IMAGES OF ONESELF
Chapter Seven

Jack peered from behind the curtain and watched as Rose approached the boarding house. His son had warned him that she was thin, but he was still shocked to see just how frail she really was. She walked slowly along the sidewalk as if her feet would give out at any second. Her head was bent and he was sure that he was not imagining that he saw her wipe tears from her eyes. His heart was breaking to see her like this and he could not wait until she made it up to her room so that he could hold her in his arms and once and for all take her away from her problems. In her weakened state he just hoped that the shock of seeing him would not be too much for her.

He had been appalled to see where she was living. Her room was tiny. A narrow bed was pushed in the corner and a worn and faded armchair stood by the window. There was a small kitchen table with two rickety chairs, a noisy little refrigerator and a disreputable looking hotplate that filled the eating area. The light came from the window and a single bulb in the ceiling. There must have been a bathroom down the hall, for he could see no such facilities in here. The only good thing that Jack could say about the whole space was that it was clean. Rose would have been the one to see to that.

His son had convinced the suspicious landlady to open the room for him. She had vaguely recalled that Rose had told him that he would be returning today. Then he and Jack had traded places, so as not to arouse the woman’s wrath for bringing a stranger onto her premises. Now only Jack himself waited here for Rose to return. The boy was down the street at Schrader’s Seaside Hotel on the pier where Jack hoped they would all have dinner together in a little while.

He glanced down at the weed-infested flowerbed in the front of the boarding house and saw the peeling window frame beside him. The entire building was rundown and seedy. It smelled of mildew, old bedding, backed up toilets and greasy food. “How has she survived?” wondered Jack. “Sleeping outside would be an improvement over this place.”

Rose was walking up the steps now and he could see her better. She was wearing a black maid’s dress and an old frayed sweater. On her feet she wore sturdy, but unbecoming black oxfords. Through her dress he could see the bony outline of her collarbone and where the sweater was pushed up on her arms, her painfully thin wrists were visible. Her face looked drawn and red, but nothing could ever detract from her beautiful features. Her hair was still that glorious coppery color that was highlighted now by the setting sun. She had cut it to chin length, but it still framed her face in uncontrollable curls.

Jack dropped the curtain back in place and stepped into the shadows. “Rose, hurry.” He sighed heavily. “I can’t wait much longer now to hold you.”

She dragged herself the last few feet to the door of her room and fumbled with the lock. With all her might she struggled to push the door open. For months she had complained about the stubborn door, but she knew it would never be fixed. She stood in the doorway for a moment, her mind tumbling with thoughts of her son. A quick glance straight across the room told her that he had not yet here. She saw only a man’s jacket draped over one of the kitchen chairs. “He must have been here and gone out for a moment.”

Today, which should have been such a special day, had pushed her to the very end of her rope. She was physically exhausted from months of hard work as a maid and the lack of proper nutrition. Emotionally she was overwrought from worrying about keeping some kind of roof over her head and wondering if her son was safe. And now, this afternoon, she had lost her job. The nightmare of not having a place to live had almost become a reality. She had enough put away to stay here and buy a little food for a couple of more weeks. But if she didn’t find another job soon, she would be joining the squatters down the in park. Her son had talked about a celebration when he came home. How on earth was she supposed to have the energy to think about that?

She walked towards the chair and saw that what was hanging there was actually a man’s suit jacket. “Odd,” she thought. “Jack doesn’t have a suit. He must have done well on his trip.” There was a note on the table and underneath it was a larger, folded, piece of paper. Rose reached for the note first. It was from her son. Several words were scratched out, looking as though he’d had trouble getting his thoughts on paper. The words “we’re here” had been crossed off. That puzzled her. Who was the we? Instead it read, “Mom, I’m back. I’ll see you at five. Went to say hi to some of my friends. Don’t forget about the surprise. It will make you happy. Trust me.”

Trust. Another one of Jack’s traits that were so important to his son. Somehow that was something she’d not had to teach him. The boy innately seemed to understand that trust was an important part of a relationship. And anyway, how on earth could her son be so sure that his surprise would make her happy.

Gently she picked up the other piece of paper. Her hands were cold and trembling. She felt a strange feeling as she came in contact with the yellowing, manila paper. Probably because it reminded her so much of the pages of drawings that Jack had once shown her. Slowly, she unfolded it and as the picture came into view, she felt like her chest was squeezing shut. There in front of her was a drawing of herself and Jack, standing at the end of the old pier in Santa Monica. The details of the artist’s work told her that they could only have been drawn by one person. Her eyes seemed to be deceiving her. Her fingers moved slowly around the sketch, stopping at the very bottom. Rose’s heart stopped when she saw the initials, JD and the date, April 14, 1916. The picture started swimming in front of her. “1916, JD, JD,” she whispered, over and over. Once again she looked at the date, rubbing the number six with her index finger. It had to be a two. Jack had died in 1912. How could this drawing be from 1916? Her son Jack Dawson had been three years old in 1916. He couldn’t have drawn this. She drew in a breath trying to comprehend what this all meant.

Carefully she laid the picture on the table. She pulled out the chair and slowly sat down, burying her head in her hands. There had to be only two explanations for this. Either she had lost her mind, or it was some kind of cruel joke. “Oh, Jack, how can this be? Why am I being tortured like this?”

Jack watched from behind her as her shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs. He could hear her incoherent mumblings. It was time to step forward, to comfort her, and to make his presence known. Noiselessly, he walked to her chair and stood behind her. He reached his hands out to touch her shoulders, and then hesitated for moment. Jack inhaled silently, with one thought on his mind. “Let me say the right things to her.“

As if he was touching a fragile piece of glass, he tenderly put his hands on her, stunned by her thinness. She was still shaking uncontrollably. At first she seemed unaware that anyone was near her. Then ever so slowly, she reached up making contact with his hand.

“Shh, Rose, it’s going to be alright now. I’m going to take you home with me. You don’t ever have to live like this again. We’re going to make each day count.”

She froze as she heard those familiar words. The voice sounded like her son’s, but he would never call her Rose. Only one other person knew those words, but he was dead. Had she gotten herself so hysterical that she was now hearing voices? She touched the hand, her thumb running over its work worn surface. It was a hand that reminded her of Jack. But how could it be? Was this just another figment of her already exhausted mental state?

Again he spoke, ”Shh,” he said. “Stop crying. Let me take care of you, Rose.” He knelt down at the side of her chair. Gently he took her hands in his, pulling them away from her eyes. He kissed one palm first and then the other.

Her head was down and she was afraid to look at the person she knew was in front of her. She wanted desperately to see Jack when she looked up. The voice was his and the hand felt like it belonged to him. She thought of all the subtle clues that had greeted her. Slowly things began to make sense. The man’s suit jacket, the scratched out words “we”, one of Jack’s drawings. They all had been intended to give her a hint of what was to come. “I am bringing you a surprise. I know it will make you very happy.” Then the words in the rest of the letter. “…..took me in like a son.” Everything done to lessen the shock. How could she ever have believed that this would be possible?

“Look at me Rose,” he urged.

Slowly she raised her face to meet his. There looking at her with eyes as alive and blue at the ocean was Jack. Jack, her love. Jack, who she thought she would never see again. With her fingertip, she slowly reached out and traced every feature of his face, as if to convince herself that this was not a ghost. When she got to the mouth, she could feel the warmth of his breath and the gentle curve of his smile. She tried to speak, but her words came out in a whisper. “You’re the surprise he wrote about.” The miracle of his presence sent her mind whirling and spinning out of control. Only the tight grasp of his hands on hers prevented her from losing her grip on reality. This was no illusion, no dream. He was as real as she was.

He gave his affirmation by a nod of his head. “Yes, I’m the surprise. That was all I would let him say.” Jack watched as her pupils dilated and saw her lips tremble. He pulled both of them into a standing position and without another word he put his arms around her and crushed his lips against her mouth. He felt Rose sway weakly against him and heard the soft moan that escaped from her throat. As if no time had passed since their last kiss, they clung together, their bodies and mouths melting together as one.

Her skin tingled with pleasure as Jack murmured words of endearment in her ears. He kissed her mouth and her neck until she was limp in his arms. She clung to him, burying her head in the curve of his shoulder while he threaded his fingers through her hair. Standing in his arms now, she wondered how she had ever been able to get through a day without him.

“Rose,” he whispered, her body jarred by his sensual voice. “This is a gift, Rose. Our finding each other. A gift of love.” He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed now, his breathing slowed as he languidly caressed her back. Holding her and touching her seemed as natural as if it was something he had done everyday for the last eighteen years. She was a part of him that had been missing all this time. And he intended on making the most of their love everyday from now on.

When at last they broke apart, Rose spoke in a hushed voice. “Jack, how is all this possible?”

He looked down at her with a bittersweet smile. It was just as hard for him to believe this was all real. As he twisted a tendril of her hair and planted tiny kisses on her forehead, he gave her a short answer. “We’ll talk about all that later. I don’t know what happened that night. It doesn’t matter now. But our son found me. He’s a good boy, Rose.” He felt her head nod. “Come on, let’s get your things and get out of here. You don’t belong here.”

Rose searched his eyes, still unsure that this was all real. “Where are we going?”

“To the hotel. On the pier. That’s where Jack is now. Waiting for us. Then home. To Chippewa Falls.”

She was too numb to comprehend everything he was saying. Like a bolt of lightening, the shock of what had happened hit her and she clutched his shirt, burying her head against his chest. After months of anxiety and poverty, salvation had come. Jack had saved her again.

His arms folded around her and he held her tightly while she cried. His new shirt was wet from her crying, but he would have everything he owned ruined if it would bring happiness to Rose.

She stood in his embrace trying to control her ragged breathing. Jack smoothed her hair and whispered comforting words to her. “It’s going to be alright now Rose. We’re together. That’s the only thing that matters.” He stroked her back and she was filled with a rush of sensations. She felt for the first time in months some sense of security. The fears of hunger and loneliness that had haunted her day and night were starting to subside. The familiar stirrings of desire as Jack held her in his arms made her heart pound like a hammer. She felt at last, safe and loved.

Ever so gently he let go of her. He wanted to kiss her, hold her and make love to her. He eyed the bed in the corner of the room, but that was not what she deserved. Tonight would be like their first time and he wanted to make it right for her.

“Rose,” he said, “come on, get your things and let’s get out of here.” He could not get her away from this squalid place soon enough.

She looked up at him, into his eyes that looked almost turbulent. Was he fighting to keep a grip on his feelings as well? “Alright,” she agreed. “I don’t have much left. Not even a suitcase.” She cast her eyes down, ashamed and embarrassed that Jack should have seen her living like this. Somehow, she found the strength to walk to the closet and pull out several dresses. “These are the only two worth taking. I was saving them,” she explained as she reached for a pair of shoes. “I just need some underthings.” She glanced over at Jack and blushed. “And my perfume and lipstick.”

He watched as she opened and closed a few drawers. Her movements were still so graceful, her voice so cultured. Nothing could ever take away from what Rose really was, a lady. Though a lady with a very wild, adventurous streak. He felt a moment of guilt as he thought about the fact that meeting him had brought her the consequences of what had happened to her. But she had chosen to leave that other life behind. Nothing could have stopped her and no one could have foreseen a national calamity like this, anymore than either of them could have predicted that they would have lost each other on Titanic. He had always felt that a person just had to accept what fate dealt them and this time, he’d been given a good hand. And he was going to share it with Rose.

Jack smiled, watching as she splashed a few drops of perfume on her wrists. A lady like Rose would always manage to hang onto some perfume. She had always smelled so good. He watched as she folded the last of her things and placed them in a bag.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes. I still can’t believe this Jack. I feel kind of numb.”

He nodded in agreement. “I felt the same way when I found out you were alive. We have to start over now, for us, for our son.” He watched as a look of happiness washed over her face. “The three of us will have dinner and…..”

“And then?” she finished for him.

“And then, we’ll walk out on that pier, just like we talked about. And maybe look at the stars.” He could feel the need to hold her again building inside of him. The night could not come soon enough as far as he was concerned.

“And you’ll take me there, Jack?” she suggested, a look of hope in her eyes. Just one look at Jack and the memory of their one night together sent flames of passion coursing through her body. Even the uncomfortable setting of that old Renault had in no way detracted from the magical journey they had taken that cold April night.

She spoke those words with such an intensity, that now he was the one that was speechless. Their eyes were drawn to each other, both of them imagining in their minds of what was to come.

Rose put her hands on his shoulders and then slid them around his neck. This time she kissed him first, deeper and more intensely than before. She tenderly combed her fingers through his hair. Slowly his strength became hers. “Oh, Jack, I’ve dreamed of this moment that I thought could never be. I love you.” Her heart was racing now. For years, she had thought of this reunion. What it would be like if only… Now by some quirk of fate he was here and she could not think. The beautiful, poetic words that were in her heart failed her. She had to let her body speak for her.

Jack rested his head on her forehead and stroked her head. “All these years, Rose, it’s only been you. You were the only thing I could think of.” He leaned his cheek against hers. “I will never get enough of you. I love you too.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and then on her lips. “Come on, we don’t want to do this here. But tonight, Rose, tonight.”

Jack picked up the bag of her meager belongings and took her hand. Rose walked out of the room, her head down, not wanting to look back. He led her down the stairs and outside where the sun was setting in a blaze of glory. The colors reflected on the ocean, reminding her of another sunset, when she and Jack had shared their first kiss. It was the night she had changed the course of her existence. She thought of her life as a book. In that sunset in 1912, she had closed one chapter and started another. The sinking of Titanic had made her put the book down for awhile. Tonight, she was starting that new chapter all over again, with the man she had always loved.

The sharp light of the sun as it sank over the horizon made her squint and turn away. Her eyes fell on Jack who walked along beside her. In the fading daylight she was able to see him better than she had in her darkened room. His hair, short now, was blonder than ever, as if he was constantly exposed to the sun. A few tiny flecks of gray, told of the eighteen years that had passed, since she had last seen him. He seemed taller, but it was his lean, body that gave that illusion. Jack appeared to be more muscular too. She wondered what kind of life he led that gave him this appearance. Surely one did not attain this kind of physique sitting and drawing all day. They’d no had time to talk about that. Only Jack’s eyes remained the same. They were still the same brilliant blue. When she looked into them she was as captivated as she had been the first time she saw him. They were like magnets that drew their souls together.

“What are you thinking about,” he said interrupting her thoughts.

She gave a shake of her head. “Nothing, everything.” She smiled up at him, not yet ready to talk.

“Have I changed that much, Rose?” he asked, reading her thoughts.

“Have, I?” she countered.

He studied her, his eyes moving across her face. “Outwardly, a little. Inside, I hope not.”

“I guess I’d say the same about you, Jack. I still can’t believe this.” She rested her head against his arm, satisfied that for now they were together.

He set down her bag that he carried and put both his hands on her shoulders. “This time, Rose, we’re going to make it. I promise.”

The sun was gone and with it the last day of her loneliness. Jack was here, wanting to take care of her. His promise of a new tomorrow gave her hope, a feeling she had almost forgotten had existed. She searched his eyes, seeing his optimism and his love. Yes, he was right. They would make it this time.

Chapter Eight
Stories