Rose had traveled by train before, but none of her previous experiences prepared her for that night. The third class car was so crowded she began to feel slightly claustrophobic within minutes. The three of them were squeezed onto a long seat, and she was between Jack and Fabrizo. Standing up or walking around was out of the question. Not only was there nowhere to go, but the second a person left their seat someone else was ready to snatch it. The air was thick with the scent of bodies, some of which hadn't been washed in days, and to make matters worse, the windows didn't open. To help cope with both the smell and the discomfort caused by the hard wooden seats Rose wrapped her arms around Jack's middle and rested her head on his shoulder, pressing her face into his shirt.
Jack and Fabrizo were accustomed to the less than comfortable conditions, and they both found ways to occupy themselves. Fabrizo caught the eye of a pretty blonde girl and the two of them proceeded to flirt silently for the next few hours. Jack propped his portfolio on his knees and began to sketch the people around him. Every few minutes he would glance over at Rose. "You alright?" he'd ask. She would nod and smile each time. "I'm fine. Don't worry," she'd say. "Keep drawing."
Jack could feel her eyes on his hands, and it sent shivers down his spine. Had she been more familiar with his process she would have noticed the faraway look in his eyes had nothing to do with the drawing unfolding in front of them. No matter what he did he couldn't stop images of Rose from flashing before his eyes.
"You know what I really want to draw," he said quietly.
"What?"
He looked down into her face. "You."
"I'd like that," she whispered. "In fact I think I already told you so."
"Yeah, you did. And the second we get off this damn train that's exactly what I'm gonna do."
Rose tilted her head up and kissed his neck. "Let's hope we get to wherever we're going soon then."
They didn't. It was another day and a half before the train finally came to a stop. By then Rose's body was so stiff she could barely stand up. Not only did Jack have to help her to her feet, but he also had to make sure she didn't fall down once they made it off the train and began walking. Her neck hurt from leaning against Jack to sleep. She felt filthy. "Where are we?" she asked.
"Washington, D.C.," Jack said.
Fabrizo's eyes were wide and filled with wonder as they left the train station. The capital of his adopted country was the last place he'd expected to find himself. "It's beautiful here," he said. Jack grinned. "It's nice." Even Rose managed a small smile. "I've always wanted to see it," she said.
"Well, there'll be plenty of time for that later," Jack said. "Right now what we need is a decent meal." As if on cue Rose and Fabrizo's stomachs began to growl. "And a good bed," Fabrizo said. "And a bath," Rose added. Jack laughed. "Which do you want first, my love?" he asked, kissing her hair.
They decided to eat first. They were all starving after two days of paltry train food, most of which Jack hadn't eaten. He'd slipped the majority of his portion into Rose's when she wasn't looking. That she needed it more than he did had been his rationale.
Their stomachs full, they set out in search of lodgings. Luck was on their side, and they quickly found two cheap yet clean rooms. The innkeeper's eyes wandered from Fabrizo to Rose to Jack as he handed them their keys, but he kept whatever thoughts he was having to himself. They were all too exhausted to care either way.
Rose kicked off her shoes the second they were safely in their room. She pulled the pins out of her hair and shook her head. "I've never felt so dirty in my whole life," she said. A knot of guilt formed in Jack's stomach. He would have never let that happen. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have warned you about what it would be like. We just left in such a hurry I—"
"Don't be sorry," she said. "It's something I have to get used to." He was amazed by the brightness in her tone. She really isn't what anyone expects—not even me sometimes. "Will you help me unbutton this?" she asked, pulling her curls over her shoulder. "I don't think I can stand wearing it another second."
"Sure." It only took his deft fingers a few seconds to undo the small buttons. Rose smiled at him over her shoulder. "Thank you."
"Well, you know what they say. I just like to get you naked," he joked. She stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing. "I seem to remember seducing you first," she said. Jack grinned "That's what I wanted you to think." She raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Yes ma'am," he said, taking on an exaggerated servile tone. "Girls like you don't know the first thing about seduction." Rose turned around and moved toward him, slipping out of her dress as she did so. "Oh really?" she repeated. Her tone made Jack shudder. Her body, clad only in a camisole and bloomers—she had given up wearing corsets, much to both of their delight—was all but pressing against him. "Well, that's what some people say," he said sucking in his breath. "What do you say?" she asked. He gasped as she slid her fingers into the top of his pants. "Well?"
"I thought you wanted a bath?" was all he could get out.
"I do. Will you go with me?"
….
Rose sighed and leaned back against him. "This is the best bath I have ever had," she said. Jack chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. "You know, I wouldn't have fought so hard when my mother wanted me to take a bath when I was a kid if it had been like this." She frowned at the mention of the word "mother". "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said. She twisted her head around and kissed him. "I'm perfect."
"Okay. But if there's something you wanna talk about—"
"There's nothing, Jack," she insisted. "Really." She held up the soap. "It's time to wash that hair." He groaned dramatically. "Do I hafta?"
She nodded. "You have beautiful hair. Let's keep it that way."
"Fine. But only if I can wash you."
"My hair, you mean?"
"That too."
…
Rose stretched her arms out and threw her head back. Her curls whipped from side to side, spraying droplets of water across the room. Jack held his hands up over his face in mock defense. "Didn't we just come from a bath?" he joked. She straightened her neck and looked over at him. "I'm sorry," she said breaking into a self-conscious smile. "I wasn't thinking about you being behind me." Her eyes sparkled, and she held her body with an ease he could only marvel at. The difference in her was astounding. I knew all she needed was a chance.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked, resisting the urge to shiver under the intensity of his gaze. She glanced down at herself, suddenly all too conscious of the fact that she was wearing only a green silk robe and that her hair was dripping down her back, forming a small puddle near her feet. "I-I'll get dressed," she said, "if that's—" He placed a finger on her lips. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said softly. "I was just trying to figure somethin out." She gulped for air. "What?"
"How best to draw you."
The small room was furnished with only a bed, chair, and bureau. Its one window had a small space where a person—or two if they didn't mind squeezing together—could sit comfortably and watch the street below. As his eyes moved around the room Jack pictured every possibility, discarding one after another until finally he found the image he wanted. Rose could only watch. Since their first night together on the ship they had made love more times than she dared count, but none of that mattered. He wasn't looking at her through eyes heavy with desire this time but through the clear, skilled eyes of an artist. And for some reason, that made her want him more than ever.
"I've got it," he said finally.
"You do?" She hoped she didn't sound as out of breath as she felt. You already half seduced him once today! What's wrong with you?
He nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I guess after you get dressed—" Disappointment filled her voice. "You want me to get dressed?" He fought his jaw's urge to drop. "Um, I thought you'd prefer—" He left the sentence hanging as she shook her head slowly. "The last thing I need," she said, "is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll."
…
Jack's palms were sweating as he removed a small knife from his portfolio and began to sharpen a charcoal pencil. Calm down. Just breathe. You can do this. You just had a bath with this woman—hell, you're married to her! It's not like you haven't seen her naked. But his attempts to soothe his rattled nerves failed miserably. In Paris he'd been able to draw dozens of nude women without being affected at all. It wasn't that he hadn't seen their bodies. It was just he saw each of them purely in artistic terms. What had fascinated him was how different lighting accentuated different features; the way the color of their skin, of their hair changed depending on where he drew them. He'd been too concerned with how different poses revealed different things about their inner selves to even begin thinking about them sexually. Just look at Rose that way. Aren't you supposed to be a professional? "Okay," he said. "I'm ready if you are." Rose took a deep breath. "I'm ready."
The dream was nothing compared to the reality. It was all she could do to remain still as Jack's eyes moved across her body like a pair of agile hands. Like his hands, she thought. Stop that! "Relax your face," Jack said quietly. "Just look at me."
She nodded. "Sorry."
He offered her a small smile. "It's okay."
Jack truly was a skilled professional, and despite his fears all thought faded from his mind after he began to draw. Nothing existed but the paper and the image he was creating on it. His concentration seemed unbreakable until he reached her breasts and a blush began to creep along his cheeks. You've seen them before. You've—no, best not to go there.
"I do believe you are blushing Mr. Big Artiste," Rose teased, pronouncing the last words with a French accent. "I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."
Jack resisted the urge to grin. "He does landscapes."
Rose breathed a sigh of relief when he finally looked up from the paper and said, "Done." She leapt off the bed and grabbed her robe. Slipping it on, she peered at the drawing over his shoulder. "Jack, it's beautiful." Her words left him tingling all over. "You really think so?" he asked, turning to look at her. "It's perfect," she said leaning in to kiss him. "Thank you."
"There's something I need to do," he said when they finally broke apart. "You mind waiting here? It's a surprise," he added. She smiled and kissed him again. "I don't mind."
A heavy wind was blowing when Jack stepped outside. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, relishing the way the cool air felt against his skin. "I drew Rose," he said, laughing. "I drew Rose."
….
For the first time in her life Rose didn't want to get dressed. Though her clothes had always been heavy and binding, and many of her dresses resembled beautiful cloth puzzles more than anything else it had never occurred to her to do anything other than wear them. What other options were there? But as she reached into her suitcase and pulled out a fresh dress she realized the last thing she wanted to do was put it on. She shook her head. "There really must be something wrong with me. It's all the changes," she decided. "I'm just reacting to everything that's been happening." She eyed the dress for a moment before refolding and setting it aside. "I'll just choose another." Ten minutes later she reached the bottom of her suitcase. Dresses littered the floor around her feet; her efforts to keep them neatly folded had ended with the third one. She placed her hands on her hips and sighed.
Rose had always dressed as quickly as possible after getting up in the morning. After a bath she would tie her robe tightly—sometimes she would even hold it together at the throat—and hurry from the bathroom to her bedroom where a dress would be waiting for her. Nudity was shameful, as her mother never ceased to remind her, and she had to be vigilant. A beautiful young woman like herself would have no end of would-be seducers. If she didn't have the proper modesty—
But she didn't feel modest anymore. "I don't feel immodest either, though," she mused. It didn't make sense. Didn't she have to be one or the other? Wasn't she either a "lady" or a "loose woman", as her mother and her friends always said in appropriately hushed tones? "Jack thinks I'm a lady, though I haven't been acting like one." She blushed as she remembered the way his eyes had felt on her. The way she had behaved that morning alone was beyond scandalous. Respectable married women most certainly did not carry on as though they desired their husband's attentions, but then again hadn't she always been told that no respectable woman ever really wanted her husband's attentions? "But I want Jack." It didn't fit. What was she then?
Rose fingered her robe. The silk was cool against her hand. Her cheeks burned as she realized she liked the way it felt on her body. She liked the way she felt when Jack looked at her, whether it was with an artist's eyes or a lover's. People never seemed to tire of telling her how beautiful she was, but she'd always dismissed their compliments as so much empty flattery. She didn't think she was unattractive; she just didn't understand what all the fuss was about. She had seen the lust in Cal's eyes each time he looked at her—well hidden though it was—and it had baffled her. But when Jack looked at her…
"I feel beautiful," she said softly. "I feel as though there are no limits to what I can do."
And that's how she came to be sitting in the window seat, still clad only in her robe, when Jack turned the corner and started up the street. Rose smiled when she saw him. His hair blew in the wind, but he didn't seem to mind. When he reached the front steps of the rooming house he stopped and finished off a cigarette before going inside.
His eyes lit up when he stepped through their door. "I wasn't gone too long was I?" She shook her head and stood up. She held out her hands. "Come here." Jack gave her a curious look but did as she asked. "You alright? You never got dressed," he said, taking her hands in his. She nodded. Her expression was unreadable. "I just wanted to tell you something," she said. He nodded for her to continue. "I didn't get dressed because I didn't want to."
"Okay." He wasn't sure what to make of her statement.
"I know how strange that sounds," she continued, "but it was the first time I'd ever felt that way before." A nervous smile spread across her face. "I'd always been too, ashamed, I suppose you could say, but—" She fumbled for the right words. Jack laced his fingers through hers. "Are you saying you don't feel that way anymore? Ashamed, I mean?" Relief washed over her as she nodded. Jack grinned. "I'm glad," he said. "I wish you'd never felt that way, but I'm glad you don't anymore."
"Where did you go?" she asked suddenly. Jack released her hands and reached into his pocket. "To get you something," he said. Rose sucked in her breath as he pulled out a small box. "You didn't!" she exclaimed. His hands trembled as he opened the box. "I said I was gonna."
Jack held his breath as he waited for her reaction. She hates it. That's why she's not sayin anything. She's looking for a nice way to tell you.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Jack, it's perfect."
His heart soared. "You really mean that?" He looked down at the ring. It was silver with a small sapphire in the middle. It didn't even begin to compare to the one she'd had before. "I mean it," she said. She held out her left hand. "I love it."
Rose smiled down at her hand. The ring looked right on her finger in a way Cal's never had. Her glance shifted to Jack's hand which rested beneath her own. "Why don't you have one?" she asked, twisting her head around to look at him. They were squeezed onto the window seat; she was on his lap. "I didn't want to spend the money on me," he said. "I'll get one though," he added as she opened her mouth to reply. "I promise."
"You'd better," she warned mildly. "I want to be able to show you off without having to worry about women trying to steal you away. But then again I'm not sure a ring would be enough to stop them." Jack laughed and kissed her curls. "You don't have anything to worry about. You're the only woman I'll ever want or love." She sighed happily and pulled his arms tighter around her. "I hope not. I don't ever want to be anyone else's wife." She could feel him smile when she said the word "wife".
"You never will be."
…..
After she learned of Jack and Rose's elopement, Ruth decided the best thing to do was quickly and quietly return home. Even if she could find a way to dissolve the marriage it wouldn't make a difference. No matter what she did the story would get out. Cal couldn't be trusted to be discreet about why the engagement ended. Why should he be? It wasn't his reputation that would suffer. A few men might shake their heads and murmur about his inability to keep his fiancee in line, but such comments would most likely never reach his ears. Most of his male peers would sympathize with rather than pity or ridicule him, and their opinion of Rose would plummet. She would be a pariah, a joke, a whore in lady's clothing, and it wouldn't matter what Cal might have done to send her running into the arms of the nearest wide-eyed boy because the rules for a lady—for any woman, really—were just not the same as the rules for a man. Her chances of finding a decent husband would be nonexistent. And although Ruth might indulge in the occasional lie to herself—"She'll eventually learn to be happy. It's just because she hasn't matured yet." being among her favourites—she knew better than to even begin constructing a version of reality in which Cal would still have an interest in marrying Rose. She was a ruined woman now and as such fit only to be a dalliance or, if she was lucky, a well-kept concubine.
Rose wasn't dead, but she may as well have been as far as Ruth was concerned. "The only person you can rely on is yourself," she said with a heavy sigh as she set out on what would most likely be her last journey in first class. "Being married to John should have taught me that." And so she returned home, and had it not been for the few polite lines she left with the manager of the hotel along with instructions for Mr. Hockley not to be informed of her departure until the following morning there was no sign she had ever even left. Except, of course, that Rose was gone.
Ruth spent the train ride back to Philadelphia working out a story to explain away Rose's absence, but when she saw the morning papers she realized her efforts had been wasted. The headlines in the society pages all screamed the same thing: "Debutante Abandons Fiancé to Marry Penniless Artist". It seemed a very unscrupulous gossip columnist had somehow gotten wind of what had happened aboard the Titanic and followed the story as it continued to unfold in New York. The articles even detailed the attempt to have Jack arrested for kidnapping Rose. Ruth had known since the moment Cal told her Rose had gone and married Jack that her days as a woman of high society were over, but she had hoped to at least exit gracefully and with a measure of dignity. "She couldn't even give me that, could she?" Ruth said bitterly.
Meanwhile, a few hundred miles away, Jack, Rose and Fabrizo were sitting down to breakfast in a small cafe when Jack's eyes fell on a newspaper someone had left behind on the table next to them. It was, of course, flipped open to the society pages. His first thought was to pretend he didn't see it, but he quickly realized if he had noticed it Rose and Fabrizo would most likely notice it as well. And even if she doesn't do you really want to be hiding things from her? Is that the kind of relationship you want to have?
"Rose, you might wanna look at this," he said. He held up the newspaper as she and Fabrizo turned to face him. "What is it?" she asked. "You remember how you said everyone would be talkin about what happened?" She nodded, a puzzled look on her face. "Well, you were right," he said handing her the paper.
Rose's mouth dropped open as she read the headline. "How can it be in the papers already?" she gasped. "My mother would die before she'd talk about it, and I didn't think Cal would be eager to have the details known either." She quickly scanned the article. "How do they know all of this?"
"How much do they know?" Jack asked.
"Everything. They know everything. They know about what happened on the ship. They know about what happened in New York. They even know who you are."
"How could they know about Jack?" Fabrizo's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Who would they ask?"
Jack shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. I know a few people in New York, but I doubt they'd even remember me. I wasn't there that long, and it's been two years."
Rose sighed heavily and pushed the paper aside. She closed her eyes and laid her head on her hands. Jack scooted closer to her. "Hey," he said softly, putting an arm around her, "It's okay. This can't hurt us, right? And look at it this way, now your mother and Cal can't lie about what happened." She raised her head slightly. "That's true," she said. He cupped one side of her face with his free hand as she continued, "Now no matter what they say about me, in their back of their minds everyone will know what an unimaginable bastard he really is." He pulled her closer. "Exactly." She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest. "I'm sorry I've done all of this to you."
"You didn't do anything to me," he said firmly. "Besides complete my life."
Fabrizo whistled and shook his head. "What?" Jack asked not taking his eyes off Rose. "They really do know everythin about you," he said. "They know you're an artist, a wanderer. They even know where you grew up." Jack clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on Rose. What right had these people to go digging into his life? Or hers, for that matter? If I had money this would've never happened, he thought angrily. If I had money and she left him for me no-one would have given a damn. He was wrong, but he never would have believed that. Sensing his thoughts Rose raised her head. "Don't go there," she said. He avoided her eyes. "Jack. Look at me." Reluctantly he did so. "Please don't go there. Don't think like that," she begged. "You'll only torture yourself if you do."
As Fabrizo watched the, he couldn't help but marvel at how connected they were. Rose hadn't even been looking at Jack's face and she'd known exactly what was going through his head. I hope I have that one day, he thought. Even if I have to go through everything they have to get it.
Jack pressed his forehead to Rose's. "I can't help it sometimes," he said. "I know I shouldn't...I know it doesn't matter, but..." She kissed him. "I know how you feel," she whispered, "I feel the same way sometimes, but we can't let it get to us. We can't let what the world says about us or what they do keep us from being happy. I love you, and that's all that matters."
"I love you too." He kissed her. "I love you so much."
The coverage of what one paper dubbed "The Dawson Affair" didn't end there. For the next few weeks it seemed as though a day didn't go by without a new article appearing. Neither Cal nor Ruth ever officially commented on the story, but plenty of other people did. There was no shortage of head shaking and hand wringing about Rose's poor mother and "what she must be feeling" with "a daugther like that". There was also plenty of "How could she do that to a good man like Cal?" which made Jack sick every time he saw it. "How can they be so blind?" he spat one morning as he sat on their bed and read one woman's comments about what a "travesty" the whole situation was. "They know he deliberately set me up, and yet they're still taking his side!" Rose wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his cheek. "They see what he wants them to see," she said. "And what they themselves want to see. They couldn't acknowledge what he did and still be able to look at him every day."
"I understand that," Jack said. "I understand that they're all part of this club and so why would anyone care about my side in all of this, but why doesn't at least one of them say something about how you might be feeling? Why hasn't at least one of these stories mentioned that? After all, you were part of the same club until you married me."
"Because I married you. I chose to give up a supposedly good life for a life with you," she said simply.
"And not one of them can understand why you'd ever do that. They can't possibly understand how or why being with me would make you happy. Because of the money," he added bitterly. "You have to be an empty headed whore who doesn't care about anyone but herself to have chosen me over him."
The anger and bitterness in his voice cut through her like a knife. How dare they do this to him! How dare they hurt him like this! Rose sat down next to him and took his face in her hands. "Jack, listen to me. I don't care what they say about me or about you. I wish I could make them all shut up, but I can't. I wish I could make the world see what a wonderful, caring, gifted, beautiful person you are because I know if they could see what I see when I look at you they'd love you as much as I do. But the world doesn't work that way. It's wrong, and it's unfair." Tears sprang into her eyes. "And I hate seeing what it does to you."
Seeing Rose cry made Jack's heart feel as though it were being ripped out. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. "Don't you worry about what it does to me. I'll survive. It's you, it's all the horrible things they're sayin about you that I can't stand."
"I'll survive too," she said. "If you can take it so can I."
"Now you're rephrasing my words before you throw them back at me."
"It's still true."
They stopped reading newspapers after that. Eventually the story would die, but until then they just wanted to stay as far away from it as possible. Fabrizo didn't know what to make of any of it. He couldn't believe all the attention his friends were receiving. It was as though they had actually committed a crime. He saw the way it was upsetting Jack, but he didn't know what to do or say to try and help besides be prepared to talk if Jack ever decided he wanted to.
