UNTITLED STORY
Chapter Six
April 18, 1912
New York City
Ruth stood on the upper deck of the
Carpathia, looking out towards the Statue of Liberty and the city beyond. The
rain poured down, drenching her, but she hardly noticed.
All of her thoughts were focused on Rose. She
had known that Rose was unhappy with Cal, known that she herself would not have
been happy with Cal if she had been engaged to him. But somehow, that hadn’t
seemed to matter. He had money, status—all the things that she had convinced
herself were more important to her than anything else—more even than her
daughter.
And now Rose was gone. There had been no
trace of her found anywhere. Ruth had checked the survivors’ list time and
again, but no Rose DeWitt Bukater had ever been listed. She had even checked
under DeWitt, Bukater, and Hockley, in hopes that the wrong name might have
been listed, but to no avail. Her daughter was gone.
Ruth stared out at the city that Rose had so
dreaded seeing, dreaded because it heralded her return to America and her
marriage to Caledon Hockley. She would have given anything to see her daughter
once more, to tell her how sorry she was, to allow her to break off the
engagement with Hockley. She would even have given her blessing to Rose’s
relationship with Jack—but it seemed that he hadn’t survived, either.
She lowered her head, grateful for the rain
and darkness that hid her tears, scarcely aware that Molly was beside her, or
that Cal lingered nearby, still uncertain what to make of Ruth’s rejection of
his offer of help. Vision blurring, she looked down at the steerage passengers
on the deck below, seeing two flashes of long red hair, and quickly looked
away, not wanting the painful reminder of Rose.
She turned from the railing as Molly tugged
at her arm, leading her toward the gangway where the other first class
survivors were disembarking.
*****
The docks were crowded with people—reporters,
White Star Line officials, family members waiting for word, and
curiosity-seekers who had come to stare at the survivors of the worst maritime
disaster in history.
Flashbulbs popped as they walked slowly
through the crowd and reporters shouted questions. Ruth pulled her hat lower
and put up a hand to shield her face, trying to avoid the barrage of questions.
Glancing back, she saw Cal surrounded by
reporters, taking pictures and trying to outdo each other in asking questions
of the richest survivor of the Titanic. Glad that they had found someone else
to question, she followed Molly through the crowd to a waiting line of cabs
hired by the White Star Line to take the first and second class passengers to
shelter.
Once they were safely inside, Ruth asked
Molly, "Why do they harass people so? Haven’t we all suffered enough
already?"
Molly just shook her head. "It’s their
job, Ruth. They have to find out what happened, no matter how much it upsets
people. And maybe, just maybe, the stories of the survivors of the Titanic will
help other people in the future—people who might find themselves in a similar
situation. Maybe, because so many wealthy people were lost, it might help
prevent such a tragedy from happening again."
And Ruth thought of Rose and nodded, hoping
that Molly was right.