Ruth sat stiffly in a chair in her hotel suite. She, too, had taken advantage of the White Star Line's offer of free accommodations. After all, it was probably going to be the last time she ever enjoyed the luxury to which she felt she was entitled. She had a train ticket to Philadelphia, but it didn't leave for another three days. Until then, she had nothing else to do but remain in her room. She didn't want to see any of the other survivors. It was too shameful, even if they didn't know the truth about what happened to her daughter. Their pitying looks and empty offers of support were too much for her to bear.
Grief wasn't her problem, though she was certain Rose was indeed dead. How could anything else have happened? There was no way she could have made it out alive, at least no way Ruth could see. No, grief wasn't her problem. It might be eventually, but at that moment she was too caught up in other things.
What would she do now? What would she tell people when they asked what happened? How was she to explain away Rose's death? She couldn't say, "Well, she ran back into the sinking ship, and after that I never saw her again." No, she could never say that, even though that's exactly what happened. Nor could she say, "She met this—this boy and he somehow convinced her to…" She couldn't finish the sentence because she wasn't entirely sure what exactly he had convinced her to do. She'd seen the drawing, all right, but there was more to it. She'd also seen the way they'd looked at each other. The simple truth was Rose had given up her life to be with him.
"She threw away everything," Ruth said aloud. Her voice echoed in the silent room. "Everything—and for what?"
Just then, a sharp knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts. Irritated at being interrupted, she quickly opened it and found herself staring into the faces of two of the women from the Titanic's first class.
"We heard this was your room, and we wanted to make sure you were doing all right," the first one, a petite blonde, said.
"Yes. Do you need anything at all?" added the other one, a tall brunette.
Ruth stared at them for a moment, unable to form an acceptable answer. It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out, "What I need is for my daughter to not have been so foolish with her choices," but she had been well-trained.
"I'm quite all right, thank you," she said graciously. "It was good of you to think of me."
"Would you like to have dinner with us?" asked the blonde. She seemed to be the leader. The brunette nodded. "Yes. We would love it if you would join us."
Ruth didn't believe for a second the two women sought her out because they were concerned. They barely knew her. They wanted information. She had underestimated how quickly things can get around.
She opened her mouth, ready to decline their invitation, but what actually came out was, "That would be lovely."
Deep down, she knew that refusing their offer would only fuel the gossip fires even more, and she also knew it might be the last dinner of its kind. Once people found out the truth about her, it would all be over.
*****
Just as Ruth was accepting a dinner invitation, Jack and Rose were repeating their wedding vows. Their wedding only lasted about three minutes.
And just like that, it was over. They were married.
Rose couldn't believe it. It all seemed so unreal. Less than a week earlier, she had been engaged to Cal, and now here she was, married to someone else. Not just someone else, she reminded herself. You're married to Jack.
A small part of her had never believed it would actually happen. She trusted her feelings—and him—completely, and once she accepted how she felt, it was obvious what she had to do. Yet she hadn't been able to shake the gnawing fear that something would go wrong. It was too good to be true. After all, marriage, as far as her old world was concerned, had very little to do with love. By the standards of her old world, she had just made one of the biggest mistakes a woman could make, but she didn't care.
Jack couldn't believe it either. How did this happen? Why me?
And then something else entered his mind, something he was ashamed of thinking even as he did so.
Looks like I won.