Christmas Eve, 1912

"That’ll be it, then?"

Jack Dawson reached over the top of the meat counter and took the package that had been carefully wrapped in thick white butcher paper. He smiled at the man behind the counter, grateful that in this big city no one asked too many questions.

"Yes, I don’t need much to feed just me, Max."

Max Schultz studied the young man who stood opposite him in the warm confines of his store. He was proud that he had helped Jack get on his feet since the time they had first met a few months ago. Now Jack’s hair was less shaggy and his clothes fit him better. The lean look was gone from his face and now his prominent cheekbones looked far less gaunt. With his tall lithe body, Jack looked vibrant and energetic. At least on the surface.

Max was used to observing people, a habit that came from his years as a store owner and he was positive that there was more to Jack than was revealed to him. His soulful blue eyes betrayed Jack’s cheerful demeanor. There was a sadness there that emanated from deep within Jack’s soul. An expression of great pain and sorrow. Almost as if this man had seen the tragedy of the ages played out before him. Max knew however not to ask, not wanting to betray the fondness he felt for Jack. If the time were ever right, Jack would share his experiences with him.

"Ja, but Jack, to be alone on such a night, it is not good for a person. Surely you know that Marta and the girls would love to have you come and fix the tree tonight."

He shook his head from side to side. Spending the holiday evening with Max’s wonderful family would be a pleasurable experience. But tonight Jack was not in the mood for frivolity or being a witness to such happiness would only remind him of what he did not have. The one person who could have brought hope and laughter into his life was gone and Jack was learning, coping, to do his best without her.

"Maybe next year, Max. I’ve got to be down at the rink. You never know who might want a last minute gift," he said, referring to the small canvas stand he had in Central Park next to the skate shed. It was the place where he could be found doing portraits on weekends and holidays. Jack gave Max an unconvincing grin and opened the butcher shop door, his mood incongruous to the merry tinkling of the bell that was used to announce customers.

With his purchases in hand, Jack headed up Orchard Street and headed for home. He took a deep breath of the cold, frosty air and ambled along looking at the crowds hurrying past on the sidewalk. Since he had no one to get home to, he took his time. Jack never ceased to be amazed at the interesting conglomeration of people that lived on the Lower East Side of New York City. Every few blocks the ethnicity of the population would change, the storefronts looked a little different and the languages would blend one into the other. However, one thing remained the same. It was the driving force of the hopeful new immigrants that populated this section of town. Most of them were impoverished from their journey to the New World. They were also struggling to learn English. Others were finding that the trades that had supported their families in Europe were not needed here. But every single one of them had hope. A hope that they would eventually be accepted into the mainstream of America and that their children would lead better lives than in the countries they had left behind.

From Max Schultz’s butcher shop, it was about a six-block walk to his apartment. He had found Max’s store one day last spring quite by accident. The kindly man had seen that Jack looked lonely and hungry and had invited him to have a sandwich with him. While not divulging too many details of his recent past experiences, Jack had told him that he missed farm life in Wisconsin, where he had grown up, but not much more.

It was Max who had arranged for him to go and meet the owner of the twelve flat building where Jack now lived and worked. There might not have been any farm animals to care for in New York City, but his dad had also passed on to Jack the essentials of carpentry and painting and that was how he was earning his living right now.

He had settled easily into a daily routine. After getting himself ready in the morning and making a cup of coffee, he began by cleaning up around the large gray stone building. In the summer it was sweeping and now in the winter he would attend to the snow. Then he would check the list that had been left for him indicating which apartments needed repairs. The hard physical work left him exhausted by the end of the day and mercifully he usually fell into a deep dreamless sleep. One where no ghosts of his past came back to haunt him. The weekends he saved for his one form of recreation, art. The first few months after he had found his job, Jack had little to inspire him in his artwork. There seemed to be only one thing that he wanted to draw. Difficult though it was, he forced himself to put her out of his mind. Instead, he tried to find enjoyment from creating portraits of the friendly people he met in the park. He had to go forward and pick up the threads of his life, just like when his parents had died.

Jack had been so lost in thought that when he looked up, he as surprised to see where he was. The brightly painted storefronts of the German and Swedish quarter had given way to the Jewish section of town. Here the indecipherable Hebrew letters marked the various businesses. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. Colorful carts of clothing were being pushed through the streets on wire racks. Several people greeted him in a foreign tongue and he smiled politely.

As he walked past the rickety cold-water flats where people froze in the winter and had to sleep on the fire escapes in the summer, Jack’s mood suddenly began to lift. He realized that his life was not so bad. He had a good job and his desire to draw was coming back to him. Several people in the neighborhood counted him as their friend and he even had started to save a few dollars. Even making some money with his art had started to become a reality as he drew more and more portraits in Central Park on Saturdays and Sundays.

He pressed his two precious packages closer to him and picked up his pace. Eager now to get home and have his dinner. He had purchased a ham steak and several potatoes. That would cook up quickly before he headed out. Later when he came home from the rink he would make some coffee and cut a piece of the precious Christmas stollen. A gift from Marta Schultz. Only then would he allow himself to daydream of the people he loved and lost. Only then.

Jack rounded the corner and turned into his street. His head was down against the wind and he almost collided with another of his friends, Dominick Antonio, the grocer. Dominick was a second generation American, but kept up the old traditions in his family’s fruit market. This proud proprietor was out sweeping the snow clear of the sidewalk in front of his building when he saw Jack hurrying past.

"Hey, Jack. How ya doing?" he called cheerfully.

Jack came to a skidding stop on the slippery sidewalk. "Hi Dom. What’s going on? Merry Christmas by the way."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Jack. Say, I’ve got something you might like to see." Tony rested his broom against the wall. He held up a finger in a motion for Jack to wait.

As Tony disappeared into his store, Jack passed the time peering into the glass windows, admiring the beautiful array of carefully arranged fruit. There were oranges the size of baseballs, melons and bunches of grapes. All rushed to the big city by train. The citrus fruit looked especially appealing on this chilly day.

Tony returned mysteriously holding one hand behind his back. "You ever see anything like this, Jack?" He slowly stretched his left arm forward. Jack had no idea what to expect, so he was confounded when Tony showed him the most perfect red rose he had ever seen. More scarlet than true red, its petals stood straight and proud on the end of its long stem. Two tiny beads of water still clung to the baby soft blossoms.

"Wow, where did that come from?" remarked Jack, giving the flower a careful artistic once over.

"I was down at the produce market this morning and this guy had buckets of these beautiful roses. I could not resist. I bought a dozen of them. I saved one for Selma and this is the only one left." Tony thrust the delicate flower towards Jack. "Here, you take it. You’re an artist. I know you’ll appreciate it."

With some difficulty, Jack wiggled one hand free and accepted Tony’s gift. "Thanks. I have to admit it will brighten up my flat a little." Jack shifted his packages making an effort not to damage the fragile flower. "So you have a nice holiday, eh Dom? Give my best to Selma."

"Sure thing, Jack. See you soon."

Jack had no sooner left Dominick’s than he was stopped by two of his favorite neighbors. Maria and Theresa Salerno. They lived upstairs from him and little Maria, who was eight, had adopted Jack as a surrogate father. Her own dad was still stuck in Italy. Just hours before they were all to leave for America, something has gone wrong with his paperwork. Sam Salerno had insisted that his family go ahead and take advantage of the job arranged for his wife and the apartment that some relatives had set up for them. The family had told Jack that Sam’s passport had cleared and that he would be arriving in March. In the meantime Maria had followed Jack around like his shadow in the summer when she had been off from school. She had made his workday pass quickly as she entertained him with stories of her friends and family. Several times this past fall he had stopped in and had helped her with some homework. Maria was learning English fast, but so far Theresa’s progress was slow.

"Hi Maria, Theresa." Jack nodded politely to the cheerful, pretty mother of Maria. "Say where are you heading to? Aren’t you going to be home for Christmas tonight?"

Maria smiled up at her mother and then turned to Jack. "Mama has made her special treats. And we take them to the settlement house. They help us when we come here and now tonight we help others." The little girl sighed and stood up straight, pleased with her explanation in English.

"So what are you bringing?" Jack had crouched down in order to converse better with his young friend.

Pointing to two battered tins, Maria pointed to each. "This one is canoli and this one is some anise cookies."

Jack pretended to lick his lips. "Mmm, sounds good. That is very nice of both of you." He lifted one eyebrow and grinned at Maria. "I don’t suppose you saved any for me?"

Theresa, who recognized by now that tone of Jack’s voice when he was looking for a taste of some of her cooking, nodded vigorously. "For you, Jack," she said in her heavy accent, "a box by your door."

He felt a tug on his jacket and looked down to see Maria examining the rose. "Who is that for?" she questioned.

What possessed him to speak the words he did, he never knew. They just came out as if someone else were willing him to say them. "It’s…I’ll tell you what, Maria…" For a reason he could not explain a feeling of playful generosity came over him. Whether it was the holiday or the presence of the cheerful mother and daughter he was talking to, he didn’t know. He only knew that he felt suddenly reckless. Jack stood up and fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a shiny dime.

He put the rose and the dime into the little girl’s hand. "I want you to find the prettiest lady you can and give this flower to her. Tell her to come to my stall by the rink…you know where it is don’t you?" Maria shook her head up and down, her brown eyes flashing with mischief. "Tell whoever you give it to that if she comes by six o’clock, I will do her portrait as a Christmas gift." Jack wondered what would seem pretty to a little girl like Maria. Children sometimes saw people in a different light. He stifled a laugh wondering how he would react if an old woman showed up for his offer. A vision of the most beautiful woman he had known drifted across his mind and he quickly put that thought to rest. Rose was gone. He had to accept that.

Theresa questioned Maria in Italian and the child quickly translated what Jack had asked her to do. She raised her eyes to the sky and spoke to Maria again.

"What did she say?" Jack asked, chuckling at the rapid exchange between mother and daughter.

"She say that you are a real artist. Crazy and ro…roma…"

"Romantic?"

Even Theresa’s limited English recognized that word and smiled brilliantly at Jack. Jack returned her smile wondering what on earth had come over him. It was a crazy, harebrained idea. But romantic? He didn’t think so. Of course he knew by now that life was full of surprises, both good and bad.

Theresa spoke again to her daughter and indicated with her hand that they must be going. Reluctant to say good-bye to her friend Jack, Maria reached up and put her arms around Jack’s waist. A movement that tugged at his heartstrings as he wondered if one day he would ever have a child of his own.

"Buona Natale, Jack. Ciao. You come for some hot chocolate later? Please?" the little girl begged. The hopeful look in her soulful eyes forced Jack to give an answer he hoped he could fulfill.

"Sure, Maria. If it’s not too late. Ciao to you too." His quiet time with his own Christmas treats and thoughts could wait until morning. He would try hard not to disappoint the little girl if he could help it.

Jack moved up the front steps of his building, his free hand on the door. As if remembering something he turned and shouted Maria’s name. "Don’t forget about the flower." He smiled to himself as he saw her raise it high above her head and shake it slowly. Then he opened the door and went inside. Grateful for the warmth of home. On the walk home he had gone from feeling alone and melancholy to having a sense of belonging. For the first time in eight months he felt less like mourning the woman he had loved and more like preserving her memory as he moved on with his life. It seemed like a crazy notion, but this lighthearted feeling had come on him since Tony had given him the rose. He had to admit that the flower was so perfect that it seemed to have magical powers of its own.

"Oh, well. I better eat and get down to Central Park. Just in case someone shows up with that danged flower."

Jack shrugged his shoulders and fumbled for the key to his flat. He glanced down at the floor as he felt his foot come in contact with something. Then he remembered. Mrs. Salerno’s cookies. It gave him a warm feeling to know that at least one person was thinking of him on this holiday. Jack might not have a family, but some good neighbors and friends made life worthwhile after all.

*****

The gymnasium at the Lewis Street Settlement House was temporarily quiet. All morning the children of the immigrant families who came here to learn about America and how to be accepted into the American ways had energetically decorated this usually barren room. Now a gigantic tree stood in the corner carefully adorned with a variety of ornaments. Some made here at the settlement house in various classes, others transported carefully across the sea. A reminder of a life left far behind.

Rose stepped back from the large display table at the other end of the room and put her hands on her hips. She surveyed the collection of Christmas decorations that had been brought in by the excited children. Each one had been eager to tell the story behind the object, each one bursting with pride that they could show off a part of their culture.

There were hand painted ornaments from the Ukraine, wooden shoes from Holland, a special cake from Italy, and a goat made from straw that was part of the Swedish culture. In amongst these articles, someone had even placed an ornate, brass Hanukkah menorah.

Rose was thrilled that so many of the people wanted to participate in this afternoon’s celebration of Christmas. She was only too happy to be here instead of at home in her apartment on this special day. Here at least she could join in the happiness of others, if only for a little while. Perhaps that feeling would wash over her as well. When everyone left this evening, she would clean up, and take her time walking home. She wanted to put off being alone as long as possible. Rose did not need any more reminders of how lonely she really was. Her roommate Dora, a social worker here at the settlement house, had gone home to New Jersey for the holiday, leaving Rose on her own.

Dora had generously offered Rose a chance to spend Christmas with her large family of four older brothers and parents, but Rose had chosen to remain alone. She was not quite ready to join in the merriment of a closely-knit family, where questions about her own life were likely to be asked. At least here at the settlement house she could remain somewhat anonymous. Every knew who she was, but no one knew too much about her.

After what she had been through in April, Rose had been given some assistance getting a job and a place to stay from the women’s shelter that had taken her in after the sinking. Her position as a teacher of English to the young children suited her for now and Dora was so talkative herself, that she rarely asked Rose about her past.

Rose turned as she felt a gust of cold air hit her back. She smiled as she saw several of the immigrant families entering the building. They were bundled up against the cold. All of them in heavy, dark coats, while the colorful handmade scarves they wore provided a relief to the otherwise drab winter attire.

She headed into the kitchen where a large pot sat simmering on the stove. Taking a big spoon she stirred the mixture that would be part of the refreshments. Glancing about to be sure that no one was looking, Rose sampled a tiny bit of the hot cider. Her shoulders lifted and she closed her eyes as the delicious liquid slid down her throat. This time she had added just the right amount of cinnamon and she was sure that everyone would like it. The rest of the food was being donated by the families. She had been told to expect a veritable feast of delicacies ranging from homemade cookies to potato pancakes. Everyone was bringing something.

Rose reached into the cabinet and counted out several dozen plain white china plates. As soon as some more of the mothers arrived she was going to ask them to prepare the food table. The clock in the hallway chimed four thirty and in a few minutes she also expected Ida Mason, another social worker and elderly Miss Franklin who was going to play some carols on the piano.

While she busied herself in the large institutional kitchen of the settlement house, Rose thought about her own life. She was usually so busy helping others that her personal issues were pushed to the farthest recesses of her mind. During the past few months she had seen happiness as the newcomers to America’s shores slowly mastered the English language and moved on to higher education. Then too there had been the tragedies where families lost children to disease from the crowded living conditions. Even though Rose was not sorry that she had cast aside her privileged life, she often wished she had money of her own so that she could really do something to improve living conditions on the Lower East Side. She did though have some small satisfaction that by educating these people, she was at least providing them with the chance to slowly move up in the world.

Rose usually kept to herself on her time off. Once in awhile she had walked through Central Park in the summer. She had taken in a motion picture with Dora and a few of her friends. But other than that, her social life was empty. And she was not anxious to fill it either. She needed time to recover from her loss and to put the still bright memories of Jack to rest. Actually Rose was quite proud of herself, proud of the way she had cast aside her old life and thrilled that she was giving of herself. She knew that if Jack were watching over her, he too would be pleased. The idea of going to California, the place they had both talked about was still in her mind and when she was ready she would leave all this behind and spread her wings, just as he had wanted her too. All this in good time, she guessed.

A small person collided with Rose’s legs and she felt someone throw their arms around her. Looking down she found herself staring into the dark eyes of one of the Lewis House students, Maria Salerno. Her cheeks were red from the cold and a light dusting of snow glistened on her blue coat.

"Miss Rosa, Miss Rosa!" Maria exclaimed loudly. "I have been looking for you. I have something for you."

The child’s eyes danced with excitement as she waved a red rose in her hand. Maria held it up to her nose and then insisted that Rose smell it as well. She had to admit that the flower was quite unlike any other she had seen. The petals were exquisitely shaped and the color reminded her of a dress she had once worn when…Rose stopped her thoughts there determined that nothing was going to spoil this afternoon for her.

Maria, however, seemed determined to discuss this flower further with her. What on earth could possibly be so important about a single rose?

When the little girl tugged on her arm imploring her to listen, Rose bent down and smiled. "All right, tell me what is so special about this one red flower."

Suddenly shy, Maria ducked her head into her chest.

"Come on," urged Rose, gently.

With her eyes cast down and gently twirling the stem in her hand, Maria began her explanation.

"Well, I got it from my friend. He told me to find the prettiest lady I knew and give it to her."

"Surely you don’t mean me," said Rose modestly.

"Oh but yes. You see all the way here I looked at every lady and I say to Mama...our Miss Rosa is prettier than anyone. And Mama, she say to me this. ‘You give the flower to Miss Rosa because she is beautiful inside and out.’" Maria studied the tall young woman whom she so greatly admired. Rose’s red hair cascaded over her shoulders in a riot of curls. Her cheeks glowed from good health and her green eyes were smiling right now as much as her mouth. Maria wished that Rose would smile more. Sometimes when no one was looking she had even seen Rose brush an unexplained tear from her eyes.

Rose felt a blush creep over her face. It had been some time since anyone had paid her a real compliment having to do with her appearance. "Thank you, Maria. I will take very good care of it." When she examined the flower more closely she was amazed that it still looked so fresh after having been out in the icy cold air. Freshly picked would have been an appropriate description.

"But Miss Rosa, that is not all. My friend has a message for whoever I gave it to."

Rose lifted her forehead sure now that what she was going to hear was some childish fantasy. She tapped Maria softly on the head with the rose, letting a smile curve along her lips. "All right," said Rose patiently, "what is the message?"

Maria put her hand up to her mouth to hide an attack of giggles that had suddenly come over her. "My friend is an artist. He says to tell the lady I give it to that he will draw her a Christmas picture as a gift, if she comes to the ice rink in Central Park by six with the rose."

Now Rose was sure that Maria was telling her a made up story. What person in their right mind would want to draw a stranger on Christmas Eve? But yet she felt a shiver up her spine when Maria had mentioned an artist. There are thousands of artists in the world and it won’t be Jack. Rose shook her head sadly and repeated the words in her mind. "No, it won’t be Jack." Mindful of her manners however, Rose was not about to dismiss the child as if she were making it up. "Well, I’ll see if I have time on the way home. Does your friend have a name?" Rose asked in an attempt to seem interested.

"Oh yes. Miss Rosa. He is my best friend. His name is…"

"Maria…" Maria looked over at her mother who was motioning for her to come and help set out the cookies.

"You must go, Miss Rosa." Maria disappeared into the gymnasium forgetting for the time being the flower she had brought to her friend.

Rose picked up the flower and once more lifted it to her nose. It had a light delicate fragrance and just by holding its stem, she already felt in a better frame of mind. Several petals had unfolded revealing more of the interior beauty of the flower. She would take it home and put it in a vase. But as to Maria’s strange message...well, Rose had no interest in having a picture drawn of herself, particularly by some stranger who she doubted even existed. Especially not tonight. Not on a night when the world was a peace and everyone gathered safely with their families. The whole idea sounded like some bizarre fairy tale.

The party was in full swing by the time Rose had a chance to go into the kitchen again. She was about to refill a plate of cookies when she noticed the flower that Maria had brought her. It amazed her how fresh it still appeared, considering the rough handling and neglect it had suffered in the past few hours. Rose glanced up at the clock and saw that it was already five forty. Six o’clock was the deadline that Maria had mentioned. Had she been making this all up or was there an artist waiting to draw her picture?

Rose set down the plate that was in her hands and without thinking she walked to the back door and reached for her coat. She had fully intended to stay for the rest of the party, but she felt flushed and had a slight headache. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would make her feel better.

She buttoned her green wool coat and wrapped a shawl around her head as protection from the winter weather. Rose headed out of the kitchen and then stopped. She turned and looked at the flower that was lying on the counter. If she left it there, little Maria would think that she did not take her story seriously. Rose picked it up, noticing that the thorns had been removed from the stem. She tucked it gently into the folds of her coat and headed out the door.

Her feet seemed to carry her along, as her mind wandered aimlessly, her thoughts on Maria’s strange instructions. All around her the city was coming to a halt as people prepared to welcome in the Christmas holiday. Families headed into churches, bells rang calling the worshippers in a time old signal. Last minute shoppers squeezed past her on the sidewalk, their arms laden with purchases of food or gifts. Here and there in windows she caught glimpses of flickering candles and she passed several homes where the strains of carols could be heard.

The chimes of a distant church rang out the hour of six o’clock. Rose lifted her head over the thick shawl that covered her face. With her mind on other things, Rose had paid little attention to where she was. She had been thinking of the last Christmas that her father had been alive, the festive preparations at her grandmother’s and how different it was on this year’s holiday with her adopted family. The friends she had made at the settlement house. By now she realized that she was in the middle of Central Park and the famous ice rink was on her right. Somehow, quite unintentionally, she had ended up exactly where Maria had sent her.

In the darkness she just made out the dim electric lights of the skate rental stand. In spite of the holiday, a few hardy skaters lined up to rent equipment. Across the way the dim glow of a lantern shone out from a canvas shelter. Something she did not remember seeing before. She tried to recall what Maria had told her. Surely the little girl had made this up. Rose tried to rationalize the confusion in her mind. Somewhere Maria had obtained a perfect flower, she knew about the shelter across from the skate stand and from what Rose could ascertain in the darkness, there were pictures hanging in that small tent. Pictures that looked like portraits. When she glanced down at the flower she still carried she expected to see wilting petals and a weakening stem. Instead it looked as it had when Maria first handed it to her. Each time she examined it, another of the velvety petals had burst open just a little further, allowing more and more of its inner beauty to seen.

Rose stopped in her tracks as a figure moved inside the little tent. A man was bending over some papers on the floor. It appeared that he was taking something from a leather folder. She stood rooted in place, watching in fascination as the man sat down on a small stool, his face still invisible to her. He seemed to be deep in concentration, his hand moving rapidly across the paper. She stood in the shadows, her hand coming to rest on a bench next to where she had paused. A vision from the night that Jack had drawn her flashed by in her mind. When she closed her eyes she could still remember every detail of his hair and hand as he had focused in on doing the sketch of her. She blinked and stared across the distance that separated her from this man. Unless she was dreaming the artist in front of her had exactly the same mannerisms as Jack.

The man threaded his hands through his hair, stretching higher than his hair was long, as if he were not yet accustomed to the length of his hair. His fingers gripped the corners of the paper he was working on and his face came up as if he were expecting someone.

Rose gave a gasp and tightened her hold on the bench. She squinted into the darkness not believing what she saw. How could this be? Was the friend that Maria had sent her to Jack? Her Jack? The love she thought she had lost forever was apparently quite alive. Her heart started to pound and her head began to spin with dizziness. She saw the ragged puffs of white in the frigid air as she struggled to control her breathing. When she looked again, her view was dimmed by the tears welling up in her eyes. "Jack," she whispered to herself, in an attempt to persuade herself that this was not a dream. As if by saying his name, she would be convinced that it was truly he. A rush of warmth coursed through her body. She felt suddenly and simultaneously feverish and giddy. Rose took several steps forward, then stopped, momentarily transfixed as she savored these moments of finding him alive. She should have known that this rose would lead her back to happiness, back to the other half of her broken heart. For who else in the entire world would be so imaginative and creative, so romantic as Jack to have an idea like this.

Jack pulled out a pocket watch and saw that the time was ten minutes past six. He had no doubt that Maria had found someone to give the rose too, but now he realized what a foolhardy wish it had been. No one would come in the snow and cold, especially on Christmas Eve to have a picture done. Hopefully whatever lucky woman had the rose would appreciate it for what it was, a thing of beauty and that would be the end of that. A little girl had spread some cheer, a stranger would have a flower and Jack would have his memories.

He stood and reached down for his leather portfolio. After putting the charcoal in its proper case and then shaking the residue left on the paper, he placed the drawing gently in his folder. Jack took down the lantern and blew out the light. Now he would make his way home and he guessed that he would be there in time after all to have hot chocolate with Maria and her mother. A half smile crossed his mouth, thinking it would be interesting to have Maria describe the recipient of the rose. He had probably assumed correctly that she had chosen a decrepit, older woman, someone that she had felt sorry for.

The crunching of snow behind him alerted Jack to the fact that someone was nearby. He turned quickly and saw a woman across the path a few feet away, staring at him intently. She was covered from head to toe with a coat, boots and a fringed shawl that hung loosely around her face and neck. Silently she stood, her eyes locked on his. He had the feeling that she was speaking to him with her eyes. Without any light, he could not see what color they were, but they seemed to be flashing in excitement. In the darkness he could not tell much about her, except that what was visible of her unlined face indicated that she was a young person. Perhaps she was a foreigner who spoke no English. Maybe she needed help. All of these things ran through his mind until he looked down and saw his red rose clutched tightly in her mittened hand. The same rose that he had sent Maria off with earlier this afternoon. It seemed impossible that it had survived this wretched winter day.

His eyes inched up from the rose to the woman’s face again. Slowly her hand came up and in slow motion, she peeled the cumbersome scarf away from her hair. He was dazzled as first her wild mane of coppery hair became visible, then stunned when she pulled down the cloth that covered the lower part of her face. It was Rose. Surely this was a vision. He was certain that his mind was playing tricks on him. Still his heart thundered in his chest, his eyes focused and blurred, still unable to accept reality. He had been drawing too long and he was dangerously tired. Jack felt a jolt of electricity as he heard Rose speak. The cultured, even voice that he had missed all these months softly spoke his name.

After her own initial shock, she realized that Jack was too overcome to think she was real. She stepped near to him and laid her hand on his cheek.

"Jack." She paused, waiting for the truth to sink into him. "I’m real Jack. As real as you are."

Then he knew. The warmth of her palm, the flowery scent of her hair and the snowflakes melting on her shoulders told him that this was no ghost, that his Rose was indeed mortal. Her lips curved into the gentle smile he remembered so well. Her untamed hair still framed her beautiful face. Jack saw how her chest rose and fell with each measured breath. He pulled her towards him and sank his face into her fragrant curls. Their tears melded together as she pressed her cheek to his.

"Oh, God. Rose. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this."

She felt the comfort of his arms around her. Deep within her the passions that had been extinguished for months suddenly came to life. Without warning she felt herself lifted off the ground and spun in a circle.

"Jack. Jack. I love you so much. I thought I’d never be able to say that again." Her voice muffled in the thick clothing, sounded tremulous, but certain.

He set her down gently and grasped her shoulders. Staring into those eyes of hers that he knew were shining like emeralds, he declared his love for her as well.

"Rose, I love you too. I need you. My life…well it just hasn’t been…oh, God."

No longer could he deny himself the temptation of Rose’s lips, capturing them in his own. She yielded to the pressure of his mouth; content to remain locked in this embrace with Jack forever.

As their mouths melted together in unbounded passion, Jack tenderly combed his fingers through her locks of red. She moaned softly, then drew apart from him so that she could study Jack.

He hadn’t really changed much in eight months. Only his eyes looked tired and worn as if he had been searching for something he could not find. If only she knew what he saw when he looked at her.

Carefully Jack cupped his hands around her reddened cheeks. Still intuitive as always, he seemed to read her mind. "Rose, you’re more beautiful than I remembered." His eyes bore into hers. Transfixed by his stare, she was unable to move from where she stood. More beautiful than he remembered. It seemed incredible that he saw her that way after her own months of sleepless nights and her loss of appetite.

Rose shook her head from side to side, soothed by Jack’s adoring gaze. She wanted to leap and fly and shout now that she and Jack were reunited. Instead she stood awestruck and tongue-tied as she experienced this miracle.

Jack crushed her to him again, binding their hearts and bodies together. The only sounds she heard were her pounding pulse and Jack’s rapid breathing. So lost in her thoughts and her racing emotions of the moment was she that she didn’t even hear the words he spoke.

"Rose?" He looked down and this time saw the glittering emeralds in her eyes. "Rose, I could hold you like this forever."

She felt goosebumps rise on her skin as she listened to Jack’s golden voice. Rose raised her eyes to his, hoping, praying that what she would see might indicate that a future might still be theirs. When her eyes joined with his tide pools of blue, she was rewarded with an expression of satisfaction and happiness. The same look she had seen day after day on Titanic. Now they also shone with sincerity and untold love.

"Oh, Jack. I’d like that very much." She nuzzled her head in the hollow of his neck, her motions now strongly confined by the heavy clothing they wore. There were so many questions to ask and even more answers to be found. Even now, Rose could not resist the attempt to find out what had happened that night. But when she opened her mouth, he wordlessly rested his finger against her lips.

"Not now, Rose. We have a lifetime to talk about that. Right now I just want to look at you, kiss you and hold you," Jack stopped suddenly overcome with the fullness of his heart. Silently he traced the arches of her eyebrows, the contours of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips. Wanting to convey the love he felt for her, yet restricted by the cold and this very public place, he took both her mittened hands in his and brought them to his mouth, kissing them lightly.

She watched, charmed at the twinkle in Jack’s eye. She felt now that they had never been apart. In her heart she knew they would always be together. Rose shivered with delight when she felt the familiar pressure of his lips on her hands. "Oh, Jack. I’ve missed how all this felt."

"Rose, you’re shivering. Come on. For a moment I forgot how cold it is." Jack reached down and picked up his portfolio that had dropped when he first saw Rose. He quickly glanced around the tiny tent and pulled the canvas curtain shut. Satisfied that he had everything, he draped his right arm over her shoulder. "Let’s go back to my place. It’s close by and we can get warm there."

Rose let Jack guide her along in the frosty night. As she rested her head against his shoulder, she allowed herself a quick glance at the still perfect rose. Maybe this one had some strange mystical power or perhaps because it was Christmas, but Rose was sure that there was some magic still left in the world. She was not a particularly religious person, but tonight she had certainly experienced the power and the miracle of love. They had both been given a gift and it was theirs to share forever.

They walked in silence. Their minds were joined in the joy of the moment, their hands linked in anticipation of the pleasures yet to come. The snow crackled beneath their feet and overhead some patches of clear sky revealed a few shimmering stars.

Jack squeezed her hand and pulled her across the street. She realized that they were heading for the elevated platform. Rose had not even asked where he lived. It didn’t seem to matter, only the fact that he was alive.

"This way, Rose. I don’t live far from where we get off."

Jack fumbled in his pocket for a few coins and passed them across the wooden counter to the clerk, both of them exchanging Christmas greetings with this lonely worker.

As the rickety train rumbled into the station, Jack quickly glanced around him. Seeing no one, he once again sought Rose’s lips, hungrily devouring them. His desires were simmering just below the surface and he was impatient now to share with Rose the passions they both yearned to rekindle.

When he drew away, he saw her draw a deep sigh of contentment. She suddenly looked more alive and glowing than she had a few minutes before when they had found each other. He felt a peace deep within himself that had been missing for months.

"Rose? My place isn’t much, but it’s warm."

Her eyes glowed with a faint glint of humor. "Oh I suspect that even if it isn’t, we won’t be cold."

Jack nodded to himself. Rose truly had not changed that much. There was still the mischief in her, still the sense of derring do. He wanted the best for her and the life he had right now, while better than he had to offer her on the ship, was far from ideal. In spite of those thoughts that were racing through his head, he knew he could not give Rose up. And in the depths of his heart he knew that none of this would matter to Rose.

Rose watched as Jack’s forehead lifted. He seemed deep in thought. Curious as to what weighed so heavily on him she asked what he seemed so concerned about. And as he expected, it mattered little to Rose. She loved him for what he was, not what he had.

Suddenly Jack put his fingers to his head. "I just forgot something Rose. I promised my little friend who gave you the flower that I would stop by for cocoa. She and her mother live in my building."

For a minute Rose had to stop and think. She needed to put all the pieces of the story together. "Your friend? She said she was your friend." Rose had to chuckle. "She was just about to tell me your name when her mother called her away. You know, maybe it was better that she didn’t tell me. Then I would have never believed her."

Jack put his hand around Rose to keep her from falling as the elevated train ground to a stop. The doors clattered open and he helped her on to the platform.

"Rose, where did Maria find you? I told her to find the most beautiful lady she could and when I said that to her, she gave me this odd look, like she already knew."

She gave Jack a sidelong glance as they made their way down the stairs to the street. He would be rather astonished to find out that Maria was her friend too.

"She’s my student at the settlement house." Rose looked up at Jack enjoying the expression of amazement in his eyes. She nodded knowingly. "Yes, she waltzed right into the kitchen at house, most eager to discharge her mission." Rose stopped and pulled Jack to a halt next to her. She gazed at him with a look of wonder in her eyes. "Jack, it was fate again, wasn’t it? Your wild idea, the flower and a little girl who knew us both."

His extraordinary clear eyes twinkled happily as his arm came around her shoulder. "Call it what you want, Rose. I think it only means one thing." He saw the longing in her eyes, a longing that he felt deep inside of him. She waited breathlessly for his next words. He thought a moment and then spoke. "We are meant to be together, Rose. Forever. And nothing…and I mean nothing will keep us apart again. I love you, Rose. Let’s go so I can show you how much."

*****

Maria watched impatiently out of their second floor window. She and her mother had been home now for over an hour from the settlement house party. From the kitchen came the delicious smell of garlic and onions for tomorrow’s spaghetti sauce. It mingled pleasantly with the scent of hot chocolate. She could see her mother bustling about in the tiny kitchen in the reflection of the window. Looking down on the deserted street in front of her, she idly drew pictures with her fingers on the condensation on the glass.

The clock chimed seven and there was still no sight of her friend Jack. She wondered now if he remembered about coming for cocoa.

Usually Jack was so prompt and reliable about keeping his promises. And she was also upset because Miss Rosa had disappeared from the settlement house before the party was over. Her coat and the flower had been gone and Maria had been unable to wish her a Merry Christmas.

Her attention was drawn to the sidewalk below where someone was laughing merrily. Even through the thick glass, she could hear a woman’s voice. The laughter stopped and voices floated up to her in the cold air. Maria wiped the glass with her hand in an attempt to see what was happening.

"Jack, no Jack."

"Ha, Rose. I’ll get you yet."

"No, Jack. Just not down my back. I’ll do whatever you want." Rose erupted in another fit of giggles as she packed another snowball in her hand.

Maria looked down, staring in amazement as she saw Miss Rosa and Jack engaged in a snowball fight. They were as playful as children, acting more like old friends than strangers who had just met.

"Mama, Mama, you must come and see this." Maria stared fixated at the two special people she knew, happy that they had met, excited at the part she had played, but not comprehending the warm laughter and secret looks they shared with one another.

Theresa Salerno walked over to the window and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. She watched Jack and Rose and smiled. Her thoughts floated back to her husband still in Italy. She missed the laughter of his voice and the warmth of his love. Looking down at these two young people she could only think of how wonderful it was to be in love.

"Ah, che romantico," she sighed softly.

Maria stared at her mother, confused by her words. "That is romantic, Mama? To throw snowballs? You think that is romantic?"

Theresa only smiled and went back to her cooking. Maria watched for a few more minutes and when the snow stopped flying, she knocked softly on the window, hoping that her friends would see her. She was rewarded with a smile from both of them. Jack called up that he had not forgotten.

Maria scampered to the kitchen, excited now that two of her favorite people would be paying her a visit. "Mama, Jack and Rose are coming for cocoa. We need the best cups. Please Mama?" begged Maria, eager to impress her lovely young teacher.

With great care, Theresa reached into the cupboard and took down four hand-painted china cups, each one with the pattern of a different flower. Maria could remember them sitting on a shelf since she was born and she was thrilled that Mama had been able to bring them with to the new country. Theresa quickly opened a tin and set out biscotti and several empty canoli shells. "I’ll fill them when we are ready."

Maria nodded. She straightened her dress and her hair in a ladylike attempt. Retying the ribbon on her dress was more of a challenge and she was still struggling when she heard a knock at the door.

"Mama, I’ll get it." Maria ran to the door, followed by Theresa who was wiping her hands on her apron. Standing in the hallway was Rose and Jack, both of them breathless from their game in the snow, their faces rosy from the chilly wind.

"Entra, entra," said Theresa. "Devi aver freddo." She motioned them to remove their coats, as Maria translated.

"She says to come in, you must be cold." Maria spoke proudly, happy that her mother was a good hostess. She could make anyone feel welcome.

"Hello, Maria. I did not expect to see you again tonight." Rose knelt down and addressed the little girl softly. "Here let me help you with your ribbon."

"Thanks, Maria. For finding the most beautiful lady for me." Jack spoke his voice filled with emotion. "You found my Rose for me."

"Ah, Signor Jack, I just did what you tell me."

Rose stood and watched the friendly exchange between Jack and the little girl. He had still not explained how he knew her, aside from living in the same building. She suspected that would come later. In any case, she could tell that he was a welcome and frequent guest of Maria and her mother.

Theresa busied herself with setting out the cups and plate of cookies, happily humming to herself. She had never expected to have guests this Christmas Eve and to have the company of two such special people was indeed an honor. As Maria led Rose and Jack to the table, Theresa noticed the secret looks exchanged between the couple. Surely these were not two that had just met. There was something she could not explain. Never one to question love, Theresa spoke to herself in Italian. "L’amore e meraviglioso!"

"What did you say, Mama?" questioned Maria.

Theresa smiled shyly, embarrassed that someone had heard her words. She looked from her daughter to Jack and Rose who were seated side by side. Yes, she was right. However it had happened, she was right. Those two were deeply in love.

"Nothing. I just say in Italian that love is wonderful. Is a holiday about love, no?" she asked in her broken English.

"Yes, it certainly is." Jack firmly took Rose’s hand in his. There was nothing to hide. They were as in love as they had been eight months ago. Nothing could change that.

Rose found it impossible not to return his disarming smile and she blushed becomingly at his public display of affection. Maria stood watching in amazement as her Jack and her teacher sat together, their hands entwined like they had known each other forever.

"I don’t understand, Jack. You didn’t know I was going to give the flower to Miss Rosa. Now you look like you always know her."

His whole face spread into a broad grin. "I think the rose was magic, Maria. I’ve known your Miss Rosa forever. Just think, you brought us together again." He opened his arms to the little girl, holding her in a grateful hug. "I owe you a big thank you, Maria. You’re going to be seeing a lot of Rose now."

Maria pulled away slowly, staring in happy confusion at Jack. She backed into her mother, looked up at a beaming Theresa and then glanced back at a glowing Jack and Rose. Her little mischief had paid off. She had somehow gotten her two favorite people together. Suddenly she looked concerned.

"Where is the rose?" she asked.

Rose’s face brightened with laughter. "We lost it in the snow. I think it was done with its magic. By the time we got here, all the petals had opened. It was as if the rose had given up all its secrets."

Maria gave Rose a doubtful look. It had been so perfect, so lovely and now it was gone. "Now we have no more Christmas rose," she said sadly, shaking her head.

Jack stood up, pulling Rose up gently beside him. Gently he patted Maria’s head. "No, Maria. We will always have a Christmas rose now." Heedless of their friends, Jack took Rose in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. As he held Rose in an embrace he was only able to say a few words. His voice was choked in emotion. Resting his chin on the top of Rose’s curls, he said, "You’ve brought me a better one Maria. We’ll have this Christmas Rose, forever."

Tears of happiness welled up in Maria’s eyes. She reached out for her mother’s hand as the feeling of love filled the room. Maria had never had such a Christmas. Next year she would be sure to get another rose. Who could tell what magic it would bring to them. She peeked up at Rose and Jack, still quietly holding each other. She thought for a moment and then decided that with her red hair and lovely green coat Miss Rosa did indeed look like a Christmas rose.

The End.

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