ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Twenty

Jack continued working throughout the rest of the voyage, feeling quite privileged when Mr. Rockefeller kept his word and invited him for tea every now and again.

"I really want to go to Paris and study art," Jack explained when the millionaire asked what his ambitions were. "I’ve been drawing since I was really young, and that’s really what I want to do."

Mr. Rockefeller asked to see his portfolio, and Jack apologized for the nudity portrayed in some of the drawings.

"Bah!" Mr. Rockefeller scoffed, gently thumbing through the worn sheets of paper. He was very quiet for several moments, and Jack wasn’t quite sure how to decipher the expression on his face.

"Impressive," Mr. Rockefeller said. "Very impressive. You have talent, boy…no mistaking that. I like a man who has passion for such things, and I’ll see to it that you do make it to Paris."

Jack stared, unsure if he had heard the old man correctly. "I’m sorry?" he asked, for it was too good to be true. Why was he having all of this luck all of a sudden?

"You’ll work for me," Mr. Rockefeller explained, "for a year. Or until you acquire enough money for a voyage to Europe. It is much more exciting to go when you’re young…I went to Europe myself when I was in my twenties, and will never forget it."

Jack felt his heart swelling with excitement. If it weren’t for his respect, he would have embraced Mr. Rockefeller in a heartbeat.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, grinning. "I think that would be a very good idea."

With that, Mr. Rockefeller shooed him off, saying Mr. Heillerman would soon be hunting him down. Jack thanked Mr. Rockefeller for tea and promised he would visit again when called upon. Mr. Heillerman was amused by the exceptionally good mood Jack was in when he came towards the general crew meeting place.

"Are you singing, Dawson?" he asked, and Jack stopped pretending to waltz for the time being. "Don’t get too big of a head," Mr. Heillerman added, for he knew of Jack’s plans to change jobs as soon as they docked in New York. He was perfectly accepting of the idea, proud that one of his boys proved himself so worthy of the millionaire’s attention. "Never a good thing for a boy your age," he added, and Jack frowned…he was still being referred to as a child by most.

He supposed he would for a while, due to his young face, but it was rather aggravating. Just not something I’d like to point out to my employer, he thought. He’d probably throw me off the ship and make me swim to shore. Jack shuddered at the idea before allowing Mr. Heillerman to assign him his evening duties.

Thankfully, Jack experienced no more burglaries, and they had perfect weather for the remainder of the trip. The arrival in New York on Thursday was a big event, and Jack gaped as the Statue of Liberty came into view. I should write to Olivia once I’m settled with Mr. Rockefeller, he told himself, wondering what his younger sister’s reaction would be to his new situation. She was thrilled by his participation in the moving picture industry, though she half-wished he’d decided to continue the trade.

"I don’t have much to brag about," she wrote wistfully. Mr. Rockefeller was rather startled by how little Jack had with him when they prepared to disembark.

"I travel so much that it isn’t worth carrying a lot," Jack explained.

"We’ll have to remedy the problem as soon as possible," Mr. Rockefeller replied. "I won’t have my personal guard dressed in rags."

Jack felt his cheeks color; he didn’t think his clothing was that bad. They did need a bit of freshening up from overwear, but they weren’t falling apart yet.

"That’s not necessary, sir," he protested, saying good-bye to Billy and Allen, who were sad to see him go.

"Nonsense," Mr. Rockefeller replied. "We’ll fix you up in no time at all." He checked his gold pocket watch. "Speaking of time…we’d best be off. I’ve a few engagements I must see to before the day is over."

Jack stared, hurrying down the ramp as fast as he could. He hadn’t been in New York City before in his life, and was startled by all of the noise and congestion of the streets. Even in the year 1899, the technology of factories and such were quickly advancing.

"Never been here, eh?" Mr. Rockefeller asked, amused at the gaping expression on Jack’s face as he walked.

"It’s very impressive, sir," Jack replied. "I’m from Wisconsin, and a farm, no less." He tagged along beside his new employer, not wanting to get lost. He had no idea where they were going, nor where the millionaire lived, though he was sure the citizens of the city would know.

Jack followed Mr. Rockefeller into the Stock Exchange, where he checked on his ranks.

"That’s why I was in California," Mr. Rockefeller explained. "I picked up a well or two. Keep those in mind if you ever want to get wealthy."

Jack blinked, not sure of how to respond. He was so used to working odd jobs here and there for money, barely making enough to survive on. The idea of having more than that was pure fantasy, though he was sure he’d receive a nice sum from this new position.

"Next step…the bank, and then to a department store."

Jack flushed; he knew the department store stop was for him, but he didn’t feel safe saying anything about it. People stared as they passed, though more at Jack than the old man. Why does that boy get such a privilege? the townspeople wondered, for he didn’t look like a wealthy relative. He looks like some sort of vagabond. Mr. Rockefeller’s getting too soft with these homeless types.

Jack sneezed when a carriage passed, kicking up clouds of dust from the horses’ hooves.

"All right, there?" Mr. Rockefeller asked once he managed to relax, and Jack swallowed.

"Y-yes," he croaked. "Sorry."

They went into the bank to deposit a check, and to withdraw money as well. Jack had quite a few questions to ask, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. Even inside, Jack felt the urge to sneeze repeatedly. The dust from the streets seemed to settle in his nose and throat, which caused him to cough.

"Here you are, lad." Mr. Rockefeller offered one of his handkerchiefs, which Jack accepted gratefully. "This city is a dust bowl. You’ll get used to it."

Jack was amused when passers-by asked if he were a nephew or a grandson, especially when it came to buying trousers and shirts at the department store.

"I normally send my servants to do the shopping," Mr. Rockefeller explained, and Jack realized he ought to have known. People of Rockefeller’s status were too busy drawing in the cash rather than being seen in public places like this.

Jack left the shop with four packages, feeling rather good about himself. He’d been wearing the same clothes as often as possible unless he had a uniform to change into. I only brought two outfits with me when I left Esther’s, he thought. My bag is heavy enough. He hated trying on clothing, as well, though it was much easier with Mr. Rockefeller than with Esther.

His employer didn’t coo over him if something looked good, or jiggle the rim of his trousers to make certain they fit properly. When they caught a carriage home, Jack gaped at the mansion before him. It was on the outskirts of the city, about a half hour’s drive.

"You’ll be staying in the servant’s quarters, as I said," Mr. Rockefeller explained once he unlocked the front door. The hallways were all different sizes, and lighting was different in each one they entered. A huge parlor was the first room Jack came to, filled with oak furniture and a wooden floor. There were animal heads on the wall by the fireplace, so he assumed hunting was a pastime.

Next they passed Mr. Rockefeller’s private study, which was off-limits unless one was specifically asked to come in. There was a dining room, a drawing room for guests, and a large kitchen in the back. Jack was introduced to the household staff, which included Margarita, the housekeeper, who had a very thick Spanish accent. She eyed Jack up and down with disapproval in her black eyes and immediately squawked that he was much too skinny.

"You need food, niño," she ordered. "He is skin and bone!" She pinched his side, making him jump with surprise, and Mr. Rockefeller patted his shoulder.

"All right, Margarita. Fetch us some tea and biscuits. That will hold us over until supper."

Margarita gave a huff and began muttering to herself under her breath as she swept away. Jack still held onto the side she had pinched, not quite sure what to think. When she was out of earshot, Mr. Rockefeller bent down. "One word of advice," he began. "Obey every order she gives you."

Jack smirked. "You let her talk to you that way, sir?" she asked, for most people would fire her immediately.

"She’s a rare find, Jack," he replied. "I picked her up when I was in Spain two years ago. Margarita does such a wonderful job with the house, I can’t bear to let her go. She is good company, and is really very kind…but can be harsh. Don’t take it to heart."

Jack nodded, though his skin still ached from her sharp fingernails. He was introduced to the cook, Phillip, and the gardener, George. They were all very pleased to meet him, and smiled wide when he shook their hands. After introductions were made, Mr. Rockefeller brought Jack to his room.

"Here are your quarters," he explained. "You should be very comfortable here." At that point, he left Jack to his own devices, saying he had some work to do in his study until dinner.

"Thank you, sir," Jack replied after the old man left, though Margarita came in immediately afterwards.

"Tea and biscuits, skinny." She presented a tray and ducked back out again. Jack choked on laughter, immediately stealing one of the warm buns and taking a bite. His room was twice as large as the one in his parent’s farmhouse, containing a feather bed, an oak dresser, a private washroom, and a desk in the corner.

"Not bad," Jack told himself, beginning to unpack his things while nibbling on the food he’d been given and drinking the tea. He cringed a little; tea was much too bitter…he definitely preferred coffee. He sneezed again, collapsing onto the bed for a moment.

"Ugh…" he muttered, rubbing his forehead wearily. He eventually forced himself up and used a piece of his sketchpad paper to write a letter to Olivia.

November 11, 1899

Dearest Sister,

I know it has been a while since I last wrote, but I’ve been rather busy. As you know, I left the film business and took a position as a steward for the second class of a luxury liner, the Oaysis. I met twin brothers, Billy and Allen, and was friendly with them for a while.

One evening I was doing rounds and heard a scream from one of the staterooms. I ran for it and discovered an old man wrestling with a younger one, who had been trying to break in. I leapt on the burglar and held him down while the old man knocked him out with a fireplace poker.

Needless to say, I discovered the old man was a very well-known millionaire—John D. Rockefeller. He owns Standard Oil in New York, and was out in California due to the discovery of a few new oil wells. He was impressed with me, and offered to take me on as his personal bodyguard. I told him I wanted to go to Paris to study my art, and he was pleased with my ambitions. I will work for him for a year, and he will pay for my ship ticket to Europe.

How do things fare with you? Is Esther well? I have been all right healthwise, though I might be coming down with a slight head cold. I’m not used to this cold weather after being in California for quite some time. Hopefully, it won’t turn into anything worse, as I want to be as alert as possible with my new employer.

So far, I’ve only just arrived in the city, so no real guard duties yet. I will write again as soon as possible.

Until Next Time,
Jack

He read over his letter carefully, massaging his aching head. Once he put the paper into an envelope, he finished the last of his biscuits, trying to keep his attention on anything but his building congestion.

By the time he joined Mr. Rockefeller for dinner at seven, his eyes were drooping badly.

"You look pale, Jack," Mr. Rockefeller pointed out. "Are you feeling all right?"

Jack’s sneeze followed the question, and he stuttered an embarrassed apology.

"No need to be sorry." Mr. Rockefeller chuckled. "I hope you’re not coming down with something already."

Jack smiled faintly, wanting nothing more than to be in his own bed, asleep.

"I think I’m just tired from all of the activity today, sir," he explained. "I should be all right after a good night’s sleep."

Margarita and Phillip prepared a meal of roast duck, scalloped potatoes, broccoli, and fresh bread, and he forced himself to eat as much as he could. Afterwards, he sat with Mr. Rockefeller in the parlor, where the old man read through that day’s paper. Jack was impressed by the number of books on the shelves and turned his attention to the fire blazing in the fireplace.

"Why not turn in early tonight?" Mr. Rockefeller asked, smiling when Jack gave a loud yawn. "It’s been a long week for you with all of this travel."

Jack struggled to his feet, bidding his employer good night. He lay awake for a good while in bed, staring into the darkness. Who knows? One day your luck might change, Harry’s voice entered his mind, and he smiled, turning over to face the wall. "You should do fortune telling part time," he muttered before drifting off.

Chapter Twenty-One
Stories