"Jack…" Rose's voice was barely loud enough to be considered a whisper. She struggled to keep her eyes open. If she went to sleep, it would all be over; when she woke up everything would be different, and for all she knew it would be as though it had never happened. "Jack."
"Hmm?" His eyes were already closed. He pressed himself closer to her, tightening his arm around her waist. His other arm was beneath her, his hand curled around her shoulder. Her face rested in the space between his shoulder and his neck. Her lips almost touched his collarbone. "You okay?" he asked.
"I'm all right…" Her eyes had never felt so heavy. She tried to speak again, but only a yawn came out. "I don't want to sleep," she said finally.
"You don't have anything to be afraid of," he said reassuringly. "I'm here."
"I know you are. That's not what I'm afraid of."
"What're you afraid of then?" No answer. "Rose?" He raised his head slightly and brushed a few stray curls away from her face. "Don't want to sleep, huh?" He chuckled softly. "I love you," he said, brushing his lips across her hair. He let his eyes fall shut. "I love you so much…"
*****
"What are you doing? Are you trying not to look at me?"
"That's one way to say it," Jack said, keeping his head down. He hoped she couldn't see his burning cheeks.
"Why?" He answered by pulling the sheets up to his chin and pressing his forehead to his knees. "Jack?" Rose leaned down, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other clutching her still damp clothes.
"It's impolite to stare," he said. His voice was slightly muffled. "You should know that."
"What?" She drew back in surprise.
"That's why I'm not looking at you."
"You're afraid you'll stare?"
"I know I will."
She let out a short laugh. "I think it would take more than staring from you to upset me," she said. Her tone became teasing. "And what about all those women you drew? I'm sure you didn't stare at them."
"They're like landscapes compared to you."
She forced herself not to blush. If the words had come from anyone else, she wouldn't have given them a second thought. She would have dismissed them completely, as she always did whenever a man commented on her beauty. The meaning was always the same, even if the words changed: "You're a beautiful thing." Thing. Not a person. A thing, a doll, a perfect little doll in her perfect dress with her hair out of her face and her gloved hands folded in her lap, her eyes downcast so as to not accidentally look him full in the face. Most of the time men talked about her rather than to her. They spoke as if she wasn't even there. Cal had been no exception.
But when Jack spoke, he looked directly at her, and his eyes met hers. When he called her beautiful, she knew he wasn't describing her the way he would describe a chair or a piece of jewelry. She wasn't an accessory to him; she wasn't something he could wear on his arm while smugly smiling at all the men casting him envious glances. His words echoed in her mind. "I see you."
"Look at me, Jack."
He raised his head. She stood before him, hands on her hips, dress and underclothes at her feet, seemingly forgotten. "What are you doing?"
"See?" she said, a smile spreading across her face. "You survived."
"I did," he said, returning the smile.
"And so did I."
*****
It seemed to Rose that the world had changed since she last saw it. The streets were still wet from the storm the night before, and the water made them look smooth and slick. As if you could skate down them in your shoes, she thought. She breathed deeply and marveled at how much easier it was without a corset on. Her body had never felt so free. The air was clean and cool. A breeze played with her curls. She hadn't even considered pinning them up. Jack hadn't said so, but she could tell he liked them better down. And so did she.
Jack took her hand as they began walking up the street. He smiled at the way their fingers intertwined perfectly, as if their hands had been made to go together. "What are you so happy about?" Rose asked.
"Beautiful day," he said, pointing at the sky. "And this time it really is," he added before she could reply. "And then there's you."
She sighed happily and leaned against him. "And there's you," she said. "What are we going to do next?" she asked a few minutes later.
The question nearly stopped Jack in his tracks. Just what were they going to do next? He'd only thought as far ahead as getting her away from Cal and out of the rain. Planning ahead wasn't something he normally did; most of the time he didn't even know where he was going next. It all depended on how much money he had or which train was easiest to sneak onto.
"What do you want to do?" he asked finally.
"What do I want to do?"
"Yeah." He swung their clasped hands. "Where do you want us to wind up next?" Her face was an anxious mask. "We could stay here," he said quickly. "We don't have to leave. I don't mind."
"No, I want to leave," she said. "I just—I've just never gotten to make a decision like this. Yesterday I didn't even get to have a say in who I was going to marry, and today you're telling me I can decide the rest of our lives."
Our. She said our. Jack swallowed the joyful yell that rose in his throat. "Yeah, that's pretty much it," he said. "I'd decide everything for you, but I just don't feel up to it today," he joked.
She chuckled softly. "I've had quite enough of that, thank you." Her voice became brisk. "When can we leave?"
After a quick breakfast of rolls and coffee—which Rose swallowed in one bite and spent the rest of the time pretending not to be impatiently waiting for Jack to finish—they hitched a ride out of the city. "If he's looking for us," Jack explained, "it would be pretty easy to find us if we got on a train. At least, it would be for a guy like that."
*****
"He wouldn't stay with her," Cal said, barely bothering to mask the annoyance in his voice. "He doesn't have any reason to."
"He didn't have any reason to leave with her in the first place," Ruth said smoothly. "In fact, I must confess I still don't quite understand this story of yours."
"That's because it doesn't make sense for her to be acting this way." Cal moved over to the window. He crossed his arms behind his back and glared at the sunny day. "But you know how easily swayed she is. She falls under the influence of people and ideas so easily—that's why it's so dangerous for her to read as much as she does."
He isn't wrong, Ruth thought. It seemed as though Rose had always been drawn to whatever was most dangerous, and no matter how many times she warned her, no matter how many times she told her how precarious her position as a woman was—even before they had teetered on the brink of financial ruin—she never listened. "Oh, Mother," she would say. She would sigh and place her chin in her hands. "You just don't understand."
"Will that be all, ma'am?" Mary asked.
Ruth nodded and waved her away. "Go," she said curtly.
"Yes, ma'am." As she hurried from the room, Mary couldn't help but notice that Cal didn't throw a glance her way. He didn't even seem to notice she had been there at all. It isn't all an act, then, she thought, amazed. He must actually care for her. But had she been able to see inside his head, she would have known it wasn't concern for Rose's wellbeing or a desire to see her again that he was preoccupied with.