Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
This is the final epilogue. Next week I'll be posting a short postscript to wrap up Harry's and Corrine's story. If you've read this far... well, I just want to say thank you 😊
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April 1922
George was in his workshop when the sound of an automobile motor drifted in through the open window.
They were here at last.
His heart gave a sudden leap, but he didn't immediately abandon his task. No, he had always subscribed to the philosophy that a man should finish what he started, regardless of whether it kept others waiting. So he took his time, putting the final touches on the foam-capped waves of his seascape with a flourish. Finally, he laid down his paintbrush with a sigh, set aside his palette, and carefully wiped the paint from his hands. He closed and locked the workshop and then traversed the short path to the house, ignoring the flutter of apprehension in his belly as he strode toward the front door.
They were standing in the foyer, milling about amongst the bags, trunks, and gear strewn everywhere. Alfred, who wore a look of alarm at the sheer volume of luggage and humanity, breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw George enter the house. Obviously everyone had been waiting for him to show his face, and now that he had, everything could get sorted at last.
But first, the greetings had to be dealt with. George marched right up to the small woman in the smart green traveling suit, clearing his throat ominously.
"Daughter," he glowered down at her.
"Father," she replied icily, head high. They locked eyes, each refusing to yield.
Corrine broke first. With a snort, followed by a loud belly laugh, she embraced him. His face cracked into a smile, and he held her close. "Welcome home," he whispered in her ear.
Harold rolled his eyes and groaned; the humor of their repartee was always lost on him.
George leaned back to look at her, eyes alight with a happiness he no longer tried to conceal. She looked back at him with the same affection and love that she always had. And as she led him over to grasp his son's hand in a hearty shake, he reflected on how the years had mellowed him - while somehow leaving her almost completely untouched.
In fact, Corrine had barely changed at all in the nearly ten years he had known her. If anything, she was more beautiful now in maturity than she was as a young woman. But it was her perpetual state of youth and dewy innocence that always confounded him the most. No matter what she had experienced - the emotional burdens from the sinking, the constant worry for Harold's safety, the loneliness she often felt while Harold was at sea - it never showed; she was the same warm, honest, gentle soul she had always been.
And she had indeed won him over, as she had threatened at their first meeting. After the wedding, Harold had returned to the damnable sea, and she had stayed at Penrallt with him. He hadn't thought it proper to send her back to her father or her uncle; she was his family's responsibility now, as he saw it, and so he decided that he would reluctantly tolerate her presence.
