,Author's Note: I'm glad I got positive feedback on Chapter 3; I wasn't sure if it would have a good turnout considering I didn't stay too strict to historical events as far as what time, where, and where they went when and after the docking. I do have a plan for this story, though, and hope you all bear with it as I go along. Enjoy chapter 4, please review, and I can't wait to see your thoughts again!
God Bless,
Sarah.
Jack opened the door to the apartment with his free hand, grasping Rose's with the other. He let her in first, and shut the door behind him when he followed. He took in a deep breath then, and watched as she appraised where he resided. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He hadn't cleaned before leaving for Titanic's voyage, and things were scattered around the floor and on the furniture even more so than usual. He glanced around, eyeing the place warily. He hadn't dusted in months, and thick coats of it covered the small fire place, random shelves, and drawing easels. Loose papers with half finished drawings lie littered all over the floor, and couch, whilst crumbled pieces tumbled out of a knocked over trash can, and lined the walls leading down the hallway. Thankfully, he had left no food laying about, and he let out a sigh. Rose's eyes flashed across the room widely as she took in her new environment. She swallowed and smiled slightly. She didn't mind that Jack was third class, but some of this was just pure filth! You could be poor with class, couldn't you? Rose mentally choked on her thoughts; what business did she have thinking like Cal would? She turned to Jack then, and smiled warmly.
"It's perfect," she said very quietly, nestling her head under his chin, against his chest.
He pulled her closer into a tight embrace.
"Tell me about your little home here, Jack. This doesn't seem the place to have ice fishing in the back yard," she stated, smiling as she spun in his arms to face him.
Jack grinned. "Let's clear up a spot on the couch and sit for a little while first."
Not wanting her to lift a finger, really, Jack set to work on his suggestion immediately, moving to fluff the old green pillows, and move the torn paper and charcoal pencils off the piece of furniture. He slapped the arm which dust then arose from, and he pulled back a curtain that seemed to be made of thick canvas, from the window. Now, instead of a musky glow, the room was illuminated in a bright yellow hue of sunlight as the sun set behind the clouds. Rose sneezed softly into her arm as she sniffed in the dust particles. Her mother never let dust lie around the house, nor did she clean it, particularly. That had of course been deemed the maid's job. Rose watched as Jack continued to clean, just as she had always watched other people clean her house, and her messes. She stepped forward and bent down, grabbing pits of paper and avoiding the patches of dust Jack was sweeping about. She wouldn't sit back and watch other people do her own work for her anymore; it wasn't fair, and she wouldn't leave Jack with all of the weight of that annoying responsibility.
As small as this resolve may seem, it made Rose feel even more free of her old life. She forced a pillow down roughly against the couch in anger for how stupid she had acted for so many years. Gnashing her teeth together, she groaned and flopped herself down on the couch, huffing.
"Whoa, there, Rose, don't ruin the little we do have to our name," Jack spoke, sitting down next to her.
Rose simply laughed. "I've never cleaned before, Jack."
She had the same excited, hesitant smile that she wore the day he had taught her to spit off the boat. That smile; you'd think he was asking her to kill somebody. But no, she was a rebel for spitting; for cleaning on her own. He pulled her close to his chest with one, strong arm.
"Rose, you don't have to get used to it, you know."
"No, I don't," she agreed. "But I do want to."
"Whatever you want to do," he chuckled in reply, amazed at how someone could be so hard-set on wanting to clean.
"You know, when I was a kid, and we would get ready to go Ice Fishing in the winter, my Mom would always make me clean my room, promise to clean my snow clothes, and get all of my own fishing gear together," he began, rubbing circles on her back. "I absolutely hated it, Rose. It was horrible! But you, you come in here, looking all beautiful, wanting to clean my house? God Bless you!" He laughed.
She smiled gently. "I have to pull my weight around here."
"You don't have to, nor are you welcome to, at least not for now. For now, you need to rest, more so than I do."
He stood then, and motioned for her to follow him into the small bedroom to the right. The room was cleaner than the living room had been, though quite dark. Jack reached up and pulled a thin string that had been tied loosely to a small light bulb in the middle of the room. Rose's eyes widened as she looked from wall to wall: the surface of them were covered with a mural that never ended. People. Thousands of people, painted by his own hands; a collage of all the work she had seen in his sketchbook. All of the, though, were clothed, and the colors were vibrant. Charcoal was a thing of the past in the paintings that dressed his wall space. Rose ran her fingers along the sketches and thick lines. There was no texture to them; the almost 3 dimensional figures were flat against her palm.
"Jack, these are marvelous," she pressed out, almost at a complete loss for words.
Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and leaned against the wall. He appraised her then, watching her every move. He watched her fingers run across the same spots his had once, blending in blotches of color, and perfecting his work the best he could. He watched flatten her palm against his work, and kneel up on the small cot that lay on the back wall to get higher up. She stared at the patch of ceiling he had just begun working on before boarding Titanic. A small child was just about her finished, and his father or mother's arm was wrapped around him.
"This is who you'll draw next, Jack? The parent?"
"Yes," he replied, kneeling on the bed with her. "See, this here is where the body, and head will be. A big ole' top hat will be about here. He was a nice looking man, and the child was adorable; I'm trying to spend a lot of time on their picture and do it justice."
He pointed out various sections as he told her where everything would go. Rose watched his hands now as he moved across his own canvas to show her his blueprints for the rest of the layout. His fingers were slightly calloused, wrinkled in various places from so much water, and very rough. He had chapped, dead skin in many patches across his hand. Artist's hands, they were indeed. It was safe to say that Rose had never been so captivated by someone's hands before. They were breathtaking to her; to have a gift like that was more phenomenal than anything money could ever buy.
After awhile of touring the artist's work, Jack had finally coaxed her into relaxing while he got something ready for dinner. He showed her the small, dark shower in the bathroom that ran only cold water, and promised he'd be back with some warm water in a little while. He set to work in the kitchen, filling a metal pan with water and then holding it over the front burners. After he was satisfied that it wasn't too hot, or too warm, he knocked on the bathroom door. Rose yawned as she opened it, and Jack was surprised to find she was wrapped in one of his shabby robes. Cal's coat was thrown carelessly on the floor, and her small frame was covered comfortably with his hand-me-down. He smiled warmly.
"I see you're making yourself comfortable."
"I'm trying," she smiled, taking the pan from him. "Thank you for the water, Jack, you didn't need to."
"Well, I can't have you showering in cold water."
She stared into his eyes for a few moments, then tuned and grabbed Cal's coat.
"Get rid of this for me, please," she said, looking at it in disgust.
Jack nodded. "I'll put it in the sitting room somewhere."
"Thank you, Jack, I'll be out soon."
With that, she shut the door and left him to turn back to the kitchen to try and find something suitable that he could cook up for her quickly. He looked through the drawers of the fridge, and then the side shelves. Finally, in the small freezer built in to the top, he found some ground meat and a loaf of bread. Making sure they had butter, he sighed and took both things out. He had run out of most all his meager spice portions before going on Titanic, so the meat would be incredibly bland. This meat, though, was all he had unless he wanted to serve her a few over-ripe bananas. He got the small, nicked-up pan ready, turning the heat up all the way, and began breaking the meat up in it with an old knife. After that, he added the two spices he had left: a little powdered garlic, and oregano, and then added some breadcrumbs he had saved in a small canister. He watched as it all simmered, and thought over how this was the very first time he had ever been nervous cooking. It didn't matter when he was cooking for himself, or even Fabrizio, but he was making food for Rose now. What was she used to? Extravagant spices when he was offering a pinch of garlic and some old oregano? He shook it off, and got back to cooking, thawing the bread out above the open burner. He held it in his hands, warming it as he broke it open. The ice particles fell from the ends, and melted onto the burner. He thought of the ice berg then, seeing the chunks falling into the ship, watching everyone kick them around. He shook this thought too; he was more than thankful Rose was alive, and she was the only thing he should be thinking of right now.
Jack looked around him as he let the food finish cooking. The apartment was pretty neat now that he had tidied with the help of his lover. The apartment had never been too clean, though he did uphold it well. Jack was proud of his accomplishment that was this humble abode. He had bought it after someone had paid him a decent penny, or more, for one of his drawings of them in Paris. Truthfully, Jack had never known someone who see his work as so valuable, but two families in Paris had, along with one woman he had drawn. He was going to add the money together to use for another trip, hopefully to somewhere even farther than Paris. Jack had always loved traveling, and now Fabrizio and him could go even more places; he could get noticed by even more people. Soon, though, Jack found that thoughts trains such as that one were quite irresponsible, and he decided to invest his money here, in New York.
New York had never been his first choice, and he had had his eye on a house in Wisconsin for a long while, but New York was the perfect middle ground, and it's where a lot of ships and other transportation dropped off and picked up. If he wanted to make it big time with his drawing, he had to be in the heart of things, and what better place than with all this business booming around him? Rose was correct: Ice Fishing wasn't something you could do spontaneously around here, and sometimes Jack did miss well, home. But he always tried to assuage his discontent with the fact that Fabrizio had been happy there too; happy to have somewhere to call his own with his friend, and somewhere with hope. Jack's mother had always told him he'd do well with his drawing skills, but assured him that he wouldn't do well with them in Wisconsin. Eventually, he had begun to believe her, and stayed put here. Now, in this small apartment is where he still found himself, and even more so than before was it truly his only leg to stand on. His dreams of moving to Wisconsin in the fall were through. His money had been spent losing countless games of poker, on apartment payments, and some on Titanic. It was time to buckle down and find someone who would buy more art from him: he had Rose to support now. It was her dreams that mattered, not his.
With that, though, he smiled at the easel that had no picture portrayed on it's skin yet. Jack loved drawing, and though his dream of Wisconsin was gone for now, his artistry was not. When he was drawing, it wasn't a chore for him, and he enjoyed it. That was the kind of job he wished to keep forever: one that didn't even feel like one. Jack scratched the back of his neck as he slowly melted back into reality. His monthly payments were coming up soon, and he had nothing to show for them that he had either ready, or saved. He let out a deep sigh; somehow, he had to support her…He had to keep a roof over their heads. He turned the burner off when the meat was all brown and retrieved plates from the cabinet above his head. He set them on small, wooden table with two glasses of water, silverware, and two old handkerchiefs. He heard the sink turn on then, and knew Rose must be out of the shower. He realized that she'd have no clothes but that robe, and resolved to go fetch her some of his old shirts for the time being once he put Cal's jacket somewhere she wouldn't have to see it. He picked it up off it's place draped on the couch, and walked over to the closet he stowed the clothes he used less often. He threw it in the corner then, and heard a soft, clink. He furrowed his eyebrows and kneeled in front of the closet. His eyes caught the sparkle of the gems and he shook his head.
"There's no way," he breathed, blood running cold.
He grasped the sparkling object and pulled it the rest of the way out of the thick, black pocket it was falling out of.
His eyes widened.
It was the Heart of the Ocean.
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this! I was quite confident with this chapter, and I can't wait to see what you all think! Thank you so much for the support guys, I cannot believe I am almost at 20 reviews! I'm already excited to get home from school tomorrow to give you all another new chapter. Unfortunately, I need sleep now, since I am so deprived from staying up reading Titanic stories. I also have an end of the year project due on the sinking! Haha, one of these days I will have to get all Titanic'ed out. (; Just kidding!
As well, I had two reviewers that gave me a LOT of insight on the questions I needed answered, and I GREATLY appreciated it, thank you two so much: Faithful Magewhisper, and Rosalyn Winter.
God Bless,
Sarah.