Ruth had wanted to ignore it. The changes occurring one by one she had tried to shut out. Life was good with Cal, wasn't it? He had taken her in, without expecting something back. Hadn't he? The first meeting with him didn't prove to be much of a success, for not only Rose wasn't interested in him, but that little voice in her head kept telling Ruth – something isn't right.
Normally the first impression counts.
Something had been strange about him from the beginning. He hadn't been honest.
She had pushed that thought away quickly and just kept listening to the other voice in her head – the money is gone, you don't want to work as a seamstress. Finally Rose had to do something for the family – point. There was no need to be sentimental now. It was only fair. Her own marriage hadn't been a love match as well and yet in the eighteen years they had spent together they had managed to achieve a kind of agreement.
Maybe Rose and Cal would've been able to do the same?
Love wasn't the first thing that came to Ruth's mind, when thinking about marriage. In fact it wasn't on her list at all. People like them wouldn't marry for love, a most a childish thing to do – business was the keyword, business and a good, decent name. Cal had covered both.
Ruth had convinced herself that everything was for the best. She had paid no heed to Rose's objections.
She's a girl, barely seventeen. What does she know about life? – had been her major reason for not taking her motives into account.
Shortly Cal had taken them on a trip to Europe – Paris, Rome…beautiful museums and palaces. Ruth felt like living the dream, she had always longed for. Her own husband had looked like a beggar next to Cal now.
Cal had acted like the perfect gentleman, while Rose had been snippy and talked back. Once more Ruth had asked herself, why her stubborn daughter couldn't just be a normal high society girl. Rose had never been really interested in money.
'You'll see how much you require them, once you've lost them.'
Her attitude hadn't changed. Rose hadn't paid attention, but simply added to her tenacity, causing not only Ruth, but Cal now too to really become frustrated. What did this girl want? He was offering her the world. At one time in Nice, Ruth for the first time noticed an argument between them.
Cal had bought a dress for Rose, real exquisite embroidered with laces, stunning, beautiful. But it had one mistake – it came from Cal and since Rose had instantly chosen not to like him, she decided don't to like the dress as well.
When he had shown her, she had rolled her eyes and just feigned an uneasy laugh.
At dinner she had put on something else.
Ruth had seen Cal's furious eyes, with a hint of sadness behind. In his mind she had overdone it. This girl here, she wasn't the angel that her mother had described her to be, she was neither passive nor listening to any of his words. He had had enough.
Rose had quickly excused herself, faked some illness.
What happened next Ruth would never know. Cal had followed her upstairs and on the next day, the reserved, but otherwise cheerful Rose had never smiled again.
Ruth hadn't dared to ask her, because she had feared that the answer might not correspond with her opinion about Cal.
Returning from the cemetery – she had been visiting her grave ever since Rose's funeral – she heard that slight ruffling again. It came from his room. There was no doubt about it.
"Mrs. Dewitt Bukater?"
Ruth looked up the stairs; her head was drawn to the voices.
"Should I make you some tea?"
Had he gotten himself, some new girl? Just replaced her daughter – one more?
Ruth was disgusted. There had been some – woman – already during their trip to Europe. At least Ruth had been able to convince Cal not to take her back with them to America. What a scandal that would've been. Rose not having been able to draw Cal to her…not being able to make her his one and only…
Edith didn't await an answer and simply made some tea for Ruth.
Her thoughts went back to that day far away in Nice. Now she scolded herself for not being more interrogative.
Ruth sat down, while waiting for the tea.
The noises from above wouldn't stop. She had already heard them at night, believed them to be her imagination at first, but at the moment she couldn't ignore them anymore.
Cal had forgotten her daughter. He wasn't taking any trouble in hiding it. Simply inviting that woman here and…Ruth felt a lump built up in her throat as she tried to think of some explanation for that mess.
"Phooey…"
Finally the noises stopped.
Cal came down shortly after. Dressed neatly as always, one wouldn't think he had been in such a stressful situation just minutes before. Ruth wanted to slap him.
How dare he would act like this!
My daughter hasn't been dead for three weeks.
Anger built up inside her and Ruth the ice-queen, as Molly Brown had referred to her on the Titanic, had trouble to pull herself together.
"Smells good," he said smiling brightly.
"It's rice with chicken on salad. Isn't finished yet," Edith told him.
"No problem," Cal was beaming with happiness.
He was in a great mood.
Ruth shuddered inwardly. Her husband had been in fantastic mood every time; he had shared his bed with her. After Rose's birth however this times had slowly and stately gotten fewer and fewer. And by the time she had been seven, stopped altogether. Well she had, Edwin had simply exchanged her bed with those of other women.
Cal took the seat beside her.
"Nice weather outside. One wouldn't think that it is April," he laughed.
Ruth didn't answer him. She would've had to tell him something that wasn't pleasant for both.
When she had come home earlier, the door to his study had been open. Poking inside she had seen him at the backside, heard him giggling and the clear voice of a woman. She hadn't confronted him back then.
After all, they hadn't married for love. So what was she expecting?
She had simply walked away from the door, gone out again and returned afterwards from her shopping trip as usual. He hadn't noticed anything.
But now, it wasn't just her business anymore. Her daughter was involved. Her dead, sweet little daughter and here sat this man, grinning and narcissistic, dishonouring the memory of her Rose.
Calmly she took the teacup, her eyes focusing on the kitchen door.
"Are you planning on marrying that girl?" she popped out the questioning, as calmly as possible.
Cal almost dropped his glass over the table.
"Pardon me?" he was laughing nervously, trying to hide his anxiety.
She knew that he had clearly understood her.
Slowly, wanting to make it even more apprehensive for him she turned her head in his direction, making a real girly like expression on her face.
How he's yet to tell me the truth.
"Rose hasn't even been dead for a month…"
The usual bossy, self-confident, arrogant Cal was growing white.
Surely he hadn't seen that coming. He was completely taken off guard.
Her eyes…so much like….Rose's. No wonder now they had been mother and daughter.
Ruth was silently snipping with her fingers, tipping with one on the table. She was growing angrier by the minute.
"Do you think…ahem…that the presence…of this person is….needed here?" she stated quietly stopping many times to clear her throat and to make sure Cal was hearing every word.
Both understood – it wasn't a question. Cal nervously moved around in his chair.
Why couldn't he just tell to shut up, like he always done with Rose?
What do you want, you old witch? Rose is dead and it's my business!
But something inside him with constantly holding him back, when it came to Ruth…she had that…he couldn't describe it. In a way she was the only person he really feared. She was the only one he respected.
"I totally forgot. I still need to fill up some papers. Don't wait for me at dinner," he stammered quickly, pulling himself together, feeling like a little boy besides her.
Ruth couldn't help but snicker herself, when he had finally left. Caledon Hockley nervous and at a loss of words was something one didn't see every day. She took out an old photo of Rose, before her engagement to Cal at about fifteen, from her purse and studied it carefully.
I haven't been a very good mother to you, while you were still alive. But I don't give a damn on myself, if I'm not able to protect your memory.
When Edith at last came out with the dinner, she couldn't find either one.
Ruth had lain down as well.