Chapter 6
A Second Chance Chapter 6

One Week Later

The sun was struggling to break through the late April clouds, and Jack shivered, pulling his thin coat closer to him. He'd wandered New York for the past week, drawing pictures, looking for work, a place to live- generally trying to fill his days with ordinariness, to force himself back into his steady rhythm of work and travel, meeting friends, drawing as often as he could. But no matter how much he tried to force himself back into his old life, his heart wasn't in it. Painful memories haunted him at every turn, and he felt alone, out of place in this huge city, and wished only to see a familiar face in the crowds. After a week, he knew that the only way he might get his life back in any sort of order was to return home, start again and hope that some day he could wake up in the morning happy to start a new day.

Jack glanced down at the battered wallet he clutched. It had once belonged to his father, and had accompanied Jack on many adventures, although it wasn't usually as full as it was right now. Surprisingly, he'd made a little money through his drawings; perhaps New Yorkers were more generous than Californian holidaymakers. He had even gathered enough for a third class train ticket back to Chippewa Falls, and it was that which brought him to this windswept platform.

A small piece of paper protruded from the wallet and, as he waited, Jack sat down on a bench and pulled it out to study it again. He knew it was the best thing he'd ever drawn, or was ever likely to draw, and he treasured it already. Drawn from memory, it showed Rose that night at the bow, just as he remembered her- the wind sweeping her hair back and a slight smile playing across her lips. As he gazed at her image, captured forever by his hands, the emotions of that night came flooding back, until Jack could hardly stand it anymore. Roughly, he shoved the paper back in the wallet, placing both with his bags by his feet.

After what seemed like hours, the train's shrill whistle broke the morning air and the fresh blue sky was stained with billowing smoke. Jack jumped up, feigning energy that he didn't feel, and went to gather his belongings; a rucksack with a few clothes, his portfolio and art supplies... not a lot to show for his twenty years, he mused.

As the train slowed down, Jack was suddenly paralysed with indecision. "What the heck are you doing, Jack Dawson?" he thought to himself. "Returning to a place that holds nothing but sad memories." He suddenly realised that he had made no plans- had no job, nowhere to stay, no means of putting food on his table each night. Nothing. He was merely wandering, aimlessly trying to run away from each new set of bad memories. He'd been doing it all his life.

Still... where else was there to go? There didn't seem to be much point in trying to run away from his memories any more- these days they seemed to follow him. At least in Chippewa Falls there were friends to greet him, the hope of being able to build a new life. He shrugged fatalistically, and went to board the train. As he stepped across the door, he stopped again, abruptly. He was gripped by the strangest feeling, and felt himself almost physically pulled back, compelled not to board the train. Without warning, Rose's voice filled his head, just as it had sounded that day at the bow- uncertain, hesitant, yet hopeful and filled with unspoken promises. "Hello, Jack. I changed my mind."

Jack spun around violently, almost losing his footing. His heart filled foolishly with hope- the voice had sounded so real. Behind him, the platform was empty, and his eyes took in nothing but an old newspaper swirling in the wind. Irritated at himself for giving in to his heart's yearnings on the slightest pretext , Jack turned his back firmly on the platform, slamming the train door behind him. He stood by the door as the city skyline shrank from view, gazing out the window. New York held nothing for him now.


The elegant, chauffeured motor car pulled up a few feet outside the main terminal, looking oddly out of place amongst the dirt and grime of a busy station. As Ruth and Cal alighted, followed reluctantly by Rose, a train bustled by noisily, slowly, blowing its whistle as it gathered speed. Rose watched it wistfully, wondering where it could be going and wishing she could be on board. As Rose gazed after the train, she noticed a young man, tall with blonde hair, standing by the doorway and gazing out the window. His back was to her, his eyes no doubt fixed on the horizon. Where was he going? Was his head full of dreams and excitement as he gazed out the window? Watching him for only a few seconds, Rose thought not. Like her, his shoulders seemed to slump just a little, and he carried the same world weary air that she recognised in herself these days. Despite this, Rose envied him his freedom. "Imagine," she thought, "how wonderful it must be to jump on the first train that comes along, just to see where it takes you." She felt almost giddy at the idea of such glorious freedom. Again she thought of Jack; in another world, they might have been the ones setting out on this journey, filled with plans and dreams.

But, harsh reality has a habit of intruding on even the most pleasant daydreams,and Ruth's shrill voice yet again brought Rose back to earth. "Come along," she snapped, already in a bad mood. "The train leaves in ten minutes. We don't want to be any later than we already are." With that, she shot a look at Cal, who she no doubt held responsible.

Making their way towards the platform, Rose unwilling trailed Ruth, making sure that she kept at least a few feet away. She was sick of hearing the woman complain and gripe- she had been listening to it for the past week, and Rose was sure she had taken all that she could stand. Even from a distance, Rose could hear little snippets of Ruth's latest tirade. Something to do with the disgrace of travelling by rail to Philedelphia, and a complaint about how squalid and unkempt the station was.

As if to prove Ruth's point, an old newspaper swirled in the wind, plastering itself to Rose's face. As she grabbed the flapping piece of paper, the headline caught her eye: Titanic Sinks. Rose sighed deeply, wondering if the nightmare would ever end, if the reminders would ever go away.

Idly, Rose glanced up; before her was a noticeboard listing the most recent departures. With nothing else to do, Rose looked closer, and gasped when she saw the destination of the train that had been pulling out just as they arrived. There it was, in black and white- Chippewa Falls.

Rose felt her legs grow weak, and sat down heavily on the nearest bench. First the newspaper, now this- everywhere she turned there were reminders. Rose leaned her head in her hands, wanting to shut it all out; her mother, still complaining, Cal, who was attempting to terrorise a young, hapless porter, the sheer loneliness and desolation of this station, filled with people heading of to family, to friends, to destinations where they would be welcomed.

As she stared at the ground in despair, something caught Rose's eye. It was a wallet, well battered yet quite full of money. Automatically, Rose reached for it. Someone would be searching for it-perhaps it contained an address, or there was a lost property desk where it could be handed in?

Rose flipped the wallet open, wondering who it could belong to. As she held it, the wind grasped hold of a piece of paper that had been tucked inside, swirling it around until it landed in her lap. Gazing at it blindly for a few seconds, Rose gasped audibly as her eyes drank in the picture. It was a charcoal drawing, beautifully rendered, but that wasn't why Rose's heart race with surprise. The picture was of her; not merely of a woman who through chance bore some resemblance to her, but it was her- standing on the bow that night on the Titanic. In the corner were the familiar initials: JD.