Chapter 9

Like a breath of fresh air, their engagement had lightened the heaviness of the greatest Maritime disaster of all time. Most people were delighted and to hear a spark of good news after the announcements of many deaths, others found the timing to be despicable. In two months, the lives of two young people would change forever. Jack had thought the engagement to be a task that was almost impossible to accomplish, but after it was done he quickly came to the notion that that was only the beginning. On the other side of the scale, Violet DeWitt Bukater could not hide her excitement from the world. Her ring sparkled on her finger like the brightest star in heaven and it had to be showed to everyone around her. Friends and family had stormed the house like vagabonds, not begging for money, but for gossip and the latest details. Apart from all the excitement, Violet was ordered to keep her feelings at bay for the attention was now all on her little sister. Rose's debutante ball was only a few weeks away and she was far from ready. Her days were filled with dress fittings and dance lessons and at times she felt as if it was she who was preparing herself for her own wedding.

It was either tiredness or that fact that her corset had been laced too tight, Rose's brain felt like a grey fog. There was no room left for anymore thoughts. Paralysed by the time, she stepped outside into the garden. Wendy had called off their afternoon tea together and now she was all alone. The tranquility of the singing birds and soft blowing wind released her inner calmness. In a way, Rose was relieved that she could not think anymore. Her frustration in the future could not grow any stronger than it already had. Womanhood was a phantom of the upcoming future. It was so close, yet seemed so far away. Ruth had pinned her daughter's hair up many times already and complimented her on her ever lasting beauty. Her creation. But for now, she let it hang loosely around her shoulders.

"I have collected you coat, miss." Trudy walked up from behind and draped her pink wool cover over her shoulders, "for If you wish to remain outside." Rose thanked her maid and looked up at the sky. It had started to turn dark. It was going to rain any second now. Just as she thought about not wanting to be in their grand house all by herself, an idea came up from out of the blue. With Trudy as her chaperone, she ordered the car to bring them to Philadelphia's museum of art.

Heading up the grand stairs towards the enormous building, Rose introduced Trudy to a world she had never seen. Many people passed through as they walked through the doors. Laughing at Trudy's mesmerisation, Rose took hold of her hand. On the ground floor, many artefacts from medieval times were kept behind glass, guards stood around to keep an extra eye on the many strangers. From when she was a little girl, Rose had always felt at ease at museums. The calming atmosphere surrounding the many stories of the past. It was beyond fascinating. She often wondered if many years from now, people would curiously look at their time as they now did at others.

As Rose wanted to go towards the other part of the museum, a familiar figure caught her attention.

"Miss Dawson?!" Rose waved her hand to the woman who was standing on the opposite side of the hall. Her voice sounded a bit too loud, causing many to roll their eyes in annoyance. As expected, Agatha Dawson could not pass through a room without being noticed. Her big feathered hat seemed to reach the ceiling and her smile radiated like sunlight.

"Miss DeWitt Bukater, what a pleasant surprise to see you again." She suddenly pulled a bottle of perfume out of her purse and sprayed it onto her wrist.

"I did not expect to see you here."

"I still hadn't congratulated my nephew on his engagement with your sister, so I came to give him a quick visit."

"Oh." Rose said, "I only believe Mr. Dawson is at home in Boston at the moment." Trudy then stood next to her mistress and nodded her head to her acquaintance. Agatha shook her head and pointed her finger towards the right corner. Leaned over what seemed to be a leather notebook, Jack Dawson stood with his back against a pillar, lost in his own world. His eyes looked up from the paper before scribbling something down. Rose followed his movements and saw he had his attention focused on a young woman who was holding the hand of a little girl. Noticing their resemblance, Rose believed them to be mother and daughter.

"He came back this morning." Agatha smiled.

"Oh, I see." Rose turned towards her maid, "I do believe we must go, mustn't we Trudy?" She did not have time to answer for Agatha had already wrapped her arm around Rose's and lead her towards her nephew. Jack still did not notice the trio of women who were heading up to him.

"Dearest, look whom I just walked into." Agatha said loud enough to catch his attention. He turned around and locked eyes with the girl who was now standing in front of him. He closed his leather book and held it behind his back.

"Miss DeWitt Bukater, Miss Bolt." He acknowledged the ladies with a small nod.

"Good day Mr. Dawson. I did not know you had already returned."

"Only this morning. What brings you here?"

"Escaping the rain," Rose chuckled, "I read there was a new exhibition. So Trudy and I came to see it."

"Yes. It is upstairs." He nodded his head to the stairs in the other room. Rose almost wanted to thank him, but again, Agatha was too quick with her responses. She almost ordered Jack to walk with her.

"How will you get back home, Agatha?" Jack scratched the back of his neck. He suddenly felt nervous.

"Miss Bolt can accompany me. If it is not problem of course." Giving a nod of agreement, Rose and Jack watched how Agatha dragged Rose's maid along and disappeared behind the corner. Rose took a step away from him. They were now on a save distance for people not to judge. As she looked around, she was happy to see no one was paying attention to them. Silently following him, it was hard to keep up with his fast pace. Again, a bit too loud, Rose called his name until she had finally caught up with him. As she headed up the stairs, she noticed that it was in fact her corset that had been laced to the point breathing was painful. She grabbed the handrail and pulled her body up.

"Here you have it, miss DeWitt Bukater." Jack lifted his hand and showed her the diversity of abstract paintings hanging on the walls. They appeared more beautiful than she had thought. In awe she inspected every single one of them, forgetting the world around her even existed.

"I am personally not really of fan of this cubism and dotism, it just has no heart to it." Jack suddenly said. He was standing close behind her, his breath tingling in the back of her neck.

"I like some of it." She whispered.

"Really?" He asked surprised.

"Yes. Sometimes when I look at them I find them to be quite fascinating. Like there is truth but no logic." She kept staring at the art piece in front of her, he kept staring at her. Her eyes seemed to be lost inside of a dream. And perhaps that was what she meant. Dreams held no logic, things happened for the strangest reasons. Kiss me, her words sounded at if it was really happening, but indeed it was enological and, in fact, held no form of truth. They walked further, the rooms were starting to get quieter. Calmness, the ambience that Jack liked the most. It gave him the possibility to think.

"You know before my brother died I spent some time in Europe, right?" He said. Rose nodded her head, "For weeks, I lived on the streets of Paris, dressed in the most horrid clothes. It was all about trying to get it on paper. You know what I mean?"

Instantaneously, a big and bright smile appeared on Rose's face. He turned his attention back to him. "Is it strange, Mr. Dawson, that it sounds like a dream?"

"It was in fact a dream. Here, it is like everyone has his eyes on me all the time. Jack Dawson this and Jack Dawson that. But there." His eyes started to sparkle thinking about the past, "I was no one and it was the most freeing experience I've ever had. They either liked me or hated me, but they judged me on my character and not my name."

"Is that dream life hidden away inside that leather map of yours, Mr. Dawson?" She pointed her finger towards his sketchbook. His silence immediately gave away the answer. Somewhat amused by his modesty, Rose managed to take hold of his priced possession and flipped the cover open. The first drawing to be revealed was of the mother and child from earlier on. It wasn't finished, but the resemblance was uncanny. At a loss for words, Rose sat down on the bench against the red wall and scanned every drawing carefully. Scanning down the paper she noticed it. JD Paris 1910. Her cheeks suddenly turned red as a collection of naked women revealing themselves. Jack sat down beside her and chuckled.

"Do you draw every woman, you've had a love affair with, Mr. Dawson?"

"What makes you think I had a love affair with her?"

"Look how many times you've used her in your drawings."

"Well, she had beautiful hands you see?" He then flipped the page over. Her eyes widened, "She was a one legged prostitute."

"Oh, I…"

"She had a lovely sense of humour tho." Another page, "And this woman. She used to sit at this bar every night, wearing every piece of jewellery she owned, just waiting for her long lost love. We called her Madame Bijoux. See how her clothes are all moth eaten."

Rose lowered her voice as an older couple passed them by. "I am a bit at a loss for words, Mr. Dawson. It's like looking at a photograph. You see people."

I see you, he thought. Smiling gently, Jack closed his sketchbook. As their fingers brushed against each other's, a shiver ran down Rose's spine. They listened to the conversation of the couple who were standing right in front of them. They were French.

"Do you ever plan on going back, Mr. Dawson?" Rose then asked. She noticed his eyes were still glued on her.

"I often dream about it, yes. But the possibility of those dreams coming true is very small."

"I am sorry for that." She whispered and watched how he stood up. His facial expressions had changed from calm to a form of unnoticeable sadness, yet Rose did notice. Had she opened a wound that was now starting to bleed? He kept his back towards her and strutted forward, his footsteps echoing through the silence. It was time to go home.

There was not a single word spoken between the two of them as they drove towards the DeWitt Bukater home. To her luck, Rose still had a poetry book kept somewhere in her purse. She pulled it out and started reading, The motions of the car felt reckless and after a while it made her feel sick, yet she ignored it. How she hated the tension between him and her, how she hated the fact that she couldn't reach him. At times, Jack acted in a kind manner, only to turn cold and distant seconds later. It drove her wild.

"Is that Stephen Phillips?" Jack suddenly asked.

"Yes." Rose mumbled.

"Can you read something to me?"

She shook her head, eyes still glued on to the page. "I don't like to read out loud, Mr. Dawson. It gives me stage fright."

"I'll remind you of that next time you sing in front op a group of people."

She looked up at him and met his shimmering blue orbs. They beheld a form of childlike innocence that would pop up to the surface at sudden moments before turning dull once more. His character reflected the ocean's ebb and flow. You could let the water touch your feet for a short while, until it pulled back again towards a world that was impossible to reach. Rose could feel her hands tremble. She closed the book and leaned her head against the window. The raindrops had disturbed her view.

As the car stopped in front of their house, peace and quiet were hard to find. Violet came storming through the front door and rushed up to the vehicle. Jumping into Jack's arms as he stepped out, she kissed him and smiled. "I thought you weren't coming back until next week."

"Change of plans, darling." He chuckled. Rose moved along, yet was stopped in her tracks soon after. Violet had grabbed the edge of the sleeve of her coat and turned her sister towards her.

"Can you wait for me in the drawing room? I promised mother to help you improve your dancing skills."

"Not today. I have a terrible headache."

"Yes today. Take an aspirin and wait for me in the drawing room. Edward will accompany us on the piano."

Rose groaned and hurtled inside. She could hear her little brother calling her name from afar. She was never able to ignore him. Peaking her head inside the room, Edward was already waiting behind the instrument. He apologised, knowing Rose detested the brouhahas of their society. Smiling gently at Edward, she kissed the top of his head and waited impatiently until Violet came rushing in.

One hour felt infinitely long. Rose's feet were starting to hurt. She was dizzy from all the chatter and she could now really feel a headache coming up. Like a poppet, she had been swirled around the room. Rose felt emotionless and numb, her mind drifted off to other times. Violet groaned and pulled her against her for another round. Edward started to play again, but Rose couldn't take it any longer. She pushed her sister away and shook her head. "I am done." She stated firmly. Her arms were crossed. At that moment, as if she was looking straight at the reflection of her mother, Rose felt intimidated by Violet's determination. She wouldn't allow her to quit until everything was perfect. Perfect; the word had engraved itself into her brain from the moment she was born. It was her family's slogan, their way of surviving in this world. Perfection was their fuel and without it, they would be lost.

"Jack," Violet called for his attention, "You come here and dance with Rose."

"No." Rose spoke out loud and was about to free herself from the ongoing torment. Her sister took her by her arm and dragged her back into place.

"Darling, she clearly doesn't want to." Jack spoke underneath his breath. The tone of his voice was staccato and low. He appeared unfazed by the scene.

"I don't care. You have to make a good impression, Rose, whether you like it or not."

Jack then sighed, tossed his newspaper on to the coffee table and and followed his fiancée's order. Rose, who was now slouching against the piano, kept her eyes focused on the ground. His perfectly cleaned shoes then stopped in front of her navy blue kitten heels. Without asking she could feel his fingers intertwining with hers and she let him guide her towards the middle of the room.

"You're breathing really loudly in my ear." Rose suddenly snapped at him, "it's annoying."

"Can you for once not criticise every single thing that I do? Now focus on me and let's get this over with."

Violet, who had now taken her position next to her little brother lifted her head up high and inspected Rose as if she was a school professor. "We are going to do the Polka, Edward."

Rose's gaze moved down again and she held her breath for a second when he put his hand on her waist. "There are four counts in a measure, Rose," he instructed her, "but we are going to take three steps all right?"

She nodded, still keeping her head down until she felt his hand lift from her waist and the soft touch of his fingers underneath her chin. "And look at me," he now said with a rather soft tone in his voice, "I will lead."

Whether she liked it or not, she needed to surrender herself to his movement. The quicker she got it right, the faster she'd be free from him. They went slow at first until her sister ordered for the music to quicken the tempo. Twirl after twirl after twirl, it was rather a fun dance with movements that allowed you to feel free. Then, he tightened his grip around her waist, pulled her closer and lifted her slightly off the ground. Rose felt her mouth turn dry, her mind going blank and when her feet touched the floor again, she froze into place. The music stopped and the two

"You shouldn't drag me so much." She mumbled beneath her breath. It was a strange sensation that lingered in her body, a perfect mixture of both her annoyance for this man and the desire to still be held by his strong touch. She cleared her throat and fled the room like a gust of wind.

"We'll get there." Violet sighed and placed a kiss on Jack's cheek. He was still looking at the door her silhouette had just burst out of. He swiftly let go of Violet's hand and followed her ghostly shadow. Rose was only a few steps ahead of him, but her pace was unbelievably fast.

"Have I done anything to upset you, miss DeWitt Bukater?" He asked, still confused because of what happened only a few seconds ago. Rose shook her head and kept her back towards him.

"You know, Mr. Dawson, I noticed the dates on you drawings and that today was your first drawing again in almost two years. I hope you will find peace inspiration with your talents again. And now I must go for my head is exploding."