RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Eighty
August 22, 1917
Rose stepped down from the train, her heart
beating with trepidation. She was here. She was really here. Back in Philadelphia
after more than four years away. She was seeking out her mother, who she hadn’t
seen in over five years. What would people think of her, suddenly showing up
like this? Would she be able to find her mother, and if she did, how would she
explain Jack’s presence, or her plans to marry him? She had long ago assured
Ruth that Jack was dead, and finding out that he was alive might come as a
shock to her.
Rose picked up their bags, waiting while Jack
got off the train and joined her. He gave her a reassuring smile, which she
tried to return, but inside she was anything but calm. Surely, after all this
time, her mother wouldn’t try to push her into marriage to Cal again. If she
did, Rose would go back on her promise not to run anymore. She was willing to
face life and its trials and tribulations, but the thought of facing Cal was
more than she could bear. He had tried to kill her, had killed Alice, and she
prayed that she wouldn’t run across him in Philadelphia.
Slowly, the couple walked through the city in
the direction of Rose’s old home. It had been more than five years since Rose
had traveled this way, but she remembered it as though it were yesterday.
Frantically stuffing a few items into a small bag and running from the house
through the servants’ entryway as the voices of Dennis Rivers and Ruth had
echoed through the house; then fleeing through the streets of Philadelphia
until she came to the train station. She wondered about Kathleen, the maid who
had helped her get away, and hoped that no harm had come to her.
Philadelphia hadn’t changed much. There were
more buildings, more houses and factories, but for the most part it was the
same as she had left it so long ago. Her turmoil increased as they left the
older, more rundown part of the city and entered the middle class
neighborhoods. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst from
her chest as they reached the upper class neighborhood in which Rose had grown
up.
As they turned down her old street, Rose
froze, unable to go any farther. Jack tugged on her arm, encouraging her to
keep moving, but she shook her head frantically.
"I can’t do this, Jack. It’s been too
long. I don’t belong here."
"You’ll never find peace unless you find
out what has become of your mother. We don’t have to stay long, only long
enough to find out if she still lives here. If she’s still here, you can decide
what to do then. If not, we’ll leave. Come on, Rose. You can make it."
Rose took a deep breath, comforted slightly
by Jack’s words. Hesitantly, she moved forward, walking slowly towards the
mansion halfway down the street.
What will Mother think of me? she wondered, if she’s even there. She had
never contacted her after she had left. She had thought about it, but at first
she had been afraid of being found and brought back, and later she had assumed
that her mother would never want to see her. What mother would want to
acknowledge a daughter who had killed two people, who had spent time in jail?
Ruth had never been the most tolerant person, and Rose had been certain that
she would want nothing to do with her after what she had done.
It had been so long since she had seen Ruth.
Her last glimpse of her had been her shocked face as Rose had turned and run
back down the aisle. Was she all right? Was she even still alive? Cal had
sounded very threatening that night in the alley. Even if her mother was alive,
where might she be? Had she found a way to keep her home and her status, or had
she wound up like Alice’s mother had, working in some sweatshop? Briefly, Rose
considered that Ruth might have returned to New Orleans, but rejected the idea.
Ruth’s finances had been in difficulty when Rose had left, and if she had gone
back to where she grew up, she would have been there by the time Rose had
arrived and commenced her brief career as a street performer and civil rights
activist. Tom had wondered what had happened to Ruth, and since he was still in
contact with the DeWitts, at least occasionally, she thought that he would
probably have known if her mother had been there.
Rose took a deep breath as they reached the
long, clear walkway of her old home. This was where she had grown up, where she
had lived until she was seventeen years old. This was where her father had died.
In an upstairs bathroom, she had lost her first baby. She had gone to parties
here; had had her debut here. Seeing the magnificent house brought back so many
memories.
But it wasn’t her home anymore. She hadn’t
really had a home in a long time, other than those places she had briefly
called home—the boarding house in New York City, the sod hut on the Alaskan
tundra, and Esther’s ranch house in Southern California. Those were the only
places she had really called home in the last five years.
Taking a deep breath, fighting down her
trepidation, Rose made her way to the front door, Jack a comforting presence
behind her. Nervously, she reached up and rang the doorbell.
A maid answered the door. Rose didn’t
recognize her, but then, it had been a long time since she’d been home.
"Yes? Can I help you?" the young
woman asked, eyeing the shabbily dressed couple.
"Yes. I’m looking for Ruth DeWitt
Bukater. Do you know where I might find her?"
"Let me find out, Miss."
Rose sank down on the front steps. Her mother
wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t really surprised, but at the same time, she
had hoped that things would be the same as when she had left.
Jack sat beside her, a comforting arm around
her shoulders, until the lady of the house came to the door.
"You were looking for Ruth DeWitt
Bukater?" she asked.
Rose stood up and turned to face her.
"Yes. Do you know where she might be?"
The woman blinked in surprise. "Rose
DeWitt Bukater! Is it really you? No one’s heard a thing from you since you
abandoned your groom all those years ago. Leticia Mills saw you in the theater,
though. She swore it was you, even though the actress had a different name. The
play was Hamlet."
"That was me," Rose confirmed. She
didn’t remember the woman, but she hadn’t been very close to many of Ruth’s
friends and acquaintances, preferring the company of those her own age.
"So, you’ve finally come back to
Philadelphia. Wait until everyone hears about this."
Rose could just hear the comments about her.
Rose DeWitt Bukater had abandoned her fiancé at the altar and had run away to
be an actress. Now that she was back, the gossips would have a field day. Such
a scandal!
But Rose realized that she didn’t really care
anymore. She had been the subject of scandal and had survived unscathed. She
would again. The opinions of her old society meant nothing to her—except for
her mother’s opinion, she suddenly realized. She wanted very much to know that
Ruth still accepted her as a daughter, in spite of everything she’d done, that
she still loved her daughter, the only child she had brought into the world.
"Do you know where Mrs. DeWitt Bukater
is?" Rose asked, interrupting the woman’s tirade.
She looked offended at being interrupted, but
gave Rose an answer. "She sold this house to my husband three years ago
when she remarried and moved to her husband’s home—"
"Who did she marry?" Rose asked,
wondering if her mother might still be in Philadelphia.
"Why, don’t you read the society pages?
She married Mr. Hockley."
"Mr. Hockley?" Rose’s face went
pale.
"Yes, Mr. Hockley. They’re living in his
home on Pierce Street."
Pierce Street. That was where Cal and his
father lived. What sort of situation had her mother gotten herself into? She
couldn’t have married Cal—or could she? There was only a few years difference
in their ages. No. It couldn’t be. It had to be Nathan Hockley that she had
married. But how had she fared, living in the same house with Cal? He hated her
for being a redhead. If only it really was the elder Hockley, and not Cal.
"Thank you," Rose told the woman.
"We’ll go there at once."
Rose leaned down to help Jack to his feet. He
looked worried now, too. He, as well as Rose, knew what Cal was capable of.
Neither had ever forgotten the last night on the Titanic, when Cal had shot at
them in a jealous rage. Jack hadn’t been very fond of Ruth, but neither did he
wish her harm, and he knew from Rose’s reaction that she feared that harm had
befallen her mother.