JOHN AND ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Two
November 5, 1929
"Rose! Rose, I need to talk to
you," Ruth hissed, coming up behind her daughter as she was leaving the
studio for the day.
Rose jumped, startled, then whirled around
the face her mother. "Mother! Don’t do that! I thought you were some
crazed fan or something, sneaking up behind me like that."
"I’m sorry, Rose, but I really must
speak with you."
"About what?" Rose eyed her mother
slyly. "You haven’t changed your mind about becoming an actress, have you?"
Ruth shook her head. "Really, Rose, I
wish you would stop talking about that. You know how I feel about the acting
profession."
Rose sighed. "All right, Mother. What do
you want, then?"
"Have you seen the paper yet
today?"
"No. I don’t usually have a chance to
read it until I come home. Why?"
"I thought I’d warn you before you read
about it…"
"About what?"
"About the article I came across in the
paper this morning. It’s about Cal."
Rose gave her mother a startled look. Ruth
rarely mentioned Cal, and Rose didn’t think about him much. He was in the past,
a part of her life that no longer mattered much. So Ruth’s sudden concern over
Cal, and what Rose would think of a newspaper article about him, surprised and
disturbed her.
"What happened, Mother?" She suspected
that Ruth had held more affection for Cal than she herself had, even if Ruth
had rarely mentioned him in Rose’s presence after they were reunited a few
years earlier.
"He’s dead, Rose."
"What?"
"He’s dead. A suicide."
"A suicide?" Rose’s eyes widened.
She had always known that Cal was arrogant and mostly interested in himself,
but she had never thought that he would commit suicide. "Are you
sure?"
"That’s what the paper says. Apparently,
he was despondent over his losses in the stock market crash."
"But to commit suicide over something
like that…" And yet, Rose wasn’t as surprised as she might have been. Cal
wasn’t the first tycoon to commit suicide over the stock market crash, and
probably not the last, either. His overwhelming self-interest had at last
caught up to him.
"Mother, I’m going to go home and read
the article for myself." Rose stepped along the frozen ground, making her
way towards her car. She turned suddenly, facing Ruth. "Mother, how are
you doing? I know that you once planned upon having Cal for a son-in-law…this
must be very shocking."
"It is, Rose, although I can’t say that
I’m entirely surprised. He put so much emphasis on money—even more than I once
did."
Rose nodded, remembering Cal’s attitude about
money and status when they had been engaged seventeen years before. He had
cared about it more than anything—even more than Ruth had, if only a little.
She was surprised to feel a pang of sadness.
She hadn’t liked Cal, to be sure—but he had been her fiancé long ago. Had her
circumstances not changed, she might well be his widow now. She pitied him for
being so focused upon money that he had been willing to give up his life rather
than live without it, and she pitied his family, who must have depended upon
him, perhaps even loved him.
And yet, at the same time, she felt a sense
of relief. She had never really trusted him, and had always wondered if one day
he might focus his attention upon her again, destroying the life she had built.
Now, she could be sure that would never happen.
*****
In the rush of supper and seeing to her
children, Rose didn’t have a chance to look at the newspaper until shortly
before she lay down for the night. She skimmed the articles until she found the
one she wanted, buried near the back of the national news. Suicides of wealthy
people were common enough these days that it wasn’t a major shock or scandal,
but simply another symbol of a way of life that had abruptly vanished.
Steeling herself, Rose read the article,
shaking her head in amazement. Cal was only one in a series of tycoons to have
committed suicide over losing their fortunes, and the thought saddened her. How
shallow and lonely their lives must have been to have made money the only thing
that they lived for. Did these people not have families who cared for them, or
friends, or aspects to their lives that centered around something other than
money?
She had lost a little money in the crash, and
John had lost a great deal, but neither of them were ready to kill themselves
over it. Misfortune happened; it was a fact of life, and all they could do was
pick up what remained and continue on with life. Perhaps, she considered, it
was because they had lived without wealth that they were able to bear its loss.
They knew that life went on, with or without money, and they had children to
feed and educate and businesses to run. Even without those things, they still
would have had themselves, and each other. Their lives were worth so much more
than the sum total of their possessions.
Rose looked up as John came into the library
and sat down beside her. He had noticed her quiet, pensive mood at supper and
thought he knew the reason for it—he had read the article, too.
"What’s going on?" he asked her,
putting an arm around her shoulders. "You seemed sad tonight."
Rose debated whether or not to tell him, then
showed him the article. "It was about this. Mother told me before I read
the article."
"Your ex-fiancé."
Rose nodded. "Yes." They hadn’t
talked much about Rose’s past, and the time before the Titanic sank, but John
knew that she had once been Rose DeWitt Bukater—and that she had been engaged
to Caledon Hockley.
John hadn’t been particularly fond of
Hockley, in spite of having never met him in person. He had once been a suitor
of Miriam’s—a relationship that had ended scandalously, resulting in Miriam’s
trip to Europe, where she had eventually met and married John in England.
Had that been his only connection to the man,
John probably would not have given him much thought, but Hockley had also used
Mary to get into a lifeboat when the Titanic was sinking—and then had abandoned
her, almost drowning the young child.
Rose leaned her head against John’s shoulder.
"It’s strange to be sad about him. I didn’t like him, let alone love him,
and I couldn’t wait to get away from him—but he was my fiancé, and I guess you
can’t just push people in and out of your life without being affected by them
in some way. I’m not sorry I left him behind, but I can’t just forget him,
either."
John frowned, not sure what to say. Rose’s
words made sense, even if he didn’t like them much.
"Do you want to go to his funeral?"
She shook her head. "No. He hasn’t been
a part of my life since the Titanic sank seventeen years ago. I am not a part
of his society now, nor would I want to be again. I left all that behind
because I wasn’t happy. It was too…self-satisfied, too self-interested, too
concerned with small things that don’t make a bit of difference in the long
run. All the constant talk of money and status, as though those were the only
things that mattered in life. It was so narrow, so mindless…I left without a
backward glance, once I knew that I could, and I’ve never been sorry."
She folded the newspaper and set it aside,
getting to her feet. "These are some hard times; I won’t deny it. But
there’s so much more to live for than money or status. The bad times don’t last
forever, no matter how much it seems that they do. Things do get better, one
way or another. And real friends don’t care how much money you have—they’ll be
at your side whatever happens. I pity him, John. I pity the shallowness of his
life, and of his society—that something like this could be worth killing
oneself over, because they don’t have anything else to live for."
John looked at the article, tossing the paper
aside when he was done. "I’ve lost a lot of money, but it’s never crossed
my mind to end my life because of it. You’re right; there’s much more to life
than money or status. There’s the people around you—your family, your friends,
even your employees—and the joys of everyday life. I don’t like poverty, and
I’ve spent enough time living that way to know what it’s like. I don’t like
it—but if it happened again, I would get through it. We might have to sell the
house and the expensive things we’ve collected—but those could be replaced,
when times are better. And as long as there was enough, I probably wouldn’t
really miss those things after a while."
"Nor would I." Rose looked up at
John as they walked out of the library and towards the stairs. "I never
cared much for those things, even when I was a member of high society. I was
surrounded by luxury, but I was often unhappy, and all the things I had
couldn’t make me happier. You know, the only possessions I had on the Titanic
that I was really sorry to lose were some inexpensive paintings I had bought in
France, some Picassos. I liked them because they meant something to me,
symbolized what I felt—truth but no logic, as I told my maid. Life was pretty
and glittery on the outside, but underneath, there wasn’t much substance."
"Are you happy now, Rose?" John
asked. "You’re surrounded by luxury again, even if we might not be able to
keep what we have."
"Of course I am, John!" Rose linked
her arm with his. "It was never the wealth itself that meant much to me,
one way or the other. It was how people saw it that bothered me—as if it were
the most important thing in the world. At that time, it was important to me to
get away from it, because there was so much emphasis. Now…these things are nice
to have, but they aren’t the most important things to you or I. If all of this
was suddenly to disappear, I would still be richer than Cal ever was…because I
have the important things in life. I have you, Christopher and Jane, Mary and
Nadia, Mother—and all of you mean more to me than any amount of money ever
could."