JACK'S ROSE
Chapter Nine
Rose opened her eyes to sunlight spilling in
the window and the morning birds singing happily, but the joyfulness of the day
seemed to reflect the exact opposite of how she felt. She was dizzy and felt
nauseous, as she had for a while now. How long had it been? She didn't know.
She didn't know much about anything anymore. It was July, and last night's
fireworks celebrating Independence Day were some things that they had all
relished as wonderful and amazing. But the exploding lights above her had only
brought back painful memories...memories of gazing up at Jack as the lifeboat
was lowered.
She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying
to push away last night's pain and this morning's nausea. Rose frowned again,
wondering what was wrong with her and why she woke every morning like this. A
tear slid down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away, then dressed and went
downstairs to join the others at breakfast, already in progress.
"Are you absolutely sure you're all
right, Rose?" Julia asked, as Rose came to the table, looking pale, as
usual.
"I'm fine. I really am. I just have a
cold or something..." Rose said, looking at Julia.
"You've had a cold or something for
months now," Julia stated, pushing the basket of bread towards Rose.
"Now eat. You don't eat enough."
Rose smiled and took a roll. "I'm sorry.
I just...I don't know."
"Don't worry about it. Just eat,"
Henry told her.
Rose ate her roll slowly, washing it down
with a glass of milk. "Henry, will you take me to your parents' grave?
I...I would really like to see where they are."
"Sure. I haven't been up there in a long
time."
She smiled. "Thank you."
"Of course. Julia, would you and the
girls like to come?"
"No. You two should go. I think it'd be
good for you both." She smiled. "I'll take the girls down to the
lake."
"All right. Well, girls, clear the
table, and we'll get going."
The girls obeyed and quickly cleared the
breakfast table.
"We'll do the dishes when we get
back," Julia said, standing as the girls came back. "See you two
later," she called, as Henry and Rose started for the door.
They waved back, then started down the road.
"Rose, can I ask you something about
Jack?" he asked, as they walked along the lane, enjoying the summer air.
"Sure," she answered tentatively.
"Was he happy?"
"Yes. He was happy."
"Good. I...I was never really close to
Jack. He was the baby brother. I regret that now. I know that the reason I
shunned him and ignored him was because I was jealous. He always had the
artist's hand that I wanted. He always had a swarm of girls around him,
flirting with him—the girls that I had my eyes on. But I'll tell you, his one
and only love was his art. He'd just wave his hand and slip out of the group.
He preferred sitting by the lake and drawing to going to the spring dance. And
I regret so many things now. I regret it so much that I just ignored him, that
I didn't even bother to ask where he'd gone when I came back and found him
gone. I was so stupid, Rose."
Rose glanced over at him. His eyes were
glazed with tears, but he fought them back.
"He told me once about—watch out for
that puddle," he said, pulling her to the side of the road before she
stepped in a large mud puddle from the summer showers that had stopped only
long enough for Independence Day. "Anyway, he told me once about a dream
he had. He told me that he had a dream he was in ice, holding a flower. And he
said that in the dream he died for the flower." Henry glanced at Rose.
"I told him he was crazy and acting stupid. Jack just walked away like he
always did. I think that's the last thing I ever told him in person. We talked
in letters and such, but that was the last thing we said face to face." He
looked up. "Here we are," Henry said, opening the heavy metal gates
enclosing the small graveyard.
He led Rose up a cobblestone path to a grave
beneath a large oak tree. The graves were surrounded by wildflowers of every
color. The gravestone read:
Mary and John Dawson
1865-1907 1860-1907
Beloved Mother and Father
"I guess it was Jack that planted all
the flowers. I know I never did. But it is beautiful." He paused and
looked down at the gravestone. Henry just stared down at it, perfectly still,
not moving a muscle for a long time. Then, suddenly, he turned and walked out
of the graveyard without saying a word. Rose glanced after him, but did not
follow.
She dropped down to her knees in front of the
stone and wiped it off. "I never met you, but I suppose someday I will.
I'm sure you are wonderful people. You would have to be to have raised the sons
you did. If I ever have children, I only pray that I can be half as good a
parent as you." She stood and smiled down at the stone, now clean and
shining and her skirt covered in dirt. Rose attempted to wipe her skirt off,
but soon gave up, seeing the dirt was determined to stay on. "I loved your
son, Mary, John, more than anything in this world, and I always will. I...I
just want you to know that." She smiled, and then, as if telling her it
was time to leave, a gust of wind swept by her and clouds rolled in overhead.
Rose gazed down at the gravestones a moment
more, then turned and hurried to catch up with Henry.