TITANIC ROSE
Chapter Five
Rose walked in the door, home from another
day of looking for a job. She had been feeling stronger the past few weeks, and
had decided that it was time to begin doing her share to pay the bills. She
hadn’t found a job yet, but she was confident that she would find some sort of
work soon.
She was surprised to see John sitting on the
couch, waiting for her. His expression was one of both confusion and anger. As
she approached him, wondering what was wrong, he held up a folded newspaper.
"Rose," he began. "I was
reading the paper this morning, and I came across a most interesting article.
Perhaps you’d like to read it."
Bewildered, Rose took the newspaper, her eyes
widening with dread when she saw the article he was referring to. There, in the
society column, was a short piece about the much-belated memorial service for
Rose DeWitt Bukater--complete with her picture.
She wasn’t sure what to say. Should she deny
that the picture was of her, explaining that it was a remarkable resemblance,
or should she tell him the truth, and try to explain why she had done what she
had done?
John didn’t give her a chance to speak.
"Rose DeWitt Bukater, the drowned society girl," he sneered. "I
should have known that something wasn’t right when you first introduced yourself
as Jane, and then decided that your name was Rose Dawson. How many other names
do you have, I wonder?"
"My--my name is Rose Dawson," Rose
told him, wondering how she could explain. "I took Jack’s name when the
Carpathia docked--"
"Obviously," he responded.
"But the question is, why did the little rich girl run away from home? Was
your fiancé not man enough for you?"
"What?" Rose didn’t understand what
he was saying.
"Evidently, you slept with your steerage
lover--and bore his child, even if she was stillborn. Well-bred young women
don’t do such things without a reason." He grabbed her arms. "Were
you looking for more excitement than your high society fiancé could give
you?"
Rose’s eyes widened with comprehension.
"How dare you?" she spat. "I loved Jack. He was not just some
fling in an attempt to find excitement. I left Cal because--"
"Because he wasn’t exciting enough for
you? Is that it? Well, he thinks you’re dead, and your steerage lover is dead.
You’ve been living under my roof all these months, eating my food, and
contributing nothing. It’s about time you paid up--and giving me a taste of
what you gave Hockley and Dawson is a good way to start."
"No!" Rose jerked her arms away,
her shock written all over her face. John had been so kind to her, taking her
in, making sure that she had food even when she didn’t want it--and even
falling in love with her. And that, she realized in a flash, was the problem.
He felt betrayed, led on. He could have accepted that what had happened with
Jack had been a sign of her love for him, but learning about Cal had been too
much. No decent woman would carry on with one man while engaged to another, in
his opinion--and he had no intention of letting her explain. As far as he was
concerned, she was a woman of easy virtue, one who had tricked him into loving
her--even though she had never asked him to love her.
Before she could get away, John grabbed her
and began to push her down on the couch, his fingers working at the buttons on
her dress even as she struggled.
"Let go of me!" Rose demanded.
"I don’t owe you this!"
"Oh, yes, you do. I’ve waited far too
long for this."
"No! Let go of me! My God, you’re as bad
as Cal--assuming that I’m a whore because I gave myself to the man I
loved."
"Shut up!" he told her, putting a
hand over her mouth to stop her protests. His other hand began to hitch up her
skirt.
Realizing that her struggles were futile,
Rose suddenly went still, not objecting as he began to tug at her bloomers.
Then, when his attention was fully on the task of undressing her, Rose raised a
fist and punched him in the nose with all her strength.
Shocked, he let go of her. Rose shoved him
away, getting to her feet and running to the door. Before John recovered from
his surprise, she was out the door, heading for the street.
*****
Three weeks later, Rose was still living on
the street. She had no money, no way to find a place to live. She could only be
grateful that she still had the Heart of the Ocean and Cal's coat, which she
had sneaked in and taken when John was out, but she didn't have the heart to
sell the diamond. It was her only connection to Jack, now that Jacqueline Ruth
was dead.
She was often hungry, since few people would
consider giving a homeless woman a job, and she refused to do anything other
than begging to get by--no stealing, no prostitution. Both would have been easy
enough, especially the prostitution, but she had no intention of compromising
her morals in such a way. She had run away from one man who considered her
easy, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of proving
him right. Until she said otherwise, that part of her belonged only to Jack,
and she had no intention of finding another man any time soon.
At least she wasn’t completely alone. A
homeless prostitute named Maddie had taken her under her wing, protecting her
against the more dangerous elements of street life. Rose was grateful for her
help. Without her, she might not have survived the past few weeks on the
streets. Growing up as a member of high society had certainly not prepared her
for living on the streets of New York City.
They didn’t always see eye to eye. Maddie
openly encouraged Rose to try prostitution, offering to introduce her to some
men that she knew who would be glad to buy Rose’s favors. She didn’t understand
why Rose was willing to sit and beg, day after day, for change, when she might
make as much as one hundred dollars in a night if she went with the right men.
Rose didn’t try to explain. Maddie was
accustomed to the life of a prostitute--and to its humiliations and dangers.
She had been a prostitute since the age of thirteen, and was now
seventeen--Rose’s age. But there was a world-weary bearing about her, brought
on by too many years on the street, too many years of struggling to make ends
meet and suffering the abuse of society--often at the hands of the very men who
were so eager to buy her services at night. To be sure, she made a lot of money
sometimes--but those times were often few and far between, and things would
only get worse as she grew older and possibly less healthy. Much as she was
grateful to her, Rose had no intention of becoming like Maddie. She had too
much pride.
Now, Rose sat on a bench before a small
market, holding out a can to passers-by, hoping that someone would take pity on
her and drop in a few coins. Most people ignored her, or looked at her
disdainfully. A few made insulting remarks as they walked past.
Rose ignored them, having grown used to such
treatment over the past few weeks. It still hurt, but she was slowly growing
inured to it. And there were always those who did take pity on her, however few
they might be, dropping in a few pennies, or a nickel or dime. On occasion,
someone would drop in a quarter, and once someone had given her a half-dollar.
Rose had eaten well that night, at least as well as she could expect on the
streets.
She was always on the lookout for the police,
who would drive her away from wherever she had chosen to stop, shouting at her
for pandering, and sometimes give chase. She hadn’t been arrested yet, but one
day her luck might give out. Of course, in jail she would have a roof over her
head and food to eat, but she wasn’t that desperate yet.
Rose looked up as a young man walked by and
dropped a dime into her can. "Thank you," she murmured, taking the
dime and putting it in her pocket. It was the first money she had received in
two days.
Rose steeled herself as her stomach lurched
with hunger. She hadn’t eaten in two days, but there was still time today.
Someone might give her a few more pennies, or another dime. She could get some
bread, and maybe a piece of fruit, if she could get a little more money.
The young man who had given her the dime was
still watching her, surprised at her manners and her dignified bearing. Most
people, by the time they were reduced to begging on the street, had lost all
vestiges of pride, and many were so bitter that they didn’t bother to thank the
people who gave them money or food. This young woman, while obviously down on
her luck, still had her pride and the ability to be grateful. Intrigued, he
turned back to her.
"What’s your name, miss?" he asked,
dropping a nickel into her can.
Rose looked at him suspiciously, but decided
that there was no harm in telling him her name. Taking the nickel gratefully,
she responded, "Rose."
He nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Rose.
I’m Thomas Calvert."