Chapter Seventeen

June 12th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

That late afternoon, Rose found herself alone in her room. The social hour over tea was underway in the sitting room just below Rose. Ruth was cozying up to the women of the neighborhood quite fast. She was especially eager to tell them the news of the upcoming wedding. Her mother had been flooded with relief to have the event back on the books. Rose tried not to think about it. She had grown reserved in her mind and the world was whirling by her, passively. Rose kept to herself and tried to keep conversations short lived. She only wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

She stayed true to her character that afternoon as she found herself wandering towards the few suitcases that contained the entirety of her life. Rose had simply crammed them into the corner of the room, somewhat behind the large wardrobe. She thought it was pitiful how much of her life could fit in a meager trunk. Her mother had always boasted of their family wealth and luxury. Sitting in the corner was all the disillusion and inflated sense of reason that came with the life her mother sought. Carefully, Rose eased a suitcase opened and rustled around. She withdrew a black leatherbound journal.

Rose had kept on-again off-again diairies her entire life. The urge to write, the sensation of flooding pages in her thoughts, gave great relief to Rose during the darkest moments. She praised herself as she crossed back towards the small writing desk situated beneath the bay window overlooking the garden. Rose was so pleased she had thought to brought one. Getting out of anyone's sight had been out of the question for weeks. She'd never had found a journal to write in if she hadn't thought to grab the stack from her wardrobe at home.

Rose sifted through her thoughts as she gazed out the window at the day that was slowly unwinding into the evening. Each idea in her mind was fragile and she was careful as she pursued the long branch of thoughts that wove deep into her mind. She reached for her pen and took in a deep breath, praying that this would help. If it didn't, Rose would be utterly lost at ever finding normalcy, happiness, ever again. The idea was frightening. Slowly, the tip of her pen met the paper:

Dear Jack,

I wish paper was like telephones. I wish whatever I wrote on this page was sent to you and read to you. I wish you could hear the anguish in my voice when I speak of you to myself, late at night. I'm sure you watch me, a sniveling, crying mess, washed up in bed from yet another night terror. I love you so dearly and miss you so much, but I can't allow you to keep doing this to me, Jack. From the moment I met you, you emitted something that corresponded with something inside of me. It's like you effectively took all the strings of my heart and rewired them; like cracking a difficult puzzle. One I didn't even know needed to be solved. That is why I must confine you here, inside of this journal. This is where I would like for you to stay, Jack. Where you always belonged, splashed across a page.

There are so many things I want to tell you. There are so many things I wanted you to know. Even if your time was so brief on this world, I feel like you were the only person who could be trusted with my darkest secrets. You were the first person in my life to ever look up at me and ask me what was wrong. You were the first and only person, Jack, who could tell I couldn't breath. That's what makes you so special. And that's why I fear I will never shake this awful feeling that grips me now. It's a loneliness I've never felt before. It reaches so deep into the fathoms of my heart... it hurts, Jack. It truly does. I would willingly take the pain on every time, though, if it meant for even just a moment, I could see you; touch you; hear you. That's all I want, Jack: for the universe to release you back to me.

Through all of this, one thing rings clear to me now. I am a curse, Jack. Like my mother had told me as a child: "Wherever Rose goes, chaos follows." I've never been able to do anything right for the people in my life. I've singehandedly failed again and again. I couldn't even enjoy myself in Europe. I was drowned in thoughts of regrets, bartering with myself over my arranged marriage to Cal. For the beginning of the trip, when I looked at that man, all I could think was, "Why me?" But as the trip went on, I began to realize that it had been my choices, my own conscious decisions, that had put me in the most unwanted situation. I never had lovely marks from school. I was utterly bored with embroidery classes and I was far too young to understand why it was important to walk with a book on top of your head. I never made friends with the girls in my class. I dribbled punch onto my debutaunte gown. Simply put, I've always been a mess.

But when you looked at me, Jack, you made all of that go away. Like the purifying waters of a hot spring, you washed away the self-doubt, the self-hate, and turned away the anxiety of an unpredictable future. For the first time in my life, I felt hope. And the sensation was as tingling as it was always described in the books I've read. When I was with you, I could remove the heavy coat of burdens I had always carried. You were liberation for me, Jack. Consumed in that salty air, lost in your silly impish smile; I was able to completely forget about who I was or what I had to do. My only purpose in life in those moments was to be with you. To live. To breath. To relish in God's goodwill. With the sun drenching you, you were freedom; harmony; peace- bundled together inside of one perfect human being.

You were everything I wanted, Jack. You were everything I ever dreamed of being.

Rose's bedroom door opened, abruptly ripping her from her thoughts. Rose returned to the room she had forgotten surrounded her. She was startled, nearly leaping in her chair. Rose slammed the cover of the journal shut, looking over her shoulder with eyes as wide as saucers. Standing in the doorway was Cal, with a loosened tie around his collar. He was fresh home from work. The gel in his hair was fading, allowing some wisps of chestnut brown locks to dangle over his forehead. He came into the room, closing the door behind him.

"There you are," Cal said, turning away from the door. "I thought you would have been having tea downstairs with all the other ladies. Well, they're talking about your wedding, anyway." He shrugged now. Rose gripped the back of her chair tightly, her knuckles turning white as chalk.

"No," Rose shook her head. "It's not really my kind of thing."

"Well, that's refreshing," Cal stuck his hands into his pockets. "Life's not all gossip and tea." Rose nodded, casting her eyes down. She relaxed a bit in the chair, lowering her hands into her lap. "What were you doing?" Cal asked, arching his eyebrows.

Rose looked to him. "I was just writing... I had some thoughts I wanted to jot down. That's all."

"Anything of interest?"

Rose felt her heart pounding in her ears. She could hear the swirl of her blood in her veins. In her lap, her hands curled into fists. "No," She said, rather breathless. "Nothing very interesting at all."

Cal shifted the weight between his feet. No matter how much progress he thought he had made, the ever present wall Rose had surrounding her still daunted Cal. He was growing worried he'd never scale the barrier. And the storm inside of her heart was casting him further and further out by the day. He only wanted her to talk to him. He felt it was the first step to everything.

"Rose, I would like to take you out to dinner tonight. Will you allow it?" Cal came a step closer to her now. Rose had a look of surprise written all over her face, but she quickly concealed it, retreating back into the safety of her mind. Never before had Cal been so worried about being rejected. And never before had he considered how much it could hurt him and his already tender ego.

To Rose, it sounded like a dreadful idea when first proposed. Rose was frightened by the thought of being completely alone with Cal, confined to a table. There would be no way to wiggle out of conversation. He would be right there in front of her, not even three feet away. But as Rose slowly looked him over, the tide in her thoughts began to shift. Cal had asked. Not declared. It was obvious he hadn't gone to any lengths to book a reservation. He looked tired from work but still willing to devote time to her. It was something she had never witnessed him do and to be frank, she was quite curious by what she still considered to be a devious little trick.

Slowly, Rose licked her lips, her eyes never breaking away from Cal's. "Sure," Rose nodded. "Let's get out of this boring house tonight, Cal."

He grinned, his heart doing a flip in his chest. "Wonderful. I'll see you in a bit, then. I'm just going to freshen up." And with that, he left, quietly closing the door behind him. Rose released a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and her body tingled like she had just run for miles without a break. Slowly, she turned her eyes back to her journal, folding the cover back to where her elegant cursive filled the page.

Rose's eyes only lingered on one word: Jack.

...

Rose found herself downstairs in the front foyer a half past six. She had taken the time to pin her hair up with the few pins she had managed to scour from her bathroom counter in Philadelphia. She was wearing an ivory lace dress with gold hemming around the short sleeves. She felt rather nervous. She hadn't been alone with Cal in a very long time. The thought was absolutely unnerving. Rose worried she'd never be able to be alone with a man that wasn't Jack. Everyone else seemed so frightening. He was an angel, her guardian, who would always protect her.

"Rose," Her head snapped over her shoulder to find her mother in the hallway. Ruth's hands were clasped together in front of her. She wore her rare grin, though it wasn't large or striking by any means. Ruth came into the foyer, admiring her daughter from head to toe. "You look nice."

"Thank you," Rose said, doing her best to sound neutral.

Ruth glanced around the empty room, pacing past Rose to look out the window. Her heels resounded through the vaulted ceilings. Rose felt so tense, watching her mother's every move as if to catch her deception. "I know we've had our fair share of disagreements," Ruth said, still not looking to Rose. "I know you and I don't quite see eye-to-eye. And I understand we've never been the traditional mother-daughter dynamic. But... I knew you had more sense in yourself," Ruth looked over her shoulder at her daughter, who was as still as a statue. "I just had a feeling that no matter what happened, no matter who you thought you were, that the fog would lift and it would become clear to you. Don't you see, Rose?" Ruth shook her head, approaching her daughter and tenderly gripping her wrists. "When you wear these dresses, present yourself in this way, and affiliate yourself with people of grand standings... you're only doing what's best for yourself. This is how a woman gets by, Rose. And can't you see how much easier everyone's lives are when you just play by the rules?"

Rose cast her eyes to the ground. Ruth reached up, tucking a curl away from her face.

"I understand it's been a tough year. But what we went through has only made us stronger and I have no doubt it's become clear to you as to who you really are; what you're destined to be. All of the happiness you want can be had. You'll be looking at it tonight, over your dinner," Ruth watched her daughter's face, which hadn't changed much over the course of her words. "Why don't you say something?"

"I'm just playing by the rules, right?" Rose asked softly, lifting her eyes. "Men like it better when we're silent."

Ruth's eyes were hard as stone. "What did that boy do to you?" She whispered, shaking her head. "He's filled your head with utter nonsense. Fantasies, loony stories; everything he told you was fake, Rose. He was a poor man. He lived a life of scamming people, tricking them, so he could take everything they had right from underneath them."

Rose felt her temper sky-rocket. She bit down so hard on her tongue, she tasted copper. Her mother didn't know anything. She couldn't even begin to understand a thing about what Jack Dawson had meant to Rose. She carried him with her, as this chivalrous, awe-inspiring spirit that glowed in her heart. It angered Rose greatly, as if her mother had spat on his very resting spot within her soul.

"You don't know a thing about him," Rose shot back in a low voice. She was so angry, but at the same time, surprised Ruth had acknowledged his exisistence for the first time in three months. Rose pulled her arms away from her mother. "Don't pretend you knew who he was just by a flick of your eyes."

"I've been around much longer than you have," Ruth straighted her shoulders, trying not to be phased by her daughter's pulling away. "I know much more about this world than you do. And trust me, I can spot a snake in the grass better than anybody else."

"Yes," Rose nodded. "It's easy to spot the snake in the grass when you're one down there, too, hm?" She arched her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. Ruth's stomach constricted into knots on the inside.

"Why are you like this?" Ruth hissed, her voice as sharp as steel. "Why can't you ever just be normal? Why were you so determined to set yourself apart from others?"

"Maybe that was my way of crying for help," Rose shrugged. "It's not like you'd ever look up, whether I was screaming or yelling. Why be bothered? Someone else will do it for you."

Ruth was about to respond when the sudden sound of shoes to the stairs startled the women. Ruth cocked her head away from Rose, fluffing her contained curls. Rose pursed her lips, taking in a deep breath. Cal appeared at the bottom of the stairs behind Rose.

"Are you ready, Rose?" He asked, sensing the mounting tension in the room.

"Yes, let's go," Rose said, her eyes lingering on her mother for a moment more. She then turned sharply, heading straight out of the front doors with her evening bag beating against her hip. Cal stopped and looked at Ruth, who rubbed her temples in an exasperated manner. He then left silently, closing the door behind him.

Rose was standing at the bottom of the front steps, looking at the black car awaiting them in the driveway. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Slowly, Cal came down the steps, placing a tender hand to the small of her tense back. She looked to him with a face of hardened stone, her brow furrowed.

"How much did you hear?" Rose asked, her voice rather deflated.

Cal smiled faintly. "I heard enough to know you're quite creative with your comebacks. Witty, really." Her face softened at this and she let out an airy laugh, nearly rolling her eyes. "I'll have to remember that one about being a snake in the grass. It was grand."

"I'm sure you could use it at your office," Rose grinned and blushed, casting her eyes down.

Cal glanced towards the idling car. "You know, Rose, I didn't really put any planning into this. I just thought it'd be nice to get out of this damn house. It's suffocating with my father and your mother in one room. It's like they sap all the energy right out. Anyway- is there something you had in mind for dinner?"

Cal was usually such a coordinated man. All the way down to the color of the buttons on his shirt. She arched her eyebrows, looking towards him. He was absolutely winging it. And she kind of liked it. Rose shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not very hungry. Is there somewhere we could maybe... get a drink?"

"You... you want to go to a bar?" Cal asked, seemingly surprised.

"Why not?" Rose gripped the strap of her purse. "If they have beer, then great." Rose began towards the car but paused, looking over her shoulder, when she realized Cal was not following.

"Just so we're clear... you're talking about a real bar? One of those dimly lit rooms where people smoke and arm wrestle and play pool? Not a wine garden?" Cal dug his hands into his pockets sheepishly. Rose couldn't help but smile at him. It was like trying to teach an old dog new tricks. Cal felt his face heating up beneath her grin.

Rose tugged on the car handle, pulling the door open. "Yes, I'd like to go to a real bar, Cal." And with that, she slid in. Cal glanced towards the sky that was cascading into a navy blue sprinkled in glittering stars. What a change of events, he thought. After a moment, he climbed into the car behind Rose, slamming the door shut.

...

The bar they found was exactly how Cal had described it. The shutters were drawn close and the few lamps in the bar didn't cast nearly enough light. There was a live band with a pianist, a guitar, and a small drumset set up in the corner. They were playing loudly, in a jaunty fashion, that had people moving even from their seats. The place was packed. Hollars and hoots resounded over card games and pool tables, growing lively over bets and gambling. Cal and Rose found a booth situated in a far corner. Cal observed as Rose watched the band from where she sat. He could tell she was genuinely enjoying it. He didn't understand how a girl of her raising could somehow find comfort in a grimey, seedy bar on the edge of the underbelly of Pittsburgh. What was it about this lifestyle that attracted her?

Cal leaned forward and raised his voice to be heard over the noise. "What kind of music is this?"

Rose shrugged. "No idea. I like it, though."

A waitress came by, thunking two large steins of frothy golden beer between the two. Cal sat back with wide eyes, completely surprised. They hadn't been offered a drink menu or anything. Glancing around, Cal realized everyone was drinking the same thing. He eyed the stein of beer closely. Though sometimes unhealthy, Cal had had a long relationship with alcohol and had grown to be relatively particular. He would have preferred a barrell aged whiskey or rye. By smell alone, Cal couldn't even tell what it was brewed with. No scent of preferable honey or candy liquer.

When he looked across the table, however, Rose had already taken two big swigs, clunking the stein back on the table. The band attracted yells and shouts as the pianist began to hit the keys sharply. The audience started to clap and Rose was quick to join in, grinning and swaying. It's like she wasn't even sitting at the table in that moment. She was in living in the energy of the room. For Cal, it was truly like watching a rosebud bloom. Never before had she been so openly happy or loose. It looked like her guard was down. She was somewhere she felt safe. The clapping broke off and she laughed, returning to her drink. Cal watched as she drank with ease. He decided to have some himself and found it to actually be quite tasty. Slowly, he lowered his stein, looking to Rose.

"You know, I always thought you to be more of a wine-girl," Cal told her, licking his lips.

Rose simply smiled, resting her head in her hand. Absent mindedly, her slender fingers fidgeted with the handle of her glass. "There's probably a lot you thought about me."

Cal took a drink of his beer. "If that's your way of saying I know nothing about you, then you're right," Cal shrugged. Rose arched her eyebrows, sitting up straight now. "I don't think I know anything about you, afterall, Rose." She had never expected him to openly admit that. Who would when their wedding was only three months away? "I'd like to know more about you, Rose."

Rose stalled by finishing her beer and signaling the waitress for another round, which was promptly delivered. Rose knew she needed the liquid courage to do this. It was inevitable, this conversation, just like everything else in her life. The marriage come September. The children they will undoubtedly have. Rose knew it was all to come, so she decided she would drink and let the tide take her the rest of the way.

"Can you believe that three months ago today, we were boarding the Titanic?" Rose asked, lowering her drink to the table. "An entire twelve weeks... but it feels like it happened a very long time ago. It's slowly becoming just this distant thought in my mind but... it's all I can think about, Cal."

"What do you think about when you think of that ship?"

Rose pursed her lips, glancing to the dissipating foam in her beer. "I think about... all the things I could never have."

Cal tightened his grip on his glass. "And when you say that... you don't mean all the decadent lush furniture you'd never find for the sitting room... You're talking about Jack Dawson."

Hearing his name in Cal's mouth was so foreign. Rose had never heard him say it. She felt a rush of blood to her head and her breathing shallowed. Quickly, she tilted her head back and drank to hide her face from Cal. Her entire body trembled. How was it that his name alone evoked so much physical emotion from her? It was tiring. She licked her lips, casting her eyes across the table to him. Cal didn't look angry. He simple wanted answers. But Rose was hesitant to speak about it. She wasn't ready. And Rose didn't think Cal would ever be the one to hear the words that constantly beat at her lips, begging to be let loose.

"I don't want to spoil the evening," Rose said softly, just barely audible over the noise of the bar. "We shouldn't talk about that, Cal." There was the wall again, rising through her blue eyes.

Cal nodded slowly. "Do you remember when I first formally proposed to you, Rose?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Yes, at the botanical gardens."

"And do you remember... how many people were there? How many clapped for us?"

Rose paused, her drink hovering short of her lips. "There was quite a few, I think... why?"

Cal set his elbows on the table, bobbing his knee. "Do you ever wonder if they think about us? Do you think they went home and told their grandmother about this beautiful proposal they saw? About what a charming couple from the outside we seemed like?"

Rose shook her head. "I never thought of it. Besides, people know never to judge a book by its cover."

The couple fell into silence with only the racket of the bar ringing out around them. Cal watched as Rose drank her beer and gazed around the bar. She was retreating back into that shell-shaped mind of her's. Cal slowly licked his lip, placing his hand to the center of the table. Her big blue eyes darted to it, before she looked to him with arched eyebrows.

"Do you think... we could ever be the story that matched the cover?" He asked, rather tenderly.

Rose made no move to touch his hand. "I don't know. You'll have to keep reading between the lines."