say, it is only two weeks and I will be at the pier to meet you when you dock at the end of the month.”
A sudden and incomprehensible fear made me shiver. I pulled him to me and kissed him hard, forcing his mouth open and tasting him. He wrapped his arms around me and deepened our kiss. I pulled back, shaken by whatever had impelled me to bruise his lips, but I couldn't regret it. I put a lighter tone into my bearing and vocal tone. I didn’t want to pass my unformed fears on to him.
“Well, love, let’s enjoy this short trip, then. We have a private compartment on the train, and I booked one of the best First Class suites on the ship.” I leaned over and kissed him again, with tenderness this time.
He broke away breathless with dancing eyes. “I hear that the ocean can be a wonderful aphrodisiac.”
“Do you need one, love?”
“No, never with you, Michel,” he murmured as his lips touched mine once again.
“Messieurs, we have arrived,” called Horace from above. We extracted ourselves from our embrace, checked over each other to be sure we looked presentable, and buttoned our overcoats to hide our mutual erections. Climbing out of the coach we walked towards the train platform. Horace and the porters would see to our luggage.
A shrill whistle announced the coming train which clattered past us, stopping in a cloud of steam. “This way, messieurs,” the Conductor bowed and showed us to our compartment. “As soon as your luggage has been delivered, ah! Here it is now. We will be leaving soon.” He asked for our tickets and punched them.
Soon our various parcels, packages and trunks had been distributed in our compartment and we were on our way. Denis leaned out of the window, laughing. “Au revoir, Champagne. We will be back in a few months.” With a smile on his face he waved good-bye as we pulled out of the station. We were on our way, ready for our latest adventure.
I looked at Denis suggestively. He licked his lips and began pulling down the window shades while I locked the door. We then continued what we had started in the carriage, proving that the rocking motion of the rails was conducive to a very erotic encounter. Denis then turned away from me to sleep for a while before dinner. I sat across from him, watching the shadows cast through the window shades paint his nude body with glorious stripes of light and shade.
I caught my breath, he was so beautiful. I have known many lovers in my long life, but Denis was special to me. Many times I had moved on, leaving my lovers behind me. Denis was one of the rare ones, a love that I wanted to stay with for as long as the Powers allowed. If I was fortunate, I would be able to love him and be with him until his death. I shrugged my shoulders. Falling in love with the second-born was always tragic, yet I had found that I could not go through life alone. The long ages of my life would echo unbearably without loving companionship.
We dressed for dinner and shared an excellent meal with passable wine.
“Could we bring the bottle back to our compartment,” Denis asked me, a teasing look in his eyes.
“Of course, if that is what you want,” and arranged for us to take the bottle and two glasses back with us. Within a few minutes we were in our compartment again, glasses of wine in our hands. Denis then proceeded to teach me why he had wanted the wine. The bed was small, but it was perfectly adequate.
The next day, April 6th, we arrived in Paris. The Conductor assured us that the train would not leave until 8:00 pm so we paid a porter to watch over our room and left to enjoy the City of Lights.
“Denis, stop feeding the ducks. They’ll end up too fat, unable to waddle, even directly next to the shore,” I laughingly scolded him as he gave the last bits of our pastry to the ducks swimming in the Seine. He turned to face me, shrugged his shoulders in a Gaelic fashion and returned to the table and his coffee. A duck followed him into the avenue for a short distance, but was it easily convinced to return to the river. Later we walked in Montmartre, looking at various art galleries and arguing mildly about the new styles of artwork as evidenced in works by Picasso and Matisse. Denis loved this more modern style of artwork, but I was a bit more hesitant and old-fashioned in my views.
We were back on the train with ample time to stretch out with a glass of wine before it pulled out of the station. In two more days we would be in Cherbourg. “I want this trip to go on forever,” I thought as we made love again that night. Denis was aggressive that night and I gave myself up to his talented hands. At least I would have something wonderful to remember while we were separated.
-0-0-0-0-
With a mournful whistle, the train pulled in to the Cherbourg station. We were scheduled to spend one day in this seaside town across the English Channel from Southampton.
“The ship is too large for our harbor. We will be taking passengers to the dock in groups. Two tenders will ferry passengers out to the ship. You are scheduled for the second tender, tomorrow April 10th at 6:30 pm,” the hotel Manager informed us.
We made sure our trunks and clothing were put into our room and grabbed our overcoats, leaving the hotel to walk along the shore. I watched Denis run towards some of the shore birds with his coat unbuttoned and flapping, causing them to take flight, complaining loudly. His antics caused me to laugh lightly, in spite of my general depression.
Seeing the ocean always depresses me, so many bad times in my life have been spent at the edges of Lord Ulmo’s realm. Looking out at the surf, I became caught in my memories – the burning of the ships at Losgar, the sacking of Sirion, and that final futile effort to fulfill our Oath when Maedhros and I stole the Silmarils after the War of Wrath - so many tragic and bloody times. Although I was not conscious of the tears on my cheeks, Denis saw them when he returned to where I stood immobile. He stopped in front of me.
“Beloved,” his soft tones penetrated my thoughts. His hands came up to my face, gently cupping it and wiping my tears away. “Beloved,” he whispered and kissed me gently, lovingly. I was suddenly undone.
He held me, murmuring into my ear, while I wept into his broad shoulder. After a short time I was under control again and pulled away from him. “Beloved,” he said again. “What has you on edge? Why are you so upset?”
One last time I tried. “Please, Denis, my love. Leave the boat at Queenstown with me. Please.” He shook his head, wordless, and touched his forehead to mine.
Ruthlessly I pushed my tears back, and I resolved to make the next day a happy one for us. “Then come,” I said steadily. “I promise I will not mention it again,” and taking his hand into mine, I led the way down the beach to a little cafe where we ate meat pies washed down with a dry red wine.
We made love slowly that night, as if we had never touched each others' bodies before. I explored Denis with my tongue; I wanted to taste all of him. I nipped him gently, and a few times with a bit more force. He wanted me to take him and I complied – our physical coupling was welcome to me because it anchored me to this time, this place, this love.
We stayed in our room until mid-afternoon. Then, after getting dressed and arranging for our luggage to be cared for, we left for the steamer. Walking onto the Nomadic as part of Group II, we looked west towards the deep water, and there she was, the RMS Titanic. Her four slanted smokestacks stood proudly above her white decks. She practically gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. I glanced over at Denis; he had a broad smile on his face.
A short time later we were finally on board Titanic. I had to admit she was sumptuous, fine glass and hardwoods were used throughout the upper levels. We went to find our cabin and noticed that most of Denis’ luggage had been put below decks in storage.
Dressed formally for dinner, we walked behind the central staircase into the Reception Room, and then into the First Class dining room. We were shown to our table and spent a very pleasant evening sharing a well-cooked meal with the others seated around our table. Denis was quite taken with Mrs. Guggenheim who sat on his right and was flirting quite outrageously with him, her husband smiling at her antics from his chair on her other side. I spoke with Mrs. Brown who was seated on my left, a most fascinating and plain-spoken woman. We called it an early night and returned to our stateroom. I will not share the particulars of our last night together, it remains in my memory – a treasured night that I rarely indulge in revisiting, but that is almost sacred to me in a fashion.
The next morning we stopped at Queenstown, Ireland and I was one of only seven people who departed the ship. Titanic's horn sounded deeply and it began to pull out into the open ocean. I turned to watch it leave, my eyes focused on only one figure. I watched Denis standing at the rail until the ship was a small blip in the distance. Already I could hardly wait for two weeks to pass before I would board a steamer to New York City. I left the dock to catch my train to Kilkenny.
-0-0-0-0-
My booking agent, Darby, had scheduled four concerts for me before I would arrive in Belfast. I started in Kilkenny, and then swung west to Limerick, then east again for two nights in Dublin, and finally north to Belfast. I unpacked my harp and spent my time on the train practicing, the familiar motions and tunes helped to push away my loneliness while the miles clattered away behind me.
A few days later I was eating in a Dublin pub before catching my train to Belfast later that day. Suddenly I heard “Extra! Extra! Unsinkable Ship is Lost in North Sea. Titanic Destroyed, Cause Unknown!” My ears caught the word Titanic and suddenly I was on my feet, running out the door.
A few moments later I was back, a newspaper clutched in my hands, scanning the scant amount of information as quickly as I could. “Denis,” I whispered as I sank into my seat.
“How can I find out more information? My friend is on that ship, I must know more.” I blurted out, looking at the pub owner for answers.
“There is a White Star Lines office in Belfast….”
I threw down coin for the meal and left immediately to pack and catch the next train north.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of fear and anguish. For several days I joined with hundreds of others outside the White Star Lines Belfast office, waiting for any information they might release to us. I sent thousands of prayers to the Valar although I knew they had turned their backs on me thousands of years before. A partial list of survivors was released on the 17th and I ran to read the listings like everyone else, hoping to see Denis’ name listed. But it wasn’t there. On the 23rd the first complete list of survivors was posted and the last of my hope died.
All I could see in my mind was that cocked head, those laughing green eyes, that hair which would never lie down properly, the flush in his cheeks when we kissed. Having backed up against a building wall, I found myself sliding down the rough boards, then burying my head in my knees and covering my head with my hands, I wept like a small child, unashamed of my grief.
I have always picked up and moved on and my skills for survival didn't leave me now, but I went through the motions without feeling them. I telegraphed Arabelle telling her that Denis had gone down with the mighty ship. We would discuss more in detail at a later date; it was all I could bear just to send her word.
I canceled the remainder of my concert dates and then began making my way via ferries and trains back to France and, finally, home to the Chateau. Once home, I wandered the hallways, always hearing a laugh from around the corner, or seeing his form cross the doorway ahead of me.
In May ships were sent to recover bodies. My friends who were deeply concerned about me convinced me to stay in Champagne. So I sent Horace to Halifax instead. I wasn't eating and I was drinking too much, I had returned home an empty man. At the end of May when recovery operations were suspended, Horace returned home without Denis' body. I finally had no choice but to face it, Denis would never return to me.
-0-0-0-0-
A knock came at my study door. “Monsieur Michel, a letter from America,” Horace's voice said from the hallway.
Unlocking the door, I took the mail from the silver tray. “Merci,” I said while turning away, closing the door behind me.
The letter, which I had thought would be from Arabelle, was penned in an unknown hand. I opened it curiously.
“M Finner,
“More than one month ago my daughter and I stood on the deck of Titanic, panic-filled and shivering from the cold. A kind man came to my daughter and wrapped her in his woolen overcoat, fastening her life vest tightly over it. He showed me that he had placed a letter deeply into the inside pocket and made me promise that I would mail it to the address he gave if I lived. I was crying, and swore that I would mail it if we survived as he helped us into a life boat. I think of this kind man every day and I know without doubt that he saved our lives that terrible night.
“I fulfill my vow here and enclose his letter for you. I hope it helps to know that he was a true hero. I pray for him every day and will thank him until the day that I die.
“Imogen Andresson and Katia
Onamia, Minnesota
USA”
I dropped the cover letter onto the desk, and took the interior note into my hand. It was water-stained and folded, and looked to have been written hurriedly. Trembling, I opened the page.
“Beloved, I have little time to write this and pray that it will get to you. I only want to tell you that I love you. You have been the greatest gift I could have ever have received. If I was given the chance to live through this night but never meet you, I would choose to die instead because life without you would be meaningless. I would not change a thing, my love. I pray that someday we may meet again. I carry you in my heart and I will die seeing only you with my eyes and saying your name on my lips. I love you now and forever – Denis”
My tears splashed onto the letter and I gave myself up to my grief one final time. Then I stood up from my desk. I had one more task to perform. Not the funeral – an empty casket had already been laid to rest in the small plot next to the Chateau. No, I had a task that none could know of.
Locking my study door, I went to the far wall where I opened a hidden compartment. Taking out a box, I took a small black book out of it and sat down at my desk, book in hand.
The pages were well worn and made of vellum. There were many pages with neat columns of names, and many more that remained empty, awaiting their own entries. I looked through the pages carefully, one by one, reading each name. Piskar - I remembered a laugh that started in his very belly, rising through him like sunlight passing through a break in the clouds. Roland, my English archer. He was serious, not given to humor. His smiles were reserved for me alone. Wi Fu had been a delicate artist, a carver of wood. His fine touch had caused my skin to feel as if it was on fire. Sasha, my Russian noble. We had a wondrous time at his dacha, but the Czar had decided he was a political threat and had him executed. I read each name, remembering each of the loves of my life and the many years that had passed since I began this record.
I dipped my quill into the inkwell. Carefully I wrote “Denis – Champagne, France 1912” to the list. I would never forget him. I replaced the book in the box, adding his note to the loose contents. Everything went back into the wall compartment. As I closed the hidden door on my book, I closed that door to my heart. I had prayed to the Powers to love him and be with him until his death and in their own warped fashion, they had answered my prayer.
I know that eventually I will recover and feel joy again. I know that I will find another love in the future. But I also know now how the ocean gets its salty water. It is through the tears of those who are forever separated by its deep waters. I turned off the light and left the room and my memories behind me.
B2MeM Challenge: O-62 – Maglor in History 1 – The Titanic Sinks
Format: Short Story
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG13
Warnings: M/M Sexual Situations
Characters: Maglor
Pairings: Maglor/OC
Word Count: 3462
Summary: Maglor leaves his Chateau in France to play several concerts in Ireland. He and his companion Denis sail on the Titanic.
Memories and Salt Water
Denis and I left the chateau early on that Good Friday; Horace was up on the box driving the matched greys and coach to the train station while the two of us sat comfortably inside. The foggy day was broken by the silvered ribbon of the nearby river.
“Some rain would be good. With luck we will have a good crop this year,” I said as we passed the estate vineyards.
I looked to my right and my glance softened. Denis has been my companion/lover for more than ten years now. His soft brown hair is wavy, his deep green eyes pierce my soul, and he has the most kissable lips I have tasted in several centuries. That gorgeous head is perched atop a body that is equally praiseworthy.
He is a talented painter who can be as intense and focused when he is producing his artwork as I can be when working on my music. Fortunately we are rarely both drowning in our arts at the same time, so one of us can usually rouse the other to eat, sleep, and make love. It is a very French thing, to make love; other places I have lived in the past were not so poetic. But France had offered Denis to me, and I had gratefully accepted her gift.
“Are you excited, Michel?” his rich contralto asked quietly, his tone betraying his own anticipation.
“Not really.”
“But it’s supposed to be the most luxurious ocean-liner ever made with no expense spared, and it is unsinkable.”
“Feh, any ship can sink,” I responded. My thoughts jumped back to a night of fires on the water at Losgar for one split second, then quickly moved away again, discomfited. “I wish you would tour Ireland with me,” I continued. “Come with me and enjoy the music and the green hills of Erin. It would only be for two weeks, and then we could continue on to New York together.”
“Michel, you know I must go on ahead.” This was an argument that we had repeated often over the past few weeks and our positions were firmly entrenched, yet I could not stop my attempts to change his mind.
“I have a meeting scheduled with Arabelle for the 15th,” he continued. “She wants to feature my artwork in a one-man show, but if I am late, I will have lost my opportunity to break into the New York art scene. As you say, it is only two weeks and I will be at the pier to meet you when you dock at the end of the month.”
A sudden and incomprehensible fear made me shiver. I pulled him to me and kissed him hard, forcing his mouth open and tasting him. He wrapped his arms around me and deepened our kiss. I pulled back, shaken by whatever had impelled me to bruise his lips, but I couldn't regret it. I put a lighter tone into my bearing and vocal tone. I didn’t want to pass my unformed fears on to him.
“Well, love, let’s enjoy this short trip, then. We have a private compartment on the train, and I booked one of the best First Class suites on the ship.” I leaned over and kissed him again, with tenderness this time.
He broke away breathless with dancing eyes. “I hear that the ocean can be a wonderful aphrodisiac.”
“Do you need one, love?”
“No, never with you, Michel,” he murmured as his lips touched mine once again.
“Messieurs, we have arrived,” called Horace from above. We extracted ourselves from our embrace, checked over each other to be sure we looked presentable, and buttoned our overcoats to hide our mutual erections. Climbing out of the coach we walked towards the train platform. Horace and the porters would see to our luggage.
A shrill whistle announced the coming train which clattered past us, stopping in a cloud of steam. “This way, messieurs,” the Conductor bowed and showed us to our compartment. “As soon as your luggage has been delivered, ah! Here it is now. We will be leaving soon.” He asked for our tickets and punched them.
Soon our various parcels, packages and trunks had been distributed in our compartment and we were on our way. Denis leaned out of the window, laughing. “Au revoir, Champagne. We will be back in a few months.” With a smile on his face he waved good-bye as we pulled out of the station. We were on our way, ready for our latest adventure.
I looked at Denis suggestively. He licked his lips and began pulling down the window shades while I locked the door. We then continued what we had started in the carriage, proving that the rocking motion of the rails was conducive to a very erotic encounter. Denis then turned away from me to sleep for a while before dinner. I sat across from him, watching the shadows cast through the window shades paint his nude body with glorious stripes of light and shade.
I caught my breath, he was so beautiful. I have known many lovers in my long life, but Denis was special to me. Many times I had moved on, leaving my lovers behind me. Denis was one of the rare ones, a love that I wanted to stay with for as long as the Powers allowed. If I was fortunate, I would be able to love him and be with him until his death. I shrugged my shoulders. Falling in love with the second-born was always tragic, yet I had found that I could not go through life alone. The long ages of my life would echo unbearably without loving companionship.
We dressed for dinner and shared an excellent meal with passable wine.
“Could we bring the bottle back to our compartment,” Denis asked me, a teasing look in his eyes.
“Of course, if that is what you want,” and arranged for us to take the bottle and two glasses back with us. Within a few minutes we were in our compartment again, glasses of wine in our hands. Denis then proceeded to teach me why he had wanted the wine. The bed was small, but it was perfectly adequate.
The next day, April 6th, we arrived in Paris. The Conductor assured us that the train would not leave until 8:00 pm so we paid a porter to watch over our room and left to enjoy the City of Lights.
“Denis, stop feeding the ducks. They’ll end up too fat, unable to waddle, even directly next to the shore,” I laughingly scolded him as he gave the last bits of our pastry to the ducks swimming in the Seine. He turned to face me, shrugged his shoulders in a Gaelic fashion and returned to the table and his coffee. A duck followed him into the avenue for a short distance, but was it easily convinced to return to the river. Later we walked in Montmartre, looking at various art galleries and arguing mildly about the new styles of artwork as evidenced in works by Picasso and Matisse. Denis loved this more modern style of artwork, but I was a bit more hesitant and old-fashioned in my views.
We were back on the train with ample time to stretch out with a glass of wine before it pulled out of the station. In two more days we would be in Cherbourg. “I want this trip to go on forever,” I thought as we made love again that night. Denis was aggressive that night and I gave myself up to his talented hands. At least I would have something wonderful to remember while we were separated.
-0-0-0-0-
With a mournful whistle, the train pulled in to the Cherbourg station. We were scheduled to spend one day in this seaside town across the English Channel from Southampton.
“The ship is too large for our harbor. We will be taking passengers to the dock in groups. Two tenders will ferry passengers out to the ship. You are scheduled for the second tender, tomorrow April 10th at 6:30 pm,” the hotel Manager informed us.
We made sure our trunks and clothing were put into our room and grabbed our overcoats, leaving the hotel to walk along the shore. I watched Denis run towards some of the shore birds with his coat unbuttoned and flapping, causing them to take flight, complaining loudly. His antics caused me to laugh lightly, in spite of my general depression.
Seeing the ocean always depresses me, so many bad times in my life have been spent at the edges of Lord Ulmo’s realm. Looking out at the surf, I became caught in my memories – the burning of the ships at Losgar, the sacking of Sirion, and that final futile effort to fulfill our Oath when Maedhros and I stole the Silmarils after the War of Wrath - so many tragic and bloody times. Although I was not conscious of the tears on my cheeks, Denis saw them when he returned to where I stood immobile. He stopped in front of me.
“Beloved,” his soft tones penetrated my thoughts. His hands came up to my face, gently cupping it and wiping my tears away. “Beloved,” he whispered and kissed me gently, lovingly. I was suddenly undone.
He held me, murmuring into my ear, while I wept into his broad shoulder. After a short time I was under control again and pulled away from him. “Beloved,” he said again. “What has you on edge? Why are you so upset?”
One last time I tried. “Please, Denis, my love. Leave the boat at Queenstown with me. Please.” He shook his head, wordless, and touched his forehead to mine.
Ruthlessly I pushed my tears back, and I resolved to make the next day a happy one for us. “Then come,” I said steadily. “I promise I will not mention it again,” and taking his hand into mine, I led the way down the beach to a little cafe where we ate meat pies washed down with a dry red wine.
We made love slowly that night, as if we had never touched each others' bodies before. I explored Denis with my tongue; I wanted to taste all of him. I nipped him gently, and a few times with a bit more force. He wanted me to take him and I complied – our physical coupling was welcome to me because it anchored me to this time, this place, this love.
We stayed in our room until mid-afternoon. Then, after getting dressed and arranging for our luggage to be cared for, we left for the steamer. Walking onto the Nomadic as part of Group II, we looked west towards the deep water, and there she was, the RMS Titanic. Her four slanted smokestacks stood proudly above her white decks. She practically gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. I glanced over at Denis; he had a broad smile on his face.
A short time later we were finally on board Titanic. I had to admit she was sumptuous, fine glass and hardwoods were used throughout the upper levels. We went to find our cabin and noticed that most of Denis’ luggage had been put below decks in storage.
Dressed formally for dinner, we walked behind the central staircase into the Reception Room, and then into the First Class dining room. We were shown to our table and spent a very pleasant evening sharing a well-cooked meal with the others seated around our table. Denis was quite taken with Mrs. Guggenheim who sat on his right and was flirting quite outrageously with him, her husband smiling at her antics from his chair on her other side. I spoke with Mrs. Brown who was seated on my left, a most fascinating and plain-spoken woman. We called it an early night and returned to our stateroom. I will not share the particulars of our last night together, it remains in my memory – a treasured night that I rarely indulge in revisiting, but that is almost sacred to me in a fashion.
The next morning we stopped at Queenstown, Ireland and I was one of only seven people who departed the ship. Titanic's horn sounded deeply and it began to pull out into the open ocean. I turned to watch it leave, my eyes focused on only one figure. I watched Denis standing at the rail until the ship was a small blip in the distance. Already I could hardly wait for two weeks to pass before I would board a steamer to New York City. I left the dock to catch my train to Kilkenny.
-0-0-0-0-
My booking agent, Darby, had scheduled four concerts for me before I would arrive in Belfast. I started in Kilkenny, and then swung west to Limerick, then east again for two nights in Dublin, and finally north to Belfast. I unpacked my harp and spent my time on the train practicing, the familiar motions and tunes helped to push away my loneliness while the miles clattered away behind me.
A few days later I was eating in a Dublin pub before catching my train to Belfast later that day. Suddenly I heard “Extra! Extra! Unsinkable Ship is Lost in North Sea. Titanic Destroyed, Cause Unknown!” My ears caught the word Titanic and suddenly I was on my feet, running out the door.
A few moments later I was back, a newspaper clutched in my hands, scanning the scant amount of information as quickly as I could. “Denis,” I whispered as I sank into my seat.
“How can I find out more information? My friend is on that ship, I must know more.” I blurted out, looking at the pub owner for answers.
“There is a White Star Lines office in Belfast….”
I threw down coin for the meal and left immediately to pack and catch the next train north.
The next few weeks passed in a blur of fear and anguish. For several days I joined with hundreds of others outside the White Star Lines Belfast office, waiting for any information they might release to us. I sent thousands of prayers to the Valar although I knew they had turned their backs on me thousands of years before. A partial list of survivors was released on the 17th and I ran to read the listings like everyone else, hoping to see Denis’ name listed. But it wasn’t there. On the 23rd the first complete list of survivors was posted and the last of my hope died.
All I could see in my mind was that cocked head, those laughing green eyes, that hair which would never lie down properly, the flush in his cheeks when we kissed. Having backed up against a building wall, I found myself sliding down the rough boards, then burying my head in my knees and covering my head with my hands, I wept like a small child, unashamed of my grief.
I have always picked up and moved on and my skills for survival didn't leave me now, but I went through the motions without feeling them. I telegraphed Arabelle telling her that Denis had gone down with the mighty ship. We would discuss more in detail at a later date; it was all I could bear just to send her word.
I canceled the remainder of my concert dates and then began making my way via ferries and trains back to France and, finally, home to the Chateau. Once home, I wandered the hallways, always hearing a laugh from around the corner, or seeing his form cross the doorway ahead of me.
In May ships were sent to recover bodies. My friends who were deeply concerned about me convinced me to stay in Champagne. So I sent Horace to Halifax instead. I wasn't eating and I was drinking too much, I had returned home an empty man. At the end of May when recovery operations were suspended, Horace returned home without Denis' body. I finally had no choice but to face it, Denis would never return to me.
-0-0-0-0-
A knock came at my study door. “Monsieur Michel, a letter from America,” Horace's voice said from the hallway.
Unlocking the door, I took the mail from the silver tray. “Merci,” I said while turning away, closing the door behind me.
The letter, which I had thought would be from Arabelle, was penned in an unknown hand. I opened it curiously.
“M Finner,
“More than one month ago my daughter and I stood on the deck of Titanic, panic-filled and shivering from the cold. A kind man came to my daughter and wrapped her in his woolen overcoat, fastening her life vest tightly over it. He showed me that he had placed a letter deeply into the inside pocket and made me promise that I would mail it to the address he gave if I lived. I was crying, and swore that I would mail it if we survived as he helped us into a life boat. I think of this kind man every day and I know without doubt that he saved our lives that terrible night.
“I fulfill my vow here and enclose his letter for you. I hope it helps to know that he was a true hero. I pray for him every day and will thank him until the day that I die.
“Imogen Andresson and Katia
Onamia, Minnesota
USA”
I dropped the cover letter onto the desk, and took the interior note into my hand. It was water-stained and folded, and looked to have been written hurriedly. Trembling, I opened the page.
“Beloved, I have little time to write this and pray that it will get to you. I only want to tell you that I love you. You have been the greatest gift I could have ever have received. If I was given the chance to live through this night but never meet you, I would choose to die instead because life without you would be meaningless. I would not change a thing, my love. I pray that someday we may meet again. I carry you in my heart and I will die seeing only you with my eyes and saying your name on my lips. I love you now and forever – Denis”
My tears splashed onto the letter and I gave myself up to my grief one final time. Then I stood up from my desk. I had one more task to perform. Not the funeral – an empty casket had already been laid to rest in the small plot next to the Chateau. No, I had a task that none could know of.
Locking my study door, I went to the far wall where I opened a hidden compartment. Taking out a box, I took a small black book out of it and sat down at my desk, book in hand.
The pages were well worn and made of vellum. There were many pages with neat columns of names, and many more that remained empty, awaiting their own entries. I looked through the pages carefully, one by one, reading each name. Piskar - I remembered a laugh that started in his very belly, rising through him like sunlight passing through a break in the clouds. Roland, my English archer. He was serious, not given to humor. His smiles were reserved for me alone. Wi Fu had been a delicate artist, a carver of wood. His fine touch had caused my skin to feel as if it was on fire. Sasha, my Russian noble. We had a wondrous time at his dacha, but the Czar had decided he was a political threat and had him executed. I read each name, remembering each of the loves of my life and the many years that had passed since I began this record.
I dipped my quill into the inkwell. Carefully I wrote “Denis – Champagne, France 1912” to the list. I would never forget him. I replaced the book in the box, adding his note to the loose contents. Everything went back into the wall compartment. As I closed the hidden door on my book, I closed that door to my heart. I had prayed to the Powers to love him and be with him until his death and in their own warped fashion, they had answered my prayer.
I know that eventually I will recover and feel joy again. I know that I will find another love in the future. But I also know now how the ocean gets its salty water. It is through the tears of those who are forever separated by its deep waters. I turned off the light and left the room and my memories behind me.
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