Written by Hellen Griffiths
Based on some situations originated by James Cameron.

Philadelphia
April, 1911

Trudy knocking on the door early woke Rose DeWitt Bukater from a deep, pleasant sleep.

"Miss Rose? Miss Rose, may I come in?" Trudy called anxiously. "Mrs. DeWitt Bukater is asking you be up, it being your big day and all."

Rose’s lively green eyes fluttered open and she leapt from her comfortable bed, nearly falling over the length of her nightgown. She squealed excitedly and swung open her bedroom door to reveal Trudy Bolt, her maid, standing in her black maid’s outfit with a crisp white apron over it. She looked flushed, carrying a teacup on a small tray. Mrs. DeWitt Bukater had been shouting, demanding, harassing the staff, and making everyone ill-tempered.

Rose whooped again. She had just left finishing school and was on a high from being freed from the tedium of being protected and groomed constantly. She carelessly snatched the tea off the tray and drank it thirstily. "I am sixteen! I am sixteen!" she sang, her auburn curls in disarray bobbing up and down. "I am having a party today!" Trudy giggled at her mistress’ antics. Miss Rose was a live wire!

"Rose!" A sharp female voice interrupted the jollity. The happy light in Rose’s eyes died and her mouth set itself into an awkward line. Trudy bobbed in a curtsy and scurried off like a frightened mouse.

Rose folded her arms defiantly. "Mother," she retorted.

Ruth DeWitt Bukater, her mother, was staring at her. She was already dressed in a rich, purple gown, her hair elaborately set. Her wayward teenage daughter was already being a headache, running around in her nightgown.

"Go and get dressed!" she snapped, all the preparation for Rose’s sixteenth birthday wearing on her. The servants were just being slow, stupid, and not listening. It was Rose’s big night. She would be wearing a specially made white chiffon gown, low cut, and Rose would have her hair up to reflect her newly grown-up status. Daniel had bought Rose a fabulous diamond necklace with matching drop earrings that had cost him a fortune.

At the thought of her husband, Daniel Bukater, her frown deepened. They did not have the money for him to splash out on baubles. The accountant was starting to scare her with his predictions of their dwindling wealth, but Daniel, effervescing and willful as ever, shrugged it off and was confident it was a blip.

He was off now buying Rose more gifts. He had spoiled the girl right from the cradle. The love affair between father and daughter was fracturing the already tenuous marriage. Rose was the apple of his eye. She got the love and affection that should have been hers as Daniel’s wife. He just gave her cross words, problems, and cold stares.

"Go and put your pink morning gown on, please," Ruth said.

"I don’t like it. It’s too tight at the neck," Rose moaned.

Ruth’s eyes flashed with annoyance at Rose’s truculence.

"Rose Elizabeth, do as you’re bid," Ruth said coolly. "Trudy will be in to do your corset."

"I hate corsets!" Rose spat out. "They are uncomfortable. I..."

Ruth’s thin thread of patience snapped. "Do it!" she said. "Or you will not be having a party at all."

"Where’s Papa?" Rose asked. "He won’t let you cancel my party." At Ruth’s frosty gaze, Rose admitted defeat, lifted her hands up, and retreated back into her room. "All right. I am going, Mother!" she taunted, and slammed the door in Ruth’s face.

Ruth exhaled deeply. The girl was challenging her all the time, being opinionated.

The latest problem was that she was going on about going to the university to study art. What was Rose thinking? Soon there would be a search for a decent husband who could control Rose and all her lofty dreams and ambitions. Dreams like soap bubbles, Ruth thought, that need to be popped.

Girls of Rose’s station did not go off to be bookish or be outlandish. They married well and lived a life of gentility according to their high position in society.

*****

Daniel Bukater came excitedly into the breakfast room, shouting for his birthday girl, his green eyes, like Rose’s, flashing. Rose squealed like a small child and flung herself into his arms. "Papa!" she yelled.

"Rosebud, sweetheart," he whispered tenderly, calling her by her childhood pet name.

He could feel his wife’s cold eyes on him, no doubt disapproving of Rose’s exuberance. Ruth was always trying to mold Rose into a woman, one of elegance and poise, trying to stifle Rose’s natural intelligence and vitality in a facade of manners and decorum. She was so stiff in her outlook that she could not see what a joy Rose and that vibrant personality were.

His marriage was a joke, Ruth the original cold fish in every way. Rose was the only good thing to come of their union. In addition, Ruth resented her. He could feel it. It was palpable.

He kissed the top of Rose’s fiery red hair, falling in curls down her shoulders. She really had grown into a beautiful girl…no, woman. Some man would fall head over heels for her one day and he would lose his special Rosebud. He heard Ruth calling him.

"Have you heard from the Laceys and the Foresters in regard to coming tonight?" He could hear Ruth blathering in the background. Politely, he met Ruth’s eyes, fixing a smile on his face.

"Yes, dear, they are coming," he said, then to Rose, who still was holding his arm, he whispered, "Go and see what I have brought you in your room, my sweet."

Rose squealed, clapped her hands, and rushed off. Ruth groaned at Rose’s behavior. Would the girl ever calm down?

*****

Rose tore eagerly into her room and unwrapped the brown package. It was an antique jewelry box. She opened the lid, and it played a sweet, haunting tune. There was a folded note inside. In her father’s handwriting, she read, To sweet Rosebud. This is your grandmother’s music box. Treasure it as we do you. Papa.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her father was so wonderful. She would always cherish this gift. Her mother would not understand what it meant to her to have received it from her loving father.

Next to the box was a parcel. Unwrapping this, she discovered a silver hand mirror, a silver brush, and a silver comb with her initials on them. The note on this one was, To a beautiful young lady. Papa.

She felt so lucky and loved. Papa would always protect her from her mother’s desire to husband hunt and control her. Papa was wonderful!

*****

The music from the ballroom was melodic. Rose felt like a princess as she came regally down the stairs in her pure white floor-length dress with matching white gloves, her hair piled high on her head, the diamonds sparkling around her youthful, delicate neck and on her ears, too. She held her father’s arm as he escorted her, smiling broadly.

People’s heads turned as the lovely young woman entered the ballroom. People applauded her as she gracefully walked through the crowd. Ruth smiled tightly. Rose, for all her wildness, was a stunningly beautiful girl. She was optimistic about Rose’s future. She would certainly have her pick of husbands, preferably rich ones!

Rose knew nothing of her father’s predilection for gambling and frittering away money.

Rose’s dance card was soon full and many young beaus were trying to claim a dance. Rose was exhausted and not used to being the center of attention. Daniel stood to one side with Ruth, watching his Rosebud being the belle of the ball.

After a particularly demanding waltz, Rose slipped off, hid by the palms, and took a glass of wine off a passing maid’s serving tray. She stood by the open windows of the ballroom, the moonlight flooding in behind her, sighing happily as she took sips, listened to the music, and watched the happy guests dancing.

She did not feel herself being watched. A tall young man, looking fine in a black tuxedo, his eyes dark as his hair, stood arrogantly with an older man who had similar features and coloring. They both regarded Rose with interest.

The younger man stood stunned, gripping his wine glass tightly. "Isn’t she stunning?" he remarked to the older man, who, in return, laughed.

"Well, Caledon, she certainly is a beauty."

The young man, Caledon--Cal--could not take his eyes off the vision in white that was Rose. He felt stirrings he had not felt before. He was transfixed.

Caledon’s father, Nathan, watched his son’s rapt expression. The boy had been knocked sideways. Maybe this was the one his son had been searching for. An idea formed in his mind.

"Like her, do you?" he asked in a low voice.

"I would love to have her as a prize on my arm," Cal replied, still gazing at Rose, who was oblivious to the attention.

"Hmm…" Nathan mused. "She’s Daniel Bukater’s daughter, sixteen tonight, and old enough to be married."

Cal and his father exchanged knowing looks.

"Your days of being a bachelor may be coming to an end," Nathan told Cal. "There may be a way to secure the young lady’s affections. Leave it to me, son," he said cryptically.

Rose was whisked away to dance with another partner. Caledon Hockley was not on her dance card tonight. He prayed that that would change. He would be the only one she would ever dance with. She was something special, and he wanted her.

*****

For Rose, the party was over and she floated dreamily to bed, still hearing music. Ruth had followed her up soon after leaving the men to their brandies and chat.

Rose slept soundly, smiling in her sleep, a happy innocent, unaware that downstairs her life was going to change forever.

Daniel knocked back his fifth brandy, his head swimming, a frown on his handsome face. Nathan Hockley faced him at the card table. Things were going badly. He had already lost most of his cash. Ruth would be most upset.

Nathan wore a cruel grin. His son, Cal, wore the same smug expression. The other men around the table looked apprehensive, exhaling their cigar smoke. They had long quit the table, knowing when to stop.

"Come on, Daniel. You must have other collateral," Nathan scoffed.

"Well," Daniel said weakly. Cards were his passion. He had to succeed. The lure of them and winning was a rush. "You can have the title deeds to the house," he said in a rush.

Nathan’s smile widened. "Great," he said.

Daniel felt sweat running down his face. His heartbeat quickened.

Nathan spoke again. "And we also want the exclusive right for Caledon to court the fair Rose without interference. He is very taken with her." Cal looked down, embarrassed. "Daniel," Nathan demanded, "is it a deal?"

Daniel hesitated. He could see nothing wrong with Cal visiting Rose a couple of times. He was a good-looking, rich man, and Ruth would be pleased.

"Deal," he said. Nathan smirked and threw down his hand.

Daniel groaned and slowly, almost in slow motion, set down his poor hand and started a chain reaction that would alter the lives of Rose and Ruth irrevocably.

"I win!" Nathan roared. "I win the lot. The deal stands. Thank you, Daniel."

The men stood watching the game, tutting with disbelief.

"What have you done, Daniel?" one commented.

Caledon smiled in pleasure. How easy. Now Rose was his, bought and sold by her father.

Rose DeWitt Bukater, the future Mrs. Hockley.

Daniel threw down his cards and stalked from the table, feeling suddenly unwell.

What had he done, indeed?

Everything he owned now was Hockley property. They were ruined. In addition, he still had to tell Rose and Ruth. He was weak, pathetic!

Daniel Bukater was nothing but a puppet to the mighty Hockleys. He might as well be dead.

He grabbed another brandy and tried to drown himself to blot out the despair and the mess he had made of everything. Ruth would be hysterical.

Most importantly, he would lose Rose’s love and respect forever when she found how he had betrayed them all. His dearest darling Rosebud, his precious daughter. The only thing that mattered to him!

The End.

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