Written by Aleesha
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.
December 1912
Rose Dawson had been in utter
despair since that night--the night that her old life had come to an end and
her new one had begun. Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been
like if Jack had lived, but she had decided long ago to stop depressing herself
with such thoughts.
Ever since she had gotten to New
York, she had been staying in a boardinghouse run by a rowdy but wholesome
woman by the name of Ellen O’Hare. She had been at the docks when the Carpathia
had come in, and when she had seen Rose wandering around aimlessly, she had
decided to take her in.
Rose had found a large sum of
cash in her pocket, along with what was now her most prized possession, the
Heart of the Ocean, and had insisted on paying Ellen for her room, which Ellen
had accepted.
Rose was now working at a
restaurant in downtown New York, and even though the amount of money she had
found in her pocket could have seen her happily through life, she felt that she
needed something to keep her going, because the depression was getting to her.
Not only the depression of Jack's death, but the thought that her
soon-to-be-born baby would not have a father. Rose wanted to be able to tell
her baby more about its father than she knew, but she just didn't know how to
get that information.
December 3, 1912
The Restaurant
"Good morning, Mr. Hynes.
How are you today?" Rose asked an old but cheery man who came to the restaurant
every morning for breakfast.
"I'm fine, young Rose, and
you?"
Something clicked in Rose that
she had tried to put out of her head.
"I'm sorry I didn't build
you a stronger ship, young Rose," Mr. Andrews had said before that ship had sucked Mr. Andrews and
her beloved Jack down.
"Me, too," Rose said to
herself, intending it to be quiet.
"That's great, Miss
Rose!"
"What..." Rose was
about to say, but then realized that Mr. Hynes had overheard her talking to
herself.
"Now, Miss Rose, when are
you going to tell me more about this baby? I'm sure the father is very pleased
that you are taking such good care of yourself."
"I hope so, Mr. Hynes."
"What did you say the
father’s name was?"
"Jack Dawson."
"Jack Dawson."
"Rose DeWitt
Bukater."
"I'm gonna have to get
you to write that one down."
"Oh, yes. I'm so sorry about
your husband, Miss. Gotta run. I'm so busy these days."
"Good-bye, Mr. Hynes."
December 11, 1912
Rose didn't want her child to
grow up in New York. She wanted her child to grow up in Chippewa Falls so that
the baby could be as near to its father as possible, and that was where Rose
was going.
She had resigned the previous day,
and now was at the train station, waiting for the train that was going to take
her to a new life. She was going to find out if Jack had any family left in
Chippewa Falls, see where he grew up, even the house he had slept in. Her eyes
began to water just thinking about it.
December 15, 1912
Rose stepped onto a rickety old
platform in the pouring rain and ran for shelter at the inn nearby.
There were not many people there,
but there was an interesting-looking barmaid at the counter.
Rose stepped over to her.
"Hello."
"Hi."
"I was wondering if you had
ever heard of a Dawson family around these parts."
"I sure have, honey, but
they haven't lived here for over ten years. Last thing I heard was that the
place had changed hands yet again to a new owner. You aren't likely to find any
Dawsons here, but maybe you could ask the new owner. He tends to keep to himself,
or so I've heard. He doesn't come out much. I haven't even got his name."
"Thank you, Miss. Could you
give me directions to the house, please?"
"Sure, honey. By the way, my
name's Emma. Emma Bronson."
December 15, 1912
7:30 PM
Rose came to the end of a winding
road with grass down the middle to see an old, tumbledown farmhouse. There was
one light downstairs, so she headed to the door.
"Hello! Is anyone
there?"
"What do you want? I'm
armed!" replied a gruff voice.
"Nothing, sir. I just wanted
to ask you a few questions about the previous owners of this house."
"Well, then, keep your
distance and ask away. I don't like people coming unannounced into my
house."
The voice sounded even gruffer
this time.
"Well…um…who lived here
before you?"
"No one! It’s always been
just me and my family."
Rose could only see a figure
slumped over a table.
"Um…have you ever heard of
someone called Jack Dawson?"
"Why would you want to know
about him? All he ever did was draw bad pictures of naked women and let people
he loved die in the North Atlantic! Why would anyone want to know about
him?"
"Jack was not a bad artist!
How dare you say such things about him?"
"I don't care about that
anymore. Leave me alone! You have one question left, and you had better make it
count."
"Make it count."
Something clicked in Rose, and
her body went into overdrive.
"Is your name...Jack
Dawson?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Rose Dawson, otherwise
known as Rose DeWitt Bukater."
The slumped figure at the table
slowly turned around, and for the first time in eight long months, she saw his
eyes, his hair, and his face.
"Rose?"
"Jack!"
Rose saw more happiness in his
eyes than she had ever seen before.
As quick as lightning, he was
holding her tightly in his arms and kissing her passionately, with all the love
that he had been holding inside for eight long months.
"Rose, I have a
question," he said warily.
"What?"
"Is that my child?"
"Oh, yes! It certainly
is!"
"Oh, thank God! Rose, I have
another question for you."
"Anything."
"Will you marry me?"
The End.