TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Sixty-Seven
It was the afternoon of the fifteenth. Cal
was searching the faces of widows lining the deck, looking for Rose. The deck
of Carpathia was crammed with huddled people, and even the recovered lifeboats
of Titanic. On a hatch cover sat an enormous pile of lifebelts.
He kept walking toward the stern. Seeing
Cal’s tuxedo, a steward approached him.
"You won’t find any of your people back
here, sir. It’s all steerage."
Cal ignored him and went amongst this
wretched group, looking under shawls and blankets at one bleak face after
another.
Rose was sipping hot tea. Her eyes focused on
him as he approached her. He barely recognized her. She looked like a refugee,
her matted hair hanging in her eyes.
"Yes, I lived. How awkward for
you."
"Rose...your mother and I have been
looking for you--"
She held up her hand, stopping him.
"Please don’t. Don’t talk. Just listen.
We will make a deal, since that is something you understand. From this moment
you do not exist for me, nor I for you. You shall not see me again. And you will
not attempt to find me. In return I will keep my silence. Your actions last
night need never come to light, and you will get to keep the honor you have so
carefully purchased."
She fixed him with a glare as cold and hard
as the ice that changed their lives.
"Is this in any way unclear?"
After a long pause, Cal asked, "What do
I tell your mother?"
"Tell her that her daughter died with
the Titanic."
She stood, turning to the rail. Dismissing
him. Cal was stricken with emotion.
"You’re precious to me, Rose."
"Jewels are precious. Good-bye, Mr.
Hockley."
In his way, the only way he knew, he truly
did love her.
After a moment, he turned and walked away.
That was the last time she ever saw him. He
married, of course, and inherited his millions. The crash of ‘29 hit his
interests hard, and he put a pistol in his mouth that year. His children fought
over the scraps of his estate like hyenas, or so she read.