By Cecelia Dowdy - titanicfanfiction dotcom

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Chapter 7

The blue diamond sparkled, and a drop of rain splattered on the surface of jewel. I wiped the moisture away and Jack grunted, covering the necklace with his hand. "Put that thing away." His urgent tone caused a chill to snake up my spine. I slipped the necklace back into my pocket and remained facing the oak tree. Jack continued speaking as I tried to calm myself down. "I see a sign over there for those who want to go to Philadelphia."

I gasped, staring at Jack. "But I thought you said you weren't leaving."

Jack grabbed my hand, smoothing his fingers over mine. "You know I'm not leaving. I can probably convince them to give me the money for the ticket." He shrugged. "I need to start someplace. I wouldn't use the money to buy a train ticket, but, if I had some paper and pencils and other art supplies then I could at least start making some money doing drawings." He paused, kissing my cheek before he continued speaking. "I can't risk trying to double the money on a card game. What if I lose?"

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. Jack was probably right. "Okay. Are you going over there right now?"

"Yes. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"I guess so." I sighed, licked my lips, saying the first concern that came to my mind. "That line over there is long for the train tickets. Once you get your money, they may have already taken me to the rooming house."

"I know. I've memorized the address and I promise I'll come by soon."

"When?"

"I don't know…soon." He touched my cheek with his index finger, bringing his lips to mine. After our brief kiss, he spoke. "Remember, you have to trust me."

I swallowed, recalling that I had to remain courageous in order to get through this situation. "I trust you," I whispered.

He released me, and we turned away from the tree. I watched him walk through the throngs of people toward the organization that was purchasing train tickets to Philadelphia. The rain continued to sprinkle and the leaves on the oak tree billowed in the cold breeze. I huddled beneath Cal's tattered overcoat, still wondering about my fate.

My mind filled with memories over the last few days, Cal's abuse, the wonderful time I'd spent with Jack, falling in love for the first time of my life. Then, memories of the ship sinking invaded my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the images of those dying – men, women, children…

"Miss Jackson." A female voice interrupted my thoughts, and I popped my eyes open, recognizing the woman who was allowing me to stay in her rooming house. "I'm glad I found you. We're about to cart everybody off to the rooming house." Granting me a kind smile, she continued speaking. "You left after you signed up for the room. We'd wondered where you were."

Taking a deep breath, I responded. "I just needed some time alone." I shoved my hands into the pockets of Cal's coat, rubbing my fingers over the necklace. "I'm ready to go if you are."

The woman led me over to a gleaming Model T. Running my fingers over the exterior, I recalled how my mother was looking forward to purchasing one of these, as well as hiring a driver, after I'd married Cal. The woman cleared her throat, and I jumped, realizing that I was holding her up by looking at the car, reminiscing about my former life. There were two other women ensconced in the back seat. An older Black man sat at the wheel, his salt and pepper hair cut close to his head. His full lips tipped into a smile, and he nodded at me. I returned his grin. "Hi," I muttered.

I climbed into the back seat with the other girls, sitting beside the window. As we pulled into the New York traffic, I scanned the scenery. I'd been to New York countless times, but the cars, traffic, and hustling people never ceased to amaze me. I attempted to lose myself in the madness of New York, desperate to forget my never-ending problems. The cold wind blew and I shivered, continuing to bury my hands into my pockets.

A voice interrupted my thoughts. "Hi, my name's Miranda, and I'm your roommate." I glanced at the girl beside me, stunned. In my entire life, I'd never shared a room with another person. I'd always had my own room with my own servants. I glanced at this girl. She looked around my age, but then I touched my face. I was disguised as an old woman. How would I explain my change in appearance once we'd reached the rooming house?

The car bumped along the road, and I winced, not wanting to engage in conversation. The woman who'd led me to the car spoke. "I'm the person who runs the rooming house. The aid society has given me enough money to see that you girls will have a nice place to live for a few months. My name is Mrs. Roker."

The girl sitting beside me spoke again, her red-painted mouth turned into a frown. "How come you're not talking old lady?" She glared at me and I winced, still wondering what I should say. Would it be appropriate for me to remove my wig now, revealing my true hair color? I glanced outside the window. The car had stopped and throngs of people crossed the street. Several men wore dark business suits and clutched newspapers in their arms.

"It takes me awhile to warm up to new people." I swallowed, continuing to glance outside the window, noting the tall buildings lining the street. "My name is Ro—Lily. My name's Lily." How in the world was I going to remember that my name was Lily Jackson now?

Miranda's eyes softened as soon as I spoke. "Oh. Ok. I don't know how I'll feel about sharing a room with an old lady. I ain't used to staying with old people." The disdain in her voice caught me off-guard. What should I say? Unsure, I remained silent, figuring I'd discover what to tell Mrs. Roker and Miranda about my altered appearance later.

We continued down the street, the kind-looking Black man barely glancing in our direction. I noticed the other girl sitting on the other side of the back seat, next to Miranda. I was about to speak to her, but Miranda cut me off. "That's Cecile. She doesn't talk. At least, she doesn't talk to me."

I glanced at the skeletal backside of the other girl, assuming she was the same age as Miranda and I. She turned toward me, and I realized she was one of the prettiest girls I'd ever seen in my life. Her pale complexion appeared smooth like creamy milk, but her pretty dark blue eyes were laced with sadness, and her sunken cheeks made it appear as if she had not eaten in days. What was wrong with her? Before I could speak, she abruptly turned toward the window, refusing to meet my gaze. I swallowed, upset about the slight. I was used to people granting me attention – being ignored proved a bad feeling. Grimacing, I wondered if Cecile gave me the cold shoulder because she thought I was an old woman. Were old people always so disrespected?

Mrs. Roker spoke from the front seat. "Cecile will talk when she's ready, Miranda. Don't push her. She's been through an awful ordeal."

Miranda rolled her blue eyes, glaring at Mrs. Roker. Pursing her red-painted lips, she finally spoke. "Mrs. Roker, must I remind you that we've ALL been through a bad ordeal. The sinking of the Titanic was probably the worst thing that's happened to all of us." Lowering her eyelids, she gave Cecile an angry look, even though Cecile's back was turned toward us. "However, going through a bad ordeal does NOT excuse someone from being rude."

Mrs. Roker shook her head, staring out the window. We'd stopped again on the busy street at an intersection. The sounds of the city rattled my ears and all I wanted to do was arrive at the rooming house, remove my makeup, curl into bed and dream about Jack Dawson for the rest of the day and all night.

Several buggies, carted by horses, passed in front of our intersection. There were also some wagons being pulled by large black stallions. I sniffed, recognizing the stench of horse dung. My stomach curdled, and when bile rose in my throat, I thought I'd vomit.

Miranda placed her hand on my arm, as if to comfort me. "You okay? You looked like you were turning blue."

Waves of pain shot through my head and the Model T appeared to swoon. Lord, help me. Squeezing my eyes shut, the unusual, sickening feeling vanished. I opened my eyes, staring at Miranda. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken up. I haven't been myself since the ship sank."

Miranda nodded, her blue eyes full of sympathy. The driver then stopped in front of an appealing brownstone townhouse, its' dark bricks coated with years of soot. However, the darkness of the foundation gave the home character. Outside, a large pot held a plethora of springtime blooms. Seeing the vivid yellow flowers reminded me of my mom.

Growing up, my mother had always demanded that our gardener tend to our blossoms so that they bloomed into a rainbow of colors during the cool spring and the hot summer months. Our garden had been a favored treat for my mother because our flowers were the prettiest of all in our extravagant neighborhood. My mother hosted large garden tea parties on warm days, inviting rich women wearing immaculate summer dresses in a rainbow of colors. Our cook would serve expensive, imported tea in a white Lenox china pot and serve her homemade pastries and thin-layered, buttery cookies. I'd sneak into the kitchen to steal some of those cookies since they were my favorite.

One time, my mom had caught me sneaking cookies and she'd slapped me so hard that my face hurt for an entire hour. I'd run to my dad, telling him what had happened and after the party, my dad and my mom had gotten into a heated argument over me.

I rested my head against the cool bricks of the building, tears gathering into my eyes. My dad wouldn't have allowed my mom to force me to marry Cal. Although my dumb mom hated me, I knew that my dad had loved me. I wish he were still alive today. I'm sure my life would've been different if he had lived.

I jumped when Miranda placed her hand on my shoulder. "You okay? You've been standing there crying and staring at those flowers for two minutes." I looked behind me and noticed Mrs. Roker and the other girl, Cecile, waiting to come inside. I was holding everybody up by daydreaming about my life as a child. So much had happened to me over the last few days that I'd turned insightful and melancholy.

I sniffed, pulling a handkerchief from my pocket, blowing my nose. "I'm sorry. I'm just emotional." I said in a low voice.

Mrs. Roker spoke. "We understand, Lily. Go ahead and open the door. My maid has prepared a nice meal for you women. After you eat, I'll show you to your rooms."

Mrs. Roker's comment made me think about something. "How many women do you have staying in your rooming house?"

"I'm just hosting the three of you for now." She gestured toward the door. "Go on in, Lily. The door is unlocked."

I was about to ask why she was calling me Lily, when I again recalled that Lily was supposed to be my name. Placing my hand on the brass doorknob, I turned it, opening the door to my new home. Stepping inside, I glanced around the living room. The pine walls displayed paintings of fruit. One painting contained a slew of apples tumbling from a white wicker basket. The furniture wasn't nearly as nice as I was used to, but, it didn't look bad.

I sniffed, my mouth watering. The scent of cooked meat and vegetables filled the room and in spite of my anger and sadness, I found that I was now hungry and wanted something to eat. The other girls stepped into the room and glanced around. Miranda spoke. "Something smells good."

I nodded, not speaking, still digesting my surroundings. A tall, thin black woman stepped into the room. Her dark eyes twinkled with kindness. "Ya'll can come into the kitchen to eat now if it's okay with Mrs. Roker."

Mrs. Roker eyed her cook. "Thank you, Geri. You all can set your things in the living room and come into the kitchen to eat."

We did as we were told, and before we sat at the table, each of us washed our hands at the sink. My stomach rumbled, and I was glad that nobody noticed the sound except for me. It was kind of embarrassing to be so hungry that my stomach made such a noise! After our hand-washing, we made ourselves comfortable on the wooden chairs lining the long kitchen table. A cream-colored ceramic pot of beef stew nested on the table. The vegetables and meat swam in a thick, gravy-like sauce. My mouth watered again and I wondered if we'd start eating right away, or, if Mrs. Roker wanted to bless the food first.

Again, memories of my dumb mother filled my cluttered mind. My mom said she had no time in her life for Jesus since He didn't exist, so, she never blessed the food. The only reason we were members of a church was because my mother said it 'looked right'. My dad never said much about church attendance. As I stared at the mouth-watering food, I again wondered about my own thoughts about God. I knew He existed, in spite of my mother's mean words against our creator.

Geri came to the table with a platter of steaming bread and then she returned with a crock of butter nestled in a black container. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling light-headed. Miranda touched my arm. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, still coming to terms with all that had happened to me. I wondered about my mom. Where was she? Was she placed in a rooming house like me, or, had she been too proud to accept the free assistance, and, instead she lived with one of her rich, fancy friends?

Mrs. Roker clapped her hands. "We're going to bless the food now. As a rule in this rooming house, we always say grace before a meal. Understood?" She stopped and stared at each one of us, as if awaiting the response from all of her new boarders.

"Yes," we all murmured, including Cecile.

Mrs. Roker bowed her head, and I followed her example. Soon, her strong clear voice filled the kitchen. "Lord, thank you for this wonderful day, and thank you for this food! Please let it nourish our bodies! And, Lord, please help these dear, wonderful women who will be living under my roof! Help them to be strong and help them to prepare for their futures! Amen!"

A spark of warmth shot up my spine, and my eyes popped open. Shaking the unusual feeling away, I murmured, "Amen." Relief flowed through me. For some reason, I was glad that Mrs. Roker prayed, glad that she felt comfortable asking the Lord for guidance.

I was about to ladle some stew into my thick white ceramic bowl, but, Geri came to the table and started serving the stew. I shoved some stew into my mouth, forgetting the table manners that I'd been taught since birth. The stew proved exquisite. Herbs, spices, salt and tender meat danced on my tongue, making me aware of the fact that I enjoyed food! I finished off my bowl in minutes and scanned the table, noting that Cecile glared at me. She'd barely touched her stew, and I realized her pale arms were as skinny as sticks. Her holier-than-thou attitude reminded me of my mother, and I knew that I wasn't going to be getting along with Cecile. I glared at her, not caring how juvenile I acted. The stew was so good that I told Geri to dish me up another bowl. Cecile jerked her head back, and her mouth dropped open. However, I didn't care about being rude to her. I also didn't care for her lousy, uptight attitude.

Ignoring Cecile's glacial stare, I took a thick crusty slice of hot bread and dipped it into my gravy. The light fluffy bread mingled nicely with the meat and vegetables. Heaven, that's what this reminded me of, a slice heaven. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed this exquisite meal without having my mother hovering nearby, reprimanding me for my appetite. If my mom were here, she probably would've only eaten a few bites of the stew and toyed with her bread. My mother didn't know how to enjoy herself and that was one reason why she was so sour. The only thing she enjoyed was money, and seeing other people fawn over her because of her prestige.

Once we were done with our stew, another surprise appeared. Geri stepped into the room, carrying a huge chocolate layer cake! Chocolate cake! I hadn't had a piece of chocolate cake in ten years! My mouth watered again, and Geri seemed to sense my elation as she cut me a huge slice. I tasted the wonderful sweet chocolate concoction, savoring the moist cake and creamy fudge frosting. After eating my food, fatigue swept into my bones like a tidal wave. I yawned, covering my mouth. "I'm so tired."

Miranda stood. "Me too."

Mrs. Roker shooed us toward the living room. We got our things and then she pointed to the stairs. "Go on up, I'll show you your rooms."

I trudged up the stairs, carrying my few belongings. Mrs. Roker opened the first door at the top of the steps. "This room belongs to you and Miranda."

She opened the door and I gazed inside my new home. The walls were painted a cheerful color of robin-egg blue. Two beds stood beside the open window. Weak sunlight streamed into the space and a single washstand stood between the beds. A dresser and a closet were situated on the right side of the room and I immediately noticed my sparse furnishings.

However, the feeling of my freedom made me forget the sparse furnishings in my room. It'd be great to just sit around a bit, be me, without being hounded day and night by my mom and Cal. I walked over to one of the beds, dumping my belongings onto it. "I'm going to bed soon."

Mrs. Roker spoke. "The privy is down the hall. I'm afraid you girls will have to share."

I shrugged, my mind still spinning. "That's fine."

After Mrs. Roker and Cecile left, Miranda dumped her belongings onto the other bed. "I'm going to the privy."

"Okay." Once she'd left, I glanced at my image in the mirror. I gasped. I looked horrible! I removed my wig and poured water into the wash bowl. Several minutes later, I'd removed the makeup from my face, and I breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that I now looked like myself.

Miranda returned from the privy, not looking at me. She went over to her bed and opened her valise. "I wonder why Cecile gets her own room? I can't stand that girl. What's she-" Miranda looked up at me, no longer able to speak. Miranda's earth-shattering scream echoed throughout the entire house.

Written by Cecelia Dowdy - Visit my website: titanicfanfiction dotcom

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