Literally writing this after hearing of the death of two friends in just under two week to suicide. Can barely keep it together at the moment, so writing may slow down a little for me but I shall keep updating.
I just really want to stress so much about reaching out to people. Check they're okay. If you feel lonely, empty, depressed or just unsure - PLEASE, PLEASE talk to someone. Reach out. Getting help is not the weakest thing to do but the strongest! It is more than okay to need help, we all will need it at some point in our lives especially over the duration of this pandemic. it is forever changed and still hard on so many people.
Thank you for reading my little rant.
Chapter ten:
Rose was never quite certain how she returned to the parlour the evening before without getting lost. She moved as if through the layers of a dream. The dreams where a man kissed her, compromised her and then left her in the darkened corner of a library. It was a dream and yet an absolute nightmare. Perhaps even a reality if she had allowed it.
Reaching the settee where her mother sat, Rose accepted another cup of tea and smiled at little Mary, the daughter of Mrs. Annie Butler, an old friend of her mothers, who was fishing around in her own cup for a chunk of dropped sugar biscuit, and responded noncommittally to her mother's suggestion to join them for lunch, even though she was sure her mother had promised to sit with the Wideners. The child was wildly curious and stomped about the floor with such a temper that Ruth winced several times. Cal had left some time before in a curiously good mood, with a promise to meet at the Palm Court cafe for lunch. Good gracious, breakfast was barely through and the next meal was curtly planned. It was as though one had to be ruled by the clock and to be placed at some varying event at each hour.
Rose was dressed in pale, nude tones of beige and gold. Her hair was in a chignon but not so tightly as usual.
Ruth had taken Cal's arm as they entered Palm Court Café at precisely midday. Reminiscent of an outdoor sidewalk café, its rooms were brightly lit by large windows and double sliding doors that opened onto the aft end of the First-Class Promenade Deck. The café was elegantly furnished with wicker tables and chairs, spread out across a checkerboard tiled floor in black and beige. Various outdoor plants filled the rooms, including potted Kentia palms and ivy-covered trellises. It offered commanding views of the ocean but was fully enclosed so that it could be enjoyed in all types of weather, unlike the open-air cafés on the Lusitania and Mauretania.
The rooms were light and airy, with beautiful trellised decor and had wicker cane furniture, and large floor to ceiling windows looking out to sea. The rooms shared a pantry with the smoking room forward allowing for light refreshments. Both rooms had sliding doors leading onto the aft promenade, and the doors had the same "Edwardian Manor" design as the windows. The Verandah Café had both smoking and non-smoking sections. The smoking section, located on the port side, was accessible from the first-class smoking room. The non-smoking section, located on the starboard side, was closed to traffic from the smoking room and on occasion used as a play area by mothers and children. To note, no such official area existed on board.
They were seated with George Widener, Eleanor Elkins Widener and their son Harry. The family were from Pennsylvania and Ruth was acquainted with the family and had been since adolescence. She was thrilled to have found someone on board who she had known for a long time. The fact that her name was associated with theirs would also be good for tomorrow mornings chatter. Her mother's outward appearance mattered greatly, and Rose smiled as though there wasn't a care in the world until George and Eleanor's son Harry quickly stood from the plush dining chair and excused himself quickly to speak with a friend.
''Do excuse our son, he is a touch excited.''
''Oh, no.'' Ruth smiled, whilst examining the light and airy feel of the café. It was said that only lunch and light refreshments were served in this particular part.
Eleanor craned her neck to examine where her son could have possibly gone when he was pushing through the throngs of waiters, with none other than Jack Dawson at his side.
Pausing with such a baited breath, Rose glanced at her linen napkin and focused on the sugar lumps currently drowning within her cup of tea. How she wished to switch places.
''Oh, lord,'' her mother muttered beneath her breath and glanced to Rose with a very sharp eye. Cal, stood, as society deemed right to do so and nodded one gentleman to another. "Why does he get where water doesn't?"
''Mr. Dawson, wonderful to see you again.'' His exaggeration was pitiful.
''Indeed.'' Mr. Dawson's eyes lazily wandered about the table at each face, as they were introduced by Harry. He paused when he laid eyes on Rose, and suddenly, she felt all colour either rush or drain from her face; she couldn't tell which. Suddenly, her dreams were rushing back to her, of the way a man had cupped her head, her breasts-
''Hello, again, Miss. DeWitt Bukater.'' Mr. Dawson inclined his head at her, and she returned it, quietly trying to hide any displeasure which she had towards his presence there.
''Good afternoon.''
Ruth was seated next to Eleanor and then her husband George and Cal next to Jack and then Harry with Rose in the middle of her mother and husband.
''It certainly is lovely to see you again.'' Ruth sipped her tea, which had been poured over her shoulder moments before. She had held her own tongue to not bite at the so-called professional waiter. Ruth didn't allow the presence of Mr. Dawson to offend her luncheon at all, as she kept her focal point upon her friend.
''It is.'' Eleanor turned to her son. ''Ruth and I go way back.'' She paused for a moment. ''More than I care to remember.'' The table laughed gently.
''Rose was just a youngster the last time we met. About thirteen or so.''
Rose smiled. ''That is right. I vaguely remember Mrs. Widener.''
''How are you finding the trip, Cal?'' Harry piped in. The ladies continued their conversation so gently quiet as they had done for so many years and simmered gently in the background whilst the gentlemen took the reins.
''So far, I have no complaints. She is a floating dream.''
''We have heard she is going for the Blue Riband this year. the Mauritania has claimed it previously. Did you know she has won three years running now?'' George informed the table.
''Yes, we are running at 20 knots, quite speedy I would say.''
''Do you think it's enough to claim the Blue Ribband? Mauritania was 24 knots, easily.''
A waiter came, dressed in white, to politely take the orders. Before Rose could even find a selection, Cal had already ordered the lamb, rare.
''You like lamb, don't you sweet pea?''
''Yes, darling.''
She adopted an expression of cool indifference and looked out the window. Although she didn't spare a glance for Mr. Dawson, she sensed he was watching her. She was unbearably aware of him. He wore no cologne or pomade, but there was something alluring about his smell, something smoky and fresh, like green cloves, even from across the table. It sparked the sensuality of been close to him last night, in a way, she had never been with her own fiancé. Cal had kissed her once, and that had caused her stomach to turn as though she had the flu.
"Your brother, is he well?'' Cal asked to George, who replied, with something about the newest sporting event.
Turning toward Mr. Dawson, Rose discovered he was glancing over her in a slow inventory that spurred her heart into a faster beat. She brought her tea to her lips, in a slow sip and turned to her mother, who was usually excellent at dinner conversation but she was engrossed in chatter, quietly with Eleanor. Glancing to Harry, he was discussing the topic with the gentleman and it seemed herself and Mr. Dawson to be left with nothing to do but contemplate the other. A quick glance told her that his hands were too large for the small, fancy China cup. His lip licked at the tea which had dripped upon it and she closed her eyes in a silent prayer.
''Well, to be here, as old friends, all together once more for the first time in so long is simply wonderful.'' Eleanor beamed, ''it certainly feels like fate.''
"I don't believe in fate," Rose said. "People are in control of their own destiny-''
Mr. Dawson placed his tea upon the table and raised a brow.
''Oh, here we go,'' Cal smirked cutting her off, before she was to continue, ''let's enjoy another tirade, perhaps this time about the suffragette movement?''
Rose regarded him sceptically. "Surely you, darling, being employed at such a successful business, know all about probability and odds. Which means you can't rationally give credence to luck or fate or anything of the sort."
"I know all about probability and odds," Cal agreed. "Nevertheless, I believe in luck."
''Well, Miss. DeWitt Bukater, I agree with you.'' Jack smiled with a quiet smoulder in his eyes that caused her breath to catch. "I happen to think that fate is all old-fashioned fable.''
He met her wide-eyed glance with a steady interest that caused her toes to curl inside her practical leather shoes. Fighting for composure, Rose looked away from him. But she remained sharply aware of him, the relaxed alertness of his posture, the unknown pulse secreted beneath the elegant layers of his clothing.
Once the food arrived, Rose, however, had never paid so much attention to the plate. She glanced up often enough to make the table believe she was listening but simply cut up the lamb and pushed the new potatoes around in a circle. Ruth was too enthralled with the Wideners to take note of anything else.
George Widener saw the little interaction between husband and wife to-be. They didn't seem to as much as glance in each other's direction.
''Say, how long is it until you marry now?''
Cal took charge of the conversation. ''Early May.'' He turned to Rose; she feigned a smile and how Cal had then watched Mr. Dawson's reaction and suddenly her lunch wasn't sitting so easily within her stomach. ''I would actually like to extend an invitation to Mr. Dawson to the wedding, that is, if Rose is in agreement? After a conversation in the gentleman's smoking-room last night, we have settled any odds between our business and I should like you to be there to witness Rose and I marry, that is if you shall still like to.''
A frown swept across Mr. Dawson's forehead, as he glanced to Rose, causing her entire façade to threaten to shatter. ''I wouldn't miss it, if Miss. DeWitt Bukater has no objections.''
All she could do was shake her head, and exhale. The tea was too milky, and heavy as she sipped it. The clattering of the cutlery upon plates too loud. The laughs of Harry as he giddily regaled to Jack their adventures in Europe and then there was the weight of Jack's gaze upon her...
''When will we hear the tiny patter of feet in the family then?'' Eleanor smiled. ''A child should be a blessing to the household, could you not agree?'' She asked Ruth.
The table quietened. Cal glanced to Rose; her face so obviously shocked by the question. Silence was replaced by awkwardness.
''Well, Mrs. Widener we haven't discussed that topic yet.'' Rose politely responded.
''Besides one has to enjoy married life for a year or so before children.'' Ruth agreed, ''Rose is just seventeen, but in a few years, I suspect we should have a houseful.''
We. As though her mother and Cal were the active participants and Rose was simply the uterus. The vessel. Now, she was just a child maker. Carrier. A tool used to create the life which would be planned by everyone and raised by a multitude of hired staff.
''I see.'' George raised his eyebrows. ''So Mr. Dawson, where do you come from?''
''Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Well, a few miles from there.''
''And then, he was in New York taking classes when I was there.'' Harry laughed from behind his tea cup. He was about the same age as Jack. His laugh was scandalous and suddenly, there was an edge to Mr. Dawson which had risen last night. A glint in his eyes. As though something must have happened during that time and Harry were present. Nerves swam about in Rose's stomach.
''That was right. Under my uncle's tutelage, I was given a university education. I didn't have much money but Mr. Hockley here, has been more than kind on this trip, and been a guy of my original social standing-'' His tone was mocking, so much so that George had taken a slight liking to him. ''An opportunity to meet fine people last night by inviting me to dinner. I was lucky enough to discuss art with, Miss. DeWitt Bukater here.''
All eyes turned to Rose, through the clatter of knives and forks and chewing of meats. ''Yes, we-I was fortunate enough to see some of Mr. Dawson's own work. He is a brilliant sketcher; he draws from life.''
''That sounds interesting. Perhaps you would be kind enough to share your work with some others, perhaps tomorrow?''
''Mrs. Widener, I do not believe that my work would be exactly to your taste.'' Mr. Dawson smirked from behind his teacup. He was so out of place there, holding dainty china with his fine artist fingers and the cut of his three-piece day suit which wasn't quite tailored to his body. Perhaps it had been a year or two previous.
Perhaps, he was right, he didn't fit into this world.
''Oh, dear. Did I not tell you that Eileen is expecting again?'' Eleanor found another topic to discuss as a distraction from the chitchat quickly.
Ruth gasped. ''Oh, this will be her fourth?''
''Fifth. She has four girls.''
''She is not yet thirty.'' Ruth pointed out. Eileen was the daughter of a friend the pair knew from the same circles. A woman who had married young and dedicated her life to having children, the perfect society girl. One her mother hoped Rose would one day shape up to be.
''She had Bethany aged just eighteen and now she is a beautiful young adolescent showing early signs of becoming a ballet dancer.''
Eleanor smiled gently to Rose. ''Do children not interest you my dear?''
Rose diverted her eyes from her mother, she avoided eye contact until she smiled and breathed out through her nose quickly. ''Of course. One day.''
''One day soon.'' Cal chimed in with that grin on his face. ''My father hopes to have grandchildren very soon. If luck brings us to be expecting before the year is out."
Rose felt the breath stop right in her throat and it was as though she had forgotten how to breath. Her life was been planned so far ahead. She couldn't think of anything worse. She stood immediately and suddenly, shaking the table and sending an expression of shock across the faces of those at the table. Rose glanced at the exit and saw a few more eyes upon her. Everything which society had ever taught her had stopped her from just sprinting out of the room and never wanting to return but she calmed herself and managed to clear her vision. Her eyes were wet, she could feel them and she wondered just what was going through the minds of these people and then she realised that she didn't even care.
''Oh dear. I am so sorry.''
''Rose, sit down.'' Ruth muttered, angrily beneath her breath.
Rose narrowed her eyes at her mother. ''Do excuse me. I am not feeling so well.'' Keeping her composure was beyond difficult. ''I don't usually suffer from sea illness but this time I do feel fatigued.''
Cal raised to a stance, placing his arm over her own but it was a firm grasp, one which was almost a warning. ''Come, I shall escort you.''
''Oh no, that-''
''—is not up for discussion.'' His eyes were solid. Dark. Unwavering.
With a swift nod, Rose was escorted from the Palm Court café leaving behind a trail of perhaps scandal. Her mother would no doubt be fettling excuses of some kind, and Mr. Dawson would, well, why should that matter?
''Will you be able to finish an entire meal with me this voyage?'' Cal gauged her with those onyx eyes which she had once believed to be quite lovely and now, all she found was an empty pit of nothing.
''I am sorry,'' she truly was, there had to be some reasoning for the alteration of her stomach. Although, she did know. Talking of children. Her future marriage. At the table with Mr. Dawson had sent her spiralling. ''I do truly believe that I have a touch of seasickness and hope that spending time in closer quarters and perhaps a brief stroll later, with Trudy might just soothe me.''
''You have seemed piqued since we came aboard. I had hoped for you to enjoy this time.''
''I will.'' Rose smiled, keeping her eyes upon his dark, handsome features which then knitted together in a light confusion.
''What is your opinion of Mr. Dawson?''
Rose almost missed her step, and kept hold of Cal a little tighter. ''I-um, he seems to be pleasant.'' She watched to see his acceptance of her answer. ''And, why would you ask? What is your opinion?''
''I find him eccentric. A strange and disturbing man. I do wish him to not be about you so much, but when he is invited to take lunch with us, there is little I can do.''
''I find his stories to be fascinating. Truly, he isn't one of us, but surely, we can simply humour him for this voyage. Mr. Astor seemed quite taken with him-''
''Yes, he knew the uncle. He wasn't a pleasant one as an adolescent. He was rude, unruly and involved in some—debauchery.''
''Oh,'' Rose felt her stomach lower to the pits and she placed her hand there, across it.
''You're not about to cast up your accounts in the middle of the deck, are you?'' Cal took a pace away from her, as though protecting his clothing rather than caring of her welfare.
''Oh, no, I just need to lie down, quickly.''
''You are awfully pale, perhaps retreat to your room for the rest of the day and recover. The last thing we need is you making a spectacle in the middle of dinner.''
''Of course not.'' Rose knew that he meant well, and not just because, indeed, if she was violently sick in the middle of the fish course then it wouldn't be pleasant for anyone present, but because the scandal would be endless.
They had reached the B-Deck corridor and Cal loosened his arm away in a mild rush. ''Should you be all right from here?''
Nodding, she saw the room number of the stateroom just a few metres away. ''Yes, thank you. I shall retire right away.''
''I shall call upon you later.'' Cal then lowered his voice. ''Or perhaps, come to me.''
Rose parted her lips to speak, and tried to say something. ''I-I—if I am well.''
I will never be well enough, she felt like adding. Never be well enough to lay beneath you in a bed.
''Very well.''
Turning, he was gone and Rose watched as the First-Class entrance doors swung open, enveloped the man that she was engaged to be married to, and then it was an empty corridor once more. Striding slowly back towards her stateroom, Rose considered the library for a book but then recalled the events of the evening before. Her stomach lurched once more, and she clung to the handle of her door to gain some strength. Air about her was suddenly tight. Her lashes lifted, but all she could see was a shower of sparks.
"Rose . . . easy. You're all right."
His hands chased the shivers that ran up and down her back.
"Slow down, sweetheart."
She couldn't. Her lungs were about to burst. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn't get enough air. She heard his voice as if from a great distance, and she felt his arms go around her again as she sank into layers of black softness.
After what could have been a minute or an hour, pleasant sensations filtered through the haze. A tender pressure moved over her forehead. The gentle brushes touched her eyelids, slid to her cheeks. Strong arms held her against a comfortingly hard surface, while a clean, salt-edged scent filled her nostrils. Her lashes fluttered, and she turned into the warmth with confused pleasure.
"There you are," came a low murmur. Opening her eyes, Rose saw Jack Dawson's face above her. They were on the sitting room floor—he was holding her in his lap. As if the situation weren't mortifying enough, the front of her bodice was gaping, and her corset was unhooked. Only her crumpled chemise was left to cover her chest. Rose stiffened. Until that moment she had never known there was a feeling beyond embarrassment, that made one wish one could crumble into a pile of ashes.
"My . . . my dress . . ."
"You weren't breathing well. I thought it best to loosen your corset."
"I've never fainted before," she said groggily, struggling to sit up.
"You were frightened." His hand came to the centre of her chest, gently pressing her back down.
"Rest another minute." His gaze moved over her wan features. "I think we can conclude you're not fond of children."