HEARTS WILL GO ON
Chapter Two

Where love is planted
Oh, there it grows
It grows and blossoms like a rose
It has a sweet and pleasant smell
No flower on earth can it excel...

I always knew Josephine was a special child. She was smart, almost too smart for a girl of three. I remember the day she flew into the kitchen as I was drinking a glass of water after work and waving a sheet of paper around.

"Mama, I drawed you a picture!" her tiny little voice cried as she crashed into me, breathless and grinning from ear to ear. I laughed and set her on my lap, gently taking the paper from her.

"Jo, this is…" I stopped, seeing the picture and knowing full well no three-year-old should draw this well. It was a picture of a flower, and to my surprise, her coloring was inside the lines for the most part and the use of color was correct. The stem was green. The flower was yellow with an orange center.

"Do you like it, Mama?" she asked, her big blue eyes hopeful. I sighed and smiled for her.

"Of course I do! It’s only the best picture ever! We’ll hang it on the kitchen wall," I said, kissing her light red curls and setting her on her feet.

As I found a tack to pin it on the wall, Jo stood with her serious little expression on her face and said, "Mama, I wanna be a waitress, just like you!" I looked down at her in surprise. For the last two years, I had been working in a small diner down the road while Liz watched Jo. She’d become like a sister to me, and her husband was also good to Jo and I.

It was plain to see from the beginning that Jo was Jack all over again. Her eyes, her smile, her cute little nose. It was all him. The only thing she’d gotten from me were the red curls I had loathed as a child. In the summers, Jo would get hints of gold running through the brilliant red and making it seem like a halo on her. I worried all the time about when she was older. God forbid the day I woke up and realized she was a woman. Even the way she stood was reminiscent of Jack’s lazy stance.

Even though I hated the job I had, it did pay well and kept us living. Money was tight, food was not plentiful, but there was enough, and we were happy. Life was not bad, but for the horrid, lonely nights, because those nights were when the memories came. It had been almost four years since the Titanic and the vivid details still haunted me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the face of little Cora, or Tommy, or even Fabrizio. Jack, inevitably, was always in my mind, whether I was sleeping or awake. If you had told me I could fall in love with someone over the course of three days before that trip, I would have laughed in your face and called you a silly dreamer. But I did fall in love. I really did love him, and it still tore at me. We were so young, he only twenty and myself seventeen at the time. I was still young at only twenty-one, but I felt like a woman of forty.

I could still hear the screaming from that night, the horrible screams. The thuds of people smashing against things as they tumbled to their deaths and the piercing gunshots. It wasn’t fair. I know that expression is overused, but it’s true. In a matter of four hours, I had everything I had ever known or wanted ripped out of my grip. My love, my family, and my life. Not that I wasn’t ready to give up the life I had, because for that I am grateful. But I cannot help but wonder how different it would have been if the ship had simply docked and I had gotten off with Jack. Could I have patched things up with Mother? I hated to admit it, but I missed her. She was the only mother I had.

I still hadn’t given up the dream of being an actress in moving pictures, and had even had a decent part in a few plays, but that dream was proving to be a far-fetched one between work and Jo. Still, I auditioned once in a while. I had made it into one picture, but it was a very small part and the pay had been minimal. One day, just after Josephine’s fourth birthday, I came home from work to find her crying on the couch. I had instantly dropped my purse and moved to sit beside her.

"What is the matter, Jo Dawson?" I asked her, but she wouldn’t answer. "Josephine Margaret…" I said, and she looked up at me with eyes wise beyond her years.

"Mama, are we poor?" she asked with her arms crossed. My mouth dropped open.

"I…no, we are not poor, Josephine. Who said we were?" I asked, and she looked at her hands.

"You did…yesterday. You said they were gonna turn the heat off cause we couldn’t pay the bill. You said money doesn’t grow on trees." I covered my mouth with my hand and closed my eyes. I had been stressed out the day before and had vented to Liz and Randy.

"You heard that, Jo?" I asked, smoothing her curls back.

"Uh-huh," she replied. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and put my arm around her.

"We are not poor, baby. We’re going to be all right. I promise. Is that all that was bothering you?" She shook her head.

"Why don’t I have a daddy? David and Belinda have one. Why not me?" I remained calm, knowing damned well that this question would arise one day, and thankful that it was time to get it over with. Jo was referring to Liz and Randy’s kids.

"Jo…you did have one. A good one, too…but he…" I couldn’t bring myself to say it. "He went to heaven." Her eyes got wide.

"With God?" she asked in an awestruck voice. I even laughed.

"Yes, baby, with God." She grinned.

"That must make him some important person, huh?" Her innocence made this so much easier. I nodded.

"Oh, yes…it does. He drew pictures, too, you know…just like you."

This seemed to satisfy her immensely, and excitement made her cheeks pink.

"What did he look like?" she asked, and I tried to picture him. It amazed me that he was still so clear in my mind.

"He looked like you, Jo," I said, touching her cheek. She sighed.

"I guess it’s okay if he’s with God…but I sure wanna meet him," she said. "I never had no one look like me before." I rested my head on hers and bit my lip, hoping she couldn’t tell that I was crying.

"I want that, too…" She didn't ask about it again after that, thank God. Surprisingly, she became quite the independent one. She was very sure of herself ,and only one incident made her forget that momentarily.

"I hate boys! I hate being a girl, and I hate school!" Jo said, flying in after school one day. She was now seven going on eight and in the second grade. I laughed, stirring the soup I was making.

"Now…it can’t be that bad…" I said as she threw her things on the table. She sighed loudly and looked at me like I was mad.

"You don’t know, Mom! You just don’t know!" she said, nearly tearing the ribbons from her hair and taking out her school braids. I calmly walked to the icebox to get her a glass of milk and set it in front of her, sitting beside her.

"Why don’t you tell me?" I asked her, and she nodded.

"It’s terrible! Miss Shannon asked us to say what we wanted to do when we grew up, so I did!" I bit my lip, having a feeling where this was going.

"And?" I asked. She glared into her milk.

"I said I wanted to draw pictures like my father and write books, along with being the president, of course!" I folded my arms.

"What happened?" I asked with a sigh, knowing even then what was bothering her.

"She said, ‘Josephine, those are very big amb…amb…" She couldn’t find the word, so I filled it in for her.

"Ambitions?" I offered. She nodded.

"Right! Ambitions…she said, ‘But Josephine, you are a girl. And girls simply don’t do those things. Why not be a schoolteacher or a secretary?’ Can you believe it, Mom? A secretary! I don’t wanna be no secretary!"

I tried not to show how upset I was by this. Woman being discouraged to be all that they could simply because men thought women were inferior! No. My daughter was not going to be one of those girls who depended on a man to get her through life. She would learn to care for herself and believe in herself! How dare a teacher discourage their student from striving to achieve?

"You don’t have to be a secretary, Jo…you can be whatever you want, and don’t you forget it. I want to speak to your teacher."

The following day, I went to Jo’s school early and asked Miss Shannon if I could talk to her. She was a young, third generation Irish Catholic.

"Miss Shannon, I am concerned about how you handled my daughter yesterday. You told her she couldn’t be the president or an author?" She folded her hands a bit arrogantly and looked at me.

"Mrs. Dawson, I will not instill false hope in my students. You may delude yourself by telling her that she can be whatever she wants, but we both know it is not true. Women in this country are limited…why should we give her hope only to have it torn out from under her?" I glared at her with her light blonde hair and green eyes. Her face was plain and her hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, which was unflattering to the thinness of her face.

"She is a child, Miss Shannon. A little girl! Do you have children?" I asked her in my lowest, most intimidating voice.

"Well, I...no, I don’t," she replied, flustered.

"Of course you don’t!" I cried. "If you did, you would know the pain of coming home to find your child hating herself simply because the world is ridiculous...I am sorry, Miss Shannon, but I cannot bring myself to tell her she can’t because of the way things are, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from doing it to her, too." The woman stood haughtily and fixed an icy glare on me.

"You expect me to lie?" she asked, and I shook my head.

"No...I expect you to just nod your head and keep your mouth shut...she is seven years old. I will worry about her future when the time comes, but right now, I just want her to be a happy seven-year-old girl!"

"Very well, Mrs. Dawson," the woman replied. "I simply will not say anything to either encourage or discourage Josephine…and I want you to know that she insists on being called Jo!" I almost smiled.

"Oh, yes?" I asked, and she nodded.

"I told her that I will call her nothing but her given Christian name. It is improper!" she said, fixing her bun. I shook my head and looked at her warily.

"Miss Shannon...you worry too much. Loosen up," I said, and nodded at her before leaving the room. I kissed Jo on the forehead and left for work. Late.

"Dawson!" My boss, Ralph, cried as I flew into the diner.

"I am so sorry, Ralph. There was an issue at my daughter’s school, and..."

"I don’t care if there was a natural disaster. There ain’t no excuse for being late!" he barked, and I nodded.

"All right...I get the picture..." I said, and was wiping the empty tables down when I noticed someone watching me. I looked up to see a man with sandy brown hair and amber eyes sitting near the window. I gave him a smile and began to take an older couple’s order before I took his.

"Hello. What can I do for you?" I asked him, and he smiled.

"Just a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll," he said, and I nodded.

"Fair enough. Be right up." I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly bright his smile was. I caught his eyes as I served customers and could feel myself blush every time he smiled. Only one other person had ever looked at me that way...as I brought his coffee and cinnamon roll, my hands began to shake so badly, I lost my grip on the tray and it crashed down onto the table, splashing coffee all over his nice shirt.

"Shit..." I cursed, embarrassed as Ralph came flying out of the kitchen.

"Damn it, Dawson, how many times have I told you to get your head out of the clouds?" he shot at me, coming to the table. "I’m sorry, sir...if there is anything I can do to make up for this idiot..."

"Aw…come on, now...she’s trying...give her a break," the man said, winking at me. I wanted to crawl under the table and die. It was obvious he was older than I by about ten or twelve years, but his good looks had not faded in the least and there was no trace of gray hair. I silently scolded myself. You’ve just spilled coffee all over him and you are examining how attractive he is? Are you just going to forget Jack?

"No. You know what, Dawson? You’re fired. I’m sick of you being late. I’m sick of your screw-ups...you’re done. Pack it up!" Ralph barked at me. Feeling the heat burn my face, I untied my apron and tossed it into his face.

"You know what, Ralph? Screw you! You are an asshole! This is the first time I’ve been late in six years, and I have never dropped anything before...besides, I’d rather work anywhere than in this shithole with you!" I said, and stormed out of the restaurant. As I walked down the street, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Miss! Uh…Miss! Wait! You dropped this!"

I turned to see the man from the restaurant. He was holding my wallet.

"Thanks..." I said. "It must have fallen out of my purse." I stopped to look up at him. He was much taller than I.

"No problem." He grinned, holding out his hand. "James Calvert." I smiled politely and shook his hand.

"Rose De--Dawson." Even now, I sometimes still wanted to say my old name out of habit.

"Pleasure, Miss Dawson...or is it Mrs.?" I raised my eyebrow, but nodded.

"Mrs. He passed away," I said. It was a lie, but close enough to the truth that I didn’t feel guilty. "Just call me Rose."

He smiled again, brilliantly showing a row of perfect white teeth.

"Rose...it suits you perfectly. Call me Jim," he said. I looked awkwardly at my worn shoes.

"So, what’s a sweet girl like you doing in a dump like that?" he asked, and I laughed.

"Well, you were dining in that dump!" I said, hating myself for shamelessly flirting like this. It felt so good...free, almost. "I…uh...have to support my daughter and myself. We live a few blocks away, in the Golden Apartment Complex."

"That man always been that way?" he asked, referring to Ralph. I nodded.

"Yes. I am afraid he just thought I was some subservient little worker."

"Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he?" Jim asked. "Say, would you like to get some ice cream? My treat, of course..." I laughed.

"Well, if it’s your treat...I seem to be out of a job."

We talked about our lives and money and current events in the news--mostly about the war that had just ended in Europe.

"War is so ridiculous...and when it is all over, no one can ever remember why we were fighting in the first place!" I said as he walked me home. He nodded.

"You’re a smart woman, Rose," he said softly as we came to the door of my building.

"I…uh…better go before Josephine gets..."

"I want to see you again, Rose," he said, and I looked at him, surprised.

"You do?" I nearly choked. "Well, right now I am unemployed, so I must find a job..."

"Come work for me in my office. You could be my secretary. I’ll pay you double what you were making," he said, and I looked at him, surprised.

"What do you do?" He grinned.

"I’m a non-profit lawyer."

I looked at my hands.

"Look, Jim...I really appreciate that, but I am not ready to become involved..."

"Then you don’t have to. Just work for me. You need a job. Take it one day at a time. I promise you won’t regret it." His eyes were so sincere, I think I muttered some word of acceptance, because he was shaking my hand. He gave me a quick hug before leaving, and I walked numbly up to the apartment.

Jo was home twenty minutes later as I was preparing dinner and threw her books on the couch before rushing into the kitchen.

"Guess what?" she cried, and I shrugged.

"Huh?" She thrust a piece of paper into my hand, and I realized it was another drawing. This one was a girl sitting near a window. It was so well done, I would have guessed an experienced adult had drawn it. On top of it was a red A. I smiled and tacked it on the wall with her other ones. As I hugged her, something told me that we were going to be all right.

Chapter Three
Stories