RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Thirteen

After they had finished eating, Rose and Alice walked the few blocks to the shops Alice had mentioned. Rose walked slowly, trying to look at everything around her.

"You’re definitely not from this area," Alice commented as Rose stopped to stare at a dog digging through a garbage heap. "Most people try to ignore the things they see."

"It’s fascinating," Rose replied, still looking at everything around her. To her unjaundiced eyes, the low buildings, piles of trash, and loose animals were a fascinating change from the almost sterile world of the upper class.

Alice shook her head. She had lived among similar conditions her entire life and had grown inured to it.

"Just don’t make it obvious that you’re looking. Someone will think you don’t know your way around, and that makes you an easy target."

Rose nodded, acknowledging the wisdom of Alice’s words. She continued looking around, but more discreetly.

When they reached the street they needed, Alice indicated the different stores, pointing out which ones sold ready-made clothing, which ones sold shoes or hats, which ones carried fabrics and other notions, and a variety of miscellaneous stores. Rose had never thought such a place existed.

Following Alice’s lead, she went into the nearest dress shop, which had several of its best items displayed in a plain but clean window.

Rose wandered through the shop, wondering how to decide what she should buy. She wasn’t even sure what size clothing to look at, she realized. Most of her clothes had been custom made.

The saleswoman took one look at her and steered her in the direction of a rack of medium-sized dresses, coats, and shirtwaists.

Rose looked at her gratefully. The woman looked her over again and shook her head.

"You probably won’t find anything you like in here," she told Rose. "I don’t sell much in the way of fancy dresses."

Rose glanced at her day dress. It didn’t look particularly fancy to her, but she supposed that it would to someone whose customers preferred practical day clothes to garments designed for showing off.

"I just want a few simple things," she assured the saleswoman, "things that I can wear for work."

"What kind of work do you do?" the woman inquired, unable to believe that a working woman could afford an expensive silk dress.

"I sell theater tickets."

The lady looked at her skeptically. Rose could almost read her thoughts. She was being mistaken for a prostitute again.

The saleswoman shrugged and gestured to the rack of clothes. "These will do for ticket selling." She didn’t believe that that was Rose’s occupation for a minute, but she wouldn’t turn a customer away because of what they did as long as they were discreet about it.

Rose looked through the clothes, checking the prices. They were unbelievably low.

"I didn’t know prices could get this low," she commented to Alice. Alice stared at her.

"Actually, this is one of the pricier places on this street," she commented, holding up a three-dollar tag on a shirtwaist.

Rose didn’t know what to say to this. She had rarely worn anything that cost less than twenty dollars. Of course, the simple cotton and wool garments were a far cry from the expensive silks, satins, velvets, and laces she was accustomed to wearing.

"The fitting room is back there," the saleslady called, indicating a curtained off cubicle at the back of the shop.

Selecting several dresses, shirtwaists, and skirts, Rose headed toward the cubicle. As she neared it, she stopped, eyeing a rack of ladies’ undergarments.

Mentally calculating how much she could afford to spend, Rose slung the items she had already selected over her shoulder and looked through the collection of lingerie.

Slips, chemises, corsets—and a strange garment she couldn’t identify hung from the rack. Rose picked one of the strange items up, wondering what it was for.

"That’s called a brassiere," the saleslady informed her, seeing Rose looking in confusion at the item. "Some women wear them instead of corsets."

Rose was immediately intrigued. She had always hated wearing a corset. If this garment was more comfortable, she would prefer it to the tight, uncomfortable corsets.

"How does it work?" she inquired, trying to figure out how it was supposed to be put on.

The woman sighed and directed her toward the fitting room. Rose wasn’t the first customer she had had to explain these garments to.

After being shown how to put the brassiere on, and adjusting it to fit, Rose was delighted with the difference. The new undergarment allowed her to breathe freely, and didn’t dig into her skin. It was cooler in the summer heat, as well. Despite the two dollar price tag, Rose selected three of them, along with two dresses, a skirt, and two shirtwaists. She would think about other clothes later.

As she paid for her clothing, Rose still marveled over the economy of it. Her new wardrobe had cost less than a single dress would have before.

She and Alice stopped twice more, once for comfortable shoes and once for a plain white hat that matched all of Rose’s clothes, before heading back toward the boarding house. After Rose had dropped her purchases off, they headed back in the direction of a small market.

Alice was unable to believe how little Rose knew about shopping for food. Although Rose knew a little bit about cooking, she had never had to shop for her own food, and often stopped, confused, trying to decide what she needed to buy.

After Rose had mistaken a head of lettuce for a cabbage, Alice took over, trying to teach Rose the rudiments of food shopping before she wound up cooking a lettuce soup or other mistake.

Patiently, she demonstrated to Rose how to determine which vegetable was which, how to choose produce that was actually ripe, and how to determine whether bread was fresh or not. She steered Rose past a counter of meat that smelled like it had been sitting out for days and showed her how to select fresh meat and fish from a display on ice, despite its higher cost.

Rose tried to listen, but Alice’s condescending attitude got on her nerves. When Alice explained her to her what a carrot was, Rose had had enough.

"I know what a carrot is!" she snapped, picking up a handful of them and adding them to her shopping basket. Alice took them back.

"Those will rot in two days," she told Rose, replacing them with fresh ones.

"I can shop for myself! I have a lifetime of experience!"

Alice laughed appreciatively. "About time you showed some backbone, Rose!"

Rose glowered at her, then sighed. "I haven’t shopped for food, though, except for in restaurants." Alice had already figured out that Rose was from the upper class; there was no use pretending otherwise.

"You’ll pick this stuff up soon enough. I’m just trying to save you some money. Unless, of course, you have enough that you don’t need to save it."

"You’re right. I need to learn this. What else should I know?"

"That’s about it. You’ll also need some containers to store your food, and a pen and paper to mark this stuff as yours. Starving actors will eat anything."

"That’s what Frances said."

"She’s right. Label your food, or someone else will eat it for you."

As they left the market, loaded down with bags of food and containers, Alice stopped to buy a newspaper from a boy standing in the shade of one of the buildings. Slinging her bags over her back, she thumbed through the newspaper as she walked.

Rose noticed Alice looking at her strangely. "What?" she asked, trying to figure out what was wrong.

"I thought you said you weren’t of the upper class."

Maybe Alice hadn’t figured it out after all. "I’m not."

"Then this girl is a perfect likeness of you," Alice told her, setting her bags down on the front steps of the boarding house.

Rose snatched the newspaper and looked at the article. Under the society column was a small picture of herself and Cal. She quickly scanned the text.

Rose DeWitt Bukater, daughter of the late Walter Bukater, caused a stir two days ago by leaving her fiancé at the alter. The jilted groom, Caledon Hockley, of Hockley Steel, has expressed concern over his bride’s unusual conduct. “She had been distraught since the sinking of the Titanic two months ago,” Hockley explained. Miss DeWitt Bukater’s whereabouts are unknown. If anyone has information about her, they are urged to contact Caledon Hockley or Ruth DeWitt Bukater as soon as possible.

Rose stared at the article. Cal was looking for her. Even now, someone could have reported her whereabouts him, and he could be on his way to bring her back. Hands shaking, she tossed the newspaper aside. Forgetting her groceries, she dashed up the steps. She had to pack and leave as quickly as possible before anyone caught up to her.

Alice picked up the bags and followed Rose inside. "Rose!" she shouted.

Rose didn’t stop. Lifting her skirts, she dashed up the stairs, headed for her room.

Leaving the bags in the kitchen, Alice followed her. She heard Rose’s door slam as she reached the landing.

Hurrying to the end of the hall, Alice knocked on Rose’s door. "Rose, can I come in?"

When there was no response, she pushed the door open. Rose stood in front of her bed, stuffing clothes into the small bag she had brought with her. She turned when Alice came in.

"Don’t try to stop me."

Alice looked at her curiously. "No problem. Where are you going, by the way?"

"Anywhere, except Philadelphia."

"Why so suddenly?"

"You saw the article. He’s after me."

"Your fiancé?"

"Yes. Him."

The way Rose said him convinced Alice that Caledon Hockley was not someone Rose wished to see again. "Why did you run?"

"He...I don’t want to talk about it."

"It can’t be that bad."

Rose looked at Alice as though were the most naive person she had ever met. "You don’t know him. He’s...I guess evil is the word I’d use."

"That’s pretty strong."

"It fits."

"Strange...you don’t usually think of upper class gentlemen as evil."

"He’s no gentleman. At least not when people aren’t looking. And that’s all I’m saying." She snapped her bag shut. The new items she had purchased almost filled the bag to overflowing.

"Does he know you’re here?"

"I have no idea. If he doesn’t now, he will soon."

"If he could find you here, using an assumed name, he could find you anywhere. People come here for two reasons—to become famous and to disappear. If you stay out of the spotlight, chances are he won’t find you. Most people don’t pay that much attention to the newspapers anyway. They read them and discard them. Most would never consider contacting him, or that other person mentioned."

"My mother."

"Your mother. At any rate, if you lay low, they’ll probably ignore you. Running through the streets, trying to escape, will attract more attention than sitting quietly."

"If even one person recognized me from that picture and reports me, he’ll drag me back."

"Then perhaps you need to change your looks a bit." Alice studied Rose’s profile. "Your face we can’t do much about, though a little makeup might help, and wearing your hat might cover it a little. Your hair...it looks almost blonde in that picture, even though it’s red. If you tried coloring it brown or black, you’d look much different. And get rid of that fancy dress—you look like you’re upper class. Wear plain clothes like the ones you just bought. Chances are, no one will pay any attention." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "We have about two hours until we have to be at the theater—enough time for a bit of a makeover."

Rose nodded, her mind whirling. If there was any chance that Cal wouldn’t find her, she was willing to take it. And besides, if she did change her appearance, it might make running away easier if she needed to.

Chapter Fourteen
Stories