A FIRE IN THE WIND
Chapter Thirteen
Rose and Ruth arrived home at about four.
Rose was still quite pleased with her rude behavior towards her cousin, and was
relieved when Victoria hadn't mentioned anything about it to her mother.
"These came for you today, Miss,"
Agatha said, handing Rose about two dozen roses and a card.
"Thank you," Rose replied, groaning
inside.
Roses? Maybe they were just a symbol of her
slavery to Cal. Rose took the flowers up to her room, sat down on her bed, and
read the note. It said:
Sweetpea--
I'm missing you a lot! Can't wait for the
big day. Hope these will cheer you up for now.
--Cal
Rose placed the roses on her nightstand,
although she didn't want them there at all. They were just another meaningless
gift from Cal. He had only sent them to Rose to humor her, and make her
remember "how great" Caledon Hockley was. It didn't work. Money
couldn't make Rose love.
When Rose had received "Le Coeur de la
Mer," she thought of it as a dog collar, put around her neck so the whole
world could see that she was in fact the property of Caledon Hockley. When Rose
found it in Cal's coat pocket on the Carpathia, she realized that it was
probably more important to him then she was.
Rose lay on her bed, immensely grateful to be
away from Victoria. Her thoughts lingered back to Jack, as they usually did.
Jack would understand why she couldn't make it to his flat today. He knew that
Rose would have to be occupied some of the time. Jack was so kind.
Rose felt like she knew more about Jack then
anyone else in the world. Every time that he touched her, or held her hand,
Rose could feel his whole soul rushing to her heart. Cal wasn't like that.
Rose's mind lingered on the drawing. She
hadn't thought about it in the last week at all, really. It was at the bottom
of the ocean, with all the other painful memories of Titanic. Rose knew that
Jack could always draw another picture of her, but she wondered if her could
capture her as magically as he did the first night of their companionship
together. The first half of that night had been so magical, and then came the
hell of the second part.
Rose was still recovering from the disaster.
So many innocent lives were lost. Her mind lingered back to Captain Smith's
words on Sunday afternoon. "Not to worry. It's quite normal for this time
of year. In fact, we're speeding up. I've just ordered the last boilers
lit." How could they have been so cocky?
Rose looked across the room at the clock on
the mantel. 5:30. Had she been in her room for an hour and a half? It didn't
seem possible. Rose knew her mother expected her down for dinner at six, so she
reluctantly got up to put on her evening attire.
At 6:05 Rose walked in the dining room,
wearing a simple sea blue evening dress. Ruth was already seated, nibbling on
her salad.
"You're late," Ruth snapped at her
daughter, fiercely.
"Sorry," Rose murmured, taking a
seat across from her mother. Dinner was quiet, as usual. When Rose's father was
alive he always made dinner somewhat bearable. Sometimes he would bribe Rose
with a piece of candy, asking her to be polite at the table. It always worked.
Jon Bukater knew how to tell a story. During dinner, he would babble at a
million miles per hour, and would sometimes even manage to make Ruth laugh.
Rose beamed, thinking about her fathers'
stories. They had always managed to make her laugh and would cheer her up
whenever she was in a bad mood.
"Cal called this afternoon. He shall be
back earlier then expected," Ruth said, catching Rose off guard.
Rose looked up, startled by the sound of her
mother's voice. "When?"
"The day after tomorrow. I expect you to
stop acting like a child. You're an adult, almost eighteen years old, but you
still act like a little girl." Ruth sighed. "Your father spoiled
you."
Rose looked down at her near empty plate,
trying to avoid the subject of her father. Rose's mother's words stabbed her in
the heart. Ruth always knew to perfect way to insult both Jon and Rose.
Ruth never hated Jon. In fact, there was a
time when Ruth actually loved him. Over the years she changed. The two's ways
of parenting were immensely different. Jon wanted Rose to have a normal
childhood, full of laughter and fun. He wanted Rose to go to college, to marry
whoever she wished, and to spend her life doing whatever she wished most. Ruth,
on the other hand wanted Rose to spend her childhood learning the ways of a
lady in society, to go to a strict finishing school, and to be kept away from
anything in the least bit uncouth. Ruth expected her daughter to marry a high
man of society, chosen by her, and become a high member of Philadelphia
society.
Eventually, Ruth's plan for Rose's life won
out because of her sharp tongue. One of Jon's weaknesses was that he was too
kind to fight, so he became an easy target for his wife to boss around.
After Jon died, Ruth saw more of her husband
in Rose then ever before. Rose was always daydreaming and questioning about why
she had to live to sort of life that she was expected to. Rose was unlike any
of Ruth's friend's children. Although, Rose could play the part if she was
forced to. Ruth felt cursed. She was stuck raising a piece of Jon. Whenever
Ruth looked into Rose's face, she saw Jon's spirit.
Ruth hated it. She hid Rose's wildness up as
best as she could. Rose knew how to behave at social events, but now, more then
ever, Rose's wild spirit was running loose. 'Jack Dawson is to blame,' Ruth
thought bitterly.