Chapter One

New York City.

Rose disembarked off the plank as the cries of the seagulls cried overhead.

"They were nothing but kindness," she thought as she was assisted from one of the men. He smelled like the sea itself but Rose paid little heed to this. Having endured a night's adventure along with the loss of her husband, all Rose could think about was the devastation of the acceptance that she was a widow…

Feeling the wedding ring, she peered at it and replayed the memory of her marriage. She could smell the fragrance of the innocence, the way her husband's eyes glowed at her, the wedding dress, the veil, the bridesmaids'…

"Miss? Care to step aside? You're blocking the way for the other passengers," a gruff voice startled her.

Startled, Rose turned and noticed one of the men who stood to her right. Though she found herself standing on the docks of New York City, she knew that if she remained where she was, it would block the passage for the other passengers. Feeling more embarrassed than grieving, Rose nodded before she stood to the left and waited as the other survivors disembarked. But there was commotion not a long way's off and some of those around her turned and listened to a jabbering woman who assisted earlier.

"Margaret Brown! How could we ever thank you for your persistence?"

"Don't thank me! It's the captain who deserves praise! I was merely there to help."

"How many were you able to discover out there?"

"Truly, let's not discuss this now! Everyone's shocked at the turn of events, sir. And I for one am inclined to believe that if we don't seek help for those here, they may be left to stay in hotels because of last night's event."

"Well, I can't blame you for speaking like that, Miss Brown. The RMS Titanic sure met such a fate from all we're hearing."

"Let the interviews occur later! We need to inquire if any of the survivors have relatives or friends in town!" Another voice cried.

Rose swallowed when she started to scan the crowd. If she knew anything about New York, in particular gossip, news would be in the papers before midnight that very morning! She knew that her suitcase had been lost on the Titanic and glancing over her shoulder, she felt a searing pain enter when she remembered the image of her husband's face. She turned and stared at the wide water as if he were to appear and be with her on the docks. The smell of the sea was there but she ignored this; even the seagulls were blocked out. Then her eyes fell upon a man she knew would have originally picked her and her husband up. She didn't need to signal him to walk over to her. His tall figure was distinct and she knew him anywhere. As she met his eyes, she heard him address the man near her.

"Sir? I believe this young woman is Mrs. Rose Mayfield."

"Are you acquainted with her?" the docks man asked.

It seemed to Rose that he wished to rid her but his retort from before had hurt her feelings. But she maintained her composure as she waited for the other to reply. She could tell that he'd taken pains to drive to the docks. She avoided his gaze as he answered.

"Yes, sir; my name is Jack Dawson."

Rose swallowed as the docks man simply replied.

"Well, Mr. Dawson, here is Mrs. Mayfield; I would implore that you take her because the crowd's growing and the press will be here to do some interviewing. Mrs. Mayfield?" he turned and met Rose's eyes as he finished.

"God bless."

"Thank you," Rose replied before she directed her attention to Mr. Dawson.

"Follow me, Mrs. Mayfield," he spoke and she nodded.

Once she passed by the docks man, Rose made sure that she kept her composure tall though the pain was too bearable to accept. She knew that Mr. Dawson was a friend of her husband and she kept in line when he led her to area where the cars were parked. She avoided eye contact once the butler stepped out and gestured for the two to enter. When Rose made it, she felt embarrassed when she watched as Jack's wife, Rachel, turned and allowed him to sit beside her. She merely glanced at Rose and scanned her up and down; this hurt more than being shouted at from the docks man. Where was her husband when she needed him? But she remembered so Rose avoided them as their ride drove off.

Two hours passed and when Rose glanced up, the familiar mansion appeared. She'd ignored everything Jack and Racheal were talking about and feeling the hurt of being ignored was hard. But she suppressed this when the butler drove the Roadster Clarke-Carter Automobile Jackson to the entrance. No one seemed to take notice of Rose as the butler stepped down and opening the door, bowed for Mr. Dawson and his wife as they walked out first. She was the last one and when kept her eyes focused forward, she heard Jack call.

"Once you've shown Mrs. Mayfield where her room is, care to not disturb us? Guests will be arriving to discuss what shall be done after…"

"Such a tragedy?" Rachel finished.

Her arm was linked with her husband's and Rose watched that the woman only wished to scan her again. She kept this in when a maid, who was much older than herself, stood to the side and it was the butler who answered.

"Yes, sir; what shall we do with the boys?"

"Keep them with their nurse. I know that William was frenzied earlier."

"Yes, sir."

Then before she realized it, Rose stood alone in the doorway. The maid took a step towards her as she introduced herself.

"Mrs. Mayfield?"

"Yes?" Rose asked.

She heard the woman's voice held tenderness and since her return, Rose was thankful someone possessed some decency to notice her. Her husband's friend, Jack Dawson, along with his wife, Rachel, walked forward, barely listening to the two women and even the butler, followed pursuit of the master of the home and it was the elderly woman's greeting which made Rose feel better from what occurred with her earlier.

"My name is Heather and I'm to assist you upstairs. The master and his wife will not wish anyone to bother them when their guests arrive."

"Thank you, Heather," Rose answered.

The manor was one she'd been in before her marriage and Rose knew that the habitants usually wouldn't wish someone from the sea to be dining with them. Already, she could hear the other servants' voices from behind Heather and some were appearing to make sure that everything was spick and polished for the guests' arrival. But since news about the RMS Titanic reached New York, Rose wasn't surprised when Mr. Dawson would summon all his associates to discuss the tragedy.

"The one which took his life," she thought and she swallowed.

"Care to follow me upstairs, Mrs. Mayfield?' Heather's voice interrupted.

Rose blinked when she returned to the present. Nodding, she merely allowed the woman to lead her up the stairs, which was to the left, and as Rose ascended, she made sure that her boots didn't make too much noise when she heard commotion sounding from the dining hall. She knew that Mr. Dawson was helping Rachel take a seat and the female servants were finishing the last finishing touches to the table. Remembering the elaborate decorations of the Titanic, Rose pressed the urge to ask Heather if she could join them but she remembered what Mr. Dawson instructed. She was to remain upstairs until further notice and not bother anyone.

"Your room has already been prepared for you, Mrs. Mayfield," Heather explained and Rose escaped from what was occurring downstairs back to the present. The hallway was familiar and she kept in pace with the servant. But images of the Titanic surfaced and Rose pressed them away as she allowed Heather to speak to her.

"Mentioned that no one is to bother the gathering downstairs, so, the master has asked that your dinner be brought up to you. Once you've washed and the other maids have already prepared your bath. I shall be there to assist when you're through, Mrs. Mayfield, and after that, your meal will be brought up. News was reported that the survivors only had some warm soup and that was all?"

"Yes," Rose replied and she heard commotion from behind. The doors to the manor opened and a loud male's voice was heard.

"Albert?! Do take care of that! It cost a ton of my money to purchase! I don't wish to have that ruined!"

"Right away, Mr. Kingston," Albert's voice replied.

"Here we are, Mrs. Mayfield," Heather spoke.

Rose was again thankful the woman brought her out eavesdropping from Mr. Dawson's guests. The door was white colored with a shade of gold and as Rose watched, she realized that the manor Mr. Dawson resided in was expensive. But who would blame him? She didn't have time to ponder this as Heather turned the handle and gently opened the door. The woman didn't make eye contact with Rose as she allowed her to step inside. Once Rose nodded her thanks, she entered and her breath caught in her throat. A large, king sized bed was to the left, while to the right, a fire roamed, and the light colored flooring shined. The walls were white with a few shades of gold but as Rose took a step forward, it was the attraction of a painting above the bed which made her gasp. The image was that of a saint and titling her head to the side, she asked aloud.

"Which saint is she?"

"That is St. Paula, Mrs. Mayfield," Heather's voice replied.

When Rose turned, the woman was wiping her hands on her apron; she hadn't left the doorway when Rose entered her room. The lack of reception she was experiencing was totally opposite from the elaborate sendoff her and her husband had received. When Heather finished wiping her hands, her eyes met Rose's as she spoke.

"Once you've washed and cleaned yourself up, dinner will be brought to you, Mrs. Mayfield. Mr. Dawson instructed me that you shall remain here until the party downstairs is over. The water for the bath will be here soon and I take it that you don't have another dress?"

Similar to Rachel, Heather scanned Rose up and down and again, that feeling of humiliation entered but Rose didn't allow this to bother her. She'd been accustomed to it when she married her late husband on their wedding day but he'd been her only consolation when that occurred. Instead, she replied.

"No, Heather; the suitcase was lost on the ship."

"Then I shall have to ask Mrs. Dawson for one of hers," Heather mumbled to herself. Rose could tell that the maid was speaking to herself and she turned away a bit. The painting of St. Paula seemed to stare at her lovingly as Heather's voice finished,

"Water should be brought up for the bath, Mrs. Mayfield. Then, I shall assist you with the evening dress, and then dinner shall be brought to you. Do keep in mind that the master doesn't wish to be bothered."

"Yes, Heather," Rose replied.

Then the woman left, closing the door behind her. Rose took this chance to remove the cloak off she'd been wearing. It was the most gorgeous woolen garment her husband had purchased for her and it was the only reminder she had of him. Swallowing, Rose lightly touched the fabric before she drew it to her nose and inhaled. The aroma of the sea was present but the memory of Edward was there. She remembered how he lifted her veil on their wedding day… his kiss… his whisper they would cruise on the unsinkable…

"If only you were here," she whispered as she lowered the garment. She was standing by the bed and placed it down. Their original plan was that the couple would stay with Mr. and Mrs. Dawson until they arranged to travel out of New York where Rose and Edward were to reside with her uncle, a resident in Washington State. Which to Rose, was a long trek but Edward had informed her that they would manage the journey as long as God kept the two of them safe. Rose closed her eyes when she remembered how he promised that but after what occurred last night?

Opening her eyes, she thought.

"Not anymore; what shall the plan be now?"

Remembering that another one of servants would be brining water for her bath, Rose decided to divert her attention over towards the writing desk, which was beside the fireplace. The room where she would probably take her bath, she ignored as she walked over and once she was seated, she reached out and retrieving a sheet of paper, dipped the quill in the ink before she wrote a letter she knew by heart, as well as the address, to her uncle, Christian Williams. The echoes of the crackling flames were her only companion as Rose began.

"My dearest uncle…"

Of course, after the letter was composed, Rose soon found herself washed, cleaned, and polished before the evening clock struck midnight. Much to her surprise, Heather was true to her word. She not only brought her dinner to her but also a dress, which was of the most elegant fabric, from Mrs. Dawson and much to Rose's amazement, the dress fitted her perfectly! The color was of a dark blue, navy blue, with a little white lace, and the silk was so smooth, and all Rose could do was blink when she stared at herself in the mirror! The last remains of her sea adventure disappeared when Rose smelled the fragrance of her meal and she realized that soup from the Carpathia didn't do much to ease her. She remembered that Mr. Dawson didn't wish to be bothered and during her washing period, she'd heard more and more commotion echo from downstairs. She only imagined how the "social group" was talking about the tragedy of the Unsinkable and it hurt her to know that she was one of the survivors. The captain of the Carpathia had informed that the number of them were 705 and 1,500 of those who passed on were on the liner when she met her fate. Rose swallowed when the final touch for her hair was finished as Heather nodded in satisfaction of her work. Though Rose didn't speak a word, the bun was a bit tight as the woman announced.

"There you have it, Mrs. Mayfield! Now, I shall be moving along and enjoy your super. Cook always makes the best of dinners and especially since the master has guests, it wouldn't be fair to permit such waste to be lost."

Again that feeling of being shunned but Rose ignored it as she replied.

"Thank you, Heather; shall I place the tray outside when I'm finished?"

"Yes and one of the maids will retrieve it," was the reply.

Then suddenly, the door to her room burst open and a small boy, wearing night clothes entered and in his hands, he carried with him a wooden horse. He screamed at the top of his lungs, which made Rose's ears ring.

"My horse doesn't have a saddle, Heathy!"

Rose blinked and as stunned as she was, the other two maids were equally surprised. The young boy, who was around the age of five, bounced his eyes back and forth at the women and he glared at Heather as he screamed.

"My horse doesn't have a saddle!"

The sound rang through Rose's ears and she took a step back, trying to maintain the ringing but the little boy wasn't finished. As Rose watched, he raised his toy and with a hard gesture, slammed it down on the floor. So hard was the impact that the horse didn't break; possibly only a dent was there but he let out the loudest scream she'd ever heard in her life. The other maid, who'd brought Rose her water, turned to Heather as she sneered.

"Heather? You informed me that John wasn't supposed to be allowed out of the nursey!"

"That's what Mr. Dawson instructed, Emma."

The little boy, light brown hair and green eyes, stomped his feet as he shouted.

"My horse doesn't have a saddle!"

"Alright; that is enough," Rose found her voice for the first time since her arrival. When she met the little boy's eyes, she walked over and crouching down, she made eye contact with him as she asked.

"What do you mean your horse doesn't have a saddle?"

He pointed towards the toy, which didn't show any signs of damage, as he answered,

"My big brother has more than me! He said that all his saddles are his and I have to seek my own!"

"Your older brother?" Rose asked as she stared down at the horse. The other servants, out of the corner of her eye, nodded to Rose and it was a release for them. The two women rushed out as Rose started to speak with the young boy. He was five years old and when he met her eyes, he asked.

"You're not mama, are you?"

"He must imply Rachael," Rose thought when she remembered that the Dawson couple had two children: William and John. Remembering how she wasn't allowed to be downstairs, Rose returned her attention to John as she softly replied.

"No, John; I'm not your mama. I'm a guest and you may call me Rose."

"Well, big brother won't let me play with his saddles," little John answered and he folded his arms.

This gestured amused Rose and she smiled for the first time at the little boy's persistence. It seemed to her that William, whom she'd met not too long ago, wasn't in the mood for sharing his toy saddles and John was fighting him. Reaching down, Rose retrieved the horse and drawing it to eye level, narrowed her eyes when she tried to figure out the outline of the horse. She'd taken some sewing lessons back in her youth and feeling that John only wished to have a saddle, she wondered if one of the servants would be willing to bring up some supplies, so she could at least do something to settle the little boy's temper. As she continued to stare at the wooden horse, she became unaware of John, who made his way over to her tray of food, as he asked.

"Can I have your fruit?"

Rose turned around and her eyes and her heart softened. The little boy stared at her and the appearance in his eyes almost made her cry. He remaindered her so much of Edward but she felt hurt when his little hand was already touching the piece he wanted to have. Keeping her feelings in, though her throat twisted, Rose nodded as she replied.

"Of course, John! You may."

"Thank you."

And as she watched, Rose felt her heart squeeze when the little boy practically climbed on the chair, which was beside the window, seated himself, and taking the piece of fruit, slowly ate it with some fierceness. It was here when Rose noticed he was a little skinny. Frowning, she wondered if it was because he was hungry or maybe something different. The horse was still in her hands as she made her way over and seated opposite him, she watched as he ate the fruit. After she made the Sign of the Cross, she prayed thanksgiving to Jesus for the meal but she kept her eyes on John. What was most bothering was John appeared like his mother: same eyes and hair but his was a shade lighter. She been informed about Mr. Dawson's children but never personally met them. Before she'd been married, she'd met William, the eldest son of the two, and he possessed more the resemblance of his father, Jack. He had dark brown and light grey eyes and William resembled him. But unlike John here, who continued to eat, staring out the window, he resembled the image of his mother.

Then before she could even lift the spoon to her lips, John jumped off the chair as he exclaimed.

"I want to see the new car papa bought! I just saw it appear in the lane!"

Then he rushed out of the room and nearly collided with Emma, who appeared to retrieve him. When John nearly bumped into her, she exclaimed.

"There you are, John! Your father wishes you be back in the nursey!"

"I don't want to!" he shouted.

Then he dashed out before either woman could blink. His footsteps sounded down the hall as Rose watched as Emma, a woman who was a few years younger than herself, turned and promptly, rushed out after the young boy. It seemed to Rose that she was his nurse; not just another staff member of the Dawson household. Rose wondered if she should follow pursuit but remembering what Mr. Dawson instructed, resumed her attention to her meal. She could hear Emma's shouts as the servant called.

"John! You return to that nursery otherwise you may as well receive a spanking!"

"I don't like you!" his voice answered.

"Bless it, John! You're are a hassle! Jack!"

As Rose raised her spoon, she slowly blew on the soup, as she inwardly thought.

"Jack is asked to help with John? All he wanted is to have a saddle for his horse. I wonder why his brother wouldn't share any with him." Then she remembered something. Ringing a small bell, Rose waited for Heather to appear and as if on cue, the woman appeared in the doorway as she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Mayfield? You rang?"

"Yes, Heather; is it possible for me to have some sewing supplies? I know John only wishes to have a saddle and I wondered if could sew him one?"

"You may as well ask Mr. Dawson that, Mrs. Mayfield," was the reply. Rose blinked when a booming voice was heard out in the hall.

"John? It's either a spanking or bedtime with you."

"I wanted to see your new car!" his little voice shouted.

"You may see the car tomorrow. Weren't you aware that mama and I have guests?"

"I want to see that car!"

The figure of the man Heather was speaking about passed by and in his arms, he carried John, over his shoulder and he ignored the stares from the women. Rose took this as an answer to her question. John's cries could be heard and when Heather shrugged her shoulders, all Rose did was nod. She only hoped that William would be generous but then she heard John's voice ask.

"Papa? Is mama going to kiss me goodnight?"

"Yes, she shall," was the reply.

"I want her to! I never like it when she doesn't kiss me goodnight!"

"Heather?" Mr. Dawson's voice called and the woman vanished as she closed the door.

Remembering that sewing John a saddle was no longer an idea, Rose returned to her meal.

"God bless the cook and the party downstairs," she thought.

"And bless little John as well as his brother."