A Second Chance Chapter 7

Rose's mind spun with the possibilities. How... how could this be true? Glancing down wildly at the paper in her hands again, she could scarcely believe that this was happening; her dreams and prayers answered so unexpectedly. Hugging her arms closer to her to shut out the cold and biting wind, Rose felt her heart fill with hope for the first time since the sinking as a slightly hysterical grin spread across her face. Suddenly filled with energy, Rose jumped up, spilling the contents of Jack's wallet across the platform. The wind scattered coins, notes and bits and pieces across the pavement, and as she stooped to gather them up, Rose felt a crazy urge to scream with joy and cry all at the same time. He was alive. All their hopes and dreams, all the things she had thought could never be were suddenly a part of her future... their future. All she had to do was to jump on the next train to Chippewa Falls and all of this.. Mother, Cal, Philadelphia... all of it.. would be reduced to a distant memory. She would be with Jack again... feel his arms around her, hear his voice, be granted a second chance to tell him everything she had never thought to say before. Rose felt like dancing as she felt her grief and worry float away.

As her mind continued to race, Rose realised that she must force herself to think rationally. She couldn't allow herself to believe this blindly, to clutch onto hope only to have it snatched away again. Everything that had happened since she had stepped foot on Carpathia had told her that Jack could not have survived. She had seen him disappear into the darkness of the water. Alice had searched Carpathia and nobody had heard of a Jack Dawson, much less seen him or talked to him. Could this crumpled piece of paper really change all those facts so easily? She had to be sure before she allowed her joy to take over.

Rose took a deep, shuddery breath. Everything that had happened in the past week swam in her head. It was all too much to take in, to cope with. Rose felt suddenly dizzy, and clutched the edge of the bench she sat on. She gazed disbelievingly at the picture again. It was her. Although Rose forced herself to looked closely for evidence that she was dreaming, that this was merely a manifestation of all that she had longed for the past week, no matter how critically she looked at the charcoal image, she knew that this was her. It wasn't merely the curly hair blowing in the wind, the clothing, the setting on Titanic's bow that convinced her. The artist had captured her soul. Just gazing at it, Rose felt the mixture of excitement, hope and fear that had gripped her as she stepped towards the bow flooding over her again. Holding it a little closer, Rose noticed some more writing in the corner: a date. April 18, 1912.

Rose closed her eyes slowly, letting the reality swim around her. The picture she held could only have been drawn by one person. He was alive, out there somewhere.. the only question was where. Glancing up at the train timetable again, Rose saw the words in black and white: Chippewa Falls.

As she gazed down at the drawing, Rose heard footsteps approaching. Instinctively, she drew the picture closer, glancing up to see Cal watching her, a wary expression lurking in the corners of his eyes. Rose studied him with trepidation: what could he possibly be thinking to cause that expression to flit across his face. Her heart was suddenly filled with irrational fears. Had he seen the drawing? Had her joy been too obvious? Surely he couldn't have guessed the truth?

Rose smiled nervously at him, and he returned the gesture typically, smiling stiffly, a smile that held no real warmth. Her reached out his hand, commandingly, expecting her to share the paper that she still clutched in her hand. "What have you got there?" he asked idly, his voice conveying bored curiosity.

The smile faded from Rose's face. "Nothing!" she cried nervously, speaking far too hastily. "I mean" she stumbled on "nothing important... just something I... nothing you'd be interested in!" Her words fell over each other in a desperate attempt to end Cal's curiosity. She laughed nervously, and stood, tucking the drawing away in a pretence of tidying away her belongings.

The slightest shadow of a scowl crossed Cal's face, his eyes narrow with suspicion. Rose was convinced that he hadn't believed her weak attempts to avert the question, but was granted a reprieve as a noisy train bustled through the station, blowing its whistle and spreading sooty smoke through the air. Grasping the opportunity, Rose turned her back on Cal and hurried across the platform to where her mother sat stiffly, still looking singularly unimpressed at the world in general.

"Mother!" Ruth looked up, surprised at the harshness of her daughter's tone. "I believe I shall go and sit in the waiting room for a while." Rose wrinkled her nose, imitating her mother's most common gesture of disdain." I don't see why we should sit out here in the cold all this time." she explained, praying that her mother wouldn't decide to accompany her.

Ruth shrugged her shoulders, in too much of a bad temper to be bothered following her. "Very well," she answered shortly. "I suppose it will be up to me to see that our belongings are safely boarded... heavens knows you can't leave it up to the staff here..." she rolled her eyes, evidently gearing up for another argument. Before she could begin, Rose smiled weakly, and turned to walk away.

The waiting room was on the other side of the platform, far enough away for neither Cal nor Ruth to really be able to see what she was doing, or where she was going. Rose quickened her step- by the time they realised, she thought feverishly, it would be too late. She would be gone.


Cal watched Rose's retreating figure carefully. He prided himself on his ability to spot a lie, and at this second he was utterly sure that Rose was hiding something from him. What on earth was on that piece of paper? The question burned in Cal's mind, as he turned the facts over and over in his head. What could she know that could cause such secrecy? There wasn't much. In fact, Cal mused, the only time he could remember that was comparable was on the Titanic, when she had first met that... steerage swine. His mouth twisted into a humourless smile as he remembered how she had defied him, going to a party below decks... he had discovered her that time, he remembered with satisfaction, and this would be no different.

At his feet, Cal noticed a scrap of paper blowing in the wind. Next to it lay a few gold coins lying on the dirty platform. He bent to pick them up, wondering who could have been so careless. Pocketing the coins, Cal turned his attention towards the paper... he now realised it was a photograph. Looking at it closely, the young man looked vaguely familiar, and he struggled to place his identity. Flipping the photograph over, he noticed faded writing on the back, and straining his eyes, could make out that it was a name and address, and suddenly he realised where he had seen the face before... Jack Dawson.. Herald Street, Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. It was an identity card, the type one might have tucked away, forgotten, in a wallet.

A gasp escaped from Cal's lips, his eyes widening with surprise. Of course, he reminded himself, it could be nothing... merely a memento that Rose had carried with her from Titanic. But, remembering the expression on Rose's face earlier, Cal thought not. With a grim smile, he tucked the photograph into his coat pocket, and, keeping his distance so that she wouldn't spot him, followed Rose as she hurried across the platform.


Jack sat almost huddled in a corner as the train raced through the open countryside. He was half asleep when, through the beginnings of a dream he heard a voice calling his name. "Dawson! It is you after all!"

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, still unsure if the voice came from reality or his dreams. Sleepily he looked around the carriage, his tired eyes finally focussing on a young man enthusiastically calling his name. Around 20 years old, with thick, curly black hair that just touched his collar, the man was dressed much as he was... faded, slightly dirty clothing: clothing made for travelling and working that had seen many a better day. The man's voice was full of excitement, he sounded almost like a little boy on Christmas Day, and his dark eyes danced as he again called Jack's name. "Dawson.. come on, don't tell me you don't remember me!" he cried in a teasing tone, pushing a strand of hair away from his face. "Your oldest friend in the whole world!"

Taking charge of the situation, the man sat himself down heavily in the seat next to Jack, his dirty rucksack landing on the floor with a heavy thump. His eyes held a great deal of amusement as he thrust his hand toward Jack. "Peter Townsend." he announced triumphantly, watching recognition dawn on Jack's face.

Jack's eyes widened. "Pete!" he gasped incredulously. "It must have been years since I saw you last!" Peter grinned easily. "Yep. Reckon it must be nearly five years since you hightailed it out of Chippewa Falls. Not much has changed there in that time either, to tell the truth." He laughed easily. "So, whatcha you been doing with yourself all this time?"

A shadow crossed Jack's face, not unnoticed by Peter. "Oh, this an' that" he answered uneasily. "I've been to a lot of great places... you know, working my way from place to place... it's amazing what you can see..." Jack's voice trailed of as he thought how ridiculous he sounded. He hadn't seen his friend in five years, and this was the best he could offer? Was he going to make an art form of talking whilst revealing nothing? Mentally shrugging his shoulders, Jack decided that he didn't care. Any more meaningful discussion could lead to topics that he just didn't want to talk about right now.

Pete elbowed Jack playfully, determined not to let his friend of the hook quite so easily. "I think you're hiding something from me, Jack," he chuckled. "What is it- you got a lady friend tucked away somewhere that you're not telling me about?" Peter's sharp eyes picked up the pained look that flashed across his friend's face. "I've got it, haven't I" Pete cried triumphantly. "So, who is she?" he asked curiously, failing to notice the change in his friend's expression. "She's not here with you?" Pete's face suddenly adopted an expression of sympathy. "Is she giving you a hard time, Jack? Dreadful, aren't they" he chuckled. "Come on, you can tell me I'm sure I can help."

Jack's eyes hardened as it gazed at his friend with sudden dislike. His voice grew cold. "My problems are none of your concern." Jack snapped suddenly "and I doubt very much that you'd understand in the slightest. let alone be able to help."

Peter watched his friend carefully, shocked at his reaction to his playful teasing. "I'm really sorry, Jack. I didn't mean... well, I didn't intend any harm. I was just kidding.. I'm sorry." Pete looked a little flustered, anxious to make amends. He was at a complete loss to pinpoint what he had said that was so wrong, but obviously he had touched a nerve. He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his rucksack, offering one to Jack. "Truce?" he asked ruefully.

Jack shrugged, taking the proffered cigarette. "Sure'" he replied, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. He couldn't afford to have this kind of reaction to even the most casual of questions. "So," he continued, trying to lighten the mood a little, "What's life like in the old Chippewa Falls these days. It's been a while... I haven't even sorted out somewhere to stay yet," he laughed uncomfortably.

Pete's eyes lit up. "Well, that's no problem at all" he cried. "You can stay with me! I mean, I was gonna head out again in a few months... you know, see a little more of the world. But in the meantime..." he shrugged apologetically "at least it's a place to sleep at night, right. And you can always come along... when I go... " he trailed off again.

Jack looked at his friend uneasily. The last few minutes had let him know exactly how difficult this was going to be, how much he had changed. He gazed at Pete again. Had they really been such good friends before? Now he seemed loud and uncouth, always ready with a quick answer, never able to take anything seriously. He could only imagine what Rose would have thought... firmly, Jack told himself to stop thinking like this. It was all irrelevant anyway. Rose was dead. Maybe if he repeated those words a million times they might start to have more meaning. And, Jack reasoned, he was only hours away from arriving in Wisconsin- he had to find somewhere to stay. Perhaps just for a little while... until he figured out something better. "Okay" he sighed. "Thanks," he added, somewhat reluctantly. As the train sped on towards his old home, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he'd made a mistake.