TRAPPED IN THE PAST
Epilogue

California was everything I wanted it to be. The Monterey sunshine welcomed me that February morning as I stepped off the train, and despite the fact that it was not as warm as I anticipated, I felt a rush of excitement and pride. I was there, I had made it, and I had survived. My entire life was outstretched before me like a canvas, just waiting for me to stroke my paintbrush over it. It was a glorious feeling.

I got a job as quickly as I could and set up a little home for myself. It was in those few years from when I first arrived to when the first world war started that I truly found myself. It was difficult at first. Without the security of Katherine, I felt less comfortable than I had at home. Nightmares frequently haunted my dreams with a fervent reality that woke me in cold sweats, freezing in my own bed. It was as if I were starting over from the beginning once again, as I learned to cook and care for myself. There was no one to run to in the middle of the night, no one to calm my irrational fears and wonderings. Every day I had to remind myself to get up and do something new, live for the moment, as if it would be all over the next day. Month after month, it began to get a little easier, however. I wouldn’t let myself slip back into the abyss of hurt and denial. In all of this, I really discovered that deep fire Jack had seen, and returned to my true self. I no longer worried about being found or discovered, instead embraced my clean slate and used it as an excuse for a whole new life. As far as anyone knew, my parents were dead, my sister--also known as Katherine--lived in Chicago, and I was a normal woman hell bent on making it on my own. I wasn’t stupid. I knew people whispered behind my back; that I looked like someone they knew, or that I had a touch to much refinery to be just another working class citizen. But I ignored their questioning, and kept to my story.

Birth certificates, as I came to realize, were few and far between when I was born, especially in the lower classes, so it made it easy to lie and say that I never had one when it came to job issues, signing up for the war, or getting a marriage license. I’d had a birth certificate once, of course. However, now there was surely a death certificate attached, as well, and I’d rather not go through the trouble of explaining that to anyone. Ambiguity became an easy thing to master.

I lived in Monterey peacefully until the war began, and rather than sitting around doing nothing, I joined in early spring of 1918. Luckily, as I had no training as a nurse and was mercifully spared from the horrors of combat. I was placed in a training camp in California. I became nothing more than a typist and file keeper, but it felt good to be helping out in any way that I could. It was in those camps I met and got to know many good friends of mine. Most made it out of the experience relatively sane and normal and remain my friends to this day, but a few never made it back from France. Although I didn’t have a son or husband who went, I was not spared the heartache of war. And losing friends brought the reality of it home for me.

After the war, I returned to my home in Monterey, but found the life sullen and dying. Rather than becoming trapped into that existence, I immediately packed my things up yet again and moved to Los Angeles, wanting to join the ever-growing movie business, as was my childhood dream. Being so close to Santa Monica constantly began to take its toll on my heart, and finally, in 1920, exactly eight years after talking about it with Jack, I went to his beloved city. I didn’t know what I expected to find when I arrived--ghosts from the past maybe, a city that would stop in its tracks because Rose Dawson was finally there. But nobody knew me, nor knew Jack, as I came to realize, and it became my private pilgrimage. Painful and religious at the same time, I managed to do everything he and I had dreamed up that afternoon. To this day, my favorite photograph remains the one of me upon a horse, with one leg on each side, right in the surf. Behind my façade-like smile I know what I am hiding, so when people stop and admire how happy I look, I just nod. My eyes betray me I think; they are a mixture of confusion and joy, tears and happiness.

But it was good for me; I managed to shrug off the last of my melancholy existence. I still loved Jack and not a day passed when I wished he was there with me. I longed to hear his voice and feel his touch, and wanted so badly to just sit a while with him. But I knew he was watching, and that alone gave me strength. I thought of him in joy and happiness for the first time in eight years, without a heavy feeling in my heart. And that alone made the trip worth it.

I then worked as an actress for a couple of years, but when it became obvious that I was not meant to be a starlet or even a little famous, I packed that in and moved back to Chicago for a few months, just while I decided what to do. It was during that trip that the world got word that my mother had died and two days later Katherine got a notice in the mail of a funeral. She seemed amused at the fact that she had even been remembered, let alone invited to such an occasion, and simply shrugged off the invite with a tiny sad smile. Instead, it was I who traveled to Philadelphia a day later, horrified to be returning to the place that still made up my nightmares. I was scared of how I might act if anyone realized who I was, and yet strangely assured that nothing would happen. Cal had long since married, and would rather save face than do anything to harm me.

I arrived just in time for Mother’s funeral, and quickly slipped into the back of the less-than-crowded, freezing church. I did not cry, but sat there in a numb silence throughout the ordeal. Laying the casket at the front of the church was the woman who had given birth to me, and yet I felt no remorse for her death. I only felt a bit hurt that it ever came to me faking my own death just to get away from her. Honestly, I would have much rather she know I was alive, but it simply wouldn’t have worked that way. I remember sitting there, trying not to be amused, as I imagined the look on her face as she arrived at the pearly gates and found my father and not me. Oh, she was going to have some choice words for me when I got up there. I rather hope Jack had been there when she arrived at the pearly gates as well, smiling cheekily at her, as if to say, "She got away with it!"

On my way back to Chicago, I felt a little less burdened. At least Mother knew now; definitely a weight lifted off my shoulders. And I didn’t even have to tell her face-to-face like I had dreaded someday doing. I never cried once for her; Ruth DeWitt Bukater had been lost to me for some time. I loved her, but I had never liked her much. And that simply made it easier to put it all behind me, and in the end I was glad I went. The trip would prove far more important than I could have imagined anyway.

It was on that train that I yet again met Nicholas Calvert. He had been in Philadelphia on business, and just happened to be seated near me. It seemed our lives really were destined to be brought together. With my life my own and my sanity fairly back to normal, we were able to pick up the pieces of the puzzle that was begun that night in 1912. I had dated a few times in-between moving to California and the recent trip to Philadelphia, but all had ended quickly and poorly. I realized, meeting Nicholas again, that he had been the answer to my relationship problems. For although I had a problem with intimacy when it came to other men, it seemed natural to be open and affectionate with Nick. It only took a year and a half for us to become engaged, and we were married eight months later, in June of 1923, in a beautiful ceremony in his hometown of Cedar Rapids. By this time he owned his own furniture store, and I early jumped on board to help him. We made a fine pair and our little business would eventually do very well for itself.

I truly loved Nicholas, and did my part to be the best wife to him as I possibly could. I supported him just as he supported me. And never once did I regret my decision to marry him. We had a special bond, and deep in the back of my mind I knew he was the only person on earth I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. But somehow, despite these things, I never did fit as well snuggled against him as I did Jack. Nor did he make me smile and laugh the same way Jack had. Perhaps that part of me was permanently broken. Or maybe he was simply the man I was supposed to spend my earth-time with, not eternity.

Nicholas never again brought up the issue of my hidden past. Whether he deemed it unlikely, or knew the truth and realized my sensitivity to the subject, I will never know. I was open and honest with Nicholas about everything except the first seventeen years of my life. He never even knew Katherine was my aunt. And I never felt guilty for keeping that part of my life hidden. Somehow it just became easier and even routine to simply lie when it came to those sorts of things.

Nick did, however ,give me the best gift of all--my two sons. Mark was born in October of 1925 and was most definitely his father’s son. Their looks and characteristics mirrored one another, so much so that Nicholas’s mother once told me that if she didn’t know any better, she would swear Mark was Nicholas as a child. He was sweet, funny, well-behaved, and we enjoyed him so much that we decided very quickly to have another. Our second child, William, who was born in 1927, was very different. From the very beginning he was a handful, crying insatiably until the day he learned to crawl. The only physical characteristic he inherited from his father was his hair, the rest, right down to the ivory skin, he got from me. He was daring, restless, and while he was nice and charming, he definitely had a wild streak. Between the two of them, I had my hands full. Nicholas would spend all day at the shop, which was in town, while I chased around two boys until they went down for afternoon naps. Nick and I considered having another baby--I badly wanted a little girl--but just before we were going to begin trying, the stock market crashed and we decided it would be for the best not to bring another Calvert into the situation.

Cal’s suicide that fall left did not surprise me, and the only grief I felt was for his poor widow and children. Those sorts of things can be scary to anyone, and had I been involved with him at all it probably would have left me with a bitter and hurt feeling. He loved his money and the thought of so much of it gone was just too much of a heartache for him to handle, never mind what his absence would do to his family. The newspapers covered the event as if it were entertainment, and I suppose in some way it made a very dramatic and compelling story. Nonetheless, I was horrified when they mentioned me, which happened more than once, and after they began to get deep into his life story, Titanic and all, I finally stopped reading the papers. Lies would only stand to upset me further.

Life continued on and my wish for daughters was eventually partially granted, as horrible as the situation ended up being. Nicholas’s sister died in the spring of 1932 after a struggle with polio that mercifully spared her two daughters and husband. Afterward, they made the trip from North Carolina and moved in with us for what ended up being a few years. Nicholas and Andrew had been friends before he married Nick’s sister Aimee, so it was easy to welcome him and his two girls into our home. It felt very much like we had simply expanded our family. Andrew got a job at the local post office, so money wasn’t an issue, as had been my worry in the beginning. Our little furniture business was thriving, but not so well that I could feed three extra mouths, three times a day. They stayed so long because Andrew, Nicholas, and I all felt the girls needed some sort of security and maternal influence, and thus they became my adopted daughters. Irish twins, and just about the same age as our boys, they seemed to fit right in. The eldest, Ellie, was strikingly beautiful, even at a young age, and loved anything to do with the arts. The younger, a petite yet very healthy, girl named Natalie seemed hell bent on proving herself with her brothers. It was she that I often found romping around outside in the mud with them, at which I just laughed. I would have loved to do something like that at her age, and realizing this, I let her run instead of restricting her activity. Ellie kept me company enough anyway, wanting to learn how to cook--a skill I never mastered--and talking with me for hours on end about her favorite books and movies. She was obsessed with my own dismal Hollywood career, and once or twice I caught her up in the attic going through the boxes of customs I stored there, left over from various films. I cried the day they moved out, despite the fact that they moved only a mile away.

Life was ridiculously normal, and I loved and cherished every moment of it. Nicholas teased me relentlessly about my bad cooking and tendency to run around barefoot, even when it was below freezing outside. We were never rich, never even close to it. We lived very simply, more often than not eating things we grew in our own backyard. All of our furniture was made by Nicholas, and any artwork we had was dutifully made by our sons at school. We went to church on Sundays and had dinner with the neighbors every Thursday night. In the summers there was always a dance or farmers market to go to, and in the winters there was always warm fire and good company to come home to. In my fantasies, I could have never imagined such a blissful and rewarding simple life.

I never forgot Titanic, but it slowly faded to the back recesses of my mind and heart. Although it took a while for the screaming voices to fade, they never completely went away. And sometimes at night, even with Nicholas beside me, I would still wake up in a sheet of panic, cold as ice, confused as to where I was. However, soon enough the worries of bills and children and whatnot became my everyday focus, not my painful past. I was able to, in a sense, put the past behind me.

Very rarely, I visit Jack in my dreams, and I always looked forward to those nights. It is a completely surreal experience that leaves me confused, yet happy and secure, the next day. He and I talk about everything and nothing, and sometimes I am taken back to the deck of that ship. He never tells me where we are, or what it is like on the other side. But it is nice. He grounds me.

Now I sat in Katherine’s kitchen, listening to the chimes of the loud clock. An hour had passed since I began to painfully reminisce about my slow recovery into sanity. I felt better about my experience than before I had essentially relived it. Beforehand, I had been sitting nervously, not wanting to jump into the past, afraid I would conjure up old feelings and fears. Thankfully, I was simply reminded of how far I had come since that afternoon I first arrived on Katherine’s doorstep. It had been an experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. And looking back, I could see the answer was right in front of my face the entire time. But I know now that something happens when you lose something–or someone--you love. It’s as if you can’t believe it, as if your entire world no longer makes sense. You want someone to knock on your door and tell you it’s all a big mistake. And holding onto these thoughts and pretending that it isn’t real is one of the most dangerous things you can do to yourself. It’s in accepting what has happened that you realize you’re hurting yourself more than the truth will. And all of that was learned here, my innocence lost, all in Aunt Katherine’s inviting home.

It seems unreal to me, even now, that she is dead. A week ago Nicholas and I had gotten a call from Elliot that she had died unexpectedly from a massive heart attack. It caught us both extremely off guard, yet I probably should have known better. My father died of a heart attack, as did two of his siblings. Katherine, being a doctor and a little bit more in tune with her own health, probably warded off such a thing from occurring much earlier in her life. However, the unexpectedness of the event rattled me a little. She had been the only person who knew what had ever really happened, other than Jack himself, and the fact that she was gone left a hole inside of me. It was she who helped me through the anniversaries and testimonies over the years. She understood my ardent fight against naming our second son Jack, something Nicholas was thoroughly confused and upset about. His grandfather had been nicknamed Jack, thus he wanted it for his son, and therefore it created turmoil. But I digress. And it was she who had helped me through the most difficult part of my life, and to whom I still felt I owed a large debt.

Over the years, I became a pretty good expert on grief. Perhaps that is why, despite my hurt, I could handle Katherine’s passing with such grace. There was still so much to be done in regards to the will and the house and whatnot. But in some strange way, I felt slightly at peace with it. She had never married, never had children, but I knew she had been happy. She had her independence, good friends, and was secure in the knowledge that her choice to leave her stifling family had been the correct path.

I would never forget the time I spent in her home, sheltered from the outside world by my own stubborn arrogance. But as I stood from the table and glanced around, I was also filled with happy memories of family vacations and laughter, of Katherine and my own children. The fact that it hadn’t always been perfect here only made the pleasant experiences all the more special.

"Rose?"

Alarmed, I spun around and quickly recognized Nicholas standing in the doorway. "You startled me," I said, laughing a little as my hand flew to my rapidly beating heart.

He grinned. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

I nodded reassuringly to him. Just reliving my insanity, panic attacks, and third suicide attempt. Yep, I’m completely all right. "Better than when I came down here," I answered, biting my lip in order to not divulge anymore information.

"Just couldn’t sleep?"

Sighing, I shook my head and made my way towards him in the darkness. "There are just a lot of memories I have of this house."

Gently, he took me into his warm arms and rested his chin on my head, kissing my hair lightly. I loved it when he did that. It reminded me of when my father was alive and he would scoop me up into his arms and kiss my head. "You seem cold," he whispered.

"When am I not?" I answered back. It was true; I was constantly cold, even now. It was something I had never been able to get rid of.

I felt Nicholas chuckle and squeeze me tighter against his body. "C’mon. We have a long day tomorrow."

I let him lead me upstairs, checking on our boys, who were sleeping peacefully, before retiring to our own room--my old room, still painted peach. As Nicholas settled back into bed, I pretended to be searching through the drawers for another blanket. At the back of the top drawer I found what I was looking for, the necklace that had haunted many dreams over the years. Surprisingly, Katherine hadn’t ever gone through these drawers since I left. I had left it here rather than carry it around the country and risk losing it. What a field day the media would have if someone suddenly found a multi-million dollar necklace that was supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean.

My hands were ice cold as I unwrapped it from its coverings and gently ran my index finger over the cold stones. Keeping it hidden from Nicholas’s eyesight, I stared at for a long moment. I could feel Jack’s love and support flow through my fingers from where I was touching the diamond. As long as I still had this necklace, I would never really be able to forgive and forget. Somehow, despite all I had been through and how far I had come, I knew it would take a long while before I reached that point.

Quietly, I rewrapped the diamond and stashed it away for another day. I would take it with me when we left Katherine’s a few days later, and keep it hidden for years. But for right now I just wanted to go to sleep.

Climbing into bed, I leaded over and kissed Nicholas gently on the check and then settled down into the array of pillows that surrounded me. Tomorrow we had the funeral and reception, a long and emotional day, no doubt. But I had confidence in myself. I had survived more than my share of pain and heartache. I was brighter, smarter, and more mature. And never again would I be as naive and stupid as to let the past control me the way it had. My beloved aunt’s death only stood to remind me how precious and fragile life is.

As I drifted into sleep, I could hear Katherine’s voice once again as what she told me the night of my breakdown came floating back to me--You’re going to be all right Rose, I promise. You will make it through this. Her words gave me strength to fight, strength to accept her death, strength to accept myself.

And in the end, how true they were.

The End.

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