THE EDUCATION OF ROSE DAWSON: PART I
Chapter Fourteen
Extrication
It was past three PM when Rose
emerged from the Union Square Station and headed west to the first of Twain’s
Manhattan homes. Ten minutes later, she arrived in front of 14 West 10th
Street. It was a red brick townhouse structure that did not differ much from
the other buildings on the block. Twain lived here from 1900-1901 before moving
to Wave Hill. Rose saw that a few fellow commemorators had left bouquets of
flowers at the doorstep and wanted to do the same, but realized it was too late
in the day to find any fresh flowers for sale. She could only stand in front of
the home to pay her respects to Twain.
(L) 14 W. 10th St. today; (R) 21 Fifth Ave. during
Twain’s residency
The neighborhood in this area differed
from that where the shelter was located, as it served as an enclave for
bohemians, many of whom had moved in after many of its longtime wealthy
residents had followed the northward advance of the city center. Rose headed
back east on 10th Street and turned south on Fifth Avenue. She
arrived at the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and East 9th Street,
where a three-story building stood. Twain lived here from 1904-1908 after his
wife died. He became a fixture in the neighborhood, constantly strolling along
Fifth Avenue in white–from his white hair and mustache to his white suit.
Passersby never failed to recognize him, and he relished the attention. Rose
always wanted to catch a glimpse of him whenever she came to New York with her
parents, but her mother always forbade it. After Twain moved out of New York,
the Bukaters began to frequent this area less, as it had become too eccentric
for Ruth’s tastes. Rose, however, never forgot the neighborhood, and pledged to
return one day to see it by herself. Now, she had satisfied her wish. You
certainly know how to choose your neighborhoods, Mr. Clemens!
Eventually, she became tired, and
needed a place to sit down. Washington Square Park was only two blocks away, so
she headed there to find a bench. She found one not far from its famous arch
and fountain and sat down to rest. There was much activity inside the park,
where adults chatted and children played. A few families had come out to
picnic, and they fed some of their leftovers to the pigeons and squirrels,
which swarmed around the food being tossed to them until some playful children
chased them away, after which they would return and the sequence would begin
all over again. The bohemian movement was also well-represented on this day.
Artists took advantage of the mild weather to work outdoors on what they hoped
would be their next masterpieces. Rose could not help but be reminded of Jack
when watching their activity, particularly when a couple of them sitting nearby
sketched people and things in front of them. You would love this place, too,
Jack. Perhaps you have already been here.
Two views of Washington Square Park, early 1900s
Rose was enjoying herself so much
that she worked up an appetite. Clearly, the club sandwich she shared with Mrs.
Dearborn had not been enough, not when Mrs. Dearborn was in the process of
telling her such an eerie story. Fortunately, there were street vendors selling
food in the park. Rose went up to a hot dog cart, saw that the price for a hot
dog was five cents, and dug through her coat pockets for her change purse, from
where she took out a nickel and paid for a hot dog. It had been a long time
since she had eaten a meal with her bare hands, and this hot dog was so
satisfying. Certainly better than lamb with mint sauce.
*****
After she finished eating, she
decided to explore the rest of the park. As she walked towards its southern
end, switching her attention between the scenery to her left and right, she
bumped into a man, whom she knocked down. "Oh! I am sorry, sir!" she
cried as she bent down in front of him offering to help him back up. "Are
you all right?"
The man lay on the ground for a
few seconds before he accepted Rose’s hand to help him get back up. He was of
medium height, clean-shaven, and wearing a derby hat and tweed suit. He checked
himself for any cuts or bruises and tears to his clothing. He dug into his
pockets and pulled out a pocket watch, which had broken in two. "I think I
came off better than my watch, miss," he said.
Rose was angry at herself for not
looking where she was going. "My apologies again, sir. Is there anything I
can do for you?"
The man gave her a look that
betrayed no emotion. "My watch is a rare piece in silver casing, and I
would appreciate it if you pay to have it repaired," he politely requested.
The man’s demureness was enough
to instantly turn Rose’s anger to guilt. "Sure, I will. How much do I owe
you?"
"One dollar, miss."
One dollar was not a trivial
amount of money for most people, and Rose knew it. Still, she dutifully reached
back into her pocket for her money, and was shocked to discover that her bills
were no longer there. Only her change purse remained.
"Is there a problem,
miss?"
Rose was afraid to admit to this
unexpected dilemma, but she had no choice. "M-my money is gone! I had it
when I went to buy some food just twenty minutes ago," she said with a
dumbfounded look. "Now, it has mysteriously disappeared."
The man sighed. "I really
liked that watch. My grandfather gave it to me. Now, what will I tell my
family?"
Rose’s guilt deepened. "If
you can be so patient as to wait until tomorrow, sir, I promise I will have the
money by then."
"Are you sure, miss? One
dollar is half a day’s wages for some people," said the man as he eyed
Rose’s rather ordinary appearance.
"Yes, I am sure. Please tell
me where we can meet."
"I would be grateful if you
can meet right back here at noontime."
"Then noon it is. And I
apologize once again, sir."
The man nodded and walked off.
Rose was left baffled as to the whereabouts of her money. I know it was in
my coat pocket after I searched it to pay for my hot dog. What happened to it?
*****
Rose had lost things before, but
they were petty items, and the most she got for her troubles was a stern
lecture from her mother. Given the wealth of the Bukater Estate in its heyday,
such losses were inconsequential. However, now that Rose was on her own and
without employment, every cent mattered. She had just lost more money than most
people made in a week, as she recalled thinking when Miss Howard was presented
with her relief money two days earlier. She would have to wait until the next
day, when the bank reopened, to withdraw enough money to cover what she owed
the man, plus a little spending money for herself as she prepared to seek a
situation in the coming week.
In the meantime, with no funds
save for the coins that remained in her change purse, Rose headed back to the
shelter. She exited the north end of the park, went up Fifth Avenue, and then
turned east on 9th Street for one last pass at Twain’s old home.
Several blocks later, she reached Fourth Avenue, and was reminded of the many
bookstores that occupied entire blocks in this part of town. But it was a
bittersweet recall. Standing before her were more books than she could read in
a lifetime, including a copy of The Gilded Age. Most were selling for
bargain prices, but she lacked the money to buy even one, and so bit her lip in
disgust. Why does this happen to me?
Then Rose caught a familiar face
diagonally across the street. It was the man she bumped into at Washington
Square Park. He did not see her because he was talking to a young woman, and
she seemed to have handed him some bills before she walked off. I must not
be the only one to owe him money today.
The man, who behaved so passively
in front of her, seemed to be having his way with the woman, who was also
well-dressed, but whose body English was rather un-ladylike. How could someone
as delicate as this man dominate a woman who looked as if she could put timid
men like him in their place just by giving them a mean look? Something did not
seem right. After he took the money, the man looked both ways on his side of
the street, but not across the street to where Rose was standing. Then he
walked east on East 9th Street.
Her suspicions aroused, Rose followed
him, but walked on the opposite side of East 9th Street to make
herself harder to spot should he turn around to see if anyone was tracking him.
It was a smart move, as the man looked behind his shoulder every now and then.
But stalking him from the other side of the street also made it a little harder
to keep an eye on him, and he walked faster than Rose. By the time he
approached Second Avenue, he was almost a full block ahead of Rose, who fell
farther behind. For a gentleman, he walked at an uncommonly quick and athletic
pace, and even Rose’s physical exploits on board Titanic could barely
prepare her for this unfamiliar task of pursuing a suspect. Neither was her
attire well-suited for sustained brisk walking, and she finally had to stop to
rest while trying to keep him in sight.
A wiry hand tapped her on the
shoulder. It belonged to a familiar face. "Jenny? What are you doing
here?" asked Rose.
Jenny put a finger to her mouth.
"You’ve been had, Rose. That man has your money."
"B-but how did you know?"
"I was at the park, too, and
I must say he timed his fall perfectly. When you reached down to help him up,
his accomplice picked your pocket and made off with the money."
"So why did you not stop
them?"
"And who would believe a
common old hag’s word over that of a gentleman and his lady friend? No cop
would dare search someone so well-dressed."
"But I could have
helped—" Rose stopped abruptly once she remembered that she was dressed
rather plainly, too, and few people would believe that someone of her ilk could
legitimately carry so much money. Rose DeWitt Bukater would have been able to
do something about it, but not Rose Dawson. "So what am I supposed to do
now?" she asked anxiously.
They both looked at the man
crossing Second Avenue. He was about to disappear from their sight unless they
acted quickly. "I can try something I haven’t tried in a long time,"
suggested Jenny. "Let’s go."
*****
The two resumed their pursuit.
Rose was surprised to see Jenny walk so fast, a feat that defied her age.
Still, they did not catch up to the swindler until they had reached Tompkins
Square Park, where he had stopped to rest. Jenny advised Rose to make herself
invisible lest the swindler see her and deduce what was going on. Rose hid
behind a tree while Jenny innocently walked up to him. Using her age to catch
the swindler off guard, Jenny deliberately tripped in front of him, and
instinctively, he caught her in his arms. "Careful, ma’am. Are you
hurt?"
Jenny pressed herself on the
swindler’s chest as tightly as possible. "Th-that was close!" she
gasped after overcoming her shock.
"Yes, for someone your age,
that would ruin your day," said the swindler, who remained oblivious to
the scheme being executed by Jenny as he steadied her.
"Th-thank
you, sir," said Jenny, sounding relieved at having averted a fall.
"Glad to be of help, ma’am. Are you well enough to stand on your
own?"
Rose was amazed by the acting job
Jenny was putting on. She sounds so genuine. But how will she get my money
back?
Jenny was working on that. Rose
saw her slowly and expertly slip her hand into the man’s jacket as she
continued to rely on him to hold her up. Then, she smoothly pulled it back out,
but this time with a wad of money that appeared to be Rose’s.
Not smooth enough.
Before Jenny could release
herself from the man’s hold, he grabbed her arms, and the gentleman gave way to
a dangerous, snarling ruffian who was out for blood–in this case, Jenny’s.
"Why, you sneaky old witch!" he growled. Then he raised a hand to
strike Jenny in the face. His palm violently cut across one of her cheeks,
knocking her to the ground. "That’ll teach you!" He was about to kick
Jenny when Rose came out of hiding to try to prevent any further bloodshed.
"Stop! Stop or I will call
the police!" cried Rose, as she cautiously walked over to Jenny to check
on her condition. She looked around and found that there was no one else in the
park.
The swindler laughed wickedly.
"So, it’s the careless damsel who can’t see where she’s going!" He
blocked Rose from reaching Jenny, and before she knew it, grabbed her around
her neck with one arm. "Let’s see how bitchy you are when I cut up that
pretty face of yours!" With his other hand, he took out a small penknife
and was in the process of unfolding it when Rose, outraged at being cheated,
fought back wildly by biting his hand, which caused him to cry out in pain and
weaken his grip on her. She broke free, spun around, spat in his eye, and
delivered as hard a punch as she could–harder than the one she gave the steward
on Titanic–to the swindler’s left cheek.
The swindler was stunned for a
few seconds, but he quickly recovered and advanced on Rose, his anger boiling
over. As most of her audacity had been expended on that punch, she could only
back away, but hesitantly, as she did not want to leave Jenny behind.
"Help!" she yelled, but she knew her cries would be unanswered.
She was wrong.
From seemingly out of nowhere
came the whistle of a flying dagger–unfamiliar to Rose, but all too familiar to
Jenny, who continued to lie on the ground injured. The dagger thrower, either
by skill, luck, or both, managed to knock the swindler’s penknife out of his
hand and even graze him on the finger. The swindler, more enraged than wounded
by the dagger, turned to see who had interrupted his bloodlust.
It was Jenny’s husband.
"Oopsy daisy!" was his salutation. He went over to his wife to
examine her before helping her get up, all while keeping an eye on the
swindler. "Back down, you son of a bitch!" he warned the swindler.
"Or next time I aim for yer chest!"
The swindler was hardly
intimidated, and he immediately growled and charged towards them. "Watch
out!" screamed Jenny as the swindler was upon her husband and started to
take a swing at him, but he was quick enough to block the blow. Even though Jenny’s
husband was probably triple the swindler’s age, he was bigger, while the
swindler was only about Rose’s height. Both men seemed to be experienced street
fighters, but Jenny’s husband was so inspired by having to protect his wife
that he finally penetrated the swindler’s defense and landed an uppercut to his
jaw, knocking his hat off.
The swindler staggered back a few
feet, but did not seem hurt. He tore off his jacket and rolled up his shirt
sleeves, revealing a pair of muscular arms. Then he took out a metallic object
from his pants pocket that looked like four large rings fused together and
attached to a long metal bar. He fitted the rings around each of his four
fingers of his right hand and charged Jenny’s husband again.
Jenny’s husband knew what the swindler
was brandishing, and he was ready. He sidestepped the swindler’s first punch
and gently tripped the swindler, which threw him off balance. Then he locked
the swindler’s arm in a tight hold to prevent him from using his brass knuckles
and delivered a series of hard elbows to the swindler’s ribs.
Knocked back again, the swindler
decided to employ some different tactics. Exploiting his youth and the fact
that Jenny’s husband had someone to protect, he went for Rose, who was standing
some twenty feet away from Jenny and her husband, and wisely got between them.
If Jenny’s husband was compelled to go to Rose’s aid, he would have to leave
Jenny, and the swindler could quickly double back and go for Jenny. Her husband
would tire himself out trying to chase him around the park, and eventually the
swindler could finish him off as well. It seemed like a good plan.
But the swindler had not counted
on Rose playing the foil again. Refusing to stand still and be victimized
again, she eluded his attempt to grab her a second time by taking the coins
from her change purse and throwing a few of them at a time as hard as she could
at the swindler. When the coins ran out, she even took off her hat and flung it
at him. Solomon said my hat could knock down a man, now let’s see. The
hat only glanced off the swindler, while the coins bounced harmlessly off him,
but both had the effect of making him focus his attention on Rose long enough
for Jenny’s husband to catch up with him almost undetected from behind to
hammer punch the back of his neck.
The swindler grimaced from the
blow, but he was so fit that he retaliated with a back fist to the nose of
Jenny’s husband almost instantaneously–the first hit that he scored in the
contest. Fortunately for Jenny’s husband, the swindler struck him with his left
fist instead of the right, but he staggered back nonetheless. The swindler
followed through with a jab at his ribs with his brass knuckles. Desperately,
Jenny’s husband seized the swindler’s arms again before he could land another punch,
and they grappled. The swindler struggled to free his arms so that he could go
for Jenny’s husband’s face with the brass knuckles, but they were locked tight.
So he tried to knee Jenny’s husband in the groin several times, but succeeded
only once. Jenny’s husband finally put a stop to his streak by head-butting
him.
The two men paused to catch their
breaths. Blood began to flow from both of their faces, but the swindler’s less
advanced years allowed him to replenish his lost energy faster. Jenny’s husband,
still reeling from the blow to his ribs, could only retreat to guard his wife
and Rose, both of whom were together again, with Rose helping Jenny, who had
struggled to stand, to create some distance between themselves and the
swindler. Luckily for Jenny’s husband, the swindler, who had taken a few blows
too many from this crusty old brawler and now regretted underestimating him,
closed in on him more slowly and cautiously this time.
Both fighters put up their dukes
in the classic boxing stance for one more round. The swindler still had his
brass knuckles, which he hoped would be dripping blood by now. That could still
happen, and he began to rely almost entirely on his right hand, while using his
superior quickness to move out of the way to prevent his arms from being locked
up again. His range was greater than that of Jenny’s husband, who remained on
the defensive because he still had to keep him away from the women. But his
shorter reach made his blows less effective, as Jenny’s husband could compensate
for his own slower reactions by keeping him at a distance with his longer arms.
Furthermore, both of the swindler’s hands had suffered open wounds–the left
from being bitten by Rose, and the right from the flying dagger. This kept him
from going all-out on the offensive.
Then Jenny decided to bravely
step in and help her husband.
She took out a canteen from her
husband’s bag, which he put down as he prepared to take on the swindler. This
was the same canteen she lent Miss Howard to wash the horse manure off Rose’s
shoe two days earlier, and it still had some water inside. With this added
weight, the canteen made a good improvised missile, and she hurled it at the
swindler. Her aim was true, and the canteen hit the swindler on the side of his
head, dazing him, and giving Jenny’s husband time to take out another of his
weapons–his own belt, attached to which was a large metal buckle. Wrapping part
of it around his hand, Jenny’s husband could now use his belt like a blunt and
flexible mace to counter the swindler’s brass knuckles.
The swindler had not anticipated
Jenny rejoining the fight. This was more than he had bargained for, since he
thought he had eliminated her and Rose as threats early on. But the two women
had proven peskier than expected. That meant trouble. But he had little time to
ponder this change of situation because Jenny’s husband, now more confident,
began to attack. The two exchanged jabs and parried each other’s strikes, with
neither gaining an advantage. However, Rose could detect a shift in the
momentum of the fight in favor of Jenny’s husband. His wife’s assist had
injected him with renewed energy, and he seemed to grow stronger as the fight
wore on. Rose could hardly believe the stamina displayed by this old-timer, who
fought with the vigor of a demon. She did not know what a demon looked like,
but Jenny’s husband probably came close.
The swindler probably would have
agreed. Despite being younger and fitter, his inability to put a swift end to
the fight in his favor had an adverse effect on his initiative. His thrusts
became sloppier, and his defense, already cracked by Jenny’s husband, became
even less effective. Also working against him was time. He was the
perpetrator–the person who masterminded the theft of Rose’s money and later assaulted
two women. As the fight was taking place in public, sooner or later someone
would notify the police. His motivation to continue the duel began to sag, but
like most street fighters, his pride and refusal to admit defeat ensured that
he would battle it out to a conclusion, even if it meant jail, serious injury,
or death.
Jenny’s husband sensed this and
took advantage of the situation. He brought his superior height to bear down on
the swindler, and was finally able to get through to his face with his belt.
The swindler winced reflexively from the pain brought about by the heavy
buckle, which had opened a gash on his forehead. The Jenny’s husband kicked him
in the groin and knocked him down with a hook to his right temple. He was about
to lay down another kick when Rose shouted for him to stop. The police had
arrived.
Two policemen came running over,
and were confused as to whom they should arrest until Rose and Jenny explained
that the swindler had taken Rose’s money and assaulted them both, while Jenny’s
husband was only trying to protect them. Convinced of their claim, the
policemen went over to the swindler, who was still lying on the ground, and
made him sit up. Then they searched him and found a handkerchief, a wallet,
some coins, a broken pocket watch, and Rose’s money clip. "How much money
was in your money clip?" one of them asked Rose.
"I had one five dollar bill
and seven one dollar bills," answered Rose confidently. "Altogether,
it should be twelve dollars."
"That’s my money," the
swindler protested shamelessly. "That old witch tried to take it from
me," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Jenny.
"You’re a goddamn
liar!" countered Jenny’s husband.
"Quiet. We’ll see who it
belongs to," said one of the policemen. He unclipped the money and examined
the bills. They were in the exact denominations that Rose described. "I
think this proves whose money it is." He re-clipped the bills and handed
the money to Rose.
"Thank you," said Rose
graciously.
"He had an accomplice,"
Jenny said of the swindler. "A young woman dressed in a lady’s outfit. You
might want to ask him about her."
"We will," said the
policeman. "Can you identify her if we pick the person up?"
"I think I can,"
answered Jenny, who was still injured and did not sound very excited about cooperating
with the police.
An ambulance arrived outside the
park, and its crew, including an intern from a local hospital, came over to
treat the wounded. The swindler was in the worst shape, and the intern treated
him first while the policemen guarded him. Then he was dragged away.
The other crew members went to
examine Jenny and her husband. The latter, whose nose had stopped bleeding,
refused treatment and directed all crew members to assist his wife. "We’ll
have to take you back to the hospital to give you a further examination,"
said one of the crew to Jenny. She agreed, but only on the condition that her
husband and Rose accompany her.
*****
"I want them to look at you,
too," Jenny said to her husband during the ride to the hospital. Her face
had been bruised from the beating she took from the swindler, and she held some
ice to it to keep the pain and swelling down.
Jenny’s husband held her hand
tightly. "I’m all right," he said. "I’m not sure if you
are."
Jenny shook her head and sighed.
"You’re getting too old for this, and I’m obviously getting too old to
pick pockets. Both of us need to find a new line of work," she joked.
"You were great,
Jenny," applauded Rose. "That canteen really was for
protection."
Jenny smiled. "See, I wasn’t
lying when I mentioned it to your friend, May, two days ago."
Jenny’s husband looked at Rose.
"That was smart of you to distract the trickster with yer coins, Rose. He
wasn’t ready for that."
"Nor was he ready for your
punch before that," said Jenny.
"Or for your husband’s punch
after that," added Rose, who was still a little shaken by the swindle and
fight. "I was furious, but it was very unnerving for me to hit him. This
is not the first time I have punched a man, but the one I punched earlier was
not trying to kill me." My life was still in danger, though.
"This one probably was. I could still feel his knife near my face."
"Welcome to street life on
the Lower East Side, Rose," quipped Jenny, taking her hand.
"You got a lot of sand in
you," said Jenny’s husband.
"Sand?"
"I mean a lot of nerve. But
I like that in a woman." He then winked at his wife. "Certainly
better than looking and acting like a porcelain doll."
Porcelain doll. Rose had told Jack that was how she did
not want to look. "Could a porcelain doll punch, spit, or bite?" she
asked lightheartedly. The sense of humor displayed by Jenny’s husband so soon
after the fight inspired her to follow his lead.
"Apparently not as well as
you," remarked Jenny.
"And certainly not as well
as your husband, Jenny." Rose turned back to him. "You were just
amazing. I thought you were really going to kick him after you knocked him
down."
Jenny’s husband mused over this
remark. "You’d have done a better job of that if you didn’t wash off all
the dung from yer shoe. The bottom of it would look great on his face."
Rose blushed at such a repulsive
idea, but was compelled to smile after imagining how funny it would be to mar
the swindler’s face with manure. "You did not have another knife, did
you?"
"No, but I still got through
to his chest. So, what happened to yer friend?"
"Oh, Miss Howard went
upstate to live with her sister. We had gone sight-seeing two days ago when we
first met you. I am glad she did not have to see what happened today. But if
she were here and saw what you did, she would have apologized for calling you a
cheeky bastard. I must admit I agreed with her assessment of you two days ago.
Sorry."
"No, you’re right, Rose. I
am a cheeky bastard. I’m just the kind of cheeky bastard you can live
with." Everyone giggled at the gibe.
"I almost forgot to thank
you for saving our lives," said Rose. "How may I address you?"
"The name’s Vallon…but you
can call me Amsterdam."
Continued in The Education of Rose Dawson: Part II.