Chapter 8

"I cannot ask her to marry me now, mother." Jack was pacing around the room like a maniac. His head felt like exploding. The pressure he felt for needing to submerge his sorrow, "Not after what happened."

Alexandra shook her head in disbelief. "We had an agreement, Jack. You told me you were going to propose to her this week."

"Just give me another week, mother. Just one week until the news has settled down and people are calmer."

His mother shot up from her chair, her reflexion had turned paler than it already was. She felt hopeless, angry and disappointed in her own son. In the world even. "We don't have a week, Jack! I am really sorry for what happened, but we still don't know if it is certain. Your father is working harder than he ever has to cover these weeks, but time is running out. Why can't you see that?!"

"Why can't I see that?" Jack raised his voice even louder and pointed his finger at his mother to the point where it almost touched her face, "You remind me everyday of this mess we are living in. I know what needs to be done, but I am not going to put on this big celebration over the death of hundreds of people."

Everyone was somewhere else when they heard what had happened during the night. As the servants were getting started in the early hours of the day, they gathered around the newspaper like hawks diving onto their prey. No one could believe it.

Rose hadn't slept for a single minute, the encounter with Jack seemed be stuck inside her brain like honey. Alone, with only the company of a silent night, he behaved differently. He looked calmer as if he was not in a constant state of stress. As Rose slowly headed out of the kitchen, the idea of his presence haunted her until she was back inside of her room. Not soon after, she could hear his footsteps in the distance, followed by the faint sound of a closing door. Laying down, she remained awake until light peaked through her curtains. On normal days, her maid would usually wake her up at nine, hand her a glass of water and run the bath. Now, Trudy was beyond late. Rose was hanging out of her window, letting in the soft warmth of the April sun when a shadow appeared behind her. She jumped up and let out a shriek.

"I am so sorry, miss." Trudy apologised over and over again. Rose couldn't deny she was slightly annoyed, but as she looked the young woman up and down, her irritation soon faded and turned into curiosity. She raised her eyebrow and tried to look into Trudy's eyes who had started her usual tasks. An eerie feeling shifted around the room. Rose closed the window.

"Is there something wrong, Trudy?"

"Of course you don't know." She mumbled, "Oh miss Rose, it is the most terrible thing."

"Tell me."

"That ship, miss Rose, The Titanic. It has sunk."

Later that morning, whilst still not being able to comprehend the disaster. Rose roamed around the corridor on her way down to the her civilised world. The clock was ticking loudly through the open space. She believed that, if the news was in fact true, the world had stopped turning for so many people, yet time moved on. It did not wait for anyone. People died and were born and the sun would still show itself above the horizon every single day.

"Is it true?!" Rose suddenly leaned over the railing of the staircase, looking down at Jack who had been talking to one of the footman. The sound of her voice, soft but clear, sparked his attention and he tilted his head to face her. Nodding, Jack lifted up a newspaper and waved it in the air. As fast as a streak of lightning, Rose rushed down.

"Let me have a look." She basically snatched it out of his hands and started reading the front page, "Oh isn't this horrible, Mr. Dawson?" She gasped, placing her hand in front of her mouth.

"Quite horrible, miss." He mumbled. Unknowingly, Rose was standing almost too close to him. Her shoulder touched his chest so slightly that it was unnoticeable. Jack did notice it. Her hair was still slightly damp from bathing and the delicate scent of garden flowers filled the hallway. Jack bit his lower lip, quickly turned away and headed towards the dining room.

"When Trudy told me this morning, I couldn't believe it." Rose's heels clicked against the marble tiles as she followed closely behind him, "I thought the ship couldn't sink!"

"The whole idea of a ship being unsinkable is this most ludicrous thing I have ever heard. It was made of iron, of course it could sink!"

"Language, Jack." His mother warned him. Everyone was already seated in the dining room . Plates were filled with breakfast, yet nobody was eating. He sat down next to Violet. She was wiggling her fork between her fingers before putting it down. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it. "We know so many people who were on board. The Wideners, The countess of Rothes, even JJ Astor and that new wife of his."

Rose, who was still standing up and was leaning her hip against the buffet table, poured herself a cup of coffee and shook her head. "What about all those poor souls below decks? What about their lives?"

"Do you think their lives were worth a thing anyway?" Violet's tone was vicious. Jack pulled his hand away. Rose shot forward, almost tripping over her own feet. Violet always had a selfish demeanour about herself. Always wanted what was best for her, what was best for the likes of their class. It was what their parents had taught them and what Rose's sister absorbed like a sponge. According to the DeWitt Bukaters, almost no one came close to their power and ranking.

"That is the most selfish and privileged thing you could ever say," Rose snapped back, "They had the courage to leave their home country behind in search for something better. I have more respect for that than for someone leaning on the back of a supposing spouse." At a loss for words the bunch watched how she stormed outside. Like always, Ruth excused the outrageous behaviour of her youngest daughter and tried to lighten up the room with an unnecessary comment about the weather. Rose was now strolling through the gardens, hoping that the colour palette of flowers would brighten her mood. The toxicity of the environment she grew up tightened around her neck like a heavy collar. Unfortunately, getting out of it seemed like an impossible task. They had been here for only two days and it already felt like a lifetime. She took a deep breath and imagined the view of a life she was living in another time and place. The place she actually belonged to be, but she had been shipped to the wrong address. The hem of Rose's light pink dress had turned brown of the mud and it hauled over the grass that was still wet from the rainfall. In the distance, with her back against the trunk of an oak tree, Agatha Dawson was trapped inside her thoughts of nothingness.

"I missed you at breakfast, miss Dawson." Rose spoke out loud as she appeared behind her. Agatha pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her purse. "This is my kind of breakfast." Rose chuckled and accepted the smoke she was being offered. She let the tobacco burn in her throat and she finally had the feeling she was waking up.

"I am already leaving tonight." Agatha announced.

Surprised by her sudden remark, Rose's eyed widened. "And why so if I might be so bold to ask."

"It was Mrs. Dawson's request," She answered, "She believes I disturb the ambiance of the company. She's never been a fan of me, but even this is surprising."

"I am so sorry, miss Dawson. You cannot imagine how much your company has enlightened my humour."

Agatha placed a gentle hand on Rose's shoulder and smiled. Rose had also made her own visit less heavy. She loved to check up on her nephews and see how time was doing them well, but being present in her father's old beloved estate, made her feel like she was being tormented by both his ghost and memories of the past. The continuity of time was both beautiful and scary, and even more so now she knew it could end at any minute. The possibility of it being her that was now gliding with the streams of the Atlantic Ocean was big. She had almost done it; travel with the most famous ship in the world, but her eagerness of seeing, especially her now oldest nephew, had saved her in the long run. Agatha kindly dismissed the company of her new close friend and disappeared back into the house where she saw Jack slamming the door behind him. She felt it to be no use to call for his attention as his eyebrows frowned like an angry beast. Jack was in fact furious after his discussion with his mother. At home, whenever he had enough of it all, he was able to escape to anywhere he wanted to. Here he was trapped within the surroundings of beauty. Moving his hands through his hair he paced over the lawns towards the stables. The vet had come straight away as Jack had called for him as soon as he could. To his surprise, there was her voice again. Their conversation sounded lighthearted and Jack peaked his head around the corner. As she saw his face appear, Rose quickly shot up from the chair she was sitting on.

"Excuse me, Mr. Dawson. I was just leaving." She announced. Wanting to move passed him, Jack shook his head and stopped her in her tracks. "You don't need to go away every time I enter a room, miss DeWitt Bukater. I only wanted to check on my horse."

"She is surprisingly doing well, Mr. Dawson." Mr. Jones, the vet, informed him, "I've wrapped up her ankle and given her some medication. With cold baths and enough rest, she'll be recovered in a few weeks."

Jack shook his hand and a light smile appeared on his face. "Thank you, Mr. Jones," he said with a relieved tone in his voice, "You can send the invoice to my office in Boston."

The man nodded his head and collected his suff before heading out. They were alone once again. Rose scratched the back of her neck and rotated her foot over a patch of hay that was laying on the ground. "Well at least we have some form of good news today." She said. Jack remained silent and closed the stable door behind him. "I am sorry for my outburst during breakfast, Mr. Dawson. I should learn to calm my temper."

Again, he ignored her commentary and looked her up and down. "You cannot possibly ride in that dress, miss DeWitt Bukater." He scoffed. Astonished by his observation she stepped closer towards the man and placed her hands on her hips.

"Who says I am going for a ride, Mr. Dawson?"

"You're in the stables are you not, miss? I am certain it is a lost cause trying to move with all those layers of fabric."

"Mr. Dawson, I hope you are not challenging me for a race."

No, she screamed to herself as she was falling behind him. The heavy galloping roared over the grass of the meadows. The coldness of the wind pierced her eyes, her cheeks flushed. However, she finally felt ecstatic for the first time in ages. Leaning in forward and pulling the reigns closer to her body, Rose fastened her pace and finally caught up with her competitor. Again, in the absence of his structured life, Jack Dawson presented himself like a completely different persona. After his promise from the other night, which she somehow believed, the hatred for this man started to drift away. An unspoken truce had formed itself between the two of them. A neutrality that satisfied them both. As they reached the brook, the finish line of their race, Rose called out a triumphal cheer.

"You certainly did not win, miss DeWitt Bukater." Jack stated as he tried to catch his breath. Droplets of sweat were running down his face and he jumped off his white stallion, letting him drink the fresh running water.

"Of course I did, sir. I definitely stopped at the edge much sooner than you did." She tried to wiggle herself out of her the silk chiffon nightmare that had now wrapped itself around her legs. Not wanting to ask for help, she cursed to herself as she heard the devilish sound of ripping fabric. She didn't want to give in to the fact that this dress was indeed only suitable for sitting around like a decorative object. Jack then stood in front of her with a devilish grin. "Here. Take hold of my hands, I'll help you get off."

Rose shook her head gently. She wasn't even able to move her leg up. The observer he was, Jack noticed her struggle and reached for the fabric. Wanting to pull back, Rose warned him with a hissing sound. "Mr. Dawson, what are you doing?"

"Trying to help you, now sit still will you?"

"I.." She stuttered, "This is very inappropriate do you know that?"

"What is the worst that can happen, miss? That I might see your ankles?" After what felt like ages, yet it was no longer than a few seconds, Rose was finally able to swing her leg over. Feeling his hands on her waist, he steadied her landing. She let out a deep sigh and wiggled away from his touch. Her cheeks felt flushed. From the racing, of course, she told herself. "You're very welcome, miss."

"I am grateful for your assistance, Mr. Dawson although I could have perfectly managed it on my own." He rolled his eyes and kneeled down next to the stream. He filled an empty flask with water and chucked it down before repeating his action. Then he handed it to her and she hesitantly took it. The coldness of the water rushed through her body like an early winter morning. As she looked at him from a save distance she wondered why, in the end, she always ended up being alone with him. It was her sister who needed to be in her place. It had to be Violet who needed to observe his being. The way he moved, spoke, thought about matters. The roles seemed to be reversed and it was utterly and completely wrong. Jack splashed his face and trickles of water ran down his neck. Rose bit her lip, her breath high up in her chest. Feeling her eyes burn in his back, Jack forced himself to turn around. She was looking at him, with a desiring gaze that was almost impossible to comprehend. With only the singing of the birds around them, she walked over to him. Shen then stopped. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"Kiss me." Her voice sounded so calm, the sentence sounded so natural as if it was meant to happen. Then, a sharp pain pierced through his head and a loud beep echoed through his ear. He was back in his office, leaning the weight of his whole body in his leather chair. There was never a brook, only woodlands where they argued for forever on who had won the race. During the two hours of their companionship, Jack and Rose both stayed at a safe distance from one another. Their conversations remained formal and no one spoke of the previous night; the moment where the hate seemed to start to fade.

Jack dropped a packet of documents back onto his desk and lit up a cigarette. The smoke filled the room and he moved through it.

"Care if I come in?" Agatha knocked on his door and waited for his answer. Jack nodded his head, the company of his aunt would be a good distraction. "Your mother told me about your discussion this morning. Is that why you behave so distantly?"

No, but he simply nodded his head.

"I know it is a tough decision, Jack. Marriage is a commitment for the rest of your life. I can understand you have your doubts about it."

"It is not that I have my doubts, Agatha, it only feels wrong to ask it now after many in our circle have died."

"So you are certain you want to marry Miss Violet DeWitt Bukater?"

"Yes." He groaned.

"Were you meant to ask her this week?"

"Yes."

"All right." She tried to force a smile on her face and took hold of his hand. "Then if you are that certain, my dear, I believe you can ask her this week. Just wait until you announce it publicly. I don't want to leave knowing you are feeling like this."

Agatha Dawson left not soon after dinner that night. Except for Rose, no one knew the true reason for her departure. Wanting to scream it from the rooftops, she kept quiet. As the car was soon out of sight, everyone headed towards the drawing room where they continued their chatter in the good company of a brandy or two. It was sitting in the back of his pocket like a heavy weight. Jack then walked towards the middle of the room and asked for close attention. He cleared his throat and turned to Violet. Her eyes were twice her size, her heart pounding so fast she almost felt faint.

"The unfortunate events of today has been nothing bur tragic, but on the other hand it has made me think. It has made me think about what is most important in life. Being happy with the people you love for tomorrow is not certain," He pulled out the small box and got down on one knee, "Miss Violet DeWitt Bukater, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

With tears in her eyes Violet made a little hop in the air. "Yes, Mr. Dawson. I want to be your wife more than anything in this world."