The Miracle Garden

Stress, she thought but it wasn't with the same hope that filled her as the alternative. Huge change in circumstances; it happened once before the time after her father died and her mother had revealed the severity of the DeWitt Bukater debts. There had been enough money left to pay the creditors into silence and for her grand entrance into Society. That was just after her sixteenth birthday. Almost two years. A lifetime. This, though, felt different. Real. The changes felt as though they were coming fast and forth.

Placing a hand upon the breakfast table, Rose looked across at her mother's stoic face, her eyes were drawn downwards and the air was tinged with silence, just the clattering of the plates and cups occasionally and then, the table was cleared away by a newly hired maid and suddenly, it was just Rose facing Ruth. The sinking of the Titanic seemed to have added a score of years upon Ruth DeWitt Bukater's face. Once a widower who was still quite the looker with the vibrant red hair of youth still shining without even a single drop of grey, a finely powdered face with barely a wrinkle after years of smothering lotions and creams to keep her visage pale and youthful and then, there was her lithe figure. Still as curve free and straight as her teenage years, even childbirth had not altered her. Now, though, the signs were mounting up and her face was worn and weary, despite every single attempt to conceal it.

The sinking of the Titanic had altered Rose as well. Not only had she lost her only friend, Trudy Bolt, in the tragedy but she had also lost the entire contents of her wardrobe, her jewels and the art purchased in Paris. Of course, none of that mattered to her. What mattered was the fact that she was still, after seven weeks, kept awake at night by the screaming, the terrific images of pale bodies bobbing about in the Atlantic Ocean, the scent of death and the scenes of violence which had exploded about them in the final hours. The screeching of the Titanic claimed by the mighty ocean, taking with it God knows how many lives, as she had stood at the stern rail, in the exact same spot which had changed the entire course of her life, with the person who had changed her entirely. Now though, her act was just as concealed as her mother's. Neither woman gave away anything to the other. Any signs of torture, of misery, of anything were simply ignored and their days continued as normal as though nothing had even happened. As though, Rose hadn't left her family for a stranger who she had met three days before, as though she left her mother about to board a lifeboat herself, screaming for her daughter to join her, but she had walked away with a simple, ''Goodbye, mother.'' Of course, she hadn't known that they would be reunited upon the decks of the Carpathia, with Ruth offering her a teary nod and a solemn embrace. That had been the only act of emotion expressed. Rose had walked into her mother's arms for the first time that she had ever remembered and in seconds, it was over. She became as numb as Ruth had then, it was as though, together, they could collaborate to erase the memories and hurt of the sinking. Caledon Hockley had extended his warm wishes of her safety, had insisted on them travelling back to Philadelphia on the Hockley family train and then had visited intermittently since. He looked at her differently, and for that Rose was glad. No more would he see the innocent, virginal little girl that he had wanted to take into his bed aboard Titanic. He had known that her virtue was gone, her naked body had writhed with another man in pleasure who had lovingly taken her virginity.

Behind Ruth sat the French doors which opened up onto the freshly cut lawn, the spring flowers were now in full season but the weather did not permit a walk outside. The rain had poured for what felt like weeks, matching Rose's blue mood, but somewhere out there, she prayed for a break in the cloud and for a fragment of sun to come to take away the misery.

''Coffee, miss?'' The new maid, Annette, broke the silence, glancing at Rose with a pot full of steaming coffee and a sympathetic face. The silence between mother and daughter must have been deafening.

With a heavy shake of her head, Rose declined, instead folding her hands into her lap and turned to look out of the doors. She was here again; truly stifled.