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.

Chapter Nine
Stories