Chapter Five

April 14th, 1922

Long Island, New York

Rose felt suffocated in her new dress. The very moment she had gotten the zipper up, she was ready to tear it off. It was a cream dress with delicate beading work and embroidery of pastel flowers. It fell in a straight A-line, complimenting her thin frame. A white satin sash came across her waist. Pearls sat on her collarbone and dangled from her ears. Her hair had been swept up in a French braid that clung to the back of her head. A white crystal headband peaked out from beneath her vibrant curls. She sighed as she reached for the elbow length gloves, white and shimmering in the morning light coming through her bedroom windows. The birds tweeted in the trees and she paused to watch and listen. In that moment, she longed so desperately to be a bird on a branch. Then she could spread her wings and leave it all behind her. She would always have a rotating background, a refreshing place to go. And maybe, just maybe, she could see him up there, laying on a fluffy cloud.

Rose turned back to the mirror. Despite being dressed so dainty and fragile, she couldn't help but feel she was yet again doing another funeral march. She sure hoped the memorial had drinks. Otherwise, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop any mental anguish from slipping out between her seams. All week, Ruth had talked rather excitedly about the event. She couldn't wait to chat with so and so and she wanted to ask Mr. Whoever about his business. To Ruth, this was more of a networking social. For Rose, it was a knife that would rip the sutures of her wounds clean out. Rose felt like a school girl that moment, thinking up ways to feign illness so she could avoid the gathering. The hot cloth trick usually worked. But Miss Mansfield had a mercury thermometer. An upset stomach would end up as equally a bothersome day of swallowing medicine and forcing dry crackers down under Miss Mansfield's watchful eye. Any sort of ailment was not taken lightly by Miss Mansfield, the ever attendant nanny. She proclaimed no one could stay ill under her care, with prompt round the clock medicines, chicken noodle soup, and butter bread. There was no getting out of it. Rose would have to parade in there with Ruth, forcing a smile, laughing politely, and pretending she wasn't some piece of washed up debris in the aftermath.

Rose would have to pretend everything was fine. She could already feel all the lips to her knuckles, the drenching of silky arms in greeting, and the fake smiles. It would be a room of jackasses in contest to see who rose the furthest above the ashes of the Titanic. And Rose would be one of them. Rose pulled the gloves up her arms like she was putting handcuffs around her wrists. One more look in the mirror and she had to tear her gaze away. She couldn't look for a moment more. When she made it to the foyer, Miss Mansfield was there with Ruth.

"No, I'm sorry, ma'am, there wasn't any leftover carrot cake," Miss Mansfield was saying. Ruth was dressed in a vibrant green silk dress with long sleeves and a high collar. A gaudy matching sun hat was on her head, black lace gloves covering her hands. Diamond earrings sparkled on her ears and her neck was drenched in dainty gold chains sporting small gems. It was the most dressed up Rose had seen her mother in quite some time. She had gussied up more than when they had appeared at the fanatic docks to board the awe-striking ship. "The children must have gotten to it. I can promptly have another one made, however, for your last tea time tomorrow afternoon."

It was relieving to know that by mid-afternoon tomorrow, her mother would be gone. Then Rose's life could go back to what she had now defined as normal for herself. Ruth adjusted the gloves on her hands, nodding at the nanny. "Yes, that would be good. Perhaps some ladyfingers, too, to bid a woman goodbye?"

"Yes, ma'am, of course."

"There you are," Ruth looked over Miss Mansfield's shoulder. "You look nice. They pulled the car up ten minutes ago, we should get a move on."

"Yes, let's go," Rose nodded. "Thank you, Miss Mansfield for handling the children today. Be sure Fern washes her hair, please. And if Rhett is looking for Dr. Dolittle, he left it in the lounge room."

"I've got a handle on it, mum. They'll be angels, as usual. Have yourself a nice day, alright?"

Ruth had already let herself out the door, heading down the steps towards the idling car. Rose glanced over her shoulder and took a deep breath. "I'll try, Miss Mansfield."

/

"My God, this city changes every time I come. And the buildings only get taller," Ruth said, gazing out the car window. Rose passively looked ahead through the windshield. "How tall will they go? Until they're at God's doorstep?" The car turned onto a street, heading straight for a large building with tall reflective windows. The doors were large and obnoxiously gold, as if the Queen herself used those doors every day. A large throng of people were flocking for the entrance, funneling in. They were all dressed to the nines in velvets, furs; fit for a royal court themselves. Rose felt under dressed but hoped it would cast a look of invisibility over her. Maybe no one would notice the girl dressed in white, acting as passive as a wandering spirit would. Some of the faces on the streets seemed vaguely familiar. People Rose remembered were briefly introduced to her before dinner. She had been whisked about so much, however, she struggled to commit anyone's name or face to mind. "Driver, you can let us out here. Be back here a quarter to six so we may make it home for dinner."

"Yes, ma'am," The driver nodded.

Ruth and Rose piled out of the car and joined the moving crowd that brought them towards the event center. Rose had been there once before. Cal's firm had used it as a venue for the company's Christmas ball years ago. Rose had been pregnant with Fern at the time and didn't want to dance because she had back pain. The building seemed to have an updated refreshing look about it, however. It was shined to perfection, not a single blemish to be found on the glass panes or on the rock of the structure. Rose ran her hands along her skirt. Her heart was pounding ferociously in her chest, a rush of blood coming over her. There was the distant sound of a strings quartet and she felt her stomach lurch, her ears flooding with the music she had remembered from aboard the Titanic. She didn't think she could do this. Rose was certain she was going to faint right there. And then Ruth would be sorely embarrassed and Rose would never hear the end of it. But perhaps cracking her head open on the immaculate tile would channel Ruth's guilt to a new aspect.

"Ruthie! Is that you?" A dark haired woman in a puffy blue ball gown appeared beside Ruth, looping their elbows together. "My, it's been years, darling!"

"Sherry, hello," Ruth grinned. "The years have been good to you, I see."

"And you, too, sweetheart. I was hoping to run into you. David and I just came back from the most spectacular cruise. Tell me, have you been on the newer ocean liners? They're much safer than what the Titanic was."

In the moment of her mother's occupation, Rose slipped away, winding herself seamlessly through the growing crowd in the large event room. It had tall vaulted ceilings with art deco pillars carved in elaborate ways. A moody purple and gold carpet spread over the floor. People were laughing and smiling. Dozens of hands were been shook, cheeks being kissed. Some young children wound themselves between legs and popped out from beneath skirts. Rose went for the perimeter, hurrying out of the thick crowd. She appeared beside an appetizer table. She overlooked the delicate finger foods, cucumber sliders, deviled eggs, cheese balls, and macaroons. Her eyes went towards the fountain of champagne glasses. Carefully, she retrieved one for herself, pressing herself up against a pillar. She avoided looking at anyone, hoping not to make any conversation. There was nothing to talk about anyway. The carpet beneath her feet seemed to be the most interesting thing in the world. She wouldn't mind if this was her view the entire event. The next few hours would be nothing but mindless chatter, going in absolute circles about utterly nothing. Rose couldn't see it at the same face value as her mother. What about any of this was fun? Rose was awful at events like this. She knew in just an hours time she would be three drinks in. She would be awkwardly piddling about, grabbing appetizer after appetizer as any means to look busy. She would be remembered as the girl who ate twenty-three cheese balls. And she was alright with that.

"Rose, there you are," She felt her mother's hand curl around her shoulder and she stiffened. Beside Ruth was another older woman who wore a white furry coat that was nearly twice as large as she was. Her lips were a bright ruby red and her fingers were covered in golds and precious gems. "Say hello to Mrs. Beatriz Alfonso-Cordeza, you remember her, don't you?" How could Rose forget the woman whose wardrobe hadn't changed in twenty years?

"Of course, a pleasure," Rose said evenly, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze.

"Rose, sweetheart, you're looking well," Beatriz commented as she placed a cigarette at the end of her long ivory stick. "I see Caledon is treating you right."

Rose smiled despite how much it physically hurt her. "Yes, of course. He sends his regards."

"He's a busy man," Beatriz blew a plume of smoke above their heads. "I didn't expect to see him here. But you should enjoy yourself, sweetheart. At his expense."

"There's a silent auction and a raffle," Ruth told her. "I entered both our names in the raffle. There's three prizes."

"Oh, but Ruthie, you're so picky you'd only be happy with the spa package. You're setting yourself up for heartbreak."

"A raffle?" Rose echoed. The idea was incredulous and somewhat… blasphemous. "Aren't we here as tribute?"

"Oh don't be fickle," Ruth clucked her tongue. "The money goes towards a good cause of helping those affected with their medical bills. Does that make you feel better?" Ruth reached for a glass of champagne for herself. "Let's go see the silent auction. Perhaps there will be something of interest."

"I'm not inter-"

"You have the check book, don't you?" Ruth gave her a sharp side eye. Stiffly, Rose nodded. "Come along, Rose. This is for a good cause."

Pensively, Rose followed behind Beatriz and Ruth who chatted as if they had always been best friends. When in reality, Rose knew Ruth mocked those gaudy coats she wore in private. They approached a long table covered in white and black linens. Several journals were set open in front of signs. A handful of other people were busy scribbling across the paper and silently observing what was presented. Ruth seemed quite eager as she looked between everything, pointing and making quiet remarks to Beatriz who would snort and carelessly tap the ash off the end of cigarette.

"Look, Rose, horseback riding lessons," Ruth pointed. "I think Everett would enjoy that."

"I think he's a little too small," Rose replied, drinking her champagne with pursed lips.

"Oh, how divine, an entire set of Chanel No. 5 perfume," Beatriz sighed lovingly. "One for your purse, one for the beach bag, one for the bathroom… you can never have too many."

"A trip to Spain," Ruth commented. "Now that would be perfect for Everett, Rose. A whole new culture to broaden his perspective."

"He's much too young, Mother."

Ruth leaned in towards Rose. "Your attitude needs an adjustment, Rose."

"I just don't think any of this would be of use, that's all," Rose shook her head. "Why don't you bid for something you want?"

Ruth narrowed her eyes for a moment before looking back to Beatriz. "A boat trip to Niagara Falls. I bet that would be loud. My hair would be ruined by the end of it."

"If I wanted to see a waterfall, I'd just take a shower," Beatriz snorted. Ruth chuckled politely.

Rose found herself wandering down the table. Each thing she looked at wouldn't invoke more than a yawn from her. Tennis lessons. Free car washes for five years. A one hundred dollar voucher to New York City's most elegant fine dressing store. An excursion to Canada. A sailboat ride down the Hudson. None of it was very enticing. Rose finished her champagne and was able to swap it out with a passing waiter. Her eyes examined the scrawls of the many people interested in these seemingly lackluster prizes. Down the table, Rose watched as Ruth placed her bid for a weekend getaway at a wine vineyard for her and Edward. The last thing Rose wanted was a weekend alone with Cal. She could feel her mother's eyes coming over her. Rose was growing frustrated so as a joke, she wrote a bid down for the painting lessons in Manhattan. She was the only one who had placed a bid.

"Painting lessons?" Ruth wrinkled her nose. "Of all the things, Rose. What a waste of time that would be for Everett."

"It would be for me," Rose replied, sipping her champagne. "I've always wanted to learn to paint. It sounds relaxing."

Ruth cast one more annoyed look over Rose before directing herself and Beatriz towards a cluster of people who raised their voices in jubilation upon seeing their faces. Rose glanced towards her bid. It wouldn't break her heart if someone outbid her. She wasn't entirely invested in the idea. But at least she could tell her mother she had participated. Rose snagged her first cheese ball of the night from a silver platter and found herself wandering, nursing her champagne with near gusto. Not much longer, she told herself. As she found herself yet another glass of champagne, she began curiously looking around the room. For the first time all afternoon, Rose took the time to examine faces. Absent minded, she ate her cheese ball, recognizing people from dinner or tea time; even a passing face on the deck. She felt as if, in a way, she knew everyone. She found herself tearing her eyes away and going back to a pillar, tilting her head down passively. So many people here, people she knew and had overlapping social circles with, and yet they all meant nothing to her. None of them mattered. The only person on that ship that was supposed to be here, wasn't, and she was consumed with guilt and a heavy sense of loss. For the first time in ten years, it was really hitting her. Every day, she was having a fake dialog with a man who simply didn't exist anymore. And what an utter waste of life it had been.

Look at me, Rose furrowed her brow, cradling her champagne close to her chest. Look at what I've become. Why did you die and I didn't? What made me so much more important? How could I survive and you not? You were meant to do something great. You were going to do better than I was. She shook her head, realizing that yet again, she was conjuring up the fake dialog. Rose was ready to go home. She didn't want any prizes. She didn't even want another cheese ball. All she wanted to do was go home and curl up in the library with the kids and forget about this. All of it. She glanced towards the clock. If she left now, she could simply take a train back home. What was stopping her?

A shifting of an intercom rang out and the room slowly hushed, gazing towards the stage situated at the back of the event room. "Ladies and gentlemen, most honored guests, distinguished people, thank you for coming to the tenth anniversary of the Titanic." Rose stood at the very opposite end of the room from the stage, the furthest back in the crowd. She gripped her champagne glass so tightly, she was certain it was going to explode. A man with slick blond hair and a crisp suit greeted everyone on stage, pooled beneath the lemony spotlight. "What a decade it has been. A tumultuous one, at that. I'm sure for all of us, there have been many high times and many low times. Trying to understand, wanting justice, having to grapple with all the loss… but today we stand here as one to remember that since we survived that, we can go on to do better things. And be better people. And we can still laugh and have a good time, while helping those who need us. Thank you, to all, who have come out, pledged your donations, and took part in this special event to remind us of those who shan't be forgotten." Another applause rang out. Rose downed her champagne in one gulp.

"And now, we shall announce the winners of the silent auction," The announcer continued. "Horseback riding lessons goes to Mr. And Mrs. Peter Nelson, congratulations. And remember, folks, your money is going to help survivors such as yourself who are in tough situations. Next up, tennis lessons! Mrs. Gerald Edwards, congratulations and be careful with those elbows! Painting lessons highest bidder was Mrs. Rose Hockley, congratulations, Mrs. Hockley!" The crowd did their light applause between each winner. From across the room, Rose knew her mother's eyes were on her. What a waste of money. But Manhattan was beautiful in the evening and it sounded like the perfect excuse to be out of the house when Cal came home. Rose opened her checkbook, making the payment out.

/

"Painting lessons, honestly?" Ruth asked in the car as they barreled across the bridge in the dusk of New York City. Rose was simply exhausted, her eyes trained out the window. In her hand, she gripped the information voucher presented to her by the announcer. "There were so many other enriching things you could have had. Mud baths, lotion baskets! A weekend excursion, even, but you chose a month of free painting lessons? Since when have you even wanted to paint?"

"Maybe I'd like a new hobby," Rose shrugged, looking forward now. "I get bored at the house, cooped up all day. I don't even have to lift a finger. Why can't I paint?"

"No one's saying you can't," Ruth heaved a sigh, pulling her sun hat free. Gingerly, she picked the hat pins from her stiff curls. "I just don't see the point of hauling yourself to Manhattan every evening to receive lessons. You'll miss dinner with your family."

Rose gazed down at the card in her hands. John D. Alum of New York University. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Art Education. 42 Bradbury Dr. Apt A., Manhattan. "Perhaps I'll show so much promise, he'd be willing to take turns."

"If you want to paint, just paint," Ruth shook her head. "You don't need some snooty art teacher."

"Did you have a good time, Mother?" Rose turned her tired eyes on the woman.

"Of course I did. It's always nice to chat with seemingly lost friends," Ruth counted the pins in her palm. "And Mrs. Daisy gave me one of the Chanel No. 5's from her gift baskets."

Rose didn't say a word more, turning her head to look at the darkening sky.

/

Rose emerged from the bathroom, patting her face with a soft cotton towel. Her hair was loosely tied at the nape of her neck, her white nightgown wavered with her movement. Cal was sitting at the tea table, having himself a late night scotch on the rocks. His yellow silk robe fell over his shoulders as he held the information voucher in his hands, studying it closely. He glanced up when he heard Rose and held the card in sight. "Seriously, painting lessons?" He asked as Rose crossed to her vanity and seated herself. "And from an NYU alum? They're the most pretentious, Rose."

She sighed, untying the ribbon from her hair. "You sound like my mother…" Rose muttered, reaching for her comb.

Cal also heaved a sigh, taking a sip of his scotch. "I didn't know you wanted to paint, Rose. There are dozens of private tutors here in Long Island. There's no need for you to have to catch the train to Manhattan every evening."

"You get on a train every day, zipping all over this coast," Rose looked to him in the reflection. "It's only for a month. My first lesson is on Monday. I intend on going."

Cal rubbed at his face for a moment before setting the card down. She knew that look; his arched eyebrows and crooked lips. He was relenting it seemed. He took one more sip of his drink before he came to his feet. Rose continued combing her curls, listening to the muted thuds of his slippers against the carpet. She pursed her lips, trying to focus only on the face looking back at her. It was so pensive and frustrated. Is that what she always looked like? Cal's hands slowly crawled over her shoulders and she paused. He rubbed at the frilly collar of her nightgown, his fingers grazed her neck, running over the contours of her collarbone. She focused on breathing, restraining her chest from rising and falling.

"I know you're bored…" His voice was husky. He dipped his head down, pressing his cheek into her soft curls that smelled like a pleasant bowl of potpourri. "You feel cooped up, confined like a little bird… You must feel like Rapunzel during the days when everyone is away. If this will make you happy, sweet pea…"

"It would," She whispered, still only looking at herself. "It would make me very happy. I want to paint the landscapes that I miss."

He grinned. "And which would those be?"

"Ones you could never imagine…"