CAL'S CHRISTMAS VISITOR
Chapter Six

The light subsided and Cal was relived to be in his study, although he still felt a little anxious. Was it really over?

He looked around for clues that it was 1913. He identified his books on the desk as being the ones he was using. Turning to Jack he asked, "Is that it, Jack? I am home?"

Jack nodded silently. He leaned against the doorframe, hair falling into his eyes. He too was tired. Cal fell into a chair and closed his eyes. He rubbed his forehead, feeling strangely exhausted. Like he had been through days without sleep. Reaching for his watch, he looked at the time. It could not have been a minute later than when he first threw the glass. He looked at Jack questioningly.

"It is the same time as you left, Cal," said Jack, as if anticipating the question.

Cal looked up at him, still mystified about all that had happened to him tonight.

"I have a lot to think about, Dawson. Plans to take care of and," he paused to think of Phillip, "maybe some amends to make."

Jack watched Cal, who now seemed lost in his thoughts. Perhaps he had done some good here tonight. Perhaps what he had shown Cal had made a difference. Regardless, he was finished here; his work for the night accomplished.

"It is time for me to go," Jack said, knocking the hair from his eyes. "My work here is done." He stood up straight, arms folded.

"So what will happen now?" asked Cal suddenly panicked.

"That all depends on you. I have shown you what has been, what is and will be. Only one of those can be changed." Jack spoke with sincerity and hope. For in spite of what Cal had been, he too had seen a glimmer of the person that could be in just these last few minutes.

"But tell me it can be, Jack, please!" pleaded Cal.

"Only you have control over your destiny, Cal. Control it well, eternity is a long time." Jack smiled bitterly. He knew only too well how long.

"And Rose, what will become of her?" he asked.

"She will be fine, Cal. I'll see to that." That was the part of his role that was the most achingly bittersweet--watching over Rose, and waiting and waiting.

"You will...will watch over her for me?" Cal wanted to know.

"Yes," affirmed Jack, thinking how ironic fulfilling that favor would be.

"Jack, I don't like to ask a favor of you but I have no choice.” Cal cleared his throat, before going on. “If you ever get the chance, please, will you tell Rose I did love her, in my own way?"

Jack nodded solemnly and understandingly. "Yeah, Cal. It won't be for a long time yet, but I will."

"Thanks, thanks, Dawson." Cal looked down. Thanking Dawson nearly choked him, but he felt strangely different, almost lighter. He rose to his feet. "Well, what does one do on these occasions? Shake hands?" asked Cal feeling awkward enough after having actually thanked Jack Dawson for something.

Jack smiled gently. "No a simple goodbye will do. I won't say it has been a pleasure, but it has sure been interesting." Then he muttered to himself, “And heartbreaking."

"Very well." Cal nodded. They exchanged a look, eyes locked. Jack nodded back, turned and walked through the study door. The metallic jingling stopped. Cal didn't feel the need to check. He knew Jack was gone. He was alone again in the house.

He pushed his hair back and looked around. Everything was the same, untouched. Unlike himself. Did it really happen? Could it have been possible? Cal was totally confused. He went over to his desk and removed a picture from the drawer. It was a picture of Rose, taken just before they left for Europe. But this time he looked at differently, beyond the dress and the jewels and the forced smile. He looked at her eyes. And what he saw in there was not love, but fear, indifference. Certainly not the warm emotions that were there when she looked at Jack.

Suddenly he felt like a bolt of ice had gone through his heart. For the first time he realized what Jack had tried to explain. Cal dropped the picture onto the desk as though it were hot. His mind reeled and span. So many thoughts and feelings all at once swam and spun.

"It was true, all of it!" He cried and slumped back into the chair. He felt the strange sensation of hot tears pricking his eyes. Real tears from within, not the crocodile ones he had used for Rose's funeral. He had not cried since he was a child. Nathan had stopped that quite firmly. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair before cradling his head. Then he rocked back and forth in his chair, crying for Rose, for his Grandmother and for other reasons he couldn't quite comprehend.

The slam of the door brought him back to the present. Someone had entered the house, invaded his private grief. He wiped his eyes, stood up and straightened his clothes. He recognized the footsteps. It was Nathan.

The study door flung open. "Cold night out there Cal. You had the best idea stopping here."

Nathan still wrapped up in outdoor clothes marched over to the desk to get himself a drink. He took a glass from the dresser behind and poured one. Cal noticed that up to this point, Nathan hadn't actually looked at him.

"Not having one son?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, I don't need to pour that stuff down my throat continuously," said Cal eyeing his father.

"Since when?" Nathan chuckled and finally looked at Cal. His facial expression changed visibly when he saw him. Something just wasn't quite right. He stopped chuckling.

"What's wrong with you. You look like you've seen a ghost," he commented as he shrugged off his coat.

"That," spat Cal, "is exactly it."

"What are you talking about?" Nathan queried, wondering just what foul mood had come over his son now.

Cal raised his fist, his hand shaking. “Dammit father. How could you have done that to me?” he shouted.

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. Obviously he had walked in on Cal and just at the wrong moment. What in the hell had happened to him since he had left for the party only hours before. When he glanced over at Cal he saw confusion in his son’s face, anger on his lips and his limbs were flailing about in rage. He had expected to find Cal subdued by his usually generous usage of brandy.

Nathan took a few steps closer to Cal. “Done what?” the older man asked angrily, the brandy in his glass sloshing over.

Cal lost his control and began screaming at his father. Screaming about the cold, unloving way he had been raised. Yelling about his father’s coldness and the cruelties of his childhood.

“Why did you drag me away from the family that Christmas? Why were doing the books always the most important thing? And why were you never there for me, Father? You let some strange uncaring servants raise me.” Cal was now toe to toe with his father. His voice was hoarse from this outburst. He looked his father in the eye.

“You made me what I am father. A cold, shell of a man. You always taught me that I would have nothing, unless I gave my all to the company. Well, that is what I have done all these years.”

Cal smashed his fist down on the table next to him, sending a book and glass dish flying across the room. “I have given it everything and I still have nothing. No wife, no children, no friends. Just an artificial, barely, tolerable existence. Why Father, why?” he screamed.

Cal pushed past his father and headed out of the study. Nathan lowered his head as Cal walked away. In a barely audible voice he said, ”Because I loved you, Cal. Because I loved you.”

The older man sank defeatedly onto the sofa. Cal saw this from the stairway. He paused and drew in a deep breath. His mind was in a turmoil. Had he imagined the softly spoken words of his father? Was he really hearing the voices of himself, Rose and Jack?

“I want to try, Jack.” “You have to listen, Cal.” “Dawson, you’re a fool.” “Cal, you’re hopeless.” “Jack, I love you.”

Cal twisted his head between his hands, trying to cover his ears, needing to blot out the words that he heard over and over in his mind. He looked down at his father whose shoulders were slumped. Could this be the infamous and powerful Nathan Hockley? The person that no one dared to cross? Right now he seemed like a feeble, old man, who had no strength left. Cal put one foot on the stair above where he stood.

“I’m not going to let him get to me again,” thought Cal.

He took two more steps on the stairway before he heard the sob escape from his father’s throat. Cal bit his lip not knowing what to do.

“I want to try, Jack.” There they were again. Those words he had just spoken to Dawson.

Cal bent his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Alright, Jack. I am going to try. I can’t promise anything, but I will try.”

Slowly, he made his way back into the study. He stood behind his father and hesitantly put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

Before he could say a word, his father spoke. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Cal. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want you to be hurt. Like I had been.”

Cal moved around in front of his parent. “I don’t understand,” asked Cal.

Slowly Nathan looked up at his son. “Your mother. I loved her so much. All the energy I had in my life, I put into loving her. People who saw us in public didn’t always know that, even my own mother. But when your mother died, Cal, I died too. There was nothing left inside me for anyone else. Not even you.” Nathan looked into the firelight with a distant expression on his face.

Cal felt the strange sensation of tears filling his eyes. His father? Loving anyone?

Nathan shook his head from side to side. His eyes looked dull. His voice was unsteady.

“When that happened, Caledon, I wanted to protect you. I thought that if I was very tough with you, strict with you, that you would not know about the frivolities of romance or love. That you would not be hurt then, if someone you loved died. I figured you would marry and give the appearance of a normal life. I just didn’t want you to be hurt. And now you’ve instead, spent your life hurting others. I didn’t want you to be hurt,” he repeated, this time through his sobs.

Cal stood in shock. He had never suspected that his father had this vulnerable side to him. Apparently all these years, Nathan had kept his own feelings bottled inside of him, never letting on that he was capable of any other emotion other than ruthlessness.

“Cal, can you forgive me. I have ruined your life. I am sorry. So sorry. Please, Cal? Can you forgive me. It’s Christmas, for God’s sake.” The older man’s voice was shaking. He looked at Cal pitifully.

“You can still change things, Cal. You have a lifetime ahead of you.”

Again Cal heard in his mind the charge that Jack had left with him.

Cal sat down on the sofa, next to his father. “Father,” he began, slowly. “I had a chance to see tonight all the mistakes I’ve made. I never questioned you, never tried to be nice to anyone. I am at fault too. Once I grew up, I was in control of my own life. Maybe, we both have an opportunity now to start all over. Between us, first of all. I...I...” Cal was stumbling over the words. “I forgive you, Father.”

Nathan Hockley glanced up at his son, wondering why tonight of all nights, Cal had decided to bring this up. Cal was staring back at him, his eyes suspiciously moist. Neither spoke a word. The two men sat looking at each other for a few seconds, then Nathan spoke.

“Thank you, son. Maybe we can both change. I feel there is hope,” murmured Nathan. What sort of miracle had happened that his son was actually forgiven him?

“Father, let’s try. Shall we? I know that we can’t be perfect, but it at least things can be better than they have been. Look at the time?” Cal pulled his pocket watch from his vest. It showed ten minutes to midnight. “Shall we walk up to St. Michael’s for the midnight service. I believe that is where the servants are.” Cal almost swallowed his next words. “Perhaps we can ask them to share a glass of sherry with us, when we return.”

“Yes, Cal. That would be very nice. I believe that is what my mother used to do. It would be a nice tradition to start again.” Nathan’s words were slow and measured. As though he was learning to walk and talk again.

Cal rose and helped his father to his feet. He went to the fireplace to tamp down the smoldering embers.

“Let’s get our coats, Father. It’s very cold and snowy out there.” Cal could still picture the freezing graveyard he had seen with Jack.

He met his father in the hallway and helped him on with his coat. “Father,” he said, putting his arm around his shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”

Nathan gave a tiny smile. “Merry Christmas, son.”

Cal opened the door for his father and a cold draft blew into the room. He turned to check the fire once more and as he did he saw one candle that had been left burning in a hurricane lamp on the hall table.

“I better go and blow that out. Wait here,” said Cal.

Before he had taken more than a couple of steps, he stopped, From nearby, he heard the same metallic jingling he’d noticed when Jack had been around.

“Dawson?” he said cautiously, peering into the dark corners of the hall. “Dawson, Merry Christmas, wherever you are.”

He watched the candle’s flame flicker and die, as if someone had gently blown it out. He could have sworn he heard the words in Jack’s soft spoken voice, “Merry Christmas, Cal."

Chapter Seven
Stories