Chapter Five Chapter Five

Rose looked down at her hands as Ruth stepped hesitantly through the door. How could this be happening? The last person in the world that she wanted to see was her mother. And yet... it was oddly comforting to see a familiar face. Rose shuddered and hated herself for the thought. How could anything be comforting when Jack was dead? When the only comfort she really wanted was for Jack to hold her again.

"Hello, Rose," Ruth said quietly, her voice composed. Rose briefly remembered the hysteria the last time they had met; when Rose had refused to board the lifeboat. It seemed that little of that remained now.

Rose could not reply. So much had passed between them, these polite formalities seemed absurd. Rose almost wanted to laugh as she watched Ruth fumble about in her head for exactly the right words for the circumstances. As though those words existed, Rose thought bitterly. As if this was in any way comparable with one of Ruth's parties, or an interview with Rose's teacher- situations where words mattered, where they had the power to change anything. No matter what eventually escaped from Ruth's lips, the inalterable facts would remain. Jack was dead. And Rose knew that while she would never admit it, Ruth was relieved. Nothing could change this, least of all the phrases that Ruth searched frantically for.

When she eventually did speak, Ruth's voice faltered in response to Rose's stony silence. "I... I didn't realise that you.... I have been looking for you..." She trailed off.

"Why, Mother?" Rose suddenly spoke sharply. Ruth was taken aback at the harshness of her question. "Why have you come here. What do you want? After everything that has happened, what on earth do you possibly think you can offer?"

The hurt was visible on Ruth's face. "Rose, I had hoped... that perhaps you could return home... that perhaps we could try to make some kind of life for ourselves." The slightest trace of bitterness crept into her voice. "It's not as though either of us have any one else to turn to."

Rose glared coldly at Ruth. "I did have someone, Mother, and you did everything you could to destroy that. Why should I trust you? Why should you want my happiness now if you couldn't accept it while Jack was alive? He's dead, Mother. You got your way- what more do you want? Why can't you leave me be? You can never share my grief, never understand...." Her voice broke, and she turned stonily to the wall, refusing to face Ruth and allow her to see her tears.

There was a sob in Ruth's voice that Rose had never heard before. "Please, Rose" she whispered. "You're my daughter. You are all I have left and I have to at least try. How could you believe that I don't understand how you feel, when I have done nothing but mourn your father these past two years?" As Ruth spoke, it occurred to Rose that for the first time in her life, Ruth was speaking to her as an equal. "Rose" she continued, a pleading tone in her voice. " I made terrible mistakes in the past weeks... I know that. But please don't leave me alone."

Rose's thoughts swirled in her head, confusion threatening to overwhelm her. Again, she felt the sense of isolation that had scared her so much earlier. Why did these thoughts have to come into her head now, weakening her resolve. It would be so easy just to return home... and listening to her mother's pleading voice suddenly made Rose feel very tired. Maybe the idea was worth considering .... what else was she to do, after all. A nagging voice filled her head, reminding her that Jack had seen that she was trapped as long as she remained with her family. But was it any better to be trapped by loneliness, by poverty? It had seemed so important to escape, to be free, but those dreams had held meaning only while Jack was to be by her side. Now... well, everything was different. Jack was dead. What use was freedom when you were alone and merely struggling through the world? She and Jack had dreamed of heading for the horizon; now Rose doubted that the horizon held anything more than further heartbreak.

In her deepest heart, Rose knew she was giving in, taking the easy way out. But right now she felt too battered by fate to turn her back on security. "I'm sorry, Jack" she whispered to herself. "I know this isn't what we planned. But everything's different now." And looking at her mother, Rose replied steadily, "All right, Mother. I'll come home."

The Next Day

As Carpathia steamed into New York, Rose stood alone on the decks, watching the Statue of Liberty approaching.As hard as she tried to stop it, she imagined a dozen happier versions of this moment, scenarios that might have been reality had fate offered her a second chance. Dreamily, she imagined Jack standing by her, his face flushed with the excitement of the moment; their future lying ahead of them, full of promise. So real was the fantasy that Rose could almost hear his voice, and didn't feel the freezing wind as she imagined his warm arms holding her tightly.

A young man, almost a boy, approached her nervously as she stood daydreaming. Rose jumped, reluctantly leaving her fantasy. "Excuse me" he spoke softly. "Can I take your name, please, love." Rose looked at him absentmindedly, still lost in her private world. "Dawson," she replied vaguely. "Rose Dawson."

Rose was still standing there when Ruth approached her, annoyed to see her daughter dreaming again. What was she thinking about? Ruth hoped she wasn't still wasting her thoughts on that steerage boy, that... Jack, or whatever his name had been. While Ruth would not wish his fate on anyone, she couldn't help feeling relieved that he was out of her daughter's life, by whatever means. The shame burned in Ruth as that dark thought came to life, and while she acknowledged the truth of her feelings, she knew she could never share that thought with anyone.

"Rose, come along." Ruth spoke sharply. "We're about to dock, and we want to get of the ship as quickly as possible. There'll be newspaper men everywhere. If we get caught in the crush it could take hours." Ruth shuddered at the thought. Rose glanced at her vaguely, wondering what the fuss was about. "What difference does it make, Mother" she replied bitterly. "Where on earth have we to go that is so important?"

"Why, we must get to the hotel!" Ruth cried. "Cal wishes to set out for Philadelphia tonight!" Suddenly, Ruth realised that she had spoken too freely. There was a dreadful silence; Rose's eyes filled with horror. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke. Her voice was cold and brittle. "You never mentioned Cal before, Mother. And here I was thinking it was to be just you and me." Ruth laughed nervously. "Well, darling, surely you realised... we could never support our lifestyle without..." Rose's icy look silenced Ruth momentarily, and she took a second to regain her composure. She gazed steadily at Rose. "Nothing has changed, Rose. You are still my daughter, our position is exactly the same as it was a week ago. Except that this time you will not defy me."

Jack paused, not knowing where he was. Carpathia had docked less than an hour ago and already he was lost. New York seemed to close in around him as he stared at the meaningless street signs. He had no idea where he was. "Damn," he muttered to himself. It was raining heavily now, and all he wanted was some shelter, however basic it was. Somewhere around here was a boarding house where he had stayed long ago, when he first headed out to Europe. It seemed appropriate to return there now, yet try as he might he couldn't find it.

He turned a corner and noticed a building with a large crowd gathered in front of it. Straining his eyes, he could just make out the sign that proclaimed the building to be the offices of the White Star Line. The crowds had gathered to anxiously scan the lists of survivors as they were posted in the front windows. Every now and then a wail of despair, or a cry of joy would rise from the crowd as new lists were posted.

Jack fought the urge to go and look, to join the crowds and search anxiously for the name 'Dewitt Bukater.' But to do so would bring the final truth to light, to end all hope when the name he searched for wasn't there. He didn't think he could cope with that right now, and instead turned his back on the building, walking ahead into the biting wind.

The wind became harsher, and the rain colder, but eventually Jack found a place to stay. It was dark and gloomy, but it had a roof that kept out the rain, and charged only twenty cents for the night's accommodations. Wearily, Jack sunk into a fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of Rose. It wasn't unusual for him to dream of Rose; every night for a week he had been visited by visions of her hand reaching vainly through the blackness for his. But this time, she seemed closer, more earthly somehow. Instead of appearing as a ghostly apparition, this new Rose was a very real person who seemed to be in trouble. She was crying, yet try as he might, Jack couldn't reach her to find out what was wrong, and to comfort her. Somehow, these dreams disturbed him even more than the old ones although he couldn't grasp why. All he knew was that, wherever Rose was, he didn't think she was happy.

Jack lay back in bed, tears streaming down his face. "Oh Rose," he whispered to himself. "Wherever you are, I'm so sorry. I love you. I only wish I'd been able to tell you that." In the darkness, Jack buried his head in his pillow to stifle his sobs and shut out the lonely night.