Written by Viola Williams
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Cal sat slumped in a chair on the observation deck, staring morosely into the glass of brandy in his hand. He took a large swallow of the liquor, feeling the comforting fire as it traveled down his throat. He sighed with frustration. What to do about Rose?

Rose was a mystery to Cal. He had heard plenty about her reputation as a wildflower, and found her intriguing in the early days of their courtship. Yet, even with their wedding only weeks away, he felt as distant from her as he had when she was no more than a pretty face looking at him from across the ballroom.

It wasn’t age. He had had several affairs with women and many had been almost as young as she had. He had understood them. But then, they were all rather similar. Compliments and expensive bagatelles satisfied them. They never looked for more.

What does Rose want? he wondered. He had often seen a look in her eyes when she thought everyone’s attention was elsewhere--a lonely, longing look. What he didn’t know was why she was lonely or what she longed for.

He had given her a priceless necklace, but she had disregarded it as though it was no more than paste. Most other women would have died for even a chance to wear it, let alone own it. It had been the same in Paris. All manner of expensive clothes and accessories, yet the only things she had bought that truly satisfied her seemed to be those messy looking finger paintings. What had she said about them? Something about their being like a dream and having truth but no logic. Complete nonsense. Cal was willing to bet that she and that steerage rat Dawson talked about things as silly as that all the time, though. Where the devil was Rose, anyway?

She had left the dinner table early, complaining of a headache, but Cal was sure she wasn’t anywhere near her cabin. Just thinking about Rose and the rat made him angry and tired. Yet...there was something else, too. He had caught a glance exchanged between them at dinner the night before--a glance that expressed something he couldn’t describe.

"It’s called contentment, Caledon," said a voice.

Shocked, Cal lost his hold on the glass of brandy and it hit the floor with a loud smash. The pieces skittered everywhere and he swore loudly.

"Now, now. Watch your language, Caledon," chided the voice. Cal shook his head. He was hearing things. That was a voice he hadn’t heard in fifteen years.

"No, you’re not hearing things. I am here, and I am real--in one sense of the word. Turn around."

Cal turned around with a start. "You can read my mind, Eleanor?" he asked in surprise. He looked at the figure in front of him. Dressed in that long yellow organdy dress, with the picture hat and her smoky brown curls, his sister looked exactly like she did on the day she drowned in the lake.

Eleanor smiled gently. "You never did believe in something that couldn’t be explained, did you? You have never learnt to trust, Caledon."

Cal stood there with his mouth hanging open. With a superhuman effort he regained control of his senses. "How long have you been able to do this for? And why didn’t you ever appear to Mother?"

Eleanor shook her head. "Since I...passed over. And I did. I appeared to her on her deathbed, telling her to die in peace. I only appear to those who I choose to appear to. You were standing there, but you couldn’t see me. And you couldn’t hear what I said to her."

Cal sat back down in his chair. "So I’m going to die?" he asked.

"No. I came for something a little less final. This is about Rose."

Cal nodded numbly. "What about Rose?"

"Where Rose is concerned, you have two options. You either beat her into submission and watch her die, or you let her go free."

"What?"

Eleanor drew a deep breath. Even as a ghost, she had her problems. "Caledon, you have never learnt to show love. I was watching you at my funeral. I watched as you presented Rose with that rock. Both times, you showed no emotion whatsoever."

Cal replied almost automatically. "Father told me I was old enough to control my emotions. I thought Rose would like the Heart of the Ocean."

Eleanor shook her head. "The rock you gave Rose, that Cur De La Mare or whatever it may be called, has no more warmth in it than the iceberg we just passed. It would have been fine as an engagement present, but not as a remedy for misery. Telling her that you loved her and maybe giving her something she would truly value would have been much better."

Cal sighed. "But--"

"I know what you’re going to say. A true gentleman does not show his feelings. He never tells his wife or his fiancée that he loves her. No, it won’t do. He has to be cold and distant," mocked Eleanor, sounding like a teacher from deportment class. She continued, in a softer tone, "That’s not what a gentleman is, Caledon. Gentry is not money or breeding. It is far more than that. To tell the truth, Jack Dawson is more of a gentleman than you are."

Cal bit back a retort of blunt denial. A steerage ruffian better than he!

"It won’t do you any good thinking like that," said Eleanor. "The most you can do now is set Rose free. Let her go with Jack. And try to act more like a human being."

"But--"

"No buts. Caledon, do you remember that summer day when you were just seven years old? Before Father started on the gentleman routine? We came across a man with tiny larks in a cage. They were all huddled there, frightened and unhappy. Some looked as though they’d die then and there. Well, you looked up at the birds and back at me. You asked if I could free them. I gave the man the silver chain I was wearing and you set the birds free. Now Rose is the bird. Let her go free."

Cal looked blankly at her. "I don’t remember any birds."

"Wrong. You just refuse to remember. I suppose you think your actions were weak."

"I give up. I do remember. I’ll let her go."

Eleanor walked over and passed her hand over his forehead. "You love her, but you’ll never be able to show it. I can see that. You’d always be stifling her. You need someone who will be happy as Mrs. Caledon Hockley, society matron and member of the best society circles. Rose is not the woman."

Cal sighed. "So how do I tell her?"

"She’s coming. I can sense her approaching. She’s with Jack, but when she asks to see you, make sure he waits outside. You’ll know what to say. Good luck and good-bye, Caledon."

With that, Eleanor dematerialized and Cal sat alone on the observation deck. Half a minute later there came a muffled knock on the door. Cal walked to the door slowly and opened it to find Rose and Jack standing there with nervous expressions on their faces.

"Rose. I see you’ve returned. I need to speak with you. I would ask that Mr. Dawson remain here," he added, seeing Jack squeeze Rose’s hand protectively. Rose hesitated, then walked into the room, glancing back at Jack. Her eyes reassured him with their confidence.

Cal gestured to the nearest chair and asked her to sit down. Rose started to worry; wasn’t he going to yell at her for being with Jack?

Cal took a deep breath. "Rose, did I ever mention I had a sister?"

Rose almost jumped with surprise. "What?"

"It may seem like a shock, but I did have a sister--my twin. Eleanor. She died fifteen years ago, in a boating accident."

"I’m sorry."

"That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, though." Rose braced herself for the lecture or a slap.

"I’m letting you go free."

"What?"

"I can see you love him. Go. You’re free from this engagement. Throw the ring overboard, pound it to smithereens. Do what you wish with it. The Heart of the Ocean is yours as well." Rose shook her head, dazed and very confused.

"What does this have to do with your sister?"

"I heard her telling me to let you go. She’s right."

Rose stood up shakily. "Th-thank you, Mr. Hockley. But there is a problem. What will become of my mother?"

"I’ll settle a handsome sum upon her. A pension for life. Let her think you’ve run off without my knowledge and that can be a condolence payoff."

Rose nodded. "May I retrieve my possessions?"

Cal nodded. "Yes, go ahead. But Rose, remember that wherever you are, someone still thinks of you."

Rose then understood what Cal could not say. He did care for her, even though he could not show it. She felt a little pity for him and drew a small silver filigree ring off her finger. She had bought it while window shopping on a small street in Paris.

"Please take this as a memento. I forgive you for your domineering actions," she said softly.

Cal took the ring and thanked her quietly. As she left the room, he knew he’d done the right thing for once. And if he listened carefully, he could hear Eleanor’s joyous laughter once again.

The End.

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