Chapter Nine
April 19th, 1913
New York
Rose watched New York City slowly descend into low residential housing crammed along the river's bend. The train bucked her back and forth as she looked out distantly towards the bridge connecting New York City together. She pressed her hand to the glass as she got a whole new look at the city she had lived in for the past year. New York City seemed as small as she was. Beside her, Tim was reading the newspaper, thumbing through the pages to find something of interest.
"You know, I haven't been out of New York City since I moved here," Rose said, finally drawing herself from the window. Tim lowered his newspaper and looked to her.
"Not even just to a neighboring town? Manhattan? Brooklyn? Coney Island?"
"Nope," Rose shook her head, "Just stayed in New York City."
"Well, then I'm glad I could whisk you away for a day," Tim leaned forward, pecking a kiss on Rose's cheeks, which grew warm, "I think you'll really like what I have in store for you."
"Will you pretty please tell me what the treat is?" Rose asked, pressing her hands together, "You have me so curious."
"You'll just have to wait," Tim chuckled, rustling his newspaper, "I think it's worth it."
"It better be," Rose told him and grinned, looking back out the window. The day was so beautiful and promising. She couldn't help but sneak another glance at the side of Tim's face. What did he have in mind for her? What could they possibly be up to that warm spring day?
...
New York City, New York
Jack laid a variety of brushes out on the table and eyed the tall canvas he had just sketched for Frenchie. It was going to be a scene of debutauntes. Jack looked back to the brushes and set his hands on his hips. Definitely some wide brushes for the background, but he would want much smaller paintbrushes for the debutauntes themselves. Jack muttered under his breath and looked under the table towards the shelves built into the bottom. No small paintbrushes. Surely they were in the backroom then. Jack stretched up and reached for the list in the center of the table. It was of the colors Frenchie had requested for the painting. Jack frowned at the description of ivory white and bubblegum pink. He'd be mixing paint for hours trying for those shades.
Just then the large red-painted iron door flung open and Frenchie came racing into the studio, a letter clutched in his hands. Iris followed him in slowly, smiling as she gazed after her brother who was racing towards the table where Jack was, stunned in place. Iris closed the door and sauntered towards the table, setting her hands on the dirty paint-smudged surface.
"Jack...!" Frenchie finally caught his breath, uncrumpling the letter hurriedly and fumbling to hand it over to Jack, "The residency manager loved my painting at Lord Farris' social! He's asked me to have a display of fourteen paintings for his art show in November! Can you believe it!?" Frenchie laughed wildly, banging his fist against the table and making the brushes jump.
"Well, that's plenty of time to prepare, at least," Jack said, looking up from the letter, "I'm happy for you, Frenchie. This will be great for you."
"Oh, Jack, you sly bastard," Frenchie chuckled and began rounding the table, his arms spread outward, "This is thanks to you, too, buddy! Without you, I would have never been able to get all of this done!" Frenchie lunged, wrapping his arms around Jack and pinning his arms to his side. He squeezed Jack tightly, making him wheeze, "You're the best art assistant someone could ask for!"
Jack laughed and untangled himself from Frenchie's grip, patting his shoulder, "We make a good team, Frenchie. By the way, I just finished sketching the debutaunte scene. Is this one you're interested in having for the show?"
"Oh, absolutely," Frenchie's eyes lit up and he turned towards the canvas with a hungry ambitious look, "Especially with the colors I'm fantasizing about."
"Yeah, they're gonna be great," Jack rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly, glancing at the master-level paint request list.
"Jack, I want to do fourteen large paintings for the show," Frenchie said, "This will be a monumental effort for November. I want you to help paint them yourself, too. Not just sketching, actually painting."
"Wow, really?" Jack asked, arching his eyebrows, "You're sure?"
"Iris showed me that painting of the red headed girl," Frenchie shook his head, "By all means, you should have your own studio and assistant. I would love to have you work on some of my art."
Jack glanced to Iris who was nervous to meet his eyes. He nodded towards her before looking back to Frenchie, "Okay. Let's get this done."
...
Tarrytown, New York
From the train station, it wasn't a long walk to Tim's parent's house, which was an old white house with hunter green trimming and matching shutters, all percisely and freshly painted. The house had a large wrap-around porch with a garden swing in front of the large picture window beside the red front door. There was a white picket fence with a large oak tree enclosed within. It cast long shadows across the trimmed yard. It was quaint and modest.
"So, this is where you grew up?" Rose asked, glancing around the clean neighborhood.
"Yup, this is it," Tim nodded.
"This is very nice," Rose told him.
Tim pushed the gate open for Rose and they began up the cobblestone path leading towards the porch. They hadn't even made it to the steps yet before the front door when the screen door bounded open with a girl not much older than Rose came jogging out. She had the same olive skin and dark hair as Tim, with those matching hazel eyes.
"Tim!" She called, skipping down the stairs. A few moments later, a golden retriever was excitedly coming down the stairs. It ran straight to Tim, coming up on its hindlegs to lick him. The force of the dog nearly knocked Tim off his feet. He and his sister laughed together, while he rubbed the dogs head to qualm it, "I'd say Rocky missed you the most."
"Well, he likes sharing rooms with people," Tim teased, getting Rocky to lower himself back to the cobblestone, "Rose, this is my youngest sister, Kate. Kate, this is Rose."
"Oh, you're the one Momma was telling me about," Kate extended her hand to Rose and they shook, "It's great to finally meet you. Is that your natural hair color?" She asked with big hazel eyes.
"Yes, it is," Rose giggled, "I get asked that all the time, actually."
"It's goregous," Kate shook her head, "Momma didn't tell me you were coming by," She now looked back to her brother with arched eyebrows, "What're you doing here?"
"I'm just stopping by, taking Rose around," Tim said, "Where is Mom?"
"Her sewing room," Kate said, patting Rocky on the head as he panted beside her, "Does she know you're here?"
"She knew I was coming," Tim grinned, "I'm going to find her."
"Well, alright. I hope I get to see you again, Rose," Kate said, "I better take Rocky for a walk. I'll see you two later?"
"Maybe," Tim shrugged, brushing past his sister, "Are Lena or Penny home?"
"No, not right now," Kate replied, leading Rocky towards the gate, "They'll be home later."
Pleased, Tim gestured for Rose to follow him inside. She went up the creaky stairs and through the screen door. The house seemed very open, with few walls and many archways. It was furnished quite spaciously as well. The curtains were open, along with the windows, just how Rose liked it. The house smelled fresh, almost like salty ocean air.
"Her sewing room is this way," Tim said, glancing towards the kitchen, "I'm guessing my father is out fishing today."
As they walked down the hallway, Rose gazed to the dozens and dozens of photos hung on the wall. Many were of Tim and his sister's as children. An entire group of them in a variety of ways. Riding bikes. Posing on the sandy beach. Sitting on fences in order of age. It was charming. Rose wished she had had the comaraderie of siblings as a child.
"Mom?" Tim slowly peaked his head into the first room on the right. Rose gazed around him into the room which had many yards of different fabrics arranged on the counters of makeshift tables. An older woman with olive skin and dark brown hair was hunched over the desk. She was wearing a light blue and white striped dress with a purple apron on top. She perked up at the call of her name and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were green to Rose's surprise. The moment she saw her son, her face lit up and she was to her feet in a second, engulfing her son in a warm hug.
"Timothy!" She cried out, rubbing his back, "So good to see you, son!"
"Good to see you," Tim returned, drawing out of the hug, "Mom, this is Rose."
"Oh, so good to meet you," She had such a warm grin on her face as she took hold of Rose's hands, holding them tenderly in her own, "Timothy has told me a lot about you. You're right," She looked to her son who was turning redder by the moment, "she does look like an angel from those paintings."
"Mom, I told you that in confidence," Tim sheepishly adjusted his coat on his shoulders. Rose laughed breathily, trying not to quiver in her grip.
"You can call me Eileen. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Make yourself at home, please," Eileen said, running her thumb along the back of Rose's hands.
"Thank you," Rose nodded.
"Oh, we won't be staying long for the time being, remember?" Tim said, drawing Eileen away from Rose, "I'm here for the surprise."
"Right, right," Eileen waved her hand dismissvely, still grinning, "You know where to find everything. I won't keep you two waiting."
"Thanks, Mom," Tim dipped down, pecking her on the cheek, "I'll see you later."
"Be safe!" Eileen called, waving them out the door of the room. As they walked down the hallway, the sound of the sewing machine drew up again. Tim threw a glance towards Rose as they walked towards the kitchen. They seemed to be heading for the back door.
"I hope that wasn't too awkward," Tim said, adjusting his glasses.
"I like your mom," Rose giggled, "She's very nice."
"Well," Tim glanced around the house for a moment, pausing, "everything looks clean, so that could be why," He laughed now, pushing the back door open, "Come on. Let me show you the surprise," Tim held his hand out to Rose who smiled and accepted it, allowing herself to be lead into the backyard.
...
New York City, New York
Jack stood in the backroom, looking between his cluster of paint cans. He referenced the list Frenchie gave him and continued stewing in his mind. He shifted the weight back and forth on his feet and huffed, not quite sure which paint to start first. They would all take him hours, but which would be the most important first? Jack finally settled on ivory white. He knelt, rolling his sleeves and pulled a white paint bucket near him, prying the lid off.
A loud popping noise startled him, however. He dropped his tool and the paint lid to the ground and they clattered loudly. Jack looked over his shoulder with a thundering heart to see Frenchie in the doorway with a bottle of fizzy champagne and the biggest grin.
"Stop working!" Frenchie called, gesturing for him to follow, "Let's celebrate. It's still early enough."
"Oh, I dunno, Frenchie," Jack shook his head, still knelt between the paint cans, "These colors you want are going to take awhile. I better start them now."
"Pish-posh, come on!" Frenchie said, "As your boss, I demand you stop working."
Jack sighed and slowly straightened up. Frenchie disappeared back to the main work space and after a moment, Jack did, too. Frenchie was pouring the champagne into flute glasses on the dirty communal table and he smiled when Jack approached. Eagerly, Frenchie handed him a glass and held his up towards him.
"To the art show!" Frenchie cried.
Jack couldn't help but grin and clanged his glass gently to Frenchie's, "To art."
"Come, let's have a seat. Drink. Review. Plan," Frenchie shrugged and threw himself onto a stool. Jack glanced back towards the doorway where his impending work was, but eventually resigned himself to sitting down with Frenchie, "Well, actually, let's not talk shop. Let's talk, Jack."
"Alright," Jack nodded, drinking some of his champagne, "about what?"
"Well, just... how are you? How have you been? Sick at all?" Frenchie asked, already topping his champagne off.
"No, actually. Sleeping somewhere warm helps," Jack grinned weakly, "What about you? How's your family doing?"
"Oh, Mama seems so healthy," Frenchie smiled at the thought of his mother, "She's going for regular walks. I'm seeing she has an appetite again. I think she's finally come to terms with Papa's passing."
"That's good," Jack nodded, "Glad to hear that. Irene has always been so nice to me."
"Well, you have me home for dinner every day now," Frenchie chuckled. He cleared his throat and looked to Jack, "She really likes you, though. In fact, she thinks you'd be a great suitor for Iris."
"Iris?" Jack echoed, nearly choking on his champagne, "Me?"
"Are you that oblivious to it?" Frenchie almost laughed, "She fancies you, Jack!"
"Frenchie, that's your sister," Jack shook his head, "I... I couldn't."
"Oh, don't think of it like that," Frenchie waved his hand dismissively and poured himself some more champagne, topping Jack's off as well, "She's a grown woman now, Jack. And she needs someone. What better guy than you? An artist. You understand the family she comes from. We're all artists."
"I have absolutely nothing to offer," Jack replied blandly, "I live in the attic of your studio."
"You'd just move in with us," Frenchie shrugged, "You're practically already apart of this family."
"Look," Jack let out a curt sigh, "I'm flattered, but really, I don't see anything between Iris and I."
"But, why is that?" Frenchie pressed, leaning forward, "Jack... there's something you're not telling me. And I think it has something to do with that painting Iris showed me behind the furnance."
Jack lowered his eyes and swallowed roughly. His eyes followed a drip of condensation down the side of his glass. He finally made himself look to Frenchie, "Maybe there is," he croaked, "But I don't think I'll ever be ready to talk about it."
"Jack," Frenchie said quietly, "you're like a brother to me. Please, talk to me. Don't suffer in silence."
Jack drank some of his champagne roughly. Frenchie filled his glass, hoping it would help Jack speak up. Jack sighed and glanced towards the blank canvases lined up against the wall, waiting for his pencil strokes. He shifted in his creaky stool for a minute and looked back to Frenchie, who nudged his beret up to look at Jack.
"Her name was Rose," He finally said, his voice nearly faltering, "Rose DeWitt Bukater. That's who that girl is in that painting back there."
"Rose, now that's a name that matches," Frenchie remarked, "Where did you meet her?"
"On the Titanic..." Jack looked down at his hands that were nervously fidgeting with the stem of his glass. He scoffed at himself, shaking his head. He felt his eyes growing wet and he cursed himself, clearing his throat of the growing lump, "I only knew her for three days top, Frenchie. But she... she affected me. I can't get her out of my mind. She's everywhere I look, everywhere I go... She's in everything I do. She's with me, always, it feels like. I don't know how to make her away," He took a slow uneven breath, his eyes piercing Frenchie's, "I don't think I know if I want to make her go away, either."
"It's been an entire year and you still feel her presence that greatly?" Frenchie arched his eyebrows, "You haven't gone on any dates? Kissed another woman? Made love to anyone?" Jack only shook his head, his lips pursed tightly, a look of anguish flushing his face.
"No one could ever measure up to her," Jack said breathily.
"Jack, I think you need to hear this from me," Frenchie drank some champagne and looked to his friend, "I hate to state it bluntly, but you have to get over her. It's been over a year now and you know she's not coming back. You have this perfect image of her in your mind. She's not human to you anymore. She can do no wrong and will say only what you want her to. No one ever measures up because they're not perfect, like how you see Rose."
Jack bit down on his lip, absorbing what Frenchie just said.
"Now, I'm not saying my sister is ultimately the right one for you," Frenchie held his hand up, "But it may do you good to get out for once. And not just go out for art supplies, but go to lunch with someone and talk. Get some fresh air. Let the sun tan you again, you're getting pale as a ghost. I think my sister would simply be a good companion."
Jack glanced to Frenchie before throwing his head back and downing the rest of his champagne.
...
Tarrytown, New York
"It's just back here, in the alleyway," Tim told her. He was holding Rose's hand, towing her behind him. Rose glanced to the backyard of the family home. The grass was freshly trimmed. There was a tall shed to one corner and a forgotten swing set along the other end of the fenced in yard. It had been years, obviously, since anyone had used it. Tim swung the fence open and they stepped into the alleyway to a white shed that matched the house, "Alright," Tim grinned excitedly at her, "are you ready?"
"Yes, show me!" Rose nodded, "I've been waiting all day!"
Tim walked to the garage door of the shed and gave it a tug, hauling it upwards. Rose gasped when she saw what was sitting behind the door. It was a shiny black car with gold trim and even a gold grille. It had a small retractable roof over the top and a gleaming leather seat, big enough for two people. It was so clean, so spotless. Rose's mouth dopped open as she approached the car, gently touching the front of the hood.
"What is this?" Rose asked, looking to Tim in awe. He seemed rather proud of it.
"This is a 1910 Imperial Touring," Tim told her, "I bought this for my parents so they wouldn't have to walk to the market, but they barely use it because they don't want to hurt it. I think it needs attention, so I go for a drive every time I visit."
"This is how we're going through the country roads?"
"You didn't expect me to make you walk, did you?" Tim laughed and walked to the passenger side of the car, pulling the door open, "Shall we?" He offered his hand out to her. Rose smiled coyly with burning cheeks as she accepted his hand and sat down in the car. The cool leather against her skin evoked a memory in her. The last time she had been in a car was with Jack... She lowered her eyes and shook the thought away as Tim walked over to get behind the wheel.
The keys jangled as they turned in the ignition. The car came to life without much coaxing. It puttered and hummed. Tim grinned at the sound. He grabbed the gear stick and pushed it forward and slowly, the car began to roll. He pulled out onto the street and gave the car more gas. Rose's hair fluttered in the passing breeze as Tim left the neighborhood and turned onto a gravel road leading towards the growing hills. Tim set his arm on the door, seeming very relaxed behind the wheel. His tie was blown over his shoulder as the car climbed with ease, dust trailing behind them.
"Every time I drive this car, it makes me want to just take it back to New York City," Tim said loud enough to be heard over the wind. He grinned, glancing fleetingly at Rose before looking back to the bumpy road, "Can you believe we live in a time where we can get on four wheels and roll incredibly fast?"
"It's a genius invention, really," Rose agreed. Around them, slowly, the houses were melting away and either side of the road was now littered in trees. The branches were rejuvenated with fresh green leaves as spring awoken.
Suddenly, Tim pulled the car over on the side of the road. The tires crunched the gravel below as he came to a stop, pulling a brake lever out.
"What's wrong?" Rose asked, turning to Tim.
"You told me on your birthday you had never driven a car. Only ridden in one. I want to teach you how to drive, Rose," Tim told her with a smile.
"You're going to let me drive this car?" Rose was nearly floored, "It's so nice, Tim, and the paint-"
"Oh, spare me!" He broke into a rolling laughter, "You sound just like my parents. Come on, it's a machine. It's meant to be pushed a little. You won't leave a scratch," Tim didn't wait for a response. He threw his door open and leapt out. He pulled the roof back, securing it to the trunk of the car, "Here, so you have better visibility. Scoot over, get behind the wheel," Tim ordered as he snapped the roof in place. He then went to the passenger side and climbed in, "Okay," He took a breath, "do you have any knowledge on a car?"
Rose looked to the dashboard feeling completely overwhelmed. She shook her head and glanced to Tim, "Not the faintest idea."
"No problem," Tim grinned and scooted over closer to her to peer at the dash, "So, of course, here's your speed gauge. Tops out at 35, this thing is fast. Over here is the oil gauge. Tell me if it gets close to red, I have some extra oil in the trunk compartment. Now this is called an R-P-M guage. That just stands for revolutions per minute. The engine is pumping up and down in time with acceleration. You don't want to rev it too high before shifting gears. It overheats the engine."
"Are you sure I can do this?" Rose asked, gripping the thin steering wheel tightly.
"Yes, of course you can," Tim squeezed her arm, "You're right, though. I'm getting too technical. All you need to know is this stick shifts gears. The far left pedal is the clutch. Push that in before shifting gears. The center pedal is acceleration and the far right is brake. Got it?"
"Maybe," Rose said, gripping the top of the stick. She glanced to her feet fleetingly and pushed on the clutch, "Is it supposed to have this much resistance?" Rose asked as the pedal finally engaged.
"Yes," Tim nodded, "that's normal. Now push the stick into first and slowly give it gas while letting off the clutch."
Rose did as she was told and slowly, she began to edge towards the road, when the car suddenly stopped, bucking back and forth. She immediately slammed her foot on the brake and looked to Tim flabberghasted. He was smiling to her relief.
"It's okay. You just stalled it. It takes getting used to the clutch. Turn it on and try again."
Rose failed again and was growing frustrated with herself as she turned the keys and forced the engine to restart.
"Third time's a charm," Tim told her.
Rose focused this time and soon, the car was rolling. She was barely going five miles per hour, but she was giddy at the idea. Rose grinned, bouncing in her seat as she held the wheel steady, "Tim, I did it! I'm driving a car!"
"Give it some gas. Get into second gear," Tim encouraged, smiling and looking forward eagerly.
Rose pushed into the pedal and thought long and hard about her actions as she engaged the clutch, pushed the rod, and accelerated. The car bucked a bit, but she soon climbed over ten on the spedometer. Rose began laughing ferociously, holding the steering wheel confidently now.
"I'm doing it! I cannot believe I'm driving a car!" Rose was breathless as she cast a glance at Tim, "Thank you. So much. You have no idea how... liberating this feels."
"You know, I thought the same thing," He grinned at the side of Rose's face. The sun was streaming down on her between the canopy of trees, making her hair glow in the light. Her skin looked flawlessly radiant and her eyes were bright. He couldn't help but think about how goregous she was, especially when she was having fun, "Something about driving is wonderful."
"Why don't you take the car back to New York City?" Rose asked, following a curve in the road. The trees were whizzing by now as she confidently gained speed.
Tim shrugged, "Honestly it's easier to walk in New York City. And besides, I have to get my exercise in somewhere. Like I said, I bought it for my parent's. It's a luxury we could never afford growing up as such a large family, so I simply wanted to return the favors they had done for me."
"Your family sounds so wonderful," Rose sighed longingly, "I wish I had a family like yours."
"You have mine now," Tim reached across the seat and set his hand tenderly on her thigh, "You don't have to be alone anymore, Rose."
Rose felt tears impending. Hurriedly, she used the last of her brain power to slow the car, pulling over the side of the road again. When she looked to Tim with her glossy eyes, they gleamed in the overhead light of the sun. Even when so upset, she looked like an angel. Tim sprang forward immediately, cupping her cheek with his hand. Her first thought was about how they were smooth, completely uncalloused. She recoiled for almost the slightest second and then held herself still.
"We can't be so quick to decide your family will just treat me like blood," Rose sniffled, "They need time to know me."
"Oh, but they already love you," Tim whisked a tear away and in the same movement, tucked a curl behind her ear, "Because I love you."
Tim leaned forward, grazing his fingers to her collarbone. He gently pressed his lips to her. Rose's entire body began to tingle as she pushed back against his lips. Distantly, birds tweeted and squirrels darted about, rustling the branches. But all Rose could focus on was the feeling of Tim's lips against her's. Her hands reached forward, surging through his dark locks. His hair was shorter cropped than Jack's, but felt silkier. Tim's hands slowly lowered to rest on her hips as their lips met again and again. Rose shut all her thoughts down, focusing on the wonderful feeling she had. But behind her eyes, there was an image she couldn't get rid of. And it was of Jack.