April 9, 1912
Southampton
Dear Diary,
I found this leather notebook in a pile of things that belonged to my father before he died. He had made a few notes in the first couple of pages concerning business, but I tore them out. I just feel so trapped! And the moment I saw this journal and touched its rich white pages, I knew it was the perfect companion for me, a depressed and lonely 17 year old. Mother would hate the idea of me keeping a diary, merely because it means there are bits of my private life she has not yet pried into. That just is all the more reason for me to keep it. Nonetheless, I think I need to find a hiding place for this memoir. No place too obvious that Mother or Cal would accidentally happen upon it (I'll get to them later). I suppose an exceptional idea would be to put another book cover on it. Hamlet. I will use the cover of Hamlet. Mother has no wish to read it, for she is not the intellectual type, and nor is Cal.
I suppose I should tell you about him. Cal Hockley is my fiancé. He's 22, rather handsome I suppose, and can be friendly at times. But he's also controlling. I can sense it. Like he feels the need to master me, though he hasn't actually mentioned it. The other day I talked back to him (not in a terribly rude way—just contradicting an opinion of his) and he approached me and put a firm grip upon my shoulders and said, "I assure you, darling, I am right." It's just little things like that that really bother me. I do not love him. I can tolerate him, but that is all. I don't actually want to marry him, but I have to. No one forced me into the engagement. But now it's only a few weeks until the wedding, and I know it's too late to turn back. I can't get out of it, and I suppose I just have to live with that. Mother is a lot like Cal. Controlling. She often tells me, "Your tongue is too sharp, your mind is too open, your opinions too strong. You are lucky you are pretty, otherwise you would never be able to find a suitable husband."
Ah, but what is a suitable husband. Cal? No, I think not. Yes he is rich (very rich). But that's about it. Oh, yes, I forgot. He's clean. Very clean. But that's the only good thing about him I can think of. Alas, this subject is making me terribly depressed. I shall move on to other things.
I just finished touring Europe with Mother and Cal. It was sort of a pre-wedding thing. I bought lots of expensive outfits, which I honestly don't care about, and now we are preparing for our journey back to America. Philadelphia, to be more specific. I don't want to go back. Going back means I'm one step closer to marrying Cal. Oh, God, what am I going to do. There are times I wish I could just end my life! There is but one exciting thing to happen. We will be traveling on the new ocean liner, the RMS Titanic. I'm actually quite excited about it. It's her maiden voyage, and she is supposedly the biggest steamer ever built! Cal pulled a lot of strings to get us on that boat, so I think I will feign disinterest and displeasure. All the better to torment my Mother with! HA! I think I will enjoy this. Yes it's terrible, but making Mother miserable is the one pleasure I have in life, and I scarcely miss an opportunity to lord something over her or make her feel angry or inferior. It's all I can do to keep from dying of misery and boredom.
I must stop writing for now. There is still so much to do. We are staying at a hotel right now. (I have my own room, separate from Cal, thank God. He keeps trying to bed me! And I am trying to avoid that predicament as long as possible.) But we leave tomorrow! I'm going to read by the window for a bit and savor every last minute in Europe before I continue supervising my maid, (and dear friend) Trudy Bolt, on packing. Goodbye!
Your friend (is that the right word?),
Rose