After her eerie experiences the night before, Rose wasn't sure she was up to the daunting task of facing the world. But facing the world was exactly what she promised Jack she would do.
How could he have known that she was slowly willing herself to death? She stared into the mirror suddenly disgusted with the hollow girl staring back at her. The self-loathing she felt at what she had become was enough to propel her into action.
She slowly brought the shift up and over her head, careful to fold it so the stains would be preserved. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it yet, but right now the sight of it brought her comfort. Would it become her touchstone, as Jack had become her guardian angel?
She pulled on her wrapper, ignoring the mirror that no longer hid the truth. Her once lustrous hair hung limp and disheveled. The alabaster skin that was coveted by many had a grayish pallor from too much time spent indoors and the shadows under her eyes were almost as large as the trunks that held her belongings on the Titanic. Her figure looked gaunt from staying in her room instead of joining the others for dinner below.
No more, she promised herself. Slowly willing herself to death was not a solution . It was just an escape from reality. It did nothing to stop the nightmares she still suffered from nightly. Nightmares of darkness as she was trapped on the Titanic as the ship sank under the icy cold water. Rose hadn't slept without a gaslight lit since the sinking, but the flickering light never followed her into her nocturnal world. She could still hear the screams and feel her terror every night.
No, death was no longer an option. Living was the only way to make the dreams go away.
The hallway was blessedly empty in the late morning. The boarding house she was living in was owned and operated by Russian immigrants and other than the occasional smell of frying onions, it was actually a pleasant place to stay. It wasn't up to the standards of living that she was once accustomed to, but it offered the anonymity she so treasured.
The landlords were an elderly couple who didn't understand much English but they understood Rose's need to be alone. Rose had paid her rent a year in advance, so other than an occasional smile or nod, they let her be. The other tenants, believing that she was a new widow, also left her in peace. Except for few hand-me- downs the kindly wives had supplied for her, they instinctively knew Rose just wanted to be left alone.
When one of the single men, struck by her tragic beauty, tried to speak to her, an ice cold look her mother would have been proud of was enough to send him on his way.
The bathroom tile was cold, the window frosted over. How could she have forgotten it was October?
In her misery, the passage of time had no meaning to her. She ran the bath fast and hot listening to the copper pipes in the walls groan in protest. When it was ready she undressed quietly and stepped into the steaming water, feeling her feet and legs tingle as the hot water washed over her..
Rose couldn't let herself relax. She was afraid the lethargy that enveloped her for the last six months would return with a vengeance. Instead she dunked her head briskly under the water and soaped her hair. She wondered absently when the last time she washed it. What scared her even more was that she couldn't remember .
She gingerly touched the sore spots on her scalp from the night before. No, it was definitely not a dream. If the stains on her nightgown were not enough to convince her, the aching pain in her head would. She washed and dried herself quickly, again returning to her room. The fire in the fireplace was burning down to embers. She stoked it until the only sound in the room was the crackling and snapping of the wood burning. Once it was warm, she sat down in front of the fire and brushed her hair until it snapped with electricity.
She dressed modestly, binding her breasts, but refusing the corset. The navy blue skirt and white muslin blouse was a bit frayed, but still servicable.
Who was it that needed her? She paused in the packing of her few meager belongings. She wasn't pregnant . Cal had hardly given her a second thought before marrying soon after the sinking. It wasn't her mother, with Rose DeWitt Bukater' s death, Ruth's social position and wealth was secured.
She was sure that her mother grieved for her, hoped that she grieved for her, but need her? Rose shook her head sadly. No, Ruth was too strong to need anyone. Of everything Jack spoke of last night, that cryptic message unsettled her most of all.
With her hair tied in a loose chignon at her crown, she had one last thing to do before she left the house. She pulled up a loose board she found her first day here and pulled out her most precious belonging. She held it in her hand watching how even in the poor light of the bedroom it gathered light and shone with an inner radiance . The stone no longer represented the punishment she would have endured as Caledon Hockley's wife; now it was one of the only physical reminders that she had of Jack.
Rose closed her fist around it and held it to her heart. She reached back in the hole and pulled out the stacks of money Cal had stashed in his coat pockets. She smiled ruefully at small fortune she held in her hand. A small house is what she could buy with all the money she held.
Rose considered it restitution paid for Cal having tried to kill her. With a tight smile and shake of her head the diamond dropped into one hidden pocket, the money in another. How shocked her mother would have been if she could have seen her. Ruth would have admonished her mercilessly about her appearance. Rose now resembled the third class passengers her mother so abhorred . The clothing did nothing to improve her appearance; it only deepened the shadows under her eyes and her cheeks.
Rose looked more like a ghost then Jack. She put on her second hand coat and stared dismally at the four walls that had become her prison. She had escaped one prison only to lock herself in another.
Once again, Jack was there to save her. What would have become of her if he hadn't intervened?
Rose shuddered at the thought. He must have been so disappointed with her. But he never said anything about it, only reminded her of the life she was letting pass her by.
How long before her time was up? Twenty years? Forty? A century?
It really did not matter any longer. The promise that she made was the only light keeping her alive. Rose picked up her suitcase and walked out of the house. As the door shut behind her, she lifted her face to the sunshine and let the warmth wash over her face.
It was finally time to leave the nightmares behind. Time to put Rose DeWitt Bukater to sleep for good.
Rose Dawson had a lot of living to do.