NIGHT TRAIN
Chapter Thirteen

Wedding Night 1948

Jack was occupied with removing the studs and cufflinks from his dress shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Rose. She was searching for something in her suitcase.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

She raised her head and smiled back at him.

“Oh, something,” she said evasively.

She turned back to what she was doing and finally succeeded in pulling out a flat rectangular package. Just as she put it on top of the dresser, Jack came and drew her to him.

“Jack, what…?” she wondered, as she felt his arms come around her and adjusted their bodies into a dancing position.

“Shh. Just lean against me.”

He gently touched her head so that it rested against his chest. Slowly his body began to move and he led her with him. Softly he began to hum the song that had been played earlier at their wedding, “People Will Say We’re in Love.”

Rose closed her eyes. Lost in her world with Jack. Their heads touched and she could almost hear the beating of his heart as she put her hand on him. She had felt all day as if she were embarking on some strange journey to a far off land. A journey to a place only Jack could take her. Now they were in yet another dimension of that trip.

They moved around the room for some time. Both of them silent, alone with their thoughts.

Finally it was Rose who spoke.

“Jack, when have you had time to keep in practice with your dancing skills all these years?”

He opened his eyes and smiled down at her.

“Mrs. Dawson, there are a few things in my life that seem as natural as breathing. One is dancing with you, the other is making love to you. And believe me, I never forgot how it felt to do either one.”

Their dancing stopped and he lowered her backwards. As Jack stared down at her, she was aware of only one thing. That his intense gaze pierced the very core of her being and filled her with his love.

She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Jack, you make me absolutely weak with those looks of yours.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Well, well, well, it won’t do for the bride to be weak,” he said, as he pulled her back into a standing position.

“I have something for you.” She spoke almost shyly. “A wedding gift.”

“Rose.”

“It’s not much. But you’ve given me so much today.”

She walked over to the dresser and picked up the package she had placed there a few minutes ago.

Rose handed him the flat tissue paper wrapped gift.

“Jack, I’ve taken this with me wherever I go. It’s not exactly a journal and not really a diary either. It’s my thoughts of things over the years. What I’ve felt and descriptions of beautiful things I’ve seen. All inspired by you.”

She reached up and kissed him. Slowly she slid her hand down off his shoulder.

Jack was clearly moved. He untied the gold cord that was bound around the box and lifted off the cover. Inside was a brown leather notebook. It reminded him of his own artist’s portfolio.

“I don’t know what to say. Are you sure you want to share all this? These are your innermost thoughts.”

Rose quietly nodded her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

“These thoughts belong to you too, Jack. You’ll see. I’m going to get ready for bed. Just read it.”

She disappeared into the bathroom before he could say anymore.

Jack settled himself on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. Carefully he opened the book. The first page carried the title “My Most Precious Thoughts.” Rose had cut out some pictures of flowers and pasted them here and there on the paper.

He turned to the beginning of the book. It was dated June 16th, 1912. In it she described her first visit to the beach after she arrived in California.

“I came here today with my new friend Ellie. I thought it might be a mistake and I was right. However, she was so sweet and insistent and knew nothing of what had happened to me. It was hard to say no. My eyes were dazzled by the colors of the sunset. But my ears were not prepared for the sounds that greeted me. The yelling, shouting and laughing of the innocent swimmers and tourists reminded me of only one thing. That terrible night two months ago. The night part of me died and I lost my love forever.”

He stared down at her graceful pen strokes.

“I remember feeling that way, even when I used to take Jeannie to the beach.”

Jack continued to reading. She wrote about gathering lilacs on a rainy April afternoon and smelling their delightful fragrance. There was a description of a walk in the snow on a starry winter evening while trying to feel a connection with heaven and in a sense with him. And he found her vivid word painting of a hot summer day in Iowa.

“I rode down the country road in the car, bouncing along in all the ruts. It is past the Fourth of July now and the corn is growing rapidly. When it rustles in the wind, you can almost imagine that you are hearing it grow. The sky above me is a perfect blue. Only a few powder puff clouds race along in the wind. When I look into that sky, I see the same blue as a pair of eyes that once gazed into mine. The chirping of the Red Wing Blackbirds, covers the pounding sound of my heart.”

Jack traced his fingers down the page. Here and there were small blotches, tear stains that she must have left as she wrote.

There were several other poignant entries. One was from 1923, when her first son was born.

“I am now a mother and I feel like I have just joined some mystical society that connects all woman. It seems as though I have just done the most important thing in the world. Sam is beside himself with joy. He is thrilled to be a father and especially to have a son. Even in all my happiness, another face crossed in my thoughts and I secretly wondered what a child of ours would have looked like.”

He pushed his fist into the mattress. What a life they could have had all these years, if only…but even Rose had said they had to get beyond the what if’s. And they had agreed not to look back.

As he thumbed further through the book, one date from ten years ago caught his eye. It was the visit to Chippewa Falls, just as Richard had described.

July 31, 1938

“We were heading home from our little summer automobile trip, when we arrived at an intersection with several road signs. One of them said Chippewa Falls, 35 miles to the left. I got very excited. And was embarrassed by my actions later on. I am sure that my family wondered why on earth I would have wanted to go there. Sam was very nice. He was still trying to make things up to me for making a scene about the barn dance. So he turned to the left and we were on our way. My lame excuse was that maybe there was a waterfall there.

We parked along the main street and I told Sam and the boys that I would round up something for lunch. I said I would meet them at the car in an hour. And for that wonderful hour, I strolled down that main street, seeing with my own eyes, everything that Jack had once seen. The grocer, the hardware store, the public library. And at each corner, I almost expected to run into him. But of course that would not happen.

I went into the bakery and that was nearly my undoing. I bought some sweets to go along with our picnic. There were these crunchy looking fried dough things that I was told were called bird’s nests. As the lady in the bakery was putting them in the bag for me, she remarked to another woman waiting in line that she had one customer that really used to love those. “Yes, Clara, don’t you remember Jack Dawson. My Lord, that boy could eat bags of these things. Wonder what ever happened to him.” My heart almost stopped. Why did these things always occur? I could not get out of there fast enough.

The picnic place I was directed to was as I had hoped, near Jack’s farm. Right next to it, in fact. From the top of the hill, I could see a stone foundation of an old house and the barn. After we ate, the boys just wandered around and Sam laid down on the blanket and took a nap. I made my way down the hill to the abandoned farm. Suddenly, for the first time in 26 years, I started to feel better. I was in Jack’s place and I wondered if perhaps he had returned there in spirit. As I walked along the foundation and touched the old barn, I felt connected to him in a way I never had before. I sat there and cried for awhile, hoping that no one saw me. But as I put my hands on the things that had once belonged to Jack and his family, I started to feel his strength again. I had needed to come here. As I regained my composure, I went to the little garden and talked to Jack for awhile. Then I picked some flowers and as I bent down, I could have sworn I heard him say “make it count, Rose.”

I came away from there a better person. Understanding him more, loving him more, and immensely grateful for everything that he gave me.”

Jack turned the book upside down on his lap and put his face in his hands. He was not surprised at her reaction, but totally overwhelmed at the power that their love had on each other. One day he would talk with her about that visit to Chippewa Falls and maybe even take her there himself. But not right now. He was determined not to waste one second of their lives. He planned to do all that was humanly possibly to care for her, to nurture her heart and soul and to see that she had the best he could provide.

She had written a very brief entry on June 23, 1947.

“Sam died today. I feel alone now, vulnerable, and trapped.”

“I think she had a tougher time than I did,” he thought. “She sounds so confused here.”

The next to the last entry gave an explanation to those words. Rose had written them on the very morning she had left for California.

“I have been out sweeping the porch and shaking the rugs. A flock of wild geese flew overhead. I envy them. They are free and have no restrictions placed on their spirit. I, on the other hand, am starting once again to feel like a trapped animal. I think that Sam’s sisters would like to wrap me in a black shroud and lock me away. They seem to know when I have been to a movie or when I have said hello to a man. To them these are all things that do not befit the behavior of their brother’s widow. I feel like I am losing my strength, that my spirit is dying. I must break free now. Otherwise his words will come true. Jack I need you. Wherever you are come and free me, please.”

She had cried so much that the words of those last several lines were almost blurred.

Rose had been right. These thoughts belonged to him too.

There on the last page were written four sentences. They were from last week.

“The most miraculous day of my life. Jack came to me…alive. We have found each other. I feel that I am among the living at last!”

He looked up and saw her standing before him. She looked sultry, seductive and stunning. Where she had gotten the nightgown that she wore was beyond him. Certainly not in Cedar Rapids. It was a long, black, silk affair with one strap over her left shoulder. The fabric slanted down over her breasts and curved around the side of her body. There was a slit up the left front from her ankles to just above her knees. Right now he could only compare his feelings to the night when she had posed for that picture. He felt like a pathetic adolescent seeing a naked woman for the first time. Jack could tell by looking at Rose that she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Rose watched Jack as he gulped and swallowed hard. “I guess this gown is having the desired affect,” she thought to herself.

Neither of them spoke. Rose stood in the doorway of the bathroom, giving Jack a smoldering look. She wondered just how long he would remain silent.

“Dammit Rose. You don’t play fair. Come here, please and stop tormenting me from ten feet away.”

“Who said anything about playing fair, besides, I told you that you’d get the icing tonight,” she teased.

But she did move toward him. And when Jack reached out to her, she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Is this how a typical Iowa housewife dresses?” he asked.

She cleared her throat.

“How quickly you forget, Mr. Dawson. I’m not a typical Iowa housewife anymore. I am the wife of a successful New York City art dealer. Or so I am told.”

Wife. He loved the way that sounded. His wife. And forever.

“Rose, you look spectacular in that gown. It is a little suggestive, don’t you think?”

She gave him a brilliant smile.

“So, Grandpa Jack, is it too much for you?” She burst into laughter almost unable to finish the sentence.

Jack too began laughing. “Okay, I see you are getting back at me.”

He put his arms around her, so that she was resting on his chest.

“Rose,” he said, sounding more serious, “you have painted some marvelous pictures with you words. I was able to feel every emotion you felt and place myself everywhere you wrote about. This is wonderful.”

He carefully laid the little book down next to him. Rose cuddled close to him, playing with the buttons on the shirt he still wore.

“Jack, you know that in spite of everything, you were always with me. You taught me so much in such a short time. Things I never forgot. It’s how I lived all these years. I wrote it all down for you. Sometimes I felt a little silly, knowing you would never see it. But I felt that maybe you knew. Still though, it always made me feel better.”

He pushed the pillows up behind him so he could see her better.

“Rose, I want to tell you something.”

She lifted her head up, wondering what he was about to say. In her eyes he suddenly saw uncertainty.

“Rose, don’t worry. I just want to tell you, that you are a beautiful woman and we are great here,” he said patting the bed. “But there are so many more reasons why I love you and married you. You are bright and funny and have this wild sense of adventure. You have that wonderful spirit. When you laugh and smile you light up the world. You are special in so many ways. I just wanted you to know all that.”

She sighed happily.

“Jack, what we have IS special. And there are so many things I love about you too. Besides this,” she agreed, inclining her head toward the bed. “You’re so gentle and intelligent. And you have that charming way about you. It’s your whole being, everything that makes you Jack that I love."

They laid there like that in silence for a few minutes. The only sound was their contented breathing, and the little sounds made as he kissed her hair.

“Hey, you’re not asleep are you?” He sat up a bit higher and looked at her.

“No, just enjoying being close to you,” she said softly.

“I have something for you too.”

Rose turned her head toward him, surprised.

“But you’ve already given me so much today.”

“It’s just a little something. Here, scoot over, so I can get up.”

She moved over enough so that Jack could get out of bed. He went to the dresser and took something from the top drawer. He held it behind his back, as he returned to her, so that at first she could not see what it was.

“I did this a long time ago. I had my portfolio with me and this was in it. Jeannie framed it for me. I never expected to give it to you, Rose. But now it seems perfect.”

He took the square object and put it in her hands, upside down. She knew right away that it was a picture frame with one of his drawings in it. But what had he drawn? She turned it over, Jack watching all the time for her reaction.

“Jack,” she gasped. “It’s wonderful. And you’re right it’s perfect. Really like it was meant to be.”

In her hands she held the sketch that he had done so many years ago. His heart had ached while he worked on it then, but today it brought him only joy. It was a picture of them, at the end of the Santa Monica pier. Rose and Jack, as they had been so long ago. Her long hair blew in the wind, his shaggy mop still hung in his face. Their shoulders touched, and their heads were only inches apart. Rose had her hand stretching out to the horizon.

She stood up and embraced him. “Jack, it’s really like it was telling the future. But who knew, who could have imagined.”

“I drew everything that I had hoped we would do together. Sometimes, I would be up all night. I never got you out of my system. It really was not fair to Martha. I was a husband that was only physically present. My mind was on a different plane, somewhere with you. Except for Jeannie, the whole thing was probably a mistake. I had a lot of guilt about that,” he confessed. “But now, Rose, you are my life.”

His lips found hers and he pressed down roughly, in his attempt to pass on to Rose, all the raw emotion that he felt.

When he let go, Rose felt feverish. And her mind was spinning. It took a few seconds for her to collect her thoughts.

“I will treasure this forever. And I do understand, what you are talking about. I was lonely. I wanted to be like everyone else and have a family. But you read my little book. You can see how I was thinking too. Remember what I said, though, on the pier? Let’s not go back. We can’t waste the precious time we have. It has to be us now Jack. Only us.”

He nodded wisely and felt that with this conversation, they had at last, laid their old lives to rest. Suddenly she felt Jack grab her hand.

“Come on, come with me.”

“Jack, not like this,” she said pointing to her nightgown.

“No one will see out on our balcony. Come on,” he said, pulling her along after him. He turned off the lights in the room as he went.

“Jack, no.” But Jack knew that her weak protests meant nothing.

They reached the stucco boundary of the veranda. Below the pool looked calm and quiet, lit from below with the underwater lights. They were at the treetop level of the whispering palm trees. Above them, the wide California sky shone with thousands of stars.

“Pretty isn’t it,” he said softly into her ear.

“It really is.” I don’t want to think about going home tomorrow.” Rose leaned back against him, the top of her head, touching his chin.

“I’m sorry, we can’t have a real honeymoon, now. But I do have to get back,” Jack explained. “This is kind of a busy time coming up for me. There are quite a few holiday showings.”

“I don’t mind. And we have the whole train trip home.”

She turned in the circle of his arms, so she could see him.

“And I think we don’t need to be on a honeymoon to be romantic,” she said with longing in her eyes.

“You’re right. I have to tell you something about when I was growing up.”

Rose gave him a puzzled look. She couldn’t quite figure out what something from his childhood had to do with romance.

“When I was a naive kid…"

“Jack,” she interrupted, “when were you ever naive?”

He laughed.

“As I was saying, my folks would tell me that they were going out on a summer evening and study the stars. I thought this is something. I was impressed that they were so interested in science. That was when I was really little. But as I got older and I was awake when they came back, I would watch out my window and see them. They never knew I was looking of course. But my dad’s shirt would be hanging out. And my mom’s hair would be all undone and loose. They held hands and were very quiet. They would have been studying the stars alright, but not the ones in the sky. My folks didn’t have much, but they had romance. I learned a lot from them. I have a little roof garden at home…maybe in the summer Rose, we could…” He stopped and smiled at her.

“That sounds wonderful,” she replied, knowing that everyday with Jack was going to be an adventure.

Without even thinking, she reached up and started to slowly undo the rest of his shirt. Her chest rose up and down rapidly as she worked her way along to the very last button. She felt a slight movement on her shoulder, as he slipped the one strap of her gown as few inches lower.

“Rose, I don’t know how I will ever get anything done anymore, if we continue like this. But I don’t care.”

His voice grew muffled as he kissed her neck. Rose felt every nerve in her body start to tingle.

“Jack, we keep talking about the stars. And we’ve taken several trips there. Where shall we go tonight?” she asked, now so distracted she could hardly speak.

There was no answer. Instead, he picked her up with one quick movement and carried her inside, setting her carefully on their bed. In the darkness she was acutely aware of the crisp rustling sound, as Jack removed his dress clothes. A few seconds later, her silken gown was gone and she heard it slip almost noiselessly to the floor. The room was silent except for the sighs made as he pressed his body to hers. Rose closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh, Jack,” she cried softly, “I love you.”

“Rose, I love you too. Tonight, I promise that the fire of our love will burn brighter than all those stars. Now, Rose. Let’s go now.” His urgent whispering made her taut with desire.

She moaned contentedly. In a matter of minutes, the whole room started to explode around her with the passion that only she and Jack could share. An ecstasy that they would experience not only this night, but for the rest of their lives.

Chapter Fourteen
Stories