LUCKY MR. DAWSON
Chapter Two
It was the second day they had
him on board when he finally woke. James was changing the bandages on the man’s
feet when he noticed that his eyelids were fluttering.
"There now. It’s all right,
lad. You’re in safe hands now," James consoled him, taking a wet cloth and
laying it across the man’s brow. Slowly, the eyes opened and stared at him,
such brilliant blue eyes, like the sea on which they sailed. "What’s your
name, son?" James inquired.
At first, the man looked
confused. In a dazed voice, he answered, "Dawson. Jack Dawson."
James ran to the door, flung it
open, and yelled, "Mac, his name’s Dawson!"
Mac came sprinting to the door, a
piece of paper in his hand. He pulled up a second chair to the cot’s side.
"Hello, lad. I see you’ve met young James already. I’m Mackenzie, but you
can call me just Mac." Mackenzie took a pencil from his shirt pocket and
checked something off on the paper. Jack raised an eyebrow. "The Titanic’s
passenger list," Mac replied, seeing the look. "I reckon we’ll
receive a generous amount for finding him. Mrs. Dawson offered a great deal of
reward money if we returned him."
This was directed at James, but
it was Jack who answered, slowly at first. "Mrs. Dawson? There is
no…" Jack trailed off, for he remembered Rose DeWitt Bukater. "Rose,"
he whispered softly.
"Sorry? Didn’t quite catch
that," Mac said.
Jack did not answer, but stared
at the ceiling, lost in thought.
"Why don’t you tell us about
how you came to be in the ocean, lad." James took the cloth and turned it
over so the cool side was down.
Jack’s gaze turned to James.
"All you need to know," he started, "is that I did everything
for love, and it was worth every minute of pain because we both made it out all
right. I’m a survivor, through and through." And with that, Jack turned
his back on them and drifted into the best sleep he’d had since the Titanic
sank.
*****
The fishing boat bumped against a
dock in New York Harbor as James and Mac tied her down. Then they lowered a
wooden plank and disappeared inside. When they re-emerged, they were guiding
Jack down the ramp and along the dock. Jack winced a little as he put weight on
his feet. They were still slightly swollen, but the fishermen had done a good
job. Jack’s mind reeled with provocative thoughts of how he must look, in an
old canvas shirt that belonged to Mac, worn trousers that had seen better days,
and a weather-beaten jacket that smelled of salt. Rose, Mac had told him, was
staying in a hotel near the docks. How she could afford it, Jack had absolutely
no idea. They would go to room 215 and collect their money, while Jack would be
safe and sound once more.
As they entered the lobby, Jack
read the entrance sign, captioned The Captain’s Inn. The walls were decorated
with seashells and the windows looked like brass portholes. The three men
walked up a flight of stairs to the second floor and found number 215 on the
left-hand side at the very end of the corridor. Jack’s heart pounded in his
chest and he feared it would burst with anticipation. He watched Mac’s hand
curl into a fist and knock once, twice, three times, as if in slow motion.
It seemed an eternity to Jack
before the door started to open. And all of a sudden, there she was, her frame
filling his mind. Jack’s eyes swam with tears as he laid eyes on the goddess
who had captured him that day which seemed so long ago, as he sat on the decks
with his friend Fabrizio. He had lost so much that night, and yet here was the
one who mattered the most. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as close
as he could, not daring to let go of her again. He could feel her heart beating
next to his, could hear her breathing a murmur of thanks in his ear, and could
smell the sweet perfume she always wore. He had thought she would have returned
to her mother, for there she had money, company, and anything she needed. He
had to admit he was a little surprised to find her in a good hotel dressed in
what looked like deck blankets. Her hair, once shining with silver and
decorations, lay limp across her shoulders. But it was that fire in her that
had not dimmed, that had kept her from going back. The fire that he loved so
much about her. This moment was perfect; everything was perfect.
"Hmm-mmm." Mac coughed.
"Right. Of course. Your
reward money!" Rose pulled a silver chain from her pocket. Slowly, a deep
blue diamond emerged, attached to the fine chain. Rose carefully set it in
Mac’s left hand and gingerly closed his fingers around it. "I’ve been
meaning to dispose of it for a few days now, and I think it best to give it to
those who can do some good with the money. Now, off with you. Be rid of it."
James embraced Jack and handed
him a piece of paper. "In case you want to stay in touch." He tipped
his hat in farewell and dragged the speechless Mac down the hall.
Rose’s gaze slid back to the man
in her doorway.
"But how did you…what
happened?" Jack gaped at her.
Rose laughed. "When I peeled
you off of the paneling, I swam over to the officer with the whistle and used
it to get the lifeboat’s attention. Fifth Officer Lowe helped me aboard and
kept me warm until the Carpathia arrived at dawn."
Jack looked astounded, but
pleased all at once. "I grabbed a deck chair when you set me loose. I
wrestled it from the man who kept pushing you under when the ship went down. I
was unconscious for about seven hours. That’s when Mac and James found me. I
don’t know how I stayed alive that long."
Rose’s lips formed a smile.
"Because you’re a survivor, Jack Dawson. Come in. We have a little
catching up of our own to do."
Jack followed her inside room
215, then leaned in and met her lips, which seemed to be beckoning him onward.
She tasted of sweet promises and stolen hours of the night. He begged her to
open up to him. With a little teasing, she finally gave in and parted her lips.
As they relived what they had played out so many days ago, Rose lifted her arm
and pushed the door closed. They were home.
The End.