ELUDING DESTINY
Chapter Eight
They had found a secluded spot in
the ship's cozy library, for neither of them wanted to leave the other unless
absolute need arose. They'd been sitting there, shielded by high shelves of
books, talking quietly, when suddenly Rose realized that Jack wasn't looking at
her with his usual expression.
Instead, his eyes were narrowing
as the seconds ticked by; he was focusing in on a part of her face just above
her cheekbone...
Uh-oh. Rose suddenly realized what he was looking
at, and kicked herself mentally for not covering the bruise well enough with
powder.
"What's that?" he
asked, trying to sound casual, but there was a hint of repressed anger in his
voice.
Rose decided to play dumb.
"What?" she asked innocently.
"This." He touched an
index finger lightly to her cheek, and she fought an impulse to wince.
"This bruise. I don't remember this."
Rose thought quickly.
"Um...oh!" she said, laughing a little, as though just remembering
something funny. "It's so silly, really. Serves me right for being so
clumsy. Last night, after Mother and I talked, I went into my room and the
lamps were off. I couldn't see a thing, and I tripped. I didn't realize this
morning that the bruise was so visible."
It wasn't that she wanted to lie
to him. It was that she had to, because she was afraid of what would happen if
he found out that Cal had struck her. It didn’t take a genius to realize that
Cal and Jack already hated each other, and Rose didn't want anymore trouble.
She didn't want Jack taken away from her.
Jack looked duly unimpressed.
Perhaps she wasn't meant to be an actress after all. Or perhaps they already
knew each other so well that he could see right through her. In any case, he
obviously didn’t buy into her story, for he said, "Oh..." and gave
her a long look.
Rose looked away. "What is
that look for?" she asked, pretending to be fascinated by the wallpaper.
Jack took a deep breath, then
cupped her chin in his hand and turned her back to face him. "Rose. Look
at me." She reluctantly lifted her eyes to his. "Did Cal hit
you?"
Well, that was certainly blunt.
Rose blinked at him for a few seconds, buying time as she tried to figure out
how to answer. "W-what makes you ask that?" she asked, pretending to
be surprised.
Apparently that meant "yes,
Jack, he did hit me" in Jack's vocabulary, for his expression hardened and
he let go of her chin.
"Rose--" He sighed,
staring hard at the floor for a second, then turned to her again. "You
have to be honest with me, all right? Maybe the fact that he hit you was none
of my business a few days ago, but now it is. Because I love you. And I don't
want...I don't want anything to happen to you, all right?"
Her eyes softened. "I know
that, Jack."
"Then he did hit you."
Rose took a deep breath, looked
down at her hands, and spoke rapidly. "He was angry. He has a very bad
temper, and then on top of that, he'd been drinking. Heavily. He felt
betrayed."
"Dammit, Rose, don’t make
excuses for him." Jack jumped to his feet and unconsciously started to
pace in front of the couch. "You know he was wrong. You know it."
"I knew you’d get angry,
Jack. That’s why I didn't want to tell you." She heard her own voice
rising, and continued in a lower tone. "Because you’ll want to rush right
over there and confront him!"
Jack calmed down somewhat.
"Okay. Rose. Look, I promise I won't do anything without telling you
first. All right?"
"All right." She felt
relieved, and touched the bruise on her face. "Is it really that
noticeable?"
"Only if you look
closely." Jack sat down beside her. "Does it hurt?"
"No. Not really. It stung a
little last night, but not anymore. I'm fine, Jack."
He sighed, and caressed her face
gently with his hand, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly where the
bruise was. "I don't want this to happen to you again," he said
quietly, pulling away and meeting her eyes. His were serious, and worried.
"Next time it could be worse."
*****
Ruth nodded and smiled and
pretended to be interested in what the Countess was saying. It was second
nature by now. As the Countess went on and on about an upcoming gala, though,
Ruth's eyes scanned the café, and her thoughts were elsewhere.
Where was her daughter? Rose was
far too impetuous and high-strung for her own good. She'd simply left while
Ruth was dressing that morning, and left no indication of where she was going.
Oh, Ruth had a pretty good idea
who she was with. The thought that Rose and that steerage boy were off
carousing around the ship somewhere irked her, but there was really nothing she
could do. Not without making a scene, anyhow. And if there was one thing Ruth
DeWitt Bukater feared, it was a scene.
Mr. Hockley had also failed to
make an appearance that morning. No doubt he was sulking somewhere on his own.
Ruth was finding that she disliked him more and more as time passed on this
voyage, and she found his whining unbelievably childish. Of course, he was very
wealthy, which made up for it. But it appeared they weren't even going to get
his money now.
She silently cursed the day Jack
Dawson had come into their lives. Then she paused in mid-thought, remembering
somewhat guiltily that he'd saved her daughter's life. Probably the only
good thing he's ever done, she thought with a sniff.
"Hello, girls!"
Ruth closed her eyes briefly. If
there was one thing she didn't need right now, it was the vulgar Mrs. Brown.
Ruth had heard that she used to be a waitress, for heaven’s sake. And, of
course, her poor husband's reputation was now ruined because of her.
"How are ya this
mornin'?" Molly continued as she sat heavily in the only empty chair left
at their table.
"Just fine, Molly, and
you?" Mrs. Astor asked warmly.
Ruth tuned them out. She studied
young Mrs. Astor. She was only a few years older than Rose, and certainly
wealthier. Of course, JJ Astor was about as exciting as chopped liver, but
Madeleine was set for life. She had nothing more to worry about.
Ruth suddenly had everything to
worry about. The match between Rose and Mr. Hockley that she'd so carefully
schemed had fallen apart. Hockley had turned into a sniveling child. Rose had
fallen for a poor nobody who spit for recreation.
And they were about to lose any
hope of financial security.
Ruth wondered what it was like to
be poor. She knew that if she'd gone with James, very likely she would be right
now.
James.
He'd been nothing like this
Dawson boy. He'd been a gentleman even though he was only a servant. He'd had
dreams and ambitions, and he'd fascinated her with them, even though now,
looking back, she realized how impossible they were for him to reach.
Where would I be right now, she wondered, if James and I had eloped
as planned? Where would my daughter be?
Rose was her pride and joy. She
was beautiful and intelligent and very talented, although Ruth had never her
told her those things. It would make her vain. But she was all those things,
and it was no wonder, really, that that Mr. Dawson had fallen for her and Mr.
Hockley was all broken up over her.
Ruth was proud of her, despite
all that had happened. She'd always had such a clear head, unlike Ruth, who
only pretended to. Rose always knew what she wanted and made up her mind,
hardly any hesitations.
James had been that way.
Yes, she was like her father. Her
spirit, her adventurous side, her desire to see the world. And her eyes. Those
dark blue eyes never failed to remind Ruth of James, and she wished he might
see her today. She wished that he might see their daughter, and smile at Ruth
the way he used to--he was forever an eighteen-year-old in her mind--and
say--what would he say? She pictured his face and heard his voice again in her
mind. "Well, Ruthie, you sure did a good job raising her."
Ruthie had been his pet name for
her. He teased her with it, and she had pretended to hate it, but really she hadn't.
It sounded so much more friendly--and approachable--than Ruth.
"I'm going to see the world,
Ruthie. And I want you to come with me."
Ruth stared into her tea, her
mind a million miles away, and years ago. The night she had refused him.
"I'm sorry, James. I can't."
She'd been so cold. So cold. God,
why had she been so cold? She'd broken his heart. He'd left her standing beside
the tree, their old meeting spot, and she'd never seen him again. She hadn't
even seen him walk away.
"I'm going to see the world,
Ruthie..." Ruth dabbed at her face with her napkin so they couldn't see
the tears in her eyes.