A LIFE’S TRAGEDY
Chapter Twelve

I opened the door to my room, stepping on a folded piece of paper, the same type as I had seen before, the type the letter had been written on.

I sat down on the edge of my bed. Confusion swamped me. I heard Rose and Ruth leave, then walk down the hall. I knew where they were going. I was grateful they hadn’t come here first.

Of course, Ruth thought of me as a catch. I knew that. If I wanted privacy, she gave it to me. It was like they needed me, which I suppose they did.

I looked at the paper again--the same handwriting, written in pencil.

Mr. Hockley,

I saw you today. At least I know you’re okay. You were with her. I didn’t wish to cause a stir. Can’t you see she’s left your society? She’s fallen deeply for Jack. I want to see you, Mr. Hockley, even if you think me foul. Please come to meet with me, even if it’s just to see what you mean to me. Can’t you hear my plea? In your eyes, I know, I’m just a steerage girl, but please meet me on the boat deck. You know it’s not a sin.

All my love,
Catherine

Catherine. She must have written the first one, as well. What do I do? I asked myself over and over. How could I feel anything for trash such as her? But I did, and I do.

Rose was an arrangement whom I came to love, but was it possible for me to love someone like Catherine? Someone with no breeding, no money, no power, just a third class ticket and a fatherless daughter.

A knock sounded on the door. "Mr. Hockley?" Lovejoy’s voice rang out.

I stuffed the paper into my pocket. "Come in, Lovejoy!" I called back.

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

I hadn’t even noticed that sweat had broken out on my forehead, from the confusion, no doubt. I removed the handkerchief from my pocket.

"N-nothing," I stuttered.

He eyed me suspiciously. "Are you coming to the smoking room, sir?" he asked.

I couldn’t think straight and couldn’t find the words to answer him. Finally, I shook my head.

"Actually, I’m not feeling too well. I think I’ll just lie down," I said.

"Do you want me to fetch the physician?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He nodded, then left, closing the door tightly behind him.

I pulled out the paper again. "Meet me on the boat deck," I read aloud. "God, what do I do?" I asked myself, speaking softly, though no one was near. I thought back to her beauty, her eyes, which had captured me like I could look into her soul and she into mine.

If she could, I hated to think what she thought of my darkened soul. I wasn’t the nicest man in the world. I knew that. But I wanted to be kind to her. A part of me wanted to rush to her, hugging her. Then there was this part of me that referred to her as trash, steerage, not of my world.

At that moment, I didn’t know what to do. I sat thinking for the longest time before standing and exiting my room.

I went to the deck, walking slowly, trying to find the words to say to her. She wasn’t proper or well-mannered, as far as I knew. My thoughts kept going back to her class instead of her. Never had I been so confused.

"Mr. Hockley!" I heard a woman’s voice. The French accent. I turned to her. She leaned on the port side railing.

I slowly approached her, holding my head up in proper posture, though trying not to make eye contact. What am I doing here? I asked myself. I didn’t belong here.

"Hello," I said. I stood at her side now, leaning on the railing also.

"I didn’t think you would show up," she said, smiling. Her smile was so perfect, I had to turn away.

"Listen, your writing is remarkable, but this is impossible," I said, trying to stabilize my voice, but was unsuccessful. Why was I nervous? I didn’t know.

She shook her head. "I understand. I only wanted to see you again before the ship docked. Then I would lose every chance of speaking to you again."

I forced a smile, then went back to looking at the ocean, spraying out under the ship.

I could feel her eyes on me. What was this hold she had on me? I felt her hand on my shoulder. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Hockley?" she asked softly.

I sighed and shook my head. She replaced her hand on the railing. I sighed again. For once, I didn’t mind that a third class passenger had touched me. I didn’t think about her filth, only about her touch.

"Where’s Rose and Jack?" she asked nonchalantly.

I turned my attention to her. "Rose is not with him!" I tried to restrain my anger.

She nodded, then turned away from me. "Whatever you say, Mr. Hockley."

We stood silently for a few moments. Several passengers from third class passed. I turned my back on them, wishing they couldn’t see me.

"Mr. Hockley?"

I turned around. Mr. Andrews stood at the railing beside me with his notebook.

"Mr. Andrews." I nodded a little. "How are you this afternoon?"

He looked at me in confusion. "It’s all right." I mouthed the words to him. He squinted at me, trying to figure out my presence here, no doubt. Finally, he turned to leave. I sighed in relief.

The sun was setting over the ocean. The sky was a beautiful rainbow of colors--pink, orange, blue, and black.

"So, where is Melissa’s father?" I asked, not looking at her, only trying to make conversation.

"He passed on about a year ago," she replied sadly.

I jerked my head up. I wasn’t aware she had endured such a loss. "I’m sorry," I said politely.

She waved a hand, silencing me. "It’s okay."

"Where is Melissa, anyway?" I asked, looking around the area. The little girl was nowhere to be seen.

"She’s off with a friend she met just yesterday," she answered.

I nodded. At least someone’s voyage had had good results so far. Mine hadn’t. All it had been was Rose behaving badly and rudely, boring ship talk, meeting a man who I now hated, and falling for a third class woman--not my idea of the best wedding present. Which, really, it was for myself. I laughed out loud accidentally.

"What?" she snapped, a bit angered by my outburst.

"Nothing." I calmed myself. "Where do you live, Catherine?"

"The Titanic," she answered.

I rolled my eyes, remembering that Dawson had said the same thing. "Don’t you have a real home?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I’ll get a job in America," she said proudly.

"Is this your first time going there?" I asked, looking at her again. She looked like something from a romantic painting of a woman, her hair whipping out behind her, golden in the sunset light. Splendid. Her eyes shown with great brilliance in the setting sun.

"Yes," she replied simply. "I have no idea where I’ll go or who I’ll meet there. But it’s an adventure I know I’ll never forget."

She turned, smiling at me again. I looked back at the water, not wanting to fall into her more.

"How’d you get on the Titanic?" I asked, still trying to find a good subject for conversation.

"I made dresses." She laughed. "Elegant dresses."

"You’re a seamstress?" I asked, a bit appalled.

She nodded. "I love it! Seeing all the fine clothes, helping to make them. It’s fun."

I sighed. A seamstress? Why did I feel this way about a seamstress? My mind went back to Rose, my fiancée. I had to keep reminding myself of that detail.

I knew I had to get back to the upper decks before I was found out.

"Look, it was great visiting with you," I said, faking a smile, out of habit, really, because I was actually thrilled that I had had the time to talk to her again. "But I have to get back up to my people."

She nodded sadly.

"May I escort you back to your cabin?" I offered.

She smiled, then nodded.

I held my arm out, allowing her to take it, but she didn’t. She looked at me a moment. Then I realized she was not used to these gestures. Finally, she did take my arm, though, leading the way to her cabin down a different staircase.

We arrived at her door too quickly, actually. I wanted to stay, but everywhere I went with her, I felt as though I was being followed or watched.

She opened the door, then turned back to me. I looked over her shoulder, seeing that no one was in there, not even Melissa, who must surely be with her friend still. After all, it was not yet dinnertime.

"Well, thanks for coming." She smiled.

"My pleasure." I took her hand in mine, leaning down to kiss her knuckles.

"I guess this is good-bye," she said sadly.

I sighed, then turned to leave. She turned to her room about to close the door.

"Catherine!" I said, turning to her. I pushed the door open again.

"What is it, Cal?" she asked, a bit surprised by my return.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, then pressed my lips to hers. She pushed me away, staring at me almost in awe. She was clearly embarrassed. So was I.

"I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, and--" I couldn’t finish my sentence. I realized I wasn’t sorry.

I took her in my arms again, kissing her deeply and pushing her back into her room. I pushed the door closed with the heel of my shoe.

She broke the kiss, still in my arms. I ran my hand through her golden-blonde hair. "What is it?" I asked.

"Cal, we can’t do this. It’s just you are who you are…and I’m just…me…this is impossible. You said that yourself," she said, trying to pull from my grasp.

I kissed her again. Then I looked into her eyes. "I don’t care. Right now, nothing matters but you."

She smiled, tears in her eyes. She pulled me to the bunk, her arms around my neck and mine around her petite waist. She sat down on the edge of the bed, causing me to have to bend over to kiss her.

She slipped her hands under my jacket, sliding it from my shoulders. I did the same to her sweater.

She neatly laid my jacket on the bed, trying not to damage or wrinkle it, but honestly, I didn’t care about the jacket then.

I kissed her again, acting so unlike me. I wondered if I was me. What had overcome me, I couldn’t be certain. It all just seemed right. I yanked the faded cotton dress over her head, kissing her neck now.

She carefully unbuttoned my vest and shirt, again laying them carefully on the bed.

"Cal, maybe we really shouldn’t be doing this," she spoke softly in my ear.

Deep down, I knew she was right, and still I continued. I kicked off my shoes. She unfastened my pants. They fell forgotten to the floor.

I lay atop her, savoring the feeling of her, forgetting about Rose completely at that moment. I made love to her as though we were long-time lovers when we weren’t even friends.

As I lay there beside her after the actual act was over, it hit me, what I had just done. I quickly stood and got dressed. She sat up, holding a White Star Line blanket around herself.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to get out of here," I replied. I couldn’t let anyone know. I had to get to Rose, shower her with gifts, and hopefully clear my guilty conscience.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked sadly.

I leaned down to her again. "No. All right? You did everything perfectly. I just…it’s just…look, I can’t be here. You know that." I was angry, not at her, but at myself. "Tell no one about this," I ordered. I pulled my jacket over my shoulders, pulling out my roll of money. I left some on the little table.

"I don’t want your money," she said angrily.

"Remember, don’t tell anyone." I went to the door.

"But Cal, will I get to see you again?" she asked desperately, probably the most difficult words I had ever had to hear, and my reply was even more difficult.

I shook my head. "No. I’m sorry."

She turned away from me and I rushed out into the hallway, closing the door behind me, and leaning on the wall.

I had to get back to Rose and the rest of my world.

Chapter Eight
Stories