April 20, 1912
The train chugged endlessly through towns and cities. The sunlight streamed through the windows, causing both Jack and Rose to squint. Their train had left New York at ten o’clock AM and was due to arrive in Boston around 1:30 PM. Rose felt a mixture of excitement and fear. Heading out to Boston with Jack was something she had been looking forward to for days, to making a new start with Jack, but knowing Cal was looking for her was something which made her stomach sink. When Jack had handed her the newspaper, she had felt like giving up, almost knowing he would find her, but Jack had given her hope. Jack had noticed that Rose was unusually quiet today. He knew why, of course, and wished he could do something to change it, but he knew he couldn’t. Their hands were entwined and he gently squeezed her hand, as if to reassure her. Her head turned and her blue eyes fell on his. He smiled a little and so did she. Sleep hadn’t come very easy the night before for either of them; Rose’s worry about Cal had kept them both awake. It seemed surreal to be here, on another train, heading to another place with Jack, it was just ten days before that she was on the train from London to Southampton to board the Titanic alone.
The train pulled into Boston on time and the passengers disembarked. Stepping from the train, Rose’s eyes gazed around at the new scenery. People waiting for trains, people waiting for passengers, workmen, and children were all scattered around the platform. The air felt cooler, but the sun still shone and Rose felt the heat on her cheeks. She turned and found Jack stood beside her with their two suitcases. She felt a hint of excitement inside her and she smiled at Jack. Maybe this would be the new beginning she needed.
The taxi ride to Jack’s house took less than ten minutes. The roads were more narrow than she remembered in New York and the houses seemed a lot smaller than she remembered back home. After turning one last corner, a very large house came into view. It was three stories high and white in color, surrounded by small bushes right up to the porch, and had three steps that led up to the door. The house itself looked fairly new and modern compared to other houses she had seen on the ride here.
Stepping out of the car, Jack helped Rose out before taking in the fact that he was home. This was the place he had left as a boy and returned as a man. Memories of his Uncle Eric immediately returned to him, and for a brief second, it had felt like he had never left. Closing his eyes, he felt a rush of wind wrap around him and blow his soft, sand-colored hair around. He felt as though he would open his eyes and his Uncle Eric would be there in front of him, waiting for him to return, a glass of brandy in one hand and his pipe in the other. Turning to Rose, he felt peaceful. He knew that bringing her here was something he had to do. It was his duty to protect her now, and he would.
“So, what do you think?” Jack smiled at Rose, indicating the house as he took both their suitcases in his hands.
Rose smiled, looking over the house. “It’s lovely, like a house from a dream or something.”
“Yes. It’s home,” Jack said, almost to himself. Today did feel like a dream to him. Returning to Boston was something he never thought he would do after his uncle died, and now, here he was, two years later, with Rose.
Walking up to the porch, Jack dragged the suitcases and Rose followed. She took in everything around her and the soft scent of flowers filled her nostrils. When Jack had finally opened the door, she stepped inside the house before closing the door. Jack stopped in his tracks; memories filled him and rushed back to him rapidly. He still expected his uncle to be there, but he knew he wasn’t.
The downstairs had a kitchen, parlor, dining room, and study; the stairs were located straight in front of the door and the second floor had three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Taking in everything around her, Rose wandered into the parlor. It was very spacious. Almost everything was made of wood. She heard Jack’s shoes on the wooden floor and turned to see him smiling.
“This is the parlor,” Jack said, his eyes wandering around the large room. His voice almost echoed. “Uncle Eric and I would play a lot of poker at the table in here.”
Rose smiled, removing her hat and allowing some of her hair to fall freely around her face. “I can imagine.”
Flicking the light switch, Jack realized there was no electricity in the house. “Shit. We’ll have to make do with the fire tonight and tomorrow I’ll sort the whole situation out.”
Rose nodded. She felt slightly strange in Boston. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was here with Jack, and it was a new place for her. She took in the surroundings of the parlor, the high ceilings and dark oak wood. A large dining table sat to the right of the room, while a cream divan couch sat to the left in front of a large fireplace. Above the mantel was an oil painting of a man and a woman, both very young and, by the look of them, very much in love. She wondered who they were.
Jack went down to the cellar and found some logs to start the fire with. He also came across a few unopened bottles of wine. He smiled to himself. After he had got the fire started, he poured both him and Rose glasses of wine. It would be cold tonight, and with no electricity, they would have to sleep in front of the fire until tomorrow. After grabbing some blankets, Jack and Rose sat in front of the fire, glasses of wine in hand. It was almost dark out and the room was still and silent except for the flickers of the fire. The flames from the fire illuminated Rose’s face in the most angelic way, and Jack could still not believe she was here with him. Her attention seemed to be elsewhere, gazing upon the oil painting above the mantelpiece.
“That’s Uncle Eric and Aunt Joan,” Jack spoke as if answering her question.
Rose turned to face Jack and narrowed her eyes. “They look so young.”
“Yes. They were no more than twenty when they sat for the painting. They were on their honeymoon in Italy.” Jack took a sip from his glass and he, too, glanced up at the photo. With the only light in the room coming from the flames of the fire, the painting almost looked haunting.
“It’s so beautiful,” Rose said.
“It is. Uncle Eric never stopped looking at it. He loved her so much.” Jack shook his head, memories of his uncle surrounding him. Jack wished he was here to meet Rose.
“What happened to her?” Rose questioned.
“She died in childbirth.” Jack raised his eyebrows and sighed. “She was only thirty-five. Uncle Eric told me of how they had longed for a baby since they married. I think they were just eighteen when they married.” He paused for a moment, thinking of himself and Rose. They, too, were young and been through so much. “Uncle Eric had this house built for her when they moved from New York to here.”
Rose shook her head, taking this information in. She thought of her father, her poor father who had died just the year before. She missed him so much; her heart still ached for his arms to be around her. She was close to him, and she thought that somewhere, deep down, her mother resented her for that. Rose had never felt a connection to her mother, although she appeared to have inherited her mother’s looks. Her father was the one who had doted on her when she was a child. A single tear slipped down her face. She hadn’t thought about her father in a long time. It was almost forbidden when her mother was present.
“What’s wrong, Rose?” Jack pulled Rose closer to him. She felt the warmth from his body and immediately rested against him. She shivered and he pulled the blanket further around her body. “Don’t cry, darling. What’s the matter?”
“I just…well…was thinking about my father. He died last summer. I just miss him. It’s only now that I have ever really thought about him since his death,” she sobbed.
“He really wouldn’t want you to cry over him. He would want you to smile and remember all of the good times together. It’s what I do when I think of my folks.” Jack smiled. He stroked her hair gently.
“What happened to your parents, Jack?” Rose asked.
Resting back against the divan, Jack took a deep breath. “Ma died of heart failure when I was fourteen, and Pa died while he took me ice fishing three months later on Lake Wissota.”
Rose’s hand went to her face. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right now. I never blamed God for taking my parents away so young; I know they were meant to be together. I was sent to live with Uncle Eric, as I had no other close family in the area. Pa and Uncle Eric hadn’t spoken in years, but were close as boys, from what I was told. When I came here, I didn’t know what money was. Growing up in Chippewa Falls, we weren’t poor, but we got by, and now here I was, living in this amazing house, with Uncle Eric fixing me up to wear tuxedos and teaching me how to pomade my hair.” Jack smiled, remembering how awkward it had been for him to adjust to this life. But he was grateful to his uncle, and always would be. “When he died, I felt like I had lost everything, which is why I left Boston. There was nothing to stay here for, and I had the money to travel the world, so I did.”
He lowered his head for a moment, memories coming back to him. Gently, Rose touched his face. It seemed to bring him back to the present. “You have me now, Jack.” Rose smiled. Taking Rose’s hand and gently grazing it with his lips, Jack moved closer and for a brief second allowed their lips to touch. “I know, darling. We’re so lucky to have found each other.”