My Clarity

Chapter thirty five

1st May 1912.

It had started when a telegram had arrived to confirm that Rose's mother; Ruth DeWitt Bukater was presumed dead. Her body had never been recovered from the wreckage and therefore, a private funeral was to be held in her name in Philadelphia with an invite for Rose to attend. Attend; as though she was an outsider, only allowed to be present by request even though it was her own mother.

Secondly, society now expected her to be in mourning. Although the clothes that Mrs. Hunt, an old friend of the Dawson family who had just learned of her increasing condition, had brought were far more appropriate for half mourning than full mourning, Rose decided to wear them. She had already gone against the dictates of propriety by wearing fabrics other than what was deemed fashionable and there was hardly anyone in the house who would dare to criticise her; so it didn't make much difference whether she wore black, brown, or grey. Moreover, she felt certain that Jack would not have minded.

Picking up the note that Mrs. Hunt had included with the clothes, Rose read it once more, a smile touching her lips.

'I had these made in Paris,' Mrs. Hunt had written impishly, 'without taking into consideration the consequences of Mr Hunt's virility. By the time I am able to wear them again, they will be out of fashion. My gift to you, with my deepest sympathies.'

Trying on the soft grey wool, which was lined with silk, Rose discovered that it fit nicely. However, her pleasure in the new gown was swamped in a wave of melancholy as she thought of her mother. Wandering disconsolately down to the main hazard room, she saw Jack speaking to a pair of dust-covered masons. He was much taller than either of them, and inclined his head as they replied. Then he made some quip that drew laughter. A glint of humour lingered in Jack's eyes as he happened to glance in Rose's direction. His gaze softened, and he took leave of the masons, coming toward her with unhurried strides. Rose fought to contain a rush of eagerness, afraid of appearing foolishly infatuated with him. However, no matter how sternly she tamped her feelings down beneath the surface, they seemed to sift out like diamond dust, sparkling visibly in the air around her. The odd thing was, he seemed similarly glad to be in her presence, since becoming his wife, perhaps more so. Now, as the last bits of what they had owned had been packed away, last adjustments were made to the detail of the house to fit Charlie's taste, it seemed strange to now have to face the reality of her mother's death. She had drowned in guilt at having tried to simply put her feelings away in a box and to deal with them if they had ever come out, her mother did, despite everything mean a great deal to her.

''Rose...' His golden head bent over her upturned face. ''Are you all right?''

''Yes, I ... no.'' She rubbed her temples fretfully. ''I'm weary. And bored, and hungry. And fear that I should be falling about in a fit of tears when I cannot muster more than a drop.'' His quiet chuckle seemed to cut through her gloom.

''I can do something about that.''

''I have no wish to interrupt your work —'' she said diffidently.

''Charlie will manage things for a while. Besides, I think he really enjoys the authority. Come with me, let's see if the billiards room has been packed away yet.''

''Billiards?'' Rose repeated reluctantly, following him a door or two down the corridor before he nodded his head inwards.

''Don't try to claim this is too scandalous for you,'' he told her with mock severity. ''After running away to marry me, nothing is beyond you. Certainly not one little billiards game.''

Rounding the large solid oak oblong, with soft green inside, Rose watched as Jack expertly set it up to play. It seemed that he was filled with endless talents that she had yet to make a list of.