Something about His Eyes
He held the door to my suite open for me as we came to its designated place within Titanic's hall. I briefly thanked him before passing his tailor-suited form and going inside, making limited eye contact with him, holding his draped coat closer against my chest. My plan was to hand him back his coat and bid him a short goodnight. I'd get a good story straight for him, and Mother, to hear by tomorrow's breakfast. But instead, much to my surprise, he stepped across the threshold, in his usual collected fashion, and closed the door behind him. The door's polished golden lock shined a glow from the fireplace and mocked me, as it was sealed into its silence. I was trapped, alone, with my arrogant and superior husband-to-be, currently sporting a pearl perfect smile and quiet amused orbs.
I sat down on the couch, ignoring his banter, "I believe this is yours." I'd seen those dancing eyes a few times before, mixed with lust, intimidation, and jest.
I was in no mood to say otherwise—nearly dying from an abandoned suicide attempt he knew little about in the last hour. I held out my borrowed jacket, hoping he would take its underlying message and leave.
"You can keep it tonight if you like." Cal lit a cigar, dismissing his coat entirely as he stride past me on the couch; he took a relaxed stance at the fireplace's mantle, light gray smoke filling the air, "You can think of me as you sleep." his coral red lips curled, despite its bearing cigar, "Imagine my arms around you as you wear it." a disdained look might've crossed my face as I viewed a quick pained frown from him moments later, "Tell me, Rose, why on Earth would you choose to go above deck tonight, alone, to look at this damn ship's propellers? Wouldn't it have been much safer to go see them during the day—and more likely?"
I fought the nerves in my eyes, begging to twirl.
"You told me you'd eat dessert with your mother when I left you." he recalled from that evening.
Cal had left dinner early with other wealthy men we'd dined with from first-class: to smoke cigars and drink brandy, as he did every night at a black-tie affair- no matter if we were in America, England, or the Titanic! Our life together was so predictable, and we hadn't even married yet. Cal knew our way of life troubled me, but he didn't seem to care. The closest we'd ever come to talking about how I feel would result in him reprimanding me as a child whenever I'd 'act out' or 'speak my mind'. Our engagement happened so fast. Would I really be happy with Cal? Forever?
"Damn it, Rose. You're doing it again!" Cal was calm but frustrated and indulged in the flames about his lips; a fresh clouded heap embraced the air.
A maid greeted us with a curtsy, announcing my ready bath, and my pillows and bed were made and fluffed. She left almost as soon as she entered, sensing the tension between Cal and me.
"Doing what?" his tone pulled me out my pondering.
"This!" Cal motioned his hand, "You complain that I never listen to you," I perched my lip, "Now I am, and you won't say a word! You just sit there!"
"Isn't that what you say you want of me, Cal?" I calmly answered, sarcastic and clear.
The cedar-haired man grimaced and abruptly threw his half-finished cigar into the ashtray. He charged me, pinning me in my sitting place, his irritated orbs locked on mine, "Why did you leave dinner?" it was unlike me: I always stayed wherever he wanted.
My heart raced fiercely in my chest, but I didn't dare look away, "I needed some air."
"Why didn't you send for me? I would have accompanied you."
The longer I watched Cal's eyes, the steadier I became, or at least, more convincing, "I need to be alone, Cal—just for a while." I sighed and clamped my tense fingers over my lap, "Cal, I…Things are changing so fast…This is a lot for me." I hated myself; tears coated my eyes, blotting my vision.
My fiancé stared toward me in silence then enclosed his gaze with a heavier breath, "That's no excuse to go out on your own, Rose. What if something happened to you?" he kneeled down to me and tenderly wiped my flowing tears with his knuckles; it appalled me, really.
That was the Cal that made me agree to his proposal those few months ago, but I lowered my eyes from his, taking refuge in my scarlet dress' silk, "But nothing happened."
The wealthy heir kept an ardent stare at me, "It would have if that low-class boy hadn't saved you." he reminded, watching my reaction closely, I knew full well.
"Boy?" I was astonished and looked up, "He's at least my age—or older."
"He's a kid- with nothing. You're a woman of high-class, engaged to me— that makes all the difference." Of course it did, and Cal reclaimed his cigar.
"Didn't you hesitate to court me the day we met—because you thought I was so young?"
He scoffed, "And look where my decision has led: do you think it's any coincidence we have so many arguments?"
That was because he never listened.
Cal paused his relaxed stroll aside the fireplace then glanced at me with a remorseful appearance. Progress, perhaps? "Do we have to invite that boy to dinner tomorrow night?"
Perhaps, not.
"Cal, he saved my life. Besides, you've already invited him!" annoyed, my hand naturally went on my hip.
"So? That doesn't mean the men have to let him in." that cocky crooked grin returned, thinking himself to be one of the few masters of the universe once again.
That time, I let out my frustrations with him in a large breath, uncaring what he thought if he witnessed my twirling eyes.
He did, "Very well, Rose." Cal came back to me, sitting at my side, and grabbed my hand, "If inviting the boy—"
"Dawson, Cal. His name is Dawson."
"I haven't forgotten." but he wished to forget, "Then, I'll allow him to come." my fiancé sat silently for the slightest moment, contemplating something. I wondered if he'd be kind enough to share. Perhaps he'd say something thoughtful or romantic about us and leave the man I met tonight alone?
"Do you think that Dawson fellow even owns a suit?"
I swear, just when I think Cal can't say anything else in one conversation to anger me, he finds a way to manage!
"It's his death sentence." he declared, smirking, and draped a confident strong arm behind my place on the couch, "Enough about him." Cal crept closer, removing the space between our bodies; this talk was becoming quite improper, to say the least, "You say I should make more time for you these next few days. I agree. Your concerns are my concerns, Rose."
Finally! I was about to tell Cal the truth: how hard it was to breathe in society, how hard it was to crawl out of bed each morning, knowing I had no true friends to trust that understand my perspectives and sympathize, how being in a sea of selfish and uncaring people had genuinely almost drowned me, my reasons for nearly going to the point of no return earlier tonight. I would tell him everything. Right then.
As I parted my mouth to speak, heated lips embraced them in a passionate crash. Ah, these were Cal's concerns!
"Cal—" I tried to stop him, needing a confidant instead of a lover.
His kisses swept my neck as he brushed the stray red curls from my bare skin, a thick low mutter escaping him, "Oh, Rose." another warm kiss took my lips, "This chastity tradition and being in separate rooms until the wedding is ridiculous." and Cal pulled my small waist into his arms as he continued to savor my perfumed neck, "I've only known you twice before." a twinge spiked my nerves as a skilled kiss fell over me, "It's not enough."
True, as much as we disagreed, Cal's affections were pleasant- and forbidden, until we wed. But it wasn't as if I could deny it: a telling breath had already left me as he caressed my lower cheek.
"You'll—"I lost hold of my current reply as the man took possession across my weakened neck. Damn him! At times like this, our differences melted away, "You'll have me for a lifetime in two more months, Cal." a new shiver flashed my spine as he reached my collarbone.
"I know you're unhappy," he paused in his banter, his cedar eyes checking mine, "but I promise when we get home, I'll set more time aside for you. Father won't be too keen on the idea, but he may as well get used to it." I couldn't help but feel some relief, even smiling, coercing Cal into another kiss, "I do care for you, Rose. Give me a chance to show you."
His sincere eyes parted as we heard the suite's main door open, a woman wearing a dark navy gown and cream high collar entering through, "Cal!" my mother's eyes sparkled worse than the moon over the sea; she'd found our entangled bodies in a very compromising position, "I'd thought you be upstairs with the count, and investors." her soft azure eyes made their periodic glances my way; her fighting lips masked a smirk.
"I was, Ruth, but I was..." Cal stammered to explain, putting out his cigar's ashes, "I had to make sure Rose got back here safely." he brushed my arm after looking away from Mother, "She got herself into a bit of trouble tonight on a walk above deck. But don't worry; it's nothing we couldn't handle." Cal glanced at her with a charming smile, cuing my mother into a round of small delirious giggles. Smoothing the moment over, he looked back at me, "A passenger came to her rescue. I invited him to join our dinner table tomorrow night." Cal gave me short kiss and leaned his cheek near mine, "Come to my suite later." his dark cedar orbs earnestly held my stare, "I'll be waiting for you." he stood from the couch, seeing my mother smiling eagerly with her draped fur as he turned, "Goodnight, Ruth." assuredly acknowledging her was the only way to get the woman off his back.
"Yes. Goodnight, Cal." Mother answered as my fiancé passed and left through our front door; she swerved back toward me, disturbingly proud and wide-eyed, "You brilliant, brilliant girl!"
"What?"
Mother handed our maid her fur wrap and beamed as bright as day at me, "Getting Cal to leave the count's parlor—pretending to be a damsel in distress! I heard all about it:" she revealed at last, picking out a chair as a second maid traded her jeweled buckled heels for slippers, "during tea and cakes with the women."
I was floored, "Mother, I did almost get hurt-killed even!" her mouth fell open, "It wasn't some sort of game! Jack Dawson actually saved my life!"
"Jack Dawson?"
"Miss Rose, your water's getting cold, mu'um."
"Yes, Trudy. I'm coming right now." the fact that my mother assumed my close death to be an heir-catching scheme made me sick to my stomach. I placed a hand over my nauseous side and left our sitting room for a bath.
Mother followed, not that I expected anything less, "Who's Jack Dawson?"
"You'll meet him tomorrow." I answered as Trudy untied my corset in my bedroom.
"Dawson…Is he of the early railroad Dawsons?" Mother suspected, fingers aside her lips, automatically thinking the stranger good company.
"No." a small scoff amused itself as I spoke, "Judging from how he was dressed, he was probably lower class."
"Lower class?" that sent her in alarm, but remaining hopeful, she sat in one of the room's lounge chairs, "Well, second-class isn't so bad: a lot of young businessmen order such tickets to save a little money on trips." Mother watched my stiff face as Trudy freed me from my corset and skirts, "Dear God, don't tell me he's lower than that!" she begged.
I turned from my bedpost to see her eyes, "Even if he was, can we really judge a man who save your only daughter's life—first-class or third?" I didn't wait for her response, which I was most sure would be complacent, and left with Trudy.
Clad in her favorite slippers, Mother faithfully kept my shadow's guard, "What will Cal think of you forcing him to dine with such low company?!" Though I hadn't said a word, she already knew Mr. Dawson dining with us was my gesture.
I sank into the thick warm water and suds, soothed then vexed, shooting my gaze toward her, "Is that all you care about? Cal offered him a twenty tonight! A twenty, Mother!"
"Well," her face twisted a shocked but open-minded smile, "Cal has his reasons. He can't give generously to everyone, you know-especially not complete strangers. That Dawson could just be an opportunist."
"Cal can never do wrong in your eyes. Can he, Mother?" Trudy scrubbed suds onto my back while my ruby ends turned dark, drenched with water.
"He's our ticket to paying our debts, Rose. You know the money's gone!"
How could I forget? She reminded me every day. But what was the point in speaking up to her or anyone? Marrying Cal was my destiny-expected destiny, at least.
"Don't offend him, Rose! A wife must submit!"
"I'm not his wife yet, Mother!"
"Trudy, leave us." the kind maid's bristles froze against my damp skin, and the brush made an immediate plop into the bath, disappearing below the sweetly oiled foam. My mother shifted as the bathroom's door came to a close, "You are his fiancée—he sees you as his wife! Everything you say, everything you choose to do, is a direct reflection on him!" Mother heaved as I passively dove lower in the snow white bubbles, "Are you going to Cal's tonight?"
"Mother, please!"
Must she know everything I do?
"Rose, when we get back to America, the news of your engagement to Cal will be in full swing! All of Cal's old prospects will be giving their best shot to—"
"Mother, if Cal loves me like he says he does, he won't care about…old prospects!" a chill surged me: this expected marriage was nothing but a business deal to her.
I grabbed Trudy's brush under the water then scrubbed my soles.
"Rose," Mother's crystal eyes filled with pity observing me, and she sat down at the tub, "Do you know what I would do if I were in your position?"
God knew I could only imagine, and I wished I hadn't.
"Mother—" for the life of me, I needed her to stop.
"Go to his room, Rose. Secure our place in the Hockley fortune!" a flinched smile skipped Mother's face, "God never gives us more than we can bear." her cold thin hands cradled my face, "And look what He's done for you: blessed you with great beauty—the beauty to catch a Hockley!" her proud tone drifted, her eyes now striking dominance over my own, "Don't mess this up for us! We are too close to paradise!" I sighed as Mother stood, walking over to the bathroom's lavish wooden door in the utmost posture, "Trudy!" she called and ordered the curtsying maid to fetch a seductive nightgown for me to wear to Cal's suite from her bedroom's drawers, a gown I'd never seen until now, ordering it from Paris herself!
"I thought you said the money was gone, Mother!" I retorted, discovering the fanning silk and expensive lace from the gathered clothing before Trudy displayed it in full glory to its buyer. My voice carried little weight in my mother's ears, however—busy scheming with Trudy, matching a modest dress to showcase for Titanic's public down its halls.
"A mother's work is never done until her daughter is at the altar with a new last name!" she answered, her azures never parting from the figure-tight gown in Trudy's arms.
I stared out of the ship's bathroom window, overlooking the passing navy sea as it sailed through the night, the excited voices in my bedroom beginning to fade. I thought about Mr. Dawson—the sincerity in his eyes, bright and rich as the ocean itself, when I needed it most. When he spoke to me on the back of Titanic, there wasn't any judgment or mocking among them, simply curious, compassionate, and determined, determined to get me back aboard: more aboard living life than the ship itself, perhaps. I'm sure by his old-worn jacket and dusty boots he was third-class, a man I wouldn't have ever considered spending time with, hadn't he saved me. But I had to admit, there was something attractive, bewitching even, about the way he'd spoken, and the way he calmed me down from jumping overboard into the freezing ocean, tricking me back into the very life that compelled me to do so.
I suppose I should be upset, but if anything, I'm most grateful. Not because I got to see Mother, Trudy, or Cal again, but because, or I at least hoped, I'd be able to see him again. There was something about Jack Dawson—Mr. Jack Dawson I'd never seen before. The moment I turned from death, his eyes were the first thing I saw. There was honesty in them, freedom as well. Freedom…
"Rose, what are you smiling about?" Mother casually questioned; a satisfied smile glossed over my bed, viewing her completed work with Trudy, accessories and all.
My head turned, "Oh, nothing, Mother." She didn't need to know a word what I was thinking.
Trudy sweetly chuckled, pressing out a final ribbon, "Perhaps, Miss Rose was thinking about the night with Mr. Hockley, mu'um."
"I like the sound of that!" Mother then smiled and glanced my way, "Finally coming to your senses?"
"I am."
Yes, I went into Cal's room that night, fulfilling Mother's every wish, and Cal's as well, securing my place as his wife, as they both said. But through it all, as bashful as I was to admit, Jack Dawson stayed in my mind. Though Mr. Dawson was impressionable in appearance, quite impressionable, actually, I did not think of him in such a way as Cal laid over me. I only pictured his eyes. Those enchanting blue eyes seemed to be branded in my mind for a reason I could not understand. I kept seeing honesty, hope, youth, and freedom. His eyes held something I needed, something Mother, Cal, Trudy, and all of high-society around me couldn't give.
How can a person shelter such a quality, a person with so little from what it seemed? I wanted what Mr. Dawson's eyes had. Someone once told me the eyes were the windows to the soul. If that were true, Mr. Dawson had the answers to what I lacked, the true culprits to why I had almost ended my life during, which so many had recently told me, the happiest time of my life. I shivered as Cal gripped me tighter, the ink painting his room encasing us, the night's silver moon our only marker. Maybe, just maybe, if I found Mr. Dawson somewhere on the ship tomorrow, before dinner, I could find some resolution as to why I was so unhappy with Cal and all expected of me. Surely if I did, I'd become a better wife and woman for it. It was decided. Cal released my easing frame and rolled on his side, drifting shortly into a peaceful sleep. I'd talk to Jack Dawson-Mr. Jack Dawson first thing tomorrow.