Suddenly, Jack's life was opened up to Rose in a way that she would never have thought possible. She listened intently as Lilly told her story after story, sometimes crying with her, and sometimes laughing. By the time Lilly led her to Jack's old bedroom, she felt closer to him than she had even during their brief but vital time together on the doomed Titanic.

However, Rose could not help but notice that the one story that Lilly did not tell was the story of their parents' death and Jack's eventual leaving at the age of fifteen.

Rose felt weightless as she was led to the back of the small cottage. She thought her heart would hammer its way through her ribs as she stood in his doorway--Jack's doorway. Lovingly, she ran her palms down the rough texture of the wood, imagining that Jack's artists hands had touched those same places thousands of times.

She smiled softly. Jack's hands; artists hands. So precise. Rough from hard labor, yet gentle with the immensity of his undying affection . . .

She shuddered slightly, tearing herself away from such thoughts. Opening her eyes, she saw that in the center of the sparsely decorated room was Jack's bed. It was narrow, with no headboard, covered by a single, tattered flannel blanket, and a small but fluffy pillow. Rose was overjoyed.

On wobbly legs, she somehow managed to end up standing next to his bed. Lilly watched on quietly as Rose ran her hand down Jack's bed tenderly, as she had done with the door frame. She now had no doubt in her mind that this girl had been deeply in love with her brother. There were many mysteries about her, but of this, she was certain: Rose had loved Jack with all the capability and power that a single soul was capable of giving. Silently, Lilly turned to leave, abandoning Rose with her memories of Jack and her exploration of his life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rose lowered herself onto Jack's bed, ever-so-gently, treasuring the sound of the squeaking of the springs beneath the mattress. Lowering her head down to the worn pillow, she breathed in the scent that remained there--My God!--the scent of Jack! It still lingered on the pillow after his absence of five years.

Almost as an afterthought, Rose reached into the pocket of her coat to retrieve the sacred object that she kept hidden there--'The Heart of the Ocean.' She held it up to the midday light streaming in from the lonely window above the bed. The sun penetrated the heart of the diamond, casting blue rays of shimmering light onto her pale face and the opposite wall.

Caringly, Rose snuggled back down onto Jack's pillow, pulling her legs up to her chest in the fetal position. She breathed in deeply, clutching the 'Heart' close to her own beating heart. Jack's scent was all around her, enveloping her in its sweet, inviting familiarity. It was almost as if he'd never left home. Perhaps in another reality, Jack's parents had never died; he had never left home; he had never sailed on Titanic; he had never died.

*And never met me.*

The thought saddened her, yet it was oddly comforting. It almost felt like Jack could walk in this very room at any moment. Almost. Sighing, she turned onto her back, her eyes drifting across this small, comforting haven that had belonged to her beloved. Hanging on the dirt-smeared walls and scattered about the room were several of Jack's drawings--most yellowed with age, with the coal smeared and browning on a few of the particularly aged ones. They all had one thing in common--they were all beautiful. Everything that was a part of Jack was beautiful by nature. Some drawings portrayed family scenes, much like the ones on the fireplace mantel, while others were of nameless, smiling people whose identities were as yet unknown to Rose. Some pictures had a certain childlike quality about them, as if they were drawn when Jack was still a small boy, while others were almost--but not quite--as professional as the portrait he had done of her. The portrait. Jack's eyes; his hands. *Put your hands on me, Jack.*

For the billionth time since "the sinking," as she was referring to it, Rose shut her eyes in an attempt to recall fully those beautiful, stern features that had belonged exclusively to Jack Dawson. With that memory came the memory of her own pounding chest and trembling limbs. What a glorious, precious memory it was indeed to recall in its absolute entirety.

Snuggling into Jack's pillow in an effort to make herself one with it, she wrapped her arms tightly around it, clutching it to herself along with the 'Heart.' She breathed in its sweet scent that remained on the pillow: Jack's scent.

She allowed the tears to flow freely; allowed them to soak into Jack's pillow, mingling there with Jack's own tears that were shed long ago. How many times had Jack himself cried on this very pillow? Jack was with her now, as he always seemed to be--on the very edge of her awareness--not physically there, but there, nevertheless. She could sense him; feel him. His strong arms were wrapped around her waist, his lips next to her ear, kissing her softly, and whispering soothing words of encouragement. *Stay with me, Jack.* *Always, Rose.* When she fell asleep, her heart and soul were wrapped in the warmth of his comforting spirit, as her body was in the strength of his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * For the first time since the sinking--nearly two weeks ago--Rose slept soundlessly. She was not haunted by the things that might have been, or the horrors that did in actuality take place. She merely slept. Perhaps it was Jack's loving but elusive presence that seemed to stay always at the corner of her mind, assuring her and strengthening her. Perhaps it was physically being among the things that had been a close part of Jack and his life--the things that completed Jack and made him the person that he had been. Or maybe it was his scent that seemed to fill every crevice of this small haven, and the distinct impression he left on this very room and all the items in it; the impression he left on this wonderful house; this town; this world. There was no way to be certain, but the important thing was that she slept--deeply, peacefully, uninterrupted. When she finally was awaken in the late afternoon, the first thing she was aware of was the bright rays of light casting on her heavy eyelids, tinged orange with the setting sun, warming her body. She moaned softly as she turned onto her stomach, not wanting her peaceful slumber to come to an end. Sighing, she pressed her cheek into Jack's pillow, savoring the delicious scent that invaded her senses. She imagined that it was Jack who she held in her arms. "I love you," she whispered, kissing the spot where his head must have lain almost every night of his childhood. "Rose?" Her eyes opened with a start. Momentarily disoriented, she frowned in an attempt to regain her senses. Rolling over, she gazed into the worried eyes of Lilly Dawson--Jack's sister. "How long have I been asleep?" she mumbled, voice groggy with her sleepiness. She yawned, rubbing her eyes like a content child. "Almost three hours. I came to tell you that dinner is almost ready. Are you not feeling well?" Rose turned her head slightly to gaze at the distant sun setting on the horizon, and the gorgeous clouds--now all shades of pink and purple and red. They were all too much like the clouds on the evening that Jack had taught her how to fly--the evening before the sinking. "I'm terribly sorry. I'm quite fine, thank you. I was just . . . tired." "Are you feeling better?" "Yes. Quite, thank you. This was quite rude of me--" "Nonsense," Lilly assured her, cutting her off. "I know that you've been through quite a bit." "I thank you for everything," Rose whispered, eyes brimming with tears. Lilly was so much like Jack in that her kindness was unlimited. Lilly smiled warmly, reaching her hand for her newfound sister-in-law. "Think nothing of it. You're family, and you're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like. Are you hungry?" "Very," she replied as her thoughts returned to her rumbling stomach. She needed her strength. After checking to make sure that the 'Heart' was tucked safely under Jack's pillow, she followed Lilly into the small dining room. There, the aroma of freshly baked bread and cooking meat indulged her senses, sending an audible rumbling through her belly. "It smells delicious," Rose commented. "Thanks," replied Lilly. "I love to cook. It's sort of a hobby of mine." After being seated at the table, Rose could not help but notice that there were not two places set, but three. "Will someone else be joining us?" Rose asked curiously as Lilly emerged from the kitchen bearing a large pot of steaming potatoes. "My other brother, John, said he would try to join us." Rose's eyes lit up. The other boy from the picture--another link to Jack. "Try?" Lilly laughed slightly. "He's a good person, my brother. Just not very reliable." "I see." When it did not seem that John would make an appearance after all, they started the delicious meal without him. Throughout the course, neither girls said much. Both were content to remain with their own thoughts--both curious about one another, but afraid to ask too many questions. Rose was mildly disappointed that John did not show up, but after an assurance from Lilly that she would likely meet him tomorrow, Rose was content. After offering to do the dishes--something she had never done during her high-society life, but something she decided couldn't be too difficult--she quietly disappeared back into Jack's bedroom. It was comforting to be there--among his things. His presence almost felt stronger there.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * The next day came all too quickly, but Rose was prepared for it. She knew what her first agenda would be. Waking with the rising sun, she dressed quickly. She treasured being able to wear men's pants and a simple shirt for the first time in her life. The thought of picturing the look on her mother's face was enough to send her into a fit of laughing hysteria. "Why, Mother, such a shocked look does not suit you. You really should learn to control yourself." Rose laughed even harder. After several minutes, she forced herself to calm. Lilly would think her mad if she walked in at this moment. Cheerfully, she pranced into the kitchen, discovering to her mild surprise that Lilly was already up and about. "You seem to be feeling better," she observed, smiling at her new friend. "I have something important I need to do today," Rose explained. "For Jack. Could you tell me how to get to Lake Wissota?" As it turned out, Lake Wissota was actually in close walking distance of the Dawson home, and was not difficult to find. Lilly offered to accompany her, but Rose gently explained that this was something she had to do alone. Lilly understood. So Rose set out along the trail, carrying only the basket Lilly had prepared for her, containing a wholesome lunch of leftovers from dinner the previous night.

Being fairly early in the morning, the air was still cooled from the previous night. The breeze drifting down the path and the morning dew in the air felt lovely to her skin. She breathed it in as she walked, enjoying every minute of it. Once again, she found herself daydreaming about Jack and their daughter, pretending they were walking along with her. The twenty minutes it took to walk the path seemed to end without her even realizing it, and without warning, she found herself standing in front of the crystal blue waters of Lake Wissota--blue as the 'Heart'. The large lake seemed to stretch eternally, bordered only by the green trees, and the occasional patch of early summer flowers.

She squinted her eyes, trying to picture what it must look like in the winter--the waters frozen over in a thick shell of white ice; the trees, leaveless and snow-covered. The chill in the air was palpable, and she could see her breath in the air, freezing into crystal shards mere inches from her face and falling gracefully to the ground. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see Jack as a child, and his father--they were ice fishing, the world seemingly lost to them.

Rose opened her eyes. She did not want to see what would inevitably come next. She did not want to see him crash through the ice into the frosty waters below. She had already seen Jack like that once and did not wish to again.

"Well," she whispered out loud to the silence, her only response, that of the hawking of a bird somewhere in the distance. "Here I am, Jack." She paused, a lump forming in her throat. "It will be exactly two weeks tonight--two weeks since the sinking . . . and my rebirth. I'm still not exactly sure what to think about all of this." She rubbed her belly gently. "To have your baby is . . . well, it's a miracle. I only wish . . . I wish you could be here . . ." Rose stopped, swallowing hard. She shivered slightly, bringing her hands up to hug her arms as a cool breeze skimmed off the lake, chilling her.

"I wish you could be here for her . . . " she paused suddenly, replaying a memory of Jack's voice in her head. *You're going to go on, and you're going to make lots of babies . . . * "You told me that I was going to make lots of babies. I did make one--with you, Jack. With you. She's inside of me. I can feel her growing. And I wish that you were here . . . to make more babies with me." She shook her head, wiping away the tears forming in her eyes. "Because I can't imagine making babies with anyone else . . . or falling in love with anyone else. I love you, Jack. Only you. I don't want that to change."

Slowly, she set down next to the bed of the lake, peering over and into it. She was pleased with what she saw--a common girl. Still beautiful, but enriched by her freedom. Her hair was loose, her red curls blowing in the breeze, and her face was free of make-up; natural. It felt wonderful. And beside her face, she could see another--distant, a pale shadow of the person it belonged to, but the handsome features unmistakable. "Jack," she whispered, smiling as she felt his arms slide around her waist. "I knew that you would come."

They sat in silence for several minutes, enjoying one another's company. Finally, she broke the silence. "As you probably know, I met Lilly yesterday. Jack, she reminds me so much of you. She has your kindness--your selflessness. I still don't know all there is to know about you. I don't know . . . about your pain. But I'd like to. Somehow, I think I'd know you better."

Rose sighed lightly, relaxing into his arms. She gazed up into the perfect blue sky, so much like Jack's eyes. Perfect and blue. She smiled, twirling a strand of her hair around in her finger.

She was unsure of how long she had lain there. Gradually, she noticed the air changing--becoming warmer. Uncomfortably warmer. Stretching sleepily, she sat up. She gazed at the quiet, still water, thinking how nice it would be to go for a dip. It wasn't such a bad idea, she realized after a time. As the well-brought-up girl of an aristocratic family, she had never had the opportunity to swim in a lake. It would have been considered unacceptable behavior. Unacceptable behavior. She laughed bitterly, kicking her shoes off, before stripping down totally.

"Here's to my freedom," she said before stepping her bare foot into the cool water--ahh . . . deliciously cool. She kicked off, enjoying the feel of the silky water gliding over her naked body as she swam. She kicked her legs, laughing as she flipped over in the water, emerging herself completely. She was quite a strong swimmer, having taken lessons as a child. But this was the first time she had swam in a natural body of water--especially the first time she had ever swam nude. This was bliss. She floated on her back now, suddenly gazing up at the same sky she had been only minutes before. She closed her eyes, imagining Jack was with her, splashing her. In a way, he was there--she could still feel him at the edge of her mind, where he barely ever ventured too close.

She could see herself splashing him back. *I'll get you,* she could see herself crying out vengefully, laughing the whole time. And then she would launch herself at him, wrapping her arms around his just as nude body. And then as they gaze into one another's eyes, all thoughts of playfulness would melt away, and it would be just the two of them--making love in this lake with as much passion as they had that fateful night in the Renault. *Put your hands on me, Jack.*

"Pardon me, miss, but you seem to have lost something!"

Abruptly, Rose's eyes snapped open. With a yelp, she sat up, her daydream completely forgotten. There, standing on the bank of the lake, silhouetted against the late morning sun, was the figure of a man. And he was holding up what appeared to be her clothes.