THE EDUCATION OF ROSE DAWSON: PART I
Chapter Fourteen

Extrication

It was past three PM when Rose emerged from the Union Square Station and headed west to the first of Twain’s Manhattan homes. Ten minutes later, she arrived in front of 14 West 10^th Street. It was a red brick townhouse structure that did not differ much from the other buildings on the block. Twain lived here from 1900-1901 before moving to Wave Hill. Rose saw that a few fellow commemorators had left bouquets of flowers at the doorstep and wanted to do the same, but realized it was too late in the day to find any fresh flowers for sale. She could only stand in front of the home to pay her respects to Twain.

(L) 14 W. 10^th St. today; (R) 21 Fifth Ave. during Twain’s residency

The neighborhood in this area differed from that where the shelter was located, as it served as an enclave for bohemians, many of whom had moved in after many of its longtime wealthy residents had followed the northward advance of the city center. Rose headed back east on 10^th Street and turned south on Fifth Avenue. She arrived at the southeast corner of Fifth Avenue and East 9^th Street, where a three-story building stood. Twain lived here from 1904-1908 after his wife died. He became a fixture in the neighborhood, constantly strolling along Fifth Avenue in white–from his white hair and mustache to his white suit. Passersby never failed to recognize him, and he relished the attention. Rose always wanted to catch a glimpse of him whenever she came to New York with her parents, but her mother always forbade it. After Twain moved out of New York, the Bukaters began to frequent this area less, as it had become too eccentric for Ruth’s tastes. Rose, however, never forgot the neighborhood, and pledged to return one day to see it by herself. Now, she had satisfied her wish. You certainly know how to choose your neighborhoods, Mr. Clemens!

Eventually, she became tired, and needed a place to sit down. Washington Square Park was only two blocks away, so she headed there to find a bench. She found one not far from its famous arch and fountain and sat down to rest. There was much activity inside the park, where adults chatted and children played. A few families had come out to picnic, and they fed some of their leftovers to the pigeons and squirrels, which swarmed around the food being tossed to them until some playful children chased them away, after which they would return and the sequence would begin all over again. The bohemian movement was also well-represented on this day. Artists took advantage of the mild weather to work outdoors on what they hoped would be their next masterpieces. Rose could not help but be reminded of Jack when watching their activity, particularly when a couple of them sitting nearby sketched people and things in front of them. You would love this place, too, Jack. Perhaps you have already been here.

Two views of Washington Square Park, early 1900s

Rose was enjoying herself so much that she worked up an appetite. Clearly, the club sandwich she shared with Mrs. Dearborn had not been enough, not when Mrs. Dearborn was in the process of telling her such an eerie story. Fortunately, there were street vendors selling food in the park. Rose went up to a hot dog cart, saw that the price for a hot dog was five cents, and dug through her coat pockets for her change purse, from where she took out a nickel and paid for a hot dog. It had been a long time since she had eaten a meal with her bare hands, and this hot dog was so satisfying. Certainly better than lamb with mint sauce.

*****

After she finished eating, she decided to explore the rest of the park. As she walked towards its southern end, switching her attention between the scenery to her left and right, she bumped into a man, whom she knocked down. "Oh! I am sorry, sir!" she cried as she bent down in front of him offering to help him back up. "Are you all right?"

The man lay on the ground for a few seconds before he accepted Rose’s hand to help him get back up. He was of medium height, clean-shaven, and wearing a derby hat and tweed suit. He checked himself for any cuts or bruises and tears to his clothing. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a pocket watch, which had broken in two. "I think I came off better than my watch, miss," he said.

Rose was angry at herself for not looking where she was going. "My apologies again, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The man gave her a look that betrayed no emotion. "My watch is a rare piece in silver casing, and I would appreciate it if you pay to have it repaired," he politely requested.

The man’s demureness was enough to instantly turn Rose’s anger to guilt. "Sure, I will. How much do I owe you?"

"One dollar, miss."

One dollar was not a trivial amount of money for most people, and Rose knew it. Still, she dutifully reached back into her pocket for her money, and was shocked to discover that her bills were no longer there. Only her change purse remained.

"Is there a problem, miss?"

Rose was afraid to admit to this unexpected dilemma, but she had no choice. "M-my money is gone! I had it when I went to buy some food just twenty minutes ago," she said with a dumbfounded look. "Now, it has mysteriously disappeared."

The man sighed. "I really liked that watch. My grandfather gave it to me. Now, what will I tell my family?"

Rose’s guilt deepened. "If you can be so patient as to wait until tomorrow, sir, I promise I will have the money by then."

"Are you sure, miss? One dollar is half a day’s wages for some people," said the man as he eyed Rose’s rather ordinary appearance.

"Yes, I am sure. Please tell me where we can meet."

"I would be grateful if you can meet right back here at noontime."

"Then noon it is. And I apologize once again, sir."

The man nodded and walked off. Rose was left baffled as to the whereabouts of her money. I know it was in my coat pocket after I searched it to pay for my hot dog. What happened to it?

*****

Rose had lost things before, but they were petty items, and the most she got for her troubles was a stern lecture from her mother. Given the wealth of the Bukater Estate in its heyday, such losses were inconsequential. However, now that Rose was on her own and without employment, every cent mattered. She had just lost more money than most people made in a week, as she recalled thinking when Miss Howard was presented with her relief money two days earlier. She would have to wait until the next day, when the bank reopened, to withdraw enough money to cover what she owed the man, plus a little spending money for herself as she prepared to seek a situation in the coming week.

In the meantime, with no funds save for the coins that remained in her change purse, Rose headed back to the shelter. She exited the north end of the park, went up Fifth Avenue, and then turned east on 9^th Street for one last pass at Twain’s old home. Several blocks later, she reached Fourth Avenue, and was reminded of the many bookstores that occupied entire blocks in this part of town. But it was a bittersweet recall. Standing before her were more books than she could read in a lifetime, including a copy of The Gilded Age. Most were selling for bargain prices, but she lacked the money to buy even one, and so bit her lip in disgust. Why does this happen to me?

Then Rose caught a familiar face diagonally across the street. It was the man she bumped into at Washington Square Park. He did not see her because he was talking to a young woman, and she seemed to have handed him some bills before she walked off. I must not be the only one to owe him money today.

The man, who behaved so passively in front of her, seemed to be having his way with the woman, who was also well-dressed, but whose body English was rather un-ladylike. How could someone as delicate as this man dominate a woman who looked as if she could put timid men like him in their place just by giving them a mean look? Something did not seem right. After he took the money, the man looked both ways on his side of the street, but not across the street to where Rose was standing. Then he walked east on East 9^th Street.

Her suspicions aroused, Rose followed him, but walked on the opposite side of East 9^th Street to make herself harder to spot should he turn around to see if anyone was tracking him. It was a smart move, as the man looked behind his shoulder every now and then. But stalking him from the other side of the street also made it a little harder to keep an eye on him, and he walked faster than Rose. By the time he approached Second Avenue, he was almost a full block ahead of Rose, who fell farther behind. For a gentleman, he walked at an uncommonly quick and athletic pace, and even Rose’s physical exploits on board Titanic could barely prepare her for this unfamiliar task of pursuing a suspect. Neither was her attire well-suited for sustained brisk walking, and she finally had to stop to rest while trying to keep him in sight.

A wiry hand tapped her on the shoulder. It belonged to a familiar face. "Jenny? What are you doing here?" asked Rose.

Jenny put a finger to her mouth. "You’ve been had, Rose. That man has your money."

"B-but how did you know?"

"I was at the park, too, and I must say he timed his fall perfectly. When you reached down to help him up, his accomplice picked your pocket and made off with the money."

"So why did you not stop them?"

"And who would believe a common old hag’s word over that of a gentleman and his lady friend? No cop would dare search someone so well-dressed."

"But I could have helped—" Rose stopped abruptly once she remembered that she was dressed rather plainly, too, and few people would believe that someone of her ilk could legitimately carry so much money. Rose DeWitt Bukater would have been able to do something about it, but not Rose Dawson. "So what am I supposed to do now?" she asked anxiously.

They both looked at the man crossing Second Avenue. He was about to disappear from their sight unless they acted quickly. "I can try something I haven’t tried in a long time," suggested Jenny. "Let’s go."

*****

The two resumed their pursuit. Rose was surprised to see Jenny walk so fast, a feat that defied her age. Still, they did not catch up to the swindler until they had reached Tompkins Square Park, where he had stopped to rest. Jenny advised Rose to make herself invisible lest the swindler see her and deduce what was going on. Rose hid behind a tree while Jenny innocently walked up to him. Using her age to catch the swindler off guard, Jenny deliberately tripped in front of him, and instinctively, he caught her in his arms. "Careful, ma’am. Are you hurt?"

Jenny pressed herself on the swindler’s chest as tightly as possible. "Th-that was close!" she gasped after overcoming her shock.

"Yes, for someone your age, that would ruin your day," said the swindler, who remained oblivious to the scheme being executed by Jenny as he steadied her.

"Th-thank you, sir," said Jenny, sounding relieved at having averted a fall.

"Glad to be of help, ma’am. Are you well enough to stand on your own?"

Rose was amazed by the acting job Jenny was putting on. She sounds so genuine. But how will she get my money back?

Jenny was working on that. Rose saw her slowly and expertly slip her hand into the man’s jacket as she continued to rely on him to hold her up. Then, she smoothly pulled it back out, but this time with a wad of money that appeared to be Rose’s.

Not smooth enough.

Before Jenny could release herself from the man’s hold, he grabbed her arms, and the gentleman gave way to a dangerous, snarling ruffian who was out for blood–in this case, Jenny’s. "Why, you sneaky old witch!" he growled. Then he raised a hand to strike Jenny in the face. His palm violently cut across one of her cheeks, knocking her to the ground. "That’ll teach you!" He was about to kick Jenny when Rose came out of hiding to try to prevent any further bloodshed.

"Stop! Stop or I will call the police!" cried Rose, as she cautiously walked over to Jenny to check on her condition. She looked around and found that there was no one else in the park.

The swindler laughed wickedly. "So, it’s the careless damsel who can’t see where she’s going!" He blocked Rose from reaching Jenny, and before she knew it, grabbed her around her neck with one arm. "Let’s see how bitchy you are when I cut up that pretty face of yours!" With his other hand, he took out a small penknife and was in the process of unfolding it when Rose, outraged at being cheated, fought back wildly by biting his hand, which caused him to cry out in pain and weaken his grip on her. She broke free, spun around, spat in his eye, and delivered as hard a punch as she could–harder than the one she gave the steward on Titanic–to the swindler’s left cheek.

The swindler was stunned for a few seconds, but he quickly recovered and advanced on Rose, his anger boiling over. As most of her audacity had been expended on that punch, she could only back away, but hesitantly, as she did not want to leave Jenny behind. "Help!" she yelled, but she knew her cries would be unanswered.

She was wrong.

From seemingly out of nowhere came the whistle of a flying dagger–unfamiliar to Rose, but all too familiar to Jenny, who continued to lie on the ground injured. The dagger thrower, either by skill, luck, or both, managed to knock the swindler’s penknife out of his hand and even graze him on the finger. The swindler, more enraged than wounded by the dagger, turned to see who had interrupted his bloodlust.

It was Jenny’s husband. "Oopsy daisy!" was his salutation. He went over to his wife to examine her before helping her get up, all while keeping an eye on the swindler. "Back down, you son of a bitch!" he warned the swindler. "Or next time I aim for yer chest!"

The swindler was hardly intimidated, and he immediately growled and charged towards them. "Watch out!" screamed Jenny as the swindler was upon her husband and started to take a swing at him, but he was quick enough to block the blow. Even though Jenny’s husband was probably triple the swindler’s age, he was bigger, while the swindler was only about Rose’s height. Both men seemed to be experienced street fighters, but Jenny’s husband was so inspired by having to protect his wife that he finally penetrated the swindler’s defense and landed an uppercut to his jaw, knocking his hat off.

The swindler staggered back a few feet, but did not seem hurt. He tore off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing a pair of muscular arms. Then he took out a metallic object from his pants pocket that looked like four large rings fused together and attached to a long metal bar. He fitted the rings around each of his four fingers of his right hand and charged Jenny’s husband again.

Jenny’s husband knew what the swindler was brandishing, and he was ready. He sidestepped the swindler’s first punch and gently tripped the swindler, which threw him off balance. Then he locked the swindler’s arm in a tight hold to prevent him from using his brass knuckles and delivered a series of hard elbows to the swindler’s ribs.

Knocked back again, the swindler decided to employ some different tactics. Exploiting his youth and the fact that Jenny’s husband had someone to protect, he went for Rose, who was standing some twenty feet away from Jenny and her husband, and wisely got between them. If Jenny’s husband was compelled to go to Rose’s aid, he would have to leave Jenny, and the swindler could quickly double back and go for Jenny. Her husband would tire himself out trying to chase him around the park, and eventually the swindler could finish him off as well. It seemed like a good plan.

But the swindler had not counted on Rose playing the foil again. Refusing to stand still and be victimized again, she eluded his attempt to grab her a second time by taking the coins from her change purse and throwing a few of them at a time as hard as she could at the swindler. When the coins ran out, she even took off her hat and flung it at him. Solomon said my hat could knock down a man, now let’s see. The hat only glanced off the swindler, while the coins bounced harmlessly off him, but both had the effect of making him focus his attention on Rose long enough for Jenny’s husband to catch up with him almost undetected from behind to hammer punch the back of his neck.

The swindler grimaced from the blow, but he was so fit that he retaliated with a back fist to the nose of Jenny’s husband almost instantaneously–the first hit that he scored in the contest. Fortunately for Jenny’s husband, the swindler struck him with his left fist instead of the right, but he staggered back nonetheless. The swindler followed through with a jab at his ribs with his brass knuckles. Desperately, Jenny’s husband seized the swindler’s arms again before he could land another punch, and they grappled. The swindler struggled to free his arms so that he could go for Jenny’s husband’s face with the brass knuckles, but they were locked tight. So he tried to knee Jenny’s husband in the groin several times, but succeeded only once. Jenny’s husband finally put a stop to his streak by head-butting him.

The two men paused to catch their breaths. Blood began to flow from both of their faces, but the swindler’s less advanced years allowed him to replenish his lost energy faster. Jenny’s husband, still reeling from the blow to his ribs, could only retreat to guard his wife and Rose, both of whom were together again, with Rose helping Jenny, who had struggled to stand, to create some distance between themselves and the swindler. Luckily for Jenny’s husband, the swindler, who had taken a few blows too many from this crusty old brawler and now regretted underestimating him, closed in on him more slowly and cautiously this time.

Both fighters put up their dukes in the classic boxing stance for one more round. The swindler still had his brass knuckles, which he hoped would be dripping blood by now. That could still happen, and he began to rely almost entirely on his right hand, while using his superior quickness to move out of the way to prevent his arms from being locked up again. His range was greater than that of Jenny’s husband, who remained on the defensive because he still had to keep him away from the women. But his shorter reach made his blows less effective, as Jenny’s husband could compensate for his own slower reactions by keeping him at a distance with his longer arms. Furthermore, both of the swindler’s hands had suffered open wounds–the left from being bitten by Rose, and the right from the flying dagger. This kept him from going all-out on the offensive.

Then Jenny decided to bravely step in and help her husband.

She took out a canteen from her husband’s bag, which he put down as he prepared to take on the swindler. This was the same canteen she lent Miss Howard to wash the horse manure off Rose’s shoe two days earlier, and it still had some water inside. With this added weight, the canteen made a good improvised missile, and she hurled it at the swindler. Her aim was true, and the canteen hit the swindler on the side of his head, dazing him, and giving Jenny’s husband time to take out another of his weapons–his own belt, attached to which was a large metal buckle. Wrapping part of it around his hand, Jenny’s husband could now use his belt like a blunt and flexible mace to counter the swindler’s brass knuckles.

The swindler had not anticipated Jenny rejoining the fight. This was more than he had bargained for, since he thought he had eliminated her and Rose as threats early on. But the two women had proven peskier than expected. That meant trouble. But he had little time to ponder this change of situation because Jenny’s husband, now more confident, began to attack. The two exchanged jabs and parried each other’s strikes, with neither gaining an advantage. However, Rose could detect a shift in the momentum of the fight in favor of Jenny’s husband. His wife’s assist had injected him with renewed energy, and he seemed to grow stronger as the fight wore on. Rose could hardly believe the stamina displayed by this old-timer, who fought with the vigor of a demon. She did not know what a demon looked like, but Jenny’s husband probably came close.

The swindler probably would have agreed. Despite being younger and fitter, his inability to put a swift end to the fight in his favor had an adverse effect on his initiative. His thrusts became sloppier, and his defense, already cracked by Jenny’s husband, became even less effective. Also working against him was time. He was the perpetrator–the person who masterminded the theft of Rose’s money and later assaulted two women. As the fight was taking place in public, sooner or later someone would notify the police. His motivation to continue the duel began to sag, but like most street fighters, his pride and refusal to admit defeat ensured that he would battle it out to a conclusion, even if it meant jail, serious injury, or death.

Jenny’s husband sensed this and took advantage of the situation. He brought his superior height to bear down on the swindler, and was finally able to get through to his face with his belt. The swindler winced reflexively from the pain brought about by the heavy buckle, which had opened a gash on his forehead. The Jenny’s husband kicked him in the groin and knocked him down with a hook to his right temple. He was about to lay down another kick when Rose shouted for him to stop. The police had arrived.

Two policemen came running over, and were confused as to whom they should arrest until Rose and Jenny explained that the swindler had taken Rose’s money and assaulted them both, while Jenny’s husband was only trying to protect them. Convinced of their claim, the policemen went over to the swindler, who was still lying on the ground, and made him sit up. Then they searched him and found a handkerchief, a wallet, some coins, a broken pocket watch, and Rose’s money clip. "How much money was in your money clip?" one of them asked Rose.

"I had one five dollar bill and seven one dollar bills," answered Rose confidently. "Altogether, it should be twelve dollars."

"That’s my money," the swindler protested shamelessly. "That old witch tried to take it from me," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Jenny.

"You’re a goddamn liar!" countered Jenny’s husband.

"Quiet. We’ll see who it belongs to," said one of the policemen. He unclipped the money and examined the bills. They were in the exact denominations that Rose described. "I think this proves whose money it is." He re-clipped the bills and handed the money to Rose.

"Thank you," said Rose graciously.

"He had an accomplice," Jenny said of the swindler. "A young woman dressed in a lady’s outfit. You might want to ask him about her."

"We will," said the policeman. "Can you identify her if we pick the person up?"

"I think I can," answered Jenny, who was still injured and did not sound very excited about cooperating with the police.

An ambulance arrived outside the park, and its crew, including an intern from a local hospital, came over to treat the wounded. The swindler was in the worst shape, and the intern treated him first while the policemen guarded him. Then he was dragged away.

The other crew members went to examine Jenny and her husband. The latter, whose nose had stopped bleeding, refused treatment and directed all crew members to assist his wife. "We’ll have to take you back to the hospital to give you a further examination," said one of the crew to Jenny. She agreed, but only on the condition that her husband and Rose accompany her.

*****

"I want them to look at you, too," Jenny said to her husband during the ride to the hospital. Her face had been bruised from the beating she took from the swindler, and she held some ice to it to keep the pain and swelling down.

Jenny’s husband held her hand tightly. "I’m all right," he said. "I’m not sure if you are."

Jenny shook her head and sighed. "You’re getting too old for this, and I’m obviously getting too old to pick pockets. Both of us need to find a new line of work," she joked.

"You were great, Jenny," applauded Rose. "That canteen really was for protection."

Jenny smiled. "See, I wasn’t lying when I mentioned it to your friend, May, two days ago."

Jenny’s husband looked at Rose. "That was smart of you to distract the trickster with yer coins, Rose. He wasn’t ready for that."

"Nor was he ready for your punch before that," said Jenny.

"Or for your husband’s punch after that," added Rose, who was still a little shaken by the swindle and fight. "I was furious, but it was very unnerving for me to hit him. This is not the first time I have punched a man, but the one I punched earlier was not trying to kill me." My life was still in danger, though. "This one probably was. I could still feel his knife near my face."

"Welcome to street life on the Lower East Side, Rose," quipped Jenny, taking her hand.

"You got a lot of sand in you," said Jenny’s husband.

"Sand?"

"I mean a lot of nerve. But I like that in a woman." He then winked at his wife. "Certainly better than looking and acting like a porcelain doll."

Porcelain doll. Rose had told Jack that was how she did not want to look. "Could a porcelain doll punch, spit, or bite?" she asked lightheartedly. The sense of humor displayed by Jenny’s husband so soon after the fight inspired her to follow his lead.

"Apparently not as well as you," remarked Jenny.

"And certainly not as well as your husband, Jenny." Rose turned back to him. "You were just amazing. I thought you were really going to kick him after you knocked him down."

Jenny’s husband mused over this remark. "You’d have done a better job of that if you didn’t wash off all the dung from yer shoe. The bottom of it would look great on his face."

Rose blushed at such a repulsive idea, but was compelled to smile after imagining how funny it would be to mar the swindler’s face with manure. "You did not have another knife, did you?"

"No, but I still got through to his chest. So, what happened to yer friend?"

"Oh, Miss Howard went upstate to live with her sister. We had gone sight-seeing two days ago when we first met you. I am glad she did not have to see what happened today. But if she were here and saw what you did, she would have apologized for calling you a cheeky bastard. I must admit I agreed with her assessment of you two days ago. Sorry."

"No, you’re right, Rose. I am a cheeky bastard. I’m just the kind of cheeky bastard you can live with." Everyone giggled at the gibe.

"I almost forgot to thank you for saving our lives," said Rose. "How may I address you?"

"The name’s Vallon…but you can call me Amsterdam."

Continued in The Education of Rose Dawson: Part II.

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