HEARTS WILL GO ON
Chapter Eleven

I think my first reaction was to shout the words, "Jesus Christ!" though somehow I restrained myself and stared at the elderly woman in horror. Mom looked ready to flee the scene at any available moment. Seeing the need to leave my mother alone with her own parent, I decided to drag Dave into a waltz. Not that either of us was extremely skilled at it, but we passed it off well.

"What the hell is wrong with you, David Christopher?" I asked, using his full given name. He shook his head.

"I just...don’t understand," he said quietly. It made me uneasy, because I had never seen Dave anything but cheerful.

"What?" I asked impatiently. Sighing, he looked longingly toward Miss Edwards.

"Why it is that the first girl who has ever caught my eye or interest has to be engaged...and to Hockley, no less," he replied. I couldn’t suppress a smirk.

"You want her?" I asked in disbelief. He only looked at me.

"What? She’s too good for me...isn’t she?" he asked bitterly. I shook my head.

"No...not at all...what I meant was, that out of all the girls I could have imagined you falling for, she is the last person I would dream of for you. I mean, you always seemed like more of a guy who wants a girl with a mind of her own, not some society princess."

"She’s not some society princess," he said defensively. "We spoke briefly, and she is really a nice girl...shy, but nonetheless sweet." I couldn’t find words to say to him in my shock. At that moment, my best friend and I were strangers.

"Well…uh...if it makes you feel better, when my father met my mother, she was engaged to a Hockley..." I quipped. His look of annoyance told me he was not amused. "Just a thought," I added, suddenly wondering why I’d thought to speak about Jack. The song ended and Dave led me back to my mother, where a surprising group of men ranging from young to elderly waited.

"Oh, Miss Dawson, do honor me with a dance!" one called, seeing my return.

"No, me!" cried another, making me realize I had just opened a can of worms I wasn’t ready for. I looked to Mom for help, but she looked at me helplessly with a shrug.

Gulping, I was ready to accept one of the men’s offers until, thankfully, another voice said, "I am sorry, gentlemen, but this lady has already agreed to dance with me." I spun around, never more glad to see Jonathan.

"Oh, Mr. Hockley, I didn’t see you there!" I said, taking his arm. He looked at me in a funny way before replying.

"It’s Johnny..." he said, and I stole a glance at Mom, who had her head tilted and was holding back a laugh.

"I am forever in your debt..." I muttered as he placed his hand on my waist.

"No worries...those vultures are sickening," he replied, sending a look of disgust at them. I sighed, but smiled.

"Either way, I will have to dance with some of them sooner or later. We can’t dance all night." His eyes darkened, but he smiled, too.

"Well...at least we can decrease the amount of time you have to spend with all of them," he replied.

"Touché..." I replied dryly.

"This is nice..." Jonathan said finally, as we got the hang of the dance.

"Yes...it is...pleasant," I said vacantly, my thoughts everywhere. For some stupid reason, I wondered if my parents had ever danced together at that moment. I’d managed to live most of my life without thinking of my parents as a couple. To me, Jack had always been a faceless shroud of mystery, not Dad. Jim had been Dad for a short time, but he was gone now, too. My thoughts wandered back to the book in the library. Dawson Family Album. Jack was in there. He had to be, and I was consumed with the overwhelming need to see him. I began to plot ways to sneak back into the library without people seeing me leave, but I was interrupted by Jonathan’s voice.

"Josephine? Er...Miss Dawson..." I looked blankly at him.

"Yes?"

"The song is over," he said patiently. I blushed deep red. I am sure of it.

"Oh..." came my reply, almost disappointed. He held my hand a beat longer than necessary, it seemed, before nodding and clearing his throat.

"Well…ah...I better see to Gloria," he said, nearly fleeing from me.

To my utter relief, the men had cleared away from my mother as the orchestra decided to take a break. Even Dave was smiling and chatting with his mother. It’s funny how one song can change things, and then I realized he’d been dancing with Miss Edwards. I’d noticed them out of the corner of my eye, though I hadn’t taken any interest since my mind had been elsewhere. I’d just opened my mouth to say something to Mom, but I was lifted from behind and swung around, a shriek escaping my lips.

As he jostled me about, I managed to say, "I...will...murder...you...David...Christopher!" He set me down and spun me around.

"She danced with me! She actually agreed to dance with me! She is the most wonderful, charming girl...she...she’s..."

"Engaged?" I offered. My mother gave him a sympathetic look. Cold realization came into his eyes and he seemed to break in front of me.

"I have to go..." he said softly, quickly leaving before I could say anything to stop him.

I decided he needed to work out his feelings without my help this time and instead opted to tell Ma about the album in the library.

"Ma, I..."

"Rose..." Dave’s mother cut in. "Dave’s gone...we’re leaving, too. He seemed upset. Thanks for inviting us."

"Oh, Liz...I wouldn’t have it any other way," Ma said, hugging Liz first and then Randy, who hugged me in turn. When they’d gone, Ma turned to me again.

"Now, Jo...what were you saying?" she asked. I bit my lip, torn between wanting to tell her and wanting to look for myself.

"Nothing...I was just wondering if you’d ever danced with...you know...him."

"Jack?" Ma asked, a twinkle in her eyes. I nodded stupidly.

"Actually, yes...once...it wasn’t waltzing, though." She laughed richly. "I sneaked off with him to a party belowdecks."

"Mom!" I gasped. She’d never seemed the rebellious type. Her smile was infectious as she grinned, satisfied with herself. Her face became serious again, and she said, sadly, "Sometimes, I feel like he’s still here, right around the corner...right behind me. The other day, I went into town for a new shirt for Luke--he grows so fast--and I could have sworn that Jack was right across the street from me." I shrugged, unsure of what to say.

"The heart wants what it wants...it’s amazing that you felt so strongly about someone you knew for three days."

"Mmm," she replied softly in agreement. "Precisely why I want you to think about this insane decision to marry someone just to gain control of the company."

"Mother..." I heard myself mutter. She didn’t utter another word on the subject, but I could tell she was unhappy about the entire thing. Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled, either. I’d never even kissed a boy, well...unless you counted Timmy Nutwillinger when I was seven. I kissed him on the cheek on the last day of school.

I was glad to be back that night, but a small spark of glee crept into my stomach as I remembered we would be moving into the house Olivia was renting from her friends who were on holiday in Bermuda and out of the hotel for Christmas. Perhaps I would then be able to go back into the library to look in that picture album. The curiosity was killing me, and it was itching at me so much I blurted it out to Tom the following afternoon.

"But...she said all of the pictures were in Wisconsin," I complained as he carefully measured a length of canvas.

"Well...it seems she either doesn’t know it’s there or she doesn’t want you to see it for some reason, and believe me, Jo, curiosity can be a cruel thing," he added. I stared at him in shock. This was Tom, who was supposed to understand, and he was waving it off like it was nothing.

"You can’t tell me I don’t have a right to see what my...what he looks like," I said, unable to bring myself to say the word father. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"No...of course you do...I just meant that your aunt is probably pretty upset about her brother dying. Maybe it’s childhood pictures or something and she’s forgotten about them because it’s too painful to see," he said quickly, sharpening a charcoal pencil.

"Or maybe...she’s hiding something from me," I said, surprising even myself. He laughed, but it sounded forced, nervous even.

"Like what?" he asked hesitantly. I bit my lip, toying with an oil pastel.

"I don’t know, exactly...it just seems...odd." He finished with the charcoal and cleared his throat.

"Ah...all set, then. I know...why don’t you draw a picture of what you would imagine your dad to look like, to clear your frustration a bit."

"But I have no idea..."

"Use your imagination, Jo. It helps with the pain, really," he said, sitting at his drawing table. "I am going to work on some blueprints, so you can just show me when you finish." I nodded at him and sat at the piece of canvas, staring at the blank whiteness of it. Jack...Jack...what do you look like? I closed my eyes and tried to remember any dreams I’d ever had about my father. All I got was the blond hair with a blank face, so I tried to single it out with myself. Let’s see, I have Mom’s lips and hair...and her nose. So, that leaves my eyes...Olivia...she has...thinner lips than Ma and I...a straighter nose...

I began to draw, using myself and Olivia as a reference. The eyes were easy enough, but the nose was quite the challenge. I tried to make Olivia’s nose more masculine, and it seemed to work. The mouth was nearly the easiest part, surprisingly. He must have looked like Olivia somewhat...but I imagined him with a wider smile like Tom’s. He’d have a square jaw, of course, and perhaps short hair that had the potential to become shaggy, but hadn’t quite achieved that look yet. He wouldn’t have had much facial hair, not when he’d met Ma. She had said he was only twenty, after all. He’d be thin, but with the promise of becoming more muscular as he grew into himself. Twenty minutes later, my diluted version of Jack stood before me, thin and tall with short, fair hair and twinkling eyes. He had a wide grin that promised mischief. I knew it was probably inaccurate, but it was the closest thing I had come to seeing of him. I’d drawn him with a pencil in his hand, since I knew he’d been an artist, too. It seemed natural.

"All set?" Tom asked, looking up from his work. I nodded, unable to tear my eyes off of the stranger on my canvas. "Hmm," Tom said softly from behind me.

"It’s not even close, I am sure," I muttered, looking at my feet.

"He’s very young," Tom mused, tilting his head to get a better look at the boy.

"Yes...he was twenty...so, I’ve never been able to imagine him as a mature man." I sighed. "You know, I feel sorry for Jamie and Luke because their dad died when they were so young...I mean, he was my father, too, in every way that mattered, but they’re boys...it’s different. I still had Mama...I mean, Mom," I corrected.

"Still, you must have missed not having your father at some time in your life." I gulped, dreading those words, and turned to him.

"How can you miss what you never had?" I asked sincerely. "I mean, this is horrible, but I’m more sorry that I never got to know who he was than the fact that he died...I mean, how selfish do you have to be? Does that make me a terrible person?" I asked, choking up. He shook his head.

"Of course not...Jo, you’re exactly right...how can you miss what you’d never had?" he comforted tightly. We stood there together, looking at the picture of the boy for a few moments. Before I knew it, control was lost and I began to sob as I never had for that boy. I no sooner found myself wrapped in a soothing embrace with Tom as I sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his shirt as I used to cling to my mother when I was very young.

"It’s all right..." he said soothingly. "It’s okay to grieve for him..." And so I did. I finally grieved for the father I’d never had.

"Thank you, Tom...for everything," I said as I was leaving. He smiled slightly, but uncomfortably.

"Oh...don’t thank me just yet..." he said quietly, but though I was confused, I didn’t say anything.

"Well...I’d better get to the hotel. We need to finish packing and the boys probably need baths. I’ll see you..." I said, opening the door. His voice cut through the air suddenly, almost desperately.

"Jo, wait! I need to tell you..." I turned back around, worried I’d forgotten something. He looked like he’d been ready to say something, but opted instead for, "Your boot is untied."

I looked down and frowned. Both of my boots were perfectly tied.

"Tom...I don’t think..."

"Oh...it looked like it. Sorry. It’s slippery out there," he said dumbly. "Be careful, huh?" I nodded, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I will..."

"Tell your mother I said hello," he added quickly. I nodded again.

"All right. I will..." I replied slowly. He smiled.

"Good-bye, Jo..."

"Good-bye, Tom," I said, leaving again. But for some stupid reason, I didn’t want to leave.

Chapter Twelve
Stories