IMAGES OF ONESELF
Chapter Six

“Gee, Dad, kind of nervous aren’t you?” Jack looked at his father, who had gotten up from his seat to stretch for the umpteenth time in an hour. He had observed this man now for three weeks and in that time, he had not seen him display this kind of restlessness. In fact, the closer they got to California, the expression of uncertainty and anxiety on his dad’s face seemed to increase.

The older Jack pushed his hands in front of him and took a deep breath. “Wouldn’t you be nervous, if you were seeing someone for the first time in eighteen years? Someone you love and want to be sure that they want the same things you do?”

The boy smiled, trying to put himself in his father’s place. Not being experienced in love and having only had a few casual girlfriends in high school, he was finding it hard to understand what his dad was feeling. Surely if his parents loved each other once and had kept those feelings alive for all these years, everything would work out.

“Listen,” said Jack. “I’m going to take a walk. When I get back, we can go to the dining car and get some lunch. Alright?”

Young Jack nodded. He watched as his father disappeared down the aisle of the car, before pulling out a cardboard folder. Digging into his backpack, he produced a sharp pencil, eraser, a protractor and a ruler. He rummaged some more, found a blank sheet of paper and leaned back against soft bench of the sleeper section they occupied. No one was seated across the way, so he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up. In a few minutes he was lost in the project that had been on his mind for several days now.

Jack had marched himself from one end of the train to the other, partly because he was going stir crazy from being cooped up on this train and because he was so anxious to see Rose that he did not know where to put himself anymore. He heard Rose’s voice in every sound and saw her face in every person he encountered. She was all he could think about.

Today was October 23. Thursday. They had started out from Chippewa Falls, taking the train to Chicago on Tuesday. Almost three days now of constant rocking and confinement on this train, with nothing to do but think and hope. Hope that when he saw her in twenty-four hours, she would come willingly into his arms. He prayed that his dreams would be her dreams and that his plans for them becoming a real family would come to pass. In his mind, he could see her standing on that pier, waiting for him. The scent of her hair and the smell of her perfume were still etched in his brain from that night eighteen years ago. He was consumed by thoughts of touching her again. And the more he thought, the longer this journey became.

Jack pushed the door open to the car where their section was. He walked down the aisle to their seats. As he approached his son, he saw that his head was down and he had papers spread out on the seats. Jack leaned forward trying to see what they were. Quietly, so as not to disturb his son, Jack glanced from one picture to the next. He blinked in amazement, when he realized that what he was seeing were almost professional architectural plans. He recognized his own house in Chippewa Falls, but with several modifications. These drawings included a wide wrap around porch and on the back of the house, off of the kitchen, was a large addition that looked like it was intended to be a sun room. He had to admit to himself that these ideas would certainly improve the look of the old place. More than that though, he was stunned and also elated to find that his son had inherited some of his artistic talents. Until this moment, he’d had no idea that young Jack had any such interests.

Jack cleared his throat, not wanting to startle his son. “These are nice,” he said, hardly able to conceal the pride in his voice. He gestured to the drawings that were lying on the seats.

“Oh, Dad.” Young Jack gulped, an embarrassed look on his face. He had wanted to tell his dad about the drawings, but they had been so busy, that he’d had no time.

Jack gently pushed aside a pile of papers and sat down across from his son. He picked up one of the sketches and studied it closely. “These are wonderful, in fact.” Jack nodded his head, his eyes moving over the paper, taking in every detail. “You’ve got talent, you know,” he said softly.

The boy gave a muffled laugh. “Yeah, talent. Lot of good it does me. I can’t do anything with it. You need college to be a real architect. With things the way they are, that’s something that is not going to happen.” His lips turned up on one side, with a bittersweet expression.

Jack studied his son. He was complex person. The boy was vulnerable and young in some respects, yet used to being the man of the family for so many years, always looking out for his mother. He would love to let this boy have the chances he never had. Jack covered his face with the palms of his hands, trying to bring some order to his thoughts.

“What is it, Dad? Something wrong? You mad about my drawing or something?” The boy was feeling very unsure of what was going on in his father’s head. Maybe he was angry that he was wasting his time with this stuff.

Jack raised his head, his eyes connecting with his son’s. He might as well bring this up now. Better they talk about his before they saw Rose. He wanted his son to have some time to think. The boy had told him that he had finished high school early and that his grades had been good.

“How would you like to go to college?”

Young Jack stared at his father in shock. “C-College? So I could study this for real?” Visions of huge drafting rooms filled with professional equipment danced in front of his eyes. He could see rolls of blueprint paper spread all over a desk and his name, Jack Dawson, Architect, painted on a door. He could hardly believe what his father had just said. “But things are tough, Dad. How could we afford…………..”

Jack held up his hands to quiet his son’s concerns. “You said you were a good student, right?” Young Jack shook his head emphatically. “Okay. This is what I can offer you. If you can get a scholarship, and it sounds like you would be very eligible, and you can work at a part time job, while you are in school, I will pay for the other third of the tuition.” Jack watched his son’s jaw drop. “I’ve been saving money for years and didn’t lose any when the banks closed. I want to see you follow your dream. Have the real training you need. What do you say?”

“Dad,” young Jack was so taken aback by his father’s generosity, that he was speechless. When he finally was able to thread a few sentences together, the words he spoke hardly conveyed the depth of emotion that he felt. “Yeah, great. I don’t know what to say.”

Jack understood this and smiled fondly at this son. It warmed his heart to think that someone in his family would at last fulfill the hopes and dreams of his own parents. Their grandson would attend college and get the education they had so desperately wanted for their own child.

“Dad, I want to do the right thing,” said the boy, rousing his father from his thoughts. “Any idea of where I should go to school?”

“Ah,” said Jack. “I knew that question was coming. You can go anywhere you want. An expensive school would be more of a struggle. But why not right at the state university over in Eau Claire. It’s close and I know it would please your mother to have you come home often. It’s a good school too.”

Why he had ever thought that his father would think that his drawings were a waste of time, he never knew. He should have known that someone like his dad would value education, even if he had never had the chance himself. “If you think it’s good, then that is where I will go. Anyway, it might be easier to find a job in Chippewa Falls where people know me, or,” he hesitated “you.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of the pile. “Want to see what this is all about?”

Jack nodded and moved across the space separating the two benches. His son put the rest of the paper on the floor. “Here. This is your house.” He grinned as he showed his dad the drawing. “I thought that maybe you and I could build this,” he said pointing to the sketch in front of him. “You know for mom. She might miss the ocean and the mountains. But maybe if she had a nice place for some big plants, a nice sunny room she could be in and this wide porch we could sit on and look at the hills in the distance, she might not be so lonesome for California.”

Jack looked at the drawings, but he was not seeing what was on the paper. He was instead envisioning Rose tending to her plants in the glassed in room, working her magic on the old house. He patted his son on the shoulder. “She’ll like this. We’ll start on this next spring. Soon as the ground thaws,” Jack promised. He could already see Rose and himself sitting on that porch on a warm summer night.

Young Jack turned to his father with a serious look on his face. "Mom will come, won’t she? She’ll let me go to school, won’t she? I mean, I really want this.”

Suddenly Jack felt uneasy. He had promised the boy an education on the assumption that Rose would follow him back to Chippewa Falls. If she didn’t and wanted her son to remain with her, he had unwittingly made the boy a pawn in a game of parental wills. He had no certain answer to give his son. “She’ll do what’s best for you. That’s all I can say.”

* * * * *

“Rose, I love you,” said Jack, holding her hand. They were standing on the pier in Santa Monica. It was sunset and the fire of the sun was reflected in her hair. She arched her head back in delight and stretched her arm out.

“Oh, Jack, I love you too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a large wave rolling toward the pier. He barely recognized his own voice when he yelled out, “Rose, look out.” In a matter of seconds it was over. The pier had been split by the force of the wave and through the wall of water he could just make out the section that she stood on drifting further and further out to sea. Jack could hear her screaming his name, but he was powerless to stop the current that carried her away from him.

“No, Rose. No.” Jack was out of breath and he was drenched from the water that had poured over him. He didn’t know now who was calling his name or why he felt pressure on his shoulder.

“Sir, Mr. Dawson. Sir.” Jack slowly opened his eyes, afraid of what he might see. He looked around in the dark space and felt the area with his hands. Everything was soft and warm. He was not at the pier. Then he remembered. He was in the confines of a Pullman sleeper going to California. Thank God, this had only been a dream. He heard the voice calling him again. Jack turned to the curtain where are sliver of light showed through and saw James the sleeping car attendant poking his head in, with a concerned expression on his face.

“You okay, Mr. Dawson? You sounded kind of restless in there and I didn’t want you wakin’ up the whole train.”

Jack blinked his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to get himself out of his sleepy state. His heart was still pounding and his limbs felt like rubber. “Yeah, I was having a bad dream.” Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and opened the curtains of the berth in order to get some cool air on him. As soon as the colder temperature hit him, he could tell that he was soaked from head to toe. He’d had these dreams about Rose before, but none had been filled with the same intensity of this one.

“Say, why don’t you grab your robe and come with me. Maybe some nice cocoa will settle you down a bit. Won’t do you any good to try and go back to sleep this minute.” James stood there with a look of kindness and understanding on his face.

Jack stared at him for a moment wondering if he had been chased by demons in the night too. He seemed to comprehend exactly what he was going through. “Alright,” said Jack. He reached behind him for his robe and jammed his arms through the sleeves. After rummaging in the little net basket at the foot of the bed, he found his slippers and pushed them onto his feet. Jack stood up and let James lead the way through the quiet car.

He sat across the table from James, in the deserted dining car, drinking his cocoa, and hypnotized by the passing lights outside the train window. Slowly he started to feel his body warm from the comforting liquid. “What time is it?” asked Jack.

The car attendant pushed up his sleeve and studied his wristwatch. “Almost four. We hit Las Vegas, Nevada in about an hour and a half. Then we cross the state line. Right into California.” He angled his arm straight ahead, like an arrow.

California, thought Jack. Rose. He was getting closer and closer. In about twelve hours he would see her, touch her, and hold her. He was sure she still felt something for him. His son had indicated that. But she was in love with a dead person. He wondered how she would actually feel when she saw him. No longer the romantic, twenty year old vagabond with not a care in the world. He had changed. Circumstances and time had changed both of them. Now he was getting worried that perhaps these changes would keep them apart.

“It’s a lady, isn’t it,” said James matter of factly.

Jack looked into the understanding eyes of James. “What?”

“It’s a lady that’s got you all upset,” he repeated. “You know, sir, I’ve seen lots of people on this train. Been working here on the Santa Fe, ‘bout twenty-five years now and I’ve seen it all. But you’ve got that special look about you. Fear, love, uncertainty all rolled into one.”

Jack shook his head in agreement. He hadn’t realized just how obvious his condition was. “Yes, it’s a lady, a very special lady.” For some reason Jack suddenly felt the need to confide in someone. He’d tried to be optimistic with his son, regarding his reunion with Rose. But this kind man seemed to understand, really understand how he felt. Maybe getting this off his chest would make him feel better. “We were together for a short time many years ago and fell in love. I thought she was dead. But she’s not. And I found out that she has been thinking of me all these years as I have of her.” Jack twisted his cup around in front of him, seeing Rose in his mind. “I’m worried, well downright scared that things aren’t going to work out. You see that young man that is with me is my son. He didn’t know I was alive either. He says his mother still loves me.”

James traced a pattern with his finger in the tablecloth as he searched for the right words. “You know, Mr. Dawson,” he began slowly, “if you both have been thinking of each other all this time, never shared your heart with anyone else, well then I’d just let one thing happen.”

Jack studied the man’s compassionate, knowing face. “What’s that?” he asked puzzled.

“Just let the past speak for itself. It’ll be alright,” he said softly.

“Let the past speak for itself,” Jack repeated in his mind. Yes, of course. It all made sense. Build on the deep feelings of love they’d had for each other and the commitment they had to their son. The man was right. If what he felt and if what his son saw in Rose was true, the love they’d known then was strong enough to make a future together.

Jack reached across the table to shake James’ hand. “Thanks,” said Jack in a whisper. “Thanks for the advice and the cocoa. I’d best be getting back to bed. You’ve helped me more than you know.” He stood up and turned to head back to his car. “You’ll wake us in plenty of time?” Jack asked.

James was already clearing the table, placing Jack’s cup and pot of cocoa on a tray. “You bet,” he chuckled. “Big day, today. Eh, Mr. Dawson?”

Jack grinned back at him. “Yeah, a big day. Thanks again.”

* * * * *

The mattress sagged and the bed squeaked as Rose sank down to read her letter. Her keys were thrown on the table and she wiggled out of the thin sweater she wore on this chilly afternoon. On the way into the boarding house, she had stopped at the pigeon holed box that served as that mailbox for the tenants. Since Jack had left last April she could count on one hand the letters she’d had from him. So when she found one today, her heart soared. Nothing bolstered her courage and will to go on like some news from her son. She dragged her finger across the sealed part of the envelope, her hands shaking with anticipation. The postmark was blurred, but she could make out a few letters, RPO (Railway Post Office),…………something, Wisconsin. Wisconsin, she thought. Jack had certainly gone far across the country. How on earth had he ended up in Wisconsin, the state that his father had been from?

October 13, 1930

Dear Mom,

By the time you read this letter, I will be almost home. I have a train ticket in my hand and will be arriving in Los Angeles on October 24. I should be there when you get home from work.

I have had some interesting experiences these last few weeks. The fall colors have been beautiful in this part of the country. Nothing like what you see in California. I have met some wonderful people. There was a man who took me in like his own son and taught me about farming. You never know, it might come in handy some day. He had a sweet dog named Pepper that I became friends with. While I was there, she followed me everywhere. They lived in a real pretty place in Wisconsin. His farm had a beautiful red barn and a nice cozy farmhouse. From the porch, you could see some hills along the river. And if you listened carefully you could hear the bubbling of the creek that ran across his property. I sure would have liked to stay there longer, but something told me it was time to go home.

I am bringing a surprise for you, Mom. Now don’t get excited. It’s not a girlfriend of mine or anything. Just something I know will make you very happy. It’s something I found myself. I can’t say anymore than that.

I have been thinking of you everyday. At night when I go to bed, I take out that postcard of the pier that you gave to me and I remember the nice times we have had there.

I’ll be on the way home on the 21st of October. It’s a long trip. We’ll celebrate when I get there. And I’ll tell you all about everything I’ve seen and done.

Your son,
Jack

* * * * *

Rose put the letter down in her lap. Tomorrow she would see her son. They would be together at last. He had written that they would celebrate when he came home. Some celebration it would be in this place with her meager supply of food. She was curious as to what he was bringing that would make her happy. Or course, she would be thrilled to see him after six months, but she was mystified as to what the surprise could be. Short of resurrecting a dead man, not that much could really cheer her. She would find out soon enough. Maybe he had been right to leave. And when he saw that things had not improved here, he just might want to go again.

She wondered what kind of person it had been that had taken her son in. Knowing that there were still kind people out in the world restored her faith in human nature. For despite the hard times, this man had showed her child some kindness. “Took him in like a son.” Whoever he was, he had made a big impression on Jack. Maybe someday when things were better, she’d write and thank this person.

Rose stood up and walked to the window, and stared at the street below. There was not much to see here. She thought of their little cottage with the flowers and how pleasant their life had been in that place. How she had hated to leave that. Somehow she always felt better if she had something pretty to look at. Maybe if she went out to the pier and saw the sunset, she could shake the melancholy mood she felt coming on.

She thought about how much her son probably had changed while he had been on the road. He certainly would have grown a little taller. She just hoped that he had not been hardened by his experiences. He was such a good boy as he was. In his letter though, he sounded like the same person that had left six months earlier. It was uncanny how much Jack was like his father. He was so considerate of her. He had turned into a gentle, compassionate young man, with just enough sense of adventure to not be considered a sissy. Oh, Jack would have been proud of his son.

She drew the curtain across her face and leaned her head to one side. “Jack, Jack, where ever you are, I hope you can see this wonderful boy of ours. I wanted him to be like you. Sometimes I felt that you were right here guiding me as I raised him.” Her right hand came up and covered her eyes. She could feel the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. As she looking unseeing onto the street below, she was overcome with an empty and unsettling feeling. She would give anything for one moment with her love, Jack, for one glimpse to say, “I love you.” Her eyes blurred with tears and she dropped the curtain back in place, sighing loudly. “Jack,” she whispered. “Give me the strength to go on.”

Chapter Seven
Stories