Author's Note: Brace yourself for incoming time hops in forseeable chapters.
Chapter Twenty-Three
July 4th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
"Miss Rose? Miss Rose, can you hear me?"
The noises surrounding Rose rushed by her as if they were in a tunnel of water. It was like she was emerging from the figid waters of the Atlantic Ocean all over again. The violins and cellos abruptly halted, squeaking as the bows were lifted. An audible gasp arose through the dining room and a stillness hung over the crowd of dozens of people. Mr. Leopold Hockley IV was leaned over Rose, cradling her head in his palm. Ruth was flushed with embarrassment, hurriedly trying to asauge everyone's stunned looks. Rose's skin was cool to the touch despite a thin layer of sweat breaking out across her brow. Slowly, her eyes opened to see the man in front of her.
"Miss Rose, are you alright?" Leopold asked. Rose tenderly touched her temple as he helped sit her up. "I was a doctor for forty-five years, Miss Rose. What's the trouble?" He was already gripping her wrist to check her pulse, taking note of the visible change in body temperature. In the next moment, Cal came skirting through the crowd, falling to a knee beside Rose.
"Rose! Oh thank heavens," Cal was quick to grab her hand, gently patting it. "It's alright, sweetpea. Just a little fall. Did you hit your head?" Tenderly, his hand ran along the backside of her head, carressing each and every curl, down to the very strand. Leopold tilted Rose's head back, gazing into her eyes. After a moment, he grinned, looking between Cal and Ruth.
"Oh, it was nothing serious. I'd say nothing more than a little panic attack. Some pre-wedding jitters, eh?" Suddenly, everyone surrounding Rose, towering over her, had broken up into laughs. Even Ruth was quick to join in, relieved the tension in the room had dissipated. The laughter thundered down Rose's ear canals, thumping across her chest. Her face grew hot with embarrassment. She didn't know a single one of them and, already, she was a laughing stock. A beat passed and the band struck back up again. "You're going to be fine," Leopold told her warmly. Rose couldn't even bring herself to look at him. Her cheeks were radiating hotter than a kiln.
"I think I'll take her to her room, let her splash her face and lay down a moment, hm?" Cal suggested. He looped his arm around Rose's waist, helping her to her feet. "Thank you, Uncle Leo, for taking a look at Rose for me." And promptly, with his palm to the small of Rose's back, they left the loud and boisterous dining room, slinking down the dark hallway to the front foyer, where it was much quieter.
Rose broke away from Cal in that moment, hugging herself and hunching her shoulders. Her heels clacked loudly against the checkered marble floors as she approached the base of the stairs. "I'm going to bed. You don't need to come upstairs. I'm fine."
"Oh, you expect me to believe that?" Cal arched a bold brow up, digging a hand into his pocket. "Rose, my bastard uncle just made a fool out of you. I don't think you're fine, Rose."
"It doesn't matter," Rose kept her back to Cal, putting on a strong voice. In her eyes, however, were tears that glinted in the moonlight and fireworks shedding through the wall-length windows. "If it pleases him more, I'll trip walking down the aisle, too. I've always been a fool, Cal. There was no better way to introduce me to those people," Rose lowered her head, a tear gliding down the bridge of her nose. "I'm always one step behind..."
Cal's arms encased her from behind, coming to tenderly lock over her stomach. He pressed his face to the nape of her neck. "... and always one clue short, hm?" He murmered, making Rose's skin pucker in goosebumps at the vibration of his voice. Slowly, Cal tilted his head up, grazing his lips against her neck. "I actually just think anyone with the name Hockley is an impossible stubborn bastard. Don't you think?"
Rose couldn't help but weakly grin through her tears. "I fell for it, didn't I?"
"You literally did," Cal laughed quietly. The two were quiet for a few moments, soaking in each other's warmth from being so close. Outside, the fireworks thundered. And just down the hall, music, laughter, and the clanging of silverware and glasses rang out. Slowly, Rose turned her head to look towards Cal, observing his face before speaking.
"I'm going to bed... but..." Rose pursed her lips. "Thank you, Cal. I'm sorry tonight's not what you originally intended."
Cal didn't want to let her go. So desperately, he wished she would invite him through the threshold of her door. Even if they didn't make love, he just wanted to lay beside her and watch her sleep. He wanted to watch her dream. Cal wanted to hold her tight all night long and through the morning. He wanted to do everything for her. But her wounds were only her's to fix.
He leaned forward, tenderly kissing her forehead. "Sleep well, sweetpea."
...
July 13th, 1912
New York City, New York
"So," Phillip grinned, falling into the familiar creaky iron wrought chair in the backyard. He tossed his journal on the table and smiled at Jack, who had kicked his feet up. "T minus three and a half weeks 'til the big shot moves to New York University." Jack rolled his eyes. Phillip's smile only got bigger and he held his arms out. "Jack! This is a big deal! Don't downplay yourself. You earned this."
"Why?" Jack cocked an eyebrow up as he fished his crumpled pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. "'cause I got some kind of sob story? Orphan poor-boy slash Titanic survivor? I saw the letter you wrote him about me when I was there a few days ago, picking course directions with Mr. Brown."
"Well- alright, let's talk about that instead," Phillip said, reaching for his journal. Jack tilted his head back into the sun, blowing his smoke into a plume above him. His sandy blond hair dangled behind him as he relished in the warmth. "Jack, are you going to tell me about it?"
Jack looked back to Phillip now, raking his hair from the frame of his face while his cigarette dangled precariously from his lips. "I chose Art Education."
"Oh, a teacher, hm?" Phillip nodded. "I think you'd make a great teacher. You're very patient and well-spoken. All the respectable attributes of an educator."
Jack laughed, lowering his cigarette. "Don't pump me up too much, Phillip, I might just pop."
"You're such a modest creature," Phillip sighed, as if it was tiring. He scribbled through his journal for a moment. "When will you accept you're good, Jack? Will it take earning that diploma and walking that stage in your cap and gown? Do you want to see those tassels glinting in the stadium lights?"
Jack was quiet for a moment, his eyes cast down. Phillip could see the gears slowly turning his head. His startling blue eyes looked up. "Do we ever get 'good', Phillip?" Jack furrowed his brow and shrugged. "Or do we just get better?"
Phillip was not prepared for the reversal. It was a peculiar question, indeed. Phillip pensively licked his lips, making another note in his journal. "You're quite a philosophical and wise creature, as well."
"Look," Jack sat forward, setting his elbows on the wobbly table. The smoke trailed between the men like a hazy ribbon. "I don't really know what I'm doing, Phillip. I'm kind of just goin' with the flow. Bein' that tumbleweed in the wind I've always been. I don't know if my time at school will be worth it or fulfillng. I don't know if becoming a teacher is what I want. But I'm just doing it, alright... because I gotta do something with myself, like I always have."
"Do you see going to school as more of a preoccupation or an actual opportunity?" Phillip tapped his pen to his chin, gauging Jack's reaction. The young man reeled for a moment before sealing his eyes shut from being seen between the lines. Phillip took in a deep breath, his chest rising. "Jack, it's alright to be upset about not having closure from your past. There are a lot of things left unanswered right now. The accident was large and severe. No agency has all the facts and a lot have errors, on top of that. Time will uncover those hidden truths for you. But for now, you have to understand you have your own right to live. And you can't let that survivor's guilt keep you down, Jack."
Jack took another puff of his cigarette, flicking it into the nearby grass. Slowly, the smoke trailed from between his lips. "We don't know what's going to happen. Neither one of us. If we could tell the future, I think you and I would have done things differently to not end up here."
...
July 15th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
The table was long and elaborately done up with crystal vases holding bright white flowers of all kinds. Bold stems of purple lavendar reached up as the defining point of the centerpieces that were placed the length of the sixteen person table. The table cloth was an ivory white with intricate french knots and hand embroidery. The china was gold rimmed with delicately painted Japanese cherry blossoms of the most adorable pastel pink. The silverware was numerous. Rose wasn't sure she couldn't even remember all of their purposes. She adjusted the large floppy sun hat on her head, desperately wanting to remove it. Her hat pin was jabbing her fiercely in her scalp. Rose was seated at the right hand side of the host of the Sunday Tea Time affair. Like she had stage fright, she gazed down the long table of women she didn't know, some her age, others much older, dressed as daintily and elaborately as Rose was. The last few women shuffled in and took their seats.
Mrs. Berger-Claw was getting up there in years, but still was her witty spry-self she had been known as during her time as a Socialite in Pittsburgh. She smiled politely, coming to her feet. She gripped her flute glass in her hand, bubbling with rosé champagne. "Ladies, good afternoon. It is most pleasant to have you join me today. You may notice I have put the leaf in the table, to accompany two new kind souls to our tea table. Please, a warm welcome for Mrs. Ruth DeWitt Bukator and her daughter, Miss Rose DeWitt Bukator. Miss Rose is slated to wed Mr. Caledon Hockley."
Some 'ooh's' rang out, plus a polite and delicate round of applause. Rose held herself as still as a rock. Ruth enjoyed the limelight and the absolutely clean slate for her to dig into. The way she batted her blue eyes around, as if noticing the weak point on each and every woman seated at that table.
"As usual, ladies, the wine is endless and the tea is optional," Mrs. Berger-Claw smiled, arching her dark bold brows rather suggestively. Giggles broke out amongst the ladies. "Sebastian! The treats, please!" Mrs. Berger-Claw seated herself as a wave of well-dressed men came out from the kitchen, in parallel, like they were the same person. Platters of french eclairs gushing with buttercream appeared. Finger bites of carrot cakes, spice cakes, bundt cakes, and chocolate cakes, too. There were slices of caramel apples, gleaming in their amber glaze. There were brown sugar roasted and sugar coated slices of pears and a bowl of strawberry and vanilla pudding. Wedged between the delectable treats were bottles of wine, made from an array of sweet berries found around the world; strawberry, blueberry, frostberry. Rose had never seen a splendor so wonderful before. Her eyes almost fell out of her skull.
Beside her, Mrs. Berger-Claw laughed politely, folding her napkin into her lap. She reached for her own slice of carrot cake, sipping on her champagne. "Rose, my sweetheart, when was the last time you had been to a tea party? Do they not treat you the same in Philadelphia?"
"I suppose not," Rose answered modestly, keeping her hands close to herself. "If this is a real tea party, I'm not sure what I've been attending all this time."
The host grinned daintily as she ate her carrot cake with the utmost relish. "It's so lovely you two could move here. Pittsburgh always needs fresh Socialite blood and we couldn't be more thrilled to have the DeWitt Bukator's back. It's a shame about John, truly, my condolences."
"Ah, but life goes on," Ruth answered with a voice of fluffy clouds. It was so inflated and illustrious to Rose. The young woman had to tense every muscle in her body to prevent her eyes from rolling. "I'm just glad Rose and I had each other to get through it."
"Here, here!" Mrs. Berger-Claw lifted her drink, her voice echoing through the splendid dining hall. The other women of the table looked with patient smiles towards their courteous host. "Men will always be disappointed by a daughter. But for us women... a daughter is a lifeline from God. A friend for life to help us get through our lives and our daily tribulations. To women."
"To women!" The rest of the party resounded.
Rose peaked to Ruth from beneath the brim of her hat. She seemed to be absorbing the woman's words. It was as if the idea had never been presented to her in that way, like Ruth had flicked a light on and found a room she never knew about. Rose returned to her wine, taking a sip.
Fools. Every single one of us.