A SIMPLE KIND OF LIFE
Chapter Three

April 11, 1912

Rose awoke early on the morning of Thursday, April the eleventh. The weather outside was fine and the sun was shining beautifully. Rose dressed in a light green and lace tea dress. She contemplated a wearing a hat, but decided against it. The only hat she had to match her daywear was red and green and she found it to be disgusting, so she tossed it back into her wardrobe.

Breakfast was served at eight and afterwards Rose took her book up on deck to catch some air and to attempt to finish it.

The deck was full of finely dressed men and women, all up on deck taking the mid-morning air. The deck chairs, which sat in twos along the promenade deck, all seemed to be taken, so Rose continued her walk on the deck until she came upon two empty deck chairs.

Rose perched herself on the left one and opened her book before engrossing herself once again. The book was by HG Wells and was his first non-fiction bestseller named Anticipations. It was a book that anticipated what the world would be like in the year 2000. Rose had been fascinated by his writings since she was a little girl and she had owned the book since 1901, when the book was published. Her mother had always hated her reading the dreaded book, fearing it would give her false ideas, but Ruth had always been defeated.

Reading was one of Rose’s dearest passions. She also loved to sing and dance, unknown to her mother, although she had taken ballet lessons up to the age of thirteen, when her mother had pulled her out of class and sent her to an all-girls finishing school in the south of France. This was something she had despised with a passion. She was accompanied by her best childhood friend, Vivien, and together they had made secretive plans to escape, but they knew they would never go through with it. Finishing school had taught Rose how to play the piano, speak Latin and French fluently, and how to act like a proper lady.

Ruth had also made plans to send Rose to university until Cal had taken an interest in her. When Rose had actually wanted to go to university to further her education, Ruth had refused to back her up because the purpose of university was to find a suitable husband, and Rose had already found Cal.

A large gust of wind blew Rose’s tendrils everywhere, but the wind still didn’t disconnect Rose’s attention from the book. She had read the book many times over the years, but she still found it fascinating. She herself wondered what the future held, not just for herself, but for the world. She herself knew she wouldn’t be around to see the year 2000.

The sound of tapping of large feet along the wooden deck disturbed Rose from reading. The feet belonged to a man who had halted beside the deckchair next to her. Rose glanced upwards to see a young man dressed in a day suit and a top hat. He removed his hat to reveal his face, his straight, shaggy blond hair falling into his face. Rose recognized the man as the gentleman who chatted with Lucille Duff-Gordon at dinner the evening before. He smiled down at her a little.

"Is this chair occupied, ma’am?" he asked, indicating the deck chair beside her. She shook her head a little, losing the ability to speak.

"Um…no, sir. Please, take a seat." She sat back in her own chair.

"Thank you." The man positioned himself in the chair. Rose hoped he wouldn’t disturb her reading, and he didn’t for several minutes, until he took out a large leather portfolio and began to sharpen a piece of charcoal with a sharp knife before opening a sketchbook and sketching away. Rose sighed unhappily. She would have liked to finish this book.

The scratching from the charcoal on paper could be heard, and after several minutes, Rose gave up on the idea of having some peace up on deck.

She gazed up at the sun and realized how warm it actually was. She could feel her face burning a little and was worried that her nose would peel or her face would burn, but then she thought of her mother. If her mother could see her now, she would probably faint. Here she was, outside in the middle of the morning without a hat, sitting next to…well…dare she admit? A rather handsome man.

Discreetly, Rose looked from the corner of her eye at the man beside her. He must only be nineteen or twenty and he was alone. Where was his mother? Or wife, for that matter?

She watched as his hands moved over the paper, creating line after line, and then the drawing came together and Rose glanced around to see what exactly he was sketching. It was then that she saw an elderly couple gazing over the railing at the sun and the sea. Rose watched, entranced by the old couple. They held hands just like young lovers and seemed to be comfortable in each other’s presence. They seemed to have been married for hundreds of years, and by the way the man gazed at the woman with nothing but love in his eyes, she knew that people like them were brought together by fate.

She herself was a huge believer in fate. Maybe it was fate that Cal would attack her, so then she could be free and make a life for herself and maybe in a few years she would find her own husband and settle down. Rose knew that she wanted to settle down, but not for a while. She wanted to explore every nook and cranny of the world first. She wanted to say she had lived her life to the fullest and not just stayed in the town she had been born in forever, like her own mother.

After taking several glances at the man himself, Rose thought of whether to make conversation with him, but decided against it. He seemed to be so engrossed in his sketch that she didn’t wish to disturb him, even though he had disturbed her.

After a while, Rose, unbeknownst to herself, moved slightly closer to the strange man. She was staring somewhat rudely at the sketch he was doing.

The man must have noticed this and turned immediately to face the woman beside him. The last he knew, she was reading a book, and now she was staring intently at his work, not that he minded at all.

He laughed a little and this broke Rose’s concentration. She slowly moved her eyes to meet the man’s and could feel her cheeks burning a little at the fact that he had caught her staring very rudely.

"I’m sorry." She smiled a little, actually meaning it. She didn’t know just how rude she was being.

"It’s all right, ma’am. It’s just that the last time I looked, you were reading HG Wells. Now you’re looking at my work. That’s all."

"Oh. I--well, I was distracted." Rose found the words, but immediately regretted them. He must think of her as some sort of stalker or crazy woman.

He smiled a little. Rose found herself smiling, too. His smile was purely contagious.

"I’m sorry. Did I distract you, too? You seemed so engrossed."

"No. I was almost done."

With that, the man went back to his work and finished off a few lines here and there. Rose had forgotten the small talk with the man and had become lost in her own world. She thought of what she was to do when she was home. She had no skills and no work experience. Would she continue to live with her mother? Rose knew that when she turned eighteen she would inherit a little money from her father, which he had set up as a trust fund for her when she was born, and no one else could touch the money besides her when she turned eighteen, but that wasn’t for almost another year. She had only turned seventeen at the beginning of 1912.

"Lovely day, isn’t it, miss?"

Rose was startled by the man’s voice again. She looked down to see a completed sketch and saw that the couple by the railing had gone. The sketch was marvelous. He had captured their souls and put them onto paper. She could see their love for one another. He was a very talented man. Maybe he was a famous artist or something.

"Yes, indeed it is. A lovely morning," Rose agreed.

"We have been blessed with good weather. I hope it continues. I love to come out on deck after breakfast. Beats staying inside listening to the others whining." He laughed a little, squinting at the sun.

"The others?" Rose asked, hoping to find out who he was traveling with.

"Oh, just some friends I met yesterday after I boarded. His name is Tommy. He’s Irish and drinks a little too much."

"At breakfast?" Rose laughed. There certainly were some characters aboard the ship. It was like a who’s who of society. "So, are you traveling alone, or…"

"Yes. I am alone. My Uncle Eric died almost two years ago. I have been alone since." The man’s head dipped a little and Rose immediately felt guilty for asking the question.

"I’m so sorry."

"It’s in the past now, ma’am." The man raised his eyes to look at Rose’s. She could feel just how much of a powerful presence he had. One look could make most women fall under his spell. Rose shook her head a little, trying the break herself out the small trance that she had appeared to fall in. His eyes still gazed at her for a few seconds, and then he smiled a little.

"I’m Jack Dawson." He held out his hand and waited for Rose to take it. Hopefully she would give a name.

"I’m Rose DeWitt Bukater." She placed her hand in his and he kissed it gracefully. Her hand was not gloved and she could feel his soft lips against her bare hand. Rose simply didn’t know what was wrong with her. She felt like someone she had read about in a romance novel. Maybe it was from being in the sun for too long.

"Oh, are you of the Philly DeWitt Bukaters?" Mr. Dawson asked.

"Yes. How do you know that?" She smiled a little, almost scared of how he knew.

"You must be the daughter of Ruth? Caledon Hockley’s fiancée, right?"

Rose’s heart fell and she suddenly felt sick. That was how he knew her. Of course. How could she not have known? When Cal and herself had become engaged, he had printed it all over the newspapers.

Hadn’t Mr. Dawson asked her a question? Asking if she was actually Cal’s fiancée?

Rose realized she hadn’t spoke in a while and her mouth open to say something, but then she realized her hand was still in his.

"No," she blurted. She surprised herself by saying this. Lord only knew this news would spread now, that she was no longer engaged to the great Cal Hockley.

"No? I thought you two were engaged as of last year?" Jack frowned a little, and he, too, saw Rose’s hand was in his. He felt himself blush a little.

"Things just didn’t work out right, Mr. Dawson. But please, I beg of you, don’t tell this news to anyone. I don’t want to be the center of gossip." Rose found herself talking a little too much and she removed her hand from Jack’s.

"I won’t. I swear. This is not my business, anyway. I am most certainly not one of them, Miss DeWitt Bukater. I am not a gossip."

Rose felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. She felt she could trust this man.

"Thank you. I am grateful, Mr. Dawson."

"Can we cut the formality now? I am Jack, not Mr. Dawson. That makes me sound old."

Rose laughed a little, and Jack noticed how much this beautiful woman seemed to have perked up since the change of subject. Her smile was captivating. Her hair was almost on fire, the most beautiful color he had ever seen, and her eyes were pools of blue he could swim in forever. Her skin was pale, with little color, and almost porcelain. She was dressed head to toe in light green and he thought she looked like a petite china doll in a shop window. Perfect.

"All right then. Please, call me Rose. My surname is quite a mouthful."

"No kidding. It takes me a beat to remember it." Jack watched as Rose laughed once again.

"So, where are you headed, Jack?" Rose asked, wanting a little more information about this man. He certainly didn’t seem to be an upper class gentleman. His suit was impeccable, but his personality was not like a wet cloth, unlike most of the upper class males.

"Boston. Home. I took a trip around Europe after my uncle died and thought that after twenty months I should head home."

Rose liked that Jack spoke the truth. He didn’t conceal anything, and with him, she thought that maybe she could be herself.

"I didn’t see much of Europe myself. I was sat in a carriage or hotel room most of the time."

"You should go there sometime, Rose. It is a shame you didn’t see much of the world. France was my favorite. The art there is so amazing right now, with all of the dottism and cubism." Jack stopped, realizing he must be boring Rose with all of his art talk. How would she know about art?

"I love art myself. I own several Monets back home. I also recently purchased a Degas, but unfortunately I was unable to bring it with me." Rose did not specify the reasons, and she did not wish to.

Jack was amazed by this woman. She had an interest in art. He could sit here all day and chat to her easily about anything. But he knew he couldn’t.

Jack reached inside his waistcoat and found his pocket watch. The time read 12:20. Lunch was served at 12:20 in the Palm Court.

"It’s lunch already. Do you care to join me for lunch, Rose?" Jack stood, gathered his leather sketchbook, and placed it under his arm. He placed his hat on his head and pushed his excess hair behind his ears.

Rose thought for a moment and then realized that she was to meet Madeleine for lunch. She politely declined his invitation but thanked him anyway. With that, he hurried away and disappeared into the crowd of passengers taking their midday walks in the lovely warm sun.

Lunch with Madeleine and JJ was the same boring and idle chitchat. She wished more of the people there were more like Jack Dawson.

At lunch, they were joined by the ship’s designer, Thomas Andrews, and the chairman of the White Star Line, Bruce Ismay. The two talked endlessly of the Titanic and its luxury. Margaret Brown, too, joined their party a little later and she livened the table up immensely.

"So, who thought of the name Titanic? Was it you, Bruce?" Mrs. Brown directly spoke to Bruce Ismay.

"Well, yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and above all--strength," Mr. Ismay spoke proudly.

"She is a beauty." Molly smiled.

"Yes, she is indeed." JJ Astor joined the chitchat.

"Mr. Andrews here is our master shipbuilder. He designed her from the keel plates up." The table’s attention turned to thirty-nine-year-old Thomas Andrews, an Irish gentleman. Thomas rather disliked the fact that the attention was now turned to him.

"Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is…" He slapped the table. "Willed into solid reality."

"Why're ships always being called she? Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?"

The whole table burst into laughter at Mrs. Brown’s comments. She was widely known for her wit. But in a way, she was right. It was just another example of men setting rules their way. Rose lit a cigarette and began to puff away delicately on it. This was something her mother did not like her to do, but her mother was not here at this moment. Mr. Ismay’s face was a picture, and from the look on his face, he most certainly did not approve, but Rose did not care. This was her time to rebel.

After a bath, Rose changed her dress and began to prepare for dinner that evening. JJ would be escorting her once again. She had to admit that her first impression of JJ had been completely wrong. He happened to be one of the most gracious gentlemen she had ever met and anyone who said a wrong word about JJ and the fact that his wife was young was wrong. They were obviously in love and cared a great deal about each other.

Rose decided to dress in red for dinner. It was a dress she had bought herself while in London. It was one of the dresses she was proud of wearing because she had purchased it herself, without permission from her mother or Cal.

It was a floor-length, dark red gown with intricate black beading over the material. She wore black court shoes and simple dark green earrings. Her hair, once again, was pinned up as it always was. The thought of seeing a woman with her hair loose was almost forbidden to most people. She wore a simple gold and diamond bracelet and a ruby ring on her engagement finger.

The voyage so far had turned out to be quite eventful. She had met some interesting people, Jack Dawson in particular. She had noticed him at lunch with some friends. He had waved over at her and she had smiled back almost shyly, terrified of people seeing them. But she shouldn’t really have bothered, because they all seemed to be wrapped up in their own pointless conversations.

Rose set out to meet the Astors at 6:45. Dinner was due to begin at 7:30.

As Rose entered the upper landing, she never failed to be amazed by the beautifully lit landing and the Grand Staircase. The clock read seven o’clock dead.

Once again, gentlemen led their ladies down to the first class dining saloon.

Rose was looking forward to this evening. She would be dining with Mrs. Brown, with whom she had become friends. Margaret wasn’t like the rest of them. She was her own person. She actually refused to fit in.

Rose had dressed a little more elaborately this evening, though not to fit in, but it was how she felt. She hadn’t dressed up in a long time and it felt good to be able to be in control of herself and not just be shown off like some Christmas decoration.

Upon reaching the dining saloon, Rose saw that most of the passengers were gathered together, swapping idle gossip.

To the far left of the room, she spotted Jack and some men who she assumed were his friends. The room once again was full of ladies dressed impeccably and their gentlemen in fine tuxedos. Every evening seemed to be the same ritual, but for some reason, tonight Rose felt a little nervous. Why? She didn’t know.

Upon seeing Rose enter the room alone, Jack Dawson broke away from his friends. He enjoyed their company immensely. Tommy Ryan was an Irishman through and through. He was due to be touring the States with his brother, whom he would meet in New York. He was a ladies’ man and had already attracted the attention of a few fine ladies. Fabrizio di Rossi was Italian and was traveling with his wife, Helga, who was Norwegian. They had met on a ship the year before, had married within the month, and now she was two months pregnant with their first child.

Together, they were a crowd of people from different cultures and backgrounds. Jack found every single one of them interesting people whom he loved to be around. But for now, he wanted to seek out another friend.

"Miss Rose?" Jack asked. Seeing her back to him, he waited for her to turn before he held out his hand to her.

She spun and was rather surprised that he had broken away from his party to speak to her.

"Hello, Jack." Rose took his hand, and once again, he kissed her bare hand. She felt a spark she couldn’t explain when his lips touched her hand, but she liked it.

"You look stunning this evening," Jack pointed out. She did. He had never seen such a beautiful woman in his life. She had curves in the right places, and in the figure hugging dress, it was a wonder every man in the room wasn’t on his knees just to speak to her.

"Thank you, Jack. How are you?"

"I’m very well. Are you here alone?" Jack wondered.

"No. I am to meet to Astors." Rose glanced around to seek out the familiar figures of JJ and Madeleine, but they were nowhere to be seen yet.

"Oh, are you friends with the Astors?"

"Yes. We met a while back. Madeleine and I knew each other before she married JJ."

With the way Rose spoke of them, she must know them well. Jack had heard of the Astors, but never actually met them. He didn’t really know anyone here--only who he had been introduced to. He recognized faces from newspapers and such.

"Are you dining alone?" Rose asked. She hoped a little he would join her for dinner. It certainly would make a change and bring a little entertainment to the table.

"I am here with Tommy, Fabri, and Helga. You may dine with us if you like."

"I would love to, but I am dining with the Astors and Mrs. Brown tonight, although you would be welcome at our table. Bring your friends."

With that, Jack seemed to perk up a little. He invited his friends to dine, but they politely declined, obviously not wanting to be associated with the narrow-minded people he knew would be at the table. They persuaded Jack to dine with them, though, knowing how much he wanted to get to know the pretty redhead.

"May I escort you to dinner then, Miss Rose?" Jack offered his arm to Rose and she took it. She had never touched another man’s arm who she barely knew before. She had always been on the arm of Caledon Hockley. With Jack, though, she felt at ease. She felt as though she could be herself and not just be another society girl. She felt a sense of happiness and, dare she say it? She felt as though she belonged. He was a very charming and handsome man. He was obviously not like the other men aboard. He wasn’t snooty or big-headed about his money.

She had heard from various chitchats that he was what the people there called new money. He had inherited a railroad fortune from his uncle when he was just seventeen.

Rose spotted JJ and Madeleine in the crowds of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen who were strolling towards their dining tables. She led Jack to their party to introduce them.

"JJ, Madeleine, I’d like you to meet Jack Dawson."

"How do you do?" Madeleine shook his hand and cast a small look onto Rose.

Mr. Astor shook his hand, gentleman to gentleman.

"Are you of the Boston Dawsons?"

"Yes, I am, actually." Jack nodded.

"So, you’re Eric’s son?" JJ asked Jack.

"No, sir. I’m his nephew. Eric passed away two years ago, though."

JJ’s face seemed a little duller and he apologized to Jack. "Eric and I were at Harvard together all those years ago. He was a wonderful man, Jack. A wonderful man."

Jack nodded a little and caught Rose’s gaze on him. She never ceased to be amazed by this man she had only met hours before. He smiled at her before leading her to their dining table.

Dinner that evening was spectacular. Foie gras--goose liver pâté--was served with soup and bread rolls. The talk at the table was more alive than ever. Mrs. Brown told her famous stories of her husband and Jack charmed the whole table with his talk of living for the moment and his adventures in his travels throughout Europe. He had traveled via tramp steamers and camped under bridges. Although some people were repulsed by the thoughts, most were amused.

Once dinner was over, Rose had said good-bye to the party and allowed Jack to escort her back to her stateroom.

"May I meet you for lunch tomorrow, Rose?" Jack asked somewhat shyly. He wanted to get to know this beauty more.

"Yes. I would like that. Say the Palm Court at 12:30?"

"Of course. Good night, Rose."

With that, Jack turned and walked away down the corridor. Rose stayed in the hallway until he vanished from sight, and then she entered her stateroom of loneliness once again.

Chapter Four
Stories