Rose placed Robert’s body in a now-empty storage pit, curling him into a fetal position and covering the pit with rocks. It was impossible to dig a grave just yet; the ground was frozen solid. Even in summer, the permafrost would be just a few feet beneath the surface, but it was easier to chop out a couple of feet of frozen ground than to dig an entire grave in the winter.

Everything around her reminded her of Robert. The frozen river reminded her of the hours spent ice-fishing, of the time spent panning for gold—and of the way that Robert had fallen through the ice, ultimately costing him his life.

The tundra made her think of the hunting trips she had accompanied him on, and the sight of animals reminded her of how they had worked together to prepare for the winter, skinning the animals that Robert had hunted, processing the meat so that it would remain fresh through the cold season.

Most of all, the house reminded her of him. They had built it together, laughing uproariously at their own mistakes, finally building a structure that could withstand the tundral winter and provide them with adequate shelter. Rose finally collected Robert’s belongings and packed them away, covering the pack with a blanket so that she wouldn’t have to see it and remember. She kept out only those things that she thought might be necessary for her own survival, alone in the wilderness, far from civilization, with a only a dog for company.

With little else to do, Rose spent long hours sitting before the fire, contemplating the past. The peace that she had once known in this land was gone, and it no longer felt like home. Memories of the past, of all of those whom she had known before, came to her unbidden. Painful memories, happy ones—all converged upon her mind, tormenting her at times, but ultimately leaving her with a greater understanding. Her own isolation enabled her to contemplate things as she never had before, allowing her to see what had once been buried within her mind.

She thought of Robert first. His death was fresh in her mind, the grief still raw and undimmed by time. She often wept as she sat before the fire, wrapped in the bearskin, remembering their time together. She had always liked him, right from the morning she first met him at the boarding house in New York. He had brought her laughter, something that she had known far too little of in her life, and she had always been grateful for that. Though it had been a long time before she had fully trusted him, and even longer before she grew to love him, she had been glad to know him. He had been a friend to her even when she was unable to accept any other kind of relationship, and his teasing had helped to bring her out of herself. He had stood by her, and by Alice, even when things were at their worst. It took a strong man to stay at the sides of those like herself and Alice, individuals who were so lost within themselves that they were unable to truly be a part of the world around them. Robert had understood because he was a part of that internal world, and yet was able to interact with those about him in a sound way, even if it was with the intent of deriving as much pleasure from life as possible. He had openly pursued wine, women, and song, but had been stable and steady enough to understand those who he was closest to.

After she had fled New York, Rose hadn’t expected to see him again. She had been more than slightly surprised when he had rescued her in the alley that night in New Orleans. How strange it was, she thought, the coincidences that brought us together. She had been even more surprised when he had supported her efforts to promote civil rights for all people, but she had learned that he was a very tolerant, forgiving person, perhaps because of what he had seen and experienced. His willingness to accept her unconventional means of support, her often-hazardous occupation as a street performer, and even his willingness to look past the trouble in her life had taught her that. He had even offered her a home, bringing her out of the rundown, dangerous section of New Orleans that she had been living in.

She had grown to love him all the more after they were married. He had respected her, respected her feelings and opinions, unlike most men that she had known. He had made no advances before the wedding, though she would have accepted them if he had. He had brought her with him to Alaska, encouraging her to overcome her fear of sailing, and brought her north with him, despite the warnings of others that the wilderness was no place for a woman. And she had survived—even when Robert had not. He had been friend, lover, and confidante, but he was gone now, and she was alone again.

Rose’s thoughts turned to Cal. He had been her first fiancé, the first man who had come to her bed. Even now, after three years, she still abhorred him. She had been young and naive when she had become engaged to him, and he had taken advantage of her. He had never loved her, she knew, had probably hated her because of her resemblance to his mother. How different my life would have been, she thought, if I had married Cal instead of fleeing from my wedding on that June day in 1912. She would never have experienced the many things she had done, would never have met and married Robert. I might not be even be alive now, she realized, her hand going involuntarily to her throat, remembering the night he had attacked her in the alley. Running away from her wedding had been the smartest thing she had ever done, and she was still alive to think of it.

How different Cal had been from Robert. She had been engaged to both men, had slept with both of them, but she had never been able to feel anything but fear and hatred towards Cal. Outwardly, Cal had seemed the perfect gentleman, a high-ranking member of Philadelphia society, but inside he had been horribly warped, until whatever good he had once had became buried in cruelty and abusiveness. He had wanted to destroy those who reminded him of his mother, who had used him in such a terrible way, and Rose had become the victim of his anger.

There must have been a time when Cal was like any other child, curious, optimistic, fascinated by the world around him. But his mother, for whatever twisted reasons, had done things to him that should never be done to a child, destroying his innocence, putting an end to whatever he might have become, eventually driving him to madness. She knew that he had loved his mother, and yet had hated her, hating her for what she was, but loving her as any child loves their mother, longing for her acceptance and approval, even when those things came at a dreadful price.

She realized, too, that she and Cal were much alike. She had never been abused, except by Cal himself, but she had seldom truly known happiness, and, while she had put on a perfect, happy façade for the other members of society, inside she had, like Cal, lived with her own personal hell. But there the similarity ended, for she had taken strength from her own trials and gone on with life, doing the things that she had dreamed of, while Cal had tried to alleviate his inner torment by destroying those who he blamed for his agony. In spite of everything, Rose knew that she had done some worthwhile things in her life, while Cal had sought only to destroy that which could hurt him, and bury the past to be sure that no one ever knew of it.

Cal hated Ruth, too, because of the imagined resemblance between her and his mother. Cal had a deep, undying hatred of red-haired women, because that was what he associated most with his own mother, and, in his mind, all other red-headed women were equally at fault. Rose remembered his words about his father’s being in love with her mother, and sincerely hoped that Nathan Hockley truly had developed affection for her mother, keeping her from poverty and protecting her from his crazed son. Ruth had often been cool and distant, trying to raise her daughter as a proper member of the society she had adopted, but Rose could never hate her, not even for the engagement to Cal, and she hoped that Ruth was alive and well, wherever she was.

Ruth had been born into genteel poverty in 1875 Louisiana, not far from New Orleans. Her family had been wealthy plantation owners prior to the Civil War, but much of what they held had been destroyed by the war and its aftermath. Like many families, they had been unable to accept just how much things had changed and had clung to a way of life that was gone, even as their world crumbled around them. They still had their name, and the memories of what had been, for them, a grander time, but they had refused to adapt to the changing world. Even in 1902, when the DeWitt Bukaters had visited them at Christmas, they had still been clinging to the vestiges of a life that was long gone.

Ruth had been unwilling to accept their fate, unlike the other members of her family, and had married Walter Bukater, a Yankee, in 1893. Her family had been against it from the start, as they considered the Yankees responsible for the downfall of the world they had known, never realizing that the rich, powerful society that the wealthy few in the South had created was in many ways responsible for its own demise. Northerners made for an easy scapegoat, and were in fact responsible for many of the changes that had taken place, good and bad, but the wealthy, elite society of the Southern aristocracy had been, in many ways, its own downfall. They had lived in their small, upper echelon society, seldom taking the time to really see what was going on around them, how the world itself was changing. Nor had they paid sufficient attention to the simmering, underlying tensions of those less privileged—the enslaved, the impoverished. Even without the impetus of the Civil War, the South had been a fragmented society, and they had paid for their arrogance in the war.

After Ruth had moved with Walter to Philadelphia, she had had an uphill battle to become an accepted member of society. Walter Bukater had been old money, with roots and ties going back to the time of the colonies, but Ruth had been a Southerner, and, with the Civil War still well-remembered by so many—it had been only twenty-eight years since the war had ended—many wanted nothing to do with her. Ruth had always been a strong, stubborn woman, and she had climbed her way up the social ladder by sheer force of will. She had hired a tutor and had learned to speak as a proper Philadelphian, losing her southern accent. She had immersed herself in the culture of the society she had adopted until there was little left of the young southern woman who had come from Louisiana. Certain things still remained, such as the songs she remembered from her childhood, but she had tried to erase the past and had tried to raise Rose as a proper young society lady.

Walter had never been as concerned with wealth and status as Ruth, having never known anything else. In many ways, he took for granted what he had, never really acknowledging that things could ever go sour, just as Ruth’s family had never believed that the world they knew could come to an end. He had allowed Rose’s free-spirited ways to thrive, never understanding the fear that Ruth had of her daughter being anything other than a member of the society she herself had worked so hard to become a part of.

Yet, even as Walter had turned a blind eye to Ruth and her feelings, his empire had been crumbling. Several bad years had set him back considerably, and, after the panic in 1907, he had never quite regained what he had before. The debts continued to mount and he had secretly sold off the businesses to pay them, never letting on that anything was wrong. The strain had become too much for him, and he had died of a heart attack in December of 1910.

Ruth had been terrified, not only of poverty and the resultant loss of status, but also of being alone. She had always had someone else to look after her and had never had to handle being on her own. She had too much pride to turn to her family and had clung to Rose as her only means of keeping the status she had worked so hard to attain. She had arranged the engagement between Cal and Rose late in 1911, when it became evident that the money wouldn’t last much longer, and had overlooked Cal’s underlying faults because he was wealthy and well-respected in society.

Rose had done her best to make the relationship work, but it had been impossible. Cal was incapable of any real feelings, other than the underlying rage that had never been far from the surface, and she had realized early into their trip to Europe that things would never be quite right. Rose still felt guilty for abandoning her mother, leaving her to fend for herself, but she couldn’t marry Cal. The consequences were unthinkable. Still, Rose often wished that she had contacted her mother at some point, though she felt that too much time had passed now for there to be any point in trying to find her, and she sincerely hoped that Ruth was alive and happy.

It was strange how different people carried the burdens that life gave them. Her mother had tried to build a life for herself in a new world, but it was an illusion, a fleeting glimpse of what she truly wanted, which was acceptance. Ruth had pursued her dreams in the only way that she understood. Cal had been unable to stand under his burdens and had gone mad, trying to destroy those he associated with his pain. She had fled from both of them, from the life she had known, but was she any better off? She had known little peace in these few years, and what little joy she did find was fleeting. She had been happy with Robert, but he was gone, and she was going on alone.

She thought of Alice. Alice had had many burdens on her shoulders from the time she was a child. Her father had been a drunk and a gambler, and his family had been looked down upon because of that. Even after Alice and her mother and brother had come to New York, they had never known the respect that many took for granted. Alice’s mother had been forced to prostitute herself to keep her children fed, and had worked herself to death in a cramped, filthy sweatshop, leaving her children to fend for themselves. Alice had been both mother and sister to her brother from a very early age, and had tried to make their lives better in the only way that she knew how.

Alice had been a girlie dancer and a prostitute from the age of fourteen, following in her mother’s footsteps, realizing with the hard knowledge gained from life that this was probably the best she could expect. Even after she had gone to work in a respectable theater, she had wanted more out of life, but had been unable to attain it. It was never money that had driven Alice; it was the need for love and respect. She gave herself to any man who seemed to give her these things, assuring herself that she was always in control, though she was often hurt by those she placed her trust in. And yet, paradoxically, she had been unable to love and trust fully. She allowed others to hurt her in the name of love, but she could never bring herself to stay, even with those who could have given her what she needed. She had been a mother figure to her younger brother, and a loyal friend to a few, but she was never really able to let others in. She had never been able to deal with the feelings inside herself, with the hypocrisy of the world around her, and had drunk to block out the sorrows of life. But the alcohol had never truly solved any problems, had in fact created more, and Alice had never really been able to experience the very things she longed for. In the end, Cal had ended whatever hopes and dreams she might have had, strangling her and leaving her in a deserted alley, connecting her with the mother he had both loved and hated.

Rose thought, too, of Marietta, the snobbish, scheming would-be actress who had made her life so miserable. She had never really known Marietta, had no idea who her family was, or where she had come from. Marietta had had few friends, and had often seemed to enjoy the power that she gained by gossiping and making others unhappy. Rose had pitied her, in a way, because Marietta had missed so much in life by alienating the other members of the troupe. Even when she had become involved with Richard, he had never really liked her, had been with her mainly because her worshipful attitude was a boon to his ego and her willingness to do anything for him had guaranteed him a woman in his bed. Marietta had made enemies everywhere she went, considering herself above those who might have liked her, who might have helped her in her career. She had refused to acknowledge the attention of admirers, even going so far as to coldly tell a young teenage girl who had spoken to her admiringly that she would never have a chance of gaining any kind of success in an occupation like hers because she was too fat and ugly. The girl had left in tears, and the other members of the troupe had turned their backs on Marietta. She had appeared not to notice. Rose had never understood what could drive a person to be so cruel, and she never would. Marietta was gone now, her cruelty at an end, but Rose had never wished her dead. Marietta’s death had been an accident, one that Rose would always regret.

As time went on, Rose’s thoughts turned to those who seemed to have made something of their lives. She thought of Tom, who had faced so many trials in life, not the least of which were being the illegitimate son of a wealthy man and his mixed racial heritage in a time and a place when race was one of the chief dividing lines between people. He had been born into slavery, although he had been very young when slavery had been abolished once and for all. In spite of everything, he had not become bitter, and had raised a family and lived a good, full life. He had accepted Rose, even in her sometimes offensive naïveté, and had stood by her while she learned what prejudice and ignorance really meant. He had been skeptical of her attempts to change things, but had gone along with her as she tried to show others how hatred, prejudice, and ignorance harmed them all. Though their efforts had not been highly successful, Rose knew that they had done the right thing, and knew that if even one person had been helped by their efforts, it was worth it.

Tom was a strong, intelligent man, stronger perhaps than those he would have called brother and sister in a more open world, and Rose was proud to be related to him. They were alike in many ways, with their intrinsic strength of character, pride, and ability to see past the surface of life to what was really there. Rose would never forget the months she had spent working with him on the streets of New Orleans, and hoped that he had found success in the open, tolerant environment of the American. He had withstood war, poverty, and tragedy in his life, and she hoped that this time he would prevail, as he deserved.

As spring began to creep over the tundra and the days grew longer, Rose thought of Jack. What they had had was special, never to be matched by anything else she would experience. Jack had helped her to see what she could be, not believing that her life should be so closely linked to that of another that she had to marry someone that she didn’t love, and had, in his own relaxed, free manner, shown her how to step outside the bounds of society and be herself, follow her own impulses. He had freed her spirit, loving and respecting her, though he had never said so. Rose had known how he felt, even without his telling her. She had known that from the moment he had taken her down into steerage, dancing with her in a way that no upper class man would have dared, ignoring her half-hearted protests because he knew she didn’t mean them. When they had flown on the bow of the ship, only hours before it struck the iceberg and sank, she had finally let go of her inhibitions, allowing herself to give back the love he had shown her. When he had drawn her wearing the Heart of the Ocean, he had touched her soul in a way that no one else ever had, and he had taken a part of her heart from then on. They had been more than just friends and lovers; their souls had been joined.

It was Jack who had given the strength to go on, the ability to look deep inside herself for the strength that was there. It had been that strength that had given her the courage to go back into the sinking ship to rescue him after Cal had framed him, to jump out of the lifeboat to be with him, and to find a way to get into a boat even after he was gone. Later, that memory had given her the courage to leave Cal behind and start her own life, even though she knew little of the world outside high society. Though Rose had loved Robert, a part of her heart would always belong to Jack. She had loved him, and that love would always be a part of her.

He might have left a part of himself, of his physical self, with her, she knew, remembering the baby that she had lost. Though she could never be sure whether it had been Cal or Jack who had been the father of the baby she had lost, it had been her child, and she would have given up her freedom for it if it had lived. But it hadn’t, and she had never been able to forgive Cal for hitting her, for making her lose it.

After she had married Robert, she had thought about having a child. They had discussed it one night, lying in their bed, snuggled close after making love. Rose had known how dangerous it would be to have a baby in the wilderness, far from help if something went wrong, and elected to wait until they returned to civilization in the spring. She knew for certain now that she had not conceived, though if she had she would have returned to the cities and raised her child alone. A part of her wished that she had not waited to start a child, even though she knew that it was better that way, and inside, she wondered if she would ever have a baby. She was only twenty years old, and had plenty of time, but life had dealt her so many blows that she wondered if she would ever be able to settle down and raise a family like other women did.

As the snow began to melt, and the short Arctic spring greened the tundra, Rose realized that the time had come to make a decision, of whether she would stay where she was, working her claim, maybe someday finding again the peace that she had lost, or whether she would return to the safety of civilization, with towns and people, and the ordinary patterns of life.

As summer approached, Rose finally made up her mind. She would return to civilization, going far to the south, where she would never again have to lose a loved one to the bitter cold, as she had lost Robert and Jack.

Chapter Fifty-Two