TOMORROW'S APRIL
Chapter One
Saxonia
The familiar noise hit her ears loudly and
roughly, sending pangs of memories through her body, like nothing else could.
Like a giant monster, it stood ready and waiting, as if in anticipation of the
anxiety it was causing one of its passengers. The hum of the ship itself was
constant, similar to a pattern of drums, never ceasing. And the large crowd,
with their tearful goodbyes and excited shouting, only adding to the clamor
weighing so heavily on Rose Dawson-
The ship Saxonia stood before her; large and
proud. Her eyes looked above, examining the giant hull. As if it were mocking
her, it seemed. As if it knew. Rose took a deep breath and trudged forward,
grasping her suitcase tightly in her right hand; her gray skirt blowing in the
cool wind of the April morning. The morning of April 10th, 1920.
The irony filled her brain, teasing her,
tormenting her, and all she could do was keep walking, trying to concentrate on
putting one foot in front of the other-
Why this day, of all days, was she sailing?
Why was she even here, in this situation that she should have known would cause
indescribable pain? These thoughts rang in her head, over and over, again and
again, until her mind reverted back to the reason she was in this place-
Rose had been in Paris for the past three
weeks- filming a role in a moving picture- through Paramount, based in Los
Angeles, where she now lived. She had to admit- it had been fun- filming the
scenic drama on the French countryside. She'd felt involved and alive-
invigorated more than she ever had been- with her freedom, her life. The life
he had given her-
The life Jack had given her-
The production crew had left the day she did,
along with her fellow actors and actresses. She'd been staying with her friend
Angela, who was also an actress, and owned a small apartment in the heart of
Paris. She and Rose had worked together several times in California, and Angela
had been the one to accompany her on the trip over- the first one for Rose,
since that fateful night, eight years earlier. Why hadn't she been this
nervous, this weary then? A clear reason would not come to her, but Rose
guessed that Angela had been a big part of that. The 33 year old actress who
had taken Rose under her wing had made sure, on that trip three weeks ago, that
neither remained sober at any time during the voyage. Rose had been ashamed of
herself- she'd never had so much to drink. She had never, even after all that
had happened, resorted to alcohol like that. But in some strange way, it had
prevented her from facing reality, and before she even realized the enormity of
what she was doing, they'd arrived at Southampton already.
But now nothing stood before her and the sea-
nothing blocked the memories that were flooding back with a vengeance, into her
heart, into her mind. Memories that had never left, and never would, but that
were provoked and prodded at by this day, this ship. April 10th. Exactly eight
years before, Rose had been boarding a similar one- about to embark on the journey
that would inevitably change her life. That would give to her, and take away
from her, the only thing she had ever wanted- The only person-
Rose's loose, red curls billowed in the wind,
across her face, and she reached up to tuck the strands behind her ears.
Walking up the crowded gang plank, she took a deep breath, lifting her head
high, determined not to be intimidated by this inanimate object. She was alone
in this- Angela had remained in Paris, but Rose had to return to her life in
Los Angeles- it was one that made her happy. Having a regular, routine
schedule- that's what kept her going-
Rose had changed very little physically since
she was seventeen, and so naive to the world around her. Her clear green eyes
were still brightly lit- and her soft, pale skin- still as flawless as ever.
She'd had some success as an actress, but not enough to make her recognizable,
and she still had to work to make ends meet. At only 25, Rose Dawson still had
her beautiful and vibrant youth, but inside, she had been through so much- she
felt as though she'd lived a lifetime, since that night...
"Ticket, please, ma'am." The
attendant stood before the opened hatch, holding his hand out to Rose, bringing
her sharply back into reality. She pulled the thick ticket from her skirt
pocket, biting her lip as the man examined it and motioned for her to enter the
ship. She stepped forward cautiously, breathing in the smell of the warm air
inside, studying the faces of the mixture of people around her. She was
traveling second class- a far cry from the luxury she had once lived in, but
also a place she had grown to love, for it's simplicity-
This main room was bustling and loud, so Rose
decided to find her cabin- C 28. The hallway stretched on either side of her-
long and seemingly confusing. Rose sighed and shook her head back and forth.
She would have to be brave-
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Finally..." Rose sighed, as she
entered the cabin that was to be hers for the next few nights. She closed the
door, turning around sheepishly at the sound of the whispers behind her.
Sitting on one of the bottom bunks were 2 women- Rose guessed they were about
20 years old. They both had bright, almost irritatingly large smiles on their
faces. Each wore almost identical dresses, with ribbons in their hair to match.
One of them stood up, crossing the room to
Rose, as she stood rooted in place, suddenly terribly tired. This one was tall,
with chestnut brown hair and a very thin face. The blue ribbon that held her
ponytail bounced back and forth as she walked. Rose tried to force a smile, but
only managed a small grimace. The girl offered her hand, and Rose accepted it,
then leaned down to place her suitcase on the floor.
"I'm Annabelle" she said excitedly,
"and this is my sister Katie." She motioned toward the other, rather
plump woman. Rose nodded absently, silently wishing that she could disappear.
Annabelle seemed expectant of Rose, raising her eyebrows-
"Oh, excuse me," Rose brought her
hand to her forehead, "I'm Rose. Rose Dawson."
"Well, welcome to the room, Rose!"
Rose's face fell, and she began walking
toward the other bottom bunk, closest toward the door.
"Well...thank you...Annabelle,
Katie."
Annabelle followed her, approaching her from
behind.
"We're from Louisiana, New Orleans actually!"
Annabelle's voice cracked up and down, and her hands moved wildly as she
talked. Her sister Katie sat amused on the bed, watching as her sister
continued talking to Rose. "Our parents sent us to Europe- isn't that
grand? But now we're heading home..." Rose tuned out the annoying voice,
sitting on her own bed, and slowly removing her shoes. Her feet ached from
walking all morning.
Annabelle's enthusiasm seemed persistent, and
Rose supposed she would have kept on. But she sent a very blunt signal to the
girl- Rose pulled out the covers of her bed, and climbed under them, fully
clothed, and closed her eyes. She could almost imagine the look on two's faces-
"I'm terribly sorry, Rose. Katie, come.
We'll be back later..." Annabelle's voice faded, as if in confusion. Rose
smirked, and tugged the covers over her head, trying desperately not to laugh.
She heard the door close noisily behind the sisters. She let the blanket down,
settling into a more comfortable position. She'd gotten rid of them for now.
But would she be able to stand them for the entire voyage? She had hoped she
would have a cabin to herself, but obviously, that luck was not meant for her.
She was not surprised- considering how badly this day was already going.
April 10th, and here she was. She could feel
the rumble of the engines beneath her, as they roared to life. Outside her
door, the bustle of people searching for their cabins echoed like a herd of
cattle, and Rose tilted her head back, pressing her ears against the pillow.
The room's bland colors stared at her- the tans and grays, the starched white
ceiling. Her mind began to overflow once more- with apprehensiveness, with
fear-
If Jack were here I wouldn't be scared...if
he were here, it would be alright...she thought to herself, running one of her
hands over her eyes.
Rose, stop it. He's not here, he never will
be...
Rose slammed her fist into the pillow,
pushing her head into the back board of the bed, and closing her eyes. His
image immediately came to her, like it so often did. Through these eight years,
she had "made it count"- she had. But after she and Jack had been
separated in the water that night, nothing had been the same. She'd searched
the survival lists a hundred times, it seemed, on the Carpathia. She'd stayed
in New York for several weeks, horribly depressed and alone, checking every
list, every newspaper article she could get her hands on. She had stayed at one
of the shelters, leaving every few hours- to check the hospitals, check the
other centers that had been set up for survivors. But there had been no Jack.
And for weeks, Rose had blamed herself for his death- retreating into sadness
and despair- speaking to no one- only Jack, calling for him, begging for him.
It had been one of the kind nurses who had helped her from that state- talking
for hours with Rose, reviving her.
Jack's memory then became something she
cherished- something she clung to. She realized that every moment was precious-
that Jack had saved her, and what she owed him was exactly what he had told her
-to make her life count. And, after proudly taking on Jack's name, Rose Dawson
set off into the world, living for both of them. The love they shared would
never disappear, nor would it lessen with time. She moved to Los Angeles, at
first in poverty, but while working as a waitress full time in a small cafe,
she'd met one of the assistant directors for Paramount, and soon found herself
auditioning for roles, and winning many of them. All of this had led her here-
To this irony she was being forced to relive. The pain that she still
experienced everyday of her life was magnified so many times over today- she
could not escape it-
Rose unclenched her fists, relaxing her head.
Maybe if she could get some sleep...