IT
HAS TO BE YOU
Chapter Seven
April 18, 1912
"Sweetpea, get
ready. We’re about to dock."
Rose cringed at the
sound of Cal’s voice outside the tiny room where she had been imprisoned for
the past three days. He had come to visit her each day, mostly to lecture and
harangue her about her behavior, and to slap her around if she defied him.
Ruth had also
visited, but only when Cal was present—Rose suspected that Cal was afraid that
she would tell Ruth about his plans to cut her off without a cent. Whenever it
had appeared to him that Rose was about to tell her mother about his plans, he
had found a reason to leave, escorting Ruth from the room and locking Rose in
again.
Slowly, she got to
her feet, looking around the room. What did she have to take with her?
Everything she had brought with her, as well as everything she had bought on
the trip, had gone down with the Titanic. All she had were the clothes on her
back, which had finally dried after being hung near the heater.
Resignedly, she put
her ruined shoes back on and picked up Cal’s coat, doubting that he would want
it back after she had worn it in her struggles in the water. The fine, heavy
wool was water-stained and misshapen.
Absently, she
slipped the coat on, knowing that it was late and would probably be cold when
they got off the ship. Slipping her hands into the pockets, she frowned as her
right hand touched something cold and hard.
Rose’s eyes widened
in surprise as she pulled out the Heart of the Ocean. No wonder Cal had been so
anxious to find her! Not only did he want his erstwhile fiancée back, but he
also wanted his investment. The necklace had to be worth at least two million dollars—a
huge chunk of money by any standards.
Wondering if he had
placed anything else in the pockets—Cal always liked to be prepared—she
searched through the other pockets, finally finding two large bundles of money
in the inner pockets. She didn’t have time to count it, but it was all in
twenties—more than enough for her to start a new life with Jack if she could
get away and find him.
Where was Jack?
Rose asked herself that for the hundredth time. She hadn’t heard anything about
him since she had been dragged back to first class, but that wasn’t unusual.
First class tended to regard steerage as non-existent unless they got in their
way.
The last she’d
heard of him, the steward had said that he needed a doctor’s care. Rose bit her
lip in worry. He had been in the bitterly cold water for a long time that
night. What if he was sick, or worse? Would she even be able to find him if he
was? What would happen to sick passengers after the ship docked?
Her thoughts were
interrupted as Cal unlocked the door, Ruth following close behind him. Ruth
nodded approvingly at the sight of Rose dressed and ready to go. Several times,
over the past few days, she had come in to find Rose in various states of
undress, making her wonder if Rose had indeed had a nervous breakdown, since
she showed no embarrassment at being caught that way.
Rose just stared at
them, not making any comment. She knew that her mother had been shocked to find
her dressed only in the bed sheets, but her clothing had been damp and
uncomfortable, and she didn’t want to take the chance of getting sick. She
would never be able to escape and find Jack if she became ill.
"Rose,
darling, we’ve arrived in New York," Ruth told her, looking around the
small room in distaste. What would people say if they knew that Rose had
completed the journey back to America living in servant’s quarters? Ruth
sincerely hoped that Rose wouldn’t say anything about where she had been
staying, or why, but she hoped that if Rose did open her mouth, Ruth could
explain it away as the lack of room on the rescue ship. After all, no one had
expected the Titanic to sink, and the survivors really couldn’t be blamed for
taking whatever accommodations were available.
"Come,
Sweetpea." Cal took her by the arm and escorted her from the room.
"We’ll be disembarking as soon as the Carpathia’s original passengers have
gotten off."
Rose didn’t reply.
She had learned quickly that Cal took great pleasure in belittling every word
she said, punishing her for her behavior aboard the Titanic. It was better not
to say anything at all.
She looked around
as they headed for the gangway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jack, but they
never left first class, and when they were finally permitted to leave the ship,
Cal and Ruth hurried her to a waiting taxi, avoiding the questions of
reporters. Rose walked between them the whole time, Cal’s grip on her arm never
loosening.
*****
Jack lay in his
bed, feeling weaker than he had ever felt before in his life. It had been three
days since the Carpathia had picked up the survivors of the Titanic, and now
they had finally docked in New York. He was back in America, but the thought
gave him no joy.
Fabrizio had been
so eager to go to America and make his fortune in the land of opportunity. Now,
he was dead, along with most of the people Jack had known in steerage. He had
glimpsed one man that he knew vaguely, walking around in a dress and shawl and
trying to escape the accusing stares of the other survivors, but no one else.
He had been in and
out of delirium since he had been brought to the infirmary, but he had been
lucid enough of the time to have learned a few things.
Most of the first
class women had survived, as well as a number of the men, as had much of second
class. It was the steerage passengers who had suffered the most losses. Many
had been locked below deck as the Titanic sank, for fear that they would rush
the boats and deprive first class passengers of their seats. There hadn’t been
nearly enough boats—perhaps half the number needed—and many of them had been
launched only partly full. There had been another ship in the vicinity, the
Californian, but the wireless operator had turned off his equipment for the
night, so they hadn’t heard the Titanic’s pleas for help, and those who had
seen the flares had assumed that some sort of celebration was going on. After
all, why would anyone be signaling for help from an unsinkable ship?
He had seen no sign
of Rose since Cal had taken her back to first class, and no had had any news
about her, either. He knew that she was alive—but where was she? How was she
doing? How was Cal treating her? Cal had been furious that Rose had made a fool
of him, and he hated Jack with a passion for luring his fiancée into what he
regarded as an illicit affair.
Jack tried to sit
up, but his weakness forced him to lie back down. His fever was rising again;
he could feel it. Now that the ship had docked, Cal would take Rose back to
Philadelphia, and Ruth would see to it that the wedding went as planned. Once
she left New York, there would be no chance of finding her.
He shook his head,
pushing away his defeatist thoughts. He could catch a train to Philadelphia and
find her. To be sure, he had no money, but that had never stopped him before.
He would just jump aboard a deserted boxcar like any other bum, and jump off
when he reached Philadelphia. The DeWitt-Bukater home shouldn’t be too hard to
find—after all, they were members of high society, watched and admired by
thousands. Finding the Hockleys would be equally easy. He would find out where
they were, and—somehow he would get there, and find Rose. Her wedding was
probably scheduled for June, like that of most debutantes, so that gave him
some time to plan and search for her.
Of course, it would
be easiest if he could find her before she left the ship. Pushing himself into
a sitting position, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling himself
shakily to his feet. He almost tumbled over, but he was determined. He had to
find Rose. That was all his mind was focused on now.
Vaguely, he
wondered where his shoes were, but he didn’t have time to look for them. He had
to find Rose before Cal got away with her. Stepping carefully, he started for
the infirmary door, his legs feeling like they weighed a thousand pounds each.
He was almost to
the door when the nurse returned, stopping him in his tracks. "Mr. Dawson!
What do you think you’re doing?"
Jack looked at her,
his eyes glazed from fever. He had no idea how long it had taken him to cross
the room, but he was almost to the door and he wasn’t stopping now.
"I got to…got
to…" He tried to remember what he was doing. The fever was making it hard
to think.
"You’ve got to
go back to bed. You’re too sick to wander around, and you’re not likely to get
better if you don’t settle down and rest."
"I gotta find
Rose. Cal’s gonna take her away." Jack finally remembered what he was
doing. Stepping around the nurse, he reached for the doorknob.
"No, Mr.
Dawson, you aren’t going anywhere. When the other passengers have left, those
of you too sick to fend for yourselves will be taken to a hospital near here.
That includes you. Now, go back to bed. You’re in no condition to look for
anyone. You don’t even have your shoes on."
"I can’t find
‘em."
"They’re under
your bed. But you can’t go anywhere. You’re liable to wander off the dock and
drown—if you even get that far."
"You don’t
understand. I have to find Rose." Jack was about to say more, but a
violent fit of coughing interrupted him, leaving him clutching his aching
chest.
"Come along,
Mr. Dawson. You’re delirious. Back to bed with you. You’ll be taken to the
hospital soon."
"No!"
Jack tried to walk away, but the nurse was stronger and faster than he was, and
she quickly turned him around and wrestled him back to his bed.
"Now, are you
going to stay there, or am I going to have to restrain you?"
Jack looked up at
her, feeling panic beginning to well up inside him. Rose…he had to find Rose.
But he couldn’t go anywhere, not with the nurse standing over him, and the last
fit of coughing had left him exhausted. Even as he glared up at the nurse, he
felt his eyes beginning to close. He was too tired to try again.
He would have to do
as the nurse said, and go after Rose when he was strong enough to make the trip
to Philadelphia.