April 11th, 1913
''Right, I think that's all!''.
Oliver Levain, exhausted but fulfilled, threw his rag down onto the counter and clapped in his hands. Rose looked up from the other side of the bakery and smiled. ''I believe so!'', she answered, getting up from the floor and wiping her hands clean on her apron. ''It looks great''. With a broom in her left hand and a dusty rag in the other, Rose walked back towards Oliver and Alma. ''Is there anything else I can do?''.
''No, darling! Everything is perfect!'', Oliver smiled, enthusiastically waving his hands through the air. ''My sister will love it!''.
Oliver's sister Eva was visiting all the way from France. Mr. Levain hadn't seen her in nearly ten years and it was a big deal to him, so he'd asked Rose to help him clean the bakery. He was going to show his younger sister what he had created – all the way in America. His bakery was his pride and joy - and evidence of his personal American dream coming true.
''You've done more than enough'', Alma added, carefully wiping a hair from Rose's cheek. ''Go home. We'll see you again Monday morning''.
Rose happily complied. She felt sweaty, dirty, and her back hurt from cleaning the floor, but she also knew she'd made Oliver incredibly happy, so she truly didn't mind. As she untightened her apron and put it on the counter, Rose decided she'd let Jenny run her a bath. Oh – and she'd finally be able to read one of her new books! Yes, that was what she was going to do. Take a bath, read – and nothing more.
She said her goodbyes, wished the old Levain couple a great weekend and left the bakery, her cheeks still red from the hard work.
As had been the case the past few days, Titanic was everywhere around her. It had become almost impossible for Rose to ignore and so.. she stopped trying. The young boys in the streets with their newspapers held high – she no longer tried to avoid them. At some point, Rose thought, she'd have to get over it. Maybe that point was now. Rose felt lighter, like the burden on her shoulder suddenly weighed half of what it normally did. She was able to smile, sing and even laugh, despite the pictures around her reminding her of why she shouldn't.
So when she encountered an old salesman on the side of the road, newspapers and fresh fruits in his wooden cart, Rose decided she wanted an apple. The walk home would be another ten minutes, so a tasty refreshment wouldn't be at all a terrible idea.
''Hello, miss!'', the elderly man said. Though his beard was thick and uncared for, his dark eyes were kind.
''Afternoon!'', Rose smiled, reaching for her purse. ''I'll take an apple, please''.
''Of course!''. The man sounded delighted. Rose suspected his appearance scared most possible customers away. ''Two, actually!'', she quickly added. She'd give the other one to Jenny.
The man's eyes twinkled even brighter and he grabbed two shiny, dark red apples from his cart. Rose took them from him, put one in her purse, payed the man, wished him a good day and continued her journey home. When she took a bite and felt the juice run down her chin, she couldn't help but chuckle. For Rose, this was a good day. A day that reminded her it was possible to be normal. The sun shone bright, the birds sang and there was a soothing spring breeze flowing through the air.
Rose couldn't wait to get home and tell Jenny. She thought that maybe.. just maybe - this was her turning point.
And then she saw him.
Right as she crossed the busy street.. Rose saw the back of his head. She recognized him immediately. Rose stopped dead in her tracks, got cussed at by a man who nearly ran into her – but his insults left her unbothered. She barely even heard him.
Rose's eyes were fixed on him. Her heart started racing. It can't be. It's not possible. That's all that was running through her mind. She repeated it, over and over again like a mantra, but when he turned to the person next to him, his face became fully visible to Rose – and the apple fell from her hand. It rolled over the stone pavement and was almost immediately crushed by a red Maxwell.
''Oh no''. It escaped Rose's throat like a sigh. Much like a whisper to the wind, nobody heard it but her.
She felt as if she could faint.
There he was. Like a ghost from the past that haunted her. Caledon Hockley.
For a moment, though it seemed like forever, Rose stood completely still. Not even her eyelashes batted. She couldn't tear her eyes off him. She feared every move she made would make him aware of her presence. But then, a worried stranger put his hand on Rose's shoulder. He asked her something. Rose had no idea what he wanted, but she suddenly became very aware of how people were turning to look at her. She was drawing attention to herself.
And then - she ran.
Her purse fell onto the pavement as she picked up her skirt. Rose couldn't care. She ran into traffic, turned the first corner she saw, nearly hit a woman and child – and still didn't care. Flashes were going through her mind. Thoughts she hoped she would never have to think again. What if he'd seen her?! Oh god, what if he'd recognized her?!
''No. No. No'', Rose cried out, picking up her pace.
She had worked so hard. She'd hidden in a dark, tiny cabin on the Carpathia to avoid being seen by them. She'd changed her last name. She hadn't reached out to anybody from her past – but he'd still found her. He'd know she was alive. He'd come looking for her. He'd let her mother know – and they'd work together to trap her in their suffocating, perfectly shitty life. Everything she'd fought for would be gone. Her freedom lost.
Tears started running down Rose's face and she could barely breathe. Her heart felt like it was going a hundred miles an hour, her head felt weird and Rose started seeing patches of black where she should be seeing the road ahead.
He saw me…
It was echoing through her mind as she ran onto her property.
''JENNY!'', Rose screamed. She ran up the stone steps and banged on the door. ''JENNY!'', she cried out again. It felt like forever before the young maid opened the door, though it only could've been a couple of seconds. Rose looked over her shoulders and for a short second, she thought she saw a black coat disappearing behind a bush. The wooden door creaked open and Rose fell onto the floor, crawling into the hallway.. where she finally collapsed.
Jenny's eyes shot open. As she knelt down next to Rose and put her hand onto her shoulder, she felt the young woman's body tremble. ''Miss? What's the matter?'', Jenny asked, a slight panic coming through in her voice.
''He's here!'', Rose cried out, slamming her hand onto the wooden floor. Tears stained her face and a heartbreaking scream escaped her throat. ''He's here, he's here, he's right here!''.
Jenny, having no idea who she was talking about, slowly took Rose's face, wiped the wet hair from it and stared straight into her eyes. ''Deep breaths, Miss. Breathe. Look at me. It's all right. Breathe''.
Rose trembled still, but the sight of her maid's face calmed her down slightly. She forced herself to breathe. In through her nose, out through her mouth, just like Jenny had shown her so many times after she'd awakened from a nightmare.
It took a few minutes but finally, Rose managed to keep herself calm. ''Cal's here'', she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. Jenny's eyes widened and she immediately felt afraid, though she refused to show Rose that. ''Did you see him?'', she asked. Rose nodded quickly and her wild eyes flashed from the front door back to her maid. ''He was in the streets – on my way back from the bakery''. She felt a lump forming in her throat and she felt her eyes burning, but she held it together.
''Are you sure it was him?'', Jenny asked.
Rose nodded again, jumped up from the floor and backed herself into a wall, staring straight ahead – into nothingness.
Her mind was racing. Now that everything was on the line, her only chance at a normal life – she had to protect it. She had to make sure he could never hurt her again. Rose was sure that if he had the chance , he'd destroy everything. Cal wasn't the type of man to forgive.
''We have to leave''.
Jenny rose from the floor and frowned. ''Leave, miss?''.
''Yes'', Rose nodded, waving her finger like she'd just made an important discovery. ''We have to go''.
She turned, sprinted up the stairs, into her room, and grabbed a brown leather suitcase from her closet. It flew open when she threw it onto her bed and in a rage, Rose started pulling her clothes from their wooden planks.
''Miss!'', Jenny called, running into her room. ''Miss, please! He may not have seen you!''.
''He may not'', Rose agreed, pushing her dresses into the case. ''But he's here. I assume he lives here''. She made her way to her desk and grabbed everything in sight. Her perfumes, her books, her jewelry. When she caught her own reflection in the mirror, bewildered and fearful, she suddenly stopped.
Her red hair, which had been in a perfect braid just minutes ago, had fallen across her face. It was wet from the tears. As were her cheeks. Her eyes were swollen and wide, her lips pushed together. She looked like she'd just escaped an attack. She looked… the way she'd looked when she woke up on the RMS Carpathia.
''Miss?'', Jenny whispered.
Rose looked down at her hands. They trembled.
''Miss?''.
She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes for a second. Wiped the hair from her face. Composed herself. And then she turned to face Jenny.
''Yes'', Rose said, calmly now. ''We're leaving''.
Jenny looked worried. Scared, even.
''I made him a promise''.
For any other person, this would have been anyone, but Jenny knew she was referring to Jack Dawson. She recognized the look in her eyes when she spoke of him.
''I was going to act. I was going to ride horses and fly! Jenny.. there is so much I promised him I would do''. Rose walked towards her maid and took her hands in hers. ''I am not going to run forever. I am going to do the things I was never allowed to. I will build a life. One that they can't easily take away from me. I promised him I would''.
Jenny hesitated, of course. She'd lived in this part of the city for as long as she could remember. She knew the people, she knew the streets – and she had it good. Still, the determination in Rose's eyes made her realize she was going to leave with or without her. And Jenny had also made a promise.
''All right'', she answered, nodding her head. ''We're leaving''.
While Rose and Jenny made their escape from Cal Hockley's presence, Jack Dawson picked up a brush.
In front of him sat a young woman with big, blonde curls. Next to him sat his friend, Pete, working on a portrait of his own. By Jack's feet stood a big can – filled with the finest paint he'd been able to afford.
''Turn your head slightly to your right''.
The young woman did as she was told. Jack's eyes watched her closely. He let them wander from her forehead to her dark eyes. His brush followed.
''Do you paint often?'', the woman asked. She didn't move a muscle. Jack figured she'd sat for a portrait before.
''Not as often as I'd like'', he answered, moving on to her nose. ''Canvas and paint are a lot more expensive than a piece of charcoal, I'll tell ya that''.
''Maybe if you were a better artist, you'd be able to afford it'', Pete grinned. The young woman chuckled.
''Never mind him'', Jack whispered to her. ''I'll kick his ass later''.
Moments went by, and the young woman sat as still as she could while Jack carefully painted her likeness. Secretly, Pete was impressed by the detail his friend managed to put into the painting. He only had one shade of paint, but the textures he used allowed him to show off the tiniest of details.
''There's a man watching us'', the girl suddenly said.
Pete looked up. Jack didn't. With the back end of his brush, he made her blonde curls come to life. He was much too into it to care. ''He's been there for a while'', she added.
Jack smiled. ''Well.. he's gonna have to get in line''.
Nearly half an hour later, the man was still there. He stood by a tree.. just a few steps out of Jack's sight. He watched the young painter and every move his brush made. Patient and attentive like a predator would wait for its prey.
''Here you go''. Jack handed the young woman her painting. ''Careful. It's still a little wet''.
''My God'', the woman whispered. ''It's beautiful. Truly.. amazing''.
Jack smiled and ran his hand through his hair. ''I'm glad you like it''.
''I do. I really, really do. Thank you so much''.
The woman paid her dues, wished both young artists a good day, took her painting and left. Before Jack had the chance to sit back down, the mysterious man appeared from behind his tree.
''Afternoon'', he said, sitting down on the stool Jack had used for the girl.
''Afternoon to you too!'', the latter answered, wiping his dirty hands clean on a previously white rag. ''How can I help ya?''.
Jack guessed the man was somewhere around his forties. He had thick, brown hair, though some strands began to go grey. His eyes were grey too, but very kind. He had a clean shaven face and a wrinkle between his brows. Jack figured the man frowned too much. He must be a serious type, then.
''I'd like a painting'', the man answered.
Jack nodded. Maybe he could buy himself a drink tonight, after all.
''Sure! Let's do it''.
''Not of me'', the man said – and Jack frowned. ''I want you to paint another girl''.
''Ah.. all right.. which one?''.
''Either one''.
Jack and Pete exchanged glances – both equally confused.
''Let me get this right'', Jack said as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and hung it between his lips. The man pulled a small box of matches from his pocket and handed it to him. ''Thank you''. Jack lit the cigarette and took a slow drag, all the while carefully watching the stranger in front of him. ''You want me to paint a girl for you. One you don't know?''.
The man smiled. It was a kind smile. ''Correct'', he answered. ''And when you've finished, I want you to bring it to me''.
''I hope we're talking about the painting here, buddy'', Jack laughed.
The man nodded and smiled again.
''My name is Henry William Alice. I'm an artist and an art critique''.
Jack frowned.
''I buy paintings. For personal use, for clients, for art expositions. I want your painting in Brooklyn's Annual Art Exposition.''
Jack now began to understand that this man was an important somebody. Somebody rich, judging by the looks of him. Though he didn't quite understand what this stranger was up to – he was certainly intrigued.
''What exactly does that mean, Henry?''.
''It means that you paint a portrait. The best you can paint. One like the girl you just painted. When you're done, you bring it to me. I'll pay you a good price for it and then I'll put it up on display for the whole of Brooklyn and New York to see. When somebody at the exposition decides they want to buy your painting, I make money – and you make a career''.
A puff of smoke escaped from Jack Dawson's lips. The frown between his brows was still there. His friend, Pete, sat there with his mouth wide open.
''In short – I want you to work with me''.
''Jack Dawson'', Jack said, shaking Henry Alice's hand.
''You can make a lot of money, Jack Dawson. You certainly have the talent''. Henry got up from the stool, pulled a small card from his pocket and handed it to the young painter in front of him. ''Think about it. This is where you can find me. If you're interested, bring by a painting somewhere tomorrow''.
Jack still had many questions, but before he had the chance to get any of them answered, Henry Alice disappeared into the many visitors of Prospect Park. The card in his hand had an address written on it. 5349 Metropolitan Avenue, Greenpoint.
''Jack!''.
Pete jumped up from his stool, grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him twice. ''I think you've just been discovered, mate!''. Jack laughed at the look on Pete's face and shrugged. ''I don't know..''.
''Well I do!'', Pete yelled, loudly enough for an elderly woman to give them a nasty look. ''This is it, man! Your big break! You are going to make so much money, my friend, you can buy all the god damn liquor this damned city has to offer''.
Jack couldn't help but laugh and slowly shook his head. His friend continued on yelling about the finest rums and whiskeys – but Jack's mind was with Henry William Alice, the kind stranger that just might have changed the course of his young life forever.
Jack's eyes wandered over the address on the card and subconsciously, he was already trying to figure out how to get there.