Chapter Six

June 15, 1912

Rose walked slowly along the path in Central Park. It was a warm, sunny day, but not as hot as it would be later in the season. She sighed to herself, picking a flower and smelling it as she walked along.

It had been two months since the Titanic sank—two long, eventful months. She had started a new life of her own, working for herself and doing what she wanted to do. She had found employment at the beginning of June, as a sales clerk in an antiques shop. She always feared that she would meet someone from her old life, but thus far, no one of her old class had entered the shop. It was mostly patronized by members of the middle class, who wanted the appearance of luxury but didn't have the money to buy what the rich could afford. She was safe.

Rose checked the time on the watch pinned to her bodice, then walked on. Her place of employment wasn't far from Central Park, so she had taken to going there during her lunch break. She would buy a sandwich and soda from a vendor and eat while she walked. Walking, Hope had told her, was good for her coming baby.

Rose looked up as a tow-headed child ran past her, reminding her of Jack and the baby they had made together. She missed Jack terribly, never going a day without thinking of him, but she was glad for the child he had left her with. She worried occasionally about what would happen when her pregnancy began to show, but pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, deciding that she would worry about it when the time came. She had already come up with an excuse for being unmarried and pregnant, telling her employer that she was recently widowed, but she hadn't said anything about the baby. Only she and Hope, and the doctor, knew for now.

So deep in thought was she that she didn't notice the man coming down the path, also engrossed in thought, until they collided. Rose stumbled back, almost losing her balance, but the man reached out and steadied her.

"I'm sorry. I should have been watching where I was going," he told her, taking his hand away.

"It's all right. I wasn't watching, either." She looked at him more closely then, blushing with embarrassment when she realized that it was the same man she had mistaken for Jack when the Carpathia docked.

He recognized her, too. "You're the young lady who was looking for someone named Jack," he commented. "Did you ever find him?"

"No, I..." Rose stammered, unsure of what to say. "Ah...no, I didn't."

"I'm sorry. Was he on the Titanic?"

Rose stared at him, wondering how he had guessed. "Yes. Yes he was," she said sadly. "How did you know?"

"You were looking for him at Pier 54, where the Titanic survivors got off the Carpathia."

"I...yes, that's right. Why were you there?" She blushed at the rude sound of her words.

"I'm a reporter with the New York Times. I was sent to cover the story. My name's Luke Calvert, by the way." He held out a hand.

Rose shook his hand. "I'm Rose Dawson. The man I was looking for was...was my husband. He...wasn't one of the survivors."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been hard to lose him."

"I...yes...yes, it was." Rose was having a hard time speaking of Jack.

Luke changed the subject slightly. "What are you doing now?"

Rose took a deep breath. "I...well...I moved in with a friend, who lost her husband and son on the Titanic. I'm working at an antiques shop near here." Why was she telling him all this? The story of the Titanic was still big news. He might just mention her in the newspaper—and someone might make the connection between Rose Dawson and Rose DeWitt Bukater.

"I won't put you in the newspaper," he assured her, seeing her nervous look. "Not unless you want me to." He looked at her assessingly. "Might I interview you?"

Rose immediately thought of the consequences of being discovered, and shook her head. "No...no, I can't. I still...haven't gotten over it yet. It would be...too painful."

He nodded. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind, you can find me at the New York Times office. I also come here almost every day."

Small chance of my ever changing my mind, Rose thought, but she nodded politely. "Perhaps." She glanced at her watch, realizing that it was time to go back to work. "I need to be getting back to work."

He nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dawson."

"You, too, Mr. Calvert." She shook his hand again, then turned and walked away, headed back to work.

Luke stared after her, intrigued. He didn't know her, but he sensed that there was more to her story than she had told him. She had looked like a Titanic survivor herself, the night the Carpathia had docked—soaking wet and shivering with cold. She could have just been out in the rain for a long time, but he doubted it. She looked as though she had been wet for days and had never really had a chance to dry out.

He shrugged to himself. He wouldn't print anything about her without her permission, and certainly not without getting the facts first. His honesty and fairness had cost him in his career, but they had also given him a good reputation, which served him well in getting sensitive stories.

One thing he was sure of—he and Rose Dawson would meet again.