No one knew that as Rose made the rounds that following Sunday—to church and luncheon and tea, the typical weekend fair—that it would be the last time they would see her for a while. With the wedding a short ten days away, Cal had to think fast when concocting a plan to keep her caged and out of the public eye: she would be forced to stay inside the house, only allowed into the garden until her form became too prominent, and she would be monitored under the careful watch of Mr. Lovejoy's eye. What he hadn't quite figured out yet—and the most vital and urgent of all—was how to announce the postponement of the wedding.

Even if he was willing to give her a say in her sentencing, he couldn't talk to Rose about the dilemma anyway. Every time he had approached her in the last week, she had coldly turned away and brushed him off, declaring, "I do not wish to speak with you." She was absent at every meal he attended. He wished he had the heart to say he couldn't blame her for being upset, but after the disaster she had caused, he was angered even more by her resistance. She should be on her best behavior, not causing more frustration. Is this the card he was to be dealt for desiring to marry a woman thirteen years younger than him, with barely a foot stepped into adulthood?

The church service ended with a song, and despite holding resentment towards his fiancée and everything she'd done to ruin him, he was still mesmerized by her voice that carried across the pews. It was the same voice he was struck by at a party he was certain he was going to be bored at almost two years; he had turned to the nearest person next to him, a bit desperately, to ask who the woman singing was. "That is my daughter, Rose DeWitt Bukater," the red-haired woman near him had whispered. "She's one of the many ladies we are celebrating tonight, but the loveliest, wouldn't you say?"

Indeed she was, Cal had thought. He had introduced himself as soon as she had stepped off the makeshift stage, with a swift bow and kiss on the back of her hand; and she had glanced down at him with an equal twinkling of awe in her youthful eyes, as if she couldn't believe such a wealthy, confident man was taking interest in a girl raised to be meek.

As the service finished for the morning, Cal watched as a middle-aged couple he was sure he would recognize if he was reminded of their names approached Rose and said, "We are so looking forward to attending your wedding next week, dear." The older woman asked for Rose's left hand, partially to admire the ginormous ring, but also to give her a congratulatory handhold. "Your mother has told us how stunned we will be to see you in your dress, a Lucile Duff-Gordon original."

"Thank you," Rose had said politely despite her discomfort. "I would love to speak more, but I've been feeling under the weather recently. Excuse me." She swiftly exited the pew, leaving Cal to clean up her mess as usual.

He droned out a lot of the frivolous talk everyone was participating in before breaking off to their luncheon dates, and kept glancing at the open doorway where Rose was standing outside alone. He could never figure out what she was thinking about, but what she had said to excuse herself from socializing piqued an idea in his brain: illness. Maybe the wedding could be postponed due to a sudden, serious illness. She had already planted the seed in one of the guests' minds, after all. The reasoning for the rest of the postponement would be a worry for a later date.

Cal smirked to himself as he led Ruth out of the church, picking up a distant-looking Rose on the way. He was going to get away with this, and no one would be any wiser.

A week had passed since Rose had seen Jack. Fortunately, he had gotten the message without her needing to directly state it that it was too dangerous to attempt sneaking into her home, or lurk near the area of her neighborhood at all. But she had received a letter nearly every day from him through Trudy, each pleading to let him see her at least one more time to talk through everything more thoroughly. The last two she had left unopened.

As much as she ached to reach out to him, she still feared for his safety if she tried. She had avoided Cal for the most part, though she knew she had to speak to him eventually. Maybe there was some way, if she could sugarcoat her words so it sounded more like a seductive business deal, that she could manipulate the hostage situation more into her favor—one that included Jack, even in a limited way, in her life for the next stressful few months.

She also spent the majority of the week wondering if the situation was going to fall through. Though she had quickly accepted what the doctor believed had made her ill, she also wondered when her period was finally going to show up. Doctors could be wrong sometimes. Was her corset too tight that day and that's what caused her to faint? Was the excitement and confrontation too intense and that's what caused her to vomit? She contemplated every moment from that morning and the night before, searching for another explanation for things; but the nausea and occasional dizziness didn't quite go away, and not a single drop of blood stained her underwear. The back of her mind remained bothered by the disappearance of her regularity.

Slowly, some of her appetite returned the following weekend, and she was able to appear somewhat normal at that afternoon's luncheon. Thankfully, the event was held at her house, so when she started to feel overwhelmingly bloated for the third day in a row, she excused herself and called for Trudy, who loosened her corset in her bedroom.

"Why do I have to wear this awful thing?" Rose whined as Trudy tugged at the strings, sucking in her waistline. "Is it healthy even if you're not carrying a baby?"

"I would not know, miss. I can only say I think it's unusual to squeeze everything down into something it isn't." Rose cringed as Trudy gave one final pull. "How does that feel?"

Rose sighed with as much air as she was capable of filling her lungs with. "I wish it could be so loose, it'd fall off me." She then chuckled at the thought of the ladies' ghastly expressions if she toddled into the dining hall that moment with a shapeless corset hanging under her clothes. "But for now, this is better. I don't know if it's something I ate, but this belly of mine has just been expanding since this morning…"

Trudy only nodded her head, not wishing to upset the lady any further. "If that's all, miss, I should be heading back downstairs to the kitchen."

"Yes. Thank you, Trudy." She watched as Trudy left the room with the door opened a crack, expecting Rose's exit closely afterward.

But Rose didn't want to go back down to the mindless gossip and chatter just yet. Putting up a face, especially when her body felt so unpredictable that she could surprise everyone with vomit or a fainting spell at any minute, was more exhausting that week than months of past social gatherings combined. She sat down at her vanity, intending to relax, but two unopened envelopes crossed her vision.

She was certain they didn't say anything he hadn't already desperately written to her. But seeing the week's stack of letters lying there, when before she would open them immediately as a butterfly fluttered in her heart, made her oddly nervous. It was just another reminder of how drastically things had changed.

One letter. She decided to read just one of the two she hadn't opened yet. She broke the seal with a neatly manicured fingertip, and was heartwarmed by what she read:

Dear Rose,

I understand now that you're not going to answer my letters anytime soon, if you ever do. But even if I don't hear from you, I need you to understand this: I still love you. Nothing has changed that. I'm just as shocked as you are with this news, and it's not fair that you have to go through it alone. If something changes, I will always be here. I'm not leaving Philadelphia until I know that you'll be alright.

Love, Jack

Reading over that note over and over, she was left raw and tender, and without thinking too much she ripped open the other one.

Dear Rose,

I remembered today a tea remedy my mom would give us whenever we would feel sick to our stomachs. I don't know how you've been feeling lately, I hope not too bad… I don't think I told you this, but my mom was a nurse before I was born. She loved helping people, especially other women. She picked up lots of tricks for all kinds of things. She said when she felt like she couldn't eat much when she was pregnant, she ate saltine crackers or toast. She would always say it was better to eat something than nothing. Anyway, here's that recipe:

Ginger chamomile tea (with a hint of peppermint)...

As much as reading the letters had opened up her heart, she was guilty for not looking at them sooner. How could she consider forcing herself to let go of such a sweet man, who was somehow still not scared off by the domineering fortress that was her fiancé?

Before she could admire Jack's words more, she heard Cal calling her name. She quickly stuffed the letters back in their envelopes and rushed out of her room, saying she would be right down.

With all of her required tasks done for the day, Rose ventured out to do something she wanted to do. She knew that typically, it wasn't proper or polite for a young lady of her stature to shop for her own things, unless she was accompanied by a male. But she was known around this area to frequent a local bookstore on her own, and though it created some waves at first, people had mostly stopped gossiping about it.

Lovejoy helped her hop out of the vehicle right in front of the progressive, family-owned place. She was drawn to its vast selection of books and topics, sometimes even finding controversial reads on the shelves. "I'll wait out here for you, miss," Lovejoy said as he stepped to the side of the doorway and pulled out a cigarette, obviously already aggravated that his job had turned into this.

"Thank you, Mr. Lovejoy. I'll try to be quick." Rose entered the bookstore with a delightful jingle of a bell, and after a warm welcome from the owner she was on a first-names basis with, she went straight to perusing the most popular selections. The Innocence of Father Brown, Zuleika Dobson, My First Summer in the Sierra… Rose was stocking up on as much entertainment as she could, dumping them into her shopping basket.

She then strayed further into the heart of the store, divided by topic and subject. As she passed through the section on family and household care, she slowed down and looked around her, finding that she was alone. Curious, she picked up the first book that stuck out to her: The Care of the Baby by J.P. Crozer Griffith, M.D. An older edition published in 1895, the year Rose was born. She flipped to a random page.

When the baby becomes more active, and especially when it begins to creep or to stand, there is often a great deal of trouble with the diapers, which exhibit a tendency to fall off at the most inopportune moments, unless drawn much more tightly than is healthful. To obviate this difficulty the diapers may be pinned to the merino shirt…

Creeping, standing, diapers. Rose had never held a baby in her life, let alone worried about it walking or having to change diapers. She probably would never need to, for whatever child she would be allowed to have, whether she wanted any or not, would be shipped off to a nanny to be raised. She wondered if her own mother had ever picked up this book, or if the mothers in her society just never thought about childcare that seriously.

Why had she caused herself more misery by picking this up? She set it back on the shelf, knowing fully well she wasn't going to use any of its contents anyway.

As Rose rounded the corner to find the section on mystery and detective novels, she was startled by someone grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the lonelier parts of the store. "Jack?" she nearly exclaimed, but he put a finger to his lips.

"I needed to see you," he said, dressed in a bowler hat and dark coat similar to what he wore that one afternoon to see her on the Titanic, but in a much more raggedy state.

"Did you follow me here?" She was dumbfounded, nervous, but also strangely flattered. "Jack, this is dangerous… We can't do this." She tried to step away, but he jumped in front of her.

"Did you get my letters?"

"Yes, but…" She looked up at him with watery eyes, displaying all he already knew.

"Rose, I can't just not be a part of your life. Especially now. I'm responsible for this baby, too."

"Keep quiet, please…" Despite their hushed voices and no one being close around, Rose was alerted at the mention of what was not supposed to be named out loud.

"I'm not scared of Cal."

"You should be. It's a terrible balancing act trying to get the minimum of what you want out of him when all he wants is to control everyone. He's still heated, Jack. He's threatened us with awful things, harmful things. Maybe in a few weeks when this has cooled down…"

"I can't wait. I can't let you go through this alone."

Rose sighed. She knew she couldn't win this battle. Someway, somehow, Jack was going to find a way to be close to her; she may as well find some way to make it less threatening for them both. Looking into his soft blue eyes, shimmering with worry and desire, she tore down some of the tough walls she'd put up that week. "All right. I've been meaning to talk to him this week."

"C'mere." He pulled her into a secluded corner and swept her into a tight embrace, knotting his fingers in the curls that had come loose from her bun at the nape of her neck. "I promise we'll find a way out of this, Rose. I won't abandon you now. I promise."

"I know, Jack," she whispered into the warm crevice of his shoulder. Her hands longed to venture under his jacket, to feel the heat captured around his skin and the softness of his cotton shirt; the reminder of all of the times she had playfully tugged at the strap of his suspenders, daring to pull them off... "I trust you."

Though he knew better, Jack placed a lingering kiss on her lips, and though Rose knew she shouldn't, she went back in and deepened it. She wished to drag him out of the back door and head straight to the train station, or for him to take her right there between the bookshelves. Being so close to him kindled such impulsive, intoxicating desires, her cheeks started to burn.

"Miss Rose?" she heard the store owner calling for her. "How is your browsing going?"

Rose quickly pulled away from Jack to shout, "Almost finished. I got lost in one of the chapters." She then gave him two more pecks, whispering, "I'll let you know what he says."

She smoothed out her dress and brushed aside her freed curls before sliding out from behind the corner, hearing the discreet closing of the back door as Jack made his exit. As she approached the counter with a darling smile, her eye caught sight of a display of newer children's books, literature she used to devour. One of the covers was framed with golden birds and vines, a nasty crocodile and mystical mermaid tails ornamenting the center as a young boy with a flute sat on top of a rock. For a flash of a second, she pictured what it would be like to read fantastical bedtime stories to a child, something she had lacked growing up. While she was being checked out, she spontaneously grabbed a copy of Peter and Wendy and set it on her pile.

That night, after Trudy burnt out the fire and Rose finished changing out of her restrictive clothing, Rose settled into bed and thought of it as the end of her last day before she was officially held against her will. She was excused from all social events indefinitely, and as soon as Cal made the announcement of her sudden illness, she would need to hide away for a while before re-emerging outdoors, even if it was just in the back garden. Being trapped indoors was something she could more easily stand in drearier weather, but with summer quickly approaching, she was disheartened by all the fresh air and sunlight she was going to miss out on.

Propping up onto her pillows, she opened up her copy of Jane Eyre to where she had left off, when Jane had fled Thornfield Manor after discovering the man she loved and wished to marry was already married, and she couldn't bear the idea of running off with him to pretend to be husband and wife. Meanwhile, Rose wished more than anything to break the principles she had been raised with and run off and live with Jack, regardless if they were married or not.

I am no bird, and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.

Rose practiced repeating that sentence she'd marked from an earlier chapter in the novel over in her head, wondering if she could gather the strength and courage required to approach Cal and declare something similar in the context of her own situation. I am no bird…and I wish to regularly see my illicit lover who got me pregnant and who you despise.

After reading for an hour, the room became too chill and Rose decided it was best to try nipping her insomnia in the bud before she started wandering the halls in the middle of the night. Shutting off the lamp light, she crawled under the covers and willed her way to sleep.

...I am not an object for you to display. I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you, Cal. What difference does it make if I'm here or gone? I'm dead to you already.

Spring 1908

When Rose would skip school, she would try to do it around times when she felt like the material was useless. That day, as part of their "women's education," they were supposed to learn about how to best run a kitchen. Rose had scoffed at the curriculum; she couldn't think of a skill she needed less. She was going to run her own kitchen and cook her own meals, she and no one else!

Instead, she found it more educational to journey further out from the city and surround herself in nature with a good book. She had borrowed one based off of the recommendation from a girl at school, whose cousin from up north had sent her a copy after raving about it. Rose could see pieces of herself in eleven-year-old Anne Shirley, though the constant self-conscious remarks of her red hair left thirteen-year-old Rose feeling a tad self-conscious herself.

Since picking up that book, Rose dreamt of living on a farm and thriving in a small town in an unfamiliar country. City life was far too stifling for Rose's whole spirit and imagination, which were constantly suppressed by rules and protocol for being a proper socialite. She longed to have wondrous space to run around in and do as she pleased, preferably before she started suffocating.

Now she wandered mindlessly to find her own free space to roam in and, in the most unladylike fashion, kicked her legs upright along a tree while her hair splayed around her head on the grass. Distracted by the tranquil trickling of the stream and the pleasure of her own lonesomeness, Rose was re-reading Anne of Green Gables for a third time when she was startled by a crescendoing cacophony of voices shifting through the woods.

"Did you see how she looked at me—"

"Why don't you just get married—"

"That's disgusting—"

"I bet if we were in school, we'd be able to meet more girls—"

The boisterous bunch sounded like a group of young boys. Rose's heart pounded as she peeked from behind the bush that was keeping her hidden, and she made out five boys she guessed were a couple years older than her strolling alongside the other side of the stream with broken branches in their hands. They were covered in grime and their clothes were stained from sweat and dirt. While chatting incessantly, they would poke the ground or the water or each other with their sticks. Typical adolescent boy behavior. Rose rolled her eyes and leaned back under the tree.

She was pondering when she should head home to avoid being scolded by her mother—or should she stay out late and agitate her today?—when her train of thought was broken by a loud splash.

The boys bursted out laughing, and Rose could guess before anyone said anything that someone had been pushed in as a joke. "Sorry, Benny. I slipped."

A serenade of splashes and yells followed, and Rose feared her quiet space had been compromised by stupid teenagers. She picked up her book and tried to crawl around the tree, but her knee fell on a branch, snapping it cleanly in two.

"What was that?"

"I dare you to check it out!"

Rose swore under her breath and started praying to not be toyed with as the sloshing of a single body came closer. She bit her lip to avoid crying out when a figure pulled itself upon the bank and around the bush, and she briefly met the crystal blue eyes of a boy who couldn't be any older than sixteen. His skin was tanned and hair bleached from weeks in the sun, yet his face speckled with muck from indoor factory labor. She could make out a nearly imperceptible kind-hearted smile, and he moved slowly so as to not spook her any further while he reached forward to grab one of the sticks she'd broken. "It's nothing. Just this branch fell out of the tree." With a single head nod, he ducked back out of sight and splashed into the river.

As grateful as Rose had been for the boy's discretion, she didn't give him a second thought as she sneakily rushed out of the woods to head back home, having had enough adventure for the week.

I know, a ton of literature references again. I'm a nerd.

"Fun" fact about health and corsets: if you've ever seen the TV show Bones, they had an episode where they compared the X-ray of a Victorian teenager to a waist-training beauty queen and found that it distorted the ribcage over time.

Another note: Rose would have been 10 years old when the original play Peter Pan was first put on Broadway in 1905. I wonder if that's something she would have gone to New York to see. I'm honestly not sure.