July 17, 1923
Chicago
Jack Dawson stood at the corner of Michigan and Adams, staring across the street at the great building that housed the Art Institute of Chicago. While the building itself was rather plain, he could not help but notice the sculptures at the front of the building. On either side of the wide front steps were two bronze lions. They were as much a Chicago landmark as the famous Marshall Field’s clock. Tourists and students scurried back and forth across the wide street, dodging automobiles, trucks, and horse drawn carriages. Grinding and honking sounds filled the air. He was here to showcase several of his own works of art, which he had had the inspiration to draw over the last three years. Since leaving NYC in the fall of 1919, Jack had spent his time traveling the States, finally settling in Chicago after deciding to devote his time to his talent–art. His work hung in several small art galleries in town. It was in one of these where, by chance, he was offered the opportunity to have his art on show for three days at the famous Art Institute. So now here he was, on this very hot morning. Casually, he allowed his suit jacket to hang over his shoulder and he took in the surroundings of the building as he ascended the steps into the gallery. The cool marble interior of the Art Institute stood out before him. A lady stood just inside the door handing out guidebooks. Jack refused it politely before making his way to the section of the gallery where his work would be showcased.
*****
The blistering July heat was almost too much for Rose Calvert to take as she walked with her children. The roads were dusty and she felt there was no air at all. She wore a dark green cotton dress in the warm sun. Her auburn hair was pinned up and her engagement and wedding bands glittered in the sunshine. Lizzy skipped in the dust, dirtying her new black shoes. Rose had scolded her eldest daughter many times, but it still made no difference. She was ten now and wore a mint green dress with her hair in a long plait. Six-year-old Olivia walked quietly, holding her mother’s hand. She was no trouble at all. She did exactly as she was told, although Lizzy did sometimes lead her astray. Charlie held Rose's other hand. At almost four he was always into mischief and a handful for Rose, but today he had behaved well up until now. Robert was working here in Chicago, so Rose had decided to take the children to the Art Institute. It would be her first time visiting and she hoped the children would enjoy it. She herself had loved art since she was a child and, of course, owned many pieces when she was married to Cal. Then there was Jack, on board the Titanic. He had mentioned his love of Monet, but for now she had to push away any memories of Jack.
Gliding up the front steps, the children gasped once inside at the marble interior. The scuffing sounds of their shoes could be heard as she ascended the steps. Once inside, the air was a little cooler. Approaching the front desk, Rose quietly asked for a guidebook. A small old lady offered Rose the book and Rose smiled thankfully.
“Where do we start. Mama?” Charlie asked, his blue eyes taking in the opulence of the room.
“At the beginning, darling. Come on. Stay together. Don't go running off.” Rose held out her hand to her youngest and he took it. She knew what he was like, running off to have adventures of his own. He was so unlike Olivia, although in looks they were obviously brother and sister, with the same strawberry blond curls and large blue eyes, the button noses they had obviously inherited from their father, and the same naturally tanned skin. They were beautiful children.
When they reached the atrium where the great staircase was located, Rose arched her head back and let her jaw drop. She craned her neck from side to side to try to take in the beauty of this area. Skylights lighted it from above. The wide marble steps were worn on the sides. Approaching the stairs, their shoes made scuffing noises on the marble floor. The murmuring of voices could be heard, the swish of the lady's skirts, and gasps of awe. Rose opened her guidebook on the Impressionists. Starting up the stairs, she called to the children to follow her. The air was awfully hot and she had no idea how she would cope in this heat.
“Wow.” Lizzy covered her mouth in awe as she gaped at some of Monet's work. Rose smiled at her eldest daughter.
“Mama? Why is there just a picture of lilies?” Olivia asked her mother quietly. She was confused as to why the pictures weren't larger and more brilliant.
“Because that's what Monet is famous for painting, darling. He does landscapes. Look over there. There's some more.” Rose pointed and Olivia picked up her skirts and went to have a look.
“More lilies,” Olivia announced, sounding almost disappointed. Rose sighed and laughed slightly, guessing art was not something Olivia liked.
Charlie had seated himself on the floor. It was felt cool against his legs and he removed his hat.
“Charlie, stand up. You'll be filthy,” Rose ordered. “And put your hat in your pocket. I don't want you losing another one.” Charlie sighed heavily before picking himself up and following his mother. The air was stuffy and he could think of better things to do than walk around the art museum. Today was a day when his mother had dressed him for the occasion. He pulled on the collar of his shirt in an attempt to loosen it. Rose smiled, remembering Jack on board the Titanic and how uncomfortable he was in evening attire.
Lizzy wandered towards the Degas section of the Impressionists, her mind completely enthralled by the art which stood before her. Olivia, on the other hand, was less amused. She was stuffy and hungry, while Charlie simply found the day out boring.
A group of three men stood around Jack's paintings. He had attracted quite a few collectors and was largely proud of his work. Seven pieces were on show at the gallery, four simple charcoal drawings and three oil paintings. Santa Monica pier was one of them, the ocean in the distance, and just by glancing at the painting, memories of the time he and Rose spent there came flooding back to him. Loosening the top button of his shirt, Jack began to make small talk with the gentlemen admiring his work. They were of the middle class, he would say, dressed smartly, around their mid-thirties. It was around three when admirers seemed to cease, and Jack thought of packing things away. He wanted nothing more than a cold drink to finish off the lovely day. He was happy enough, having encountered flocks of admirers, and he decided it was a success.
A small boy approached Jack from nowhere. He appeared no more than five, looking around and slightly lost. Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, Jack started towards the boy.
“Hello. Are you lost?” he asked quietly, so as not to scare the boy. The boy backed away slightly, as if knowing he was in trouble now. “Where are your ma and pa?” Jack asked again, but received no reply. Loosening his shirt buttons once again, Jack glanced around but saw nobody in sight. “Which way did you come from?” he questioned once more in an attempt to find some indication as to where the boy’s parents were. The boys eyes narrowed and glanced up at him.
“Did you draw that?” the boy's tiny voice asked. Jack turned and smiled as the boy pointed towards an oil painting of a man and woman dancing. Colors whirled around on the canvas, creating the image of a couple obviously in love.
“Yes, I did.” Jack smiled proudly. “Do you like it?”
The boy simply shrugged and sat himself on the floor, crossing his legs and glancing upwards at the painting as if something was drawing him to it. Jack took a few strides closer to the boy and knelt over him. His face was friendly and he smiled at the boy. “Hey, little man. Where are your parents?”
Then a voice came, a voice he thought he would never hear again. The lovely child's voice of Lizzy. “Uncle Jack!” she cried, and before Jack could get to his feet, Lizzy threw herself in his arms and hugged him as though her life depended on it, a look of pure joy on her face. Jack whirled her around and smiled at her. His heart beat faster and before he could take anything else in, there she was–Rose. She stood in a lovely light green gown, her hair back to the gorgeous fiery red, and as Jack took in the length of her, he felt he was unable to move. He was floored by her beauty, and memories of the last time they had met came rushing back to him and he suddenly had the urge to vomit. Their eyes interlocked for several minutes, and it was as if time stood still. Neither of them knew what to do or say. But what could be said? Olivia clung to Rose's hand. She vaguely recognized the man before her from New York before Charlie was born, and she smiled a very shy smile.
Rose's eyes traveled from Jack to Charlie, her heart beating so fast she thought it would fall out of her chest. Charlie stood beside Jack, beside his father. Oh, Lord. This day was almost too much. As if in slow motion, Charlie picked himself up from the floor and glanced upwards at Jack. Oh, how alike they were–everything from their tanned skin to their eyes. The entire room whirled and for a moment Rose wanted to do nothing but run into Jack's arms and tell him how much she missed him, how much she loved him, and how every night she regretted not telling him she was going to have his baby. A few strays tears escaped Rose's eyes, and before she knew it, darkness surrounded her and her body fell to the floor in a collapsed heap.
*****
“Where am I?” a murmured voice came. Immediately, Jack ran to the bed where Rose had lain unconscious for over an hour. The room was cool, plain, and white. Jack watched as Rose writhed slightly, before blinking her eyes open. She squinted heavily and winced in pain from her headache. “Jack?” she asked, her eyes adjusting. Then, suddenly, she remembered that afternoon at the gallery…Jack…Charlie had wandered off, and when she had gone to find him, she had found him beside Jack, his father. “Oh, my God. The children…” Rose attempted to sit up in bed. Panic struck her. Where were the children?
“They're next door in the waiting room, Rose,” Jack assured her, and took a few steps closer to the bed. He felt like touching her hand, to let her know he was there for her, but he thought better of it. She was a married woman now, her wedding bands planted firmly on her finger for all to see. The sight was like a bullet to Jack's chest…blow after blow he had been dealt. An ambulance had been called moments after Rose had fainted and Jack had accompanied her to the hospital. He had made sure the children were all right before tending to Rose. He had watched her chest rise and fall for over an hour, the afternoon’s events almost too much for him to take in. Rose had become a mother once again, to a little boy this time, and he was beautiful, just like all of Rose's children. A doctor entered the room, interrupting both their thoughts. He checked something with a pencil on his clipboard before tucking the pencil behind his ear and finding his spectacles before putting them on.
“Mrs. Calvert, how are you feeling?” he asked, smiling.
“Woozy,” Rose replied, but truth be known, she didn't know how she felt. She could feel Jack's eyes burning into her and she attempted to avoid his gaze.
“As expected, Mrs. Calvert, I think it will be best for you to stay in hospital tonight, just for us to keep an eye on you.” The doctor removed his spectacles, placing them in his pocket. He placed his right hand on Rose's forehead, feeling her temperature. “Quite a temperature you had. Must be the heat.” The doctor smiled.
“Is she going to be all right?” Jack intervened. Rose was startled that he spoke and actually showed interest in her wellbeing.
“Yes. She will be fine, as will the baby, Mrs. Calvert.” The doctor nodded his head.
Upon hearing the word baby, Rose turned her attention to the doctor. Had she misheard him? Obviously so. “Um…I'm sorry?” she mumbled. Frowning, she attempted to sit upright in the small hospital bed.
“Your baby, Mrs. Calvert.”
“But I am not pregnant.” Rose shook her head. He was obviously mistaken. Where on earth had he produced such information from?
“Have you not experienced symptoms, Mrs. Calvert? Sickness, imbalance of hormones, maybe even movement from the baby?” The doctor was surprised that Rose refused to acknowledge she was pregnant.
“No. I would know if I was pregnant, doctor. I have carried three children previously.”
“Mrs. Calvert, you are around four months along, if I must guess. Your examination showed as much. Would you like to see the paperwork?” the doctor offered.
Feeling her eyes fill with tears, Rose's vision became hazy again. She did not reply to the doctor, nor did she acknowledge him as he left the room. Her breathing became rapid. She was four months pregnant? And she didn't know? Robert would be over the moon, but they hadn't been trying for a baby. Placing her hands over her eyes, she felt her heart sink. Removing her shaking hands from her eyes, she saw Jack through her blurry vision. He backed away slowly from the bed. It was at that moment that the realization hit him. He was in love with a woman who was married to another man, who was to have another man’s child. Violently, he shook his head. It was as if suddenly his head had cleared.
“I don't even know why I am here, Rose. Why did I come here with you? You are not my wife, nor any part of me anymore.” A pain stabbed through his heart. He was stupid to think that anything would come of his presence at the hospital.
“Jack…I…” Rose struggled with words, and her eyes silently pleaded with him to not leave her.
“You obviously do not need me here.” Heading for the door, Jack's hand hesitated on the doorknob. He took a last look at Rose. Her eyes red and puffy, her beautiful face…God, how he loved her. Shaking his head, he began to open the door.
“No!” Rose cried, holding out her hand as a sign for him to not leave.
“No, Rose. We both know I've loved you for too long. I need to move on now with my life, as you obviously have yours.”
“Jack, no,” Rose sobbed. She stretched out her hand for him to take. Jack caught sight of her wedding band once more, a sign that she was not his and never would be. It was the final twist of the knife in Jack's heart. “Congratulations, Rose. Good-bye.” With that he left the room, and Rose's life, just as she had left his life many times before. Jack heard her cries for him, but not once did he look back, and he swore he heard the words I love you, but still he carried on walking until he left the hospital grounds, and once outside after glancing once more back at the hospital building where the woman he loved was, he turned and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Ran away from Rose, and all he ever felt for her.