NIGHT TRAIN
Chapter Seven

Sunday morning, after Thanksgiving, 1948

Richard Calvert paced nervously in front of Factor’s Deli on W. Pico. He was here for only one reason. He had no wish to antagonize his mother any further than he had last night.

His mother had invited Mr. Jack Dawson for dinner last evening and Richard had done his best to make the worst of the situation. Immature behavior he knew. But he just could not help himself. Who did this guy think he was that he could come marching off the train with his mother in tow, like he possessed her? Affecting her so much that she could hardly string two words together in his presence. Worse than that, his own wife Louise, seemed to have succumbed to Mr. Dawson’s charms and Peter had preferred Jack’s lap to his last night.

When Jack was leaving, his mother had given Richard a stormy look, just like she had when he had misbehaved as a boy. Jack had suggested this breakfast meeting, so they could get better acquainted. Richard almost said no, until he got that look from his mother. So here he was at 9 A.M. waiting to get this ordeal over with.

“On second thought,” Richard said to himself, “I’m here for two good reasons. To please mother and to protect her from this guy.”

Richard did not want his mother hurt and the best way to prevent that from happening was to tell Mr. Dawson in no uncertain terms to stay away. Have his visit with his daughter and then head back for New York. What could he want from his mom anyway? She had a nice life in Cedar Rapids with the memories of life with Sam, her lady friends and her club work. And she had her reputation to uphold. No member of the Calvert family had ever become involved or remarried after their spouse had died.

Rose had been somewhat secretive on the subject of Jack Dawson. She had just said he was an old friend. But what kind of old friend spends the night with a woman and keeps her out until 6 or 7 in the morning? Last night’s dinner conversation had revealed little about their relationship. They had spoken about the weather, some new movies, the boom in the California population and other impersonal things. While Rose and Jack had not actually held hands or embraced, he had seen their knees touching under the table as he walked into the dining room.

He looked down the street and there came the evil presence himself, Mr. Dawson. Jack was dressed smartly in khaki pants, a brown corduroy sport coat and a crisp white shirt that was open at the neck. His head was down and his hands were in his pants pockets, but there was a sort of secret smile on his face that made one think that he owned the world.

“I’ll have that smile gone,” thought Richard. “He won’t be so happy when I tell him to pack his bags.”

“Morning, Richard,” said Jack, putting his hand out to Richard.

“Good Morning, Mr. Dawson,” replied Richard coldly, ignoring the chance to shake hands.

“I am really hungry. Let’s go in and get something to eat,” suggested Jack, pretending not to notice Richard’s rude behavior. “Thanks for meeting me this morning. I have some things I want to discuss with you. And sometimes, over a cup of coffee it seems a bit friendlier.”

“Yes, well I have a few things to tell you too,” said Richard.

The two men sat down at a booth and picked up their menus. An elderly waitress in a white uniform and a huge corsage made out of a colorful handkerchief came to take their order.

“What’ll be boys? Say this looks like a nice father and son breakfast. You just stay and enjoy yourselves this morning,” commented the woman whose name tag read Olga.

“Father and son, my foot,” groaned Richard to himself.

After they ordered Jack and Richard sat awkwardly for a few moments. Richard spoke first, just wanting to spit out the words without thinking about this any further. “Mr. Dawson, I’ll be frank with you. I don’t take too well to you disrupting my mother’s life, keeping her out all night and interfering with her memories of my father. And I’m sure she doesn’t go along with it either. She’s just probably too polite to tell you.”

Jack put his head down and to the side, chuckling softly to himself. Rose, the temptress, not liking this very much? This boy should only know what his mother was capable of.

“This is not funny, Mr. Dawson,” said Richard somewhat angrily.

“No, Richard, it’s not funny. None of this is funny and that is why I wanted to talk to you, to explain things to you,” answered Jack, reverting back to his serious frame of mind.

“Mr. Dawson,” began Richard.

“Jack, just Jack will do.”

“Mr. Dawson,” started Richard again, ignoring Jack’s attempt at informality, “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Shoot,” said Jack, indicating that Richard should go ahead with his questions.

“I know that my mother’s maiden name was Dawson. I needed to have that information for college applications and things like that. And now you show up here and you have the same last name. That’s no coincidence, is it?”

“No, no coincidence,” answered Jack candidly.

“What, were you once married to her or something?” asked Richard.

“No, we weren’t,” said Jack. “But if you let me explain, it will all fall into place.”

Richard looked darkly at Jack. Did he even want to hear this explanation? What kind of involvement could Dawson could have had with his mother?

“I don’t know if I want to know that,” he thought to himself.

“What’s the other question?” prompted Jack.

“Well, why are you the one to be doing the explaining? Why not Mother?”

Jack pulled his lips tightly together and took a breath. God, it was hard enough for him to do this yet again.

“Because what I have to say is very painful for me and even more so for your mother. And I want to protect her and spare her the discomfort this would have caused her. I offered to help her out with this and she was greatly relieved.”

Richard glanced over at Dawson. Jack had his head down and was just staring at his plate, as though he was almost steeling himself for some bad experience. Richard wondered just what kind of story he was going to hear.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

An hour later

Richard sat silently turning his fork over and over in his hand. Jack sat just as quietly, his food almost untouched on his plate.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Richard, much more subdued than he had been earlier. “I just never imagined that Mom had been involved in something like that. She really kept that a secret. She once said something odd though about experiencing the loss of someone special. I mentioned this to your daughter at the train station.”

Jack looked up with interest, wondering what Rose might have said.

“What did your mother say?” asked Jack.

“Well, she got this far away look in her eyes and said that once you experienced the loss of someone very special in your life, you never felt the same about getting close to another person again.”

“I can understand that,” replied Jack, for he had felt the same way.

“But she said that before Father died. I was a kid, so I thought it was some kind of prophecy thing she was talking about.”

“Mr. Dawson,” said Richard, looking at Jack.

Jack gave him a smile and a hopeful look with his eyes.

“Please, Jack.”

Richard sighed.

“Alright, Jack. I do understand why you wanted to spare my mother having to tell me all this. I can’t even begin to imagine going through an ordeal like that and then to lose the person you love. I don’t know where the two of you found the strength to endure all this through the years.”

“In our love,” said Jack, simply.

“I don’t like to go behind her back, but I think I should tell you a couple of things about Mom. None of it made sense until now. But after you told me all this, it makes the puzzle pieces all go together.”

“Alright, I’m listening,” said Jack.

Richard told the story of the summer 10 years ago when he and his brother Joe were 15 and 14. It had been a very hot summer with little rain and everyone was out of sorts.

“That’s why we didn’t pay much attention to how Mother was acting at first,” Richard explained slowly.

Sam had just come home from New York where he had been doing some research and brought with a copy of the New York Times. A few days later, Richard had gone into their bedroom to get something for Rose and noticed a tiny clipping from the paper on her dressing table.

“It was an obituary for someone called Ruth Dewitt Bukater, a survivor of the Titanic. It listed some cousins and said that she had been predeceased by her daughter Rose, who had died on Titanic,” Richard explained. “I thought nothing of it. But after that, Mother started walking around the house at night, crying and muttering about how could she have let her think that. I didn’t know who the “her” was that she was referring to.”

Jack was quiet. So Ruth had died and Rose had never been in touch with her mother. How Rose must have regretted that. That was a tough pill to swallow.

“Ruth Dewitt Bukater was your grandmother, Richard. She and Rose had a falling out on the boat, mostly because of me. She was very protective of Rose and being the father of a daughter myself, I can understand that a little better now. She wanted the best for Rose, but at the expense of Rose’s happiness.”

“Can you tell me anything else about her?” asked Richard, somewhat curious to learn about this newly discovered family member.

“Not too much, because I really didn’t have much to do with her. She was very proper, very concerned about appearances and she too was very beautiful, like your mother,” said Jack honestly.

“I guess I see where I get some of my traits. Well, maybe not the beauty part. I thought that all the rest of that came from the Calvert side,” said Richard smiling slightly.

“Listen, Richard, no one is perfect. And if I would be in your shoes…well who knows. I might have felt the same as you.”

Richard felt ashamed now that he had treated Jack the way he had last night. This man had saved his mother from so much and given her so much as well.

“I guess I have to give in. They really belong to each other,” thought Richard.

“You said you had a few more things to tell me,” said Jack.

“Oh, yes. I do,” said Richard, trying to get back on track with what he was saying.

“There was a big barn dance that summer. Dad was locked up grading summer school papers. But Mom and Joe and I went. Everyone was dancing with everyone else. One minute I saw Mother smiling and laughing and dancing with anyone in sight. The next second I saw her outside. I was afraid to go near her. She looked so awful. She was doubled up against a tree, clutching her sides. Sobs racked her body and she just kept saying over and over, “Why, my love, couldn’t it have been? Why? Oh God, Jack, where did you go?” I was frightened and so was Joe, so we just left her alone. When Dad heard about Mother’s dancing, he told her never to act so outrageously again. She literally took his head off, screaming at him, that he could not control her and tell her things like that. They didn’t speak for a week. He didn’t mean to hurt her, but being so much older than Mom, he didn’t always understand her.”

Richard looked at Jack whose face was working with emotion. For the first time that morning, Jack had nothing to say. His heart ached for Rose as he thought of yet another person trying to control her life.

“Then a few weeks later,” Richard said, going back to his story, “we all piled into the car for a summer vacation. We drove up to the headwaters of the Mississippi, to Minneapolis, up to see Lake Superior and down through Wisconsin. We stopped at a crossroads and the sign said Chippewa Falls 10 miles. Suddenly Mother got very animated and practically ordered Dad to go there. Trying to make up for the dancing scene, he humored her.”

“So she was in Chippewa Falls?” asked Jack incredulously.

“Yes, when we got there, she acted so strange. She walked up and down the main street, touching all the buildings, going into all the stores. Mom went into a little food shop and got some things for a picnic. She said she had gotten directions to the most perfect picnic spot in the county.”

“The big hill next to the abandoned farm on Peterson Road, right?” asked Jack.

“How did you know that?”

Jack just smiled and told Richard to go on with the story.

“We sat up there and it was nice. You could see for miles around. Even the little graveyard there was pretty. Dad took a nap after lunch and Joe and I just tramped around, complaining about wasting so much time on a picnic. Mom went down to this old barn. There was a burned out house there and the remains of a garden. We watched her from a distance. After a whole summer of her odd behavior, we thought she had really lost her mind. She touched every board of that old barn and she sat on the stone foundation of the house for a long time, hugging her hands around her body and rocking back and forth. Then she picked a few flowers from the garden.”

Richard looked over at Jack, who had an odd expression on his face.

“Are you okay?” he wanted to know.

“I’m fine,” Jack assured him, fighting back the tears, as he pictured Rose among the ruins of his home and family.

“When she got back to the car, she said that today she had really made everything she did count and she seemed quite content. After that, until this weekend, Mother was her old self. The only thing was that those flowers she picked that day are dry and brittle now and are still on her dresser.”

There was another awkward period of silence. Then the truth dawned on Richard.

“That was your place, that farm wasn’t it?” asked Richard. “And that thing she used to tell us about making things count, that’s from you too, isn’t it?”

Jack just nodded. He could understand how Rose had felt being there. For that same summer he’d had a similar experience.

“It’s funny Richard, but that year I did the same thing myself. I had done pretty well over the years, getting over Rose and my wife. But that summer I dragged Jeannie to Philadelphia on the pretense of learning some history. But I was really looking for some connection to Rose. I went to look for her old house, tried to find the park where she might have walked. I really tortured myself. But when I found those places, I did feel a little better and I got some order in my mind again.”

“Jack, I love my wife Louise and I think Joe has a good marriage too. But what you and our mother share, is something so special. I can’t even begin to understand. I, I just want you to know that I’m sorry for the last few days. I was stubborn and immature. I guess I wanted to keep her happy. In the way I thought she’d be happy. But boy, was I wrong.”

“It’s alright, Richard. Rose is an incredible woman. I want to do all I can for her. Now that you know the whole story, I’m sure you won’t be shocked to find out that I have asked her to marry me. We don’t want to be apart anymore. There is no point in waiting,” explained Jack.

“Well, I can’t speak for my brother, but I know that I’m glad now that Mother will be taken care of, that she won’t be lonely and gosh, I really am happy for you both. Would you like me to call Joe and kind of explain all this?” offered Richard.

“Would you?” asked Jack. “And do you think you can get him to come out here by next Saturday as a surprise? I know it’s a bit of a rush. But I know how much it would mean to Rose.”

“Sure, I go call him now. I think it will be only him though. His wife is expecting in about 6 weeks,” said Richard.

“I’m sure we’ll all be together as a big family another time in the future,” said Jack, confidently.

Jack looked at his watch.

“I guess I better be going. I promised Rose that we were going to lunch and then to the Los Angeles County Art Museum this afternoon. Don’t want to stir up her fiery spirit by keeping her waiting, if you know what I mean,” said Jack, smiling.

“I understand,” said Richard, laughing.

They stood up and Richard took the check.

“Thanks for taking this time with me, Jack,” he said. “I, well, welcome to the family. Say Jack, I’m off from work early this Wednesday. I promised Peter that I would take him for a chicken dinner at Knott’s Berry Farm. I try to give Louise a little break from him once a week. Would you like to join us? I know I would enjoy some adult company and Pete seems to really like you.”

Jack put his hand out to Richard to thank him and this time the handshake was warmly returned by Richard.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Rose is going out with Jeannie that night anyway,” replied Jack, pleased at how well the morning had turned out.

“Jack, you won’t say anything to Mother about how I wanted you out of the picture, will you?” wondered Richard, a bit nervously.

“Not a word, son. Not a word about anything we talked about here. And Richard, if I would have had a son of my own, I only wish that he would have been someone as concerned and open about things as you are,” said Jack.

“Well, you sure did a nice job raising your daughter. She is a very sweet person. It’ll be fun to have her in the family,” commented Richard, slightly embarrassed at Jack’s compliments.

“Yes, she is my pride and joy. She was a little hard to win over too, in case you were wondering. But now it seems that everyone is happy and understands things. That was really important to both of us,” said Jack.

They both looked each other in the eye. Jack put his hand on Richard’s shoulder and Richard came the rest of the way, giving Jack a quick, but sincere embrace.

Chapter Eight
Stories