Chapter 31: A Sign

Jack sits on a bench in Central Park, pencil in hand, drawing two children splashing in puddles nearby. He's trying his hand at sketching moving images, much as Emma did. He slightly envies Emma's patience to capture a subject at the moment, he's so used to having his subjects pose for long periods of time, to capture every detail, especially the hands, those were always the most difficult and required a lot of attention.

He watches as the young children's parents eventually come and take them away, leaving Jack with an unfinished portrait. He sighs and looks for something else to draw. He sees a young couple walking along one of the paths by the garden. He sighs, fighting back a few tears. He opens a fresh page and tries to capture their likeness on paper. He had bought a new sketchbook and used his drawing to distract himself from his rather depressing and fruitless search for Rose.

He missed Rose, a lot. Ever since he got out of the hospital, he's been trying to find her. It has not been easy. He is basically back where he started from when he was 15, alone, no money, no hopes or dreams. At least when he was in Europe, he was with Fabrizio, a friend he could trust and travel with, someone to share his fears and problems with. He has tried finding some of her connections, looking for her name somewhere, even trying to find any friends she might be in New York. However, he only knew so much about her so his search was rather limited. He went from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, looking for odd jobs to make a little money for himself. Busting tables, some construction, drawing for ten cents when he was desperate; anything that paid even a little bit. Most of what he made went towards food and room and board. He never stayed in one place for a few days before trying to find someplace else to find work.

He sighs as the couple he was drawing begin to walk off into the distance.

Why did Rose even fall for me in the first place? I have nothing to offer her... and if she was here, we'd probably be cold, hungry and sleeping under some bridge. Maybe Cal was right, I am just a gutter rat...

He closes up his new sketchbook and begins walking. He has only a few cents in his pocket. He offered to draw people, but no one seemed interested.

"I guess I can forget about a bed tonight..." he sighs.

His stomach growls, and he heads towards an area where he might be able to get a drink and something to eat. He finds a small pub and sits inside. He orders a sandwich and a cup of whiskey. He drinks the bitter liquid, hoping its strength will take his mind off the fact he doesn't have a place to spend the night.

He eats his sandwich as other patrons mingle about around him. Several men are playing billiards in the corner, laughing and drinking heavily. He sees a woman sitting in the corner, chatting up a gruff looking man. She is dressed provocatively so Jack knows she's negotiating for sex. Another few men are smoking big cigars in the centre of the room, devouring ribs off a large platter. The bartender is polishing his glasses and wiping down the counter.

"Refill ole sport?" he asks in a thick Jersey accent.

"No thank you, I don't have enough to pay for it," Jack mutters.

"Alright then..." the bartender says, before going back into the kitchen. Jack finishes his food and looks down at the counter. He finishes his drink, trying to numb the feelings of worry about where he was going to sleep tonight. So far he had been lucky and found rather sheltered places to sleep but not this time. It was also unusually cold for the end of April and it rained a lot. Tonight, he was without money and without shelter.

Jack pays for his meal and heads outside. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, one of his last and lights it up. He takes in a deep drag and looks up at the greying sky. It is definitely going to rain. Jack starts wondering if there was a bridge nearby that he could sleep under.

He inhales more smoke. He slightly smiles when he thinks about what Emma said about cigarettes killing him. He knows that, but he's been smoking a lot more since the disaster, it takes the stress away of losing his friends and the disaster as a whole. He thinks about Emma and what she might be doing in heaven. Drawing maybe, smiling and laughing. At least she was with her parents now, all her pain was gone...

Jack is nearing the end of his cigarette when two other men come around the corner, also smoking. They stop at the door to finish their butts.

"So did you hear that the local pastor is looking for painters?"

"No really?"

"Yes, the church is trying to restore some of their works of art. They are hiring a few blocks down the street. I hear you can get paid for it... My wife has talked about the women in her church group raising the money to have the church restored"

"That is very generous of them, it is about time that church was freshened up,"

"Indeed..."

The men drop their cigarettes on the ground and head inside.

Painting! Jack thinks to himself. I could do some of that. It's something I'm good at. A little money could really help...

He puts out his cigarette and begins walking down the street. He asks an elderly woman where the nearest church is and she directs him.

He walks along the streets, pulling his coat up to keep out the cold. The wind is picking up and fat raindrops begin to fall. He also has not changed his clothes in a while, only the outfit that he wore on Titanic. The doctor at the hospital had given him some money to help him, but most of it went for the sketchbook and pencils. He was only able to buy a jacket for himself to keep out the elements.

Jack continues to walk until he finds the church. It is rather small, in a quiet neighbourhood. It actually reminds Jack of more of a house than a church. As he gets closer, he sees that there are stain glass windows and large wooden doors at the entrance. He had never been particularly religious in his lifetime, especially after his parents died and he hadn't set foot in a church in a long time.

He goes up and knocks on the church door.

An elderly man opens the door. He is dressed in all black, except for a part of his round collar which has a fraction of white beneath his throat. The man looks at Jack up and down with his gentle eyes over a pair of thin golden glasses. His lips form into a warm smile.

"Good evening to you, sir..." the man smiles.

"Hello, I heard in the small pub up the road that you are looking for artists."

"Why yes, we are, to re-paint some of our imagery on the walls and a few statues of patron saints."

"I'm an artist sir and I was wondering if I could help you?"

"Absolutely my son...may I see some of your drawings?"

Jack swallows and hands his folder over. He has only drawn so much since he got out of the hospital and not all of them were appropriate. Once, he walked into a bar and met a prostitute who was willing to pose for him. It reminded him of his time in Paris and his time Rose. He removes any nudes because he knows the pastor would disapprove of them. A lot of them were also unfinished. He picks his best and hands them over to the man. The pastor looks them over with serious eyes, Jack can't help but feel a little bit nervous.

"These are quite good," the pastor says after a few moments. "It is clear that the Lord gave you a gift."

"Yes..." Jack mumbles.

"We could certainly use your talents here," the pastor smiles.

"That's great!" Jack gasp in excitement.

"You can begin tomorrow if you like. We're still in the designing process, but painting will start soon."

"Thank you so much!" Jack smiles. He then swallows. "Does this job...uh..."

"Pay?" the pastor grins at the young man.

"Yes," Jack grimaces, turning red.

"It's not a lot, but a fair amount for a young feller like you."

"Thank you," Jack says.

There is a long silence as the wind blows through the trees outside the church.

"Is there something else?" the pastor asks.

Jack swallows hard. He doesn't want to intrude, but he needs a place to stay for the night, just until he earns some of that money.

"I uh...um...what I meant to say was...would it be possible...if it is not too much trouble to...uh..."

"To stay here?" the pastor says, staring over his glasses with a knowing smile.

"If it's not too much trouble,"

"Certainly not, we never turn away a lost soul in need of shelter."

"I wish I could give you something for your generosity but..."

"Dear boy, the Lord offered many things to many people and never once asked for anything in return except to love one another, we would be happy to welcome you here."

Jack smiles. He feels so relieved and happy, something he has not felt in a while.

"Thank you so much," he says. "I can't tell you how happy I am..."

The pastor offers his hand and Jack shakes it.

"I promise I will help with whatever else you need in order to pay you back!" Jack says.

The pastor smiles. "There is no need son, your presence is payment enough."

The pastor steps aside to allow Jack in from the cold rain. The church is much bigger than Jack had anticipated. There are pews lining the main floor and several stain glass windows on all the walls. There was a large altar in the centre, surrounded by candles flickering. In between the stain glass windows, were various holy images and depictions of different scenes from the Bible. Jack could only see a few and there were statues in all the corners of what Jack assumed were the patron saints. The icing on the cake was when he looked up, he saw a golden ceiling, engraved and carved with extravagant detail, with many more images on the tiles. He could see that some of the images were indeed in need of re-painting and Jack was more than happy to lend a hand. The ceiling was like a giant canvas that he could paint and he knew that a lot of work must have gone into creating these works of art.

"It's beautiful!" Jack says.

"It is indeed, now I'll show you to your room,"

"Thank you," Jack says. "My name is Jack Dawson."

"You may call me Father Bill," the elderly man smiles.

...

Jack spends the next week or so in the church. He assists in the designing and painting. It's a long process, but he enjoys it. The other painters he works with are very nice and talk to him, treating him as an equal. He feels so at home with the different colours and being able to sketch out the different images on the walls and ceilings. It relaxes him in some ways and allows him to forget his troubles. Jack sees Father Bill quite often, to check on the progress, Jack was offered a small room next to the organ where the choir sang. Every morning he was awakened by a young man, playing loud songs and the choir practicing. It certainly was not the perfect setting, the room was cramped and dusty, but he had a roof over his head and a job for the time being.

The painting was always put on hold for Sunday mass where Jack would sit in the back and listen to Father Bill preach to the congregation. Not a lot of what the pastor says makes sense to him, but it is nice to hear someone talk about positive things, about mercy and the goodness of people. It puts Jack in a better mood.

However, no matter how happy his life may be going, Jack was still upset over Rose. He had been so busy making money that his search for her had come to a grinding halt. As he paints, he begins to wonder what Rose might be doing. Was she still with Cal? Was she married to him? Was she living alone? Was she following her dreams?

All these questions swirled in his mind as the painting continues.

...

One day, Jack is craning his body to reach a tile on the ceiling. His body is sore and stiff; he now knows what Michelangelo felt like when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. At around lunchtime, he climbs down from the scaffolding and goes to get a drink of water. The lead painter stops him in his tracks.

"No, no, no Dawson, you've got it all wrong!" one of the painters shouts. "Mary Magdalene is supposed to be washing the Lord's feet, not the dishes. Plus, there are smudges everywhere and the brushwork is sloppy!"

Jack feels his fists tense up. "Look I followed the directions exactly. I spent all morning on that,"

"And you will spend all afternoon on it until you get it right!" the head painter yells.

"I need a break, and I'm not painting over it again. Besides what's the big deal if it's a little inaccurate?"

"The big deal is I want this to be perfect for Father Bill. He told me what he wanted and he wanted them accurate. I designed it and this is the way I want it!"

"You want it, you paint it!" Jack barks back.

"I'm in charge and I say fix it!" is the response.

"No God Damn way!" Jack yells so loudly that his voice echoes off the walls.

The other painters around him gasp and glare at him. Jack steps back and storms out for a cigarette. Once outside he tries to relax, the painter reminds him a lot of Cal. It's his way or the highway apparently. Plus, everything had to be perfect, like everything in that man's society! He feels the need to punch something and the cigarette does little to calm him down.

The door of the church opens quietly. Jack doesn't look up at first and sits on the stone steps of the church. Someone comes and sits down next to him

Jack swallows hard and turns to see Father Bill sitting with him.

"Come to fire me?" Jack grumbles, spewing out cigarette smoke.

"No son, I just came to see if you are alright."

"I'm fine," Jack says quickly.

"You do not sound fine son."

"What makes you say that?" Jack mumbles.

"Your anger. I can tell you are not an angry person, but something is indeed bothering you. I see the sadness in your eyes, you have seen a lot in your life and you have lost someone close to you..."

Jack is surprised that the pastor was able to pick up it.

"How did you know that?"

"I can see things, I've travelled far and wide and seen many faces. I've seen faces that express pure joy like when they get married or baptize their child. And I've seen those who express pure sadness, often when they have been through a lot of hardships or lost someone close to them. You, my son, are a part of the latter, you are lost and in need of a bit of care and guidance."

There is a long pause as both Jack and the pastor sits in the noonday sun, watching people walk by the church, often stopping to wave and smile at Father Bill.

"You're right," Jack says. "I have been through a lot in the past month, I've lost many people close to me and I guess it's made be a bit bitter towards others."

"And that is completely normal, even Jesus got mad once, let his emotions. No one is ever perfect and no one is happy forever. Nor are they sad forever. It seems to me that you just need someone to listen to you. Allow you to open up and let your feelings be heard. Then maybe you can find solace and some guidance."

"How do I do that?" Jack asks.

"You know, God himself is an excellent listener," Father Bill says with a twinkle in his eye. The pastor then gets up and goes inside the church.

Jack ponders for a little while as the painters finish up for the day. He apologizes to the head painter and spends the rest of the day fixing his mistake. The supplies are soon put away and all of them go home for dinner. Jack is soon alone in the church.

Father Bill's words echo in his ears. He decides maybe the old man was right and he should just talk...

He kneels down in a few and folds his hands together.

"Hello God," he mumbles to himself. "This is Jack Dawson, I'm the son of Jack and Kathy Dawson, who are probably up there with you, if at all..."

He sighs again. He was never much into praying, he stopped believing in God after his parents died. He admits in a way he tried blaming God for taking his parents away so soon, but he couldn't. The fire was no one's fault and it just happened. Just as the Titanic did.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but I wanted to know if you could help me in any way, you see I met this amazing girl on the Titanic and...I know it was only for three days, but I fell in love with her, but now...I've lost her. I don't know where she is and I'd really like to find her again. I know I did something bad, stealing her away from another man, but he was much worse than anyone I've ever met. I'm just hoping that you might be able to help me find her. I just want her to be safe and for her to follow her dreams."

He stops.

"I also wanted to say I'm sorry if I ever blamed you for anything that happened in my laugh. I guess I just needed someone to blame, but you never did anything. Nothing was your fault. I just felt like I needed to take my anger out on someone. I've lost my best friend, some more close friends, my parents and I guess I'm just frustrated and mad that everything happened...I feel pretty unlucky and helpless... I'm sorry..."

"I guess there isn't much more to say, but thank you for listening...Amen."

Jack leans back and looks at the statue of Jesus and the Virgin Mary another painter was restoring. He gives a small smile.

"God Almighty, is that you Mr. Dawson?"