ALL THE WAY
Chapter Nineteen
May, 1930
Ruth DeWitt Bukater hated trains. They were
unnecessarily noisy, congested with people, dirty, and, to put it simply, quite
boring. There was nothing to do but sit and keep oneself occupied with a book
or sewing. And traveling alone made things worse because you had no one to talk
to besides your neighbors, who were usually annoying. All this was made
especially true when one held a coach class, not a high class ticket. Ruth
didn't care for coach class, either. It wasn't the people or anything like
that, it was just simply the lack of privacy that got to her. But that was all.
All around her people were doing their best
to put up with the unbearable heat that had hit them in western Illinois; they
were now in California. Ruth, like so many people, fanned herself with an old
magazine and leaned as close to the window as she possibly could. She couldn't
figure out why it was so warm in mid-May. Back in New York, the temperatures
weren't nearly as high as they were out west.
"Sure is hot, ain’t it?"
Ruth turned toward the man next to her who
had made the ridiculous comment. She was about to retort something witty back
to him about his horrible grammar and the fact that she knew it was hot, but
kept her mouth shut and instead just smiled. She was in no mood to speak with
anyone right now.
It had been four days since they had left New
York. And Ruth got more nervous with every state line they crossed. She was
going to California, Santa Monica specifically, to visit her friend Emma
Marshall, who had just recently moved with her husband from Ruth's
neighborhood. He retired and they decided to move someplace warmer, and
somewhat calmer. That had been months ago, and Ruth had finally gotten time off
from her job to visit them. It wasn't the visit, though, that Ruth was somewhat
nervous about...it was California in a whole. She hadn't been out west since
Rose's death, and well, she feared it would spark too many memories. Her
daughter had loved Santa Monica when they had visited to many years ago, and
Ruth never heard the end of how Rose wanted to move out there. Even now, Ruth
felt haunted by the city.
In fact, she felt haunted by her daughter's
spirit. Ruth couldn't shake the feeling that Rose was still around. Maybe it
was the fact that she never had any tangible evidence that Rose had died, or
maybe it was just that Ruth now felt guilty. Either way, she couldn't think of
her daughter without pain filling her heart. She was going to have to work very
hard during this trip to keep a good head. And even if she made it to Santa
Monica in one piece, the next two weeks were going to be torture. This needed
to be done, though, and maybe once she left, she would feel better.
As she turned back towards the window and
continued her pointless staring out at the moving scenery, her mind once
drifted back. It had been eighteen years, almost to the very day, since she had
been thrown out and cut off by that bastard of a family, the Hockleys. After
the Titanic disaster, they had taken her under their wing for about a month, seeing
to it that she attended the funeral services for Rose and making sure that she
kept quiet about Jack Dawson. But as soon as the press lifted their watch off
the family, they tossed Ruth out, giving her about two hundred dollars. Other
than that, she just had the clothes on her back and a prayer. Sucking up her
pride, she jumped on the first train out of Pittsburgh to New York City. It was
in New York that she met Emma Marshall and her husband, John. Ruth had been
wandering around a neighborhood, looking for a place to stay, when they called
to her from their front lawn. Ruth had walked up to them, introduced herself,
and then explained part of her situation. The Marshals, excitedly, exclaimed
that they had a room available in their boarding house. It was then that Ruth
noticed the huge building behind her. It looked clean enough, and right then,
she could have cared less that it was not first class. So she took them up on
their offer and moved in.
It was the first night in the boarding house
when Ruth had had the transformation as it was now referred to. Back then, she
had still been the starchy, uptight, and to put it bluntly, bitch that she had
been all of her life. She had known no other way of acting. That's how she had
been raised, and that's how her parents were before that. It was just the way
things were done. And Ruth used to think all of that was okay. But as she was
lying there on the bed that first night, listening to the sounds and taking in
everything around, she had an odd feeling come over her. And then all at once,
she saw clearly that the Hockleys and that whole upper class society were what
were the problem...not her daughter and certainly not Jack Dawson. Ruth had
laid there and cried for hours, realizing how horrible she had been. The worst
part was that her daughter was now dead, and she couldn't tell her how she now
felt. It was then and there that Ruth decided the only way to make it up to
Rose was to change. And after several years, and a lot of help from the Marshals,
she did change. She replaced her old ways with new, healthier ones. And Ruth
now had to admit, she was happier than she ever had been. It was just too bad
that it took Rose's death to get that through her head.
The thought of Jack Dawson had remained a
sore spot for several years in Ruth's heart and mind. In a way, she had blamed
him fully for what had happened. If it weren't for Jack, Rose would have gotten
into a lifeboat that night and escaped with her life. But every time Ruth
thought of that, she had to remind herself that Rose would now be married to
Cal. The thought made her shudder. It took longer than it should have, but Ruth
finally came to terms with Jack and now, she even felt a touch of sadness for
him whenever he entered her mind. He had been a very nice boy. Kind, funny,
and, Ruth even had to admit, handsome in a boyish way. He really had been a
great person. And he made Rose happy. That was the most important thing. Rose
had been blissfully happy her last few days, and that made Ruth a little glad.
A rather large bump on the train brought Ruth
back to the present. She shook her head in an attempt to clear some of the
thoughts and then yawned. She was tired, and in desperate need of some decent
food. Sighing, Ruth leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. This trip was
already getting to her...and she had hardly been gone.
"Tired?"
Ruth opened her eyes and looked around. That
same annoying man who had made the comment about the weather had spoken to her.
He was grinning in a ridiculous way that was almost comical. Ruth sighed and
shot him a look, letting the man know that she was extremely disturbed by him.
He blushed a little bit and then turned away. Ruth kind of felt bad...she
didn't want to be mean. It's just that when she was exhausted like this, she
got a little cranky and would sometimes go back to her old ways.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled to the
man, although she offered no more than that before she turned back to the
window.
At least this is a break from work, a little voice in the back of her head reminded her.
Ruth had to smile and admit, that yes, at least it was a break from work. Then,
if she admitted that, she had to admit that work wasn't so bad. She actually
had fun. Ruth had started out working as a counter girl at a department store
in New York, a job she credited to John Marshall, who had gotten her the
position when he was working as the manager then. She had shocked herself when
she found that she didn't mind working, and that it was not at all what she
expected. From the counter job, she worked her way up, even working as a
seamstress during the war, and was now an assistant buyer for the store. She
loved it. She could put her past experience with fashion to use and she got
paid for it. Plus, she knew how to deal with the people who came into the store
who could actually afford an assistant buyer, and that made her popular. The
pay was fine, enough for a single woman to support herself.
"Next stop...Santa Monica, California.
All persons getting off at this stop best be ready! Once again, next stop Santa
Monica!" The porter called this as he walked down the aisle of the train.
All around Ruth, people started getting up and moving around, gathering their
belongings and rounding up whoever they brought with them. Ruth looked down at
the floor; the only bag she had brought was sitting right there. She didn't
need to stir just yet. She instead looked back outside to get a look at the
town. It had most certainly changed and she was eager to see how progress had
affected Santa Monica. She remained there for a few minutes, but after a while
she realized that she wasn't going to get much of a look and sank back in her
seat.
In no time at all, the train came to a
screeching halt in the station. The stop was so abrupt that Ruth was actually
thrown forward and had to put her arms up to prevent herself from hitting the
back of the seat in front of her. Once she was properly seated again, she
stayed there, watching as people got up much too quickly, thus preventing
anyone getting out in any sort of order. Ruth never understood why some people
just couldn't have the patience to wait three minutes. It stayed like this for
some time until the crowd finally began to thin out. It was then that Ruth
stood up and made her way toward the exit. She waited her turn, and then jumped
down, happy to be on solid ground again. After getting away from the initial
crowd, she stood on her tiptoes, searching the area, until she spotted the Marshals
about three hundred yards away. John, taller than most people, was towering over
everybody around, waving frantically. And every few moments, Emma's head would
pop up as she jumped up and down. Ruth, after checking to see that she had
everything, waved back to them. John pointed to an information center that was
set apart from all the people, and Ruth nodded. Here she was. Santa Monica,
California.
"I have got to be crazy," she
mumbled to herself, before taking a deep breath and then making her way though
the crowded train station towards the information center. This was, to put it simply,
going to take guts.