ONLY HALF THE MAN I USED TO BE
Chapter Fourteen
It had now been just over a year
since the Titanic sinking.
Jack and Rose had gotten off the
rescue ship and had absolutely nowhere to go. Jack didn’t want to live on the
streets with a beautiful, amazing woman like Rose. The men on these streets
were capable of anything.
He had tried desperately to get a
job, but no one wanted to employ him because of his arm. There weren’t many
jobs he could do. A few weeks later, Jack went into the hospital to have his
gangrenous arm removed. They let Rose sleep on the floor beside him. It was the
most comfortable they had been since getting off the ship.
Rose found an advertisement for a
role in a small play. Jack encouraged her to go for it. It was her dream. She
got the part, and although it was small, it brought some money in.
They began to rent a small
apartment. It was damp, wet, and dirty, but Rose and Jack filled it with love.
Jack felt guilty that he couldn’t provide for Rose. She was the person bringing
money into the house. He should be the one providing for her, not the other way
around.
Rose soothed him as best as she could.
She said that as long as she had him, she didn’t need anything else. He began,
in secret, of course, to try to draw with his left hand. The results, of
course, were terrible. He snapped the charcoal in tears of frustration. He
cried at the scribbles in front of him. He didn’t notice Rose arrive home. She
pulled him close to her and whispered softly into his hair, promised him
everything would be all right.
Two weeks later, they found out
Rose was pregnant. Both Rose and Jack were overjoyed. Rose went out to work for
a few weeks longer, but then began to stay at home. Money was tight, though
Jack would earn whatever he could, however he could. He did odd jobs and tasks
he could just about manage, and brought the money home. Although it wasn’t a
lot, it still felt nice to be able to provide Rose with something.
Their daughter, Annabelle Cora
Dawson, was born on the first anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, April
16, 1913.
Two days afterwards, when Rose
was sleeping, their wonderful daughter lying on her chest, Jack took out his
charcoal and drew. He had been trying secretly for months now, and slowly he
was getting better.
A good six hours later, Jack had
produced a drawing of Rose and Annabelle. It was nowhere near as good as his
drawings before, but he was proud, proud because it was full of love.
He set the picture down on the
table and climbed onto the bed next to Rose. He fell quickly to sleep, a smile
on his face.
And Jack, Rose, and Annabelle
Dawson lived happily forever.