NIGHT TRAIN
Chapter Three

Early Tuesday, Thanksgiving Week, 1948

“Who’s there?” asked Jack groggily.

“Just me, sir, Isaac, the porter. I’ve brought you some coffee.”

Jack looked down at Rose who was still asleep in his arms. How did Isaac know to find him in here?

“Just a minute,” he said, sliding carefully out of the berth and pulling his robe tighter around him.

He opened the door and took the tray from Isaac.

“Thanks. How did you know I was in here?” asked Jack, yawning.

“Sir, I’ve been a porter now for twenty years. You learn a thing or two. Just let me know if I can bring you anything else,” he smiled as he started to walk away.

Jack shook his head at Isaac’s intuition as he carried the tray and set if down next to him on the bed. Rose started to stir as she smelled the steaming hot coffee.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it? You’re still here,” she said huskily.

“I’m still here, really here,” repeated Jack. “It seems so strange and yet so very normal,” he agreed, sounding amazed.

They looked at each other again, drinking in the miraculous presence of each other.

“So, Rose, we’ve got some time ahead of us on this trip. What would you like to do?” Jack asked.

Rose looked up at him slowly, wordlessly. In her mind, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Never leave this room. To stay here with Jack, forever. But she wondered if Jack had similar thoughts.

“We could have breakfast. I’m starving,” she said instead.

“That’s good for a start. I’ll go get ready. Can you be ready in about 30 minutes?” he asked, remembering how long it had taken Martha to put herself together.

“I’ll be ready before that, Jack. I’m quite fast,” she said, blushing as she realized the other meaning of the words.

“I seem to recall that,” answered Jack, giving her a wistful smile. “Fifteen minutes then,” he said closing the door behind him.

Rose was almost shaking as she got dressed. This whole thing was so unreal, unbelievable. To have thought Jack dead all these years and now he was here. They still really didn’t know much about each other or what had happened in the years between 1912 and now. During the night there had been little conversation. They had been satisfied to hold each other, to smile and whisper about this marvelous stroke of luck.

“Can we pick up where we left off? Can there be a future for us?” thought Rose, not wanting to think about what life would be like if she lost Jack again.

Jack led the way into the dining car and the steward seated them at a table for four. There was not much space left and so they had to share a table with another couple.

He put out his hand to their traveling companions and introduced himself , “Jack, Jack Dawson, nice to meet you. And this is Rose,” he hesitated, not even knowing her married name. “Rose,” he said again and left it at that.

Rose gave him a strange look and then realized his dilemma. She did not offer another name and was satisfied to be just Rose and to be with him.

The other couple gave their names as Frank and Gertrude Peterson. They were heading to Denver where they were going to spend Thanksgiving with her sister.

“So tell me, Mrs. Dawson, do you have children in Los Angeles?” asked Gertrude.

Rose saw Jack watching her with an amused look on his face. He was trying hard not to laugh.

“Ah, yes, yes we do. We have a son and a daughter, that we are going to see,” said Rose diplomatically, trying to ignore the faces Jack was making.

Jack put his head down, chuckling to himself. Miss Rose Dewitt-Bukater whatever, was still as poised as ever.

They ordered their food and ate while continuing to make small talk with the Petersons. Finally Frank and Gertrude got up.

“It was a pleasure dining with you. We have to go and organize our things. We’ll be in Denver before you know it now. Mr. Dawson, Mrs. Dawson, have a nice day,” said Frank politely.

Both Jack and Rose said good-bye and then sat smiling at each other.

“You didn’t seem to mind being mistaken for my wife, Rose,” said Jack softly.

“No, I didn’t mind.”

Rose struggled to think of what to say next.

“Jack, we need to talk. We need to talk about everything. We have 36 years to catch up on. And we need to be honest with each other.”

How much more honest could he be, than what he told her last night, when he said that he had thought about her for all these years? It’s just that he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Let me just pay the bill and then we can go. Back to my room? Your room? Wherever you want.”

She nodded. “Thanks for breakfast, Jack. How about the club car at the back of the train? There are a couple of seats by that rounded window where it’s kind of private.”

They walked to the very end of the train and found the seats that Rose had talked about. There they could see where they had been and to Rose that seemed appropriate. They needed to talk about where they had each been with their lives.

“You first, Jack,” said Rose.

Jack rested his fingers over the bridge of his nose and sighed. He just wanted to get this over with. He had tried not to dwell on the past, and he certainly was not eager to do that today.

“What happened, why didn’t we find each other, after, after…” she asked.

“I lost you in the water?” he finished. “I came up and I didn’t see you anywhere. Somehow I crashed my head into something. I got pulled into a boat. They said later that I had a concussion. I don’t know. I really don’t remember. They had me tucked away somewhere quiet on the Carpathia. And when we docked they took me away in an ambulance. It took me a long time to recover. And once when I was in the hospital, I asked one of the nurses if she could check the survivor lists for your name. But she told me that there was no Rose Dewitt Bukater among the first class passengers.”

“That’s because I was no longer a first class passenger ,Jack. I stayed with the steerage people because I wanted to hide from Mother and Cal. When they asked me my name, well you won’t believe what I told them.”

The subject of Titanic was causing them a great sense of discomfort.

Jack, tensing, took her hand and asked, “What did you tell them?”

“I gave my name as Dawson, Rose Dawson.”

Jack gripped her hand even tighter. He had not expected this.

“You took my name?” He was shocked and pleased that she felt so much a part of him.

“Yes, I didn’t want Mother or Cal to find me and I figured that if you had survived, you would figure it out. But I left New York right away when I couldn’t find you.”

Their discussion of Titanic was brief. It was still too traumatic after all this time. Rose quickly told him how she had found a piece of wood and climbed in it, and how she had been rescued, trying to remain out of sight on Carpathia.

“What was your wife like Jack?” asked Rose, changing the subject.

Jack really didn’t want to talk much about Martha either. It seemed that so much of his past life made him uncomfortable. There had been more sadness in it than anything else.

“Oh, she was sweet, nice, funny. We met in an art class. I dated her for about two years, before we got married. She was younger than I was and her parent’s never really liked me too much. The art world scene made them leery, I guess. After her funeral, I never really saw them too often. I just would bring Jeannie over for a holiday or a birthday. They said that seeing the baby that cost her life was too painful, so Jeannie and I were pretty much alone.”

Rose looked at Jack whose voice had faded away to a whisper. She put her hand on his arm. How much pain had this man endured in his life?

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard raising a child, a little girl alone,” she said softly.

He looked up into her understanding eyes.

“Yes, it was hard when she was little. But after awhile we both learned from each other. We’re very close and we always kind of protected each other. We only had each other and I guess we didn’t want anyone intruding. Now she’s engaged, which I am happy about. She has her own business, a gallery and in fact, she sells my pictures in her gallery and I have hers in mine,” he explained.

Rose could not help asking him if there had ever been anyone else.

“No, because of Jeannie, I never found the time,” he answered honestly.

“What about you, Rose?” Jack asked.

“There really isn’t that much to tell. I went to California right away with the money I found in Cal’s coat pocket. I sort of played at making movies for almost ten years. Then I met Sam Calvert. He was 12 years older than I was and he was a history professor at UCLA. We literally ran into each other one day on the street. We went out for some months. Then he got a job at Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. That is where he was from actually. That’s when he asked me to marry him. We went back there, built a big house, I had two babies, he died last year and here I am. Nothing too remarkable.”

“Were you happy? Did you love him?” he wanted to know, somehow feeling that he had the right to ask that question.

“Yes, I loved him,” she said honestly, “because he gave me a life, a family, security, happiness. It was a very cozy, friendly, predictable life. And I was content. I loved him for all that. And I genuinely mourned his death. I felt, still feel very lonely. Cast adrift so to speak.”

They both sat in silence, holding hands, staring at the receding scenery. Suddenly there seemed nothing more to say. A waiter appeared at Jack’s side, asking if they would like some lunch.

“Sure,” answered Jack, absentmindedly. “What do you have?”

“Well, I can make up a pretty mean club sandwich, real quick.”

Jack looked over at Rose and she nodded her approval.

“Alright, then,” said Jack, “two club sandwiches and some coffee.”

“Coming right up,” said the waiter and he headed back to his tiny buffet to make up the order.

They ate their lunch and passed the time watching the scenery. Jack told her about his art gallery business and Rose entertained him with stories of her old acting days.

Rose put her hand up over her face to cover a yawn.

“Jack, excuse me, but I am going to take a little nap before dinner. Would you wake me up when you’re ready to go?”

“Of course,” he said politely. “I hope I didn’t bore you with all this gallery talk.”

“No, Jack, you could never bore,” replied Rose, putting her hand on his arm.”

“I’ll wake you around 6?” Does that sound alright?” he asked.

She nodded, got up and walked back to her bedroom. All the time, thoughts of Jack were tumbling through her mind. He seemed remote, not at all the spontaneous, romantic person she had once known. She needed some time to think.

“I’ve changed too,” she thought, “but Jack more so. I don’t seem to be reaching him.”

Jack turned briefly and watched Rose leave the club car. She was still beautiful and vibrant. And now he was almost afraid of her. Did she expect something more of him? Did she want a commitment after all this time? He put his face in his hands trying to picture themselves as they had once been. The part of him that wasn’t terrified that he had changed too much, wanted that again very much.

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself, either. What if she rejects me,” he thought. “Maybe it’s just best to leave things as they are, walk away from it all tomorrow when we arrive.”

But as he said that to himself, he knew that yet another piece of his heart would break off if he allowed that to happen. Did it matter? He had already endured so much.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

“That was a lovely dinner,” Rose said as she stood outside the door of her bedroom.

“Yes, they do wonderful things in that little kitchen,” said Jack.

Rose thought to herself about all kinds of wonderful things that could be done in small spaces.

“I guess we’ll be arriving on time tomorrow. We’ll be there before we know it,” commented Rose.

“Yeah, the journey is almost over. Better get some sleep now, Rose.”

Rose looked into his eyes. She was puzzled by the lack of expression in them, almost an indifference.

“Alright, goodnight,” she said.

She turned the handle and started to enter her room.

“Rose?”

“Yes,” she said hopefully.

He looked at her and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. Her heart started racing. Jack leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“Good night, Rose,” and he walked away.

Rose shut the door firmly behind her. She couldn’t yell. And she couldn’t stamp her feet, but her chest was pounding and her mind was screaming.

“Good night, Rose” and a chaste kiss on her head! That was the best he could do? Well, it was a calculated risk, but if she had her way, Jack Dawson was not going to get off so easy.

Rose brushed out her hair and scrubbed her face with cold water. She glanced in the mirror and she looked as though she had windburn. The redness of her skin, brought to mind an afternoon so long ago, when she and Jack had stood with their faces to the wind and their world was only each other. She rummaged through her suitcase. There was a creamy silk nightgown and wrapper that she had bought as a gift for her daughter in law. She put it on.

Now she looked at herself in the mirror one more time. Not exactly what she had been at seventeen, but it would do for a grandmother and mother of two grown sons. A fresh coat of lipstick and she was ready. She sat down on her bed and leafed through a magazine until she felt enough time had passed. Then she turned off the lights in her tiny compartment and silently opened the door. No one was in the hallway. She lifted her hand and knocked on Jack’s door.

He opened it, with a shocked look on his face.

“Rose, what’s wrong?” he asked, surprised to see her.

“I couldn’t settle down to sleep. I was afraid of having another nightmare, after what we discussed today. I thought if maybe we talked a little, I would feel better,” she said trying to sound calm and not as though her heart was beating with the sound of a trumpet’s blare.

“Sure, come in. There isn’t much room, but sit down.”

They both sat side by side on the berth, not having the nerve to look at each other.

“So will someone be meeting you tomorrow?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yes, Richard, my oldest and his wife Louise and their baby Peter will be there. Peter is two and a half now. I can’t wait to see him.”

“Nice,” said Jack. “Jeannie will be there. I’ll be meeting her fiancé on Thanksgiving. I think she wants to talk about planning a wedding.”

Rose smiled and said nothing. Jack too was quiet. Silence hung heavily between them. Finally she could stand it no longer. It was time. Attack unexpectedly!

“Jack,” she said, wasting no words, “I want you.”

He raised his head and stared into her eyes that were burning with emotion. He stood up and took several steps away from her.

Without looking, he answered, “Rose, if we do this, I’ll never be able to let you go again. But we’ve changed, me especially. I don’t know if I can make you happy. It might not work. I’ve been alone too long. I’m afraid and I don’t want to disappoint you. That’s why I think…” but he stopped as he felt Rose’s nearness.

She had come behind him and slipped her hands around his waist, leaning her head against his back.

“I don’t believe you, Jack. I don’t believe that you are so much of a coward that you are afraid of me. So instead you are going to let all this slip through your fingers. Is that it? Just say good bye tomorrow. Act as if we never knew each other?” she hissed at him.

“Rose, please, it’s better this way. Better for both of us,” he said jamming his fist against the wall.

“Jack,” Rose said sounding angry, “since when are you such an authority on what’s better for me? Let me be the judge of that. Once long ago, you kept telling me to trust you. “Do you trust me, Rose?” you said over and over. And I did. Well, tonight I am asking you to trust me.”

Jack stood silently, leaning his head against the metal wall, cringing at each truth she spoke. She was in no uncertain terms telling him off, as she had the first time he set eyes on her. God, he’d missed that fiery spirit.

She knew he was wrestling with his feelings. But she’d had just enough of trying to be philosophical. She touched his shoulders and turned him to face her. She untied her robe and let it slide to the floor.

“Put your hands on me, Jack.”

In that instant when Jack saw her standing there in her white silk gown, her wild hair framing her face, and her rich red lips awaiting his, he knew that all the resistance he had tried to build up inside him was gone. There was no use fighting. She was right. They belonged together, no matter what.

They stood frozen in time. She could feel the electricity building around them. She looked into Jack’s eyes and saw that once again they were the smoldering with the embers of long ago.

He reached over and turned off the light. Then his arms came around her and she felt herself being gently lowered to the bed.

“Rose,” he whispered softly in her ear, ”I love you and I am never going to let you go again. I must have been mad to think that I could. Oh God, Rose,” he murmured drawing her body closer to his.

“Mmm,” she groaned. “I love you too. You’re not sorry that I seduced you?”

He laughed softly, touching her hair, her face, and gently kissing her neck.

“I will be eternally grateful. But enough talk now. We have long, long time to make up for.”

His lips touched hers, gently at first, then more passionately. Their hands became entangled as they roamed each others body. Their love started rapidly exploding out of control. Tonight there would be yet another journey to the stars. This one would take them to places yet undiscovered, finding emotions yet untapped and reigniting the flames of a passion that would never die.

Chapter Four
Stories