Chapter 18

Sorry for the long wait everybody. This chapter took me quite a long time to write for I didn't quite know how to continue after all the tension. Anyway I finally finished it and have a lot more in mind for the upcoming chapters. I hope you'll enjoy xoxo

Boston

Despite the smothering summer heat, his body and soul felt even colder than fresh winter snow. Days passed by slowly and painfully as he had withdrawn himself from the outside world. Jack Dawson had fallen in to a dark hole. He was far enough not to be able to see the light anymore but had not yet reached the bottom. He was aimlessly crashing down.

He hated the world, but not as much as he hated himself. He despised his whole being in every way possible and could not even look at his reflection in the mirror. Ashamed of everything he had done and more so not done. Not being fair and honest with his feelings had turned the whole situation into a total disaster. It was the look in Violet's eyes as she heard the words being spoken out loud; Yes, I am in love with Rose. They were haunting. The perfect mixture anger and sadness. Pain and desperation. She burst out crying and pushed him with such great force that he almost lost his balance. He deserved it. Jack truly believed he deserved all the hopelessness and desperation of his emotions.

What came after his confession all seemed like a blur. At first, barely anyone believed him. Perhaps they all hoped it were the nerves that had taken a toll on him, making it impossible to think clear. But as he recalled that he had finally been fair to anyone, he couldn't possibly turn back. In the deepest parts of his heart, Jack knew he could never love Violet the way she wanted him to, for his heart was already full of one person. Rose.

Violet had eventually seemed to calm down, although everyone knew it was all a facade. She was a proud young woman who believed herself to stand above anyone. Even Jack Dawson.

"You can spare me the details, Jack." She told him at last, "I don't want to know anything about the two of you, but what I do know is that it will be me who is going to call off the engagement. I cannot handle to drown into even more scandal. At least you owe me that."

"Of course. You can write and say about me whatever you like. I really do not care." He nodded his head.

She stayed quiet for a while, stared at her hand and took her ring off before giving it to him. "Is Rose in love with you too?"

Jack desperately wanted to say full blown yes or even no, but he was clueless. Her actions had given him such different answers than her words. Her kiss said she wanted him in every way and she even admitted it. Only, how she begged him to leave her alone. Her determination in her movements as she stepped inside that car believed him she really wanted to go. To go away from him.

"She has left because she doesn't want to be around me. That is what she told me." Violet realised that her sister didn't need to say anything else for it to be clear as day. She had her rejoinder. Turning away from him one last time she slowly walked through the door.

Now to handle the fullness of his heart by this unrequited and agonising love, he unfortunately fell back into his old habits. The habits he had sworn to himself not to ever do again. Both the liquor and the soft skin of women tasted like a the sweet and forbidden fruit. It cured his distress, or so he thought. The morning Alice's naked body laid next to his own he stared at her for what felt like hours. As every second passed, he grew colder. This was not him. He took the earliest train to Boston that day.

Now here he was alone in one of his father's old apartments. He hadn't spoken to anyone in over a week as he was too ashamed to face anyone. The news should have reached every single person of high society by now. Gossip was the disease of today's day and age, spreading faster than real sickness itself.

His room was still dark although he knew it was already the middle of the day. He listened to the traffic outside as he sat into his lounge chair whilst gazing at his closed curtains. Lighting up another cigarette he kept staring, waiting until he could go back to bed again. Perhaps another hour had gone by for a knock was heard on his door. Jack didn't respond at first. It could be his imagination taking a toll on him. He had been alone for too long that his mind was able to visualise the presence of someone. Another knock and another.

"Jack?" The sound of the knocked become more hasted, "Jack, I know you are in there. Please open up." His mother's voice echoed through the walls and a rush of anxiety took over. Without a single idea why she wanted to visit him, he eventually managed to lift himself up and shuffle towards the door to open it. Mrs. Dawson took a step back as she observed him. She was about to collapse in agony. He looked horrible with his face sunken in and hair falling loosely down his face. His pants seemed at least two sizes too big. Alexandra was staring at a total stranger.

"Why are you here, mother?" Jack asked bluntly and blew some smoke in her face.

"Because you are my son, Jack and I am worried," she took a deep breath, "Can I come in?"

"All right." He let her step into the apartment and let her follow him towards the living room. Before Alexandra sat down she marched over towards the window to let in fresh daylight. Jack looked even worse than she first thought he did. Finally allowing herself to sit down on the couch there was a long silence between the two of them.

"I have been scolded by your aunt a few days ago." His mother then said. Jack nodded his head slightly although he was confused by the meaning of her sentence. Alexandra took a deep breath once more and for a moment he believed his mother was crying. "and I have realised it was fair of her to do so." His assumptions were true for tears started to roll down her cheeks. She looked so fragile and innocent that, for the first time, Jack realised his she was a person too.

"Why are you this upset now?" He asked softly.

"Because I have failed you as a mother, Jack." Her words hit him like a thunderstorm and he shuddered. "I have been everything but a mother to you and I feel so ashamed."

"Please, don't. I am the one who has ruined everything not you."

She kept shaking her head heavily. "You want to know something, Jack?"

"Sure."

"From the moment I held you in my arms for the very first time, I felt this kind of fire within you which I have never felt with any of your brothers. You were so full of life, Jack. A wild spirit at heart the could not be tamed. The way you look at the world, your art, your sensitivity. It is something I have often been jealous of." She suddenly took hold of his hand. Her touch was soft and her fingers caressed it slowly. "When I read the letters you wrote to us from Europe, I could sense you were happy. Truly happy. It is that feeling you only know when you are a parent; impossible to explain. And then you came back."

"I had to come back, mother."

"I know. But your brother's death changed you. Of course, it changed all of us, but you, my darling boy…" Her sobs became loud again, "Your father and I tried to look for a part of Geoffrey within you that was not there and you have become so distant and cold. A man who has built a wall around him, impossible to reach except for one person. Rose."

"Do not speak of her. I beg you. I don't want to hear her name again." Jack stood up from his chair and hurried himself to the liquor table. Pouring a glass of whisky, he desperately tried to calm his nerves.

"For the past months, she was the only one to break through that wall of yours. To touch your softness, despite you trying to hide it by your bad-tempered behaviour towards that girl. You finally had a sparkle in your eyes and I ignored it because I have been too occupied with my own grief. I hope you can forgive me."

The way she spoke the last words broke him. There was no part in his body that could not forgive her. She was his mother. Feeling the liquor burn in his throat, he closed his eyes for a second. Even with his deepest wish, he knew that marrying Rose would be of no use. He had to save his family's name and simply marry for that and he loved her too much to do so.

"It is all right mother." He whispered, but there was no emotion in the tone of his voice, "We will get through this."

"What will you do now?" Alexandra wiped her eyes and turned her body to look at her son. His back was still facing her.

"Find a new wife I guess."

"Jack…"

"If you think I am going after her, forget it. Despite the fact that I have not a single clue about her whereabouts, I could never marry her. I could never use her dowry for the company."

"You really love her, don't you?"

Jack was unable to speak and only nodded his head. Leaning his hands against the table to prevent him from falling down made him notice that he was suffering from a severely broken heart. His throat was chocked up, making it almost impossible to speak. On the wall was a picture of him and Geoffrey at the beach, many summers ago. They were both smiling as their lives were smoothed with such carelessness. Jack looked at his brother behind the glass and silver frame. He held such pride in his expression. The way he stood tall as if he knew his time of independence had begun early, for he had no time to catch up. Death was written all over him from the beginning and he knew. Nonetheless, in his short time, Geoffrey had managed to become a reliant source for their family. He was a Dawson through and through. A man Jack could never be.

As his lips were trembling, he finally dared to look his mother in the eye. "Just give me two more weeks. Two more weeks of sorting everything out and I will find myself a knew wife." He put his glass down with such force that it almost broke in the palm of his hand. "You know the youngest daughter of the Lowells? She is almost my age and filthy rich."

Alexandra Dawson merely watched how he spat his words into the dusty old air of his apartment and realised two things. One: Jack had already had more than one drink. Two: She had lost not only one, but two sons out of four.

France. Somewhere out of Paris.

The ground was still wet from the rain and the mud from the puddles splashed up against her clothing. Rose held her suitcase close to her chest, afraid that every movement would knock it off the carriage. She had always been good in her languages, but the way the drive spoke to her in a thick French accent was impossible to understand. After what felt like hours, the carriage turned with road and a large country house appeared from behind the trees. Despite its grandness, it looked rather cozy.

Waiting for her in a perfect line, she looked at the children. Two boys and a little girl. They all had black curly hair.

"Bienvenue, mademoiselle." She was welcomed by the mother of the household. Small and petite, Rose was almost afraid they shared the same age for she looked so fragile and young. Her husband, Mr. Dubois, was the complete opposite. He was a tall and broad man. His eyes as dark as the night. He looked old and stern, making Rose feel slightly uncomfortable. She struggled to get out of the buggy and almost lost her balance. No one said a word, no one helped; the children remained standing like puppets.

"Thank you for sending for me at the station." Rose said, hoping to get the conversation going.

"How was your journey?" Mrs. Dubois asked.

"All right. Thank you." Not wanting to risk an encounter with anyone of society, Rose had booked herself a second-class ticket on a smaller ship with the remaining money she had left for herself. The pain of leaving everything behind still held onto her and she had locked herself in her cabin for almost the whole journey. Yet, she was now free and it e would make her happy in time. Or so she truly hoped.

"Wife." Mr. Dubois interrupted the ladies, "You show mademoiselle DeWitt Bukater her room." The way he spoke to his spouse was kill and even slightly disturbing. Even her parents spoke more lovingly to one another than this.

"Yes husband." Mrs. Dubois looked down as she whispered her response.

The house was even darker on the inside than on the outside and within a few seconds Rose came to the notion that there was not a single sign of electricity. A slight shiver ran down her spine as the wood of the stairs creaked beneath her feet. Again, as she was shown the place where she would be sleeping for perhaps forever, there was simply a candle on her nightstand as the only source of light.

"We will expect you in an hour for tea, mademoiselle."

Rose only nodded and waited until Mrs. Dubois had closed the door behind her before she sat down onto her bed; she was more exhausted than she thought to be and her feet were feeling painful. It had started to rain again. Rose quickly lit the candle and calmly stared at the flame. There was still a possibility to grab her belongings and rush off to nowhere. Not home. No, Rose couldn't go back home. A slight movement of her wooden door brought her back to reality. A plump young woman with hair thus blonde that it almost looked white, peaked her head around the corner.

"Sorry I wasn't there to welcome you, miss. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner for tonight. My name is Mildred Blaise. Can I bring you anything else?"

"You're English?" Rose was beyond surprised by the accent she was hearing. She was even relieved to hear someone speak in her mother tongue.

Mildred nodded her head and dared to step inside of the room. "My father is French, but my mother is from Liverpool originally. I've lived there until the age of twelve until she passed and I had to live with my father's family. I've never lost the accent." She then watched as Rose took out her belongings and laid down her dresses onto the bed. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked at the luxury and delicacy of the fabrics. Rose held her breath for a moment and bit her lower lip. Other than the fact she had physically distant herself from her life of opulence, she was still part of it by the clothes and jewellery she wore. It still was impossible to let it all go. The maid was respectful enough to ignore her discovery. It was none of her business.

"Yes, miss Blaise, I know what you must be thinking: Poor little rich girl. Why on earth would she be here in the middle of nowhere? It is part of my past now. Within a few weeks, I bet you'll have forgotten I once was even in the possession of a silk dress." A laugh escaped her lips and Mildred giggled along with it.

"I will get you a few extra candles," She responded, "And I am glad you have finally arrived, miss DeWitt Bukater."

"Please call me Rose. I am just Rose."

"And I am just Mildred." She smiled again before leaving. Mildred Blaise was a type of woman you felt drawn to from the moment you saw her. Her radiance attracted even the most pessimistic person alive. She was sweet and soft. Both beautiful qualities as well as dangerous ones. Behind her kindness Rose could sense a form of melancholy that she kept deep within her and perhaps that is why she was so magnetic. She listened to Mildred's footsteps descend down the stairs and continued to empty her suitcase.

Later that night, as rainfall was still ticking against her window in a fast rhythm. Rose stared at her ceiling as she let the events of the day sink in. Still, the whole situation and family were strange and almost felt like a fever dream. They were quiet, mysterious; sad even. Mrs. Dubois looked as if she was in a constant fear of death. Balancing between her consciousness and a cold blackness. Even the children had not said a single word to their new governess, apart from their names and ages, but Rose already knew that. Now in the comfort of silence and tranquility of her bedroom, she was still incapable of finding sleep. A sigh fell from her lips as she sat back up. She grabbed a pen from her desk and tore a blank page from her notebook. Apart from the time it took and the cluelessness of her action, Rose's hand traced over the paper in a fast but uncertain motion.

Dear mother and father, Edward and Violet, I am writing to you to let you know that I have arrived safely…