FALLING STARS
Chapter Seven

January 18, 1913

Rose woke abruptly, and sat up, looking into the darkness, wondering what had roused her from sleep. Beside her, Jack slept soundly, the blankets half-pulled up over his head. Rose squinted into the darkness, listening closely, trying to figure out if something was wrong.

The room was cold, the slight heat from the banked fire in the front room barely penetrating the bedroom. Deciding that nothing was amiss, Rose snuggled down beneath the covers again, moving closer to Jack. He sighed in his sleep and moved closer, snuggling against her warm body.

Rose lay awake, unable to fall back asleep even after she was certain that nothing was wrong. She stretched out, arching her back slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. The baby was due any day, and her swollen middle made it difficult to get comfortable.

Rose rubbed her back as an uncomfortable tightening sensation moved through it, working its way around to her stomach, and then subsiding. Nervously, she wondered if this was the beginning of labor. Her lower back had been aching off and on for several days, but last night she had begun to experience the tightening sensations. They had been so far apart that she had dismissed them at first, but they began to be closer together, and more painful, after she had gone to bed.

Rose looked over at Jack, debating as to whether she should wake him. It would probably be morning soon, and besides, this might not be the beginning of labor. She knew exactly when this baby had been conceived--April 14, 1912, in the back seat of the Renault--but babies came in their own time, and the fact that it was now four days past the due date might not mean anything.

Rose hefted herself onto her side, snuggling against Jack. She hoped that nothing was wrong. The baby had remained very active until a short time ago, when the movements had slowed, although they had never stopped completely. Rose was concerned that this might be a bad sign, although both the doctor and Louise had assured her that it was perfectly normal for a baby’s movements to slow just prior to birth. She had asked the doctor why, but he had brushed aside her question, and Louise had theorized that it was either because the baby was running out of room, or because it was resting in preparation for being born.

Even now, the baby kicked. Jack moved slightly away from her, and Rose grinned in spite of herself. Jack had never liked being awakened by the baby’s movements. It was a good thing, she thought, that women carried the babies and brought them into the world, because if men had that task not many babies would be born. They wouldn’t be able to handle the process.

Rose reached for Jack’s hand and placed it on her stomach, feeling the baby move. After a moment, he woke up. Rose squeezed his hand.

"What’s going on?" he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Rose didn’t reply for a moment, because the tightening sensation in her back had returned, more powerful this time. After a moment, it ended, and she was able to speak to him.

"I think I’m having the baby."

"That’s right. You’re having a baby."

"No, I mean right now."

"Now?!" He sat upright in bed, throwing the covers off. Rose grabbed them and pulled them up to her chin. "How long have you been in labor?"

"I’m not sure...since last night, I think."

"Why didn’t you say something?!"

Rose almost laughed. He was more nervous than she was.

"I wasn’t sure if it was labor or not."

"How far apart are the pains?"

"I don’t know--fifteen minutes, maybe?"

Jack jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over an afghan that had fallen on the floor. He stumbled around in the darkness, looking for his clothes. Finding them, he changed quickly, grateful that it was a Saturday and he didn’t have to worry about going to work.

The first faint light of dawn had just appeared on the horizon as he pulled on his coat and left the house to get the doctor, instructing Rose to stay put. She nodded, then climbed out of bed as soon as she heard the front door close, and searched for the chamber pot.

Rose was crawling back into bed when another pain hit her. She stopped, hand on her stomach, as the pressure intensified, pulling down on her belly. The baby squirmed in protest, tiny arms and legs moving inside her. There was a sudden gush of warm fluid, soaking her nightgown and forming a puddle on the floor. Rose looked down, realizing that her water had broken.

Stepping back, she walked over to the dresser in a corner of the room and pulled out a fresh nightgown and a towel from the stack on top. Dropping the towel on top of the puddle, she put on the fresh nightgown and crawled into bed, wishing that Jack and the doctor would hurry.

About twenty minutes later, she heard the front door open, and the voices of Jack and Dr. Mitchell echoed through the house. A moment later, they came into the bedroom.

Rose was curled up in a fetal position, biting her lower lip as she endured another contraction. It ended as Jack walked over to her.

"How are you doing?" he asked her, picking up a ribbon from Rose’s nightstand and tying her hair back.

"My water broke," she told him, indicating the towel on the floor.

Jack bent down and picked up the towel, mopping up the last of the puddle. "I thought I told you to stay in bed," he whispered to her.

"Nature called." Rose shrugged.

Jack tossed the towel into the laundry basket in the corner of the room, along with Rose’s soaked nightgown. Dr. Mitchell cleared his throat.

"Mr. Dawson, if you will excuse us..."

"Stay," Rose told Jack, grabbing his hand.

"Mrs. Dawson, your husband needs to leave. He doesn’t belong here."

Rose had expected an argument. "Why not?"

"It’s too personal an event for him to witness. Besides, he doesn’t know what he’s doing."

"He’s delivered baby animals before."

"You’re not an animal, and he doesn’t need to witness childbirth anyway."

"He saw a human baby born once, and he helped create this baby. I don’t see how it can be too personal."

Jack spoke softly to Rose. "Maybe I’d better leave."

She latched onto his hand and refused to let go. "I want you to stay. We’ve never done things the proper way before, and there’s no reason to start now. I want you here."

Jack shook his head. "Rose..."

"No. You’re staying. I’m not having this baby without you." Rose’s voice was filled with conviction.

"I don’t think you have much of a choice. The baby’s going to be born whether I’m here or not."

"If you can’t stay, then neither can he." Rose indicated the doctor. "I’ll have this baby on my own, like that prostitute in France."

"Rose, you’ve been worrying for months that something would happen to the baby. I don’t think now is the time to send the doctor away."

Rose didn’t reply. She closed her eyes and squeezed his hand more tightly as another contraction ripped through her middle. After a moment, she looked up at him again, her eyes pleading.

Jack looked at the doctor. "I’m staying." He pulled the wooden chair close to Rose’s side and sat down beside her, challenging Dr. Mitchell to remove him.

Dr. Mitchell shook his head. Jack and Rose Dawson had been fodder for scandal for months, and somehow it wasn’t surprising that they were refusing to cooperate now.

"All right," he relented. "You can stay. However," he pointed to the pitcher and bowl on top of the dresser, "you need to wash your hands first. Dirty hands have the potential to cause infection."

Jack nodded, and did as he was told. When he had scrubbed, he sat down beside Rose again. She was staring at the ceiling as the doctor checked the baby’s progress. Finally, Dr. Mitchell pulled Rose’s nightgown back down and pulled the covers up over her, declaring that it would be several hours yet.

Rose and Jack both nodded, and settled in to wait.

*****

Jack remained at Rose’s side all day, leaving only occasionally for a few minutes to bring back food or water. Rose refused to eat, but did accept a cup of tea. Jack found a novel that Rose had been reading, and read it aloud to her between her contractions.

As the day wore on, Rose’s contractions grew closer together. By late afternoon, she was drenched in sweat, gritting her teeth at each new pain. She took both her pillow and Jack’s, setting them behind her, finding some slight relief from the discomfort of childbirth in the more upright position.

Just after sunset, Dr. Mitchell checked Rose and told them that the baby was ready to make its way into the world. Rose tensed, her worries about the baby almost overwhelming her for a moment, but soon she was too busy pushing to think about her fears.

Jack held Rose’s hand the whole time, wincing occasionally as she squeezed it with all her strength. For the most part, she was quiet, just breathing heavily and grunting as she worked to push the child from her body.

Rose cried out only once, when the baby’s head crowned, and a few minutes later she brought a wailing, squirming newborn into the world.

"It’s a boy!" Dr. Mitchell announced, cutting and tying off the baby’s umbilical cord. He laid the newborn infant in Rose’s arms. She cradled the baby, unmindful of the fact that he was a mess.

Rose concentrated more upon the sound than the sight of her newborn. The baby wailed furiously, angry at having been taken from his mother’s warm body and brought out into the cold room. He kicked, tiny limbs flailing, as he voiced his displeasure.

She held him close, almost afraid to believe it. Her son was alive, and healthy. Nothing had gone wrong.

Jack leaned closer, looking at his newborn son. The baby’s head was misshapen from the pressures of birth, and the child was covered with blood and birth matter, but the infant was still one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. Rose looked at him.

"He’s alive, and healthy," she told him, cradling the squalling baby against her chest, then glared at Dr. Mitchell as he pressed on her stomach, helping her to bring forth the afterbirth.

Jack reached out to touch a tiny hand, and the baby curled a fist around his finger reflexively, holding on with a strong grip. Jack smiled, reaching out to stroke the infant’s cheek. The baby turned his head, rooting, already looking to be fed.

Dr. Mitchell, satisfied that Rose was all right, took the baby from them for a moment, checking him over and cleaning him up, before returning the blanket-wrapped baby to the parents.

"Gregory Peter Dawson," Rose whispered, unbuttoning her nightgown and offering the baby a breast. She had no milk for him yet; that would take a day or two. Now, she had only the colostrum that would help protect the baby against diseases for the first few months of his life.

Little Gregory took suck eagerly, hungry already. Jack stroked the baby’s soft head, looking at the tiny features.

The baby had red hair, like Rose, but it was straight, like his. The infant’s eyes were blue, like those of many newborns, but his would probably stay that way, since both Jack and Rose had blue eyes. The baby’s cheeks were somewhat chubby, but Jack thought he saw a resemblance to his own father in the newborn’s features. Gregory’s nose was tiny, but already rather sharp, bearing a certain resemblance to his grandmother, Ruth DeWitt Bukater. The strong, stubborn chin came from none other than Rose.

Gregory fell asleep at his mother’s breast, finally letting go. Jack took him from Rose and burped him, then changed his diaper and placed him in the cradle near Rose’s side of the bed. Rose looked on gratefully, glad not to have to get up yet. She was exhausted from the birth.

When the infant was sleeping soundly in his cradle, Jack returned to Rose. Gently, he helped her out of her nightgown and pulled a fresh one over her head, then pulled the blankets up to her chin and sat back down beside her.

"Jack?" Rose asked sleepily.

"What is it?"

"Where did you come up with the name Gregory Peter Dawson?"

"Gregory...is just a name that I’ve heard and liked. Peter was my father’s name."

"Do you think your parents would be proud of their grandson?"

He nodded. "I think so, although they would probably have given us both hell about conceiving him out of wedlock. But they would have accepted him. They always loved children."

"And yet, you were an only child."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "Something was wrong with my mother, and she could never bring a baby to term after she had me. I was born a month early, but I survived, unlike my brothers and sisters. After a while, my parents stopped trying."

"You were concerned about the outcome of this birth, too, weren’t you?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, but since the baby kept moving, and stayed inside you until he was ready to be born, I figured that everything would be okay."

Rose’s eyes were drooping shut. She snuggled down in the bed, rolling over on her stomach, relishing the ability to do so again after months of sleeping on her back or her side. She was sore from the birth, but she was still happy and content. She had a healthy baby, and that was all that mattered.

"Thank you, Jack," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For staying with me today, and putting up with me, and for giving me this beautiful baby." She opened her eyes and looked up at him for a moment. "I love you, Jack. This has been one of the most special days of my life. Someday, we’ll have to do this again."

"Someday." He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I love you, too, Rose. Sleep well."

Rose curled up under the covers, closing her eyes.

Chapter Eight
Stories