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Mr. Dowd."
    John wasn't surprised that he knew Lydia. And Craven, who was well known in the right circles, just as were Stanton- Jones and his mother. Elation swept through John at the thought this would be his first real announcement. The one to Craven had been an informing of intentions. "This morning," he said, "Lydia Beaumont and I decided we'd like to get married aboard this ship." He shrugged. "I need to track down the captain to ask if that's a possibility."
    "What a marvelous idea." The author's eyes brightened. "A wedding on the Titanic would be a wonderful memory. The first wedding on the Titanic will be an event to interest the world."
    John nodded. Maybe his idea wasn't so far-fetched. "If I can pull this off, you're invited. And your—" John knew the novelist noticed the catch in his breath before he quickly finished his sentence by saying, "your mother."
    John felt terrible. He'd been caught up in his own good news and quite forgot that he had read that the novelist's wife had suffered a long illness before finally succumbing to it. He didn't know if Stanton-Jones had remarried, so he had no idea if he should offer condolences or congratulations.
    Stanton-Jones began to walk along the deck, and John fell in step with him, hoping to redeem his faux pas of rattling on about his own good fortune. "Judging from your book, you're apparently a man of great faith."
    Stanton-Jones glanced his way. He must have sensed the misery John was feeling. He smiled. "I came to faith through the worst struggle of my life. The Once Upon book is a tribute to my wife. It's based on our personal story."
    "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me—"
    "No, no." He stopped to look straight into John's eyes. "Writing about it was my healing. That, and the fact God forgave my years of ranting and questioning. I was angry and turned my back on him. But he wouldn't let me go and has blessed me tremendously."
    John nodded, now remembering that the book's male character had had a similar experience.
    "You see, the purpose of the book is to let readers know there is still life after death, on earth and in heaven."
    John wondered if his own faith could be that strong. But he'd never experienced the kind of loss this man had faced.
    "I refuse to live in grief," the novelist said. "I keep alive my wife's memory within myself and alive to our children." As if fearing John would again apologize, he added quickly. "But I fully expect to marry someday if I can fall in love again."
    A brief pause ensued as if each must respect a moment of acknowledging the late wife of this famous novelist. Then Stanton-Jones continued the conversation, "If you can join us in the reception room before lunch, I'd like us to become better acquainted." His smile lit up his face, reminding John of an interview he'd read, proclaiming the novelist as most fortunate, being a stereotypical tall, dark, handsome man with alluring dimples.
    John wasn't one to compare one man's looks with another, but Stanton-Jones made a striking appearance. John was most impressed, however, with his friendly manner.
    "And too," Stanton-Jones leaned closer as if confessing a conspiracy, "perhaps we shall discuss this floating plot of a novel that might have a main character who marries on a ship of dreams. Believe me," he added, "James Abington, whom you may know is a fellow-passenger, has made it clear he is interested in publishing my books in America. I can almost see the wheels in his mind turning as fast as those propellers at the bottom of this ship."
    "I dare say," John said and joined his good humor with a laugh.
    "Sorry." Stanton-Jones sobered. "I'm monopolizing what should be a two-way conversation. It's just that I'm so overwhelmed with my surroundings and—"
    John interrupted, "Not at all. I understand how all this grandeur whets the creative appetite."
    Stanton-Jones stared for a moment, before realization struck his eyes. "You wouldn't be the poet, John Ancell?"
    John nodded.
    "You had a