AFTER STARTING ANEW
Chapter Thirty-Six

August, 1938

Rose sat leaning back against the desk chair, her eyes gazing out at the twinkling lights of Paris. In the distance the honking horns of impatient drivers transmitted the lively pace of Paris at night. From seven floors up she could hear the laughter of throngs of people making their way to the clubs and restaurants. But here in her hotel room, all was silent, except for the occasional scratching of her pen on the piece of stationery before her.

She sat lost in thought for the moment, alone for the time being. Jack was downstairs arranging for the bellboys to collect their luggage at dawn and to be sure a taxi would be waiting in the early morning hours to take them to the train station. Tomorrow their grand tour of Paris and its outlying areas would be over and by nightfall they would board the Queen Mary for the trip home.

Today, their very last day, had been magnificent. True to his promise, Jack had saved the best to the last and he had not disappointed her.

Right now, Rose was in the midst of sharing the wonders of the day in a letter home. But she had to admit that putting the grandeur of the Louvre and the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles on paper was a bit difficult. She knew, though, that her children would love to hear a full account of their adventure. Rose had made an effort to write to each one of them giving a full report of the various aspects of their journey. Cora, with her wild imagination and unquenchable spirit, would be the lucky one to get this letter. Even though it might reach home after they did, Rose knew that memories of today would be just as exciting.

Rose glanced down and read what she had written, her mind still struggling as to how one described the oil painting of Monet’s water lilies after seeing it in person.

August 15, 1938

Dear Corie,

Today without doubt was the most exhilarating day of our entire trip. I am sending the news of this day to you because I know how much you dearly love adventure and doing unusual things. I really had no idea of what to expect when your father guided me out to the front of the hotel this morning. Before I knew it, we were in a taxi. He gave the driver directions to the Louvre and we sped off in the hustle and bustle of the morning traffic. When we arrived at the museum, your father rummaged in his pocket and finally pulled out an envelope that had your grandfather’s handwriting on the front. I was mystified when a guard escorted us to a private office on the second floor. All this time, Daddy said nothing. He just gave me one of those knowing smiles of his and his eyes twinkled with excitement. It turned out that unbeknownst to me, your father and grandfather conspired with each other, and Arthur was able to arrange a private tour of the Monet gallery through one of his banking contacts here.

I was in awe the entire time, being in the same building where thousands of the famous masters’ paintings were exhibited. Even Daddy for one of the few times in his life was speechless. Standing in front of the famous water lilies series equated an almost religious experience. My eyes were drawn into the picture by his magnificent palette of soft pastel colors. As I gazed upon it, my mind fooled me into thinking that I was smelling the sweet dampness of the pond and allowed me to feel that my hair blew softly around my face in the warm summer air. At that moment I felt that I had experienced the highlight of our trip here. It was an amazing experience to see what was happening behind the scenes. We were able to observe the restoration area where old paintings were cleaned and reframed. What a lucky thing that Arthur has such connections this far from home.

We made no attempt to see the entire Louvre. Daddy was more than happy to suggest that we return on another trip and I was in full accord. The taxi driver who had taken us to the museum awaited us in front and once again we headed off to yet another mysterious destination. This time it was Versailles. When we arrived there, your father led me directly to the gardens. He had a large paper sack in his arms, something that the taxi driver had handed him. Daddy headed for one of the many benches that surrounded the center fountain of the gardens. When he opened the bag and produced lunch, I can’t say that I was totally shocked. It was really quite typical of Daddy. I think you understand your father’s often-impulsive behavior. He pulled out a bottle of wine, some elegantly made sandwiches and a small head of Brie cheese. For dessert there were several tiny tarts and bunches of grapes. It was just one of many outdoor meals that we enjoyed on our trip. When we were done eating he told me that the real dessert was coming. The icing on the cake, so to speak. And when we entered the famous Hall of Mirrors, I understood what he was talking about.

Never have I seen such lavishness. From floor to ceiling the walls fairly dripped with gold trim, like the frosting on a grand wedding cake. Small benches lined the sides of the room and overhead hung tiered crystal chandeliers. Dark now, but once lighting the way as the members of the French aristocracy made their way to dinner or a ball. The huge mirrors reflected the elegance of the room. We saw ourselves in the mirror and for a moment I could almost imagine myself dressed in an expensive satin gown and my hair down up with elaborate hair pieces to crown my head. Sadly those people in that time cared little for the poor and in the end suffered terrible deaths.

Rose sucked on the end of the pen musing over the words she had just written. The attitudes that had existed at the time of the French revolution were mirrored almost exactly to those she had witnessed on Titanic. Most of the upper crust of society had cared little and known less about the lives lived by the masses of people crammed into the steerage class of the ship. As at the time of the revolution, fate had taken a hand on Titanic and changed the way the world looked at the class structure.

How different, she thought, was this leave taking from Europe. In 1912, she had been a mere puppet, at the beck and call of Cal and her mother, but a puppet in whom a great rebellion was brewing. Everything in her life had been planned out for her, down to the last detail of the ensemble she would wear on sailing day. When she had walked up the gangplank and onto to Titanic she could never have imagined that just five days later she would be a survivor of a great shipwreck.

To think that in such a short time she had given her heart to a man who was penniless seemed unbelievable, until one considered that the riches his love bestowed upon her were priceless in comparison to the "Heart of the Ocean." Now when she looked back to those times before the sinking, she would be able to picture Jack in his garrets with his models, longing for America and unable to fulfill his dream to go home. With one hand of poker he had changed the world. For without that winning ticket, he would never have met her and thus brought five wonderful and miraculous people into existence. Just thinking about that gave Rose chills.

Her pen was poised over the paper, but her hand was quivering too much to write. She needed to gain control over her emotions. They had both agreed not to look back, to consider the what ifs. The pen slipped out of her hand and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm.

"Hey, why are you so cold?"

Rose jumped when she heard Jack’s voice behind her. So lost had she been in her thoughts that she had not heard him come in. He must have finished organizing things downstairs. Jack rested his hands on her shoulders and glanced down at the paper.

"You’ve been thinking about 1912, haven’t you?" he murmured softly. She nodded her head and leaned back, finding his tranquil blue eyes waiting for her.

"Oh, Jack. Yes. I know we keep trying to keep it out of our lives, but every once in awhile it creeps in. I don’t know why. Maybe because it reminds me to be grateful for what we have."

Rose felt Jack’s fingers as they gently caressed her own. Each stroke of tenderness filling her with warmth that filled her heart and coursed through her body like electricity. The touch of his slightly roughened hand had not changed in twenty-six years, nor had the feelings of passion they evoked within her.

"I know it’s hard not to think about," he whispered. "Sometimes it’s difficult to understand why all that suffering had to take place, why our meeting had to be linked to that tragedy. We’ll never know. Maybe it’s not ours to question."

She sat quietly and absorbed Jack’s words. ‘Maybe it’s not ours to question.’ He was right. Time and again they had tried to put Titanic behind them. It would always be there. Erasing one of the biggest human disasters of all time was next to impossible. They just had to accept and be thankful that it had brought them together.

"So who are you writing to this time?" Jack squinted at the letter on the desk while he fumbled in his pocket for his reading glasses.

"Oh, this time? Corie. I thought she would love to hear about all the impulsive things we did today. I wrote to Edy about the trip to Giverny. Then Molly about finding your old place in Montmartre." She blushed when she thought of what had happened there.

Jack cleared his throat, his mind also recalling that afternoon of decadence. "Just what did you have to say in a letter? Seems to me that most of that day defied description. Especially to one’s children."

"Oh, Jack. I told her all about Claudette and the cafe." Rose paused and lifted one eyebrow. "Just the downstairs part of the cafe," she said with a wicked smile on her face. Then she continued without skipping a beat. "I sent Patrick a postcard with the Eiffel Tower and wrote Frank about the Paris Metro."

"Didn’t you send anything to your mother and Arthur?" he asked, hoping that Rose had not forgotten them.

He was very appreciative of the fact that Arthur had arranged things at the Louvre for them. Ruth had told him that she dreamed of returning to Paris again one day, but right now neither she nor Arthur were in the best of health. Jack sincerely hoped that her wish would come true. It was typical of Jack to be worried about Ruth and Arthur. They had adopted him as son and son-in-law and he felt extremely close to them.

She saw the look of fondness in his eyes as he asked that question. "I guess you were out studying the flowers. But I sent them a gift from Giverny. A guest book for them. Each page has sketches of Monet’s flowers. It might arrive in Denver around the same time we do."

Jack nodded in approval. He knew that Giverny was a place that Ruth had never been to. With her appreciation and knowledge of flowers, he knew that Rose had made a good choice. "So, Rose…are you almost finished there? With the letter, I mean."

She studied Jack’s face and his rather blank expression, but daring eyes, mystified her. Surely he couldn’t have anything else planned. It was already nine at night. They had planned to turn in early since the train for Cherbourg left at 7:30 in the morning. Almost everything, except a few odds and ends, was packed. Secretly she had hoped they would stay here and savor this last night alone.

"Well, just a couple of more paragraphs. Why, Jack? What’s going on?" She couldn’t help the girlish giggle that escaped her mouth. Now she was sure that Jack was up to something. He appeared to be busily checking the dresser drawers to be sure the nothing was left to pack.

"Just finish the letter Rose. Then you’ll see." Her heart lurched when she saw him wink at her and his mouth curved into a promising grin. She wondered where she would get the strength to do even one more thing today. They had been on the go since eight this morning and every hour had been packed with one thing after another.

"All right," she agreed. "I’m almost done, but Jack…"

"No arguments, Mrs. Dawson. You signed on with me as your tour guide and I’ve still got you under contract. Now finish up," he said with a teasing tone in his voice.

Rose turned back to the desk and picked up her pen, her eyes quickly scanning to see where she had left off with the description of their day.

After our tour of Versailles, we had a tour of the formal gardens. The fountains were spectacular and the air was fragrant with the scents of a myriad of flowers. I saw your father concentrating on everything we had seen. I am quite sure he was taking mental notes so he could share all this knowledge with his classes in the fall. By the time we finished at Versailles it was dinnertime.

Our driver dropped us off on the banks of the Seine, in an area where several river craft were docked. Your father headed towards one and when we got to the little boarding ramp, it was apparent that we were expected. We got on and were shown to a small table at the rear of the boat. From the front came the succulent smells of herbs and the fragrance of freshly baked bread. I realized then that this was a dinner boat. That we were going to dine while cruising the River Seine. That in itself was a magnificent experience. With the laughter and accordion music floating through the air, it was hard not to feel totally carefree.

The Parisians are such wonderful fun-loving people who have an appreciation for life and beauty that can only be understood by being here in Paris. In this city you feel as if nothing bad is happening anywhere. That all the joy in the world is concentrated in this lovely place.

I am troubled though by something that Daddy’s friend Claudette said. She told us to enjoy Paris to the fullest, because no one could know what the future would bring. I know there are rumblings next door in neighboring Germany, but whatever Hitler wants, I am quite sure that it does not involve destroying the glories of hundreds of years of history. Despite your father’s reassurances, I have a nagging sensation, similar to what plagued me for weeks before Titanic. Maybe it is a mother’s instinct, but I somehow sense that before long things in the world will change drastically and that terrible circumstances lie ahead.

However, there is still the rest of tonight and the lovely journey home. I am not going to let anything spoil that. Now to get back to today. After our dinner, we walked from the river to the Eiffel Tower and arrived at the top just in time for sunset.

Rose lifted her pen from the paper. That evening walk across Paris had been marvelous and the sight of the Tour d’ Eiffel rising straight ahead of her seemed almost dreamlike. To finally see after all these years a place she so desired to go with Jack was more than she could ever have asked for. The view that she and Jack had witnessed from the top was as gorgeous as the sunset they had seen on that fateful night on Titanic.

She still tingled all over as she recalled Jack’s touch both last night and on their first embrace. As they gazed out to the West, he gently lifted her arms so that she was once more flying, rested his hands around her waist and laid his chin on her shoulder. Their fingers lovingly intertwined with one another as Jack whispered words of endearment. It was so like that April night so long ago. While their love for one another had just been blossoming and the physical nearness was something new, she had felt the same excitement tonight. And she was certain that Jack had the same reaction.

Sparks of electricity still flew through the air when they touched each other. It seemed impossible to describe those thoughts on paper and it was not something she cared to share with anyone except Jack. She decided to end the letter there. Someday Rose was sure that Cora would come to Paris and experience the city with someone she loved, too.

So now Daddy is here tormenting me again with yet another mysterious activity. I better go and get ready. He keeps teasing me and telling me to hurry. Tomorrow will be a busy day. In a way, it will be a nice change to have nothing to do on the ship for five days. We have taken dozens of rolls of snapshots and you and I will have fun getting all of those sorted and put in a photograph album. We look forward to seeing all of you soon. While Europe has been lovely, I had to admit that I am a little lonesome for the blue skies of Denver and the snowcapped Rockies in the distance.

With love,

Mama and Daddy

Rose waved the paper gently in front of her, allowing the ink to dry. "There, Jack. I am done. My hand was getting so tired of writing. The ending is a bit rushed, but I’m sure Cora won’t mind." Rose folded the letter and stuffed it into an envelope bearing the name of the hotel. ‘Hotel Vendome, Paris’. "Jack, could you look in my purse and find the stamps? Now tell me what you have planned now. Honestly, you are not going to rest until you have totally exhausted me."

Jack straightened up from the bed with the stamps in hand. He lifted his eyebrow and his piercing eyes met Rose’s steady gaze. Sitting there at the desk with her curly red hair floating around her head, she resembled a fairy princess more than a mother of five. How he would love to just keep her here all to himself for the rest of the evening. But the plans for their final activity in Paris were something that he knew Rose would love and she would never forgive him if he left it out.

"Rose," he said, "have you ever heard of Moulin Rouge?"

Her head bobbed excitedly. "Jack, yes. Jack…" Her eyes suddenly were lit with excitement and she smiled broadly. "Is that where...is that your big secret?" She stood up and hugged him, her heart pounding wildly. Then she stood back and looked at him. He was grinning, pleased with her response. "Oh, but Jack, people at home will be scandalized. I mean the dancers there…Jack...oh, Jack, I love you."

Any ideas she had of spending a romantic few hours were gone out the window. The chance to go to Moulin Rouge was enticing enough, but to go there with Jack? The only response that came to her head was "Ooh, la, la!" Jack picked her up and twirled her gently in a circle. Rose squealed delightfully and let her head fall back. He laughed at her total lack of propriety. Jack loved to see her like this. If he needed any proof that the wild rose had he married still existed within this beautiful woman, he was seeing it now. Both of them were caught up in the excitement of the moment and the freedom of being without responsibility, at least for a few more days. He was pleased at her reaction of going to the Moulin Rouge and he knew for certain that Ruth or Cal had never taken her there, for in those still rigid days of the early twentieth century, women of Rose’s caliber would never be seen there. Now of course, after the Roaring Twenties, and the bleak days of the Great Depression, anything was acceptable. Even Ruth with her new, modern attitudes would want to go there. Now it was THE place to be seen. It was a colorful club where the infamous can-can was still performed, exotic drinks were served and well-known entertainers demonstrated their talents to the citizens of the world. Just a few years ago, Louis Armstrong himself had played there.

"Jack, put me down. I need to get ready." She glanced to the closet across the room, her mind already set on what she was going to do. "If I am going to the Moulin Rouge, I am going to dress for the occasion."

She pulled out a black dress that she had purchased earlier on the trip. It was made of black crepe, sleeveless with V-neck. Before she got it back to the hotel, she had thought it perfect to wear when they went dancing once in awhile at home. But after she tried it on, she realized that staid Denver was not ready for such a display. Her ample décolletage was quite visible and while Jack had no objections, she knew there would be talk. Tonight, however, no one would notice. All eyes would be on the dancers who would be showing much more than her.

"I’m going to wear this, Jack. I don’t care. I don’t even care if we meet anyone from home. I’m not ashamed of anything." She let her dressing gown fall to the floor and quickly slipped into the sheer dress. "Here," she said as she turned to Jack. "Zip me up. And hand me my pearls." Rose rummaged in her already packed suitcase and pulled out a pair of black platform sandals and quickly buckled them. "Now for my hair."

Jack tried hard to control his laughter. He knew that Rose would enjoy this evening, but he didn’t think it was going to be a show for him too. Without a doubt, many a man tonight would look at him with envy. It made him realize once again just how lucky he was. Rose could be so many different people. A fiery lover, trusted confidante, concerned parent, and loyal friend. He loved each one of them. Those characteristics made up the Rose he adored and made her all that more interesting. He never knew what to expect.

"There," she announced, shaking her flame red hair. She stood tall and proud before him, her eyes shimmering with happiness. "Will that do?" Rose asked, knowing full well that Jack was already admiring her with words yet unspoken.

"Yeah, Rose. That will do very nicely." He slid his hands across the silky fabric of her dress, letting them rest at her waist. For all the years of their marriage, he must have held her this way countless times, yet today for some reason, he felt closer to her. There was a depth of emotion that he could not pinpoint. He only knew that he wanted the feeling go on forever.

"Rose…" His voice sounded tight, even to himself.

"Yes?" Rose looked up at Jack, confused by the contemplative expression in his eyes. There was something indefinable in the way he looked at her. She wrinkled her brow, praying that Jack was not about to tell her something terrible. Perhaps something he had been saving up. While what he said next did not surprise her. She was just taken aback by the timing.

"Rose…" He took a deep breath, and continued speaking with carefully measured words. "Rose, we’ve been together a long time. Every day of it wonderful and exciting. And while we’ve had our share of problems and mistakes…" She reached up and tried to cover his lips with her fingers, but he grasped them tightly and moved them away. "I just want to say, Rose, that what we have is so special, so wonderful that I never want anything to happen that would come between us. And if I make some stupid mistake again, please tell me right away." He watched a faint smile break across her face, certain that both of them were recalling the awful Daphne disaster. She started to speak, but once again he stopped her. "That goes for both of us." He chuckled.

Her eyes roved back and forth across his face and saw the tenderness and passion that he spoke of mirrored there. She swallowed hard, holding back tears of happiness and love, wishing that they could preserve this delicate moment for all time.

"Just promise me this, Rose. Never let go of the love we share, of the sometimes-tenuous bond that links us. I need you. I know that if anything ever happened to you, I couldn’t go on." He lifted his hands and threaded them through the tendrils of copper hair that framed her face. "Promise me, Rose, as I promise you." Rose felt her chest move up and down unevenly. She laid her head against Jack’s shoulder. In such a moment, she felt almost speechless and yet she willed herself to speak the words, Jack so yearned to hear out loud.

"I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go."

*****

The Moulin Rouge was exceptionally noisy and busy on this humid August night. Mingled with the smell of stage makeup and cologne, the sounds of tapping dance shoes and popping champagne corks filled the air. The air was hazy from the cigarette smoke that permeated the room. A small table at the front of the dance floor stood empty. A candle flickered and was reflected on the white "Reserved" card. An empty bottle sat in an adjacent ice bucket and two champagne flutes looked lonely on the otherwise empty table. The chairs had been pushed hastily aside, as if the occupants had sought entertainment elsewhere. And on the street several blocks away, walked two lovers who found more interest in each other, than in what Paris had to offer.

Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stories