Chapter Twenty-One

July 3rd, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The staff of the Hockley estate were hard at work trimming hedges, weeding garden beds, cutting the lawn, and hanging up decorations. Furiously, the bangs of pots and pans rang out from the kitchen as the chefs prepared the food a day in advance, along with getting their creme brulees ready to set and be served. Ruth's day was devoted to ordering the maids around on hanging red, white, and blue banners all around the house. She made sure it was done right and that every single streamer was perfectly straight. Rose found herself sitting in the garden that afternoon, on a bench beneath a fragrant honeysuckle tree. She heard the commotion of preparation ringing out all around. Nervously, she wrung her hands in her lap, staring directly ahead, in a trance, at nothing at all.

Rose had not returned to Cal or actively engaged in conversation with him since their kiss. They continued only seeing each other in passing and from across the table at meals. She was relieved he was not his usual insistent-self. Rose knew something had changed in him. The kiss had all but confirmed that. But still, something inside of Rose pulled at her. Giving any meager piece of her heart to Cal felt like losing in every single way. It completely defied the spirit Jack had instilled on her aboard the Titanic. It extinguished the hope she had upon reaching America again. She wanted things to be different. But becoming Cal's wife was completely damning to any aspect of change. No matter how tenderly he kissed her, how much he held her hand or tried to comfort her, Rose was convinced it would never be right. She just knew neither of them would ever be happy. It would be a relationship created on a foundation of what if's and why me's. They would both constantly wonder for the rest of their lives if there was something they overlooked; something vital they had missed.

Rose's hands curled into fists. It wasn't the life she had in mind. She felt like all her dreams were slipping away. And she was powerless to stop them because September 1st continued to grow near. Every day, Rose lost a little bit more of herself. She strayed further from that image that Jack had illuminated for her. Rose was so desperate to keep any of it, but she knew she couldn't. Everybody and everything was closing in on her. She was losing her breathing space and her elbow room. No amount of pushing could ever give her the bubble of security around her that she craved. And every train of thought that crossed Rose's mind lead the same direction: towards Cal's lips.

The last time Rose had kissed Cal had been on April 11th, 1912. He had joined her for breakfast at the quaint cottage they were renting in the rolling hills outside of Southampton. Their getaway in Europe was over. They would be returning to America, to the future Cal had always envisioned. She remembered he had dipped down and kissed her before heading out to squeeze in one more fair game of golf with the locals. At that friendly game, he would brag about the fortune to become him. The luxury that awaited him aboard the grand Titanic.

Fools, Rose thought sourly. A bird squawked directly overhead. Every single one us. We're nothing but a gaggle of damn fools. How long until we all realize we have no idea what we're doing? We're simply spiraling out of control, no life rafts or parachutes.

She decided her inner turmoil couldn't be overlooked. Rose wouldn't allow herself to chalk her feelings of dismay up to simple jitters. Something wasn't right. Something had been off all along. The curtain had been unveiled and Rose didn't know how to ever look at things the same. She had become acutely aware of the flaws in everybody. The cracks in her life. The tetonic plates were rubbing together and a mountain was soon to errupt from the surface, built in all her fears and reservations. Rose couldn't allow this to happen, but she felt so powerless to pump the brakes. How could she stop a wedding that was already the talk of all the new strangers of their street?

"Rose? Rose?" Her mother's voice resounded over the hedges and her heels came closer. She appeared from around the corner and paused when she spotted her daughter. "There you are. Come with me. The seamstress is here. She has several dress choices for the ball tomorrow."

Rose slowly looked to her mother, utterly annoyed to have lost her train of thought. Right when she thought she was wading towards a feat, a plan to save her disgraced soul. "I have plenty of dresses to choose from. I wouldn't like a new one."

Ruth pursed her lips. The warm afternoon breeze rustled the floppy sun hat perched atop her tight curls. "Rose, come on now. This isn't up for debate." Rose remained seated, turning her eyes back to the blossoming buttercups just across the footpath. Ruth felt her temper flare in that moment. She felt like she simply couldn't catch a break between the two basket cases they called a couple. Ruth stormed forward, grabbing Rose's arm and ripping her to her feet. Her daughter looked to her, bewildered, and glanced to the hand tightly gripping her arm. "Let's go. The seamstress is waiting, Rose."

"Get your hands off me," Rose swatted her mother away, staggering a few feet to capture ground. Rose tucked a curl behind her ear, looking darkly at Ruth. "Why does it matter what I'm wearing? Who actually cares, Mother?"

Ruth folded her hands together, clenching tightly. Rose knew her mother was screaming on the inside. But she also knew, assuredly, she was screaming louder. "Of all the battles you would like to pick- why this one? It's a dress, Rose. Not a straight-jacket. You should be grateful to have tailored dresses for coordinated events." Ruth slowly came closer to her daughter. "If I had allowed you to walk away from this so-called burden of an engagement, you would be an unlucky soul shopping rack to rack at general stores. But today, you get to choose the finest of threads and silks. Be grateful I'm in charge. Not you."

Rose kept her face composed and hard as stone. After a moment, she brushed passed her mother, heading for the house. Ruth grinned, watching as her daughter went. She had worried weeks ago, she may have been losing control of her daughter. But yet, Ruth had found her weak spots and her security was promised. Her comfort would be delivered. And she spent every waking moment justifying these actions to herself, recalling her own childhood in turmoil.

It was the right thing to do, Ruth had decided day after day. It's what anyone would have done.

...

New York City, New York

The evening sun bled through Jack's open window. He found himself sprawled out across his bed, his leg dangling off his footboard. In his lap, he lazily skimmed through a book about the Renaissance Revival era of art. Though interesting, he was much more fascinated by the photos. He yawned widely, tilting his head back into his pillow. The ceiling above Jack was drenched in sherberts, light pinks, and oranges. The night time orchestra was beginning to break through the daily noises of life. Traffic died down. Dogs stopped barking. Birds grew quiet in their nests. It was the end of another day, yet Jack couldn't help but sigh. He rubbed tiredly at his face, letting his book fall flat across his lap. He had felt so restless and anxious. The upcoming future was taking shape, but something about the past few months loomed over him. He couldn't shake it.

How could he move on when he knew there was no way to atone for Fabrizio and Rose's wrongful deaths? How could Jack even dream to be happy, to pursue his dreams, when two of the most important people in the world had had theirs abruptly ended? Those were the moments Jack desperately wished to go back in time. When his parents died, he told himself he would never take life or anybody in it for granted. He promised himself he would never allow another person he loved to slip through his fingers. But he had failed. And that failure loomed heavily on him. As the day to move into New York University grew closer, Jack couldn't but feel the regrets become heavier on his shoulders.

Suddenly, a series of popping noises rang out around Jack. The man was startled, leaping from his bed. He nearly tripped over his book as it was hurled to the ground, where it tumbled across it's spine. Jack fell against the bench beneath his window, taking in a deep breath. Edward was standing in the doorway with a mischevious grin and a crumpled red box in his hand.

"What the hell was that?" Jack asked, breathlessly. His face heated up as he came to his feet, realizing he was in no real danger. Sheepishly, he rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Just some little poppers," Edward shrugged. He extended his palm outward to show Jack the small explosives wrapped in thin tissue paper. "Leftover from last year, I guess. I found them when I was organizing my room. Perfect timing, too."

"Next time, just give me a warning, alright?" Jack put his hands on his hips.

"Well, you're welcome," Edward grinned.

"For what?"

"I got you out of that little whirlpool in your mind," Edward pointed to his head, doing a spiraling motion. "Dangerous place to be in. It's like swimmin' during a tsunami. It's best not to lay down and muddle in it. Just my opinion."

Jack slowly licked his lips. "Yeah... you're right. Thanks, Edward." Jack began across his room to pick his book back up. He decided he wanted to comb through the rest of it. He knew Phillip would collect it in the morning to return in a timely fashion to the library. When he stood back up with the book in hand, though, Edward was still there, and he had wandered further into Jack's room. "Did you need something?"

Edward shrugged, scuffing his boots against the floorboards. "Are you alright?"

Jack furrowed his brow but grinned at the same time. "When have you ever cared?"

"I've had time to cooldown-"

"Forty-eight hours," Jack nodded.

"Right," Edward paused for a moment. "And I realized Joseph was right. I was projecting. And acting jealous and petty and everything else you wanna call me... my vocabulary isn't very big... But I wanted to say I'm sorry, Jack. And... I'm happy you got into New York University."

Jack smiled. "Well, that's really kind of you, Edward. Thank you."

"So... no hard feelings?" Edward arched his eyebrows.

Jack cast his eyes to his book for a moment, running his hands along the embossed title across the cover. He then nodded, looking to Edward. "Give me half of those poppers and we're even."

"Deal."

...

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Rose stared at the three reflections of herself, who only looked back gravely. The dress of her mother's choosing was certainly not her's. It was a dress with off-shoulder sleeves of white silk, hemmed with french braided gold ribbon. The waistband was a vibrant blue with a flowing white skirt of several layers to the floor, along with a petticoat to give it shape. The hem of the skirt matched the hemming of her neckline. Despite it being a dress of significant magnitude, Rose couldn't help but feel like the unluckiest girl confined to it.

Beside her, the short seamstress fluffed the layers of her hardwork, beaming as she observed Rose from head to toe. Behind Rose, in her reflection, she could see her mother grinning with delight. It wasn't a smile of pride or happiness. It was a triumphant smile. Her control remained stable. The seamstress circled Rose once more before clapping her hands together. Her thick black hair had been pulled into a fishtail braid that beat against her back as she turned to Ruth.

"A perfect 26-24-26 figure, Madam DeWitt Bukkator," The seamstress reported. "I don't have to make any alterations. The final cost of service will be thirty-five dollars, ma'am."

Ruth cast one more glance towards her daughter, who was lost in her reflection. She then began to fish into the small clutch in her hand. "Yes, certainly. Is a cheque alright?"

Once Ruth had paid the seamstress and watched her drag her crates of fabric out, she turned back to Rose, who was silent. Rose's eyes pierced her in the mirror. Slowly, Ruth closed the door, folding her hands in front. "You look nice, Rose. Doesn't it feel good to wear a new dress?" Rose was quiet, studying every detail of the dress. Ruth came to stand beside Rose, looking to herself at every angle of reflections. "When you see yourself in these dresses, do you imagine all the wonders of the world that can be yours? When you lace your corset tighter, do you feel the power you can draw from men?"

Rose slowly turned her head to gawk at her mother, who kept her eyes trained forward at the mirror. "No," Rose whispered, shaking her head. Her curls bobbed against the frame of her face. "All I feel is confined. Like I'm imprisoning myself to every man's will."

Ruth smiled, turning her eyes on Rose. "Then you're doing something wrong." And with that, she turned on her heels and left, the door quietly clicking in place behind her. Rose felt her head go for a swirl and she took a deep breath. Rose looked to herself in the mirror, her face rather incredulous.

What had her mother meant? Never had Ruth talked in a caliber such as that. Was that her way of giving Rose a pep talk? What did any of it even mean? Rose shook her head, lowering herself down onto a nearby ottoman. Rose hunched her shoulders, gazing around the room. Beneath her, her dress crinkled. She tried in that moment to assort the puzzle pieces in a manner that looked right, but none it made sense. Rose couldn't decide between her mother and Cal; who was crazier? What did they really want from her? Was everyone speaking the same language?

Rose shook her head, absolutely lost. She pressed her palms to her face and sighed. She desperately wanted to scream. But she held it all in and focused on evening her breath. One unified image came to mind as she desperately shut down every other thought. She clung to her memories of Jack to push everything out. To make contact with the surface again. To find clairty and calmness; a sense of belonging.

Rose would live inside her mind for the rest of her life, she was convinced, if it always made her feel this loved.