A FATHER'S RESCUE
Chapter Eight

Rose stood in a corridor with whitewashed walls and an antiseptic smell that threatened to overwhelm her. A nurse in a starched uniform passed her by, giving her a look of disdain as she did. "You really shouldn't be wandering around, you know," she snapped. "You'll infect everyone on the ward."

"Wait!" Rose grabbed her sleeve. "Please, where's my father?"

The woman glared at her, and Rose gasped in horror. It was her mother.

"He doesn't want to see you," Ruth said, and the coldness in her tone sent chills down her daughter's spine. "He has no more money to give you."

"But I don't care about the money," Rose wailed. She released her mother's arm and ran down the hallway, pausing at an open door on her right. She stepped into a brightly lit ward, where all the beds were empty save one. She couldn't see who lay in it--her view was blocked by a tall, gangly man with unruly blond hair. He turned and faced her, a pained expression in his kind blue eyes.

"Jack?" Rose whispered. "Is my father--"

He shook his head. "But you need to get here, fast. You have to see the doctor."

"Why? What doctor?"

"Listen to me," he repeated. "You have to see the doctor."

Rose woke up then, and immediately felt the heaviness in her chest, and that her throat felt worse. She had wakened so suddenly, and though she remembered her dream and knew she better follow Jack's advice, she didn't feel that bad. It was probably just a cold. Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Rose turned over and went back to sleep.

She didn't wake again on her own, and in fact was slow to do so even when David tried waking her.

"Rose?" She finally opened her eyes, very slowly, and stared into David's face for a moment as though he were a stranger. "Rose, it's almost suppertime...you look pale. How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer his question. "David, how did you get in my room?"

"Why...it was unlocked. I'm sorry, but I was concerned. You've slept nearly the entire day."

Rose sat up--and the room tilted on its side. She involuntarily clutched the bedpost for support. "I'm fine," she insisted, when David reached out to steady her. "I'm sure it's only hunger."

She put on her shoes and began to lace them as if nothing were wrong. She couldn't let anyone here--not even David--think she was ill. They would wait until she was at her most vulnerable, then search her room. Hadn't her mother warned her constantly about people of the poorer classes?

A voice of reason was trying to interrupt her thoughts, a voice that sounded suspiciously like the one in her dream. But she shut it out. "Not now, Jack," she said to herself. "I can't let my guard down."

Resolutely, Rose stood up and went downstairs for dinner. David was still concerned, and even the others noticed that something was wrong with Rose, but no one said anything to her about it. She really had no appetite, but Rose ate anyway. She excused herself as soon as possible because once she had finished, she felt as if her dinner would not stay down. David, for his part, had not believed from the beginning that Rose was all right, and after a moment or two, he followed her upstairs.

Rose locked herself in the bathroom and checked her reflection in the grime-streaked mirror. She was startled at the ghost who returned her gaze: alarmingly pallid complexion, dark smudges under tired eyes, lifeless hair. She must have lost ten pounds in the past week.

David knocked on the door. "Rose?"

"I'm fine," she tried to call to him, but the words came out as a croak. She cleared her throat, which by now was starting to burn. "I'm fine," she cried again. She turned on the faucet full blast and waited. In time she heard his retreating footsteps.

Rose stood there a moment longer, gazing at herself in the mirror. She could see something was wrong, and that she probably needed a doctor...but she hated hospitals. It didn't take her long to decide that she would just live with this, no hospital visit for her.

Rose stepped out of the bathroom and went back to her bedroom. At this time of day it looked dim and unwelcoming in here, but it was hers alone at least. She sat down on the bed and became lost in thought, trying to ignore the growing ache in her body.

She couldn't keep her eyelids from drooping. The clamor outside her window faded, and she surrendered gratefully...and then the room shook with the force of an earthquake.

Rose's eyes flew open. At first she couldn't believe what she was seeing. She shut her eyes again, and again the bed was shaken by a powerful force. It was just the bed, not an earthquake, but it was a violent shudder nonetheless.

"No," she moaned, "not again. Please don't make me relive it--"

"Rose, wake up," Jack's voice broke through the fog in her brain. "Wake up, now!"

She forced herself to look. He was there, all right, and so handsome her heart split into pieces. But his blue eyes, once so full of excitement, looked weary and sad. "You've forgotten," he said.

Rose only gaped at him. His mouth didn't move, but in her mind she could hear every word he spoke clearly. "You forgot your promise already."

Rose shook her head. "I didn't forget, Jack. I'm just tired. I just want this--" and she gestured at her miserable surroundings-- "to disappear. I don't want to be here anymore."

Suddenly, Jack was in her face, grasping her shoulders. "You don't want to be here anymore? You want to die, is that it? You promised me you wouldn't do this. No matter how hopeless, remember?"

"Yes, Jack, of course I remember."

He looked her right in the eye, all the softness gone out of his gaze. "Then if you give up now, that means you've broken the promise, and lied to me."

"I wasn't lying when I promised, Jack. But things are so hard, I'm all by myself, and I hate it!"

Jack's voice remained even and cool. "Things weren't easy for me either, I was usually very alone, but do you think I gave up, Rose? I never did. And I will be ashamed of you if you do."

"You...you would?"

"Yes. Very much. You just have to keep trying, Rose. I know it isn't easy, but you have the chance to build a much happier life than you had. I want you to take it. Please."

"But you were stronger than I am," she whimpered. "I don't know what to do."

A stray tear escaped and slid down a quivering cheek. Jack took her face in his cupped palms. "Was I stronger?" he asked softly. "Who survived, huh? Seems like somebody knew what to do when we were in that water." He grinned, as the meaning of his words sank in. The edges of Rose's mouth twitched in response. "That's what I want to see," he said. "Now, Rosie, this is important. You need to see a doctor." She shook her head vigorously. "Rose--"

"They'll ask me all kinds of questions. They'll find out who I am."

"They'll find out you're Rose Dawson of New York City. You took my name. Another smart move."

"Cal could still be looking for me."

"Cal's gone back to Pittsburgh," Jack told her.

Rose was surprised at this, but still wary. "How do you know, Jack? He wouldn't give up this easily."

"I know," was his only reply.

"Then it's too risky for me to do that, Jack. He'll look for me."

"He isn't, for now. And either way, you need to see a doctor. I want you to ask David to take you. You can't wait, Rose. You can't afford to."

"What's wrong with me, Jack? You seem to know so much..."

"I can see some things. But that I cannot tell. You need to ask the doctor that."

Rose looked at him, her nervousness very obvious. "All right, Jack. I'll go, but not yet. It isn't that bad. It doesn't worry me."

Jack frowned. "Soon, Rose, you have to go. I'm serious. Promise me."

"I promise, Jack...again."

He leaned forward unexpectedly and his lips met hers. Rose closed her eyes and for a moment she was lost in time and her love was alive...

When her eyes opened again the first thing that hit her was the noise from the streets, drifting up to her open window. It was dark outside, and the night air wrapped her in a chilly embrace. Jack was gone. Rose tried to get up to close the window, but the soreness in her limbs, which had miraculously disappeared when he was there, had returned with a vengeance. It even hurt to breathe; when she drew in air, it made an odd rattling sound in her chest. Rose tried to stand up and go downstairs to tell someone she wasn't well, but her legs would not hold her. She felt dizzy and lightheaded, and each breath grew more difficult to take than the

last. But finally, Rose felt she had the strength to stand.

She made her way slowly downstairs, and was relieved to find David sitting in the kitchen. He was playing a game of solitaire, his cards spread out next to a plate piled high with the remains of a good night's supper: baked chicken and dressing, yams, biscuits. Though Mrs. Wallace's cooking usually made Rose's mouth water, tonight her stomach turned.

David didn't look up from his game. "You didn't eat much today. I got the old bird to put some aside for you."

"David, I--" Rose faltered, and he finally looked at her. "My God!" He rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed in his arms.

"Rose, what's the matter?" he asked, still supporting her.

"I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sick. I need...I need you to take me to the hospital."

"Yes, let's go, right now." David asked permission to carry Rose to the buggy. She didn't answer with her voice, only nodded. He picked her up immediately, and headed outside. He settled Rose carefully in the passenger seat, and then climbed into his driver's seat.

Luckily, he had lived here long enough to be familiar with the area, and knew that the nearest hospital was only ten minutes away. Still, by the time they reached it and David was bringing Rose out of the buggy, she was having extreme difficulty breathing, and seemed to be only semi-conscious.

Rose was only aware of the lights. A bright glare hit her face, nearly blinding her, and she cried out. Her voice was hoarse, strangled. She was being placed on a table with nothing but a thin sheet as covering. It was so cold.

A man with a kind face stood over her, stroking her damp forehead with a handkerchief. "Poor Rosie," he said. "Hold on, love. You'll be fine."

Her feverish eyes fixed on his face. "Jack? Jack, don't leave me."

"I won't leave you, Rose," David promised.

"Don't you leave me again," she gasped, and collapsed on the pillow, the strain of speaking those few words showing in her face.

Alarmed, David held a hand to her chest, and was relieved to see she was still breathing, but her breath came in short, fluttery gasps. A harried-looking man in a white smock approached, and leaned over Rose with a stethoscope.

"Pneumonia," was his verdict, delivered in a cold, efficient tone.

Chapter Nine
Stories