JACK'S ROSE
Chapter Ten
Rose awoke, pausing a moment before she sat
up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. To her delight, no wave of
nausea or dizziness swept over her. She smiled, stood, and pattered across the
room to the window, sweeping the curtains back to reveal a white-covered world.
"Happy Thanksgiving Day, Jack," she
whispered as she watched as a pair of brilliant male cardinals fought over a
bit of food beneath her window. "I know I've much to be thankful
for." She smiled again as she let the curtains fall back in place, and she
slipped her feet into her slippers.
As Rose crept out of her room, she could tell
that no one else had yet woken simply by the stillness that still blanketed the
house. She tiptoed into the kitchen and quietly opened the oven to find the
Thanksgiving bird cooking as it was, she guessed, supposed to be. Rose grabbed
the baster from the counter and squeezed the juices over the turkey, then stood
and, quietly as she could, started the coffee.
The kitchen was by far the warmest room in
the house. Julia made an effort to constantly have something cooking in the
winter, more as an excuse to keep the oven going than an effort to keep the
room warm. And with the turkey basting in the oven, the pies covered, waiting
to be baked, and the dressing waiting to be cooked, the kitchen was both warm
and full of delicious aromas.
Rose eased herself into a chair, propping her
feet up on the chair across from her. She leaned her head back and closed her
eyes. William Calvert and Ralph Jones would be joining them for Thanksgiving
dinner, as neither had any family close to there. They had been over quite a
few times. After the fireworks on the Fourth of July and a few other times Rose
didn't feel like taking the energy to pinpoint. Independence Day only stood out
in her mind because of what had happened...
Rose stood, her eyes turned toward the
exploding white lights in the sky. The only thing her mind was able to focus on
was the last time she had seen such lights. She tried desperately to push those
thoughts aside and to remind herself that this occasion was a million times
happier than that, but it had been futile.
As another firework was sent flying into
the sky, Rose turned away, closing her eyes and trying to stop the tears from
falling. She pressed her hand over her eyes. The tears burned like fire. Rose
walked to the store's porch steps and sat down, letting her hand slide away
from her eyes.
"Miss Dawson, are you all
right?" William asked, walking away from the small mob gathered outside
the store. The entire town had gathered for this Fourth of July celebration.
She looked up at him, and for a moment she
could see Jack in him. His eyes, his smile, his face. But she looked away,
forcing the foolish comparison out of her mind. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you,
though. My feet are just tired."
"You want me to take you in the store
and get you some water or something?"
"No. No, thank you, Mr.
Calvert." She glanced back to him.
"Call me William, please. This town
is small enough that we can stand to do away with some formalities." He
sat down beside her.
She studied him, and for the first time
that day, a small smile found its way onto her lips. "William."
"May I call you Rose?" he asked,
smiling at her. "It's a lot nicer than Miss Dawson..."
"Yes. Of course."
"Rose." They glanced sheepishly
at each other once more, then both looked away. After another moment of
silence, William nervously attempted to regenerate the conversation. "So,
Rose, why'd you come here to Chippewa Falls?" he asked her, picking a
piece of grass off his trousers.
"I didn't have anywhere else to
go," she answered honestly.
William looked at Rose questioningly.
"No family?"
"No. No family...no
friends...nothing. I was on my own. A tumbleweed blowing' in the wind, as
someone once told me. And you?"
"Well, I didn't leave on my own good
will, I have to tell you. And I had the lump on my head to prove it for quite a
few weeks." He laughed at Rose's questioning glance. "Well, see, my
father was German and my mother Irish...odd combination, I know. I was in
Ireland with my mother visiting her sister. I'd wandered off to one of the pubs
along the docks. I'd shoved my last few pounds in my pocket and left the pub
because I'd gotten myself into some trouble in a poker game." He stopped
and laughed again. "Well, the only thing I remember is some big man coming
toward me, then feeling something hard smacking my head, and waking up in the
hull of a ship."
"They shanghaied you, eh?" Rose
asked, amusement in her voice. "I thought they'd stopped that."
"Apparently not."
She laughed once more.
"I'm glad you find my misfortunes
funny, Miss Dawson," he said sarcastically, smiling himself.
"Good. Because they are quite
amusing."
They smiled at each other.
"Are you ready to go, Rose? The
show's over, and the girls are getting grumpy," Henry said, ending Rose
and William's conversation.
"Yeah. I'll be right there." She
stood, wiping her skirt off. "Good night and happy Independence Day,
William."
"Same to you, Rose. Can I expect to
see you in the store anytime soon?"
"Perhaps."
His lips curled into a half smile, and she
turned to leave, wondering what exactly she had just started.
And she hadn't been back in the store since
then. He'd been over with Ralph, but they hadn't talked. Nothing more than the
polite greeting of "Miss Dawson." "Mr. Calvert."
Rose hadn't gone back because of her
guilt...the guilt of becoming close with any man so soon after Jack's death.
And the guilt she'd felt after seeing his face when she'd said nothing more
than, "Hello, Mr. Calvert," had only made her feel a million times
worse.
But it had been seven months now, and Jack
had told her to go on, had he not? And besides, whoever said that it had to be
a romance that she had with Mr. Calvert—William? He was the only person her age
that she had met and had not been shunned by, perhaps because he was an
"outcast" and "newcomer" as well. So, if nothing more, she
owed him the one thing that she had always had the hardest time giving
anyone...an apology.
And that, she would give him that night.
"Well, Rose, I'm surprised to see you
up. Why are you up and about so early?" Julia asked, pouring herself and Henry
cups of the freshly-made coffee and pulling Rose out of her thoughts.
"I don't know. I woke up and couldn't
fall back asleep. I don't mind, though. I squirted some of the juices over the
turkey and made the coffee. I would've started the pies and dressing, but
thought it best to wait for your say-so. I don't want to mess anything—"
"You did excellent, Rose. The coffee's
not too strong...not too weak," Henry said, stopping her rambling.
She smiled. "Are Ralph and William still
joining us?" Rose asked, standing to fetch herself a cup of coffee.
Julia anticipated her move and turned,
handing Rose a steaming mug of the black liquid. "Well, Ralph hasn't come
to tell us otherwise, so I suppose, yes. Why?"
"N-nothing. I was just curious."
She forced an innocent smile onto her face, but inside, she was trembling.
*****
"We come bearing wine!" Ralph
announced, gleefully, as Rose opened the door to let them in, and wiped her
flour-covered hands on her apron. She smiled as they entered the house and
quickly shut the door, trying to drive out the cold air drafts that had swept
past them into the house.
"Great! That was the one thing we were
lacking!" Henry said, patting Ralph on the back as he led the man into the
kitchen. William lingered in the living room, his hands shoved in his pockets.
The two young people gazed at each other a moment, but Rose looked away.
"I'm glad you two came. I think I know
what Julia means by the more, the merrier now. Come on in, William," she
said, smiling at him.
That lessened the tension between them, but
by no means put them at ease. And so, at dinner, while the others talked
merrily and the girls chattered and giggled, William and Rose sat across from
each other, saying hardly anything at all. But no one noticed and, Rose thought,
that was best. It wasn't until they found themselves alone on the porch swing,
listening to the others as their dinner conversations were carried into the parlor,
did Rose finally break the wall that had formed between them.
"I know what you must think of me,
William," she started, turning her attention from the warm glow of the parlor
window to him. "I've been awful to you. You were the only one that took
notice of me on the Fourth of July, and you were kind enough to leave the party
and make sure I was all right. You're the only person I've met, save Ralph and
my family of course, that has been kind to me upon my coming here, and I've
done nothing to return the favor. And for that, I'm sorry." She looked at
him, searching for a sign that he forgave her, but frowned as she saw nothing
change in his face. "I could understand if you can't forgive me. But I am
sorry. So maybe we could start over, William. From the very beginning. Put
everything that has happened so far behind us and just start with a clean
slate."
"A clean slate?"
"Yes. From the beginning. Like if it was
that day in May when we first came in the store," she said, surprising
even herself by being so outgoing. She mustered all her strength and hesitantly
extended her hand, making the first move to "begin again." William
glanced at her, but after a moment's pause, took her hand. "Hello. I'm
Rose Dawson. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"William Calvert. And the pleasure is
all mine, Miss Dawson."
"Call me Rose."
"Call me William."
They smiled at each other again, and finally
let go of one another's hands.
And Rose was glad it was so dark outside—William
couldn't see her blushing.