Epilogue
15th March 1979 - New York.
Cough, cough, cough.
My throat is dry and scratchy, my nurse hands me some water.
My hand shake, the water jumps out the glass.
"Here let me." Young hands bring the glass of water to my lips and allows the cool liquid to sooth my itchy throat.
"Thank you dear."
Olivia was my carer and lovely young lady of 25, she had been with me now for 3 years ever since I had lost the ability to walk for long periods of time and started loosing my memories.
my days now we're spent in bed.
I can't walk anymore.
But then again what's an dieing lady at 84 supposed to do.
At least I can stay in my own home, I haven't been shipped off to a old folks home like many of my friends.
Most of my days now I spend them doing crossword puzzles or looking at old photo albums, recounting old memories, I remember them more clearly nowadays than I remember last week.
A clipping from the New York Times.
Titanic sinks
The moment we had arrived in New York we had been crowed the the media and journalists, each wanting to snap a picture of the survivors.
First thing I do is find the nearest post office.
I will keep my promise.
I post the letter, hoping what ever was written inside would comfort a grieving widow.
Till this day I still have dreams about that fateful day, the screams still haunt my dreams, I can still feel the bitter cold on my skin.
Then I awaken in my bed and remember I was one of the lucky few.
The next picture is of Me holding my daughter at her Christening with her father standing proudly behind us.
My daughter Louisa Rosie Astor or as we call her Louise was born on July 14th 1912, a tiny little thing she was but she sure had a set of lungs on her.
After her birth the media fought to get picture Louise or as they had labelled her "titanic baby."
I reflect of all my fond memories as I flip though pages laden with snippets of my life.
What a life it was.
Perhaps not as thrilling or as adventurous as others, nothing truly memorable and when I die I shall just become another face and name on the Astor family tree, but it was my life.
I lived well.
I had a wonderful husband and daughter to love and who loved me in return.
What more could I ask for.
I stop at a picture of John siting in the garden.
I run my fingers over it.
This picture was taken a year before he died a few days after our 30th wedding anniversary.
He hadn't been well for some time and one morning his heart just gave out.
It still fills me with sadness somedays but instead of focusing on all the pain, I choose to remember all the fond memories we created together.
Not to say we didn't have our ups and downs.
We did.
But that's life, it's filled with both heartache and joy.
Cough! Cough!
Pulling my handkerchief away from my mouth I look down.
Red spots stain the white fabric.
I'm not going to get better.
I know that.
However I don't mourn, if it's my time then I shall welcome it.
Why should I when I know that I shall be reunited with my departed loved one's.
After titanic mother and I lost contact, it didn't help that she came knocking on my door not a month after we came back to New York asking me for the money John and I offered to give her.
I swiftly had my mother escorted from my house and told her I didn't wish to see her again.
The years would pass, mother with the loss of her money and reputation disappeared from society.
Until one day I would receive a letter, it was from my mother, according to the letter she didn't have long left.
Despite our bad blood she was my mother so I went to visit.
My mother had relocated to Virginia and brought a small one bedroom house by the sea.
Definitely not the luxury manor estates my mother used to live in.
Just looking at my mother, frail and small with white hair, made my heart ache, time hadn't been good to mother.
The moment we locked eyes mother tried to sit up but simply didn't have the strength.
I would spend the rest of the day sat next to mother.
Mother told me after she left Philadelphia she was able to get a job as a seamstress.
Mother as a seamstress.
But to my biggest shock mother apologised.
She was sorry for how she treated Rose and I, how she had no one to blame but herself, and she was sorry that it took her loosing everything for her to see the type of person she was.
Knowing this could be the last time I see her and not wanting to be filled with regret if I didn't, I accepted her apology.
I return home and a few days later I received the news my mother had passed.
It was a small funeral yet so many people showed up, people I had never met before, turns out mother was someone who had become dearly loved in the small community.
I guess time can change people.
More coughs rack my body.
It hurts so bad.
I keep coughing, I can't stop.
"Marigold!"
Olivia is rushing towards me, she covered her mouth in shock.
Blood is coming out of my mouth.
"Call the doctor!" She yells to one of the staff.
I fade into darkness.
The next time my eyes open Doctor Harper is standing by my bedside scribbling notes.
"Nice to see you awake Mrs Astor."
"What happened."
"You had another coughing fit."
I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh.
Last year I had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.
It's a miracle I'm still alive
"Mrs Astor the cancer has reached the sac around your heart it had also reached your kidneys, at this stage..."
"Yes I know."
"We can keep you comfortable."
"But you can't do much else."
Dr Harper looks down.
"How long."
"Well we don't know an exact.."
"How long."
"I'm not confident you make it the night, I'm sorry."
I wave him off.
I point to one of the staff.
"Have my grandson come to me."
I look to Olivia.
"Can you fetch me the wooden box I keep in the drawing room."
Both hurry off to complete there tasks.
Dr Harper takes that as his cue to leave.
Olivia quickly returns.
In her hand my treasured box.
I hold out my hands and Olivia places the box carefully in them.
Inside this box I keep the most precious items to my heart, my wedding and engagement ring, letters from John, pictures, other items of meaning.
Finally I find it.
Buried at the bottom.
With as much care as possible I pull out the white envelope and place it next to me on the bedside table.
Olivia takes the box back.
Within moments my door slowly opens and my Darling grandson henry with tears gleaming in his eyes walks over to me.
Henry was living with me, for the school year:
Louisa had married the son of my dear friend Helen Rockefeller.
Henry was the youngest of my grandchildren at 17.
"Grandma."
"My dear Henry, come and sit."
I gently pat the spot next to me.
Hesitantly Henry walks over and sits down.
"Henry...we both know why i called you."
"Gran..." Henry chocked out.
"Henry there's a good chance I won't survive the night and I..."
Cough.
"If I die I want you to promise me something."
Henry nods.
I grasp the white envelope and hand it to Henry.
"Take this letter to the address written on the front, I wrote it years ago but I never had the resolve to send it. It took me years to find her address but I did."
Henry is clearly confused.
"I don't understand... why is it so important?"
"There is something I want to tell you..."
15th March 1979 - 12:30 am
"Darling it's time to wake up."
Kisses are placed on my cheeks.
I scrunch up nose and try to bring the blankets over my head.
The blanket last are pulled off.
With a huff I open my eyes, John is looking down at me.
"Good morning."
John captures my lips in his.
Time seems to stop.
I could kiss in forever though eventually we do part.
"Morning."
"It's time to get up."
"It is isn't it."
NO POV
On the 15th March 1979, Marigold DeWitt Bukater Nee Astor passed away in her sleep.
She would be buried in Trinity Church Cemetery next to her husband.
Friends and family would mourn for the lovely woman, then they would move on.
Henry Rockefeller POV
I stand outside a small house in Ojai, California.
This is the address on the letter.
A part of me still finds everything my grandmother said to be almost unbelievable.
My Great-aunt who everyone had believed died on the titanic was alive, living in a house smaller that the guest house on my parents estate.
I still can't believe I'm going to do this.
However out of all my siblings I had always been the closest with my grandmother.
Perhaps because of my resemblance to my late grandfather.
Mother used to tell me I was his spitting image.
Well I've come all this way.
Gathering my nerve I walk up the stone gravel.
Plants and many different types of pots line the walkway.
Taking a deep breath I knock on the door.
I sway on my feet as I hear footsteps approaching.
The door opens and a Middle Aged man with peppery blond hair is standing on the other side of the door.
He looks me up and down.
Observing me.
We could not look more different, he had on faded blue jeans and a beige button up and trainers.
His hair hung around him and looked unkept.
I on the other hand was dressed in beige slacks, a white button up, tie and brown blazer and shiny black shoe's.
My hair was freshly gelled and held its place.
We could not look more different.
Finally the man spoke.
"Aren't you a little young to be a door salesman."
"I'm not a salesman, i here to speak to a Rose DeWitt Bukater."
The man just stares at me.
"Sorry no person here with that name."
Wait! Didn't gran say she changed her name.
What was it?
Daw
Oh!
Dawson!
"She might go a Rose Dawson."
The man strengthens up.
"What do you want with my mother."
"I need to talk to her."
The man shakes his head.
"That ain't happening mate until you tell me why you came."
"Please I've been asked it give her something."
"I think you need to lea..."
"Let him in." An elderly voice says.
There stood in the entrance of the hall was an elderly woman, with white hair and a cane.
"Mother."
"Let him In Peter."
Peter steps to the side.
I follow the elderly Rose into the kitchen.
Remembering my manners I help her get seated.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee for myself."
Peter joins us int he kitchen.
A delicious smell is coming from the oven.
I wait for Rose to say anything yet all she's does it continue to stare at me, dare I say i almost felt like she was peering into my soul.
Remembering my lessons in poise and character I sit up straight and hold eye contact.
"You are a long way from New York."
That throws me through a loop.
"How did you know I was from New York."
Rose just smiled at me her eyes twinkled in amusement.
"I know a member of New York high society when I see one, it's always the posture."Rose smirks.
I swallow.
"Are you Rose DeWitt Bukater?"
"I was Rose DeWitt Bukater yes now I'm Rose Calvert." There was a change in roses voice.
A warning.
"My names Henry Rockefeller."
Peter placed a mug of coffee in front of me.
"As In the Rockefeller family, one of the richest family's in New York." Peter asks incredulously.
"Yes."
Peter whistles.
"Anyway as I was saying before I was interrupted, my name Haney Rockefeller and you are my great aunt."
Peter let's out a bark of a laugh.
"Yeah right, good one."
Rose had yet to speak, she only stare's at me.
Is she alright?
I elaborate.
"Your sister Marigold DeWitt Bukater Nee Astor was my grandmother."
Peter is shaking his head.
"Can you believe this guy Mom, you think your trying to be funny huh? My grandmother doesn't have any siblings."
"You have marigolds eyes." Rose says with a small smile.
Peter looks to his mother in astonishment.
Seeing as its as good time as ever I reach into my pocket and pull out the white envelope and place it on the table.
"She told me to give you this letter and to tell you she's sorry she didn't find you sooner, she wanted to but she just didn't have the courage."
With shaky hands rose picks up the letter as if it were made from the most precious fabric.
"Is she with you?" There is a sense of hope in her voice.
With a heavy heart I deliver to news.
"She passed away 3 weeks ago."
Tears fill roses eyes and she brings a hand to cover her mouth.
Peter rushes to his mother's side.
He's certainly In shock, this must be the first time he's heard this.
I allow Peter to console his mother.
Finally rose has composed herself.
Just in time for the timer of the over to ding.
I take that as my cue.
"I'll leave you to have your dinner."
I got to gather my coat but rose speaks up.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?"
I whirl to Rose who is smiling at me eyes full of life.
"Pardon?"
"Well the whole family will be here my children and my grandchildren, I'd love to introduce you to them, and you can tell me more of your grandmother, of her life."
A smile graces my face.
I've never been asked to dinner before.
Most dinners I attend everyone Is dressed in there best, making small talk amongst themselves, eating caviar and drinking champagne.
Somehow I doubt this dinner shall be anything like that.
"I'd like that."
