A LOVE FOR ETERNITY
Chapter Eight
Sweet Love
It was a beautiful and warm day
in June. The sun had just risen over the hills in the distance, and the birds
woke up and immediately began singing their soft songs. The farmers were
already in the fields, and Rose could see them through the window. She had been
the first to get up, like every day. Her husband just wasn’t a morning person.
She was in the kitchen, preparing
breakfast for them, when she heard the click of the letterbox and the flop of
letters falling onto the doormat. She went out into the hall to pick up the
mail.
There were a few bills, and…
"Jack! A letter from Mother
and Molly has just arrived!" Rose called through the house, hoping he
would hear it. When he didn’t respond, she started to make her way up the
stairs.
She entered their bedroom, and
there he was, spread out over the bed, lying on his stomach with his hair
falling into his eyes. He was fast asleep and breathing deeply. Rose decided to
wake him up her way, and took her pillow from the bed. She threw it onto him,
and he jerked awake and looked around for her. He knew it was she who had
thrown the pillow.
"Hey, what’s all this?"
he asked sleepily when he had finally spotted her and sat up. He yawned widely
as Rose sat down beside him.
"The mail arrived, and
there’s a letter from Denver," she said, and held up the envelope.
"Come on. Breakfast is nearly ready." They got up and descended the
stairs to the kitchen.
"What do they write?"
Jack asked when they entered.
Rose opened the envelope and
unfolded the white paper in it. They sat down at the kitchen table, and Rose
read it aloud.
Denver
May 16, 1912
Dear Rose and Jack,
We hope you are doing well.
Hopefully you can visit us again soon, because we already miss you two
terribly. We are pretty well, but the house is so empty without you. To make
time pass, we plan on making a nice trip—without ships, of course—but we
haven’t chosen our destination yet. Maybe we’ll go to Canada to see the
beautiful landscape. Maybe you can help us choose.
When you were here with us,
you said that you wanted to go to Santa Monica for your honeymoon, or even move
there someday. We thought it would be nice if you got some help from us.
In the envelope you’ll find
the key for a house in Santa Monica, right on the beach. You can spend your
honeymoon there if you still want to. Anyway, you can stay as long as you want,
because the house is yours. Please see it as our wedding present to you. It
isn’t a big house, but we think you’ll like it. We went there to see it, and
hope that we chose right.
We also hope you spend a
beautiful time in California, and are looking forward to hearing your stories.
All the best,
Ruth and Molly
Rose turned the envelope upside
down, and a small brass key fell onto the table with a clatter.
"Oh, my God, Jack. You don’t
think they really bought a house for us. I mean, they just can’t do such
things."
"I think they have,"
Jack said, as astonished as Rose.
For a couple of minutes, they
just sat there in astonishment. They could hear the birds through the open
window. Jack took the letter Rose had laid down on the table to read it, too.
"Well, it looks like we
don’t have to look for a hotel now," he said after reading it. Rose
laughed a little, but then her expression grew serious again.
"How can we ever repay them
for this? We can’t do such things for them," Rose said, desperate for some
idea to pop into her mind.
"Oh, Rose. I think they
don’t want us to buy them anything. Like I know Molly, and now your mother,
they just want us to be happy. And I do believe we are, aren’t we?" At
this last comment, Rose couldn’t help but smile again.
"You’re right. I’ll just
write a letter to them. Maybe we could invite them here? Mother hasn’t seen the
house yet, and I think they would love to come," Rose suggested.
"Okay, but we’ll write the
letter together. You know, Ruth isn’t only your mother. In some ways, she is
mine, too, but not only because my own mother is dead. Sometimes, it felt like
she almost loved me the way a mother loves her son."
Half an hour later, the letter
was lying finished on the table. They hadn’t written a lot, just the important
things—that they thanked them a lot for the house, and that, of course, they
were looking forward to seeing it. That they had been surprised, and that they
invited them to visit anytime they wanted.
"I think that should do. We
can mail it when we are in town this afternoon.," Rose said, sealing the
letter. Carefully, she addressed it and then started to look for a stamp.
"They’re in the second
drawer," Jack said.
"Thanks," Rose
answered, and stuck a stamp on the envelope.
*****
One week later, they still hadn’t
gotten an answer. But the mail always took that long. Their shop was now up and
running, and it had turned out to be quite a success. They both worked there,
and everyone in town came by at least once a day. In Anne and Joanna’s case, it
was that they hardly ever left more than once a day.
They had customers who were
painting their houses, or wanted to give their child a new pencil case for a
birthday present. People needed a lot of materials to draw, and that shop was
just what the town had always been missing. A lot of customers liked the
painting behind the counter, and sometimes stood there for a whole five minutes
to admire it.
Since the shop was such a
success, Jack and Rose didn’t want to leave too soon for their honeymoon, but
in the middle of July, they decided it was time to go to California. Time to
head out for the horizon.
*****
The waves were crashing against
the beach. A few seagulls were flying across the sky, occasionally speeding
down to the water to catch a fish or two. The sun was just falling below the
horizon, and the golden light shone onto the shore, illuminating the few clouds
in the sky and making them look like they were made of pure gold. The sun was
reflected on the golden water surface. Altogether, it was a very peaceful
moment. The picture was made perfect by the two people standing at the end of
the pier. His arms were slung around her waist, and her head rested against his
shoulder. The soft wind was playing with her long red curls.
The two were, of course, Jack and
Rose Dawson from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. They were newlyweds and their
honeymoon in Santa Monica, California, was almost over. They would head home in
two days, but neither of them wanted to leave this perfect place. It held a
special memory for them.
The memory had been made in a
place far away only months ago. The moment had been as special as this one. The
sun had set in front of them as they had stood, shoulder to shoulder, at the
railing of the grand ship. It had been the first day they had spent together,
and they had already been deeply in love. He had told her about his life and
the years he had spent in Santa Monica, and they had made some sort of promise
to head out for the horizon and go to California together.
He had wanted to teach her to
ride like a man, chew tobacco like a man, spit like a man, and ride the roller
coaster ‘til they threw up. The spitting lesson had taken place back then. And
really, she now could ride a horse with none of the sidesaddle stuff, and they
had chewed tobacco together. The by far funniest thing had been the roller
coaster. They had been there on their fourth day in Santa Monica.
"Oh, come on. You said we
would do it!" Jack laughed at the scared expression on his wife’s face as
she looked at the roller coaster. Suddenly, it seemed like a rather stupid and
scary thing to do.
"I’m not so sure
anymore," she started to argue, but he cut her off.
"I won’t accept any excuses.
Now, Mrs. Dawson, you have to ride that thing in front of you." He laughed
again, and soon she followed. After a few more minutes of trying to change her
mind, they were finally sitting in the coaster, and it started moving.
After the ride, Rose had to admit
that it had been quite fun. She had discovered her love for those steep
downhill rides, and then fast up again. Rose was only glad that she hadn’t
eaten anything before, because she was sure she would have had a meeting with
her meal.
"Oh, Jack. This was the best
thing we have done so far. Thanks so much for making me do it," she
whispered into his ear, and their lips found their way to each other.
The last two weeks in Santa
Monica had been the best of their lives.
When Rose thought back to her old
life, a terrible sadness overcame her. She could have had all this sooner, but
she had had to suffer for more than seventeen years. Then her knight in shining
armor had rescued her. It was Jack, her husband, her soulmate. She smiled
slightly to herself and looked at his handsome face. He truly was the greatest
person in the world. Not only was he nice, gentle, funny, and just in every way
perfect–no, he was also an artist. One of the best in the world, and his
favorite subject to draw was his wife.
At that precise moment, he looked
at his beautiful wife, and a great idea struck him. "Stay the way you are.
I want to memorize this moment forever." And he took out his sketchbook,
which he always carried with him to be able to draw his Rose every time he
wanted.
"Don’t move. Just stay where
you are."
She followed his orders, and his
hands began to fly across the paper, drawing with even strokes. Slowly, her
figure took shape, and he carefully drew her face and each strand of hair
flying in the wind. After what seemed like no time at all, the image was
finished, and she went over to where he sat to have a look at it.
"Oh, I love it. You did it
again. Great work." And she softly kissed him.
Around the couple, the sun
continued setting, and they watched it until it was completely dark. They were
now the only ones out, and even the seagulls had gone to sleep. Finally, they
decided to head back to their house, which was only a hundred and a few yards
away from the pier. They walked back very slowly, his arms again around her and
her head resting against his shoulder–and the soft wind played again with her
long red curls.
*****
On the day of their departure,
they went to the pier one last time. The beach was crowded because the heat of
the July day drew the people to the water. The two were again standing at the
end of the pier, which had become their personal spot over the last two weeks,
and they would always go there to spend some peaceful time, although it was–of
course–not peaceful at all in the midst of the crowd.
Rose was standing at the railing,
looking over the water. The sun was burning down on her, but she had brought
her favorite hat with her. It was light blue, matching her dress, and fastened
on her head with a yellow ribbon, with which she was always playing around.
"Can’t you hold still for a
moment? I can’t draw you this way." Her husband sighed and looked up from
his paper.
"Why can’t you stop drawing
for a while, come here, and just enjoy this great sight of the glittering water
and seagulls and all the people and–I can’t describe it. It just seems like the
perfect image," Rose responded, although she knew it was no use. When he
wanted to draw her, he did–no matter what.
He restarted drawing, and when he
looked at her, he saw that she had begun playing with her ribbon again, and sighed.
She would never be still enough.
"That’s exquisite work,
young man," a deep voice said behind Jack. He turned around to look at the
man who had addressed him. He seemed to be in his thirties. His unruly black
hair was cut short, and his soft brown eyes were looking at the drawing Jack
was trying to finish. The man was wearing black trousers and a white,
short-sleeved shirt, the upper button open. He was sweating slightly, and kept
cleaning his forehead with a red hanky. His height was about the same as
Jack’s, but he wasn’t as lanky as him.
"Thanks, Mr…" Jack
answered, hoping to get the man’s name.
"Oh, sorry. I didn’t
introduce myself. The name’s Mark Evans." And he stuck out his hand, which
Jack shook.
"It’s a pleasure. I’m Jack
Dawson, and that beautiful lady over there is my wife, Rose."
Mark eyed Rose. "She’s
really beautiful–as is your drawing. And trust me, I see when it’s good work. I
run an art gallery in New York. Tell me, where do you display your
drawings?"
"I don’t display them. I
just draw them, and occasionally I sell one of them," Jack said, getting
curious. Could this man mean that he wanted to display his pictures? Rose had
already seen Mark talking to Jack, and came over.
"Ah…here comes the beautiful
wife. I’m Mark Evans. It’s a pleasure." And he also took Rose’s hand,
which he kissed gently.
"Hello. It’s nice meeting
you." She smiled at him, and it almost made his heart melt away.
Mark seemed to have lost his
train of thought. "Mmm…what was I saying? Ah…yes…Jack, I would like to
display your pictures in my gallery. I can see that you have the talent, and
I’m sure that your lovely wife would like the drawings of herself to be
displayed. Well—what do you say?"
There was a stunned silence. Of
course, they had known that Jack had talent–but to display the pictures in New
York? None had expected that.
"Of…of course, I’d like to.
I’d be honored to," Jack replied, still in a state of shock, and Rose
nodded in agreement.
"Ah…well. It’s settled. I’ll
be going back to New York tomorrow. Can you arrange to meet me there at my
gallery? I’d like the others at the gallery to see the pictures before we
decide how many we’re going to display."
"Yeah, sure. We’re going
back home today, and I’m sure we can manage to go to New York," Jack said.
"Okay. Here’s my address–I’m
there all day." Mark took a notepad out of his pocket and took Jack’s
pencil to write down the address. He ripped off the paper and handed it to
Jack.
"Well, I must go. I still
have business to attend to. I’ll see you both–and bring more of your
drawings!"
Mark waved as he strode off and
disappeared into the crowd.