Chapter Fifty-One

April 4th, 1914
New York City, New York

Rose's body woke her up before dawn broke. The milky moonlight still shown bright through the silky curtains covering their windows. Rose rolled onto her back, looking towards the long shadows falling across their ceiling. She let out a sigh, slowly lifting her hand to rest on her swollen belly. She blinked rapidly, trying to will herself to fall asleep again, but she remained wide awake. Rose felt as if her mind was racing yet she thought of nothing in particular.

She rolled onto her side, facing Jack. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to count as high as she could, in hopes that she would doze off during her menial task. But as she counted, a face came to the forefront of her mind and she started in the bed, opening her eyes wide. Rose's heart beat wildly in her chest, her nostrils flared, as she attempted to catch her breath silently. She lifted her eyes to Jack, observing him as he continued to sleep in peace. She was almost never awake before him and took those moments to watch him.

Half of Jack's face was sunken into the pillow, his blond hair falling across his forehead, just above his dark bold brows. His breathing was so rhythmic, Rose tried breathing at the same time as him just to calm her nerves. She could feel her blood pulsating beneath her skin as she closed her eyes and focused again.

Think of something happy, Rose told herself, clutching the quilt tightly in her hands, Think about a beautiful sunny day... with all the windows open... Rose focused untensing her body, Think about the sound of your typewriter, ferociously echoing down the hallway as your mind blooms with so many ideas...

Rose took in a deep breath, readjusting her head against her pillow, Just imagine how things will be when the baby comes... Imagine the baby gazing at their walls, painted to depict beautiful rolling countryside hills... Imagine taking the baby to see those hills in real life...

She let out a long sigh, grazing her hand against her belly, Imagine baby James, with those beautiful blue eyes and sandy blond hair... imagine him walking towards you, his arms outstretched. Imagine him looking at you and seeing his entire world, his role model, his protector...

"I had hoped you would have come to me last night, Rose."

Rose startled herself, writhing beneath the sheets. Quickly, she stilled herself to not disturb Jack. Luckily, he didn't even stir. Rose's breathing shallowed. The quilt felt tremendously heavy on her suddenly. She shook her head, ruffling her fingers through her curls. She gave up. She was never going back to sleep.

Carefully, Rose slipped out of bed, pulling a cotton robe around her nightgown. She padded down the stairs quietly in woolen socks, glancing towards the clock to see it wasn't even four in the morning yet. She entered the dark kitchen and lit a candle, setting it on the island. She went about to readying her coffee, shaking her head in dismay at being up so early. She sunk into a stool at the island, cradling her head in her hand.

The flickering candle light brought to her attention an old newspaper sitting on the counter. Slowly, Rose reached across, lifting the inky text into the orange light. April 2nd, 1914. She heaved a sigh, laying the newspaper flat onto the counter in front of her. She thumbed through the newspaper almost hesitantly, until she finally rested on the announcements page again. She tapped her slender finger to her chin as she gazed over Irene's funeral announcement. Slowly, her eyes sank lower and lower, until they rested of the picture of Cal Hockley with his arm laced around the lace of the blonde hair and blue eyed Elizabeth Fullton.

Rose examined the picture closely. Cal was staring towards what seemed like a barrage of cameras swarming them. He almost looked to be mid-sentence, with one arm gesturing out. Elizabeth was wearing a heavy furcoat, her blonde hair treated into tight curls that fell around her shoulders. She was smiling towards Cal, her slender manicured fingers touching his neck.

New York City, New York - It seemed as if the world hadn't heard about the Hockley family in the entirety of 1913. Nathan Hockley, owner of propserous Hockley Stocks and Consulting, had disappeared from the public eye in the wake of the Titanic maritime disaster that is rumored to have set the Hockley family back by quite a bit. But since the beginning of 1914, Nathan Hockley has allowed himself to be interviewed and photographed at business meetings once again. In February of 1914, a photograph emerged of Nathan and his son, Caledon Hockley, speaking quietly to each other admist the fiasco of the Wall Street bidding floor. This was the first public sighting of Caledon Hockley since his departure of New York City in the aftermath of the Titanic, losing his finacée Rose DeWitt Bukater, daughter of textile genius John DeWitt Bukater, in what he claimed to be 'a careless oversight by White Liner'. Good news has emerged for Caledon Hockley, however, as he prepares for his wedding to Elizabeth Fullton, daughter of farm mechanical equipment designer Robert Fullton. The wedding will be held on April 4th, 1914, at the Diamond Ballroom. The ceremony is due to begin at noon with a late lunch served at the reception, beginning at 1:30pm, at the same location.

Rose lifted her tired eyes to stare at the flickering candle light. She let out another long sigh and folded the newspaper up. Slowly, she lowered her head to rest on her arms and closed her eyes, not caring if she fell asleep at the counter, because all she wanted was to drift away in that moment.

...

Rose never actually fell asleep again. She ended up laying down on the couch in the living room and amused herself by her new ability to balance things on her swollen stomach. She grinned to herself as her coffee cup precariously sat atop her belly. She tested different books out, as well as pencils she found in the drawers of their sparse furniture. It wasn't until after seven that she finally heard Jack shuffling about upstairs. She shifted her head on the pillow to look towards the stairs as she heard him clunking down.

He was fresh out of bed with wildly molded hair and a ruffled white undershirt. Jack looked rather perplexed as he came to the base of the stairs, but he flashed her a groggy smile upon seeing her bathed in the first mornings light beneath the large picture window overlooking the backyard. Jack raked his messy hair from his face as he came into the living room.

"Hey, you," He said, stepping onto the carpet, "Imagine my shock to discover you were the first one awake this morning," Jack leaned down, tenderly pecking her on the forehead, making her eyelashes flutter, "Have you been up long?"

"No," Rose lied, shaking her head, "I just woke up and couldn't fall back asleep," She shrugged rather sheepishly, "I have a lot of ideas for my novel that I'm stewing over."

"Well let me make you a fresh cup of coffee," Jack said, picking her mug up from the side table, "What do you want for breakfast? Toast? Boiled eggs? Some fruit? Oh, I picked some yogurt up yesterday on the way home. It sounded healthy."

Rose smiled, cocking her head up at him. Her curls splayed around her head, almost like a fire ready to consume the couch, "Maybe just an orange?"

"Just an orange?" Jack cocked his eyebrows up. He crossed to the nearby love seat and grabbed a cushion, bringing it back to Rose. She tucked it behind her back, sitting upright and lacing her fingers across her belly, "No, no. You need more brain food than that if you're going to be writing all day. Let me make you something."

"Here, I'll help-"

Jack stopped her from swinging her legs off the couch, "No, stay here. I'll be right back."

Rose sighed but her grin never wavered. She resettled herself on the couch while Jack went to the kitchen and began opening cabinets and clanging silverware together. Rose looked out the window at the beautiful day. The sky was still bathed in sherberts with swirls of blue as the light made its presence known, sending the milky moonlight away. She lowered her chin to rest on the back of the couch and watched the only tree in their backyard sway in the gentle spring breeze.

I can't be sad when this is my sight every morning, She told herself, blinking slowly, Why do I let the past still take hold of me? Why can't I seemingly let it go and forget about it? My life now is almost the definition of perfect to me. I got what I wanted, why do I feel the way I do?

The next moment, Jack returned to the living room as a balancing act. Slowly, he lowered a ceramic bowl full of yogurt dusted in cinnanmon with raspberries and blue berries covering the top to Rose. She felt her mouth water almost instantly. She had no idea she was even hungry. Rose took the bowl into her slender fingers and immediately reached for the spoon.

"And if m'lady had her heart set on an orange, I've brought you a peeled one," He grinned boyishly as he set a small saucer bobbing with orange wedges down on the table. Her coffee, renewed and steaming, accompanied it. Jack seated himself on the nearby loveseat with a bowl of oats sprinkled with raw sugar, "So, you're just gonna stay home and write today?"

Rose lifted her eyes from coating a blueberry in yogurt, "Maybe go for a walk," She shrugged.

"It's good to stay active," Jack nodded, crunching down on his oats, "I hate to think you just stay cooped up in the house all day."

"You know me," Rose grinned, putting her silver spoon in her mouth, "I thrive on fresh air."

...

Jack left shortly after ten to go work at the studio. Rose found herself sitting in her office for nearly an hour after that, simply hovering over her work. She couldn't focus. She didn't know what to write. She looked between all the laid out papers and the shoehorned leaflets but she couldn't decide which part she wanted to work on, reconstruct, and she couldn't find the motivation to start from where she left off and write whole new material to drive the story forward.

Eventually, Rose resigned with a huff. She walked to the open window, gazing into the backyards of her neighbors. Her fingers clenched the windowsill as the gentle breeze brushed some stray curls from her face. She gazed out towards the distant New York City, her eyes hopping from skyscraper to skyscraper. Rose found herself fixated on the sharp skyline.

In the next moment, she turned distinctly on the balls of her feet and marched into her bedroom. She pulled a long sleeve black dress out with a white belt. She dressed herself quickly, carelessly disregarding her nightgown on the floor and leaving her used woolen stockings dangling precariously on the headboard of the bed. Hurriedly, she seated herself at her vanity mirror and went above pinning all her curls against her head. She fluffed them carelessly and went back to the closet, pulling down the one hat box she owned. She pryed the lid off and lifted the black floppy sun hat from the box, inspecting it and straightening the silken headband on it. She lowered the hat atop her pinned curls and used the one hat pin she owned to secure the hat in place. Standing in the mirror, Rose took the time to adjust the hat to tilt forward, casting a shadow over her face.

With a hammering heart, she left the house, walking briskly downtown, towards fourth avenue. She walked with her shoulders squared but her eyes trained down. She had to physically restrain herself from clenching her jaw and curling her hands into fists. She had to tell her brain to stick out her left foot, followed by her right. She had to focus on breathing evenly, or she feared she would make herself collapse right there on the grimey concrete. Rose came to the stop at a street corner, waiting for the OK to cross. She took the time to roll her shoulders, in hopes of pushing the tension right out of her body.

She heard the sound of brass chimes and lifted her head, holding the brim of her hat. Rose squinted as she gazed upwards to see a nearby church with a large clock face on its tower. It was signalling 11:45am. Rose returned to waiting for her signal.

Why am I doing this? She finally thought to herself. Cautiously, she gazed around her surroundings. Everyone who passed her did so without giving her a second glance. Rose rubbed her sweaty palms against her skirt, Just a peep. Just a small glance. It's almost as if I need to see for myself the prison sentence I narrowly escaped... It's time to remind myself how lucky I am. How much I have to look forward to.

The moment the signal flipped over, Rose hurried across the street. As she continued down the next block, the sound of a strings quartet began to reach her ears. She slowed her pace, feeling her breathing shallow again. Just up ahead, she saw many crisp well dressed people. Rose adjusted her hat over her face and slowly came up on the jubilation. The string quartet was set up just beside the tall glass doors entering into the high ceiling ballroom. Rose gawked at the building. She had never been near it before, but had heard of its luxuries from customers when she was a waitress. A steady stream of people dressed to the hilt were filing into the ballroom with only minutes to spare before the ceremony. Rose watched the people flow past two nicely dressed servants, who were waving people through with silky white gloved hands. Rose recognized a few of the faces passing by as people who had been on the outskirts of her social circle in Philidelphia. It was haunting and Rose wondered if she was putting the past to rest or torturing herself by exposing herself to it. No one bat an eye at her, however; a familiar feeling she had grown accustom to her in red-taped childhood.

As Rose watched the steady stream of attendants, she felt as if the floodgates of her past life had been opened. There were Harold and Annabelle Harrison, the old grumpy couple that lived next door to Cal's father. Harold owned an oil business. They were native Texans who had a twang in their accent and always complained of the Philadelphia humidity. Rose almost couldn't believe they were still alive. Just a few bobbing heads later she spied her father's closest friend, Daniel Clark. Rose felt as if her blood was going to turn to slush in her veins. She hadn't seen that man in nearly half a decade. He still had his scary dark beady eyes. His hair had turned ashen over the years, but she remembered in her youth that he had been a very sandy blond man. He was wiry and age was becoming very apparent on him. Rose recalled the man's dark sense of humor and his ability to always make her feel uncomfortable in his presence. She turned her head away as he entered.

Just on the other side of the bustling crowd rushing into the ballroom, standing along the curb, was someone that made Rose freeze in place. It was her mother. She looked thinner than the last time Rose had seen her, if that was even possible. She was speaking with a rather large man who was wearing a freshly pressed suit and a short top hat. Ruth checked her complexion in a compact mirror before firmly flipping it shut and looking to the man, obviously awaiting his action. Immediately, the man stuck his elbow out to Ruth and gingerly, she linked arms with him. Rose disappeared back the direction she came before they could turn her way. Her heart was thundering in her chest as she moved quickly and dove into the alleyway behind the ballroom, where a sleek black car was parked. Rose pressed her shoulder blades to the grimey wall and pulled her hat from her head, uncaring of any loose curls falling from her up-do.

Rose struggled to catch her breath for a few moments, her throat pinched and throbbing, her airways seemingly mangled. Even after everything that had happened, even though Rose wasn't the one marrying Cal, Ruth was still attending the wedding. The very idea baffled Rose, but at the same time, she couldn't act surprised. Her mother had to show face, always. And even though she thought she had lost her daughter, she would never show the adversity it caused her. Rose wondered if Ruth even cared that Rose was gone from her life. Rose lowered her eyes to the alleyway ground, her eyes lingering over a murky puddle. In that moment, she assumed, her mother was probably relieved she didn't have a daughter like Rose to watch over any longer.

Suddenly, Rose felt eyes on her. She looked to her left to see a congregation of men in matching tuxedos with yellow buttercup silken ties. They were all enjoying one last cigarette before the wedding ceremony. Rose looked like a deer caught in the headlights, tears brimming her eyes, as she looked towards the groomsmen who were eyeing her just as cautiously. And amongst those men, the only one wearing a yellow bowtie, was Caledon Hockley. Rose was stunned in place as she laid eyes on the man who had haunted her, hurt her, and made her second guess her every decision. Not a thing had changed about him. He was still lean and tall with signature Hockley squared shoulders. He still had that wispy chestnut hair and bold brows. He still had those dark eyes and chiseled face. His facial expression nearly reflected that of Rose's. His cigarette hovered in front of his lips before he lowered it, forgetting it entirely.

The languid movement of his body coming through the groomsmen nearly startled Rose. She pushed away from the wall and backed away as Cal emerged forward. He still looked to be processing what he was looking at. He looked bewildered, confused... almost hurt. Rose's shoulders were rising and falling faster and faster. Her heartbeat took of wildly, her blood throbbed beneath her skin. She felt her body temperature rising while her fingertips grew cold and numb. There he was, in the flesh. Someone she swore she never wanted to see again. Someone she promised to never be like. It was the man she made an example of in her life to stray away from. He was there in front of her, almost exactly two years later.

"Rose," Cal said and his velvety voice cut her like a knife.

Move, you fool! Rose yelled at herself, Get out of there! What are you doing, staring at him like this? None of this was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be seen. I wasn't supposed to see any of this.

"Rose... is that you?" Cal said again, flicking his cigarette on the ground, staring at her absolutely confounded.

"Cal," One of the groomsmen spoke up, "it's time. You better tell your guest to get into the reception hall."

Cal ignored them. Instead, he focused on examining Rose from top to bottom. She was certain she was quite the spectacle, dressed like she was attending a funeral, her hair pinned tightly to her head, and her swollen pregnant belly jutting out, completely unavoidable.

"It's really you..." Cal whispered, his lips barely moving.

"Cal, let's go," Another groomsmen said, "I can hear the organist. We're supposed to already be out there."

"I never thought I'd see you again..." Cal continued, oblivious to his groomsmen. He knitted his eyebrows together, as still, he struggled to come to terms with what he was seeing, "You... you haven't aged a day, Rose. Your eyes... they're still as green as the last time I saw them..."

Rose's head throbbed uncomfortably. She was certain she was going to hit the ground, right there, in front of the eight men. She took a deep uneven breath, her voice chased away. Her eyes lingered on Cal. She had nothing to say.

"Rose DeWitt Bukater," Cal said softly, as if the name scorched his vocal cords.

She couldn't stay a moment longer. Rose whirled around and raced from the alleyway. It was the fastest she had ever run in her life. She didn't bother to wait for signals to cross the street. She was honked at by cars, but she only waved at them in a flustered manner before hurrying on. Once she was on the outskirts of her neighborhood, she finally stopped. She carelessly dropped her sun hat into the grass and seated herself on the green knoll overlooking the winding neighborhoods tucked down below. Her cheeks were flushed and she huffed and puffed to catch her breath. Rose pressed her forehead to her knees.

That wasn't supposed to happen.