said. "Chance of a lifetime."
Lydia was not surprised that only a few males gathered near where Craven had stopped at the landing, along with Caroline, now accompanied by William. They moved back, and S. J. walked up to stand beside Craven.
A couple of mature gentlemen and a couple of teens joined the group with sly glances toward the girl holding the bouquet.
Just as Craven stepped back to abandon the gathering, John tossed the blue garter. It sailed right to Craven's chest, and his automatic instinct was to raise his hand and catch it. Although he shook his head as if this was totally unexpected and unwanted, he nevertheless had the garter and was applauded.
"Now if the bride and groom will step this way, please."
Finally, she could descend that staircase. The photographers had been primed and snapping from the outset. She felt as though she was in a perpetual pose, and she was loving every minute.
"Right here, please," the captain said. She and John walked over and stood in front of him at the top of the staircase. He spoke firmly, "May I present the first couple to exchange vows on the greatest ship ever built. Mr. and Mrs. John Mark Ancell."
Oh, my, she'd never heard such a rowdy-sounding crowd of refined ladies and gentlemen. But as many had said, this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, worthy of celebration.
John offered his arm. While the band played, they slowly made their way down the grand staircase, while the guests clapped hands in time with the rhythm of the band. She looked up once at the great glass dome and remembered someone had called this the stairway to heaven.
She had ascended and descended the staircase as a single girl. But this was different. Another first. She and John descended as husband and wife, and with a blessing only he and she were privileged to know.
She was happier than at any moment in her life. She, on a ship of dreams, walked down the grand staircase with the man she loved, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.
19
Sunday, approximately 10:40 p.m., reception room, April 14, 1912
A ll these first-class passengers had taken time and effort to give her the best day of her life. The least she could do was stay around to thank them and let them have their pictures taken. These pictures would be in newspapers throughout the world.
She couldn't wish her father were here, knowing he'd never have allowed this, but when he learned of this event, and saw the photos, he would accept John.
Would she stay in John's room tonight or he in hers? She had a sitting room, and he did not. She didn't like the thought that Craven was in the room that adjoined both hers and John's.
She must stop thinking about Craven. They both might need time to get over the sparring between them. But they could never be that familiar again. He worked for her father. He had no hold on her. No control whatsoever.
Those days were over, and she'd have to recondition her mind. It would be a pleasure. No longer her escort. No longer able to advise her or correct her or condemn her about anything.
With John's arm around her waist, the two of them walked into the reception room aglow with light from the crystal chandeliers.
"Oh, John," she said, "no one could ask for a more perfect wedding."
"And to think," he said with a smile, "S. J. reminded me that all this probably started with a wooden boat and a paper sail."
"Speaking of a boat!" She gasped at the table in the center of the room. On it was the largest wedding cake she'd ever seen, a replica of the ship, on a sea of blue. The huge silver tray it rested on was surrounded by red, pink, and white roses accented with green leaves. On each side of the edible ship were great platters of individual frosted cakes with roses on top.
"How could anyone do this on such short notice?" Lydia said.
Captain Smith wore a pleased expression. "By having the finest chefs in the world." He motioned and the chefs entered the room. The guests
Lydia was not surprised that only a few males gathered near where Craven had stopped at the landing, along with Caroline, now accompanied by William. They moved back, and S. J. walked up to stand beside Craven.
A couple of mature gentlemen and a couple of teens joined the group with sly glances toward the girl holding the bouquet.
Just as Craven stepped back to abandon the gathering, John tossed the blue garter. It sailed right to Craven's chest, and his automatic instinct was to raise his hand and catch it. Although he shook his head as if this was totally unexpected and unwanted, he nevertheless had the garter and was applauded.
"Now if the bride and groom will step this way, please."
Finally, she could descend that staircase. The photographers had been primed and snapping from the outset. She felt as though she was in a perpetual pose, and she was loving every minute.
"Right here, please," the captain said. She and John walked over and stood in front of him at the top of the staircase. He spoke firmly, "May I present the first couple to exchange vows on the greatest ship ever built. Mr. and Mrs. John Mark Ancell."
Oh, my, she'd never heard such a rowdy-sounding crowd of refined ladies and gentlemen. But as many had said, this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, worthy of celebration.
John offered his arm. While the band played, they slowly made their way down the grand staircase, while the guests clapped hands in time with the rhythm of the band. She looked up once at the great glass dome and remembered someone had called this the stairway to heaven.
She had ascended and descended the staircase as a single girl. But this was different. Another first. She and John descended as husband and wife, and with a blessing only he and she were privileged to know.
She was happier than at any moment in her life. She, on a ship of dreams, walked down the grand staircase with the man she loved, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.
19
Sunday, approximately 10:40 p.m., reception room, April 14, 1912
A ll these first-class passengers had taken time and effort to give her the best day of her life. The least she could do was stay around to thank them and let them have their pictures taken. These pictures would be in newspapers throughout the world.
She couldn't wish her father were here, knowing he'd never have allowed this, but when he learned of this event, and saw the photos, he would accept John.
Would she stay in John's room tonight or he in hers? She had a sitting room, and he did not. She didn't like the thought that Craven was in the room that adjoined both hers and John's.
She must stop thinking about Craven. They both might need time to get over the sparring between them. But they could never be that familiar again. He worked for her father. He had no hold on her. No control whatsoever.
Those days were over, and she'd have to recondition her mind. It would be a pleasure. No longer her escort. No longer able to advise her or correct her or condemn her about anything.
With John's arm around her waist, the two of them walked into the reception room aglow with light from the crystal chandeliers.
"Oh, John," she said, "no one could ask for a more perfect wedding."
"And to think," he said with a smile, "S. J. reminded me that all this probably started with a wooden boat and a paper sail."
"Speaking of a boat!" She gasped at the table in the center of the room. On it was the largest wedding cake she'd ever seen, a replica of the ship, on a sea of blue. The huge silver tray it rested on was surrounded by red, pink, and white roses accented with green leaves. On each side of the edible ship were great platters of individual frosted cakes with roses on top.
"How could anyone do this on such short notice?" Lydia said.
Captain Smith wore a pleased expression. "By having the finest chefs in the world." He motioned and the chefs entered the room. The guests
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