Part One: The Words

Chapter Ten

The summer hit, and we were approaching one year since Rose had arrived to be part of my family's estate. I'd been showing Rose how to write captions for our illustrations, and her childish handwriting was scrawled on some of them. However, even I had to admit that I wasn't a teacher, and I didn't know how to be one. I had shown Rose how to write the alphabet, but after that point, I didn't know how to teach her words. As much as I was pained to admit it, I didn't have the time or resources necessary to commit myself to her in that way. She memorized how to write "I love you" and the alphabet, and that was it. Everything else, I would show her how to trace with my hand as a guide, hoping she would pick up on it one day.

Despite my inabilities, Rose was grateful for what I was able to show her. "Thank you," she said as she was practicing in my room one humid summer night. Her grip on the pencil was still limp and a bit unnatural, but getting stronger every day. I watched as she finished the page: …X, Y, Z.

"For what?" I asked, even though I knew. She turned to face me, her hair swept up off her neck to air out her skin. She was wearing one of my shirts that was large enough to cover her hips, but still revealed her bloomers. Seeing her in that way, under the dim light of the evening, always made my cheeks burn, no matter how many times she'd lounged in front of me.

She didn't answer, instead leaning forward and pulling me in by the shoulders for a kiss. My shirt was unbuttoned, leaving me vulnerable to her hand roaming over the skin of my chest. I still had the power to make her shiver, cover her in goosebumps, by the gentle graze of my hands against her arms.

"For teaching me," she said into my ear, but I could tell her throat was dry.

We spent many of our days in my stuffy room like that, unwilling to be away from each other. I don't know when things had changed, but a shift had occurred at some point that summer that made us more attached than ever before. The attraction wasn't due to some reliance or dependence. Rose wanted to learn to read, but she didn't need me; and I didn't need her despite the strong emotions thumping around in my chest every day. We just were, and we loved ourselves more for it.

One night that stuck out to me like a heavy weight in my head, pulling down the blanket that covered up the rest of my memories, was the night of June 22nd, 1914. Rose had just finished another iteration of the alphabet on a piece of my drawing paper; she'd doodled around them, flowers and birds and other fauna. Her handwriting was looking better every time, though she was a much better artist, images having been her way to tell a story for so long. She stuffed the paper in our folder of illustrations and sighed, collapsing onto the bed beside me. "Sometimes, I just think I can't be without you," she murmured into the pillow, her voice a tinge whiney, causing my ears to tingle.

"What was that?" I said, even though I'd heard her perfectly clear. I just needed to hear her say it again, to hear her repeat the words I often said about her in my mind.

She lifted her face up, revealing her reddened cheeks. "Something about how I feel I can't be without you…"

I know, I know, I had just said that our relationship was based on independence and self-reliance, and we didn't need each other. But I knew what Rose meant at that moment. I laid down next to her so our eyes were level, facing each other, and I didn't fight the grin overwhelming my face. "What if I told you the same thing?"

"What, that you can't live without yourself?" Again, I had to admit I had fallen in love with a teaser, and I didn't mind.

"No," I said, my voice dropping as it became more serious. "I can't be without you either, and I think about it every day."

Exchanging those words that day seemed more significant than saying I love you. She threw herself at me then, her head nuzzling under my chin as her arms encased my body. "Thank you," she said, and though a part of me wanted to ask, "What for?" I knew that some things, like many times before, were better left unsaid because I just knew.

I let my lips fall shut and held her in my arms that night, not needing anything or anyone else but her.

"Jack, have you ever thought about being married?"

That was the question Rose had brought up during our walk one afternoon that late summer, fanning ourselves off from the heat that was accumulating outside. (There was something to say about August and its weather.) To say I was taken aback by it was an understatement. I didn't know what to say, except—

"No, I haven't." The truth. Women had rarely crossed my mind, too occupied by art and poems to think much about anything else—until Rose.

"Well, I always imagined getting married on a summer day." She scoffed at her own statement while blowing a strand of hair out of her face, her forehead beading with sweat. "What was I thinking?"

We finished our walk and hurried inside, though it wasn't much cooler indoors. We snuck back up to my room where Rose collapsed at my desk chair and started re-shoving her pins in her hair; the strands had gotten loose from the outdoor air.

"What do you think of this?" Rose turned around and showed off the semi-professional bun she'd mustered up. With its sweeping locks pinned back, I could picture it as the perfect wedding hairstyle. But she wasn't looking for serious. She was just teasing. I, however, needed serious. I walked up to her and took a pin between my fingers, pulling it out so part of her curls tumbled downward across her shoulder.

"I think you're just as beautiful like this," I said, and I meant it. I could never lie to her. I was a better person when I was with her, I liked myself more. She made me feel more whole than I was alone. I needed her to know it. I—

"Oh, Jack." Her voice was soft, demure. She seemed embarrassed, pulling the rest of the hairpins out of her head. Then she said, matter of factly, "You don't want to marry me."

But I did. Did she not know that? If I wasn't still in school, and she wasn't a maid under my family's house, and things weren't so complicated, I would marry her right then. She'd put the idea into my head, and now it had nested there, unable to leave without force. I would marry Rose DeWitt Bukater.

"I-I, I do," I stammered despite the conviction in my internal processes. Instead of coming off like I wanted to marry her, I came off as I wanted to marry her, maybe.

Rose picked up on the uncertainty of my voice. "No, Jack. We can't." With that, she stood up and left, leaving me to ponder what the hell had just happened. How a normal afternoon spent enjoying each other's company could turn into a failed marriage proposal, something I hadn't thought of before.

That boiling hot August day started like any other, but I had no idea just how badly things were going to unravel by the end. Rose had been keeping her distance, which caused me to feel like needles were stabbing at my heart, but that day she came rushing at me as if she'd never been upset at all. (That should have been my first indication that something was terribly wrong.)

"Jack." She was breathless as she rushed into my room. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course…" My voice was soft, hesitant. Not that I wanted her to leave, but because I had no idea what she was panicking about (though I had an idea I was about to find out, by the envelope crinkled in her hand).

She took a moment to take a full breath, bringing her voice down to a normal level. "Jack, were you serious when you told me you wanted to take me on adventures? That you wanted to marry me?"

The inner workings of my heart stung at the reminder, but I nodded my head. "Yes, I meant every word."

She took another deep breath, closing her eyes to prepare for what she was about to say. "Then I want you to come with me. But you can't tell anyone."

"What do you mean, come with you?" My clueless ass was, well, clueless—and I'd be full of regrets later on for how little I thought of the situation at that moment. "Rose, what is this about?"

She crinkled the envelope and shoved it into her pocket. "I… I can't tell you right now. But I know that I want to marry you, too, but we need to stay quiet and move out of here." Her voice was rushed, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to marry me at all. She just needed to get away.

"Rose…" Here came the flood of regrets, "I know that's my dream, and I know I'm not my happiest here…" What the hell was I saying? "I do want to marry you, but I can't just run away from my family, my life, with no word."

"Oh." Rose's gaze shifted away from mine, and she didn't take another look at me that day. If I'd known that would be the last time I saw her, the last time I would have her eyes on me, I wouldn't have said anything at all. Maybe I would have told her yes, but our relationship had become messy, I—

"I understand completely," she said, taking steps toward the door. "I'll see you another time, Jack."

Another time that might never occur. With that, she left me.

Rose was trying not to panic. Everything will be okay, everything will be okay, she kept saying to herself in her head, needing that reassurance to prevent her lungs from collapsing. She zipped out of Jack's room and made a mad dash for the kitchen. That morning, she'd received a letter she couldn't read, but had recognized the name signed at the bottom when she worked through the first three letters: C-A-L.

Cal had found her.

"Mother!" She flew into the kitchen. "I… I need to run," she panted, her muscles on alert to keep moving if she had to.

Ruth chuckled over the pot of soup she was stirring, not taking in the seriousness of her daughter's disposition just yet. "I'd say you're having a run right now."

"No, I… I need to leave." By the firm structure of Rose's tone, Ruth finally realized she was being serious. She turned down the heat of the stove and turned to Rose, the corners of her mouth drooping.

"Leave? But—"

"Can you read this for me?" Rose interrupted her, frantic, assuming the letter would explain everything anyway. However, that also would mean she'd have more to explain to Ruth due to the secrets she'd been holding since they left England… (Though she suspected the urgency would trump any time needed for explanation.)

"All right," Ruth said, her heart palpitating in her throat as she took the letter. Clearing her voice, she then read aloud, "Dear Miss DeWitt Bukater, you have been called to trial for…" Ruth paused as she read the words. "Oh, God."

Rose's eyes were watering over by that point. "I'm so sorry, Mother." But she needed to remain strong, needed to focus on her survival. Ruth read further down the note, her skin turning pale.

"Do you see why I need to go?" Rose's voice croaked. She'd never wanted her mother to find out this way.

"Yes," Ruth said, folding the letter back up and pushing Rose out of the room. "You need to leave immediately."

Later that night, I found out she was gone. Ruth had told me she had run away. The voice that echoed in my mind that night repeated what Ruth had said, how she had to leave..without me. Only the next morning, when I came downstairs to see Ruth being carted away by the police, did I have some inkling over what had happened. The lump in my throat made me realize I wasn't surprised as I watched the police take over our house. I had known that something very serious had to have happened for Rose to leave here. But then I couldn't believe my own ears as I heard the police speak to my family about Ruth's arrest.

"She's in contempt of aiding and abetting an attempted murderer," the policeman said, causing a coldness to take over my feet and flood over the rest of my body.

Rose? Attempted murder? What— How—

I would have fainted if I wasn't already zoned out of the world. I sat down on the steps, watched as my parents listened to the police with horror on their faces. "We had no idea," my mother said, and I bowed my head, shutting myself off from them.

I remembered how just last week we were processing the shocking news of the world going to war, and how upset Rose had been by it. Just a few days ago, we were laughing as I held her hand and helped her spell out words. How was I to know that those would be the very last sessions we had together before everything came crashing down?

Oh, Rose, I thought as I collapsed down on the stairs. Rose…

I'll never see you again.