ARS LONGA, VITA BREVIS
Chapter Four

The tickets in my hand clearly stated that I was headed for California. I had to stop in Denver first, but in only a few hours I would be leaving Wisconsin. As far as I was concerned, I couldn't leave it fast enough. Though Jack had grown up here, the only thing I found here was confusion. Almost enough to make me doubt my Jack. Someone that had the same name--because it is such a common name for such an uncommon man--had painted a portrait of the governor. This confused many people--the matron at the orphanage, the townspeople, and me. When I heard the whole story I had begun to think that Jack had abandoned his young cousin to an orphanage while he was out having his adventures. I knew I never should have doubted him, though, because after one look at the painting of the governor I knew it wasn't Jack's work.

The painting was of an old man, intended to look aristocratic. The subject was cold, distant, pretentious, and almost menacing. I knew right away that Jack could not have drawn it. Every piece of artwork that he had shown me introduced me to the subject in a way only fine art could. Unlike this picture, where the governor stood behind a facade, the subjects hid nothing in Jack's pictures. I knew that someone else had drawn this picture. Someone else had abandoned young Walter at an orphanage.

After all of that, I was very eager to head to California. I was just glad that I had gotten rid of Cal's money. Though I no longer was sure that Jack would appreciate my donation to the orphanage in Wisconsin, I still knew that Cal would not approve. Waiting for the train, I pulled out my last thing of value, the Heart of the Ocean. Though I had been hoping to come to Wisconsin to find a real reminder of Jack, something that was not cold and ostentatious, I was leaving still with only this necklace to remind me of the man I loved.

Ten minutes before the train pulled into the station, I still could not get the events of the last few weeks out of my head. The suicide attempt, finding Jack, loving Jack, the sinking, losing Jack, coming to Wisconsin, not finding anything in Wisconsin. I dug around to find a nickel so that I could buy a newspaper that would hopefully keep my mind occupied on other things for the train ride.

As I sat down in my cheap seat, and we were underway, I started to read the newspaper. I didn't notice any of the scenery we were passing. As I turned the newspaper to the second page, a small photograph of a young, dark-haired man stared back at me. The caption stated that the governor would be returning today from the meeting to welcome the newest state, Arizona. The man in the picture looked young and pleasant, so different from the frightening white-haired man in the portrait in Madison.

I was very curious about the differences between the photograph and the painting. I guess it just shows how much artistic license someone can take to make a subject appear so differently. I was again reminded of how glad I was that Jack didn't take that license. He drew what he saw and his drawings were so much better for that. But these thoughts were steering dangerously close to thoughts that were far too painful to think. I had left Wisconsin behind, the state and its governor, for California. There, the memories of Jack would be happier ones. Horses and roller coasters instead of orphanages and graveyards.

As I was skimming through the rest of the newspaper, the train eventually made its way into the Rocky mountains and to Denver. I had fallen asleep for most of the journey. I was a little bit anxious about stopping in Denver, because one of the few Titanic survivors who would recognize me, Molly Brown, lived there. I was pretty sure I could trust her not to send me back to my mother. I doubted she was even still in contact with her. I just wanted to start my new life fresh, without anyone who knew me before Jack. Though I knew it was highly unlikely that of all the people in Denver, Molly would be at the train station right now, I surreptitiously walked to the back of the train and sneaked off, only to be met by a scene of confusion.

There was a rather large crowd of people gathered around the front of the train I had just exited. My first thought told me that it could be no one other than Molly. I walked around the back, hoping she wouldn't recognize me. But when I saw the man at the center of the crowd, I stopped in my tracks.

I thought I had been trying to leave Wisconsin behind. Looking up at the man, I opened my newspaper again to the second page. It was the same man. The governor of Wisconsin. The newspaper had said he was coming home from Arizona today. He must have also stopped in Denver. This was just too much. I was not feeling up to anything having to do with Wisconsin, especially not another mystery about why the governor looked so different from his portrait. The whole thing involved a different Jack. It should be none of my concern.

I quickly turned around and headed to the part of the station where my train for California would be leaving shortly. I was walking with my eyes straight in front of me, trying hard not to think of the man behind me. I almost didn't notice when I ran into another person, knocking his suitcase to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Miss--uh…"

"Dawson," I said, my response coming naturally, almost involuntarily. "And it was my own fault--" I started to say until I looked up at the man I had run into. Him again. The very man I had been avoiding thinking about--the governor of Wisconsin.

"Dawson?" he asked. But I cut him off.

"No, I have no relation to the painter who made that portrait of you in the lobby of your office." It was rather rude of me, but I was fed up with this misadventure. I just wanted to go to California.

The governor gave me quite the weird look. "The drawing has returned? I'll have to thank Mr. Newton for returning it so quickly."

I just wanted to walk away, but instead I turned back to the governor. What he had said had been very strange. "What?"

"Oh, I've been in Arizona for the last two months. While I was gone, my portrait was sent to Washington so that they could build my statue. Though I was quite honored, I knew I would miss my portrait. I've just never seen a simple drawing that looks so lifelike. Mr. Newton in Washington didn't think he could have it back for me upon my arrival back in Madison, but it sounds like you've just seen it."

"Which painting are you talking about? The one I saw was--"

"Oh, no, miss. This wasn't a painting. I thought you had seen it since you knew the name of the artist. This was just a charcoal drawing that a young boy did for me years ago. By far my favorite picture of me--"

I had stopped listening after "charcoal drawing that a young boy did for me."

"Who--who was this boy?" I asked, almost frightened that it would be someone different.

"His name was Jack Dawson. I thought you already saw that. He drew it for me about four years ago while I was taking a trip through California."

He had drawn the governor's portrait. Jack had drawn this man in front of me. I wondered if he remembered the intensity of his eyes, scrutinizing the subject, testing how to best put it on paper. Jack had done the governor's portrait. He had done it in Santa Monica. The portrait currently was in Washington, so that a sculptor could have a model for a statue. Jack had never set foot in Madison. Walter Harris was Jack's cousin.

"Oh, my God," was all I could say at first. But what about the painting? The one that looked nothing like the man in front of me.

"When I was in the lobby of your office, there was a different painting above Jack's name," I said. "I knew it wasn't Jack's work. It doesn't even look like you."

"A painting?" he asked. "What did it look like?"

"Um--it was an older gentleman with white hair. He had a monocle," I began.

"They put the portrait of my father where my portrait was?" he asked, looking a bit annoyed. "Sometimes people are confused because we both have the same name and we both were governor of Wisconsin."

So there was a completely different portrait, one that Jack had drawn. It looked like I was going back to Madison.

"When did you say the charcoal portrait of you would be back?" I asked.

"Hopefully only a few days after I get back. Why do you ask?"

"I need to see Jack's drawing," was my simple statement.

"I thought you said you weren't related to the artist who drew my portrait."

"I said I have no relation to the person who drew the portrait that is currently hanging in your office. By your description it sounds like Jack drew yours."

"And how are you related to him? I was hoping I could find him to thank him again for my beautiful drawing, now that it will become a statue."

I took a breath. "I'm his widow," I said.

It took a few moments for my words to register with the governor. His look of sympathy was genuine.

"Come back to Madison," he said. "I'll show you the drawing. You can keep it if you'd like."

Though I didn't really want to accept his charity, I could imagine how much I would treasure that simple drawing. I nodded a short assent.

Soon, I found myself back in Wisconsin. The Wisconsin that I had been so eager to leave. Before the governor took me back to his office to get the picture, I had one stop to make.

"Sister Millie!" I called at the door of the orphanage.

"Rose?" she asked. "I thought you had left us."

"I'm here for Walter. I'm his family. I'll gladly legally adopt him if you want me to, but--"

"That won't be necessary," she said. "The last of the Dawsons should stick together." She hadn't even said anything about the fact that Jack and I weren't married.

Walter, listening at the door as always, ran out to the front of the orphanage and into my arms. I picked up the young boy, feeling the motherly instincts that I had rarely felt before, and planted a kiss on his forehead. In my arms, right now, was Jack's flesh and blood. This boy was Jack's mother's brother's son.

"Are you my mother?" he asked.

I held him closer. "If you want me to be, sweetie."

"Did you know my cousin? The one who drew the picture?" he asked.

"Yes, I did, Walter. And I loved him. I'll have to tell you all about Jack Dawson."

"Is that my new name? Walter Dawson?"

"Unless you want to stay Walter Harris, then yes, Walter Dawson is your name."

He gave me a very large smile. "I like it."

I knew that I would always cherish this boy as if he were my own son. We went to collect the portrait from the governor. He was sad to see it go, but he smiled as he placed it in my quivering hands. My eyes welled with tears as my shaking hand traced the outline of the governor's face.

"Thank you, sir," was all I could muster.

I held Walter close as we once again boarded the train to California, ready to start our new lives as Dawsons. We had an everlasting picture to remember Jack by. When I pulled out the Heart of the Ocean, I could no longer see Jack, only the greed that the necklace inspired. When we arrived in California, I threw it in the ocean.

I had severed all of my ties to Caledon Hockley and first class and by doing so, I gained two new ties to Jack Dawson.

The End.

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