Chapter Four

April 11th, 1922

Long Island, New York

The children had gone off for their studies that morning. Cal had left precisely a quarter to eight. Miss Mansfield was busy cleaning, dusting, and sweeping the children's chambers. After breakfast, Rose found herself utterly doomed. Left alone with her mother, who had found herself occupied with peaking around the estate at its new paintings and rugs since her last visit. They had updated the lounge rooms furniture since she was last there, too, and she ran her hands along the textured vibrant red brocade that now replaced the old furniture that had once been fashionable in the late 10's. Rose had busied herself by insisting she help collect the breakfast dishes and take them to the kitchen. Miss Mansfield cast a weary glance as she watched Rose make herself another cup of coffee in the kitchen. The young woman's eyes nervously met with the calendar. Rose held her coffee mug to her chest, feeling the steam melt against her chin. This Friday would mark ten years. She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to. The gentle hum of his voice was beginning to surface in her mind, washing through her ears. She could almost feel his body heat emanating against her, making her heart beat loudly.

"Mum," Miss Mansfield touched her arm, snapping her from her trance.

"Hm?" Rose blinked rapidly, facing the concerned looking nanny.

Miss Mansfield pressed her hand to Rose's flushed cheeks. "Are you coming down with something? You aren't acting like yourself."

"I'm fine," Rose shook her head, sipping her dark coffee in an attempt to smother her pricked nerves. "I suppose I'm just a little off having my mother here."

"I think there's more to it," Miss Mansfield eyed the calendar on the wall. "It's always this week, mum. Why do you let those memories haunt you? I understand it was a difficult ordeal to go through, but everything still worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Rose was quiet, watching a few of the maids clean the dishes and begin prep for the afternoon tea. Lemon slices were carefully stacked in porcelain ramekins. A small bowl of sugar was brought from the cupboard. The maids bickered between the lemon-zest tea bags and the earl grays. Water was being boiled. Tea pots were being shined. Mixing bowls were laid out, awaiting the dough of airy cream cakes and walnut cookies to be formed. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"You're right, yes, everything did work out," Rose told her. "I suppose I should focus more on that rather than the events."

The nanny tilted her head. "You're not telling me everything, mum."

It felt like Rose's entire body was coming under a massive weight. For the first time in ten years, it felt like she was so utterly close to speaking of him again. Could she even dare say his name? He had been locked away so tightly in her chest, weighing her down, making her feel all sorts of nonsensical things. But in that moment, she felt a desire to talk about him. She wasn't sure she could, however. Though Miss Mansfield had proved to be a wonderful person who seemingly wanted to understand Rose, she was finding it hard to open up to her. Rose didn't want to turn her back on her feelings and her stewed emotions but they felt so wrong to her. They would have any decent woman raising an eyebrow. How could Rose possibly say she was in love with a man she had known for only three days? How could she admit she was willing to throw away the life that every young woman wished they could have? How was it that even though she was married to Cal, who made efforts and provided for her, she still wanted the boy from ten years ago? None of it made sense to Rose. All she understood was that she craved him and she was willing to live through sinking on the Titanic for the rest of her life if it meant she could be in his arms once more, hearing his boyish laughter and watching his sandy blond hair fall across his tanned skin.

"There are things I wish I could say, Miss Mansfield," Rose said, clinging to her coffee cup dearly. "But I cannot. You must understand."

"Why can't you? Says who?" Miss Mansfield asked.

Rose glanced to the help, grateful they were too immersed with their tasks to take notice of them. "Really, it just wouldn't be appropriate. What I think of the whole ordeal… it doesn't matter." Rose drank more of her coffee, feeling Miss Mansfield's disappointed and confused look on her face. "Maybe one day I can speak those words again. But today is not that day, Miss Mansfield."

"It isn't good for you, mum," The nanny pressed. "You can take all the hot baths you want, indulge in all the gooey ladyfingers, and drink yourself silly at the tea lounges but it will never stop you from feeling what you do. Don't you think you should talk to someone? You mustn't be ashamed the sinking affected you differently than your family."

Rose was beginning to tremble. "Oh, but I am, Miss Mansfield."

/

As it reached into the noon hour, Rose decided to go find her mother. Rose had disappeared to her chambers for some time, doing her best to catch her breath. When her coffee was too cold to enjoy, she knew she had left her mother alone for too long. The smell of sweet treats was wafting down the hall from the kitchen. Tea time would be approaching quickly. Ruth was already on the back patio, sitting in the delicate iron wrought furniture beneath the cream colored parasol. The salty breeze was refreshing that afternoon and the sounds of the crashing waves against the crystal sands was relaxing. Ruth seemed to be just fine. She was enjoying the view, watching the few figures of people walking and shouts of children finding buried treasure. When she heard Rose's pumps to the terracotta stone, she looked over her shoulder.

"There you are," She said as Rose seated herself at the table. Fresh water in a shiny pitcher sat on the surface. "I was just beginning to wonder if you were even still here."

"I'm sorry," Rose replied, pouring herself a glass. "I got caught up doing something else. Tea and afternoon snacks will be ready soon. Rhett and Fern should be home in the next half-hour. They have swim lessons this afternoon, however."

"It's good to keep them busy," Ruth reached for a lemon slice to refresh her water. "Caledon tells me Everett is showing great promise at arithmetic. That's good. He will be a bright boy."

"Yes, he's a good boy. His handwriting is shaping up nicely, too," Rose said. "Fern's tutor just discovered she's actually left handed, so perhaps there will be some more progress."

"You know," Ruth lowered her glass. "Edward attended Harvard. He donates generously to them, as well, always backing their football team. I think a well written letter is all Everett would need to get in. Harvard would be honored."

"Mother, he's only six," Rose pursed her lips. "We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. Besides, it's Rhett's choice where he would like to go."

"If not Harvard, then where else?" Ruth shot back. "Yale?"

"We still have a while to decide," Rose pressed her back to the chilly iron chair. Ruth was opening her mouth to reply when a series of maids appeared. Freshly polished tea cups with matching saucers were placed in front of the women. The matching tea pot, piping hot, was set on the table atop a frilly doily. Ramekins of sugar, cinnamon sticks, and honey were dispersed. A plate with fresh walnut cookies was placed down and beside it, a small carrot cake with a creamy drizzle was presented. The maids curtsied and quickly ushered themselves out.

"Oh, my help will certainly need to clean up their acts once I come home," Ruth said, slicing a piece of carrot cake for herself. She inspected it in the bright afternoon light, pleased to see it was moist and speckled with warm notes of nutmeg and ginger. "Tea time here is much more divine. Perhaps Edward and I should just move to Long Island."

Rose's stomach plummeted at the idea. "And leave that gorgeous estate behind?" She used a cinnamon stick to stir her tea after drizzling honey into it. "It's very crowded here in the summers. I think you'd much rather prefer Philadelphia."

"Ah, yes, Long Island is a very young city," Ruth nodded, dropping a spoonful of sugar into her tea cup. The silver clanged against the edges. "The perfect place to raise your children, however. Now, about Everett, I think he should come to Philadelphia and stay with us a few weeks in the summer. Edward has many invaluable tips for the business world, too. Everett can't have too many if he wants to be well-rounded and respected."

"Mother…" Rose sighed, twirling a cookie between her fingers. "He already works so hard, let him have his summer so he can be a boy. Before we know, he'll be all grown up and always busy."

"Good. That's how you make a man," Ruth replied. "I think Caledon would agree with me."

"Well, what about Fern?" Rose furrowed her brow.

"It's best she stays with her nanny," Ruth shook her head, cutting into her slice of cake with great earnest. Though the prim and proper woman would never admit it, she had quite the sweet tooth. "That British nanny of your's seems to have a way with Fern and an affinity for teaching her. Fern's old enough to start learning simple stitches, anyway."

"Perhaps we can talk about something else," Rose said, placing her tea cup on the saucer. "We are getting ahead of ourselves."

"Oh, I know it's frightening thinking about your children growing up," Ruth waved her hand somewhat passively. "You had me scared half to death most times. But it's never too early to plan the success of your child's future. Everett will thank us when he has a closet full of Italian loafers and a shiny car to whisk him to his office."

Rose inwardly groaned. Conversations with her mother were as effective as talking to a wall. It all seemed so one sided. Ruth wasn't making suggestions, they were all demands and expectations. In those moments, Rose felt as if she had lost all control. They were her children, after all. Rose didn't want to think she carried and birthed them only to be placed on the sidelines of their life. But slowly, that was becoming the reality as they grew older. Rose's maternal instinct was to protect Rhett from these things. She wanted to nurture him to believe he could be anything at all. Some nights, she lie awake and wondered if the young boy was troubled by the idea that his life only had one direction. What if he was too frightened to speak up for what he really wanted? What if he became like her own self? Withdrawn, relenting, conceding; everything she didn't want to be but had become. Her own worst enemy.

Miss Mansfield appeared in the next moment with a pitcher of lemonade; a signal that the children were due home any moment. "Everything alright, dearies?" She asked in her pleasant nature as she set the pitcher and two glasses down.

"What is in this carrot cake? It's absolutely divine," Ruth said. "I haven't had one that's so rich."

"Fresh applesauce, ma'am," Miss Mansfield grinned.

"You must write the recipe down. I shall give it to my kitchen staff when I return home."

"Yes, ma'am, of course."

Rose's fingers curled around the handle of the tea cup, watching as her mother continued enjoying her slice of carrot cake. The nanny glanced to Rose wearily before she saw herself out. Rose's insides were constricting tightly as she looked over her mother. Drenched in gleaming satins with her freshly powdered face, Rose could only feel herself growing angry. Life wasn't all about portraying yourself to be the best. It wasn't about deciphering ways to climb the ladder, even if it meant stepping on hands and heads along the way. Life wasn't all sunshine with honey infused tea and dainty treats. And yet, it was. Her shoulders rose and fell as her reality came crashing over her again, reminding her that she was living a fat lie. Lying to herself, to her family, to the world.

"Mm, you know," Ruth perked up, dabbing her napkin to her chin. "This summer, we should take Everett to Massachusetts so he can see Harvard's campus. Perhaps even see a football game and get a sense for the community. Edward would love that."

Rose hid the exasperation behind a faint smile, lifting her tea cup to her lips. "Perhaps. We'll see."

/

The clock had just struck nine when Rose found herself in the kitchen, pulling a wine bottle from the wrack beneath the opaque wall of windows. She was drained from the day despite not doing much at all. Dealing with her mother was task in and of itself, however. Luckily, things had been cordial. There was always present the notes of tension. A silent blanket of judgment. But Rose's acceptable husband, darling children, and over-compensating estate was able to tilt Ruth into good spirits. She was comfortable and pampered enough to not feel the need to make snide remarks or go out of her way to make a point of something. She was simply her typical, controlling, and proper self. Bullheaded, as usual, and unwilling to understand the word 'no'. She still never bothered herself to read the room or know when not to say things because she felt entitled to feel and think her own way. Despite considering herself the utmost lady, she truly could be cold and callous; entitled. Ruth went against the grain, whether she wanted to admit that or not.

Rose sighed at the thought, tilting her head down to admire the label on the bottle. It was a charcoal drawing of the rolling hills of France. She remembered, briefly, her visit to Paris. They hadn't gone for that countryside walk that Cal had promised but, Rose had been glued to the train window as they steamed through those enticing pastures, north, towards Belgium, to catch a ferry to the United Kingdom. She wished she could go back there in that moment. But that would mean… getting on another ship. There was the sound of slippers in the dark kitchen and Rose cocked her head up as the lamp was flicked on. There was Miss Mansfield, wearing a long blue cotton nightgown, her ashen hair fashioned as a mountain atop her head.

"Mum, what are you doing up?" Slowly, she looked to the wine bottle. "One of those nights, hm?"

Rose heaved another sigh and took it to the kitchen island, reaching for a wine glass. She seated herself in the stool and was silent as she poured her first tart glass. "What are you doing down here so late? You're in your pajamas. You should be resting."

"You've caught me red handed," Miss Mansfield grinned as she opened the ice box and withdrew a bottle of foamy milk. "I've come down for a snack. Some milk and cookies." Rose grinned, taking a sip of her wine. Once Miss Mansfield gathered her tall glass of milk and treats, she seated herself across the island from Rose. "What's wrong, mum? I hate to see you so down. Where's that pep? And that wit? You can't let your mother have it this way."

Rose glanced towards the dark hallway behind her. "I can't help but think… this is all an elaborate game to make me feel as guilty as possible."

"Guilty?" Miss Mansfield echoed, her cookie lingered at her mouth. "Whatever for, mum?"

Rose drank more of her wine, a confidence and desire to open up washing over her. "Miss Mansfield… I… I haven't always been the most proper woman… There was a time in my life where I didn't think I could do this."

Miss Mansfield took her time eating her cookie, taking a big gulp of milk. After she dabbed her lips with a napkin, she simply grinned, looking across the island at Rose. "So… you had an affair."

Rose's eyes grew wide. "Miss Mansfield…! Not so loud."

The nanny chuckled as she claimed another cookie for herself, pointing it at Rose. "Now listen here, mum… I have seen and worked for many debutantes in my days. You're constantly barraged with the seemingly perfect life, catered to in all ways, waltzed through an endless array of formals, balls, charity events, and galas. A life like that can be overwhelming… too much, in my opinion. Sometimes… a girl just wants something simple… something rough around the edges." The wine stung Rose's throat and she let out a long uneven breath. "I could only imagine in the aftermath of the accident… everyone deals with things in different ways, mum. I could understand that perhaps Cal wasn't as available during those days…"

"It happened on the Titanic," Rose said coolly.

Miss Mansfield paused for a beat. "Come again?"

"I met a man on the Titanic," Rose said, nervously tapping her fingernails against the glass. "I was so convinced I was going to run away with him, Miss Mansfield."

"Well, who was he?" She asked, tilting her head. "How did you come to meet this dazzling stranger?"

"It's a long story…" Rose shook her head. The chilly breeze from that night came over her skin, causing goosebumps to pucker. The sound of the rudders from the ship was atrociously loud in her ears. The Titanic sliced through the water with such force. "But I met him on the deck on the back of the ship. He was just a steerage boy who was… quite charismatic." For the first time in ten years, she actually managed to smile as she recalled those fateful memories. "We probably weren't meant to meet but… it happened."

"What was he like?" Miss Mansfield prodded, holding on to every word. She even grabbed the leftover carrot cake and another glass of milk as Rose poured more wine.

"He was an artist," Rose had the faintest inkling of stars in her eyes. "He drew portraits of people and… it all looked so real. He had a gift, Miss Mansfield. He was an idyllic picture of a roaming bohemian artist and I think that's drew me towards him. He was progressive and he lit a room up when he entered it. I feel so lucky to have even know him for just three days… but sometimes, Miss Mansfield, it's like I knew him a lifetime. I… never stopped thinking about him…"

Miss Mansfield helped herself to a thick chunk of carrot cake. "And he… perished?"

"Most certainly," Rose replied, somewhat numb to it. "I lost him when we plunged into the water and I woke up in Cal's arms aboard the Carpathia. It was all so surreal. But of all of us who went into the water, Miss Mansfield… only a handful were recovered. I never found him on the ship. He wasn't at the docks when we finally made it. His name… never appeared on any list."

"Do you think, had he survived, you would have chosen him over Mr. Hockley?"

It was a hard question to hear. Hearing it out loud made it all the more damning. She couldn't even count the amount of nights she had spent wondering the same thing. Would she have found the courage? Or would the sensation of physical earth beneath her feat have her changing her mind? She wanted to believe she would choose to be with him, but she couldn't even fathom the roadblocks and the turmoil she would encounter from her family or the ever-powerful Hockley estate. She didn't doubt they would physically restrain her.

She tilted her head up to look at Miss Mansfield. "I'd like to think so."