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“The water was frigid, piercing. Jack had not been lying when he told me water that cold would feel like knives on my skin. I could see ice forming in our hair. Even though my mind was consumed with this terrible chill, I looked down at Jack and told him the truth. I had known it since the party with the third class passengers.
“‘I love you, Jack.’ Jack looked at me with an intense stare and I could see deep pain in his eyes. He told me to not say goodbye yet, that this was not the night I was going to die. I could hear Jack strain against the cold as he said I would get onto a lifeboat and survive.
“As he spoke, I remembered the man floating next to us had a whistle, but I didn’t hear it anymore. I turned my head and saw this man wasn’t breathing. Then it hit me: Why was I special? That man died and not us yet. Why was I going to live but not Jack? Why couldn’t Jack live too if he was so sure I would? All of this was unfair. Jack saved me up to this point. What was stopping me from doing the same?”
Rose paused and watched Mr. Lovett glace at her granddaughter Lizzie, who signed with tears in the corners of her eyes. The crew behind them were motionless, waiting to hear the rest of the story.
“I looked back at Jack when he stopped for a breath and whispered to him: ‘No. We are both survivors.’ I then tried to roll to my side and slipped off the debris I was on. Jack didn’t say anything, maybe because he was too cold or just surprised by my movement. I told him to get on the float and after what seemed like hours, he did. Jack looked worn out, close to death. I felt the same. I swam over to the man with the whistle and started blowing into it. I don’t know how long I used it, but a yellow spotlight appeared and men started clambering aboard a lifeboat to make room for us.”
Rose then thought of how best to talk about the next chapter of her life, how to continue this story she never planned to tell in the first place. She was feeling spent, yet satisfied.
“Jack and I were each given blankets and space to lay down. My mind felt frozen, unable to believe I was away from Titanic and the people I boarded with. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jack shaking, his teeth chattering. All I wanted was for him to make it to morning. At some point, I fell asleep and awoke to the officer of our boat waving a flare at something. It was still dark out. I turned my head to see Jack with his eyes closed, but his chest rising and falling. I felt a wave of relief and closed my eyes again.
“Some time later, the sun rose into the sky and Jack and I were helped onto Carpathia. We survived the sinking of an ‘unsinkable’ ship. I found a place to sit on the lower deck, huddled with a cup of tea. Jack was laying silently to my left; there was a nurse tending to him with warmed blankets and brandy. Other survivors were mumbling, some huddled in groups. Every so often, someone would cry out from the horror. The sky was a pale blue, but I was so stiff, I could hardly tilt my head upwards.
“While watching Jack take a sip of brandy from the nurse’s flask, I heard footsteps behind me. Those footsteps. I knew who it was without turning to look. The only thing I could think was, ‘do not stop. Keep walking.’ I didn’t want him to stare and recognize Jack. My curiosity of how he looked in this state got the better of me, though, and I moved the blanket draped over me just enough to see the side of Cal’s face. He was disheveled, as close to humble as he would ever look. He didn’t see either Jack or I and went back to the upper deck. I was thankful we would not see him again.
“During our time on Carpathia, Jack started to regain his strength. He was eating and the color returned to his face. We talked about art, held hands on desk outside, and somehow coaxed laughter out of each other: almost like we hadn’t left Titanic. It took Carpathia three days to arrive in New York and on April 18th, a rain storm filled the sky and pelted us. The Statue of Liberty came into view that evening, we were that much closer to dry land. Jack had positioned himself against one of the outer railings, so he could see the surface of the ocean. I was a few yards behind him, staring up at the Statue as we went by. There, I felt this sense of wonder; I boarded a ship in England with people who never understood me, and now I had a second chance. A chance to make the life I wanted. With Jack. I was astounded. Would we get along? Where would we go? I pondered if Jack had the same questions in his mind. I started to notice my wet hair stick to my face when an officer from the ship approached me and asked my name for the survivors list. I said my name was Rose Dawson and the man went on his way.
“The docks of New York were chaos, but Jack and I meandered through the people together. We weren’t going to let each other out of sight, no matter what. We had no possessions, other than the blankets from Carpathia and a heavy wool coat Cal had draped on my shoulders days before. Among the thousands of people attempting to gawk at the survivors of Titanic, there were charity workers making themselves visible. They were handing out bundles of clothing and provisions, so Jack and I took what we could carry.
“We quietly walked out of the port without a penny to our names, and I felt liberated. We came upon a hostel that was letting survivors stay for free that night, so we took advantage. Once inside, Jack and I decided what we would do next. We loved each other and wanted to make a life as one. It wouldn’t be an average life, but it would suit us. We decided to not legally marry, as using my maiden name could allow my past life to haunt us. However, we were Rose and Jack Dawson from now on.
“Jack couldn’t wait to be away from the Atlantic. I didn’t blame him since the trauma of Titanic lingered all around. Not to mention the thought of my mother or Cal finding us the longer we stayed in the East. As we were trying to decide where to head next, I remembered our conversation aboard Titanic about some pier Jack had worked on. I asked him the name of it and he said the Santa Monica pier in Southern California. With a smirk, I told him I still wanted to ride a horse, he owed me. He laughed and agreed he owed me a lesson. I remember his eyes were illuminated with excitement and admiration, a hazel glow. Once up and out of the hostel, we sold Cal’s dried out coat to a pawn shop. Jack bought a folder and some art supplies, and with that we gathered up what little we had and headed to a rail yard.
“Trainhopping to California was less… comfortable than other travel I was used to. Between looking out for police searching train cars and the lack of running water, I was out of my depth. Yet, Jack was patient with me. He made sure to point out my metamorphosis from proper brat to hobo, but I didn’t have the option of luxury even if I wanted it. A highlight of the rides was watching the passing meadows and farmland together. The flowers blooming in the central plains took my breath away. The vast sea of grass and flowers was a sight to see. We saw farmers preparing their fields, planting grain. Jack opened up more about his childhood in Wisconsin, which was nothing but hard times. I clued Jack in on my father’s ill-fated business deals, which put me in Cal’s path originally. Conversation was so easy with him…”
Rose trailed off and looked past the monitors playing Titanic dive footage on loop. Her story was almost finished. She drank the last of her soda water and shifted her weight in her chair.
“As we rode through Los Angeles, the sun grew warm, as if welcoming us home. Jack soon teased that we were in Santa Monica, despite the dirty rails and service stations around us. A couple hired carriage rides later and we were at the beach. Jack rented a horse from a stable giving tourists rides in the surf and showed me how to pull myself up; how ride like a man. Getting balanced on the saddle took a couple tries, but once I was up, Jack sat behind me and held onto my waist. I had the reigns, in control.
“I felt tenderness toward the horses, an innate connection. Within a week of coming to town I took a job as a stable hand, cleaning out their stalls and watering them. My uniform would be men’s trousers and a railroad-type stripe shirt. Jack knew better than to question me when I set my mind to something, but he said work could be a good thing for me and he was proud of my choice. For once, I felt useful and needed. Of course Jack and I cared for each other, but these horses depended on someone coming to them most of the week. My income, though unglamorous, afforded us a small apartment a mile from the beach. Our own life. This stability let Jack pour drinks at a tavern one or two nights a week, with ample time for art.
“Since a fair amount of my days were occupied, Jack was at liberty to walk the city and draw. Sometimes he would set up a station on the pier and do portraits of tourists like he described before, but he preferred to be on the move. He would show me drawings of dogs tied to trees, people passing time outside of buildings, a mother tending to her children at the park. He never lost his gift: seeing people. He only honed his skills. I think having the free time in Santa Monica did him well; Jack was able to absorb society around him and make sense of some of it. A few weeks after settling into our apartment, he felt ready to do another portrait of me. This time, I was seated on a park bench gazing at some daisies, holding a parasol I just bought. Yes, I was clothed: in a pale purple cotton dress. By this time, I was beginning to wonder if anyone in town would find Jack’s drawings worthy of purchase. I definitely thought they were.
“One day while brushing a horse at work, I heard a chipper old man encouraging two girls, probably his granddaughters, to ride a horse together. Once the girls were off on their stroll, I heard the man speak about his recent dealings to another stable employee. Art deals, sales of paintings and photographs. This piqued my interest, and I walked over to the man when he was alone. He was tall and slender, with spectacles pinching the bridge of his nose. I introduced myself and hoped he would be friendly. He bowed and said his name was Stanley Grabowski.
“I politely responded, ‘Oh, I heard you speaking about an art sale. Do you have an interest in pencil drawings?’ Mr. Grabowski’s visual assessment of me was one of ‘why is this muck-covered woman speaking to me?’ but then his stare softened to a ‘why does this muck-covered woman speak so well? Who is this?’
“Mr. Grabowski asked me if I drew and I replied that my husband was the artist. I then offered that Jack focused on portraits and real-life scenes. Mr. Grabowski seemed curious, he asked for Jack’s name and said he would consider taking him on as a client. He gave me his calling card and told me to let Jack know he could come to his office on certain Thursdays. I thanked him and bid him a good day.
“When I arrived home that evening, I told Jack about who I met at the stable. When I finished, he asked, ‘so let me get this straight, you were shoveling shit and this art dealer was nearby and you approached him?’ He was puzzled but amused at this thought. I retorted, ‘ha, actually I was brushing my best mare. I was already through shoveling shit for the day. I went up to him after another stable hand walked away. I have his card for you.’ When Jack took the card from my hand, his eyes lit up with that familiar, hazel glow. He looked delighted, any nervousness was hidden from me.
“On the day Jack decided to call on Mr. Grabowski, I wished him good luck. Jack looked humble, but hopeful. After the meeting, Jack said Mr. Grabowski would take three of his drawings and hang them in his gallery in Los Angeles; he seemed impressed. If they sold, Mr. Grabowski would keep a percentage of the money. One of the drawings he gave over in this first batch was the one of me with the parasol. All three sold within two weeks. Jack and I were ecstatic; he felt like he was getting somewhere with his art. Mr. Grabowski required no contract, Jack could come by his office at will whenever he had something to sell. It truly was a lucky break. When the payment from the third piece came to us, we decided two things. First, we would go out dancing that evening. Second, we would take a trip, somewhere scenic. We booked a train north to some of the California mountains.
“We did this kind of cycle for some time: I’d work the horse stalls and show female visitors how to mount the horses and Jack would draw when he found inspiration or wanted a little extra money from the pier. The roller coaster workers knew our names, as did the frankfurter vendor. Every week or so, we would watch a play or go dancing. We had a few friends who would usually meet us at these social gatherings. Then when Jack was feeling confident, he would go through his portfolio and pick a few to offer to Mr. Grabowski. By God’s grace most sold, and we would then put away some money and plan to travel in upcoming months. Being out in nature was where we found the most peace. Jack and I visited Yosemite National Park and San Diego, beautiful areas.
“We were happy together. Of course we could get melancholy if one of us had a nightmare or flashback to the past, but we were able to cheer each other up most of the time. It always stayed the two of us; we never had any children. This wasn’t from lack of trying, however. It just wasn’t in the cards, I suppose. Jack did come home with a stray cat one day though, since it followed him through the park one afternoon.”
Rose saw Lizzie reach into her purse for a tissue, so she waited. Mr. Lovett patted Lizzie’s shoulder as she collected herself. Time for Rose to take a deep breath.
“As you can imagine, Jack was not a burley fellow. He never wanted to visit cold places, including the mountains in winter. The sinking gave him enough chill to last a lifetime. He did, however, indulge in his adventurous nature while working. Being at that tavern sometimes allowed him to listen to stories from all over the world from myriad of people. Drinks were easy to pour for people who had things to talk about, or who had things to forget. Jack would come home and tell me about these sometimes strange, sometimes enchanting people who would come by for a pint of ale or a bite to eat.
“But, it’s common knowledge that bars aren’t always quiet establishments. So… it was a Saturday, in June of 1913. Jack and I had a quiet afternoon together, I had worked an early morning shift at the stable; I was already home. I remember we had a light lunch of toast, cheese, and strawberries. Before he left to work at the tavern for the evening, I asked if I could come by for dinner, since I didn’t feel like cooking a meal. Jack said he would like that and gave me a kiss on his way out the door. The tavern was around 10 blocks away from our apartment, not a great distance.
“Around 6 that evening, I started to ready myself for dinner when I heard a knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but felt I needed to see who was there. I opened the door to a policeman, who took his cap off when he saw me. He asked me if I was Rose Dawson, which I replied affirmatively. I was then told the worst news of my life: Jack was dead. A man had walked up to the bar, attempted to grab the contents of the cash register, and Jack tried to fight him off. The man shot Jack and his fire was snuffed out instantly. Upon hearing this news, I fell to my knees and screamed into my hands. I was beside myself, stricken. After all the hardship Jack faced in life, that was it. I wasn’t able to get up from my entryway floor for hours. It was unbelievable. Yet, something inside told me this was not my end.
“I decided to have Jack cremated. I paid for his body to be turned to ash and I picked up his remains the following week. Once set on my next steps, I quit my job with the horses and went to Mr. Grabowski to inform him of Jack’s passing. He sounded very sorry and offered to buy the last of Jack’s art to help me pay my obligations. I thought that would be a good idea and brought Jack’s portfolio the following day. Feeling vulnerable but without anything to lose, I asked Mr. Grabowski if he knew anyone in films; I was moving inland. He gave me a questioning look, but then realization washed over him. He must have felt pity for me and said he knew a director in Los Angeles. Mr. Grabowski wrote down the address of a studio and the person’s name. He also paid me a sum for Jack’s art up front. I’ve never forgotten his kindness. Once done with that, I packed my bags and settled my bill with our landlord, who also took our cat. Before boarding the train east, I went to the beach a final time. I let Jack’s ashes fall into the water, telling myself he would be here forever; he belonged here.
“The film industry had a lot of young women looking to become actresses, so I was one of many. It was going to take me a few years to get my first credited roll on screen, but I didn’t know that yet. I was following a dream wholly my own, and I would make it come true one way or another. Yet… my partner, my true love wasn’t here to cheer me on anymore. As I sat on the eastward train, I gazed at a photograph taken of Jack and I that past spring. We were arm in arm, sitting on an old sofa inside a studio. Our clothes were plain; my hair was in a slight updo with curls everywhere. The look on Jack’s face was warm satisfaction, mine a giddy smirk. I felt on top of the world next to him.
“Through tears, my mind wandered back to the last conversation we had while intimate, the night before his death. Before falling asleep, Jack told me he was very grateful to have found me at the stern of Titanic. Winning that poker game was the best thing to ever happen to him, and he loved me. He also said this: ‘ you are the strongest woman I know, Rose. Keep surprising me.’ All I could do then on that train was hope this strength would find me.
“Jack and I were together for 14 months. 14 months that felt like a lifetime, but also went by in an instant. This man saw me for me. He taught me how to dream for myself. He stoked the fire burning inside me… I’m forever thankful. It still hurts knowing I couldn’t keep Jack from his end, but he knew he was loved and valued. I haven’t spoken of this period of my life before, it felt too private. But, I thank you all for listening to me now.”
With that closing, Rose wiped a single tear from her cheek and smiled at her audience. Mr. Lovett rubbed the back of his neck and nodded to Rose. Lizzie stood up and walked over to her grandmother and clasped her hands between her own and rubbed them. The rest of the crew started to head to the hallways to stretch their legs and smoke. Once Rose was back in her stateroom, she looked at Lizzie who was staring at the dresser displaying pictures from Rose’s past.
“Nan, was this photo taken in Santa Monica?” She was referring to the one of Rose riding the horse in the surf with a pier in the background.
“Yes dear, it was.”
“Where was Jack?”
“I believe he was doing portraits that day. He said he adored this shot of me.”
“And this one?” Lizzie pointed to another frame. It was the picture of Rose wearing pilot garb, looking like she was going to fly the plane next to her.
“Ah yes, this one was taken in the fall of 1912. Some pilots were attempting to start a flight school in Los Angeles and an instructor was taking townspeople into the air for a fee, to experience the novelty of flight. Jack and I each sat in that plane behind the pilot and got to fly. I couldn’t help but ask for my photo, I wanted to remember the feeling of flight forever.”
After bidding her grandmother goodnight, Lizzie shut the door to Rose’s stateroom. Rose then ran her hands through her snow-colored hair and let her out her chignon. She undressed and put on her nightgown. She had something to accomplish before going to sleep. Rose opened her outerwear trunk and pulled out what looked like a pin cushion with no pins. While sitting on her bed, she carefully unfurled the fabric ball and two items fell into her lap. One of them was a wallet-sized photograph, depicting two plainly clothed people, plainly in love. She placed it under her pillow. The other thing was the Heart of the Ocean. She cupped the necklace in her hand and walked out of her room. She was going outside to the rear deck of this research vessel.
On her way to the back of the boat, she remembered how dumbfounded she felt finding this necklace in Cal’s discarded coat on Carpathia. She had not known it was in there and did not want Jack to find out. Nor did she want the necklace. She made a promise to herself while looking at Jack’s back under the Statue of Liberty: she would never finance her life with Cal’s “help.” She would remake herself, with Jack’s support. However, she couldn’t just throw the piece away either. Once at the stern, into the water the diamond went. Rose watched the blue stone sink into the darkness, back where it belonged. The necklace was put to rest at the Titanic wreckage, like her old life from 84 years ago. She felt as light as a helium balloon.
“It’s done, Jack. I’m free at last,” she whispered.
Rose took her final breath in her borrowed bed that night, with blankets tightly around her body. Her soul went to the first place she felt at home: a sunny seashore with horses and a roller coaster. Rose was young again, barely 18, in an easy blouse and cotton skirt. Her curly red hair flowed down her back. She climbed on top of her best mare and looked ahead of her. She spotted another horse trotting towards her, with a young man lazily guiding it. The man wore a flannel shirt and had blonde hair combed back from his hazel eyes. Rose grinned as he got close.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Jack drawled, almost purring.
“I missed you,” Rose replied.
Once they were close enough, they kissed each other on the mouth and wove their fingers together.
“I was with you Rose, all this time. But please, catch me up on things.” Jack and Rose then rode off down the beach, their souls free for eternity.