ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Twenty-Three

Much to everyone’s relief, Jack began to feel better by the middle of the third week. His fever took quite some time to break, and when it did, it left him utterly exhausted. Dr. Bliny was sent for to confirm things, and the physician finally pronounced him out of danger.

"However," Dr. Bliny continued, "I will insist on a couple more days of bed rest. He needs to be kept on a bland diet so he can rebuild his strength."

Jack sighed from where he lay under the covers; he was personally ready to fly out the window with boredom.

"Thank heavens he’ll be all right," Mr. Rockefeller breathed once the doctor brought him out into the hall after the check-up. "I don’t know what I would have done without him." He squeezed Margarita’s hand, adding, "If it weren’t for you, Margarita, I am not sure what would have happened." The gesture caused her to blush, though it was difficult to see in the dim light.

"Señor," she began, "I only do what is required of me."

Dr. Bliny chuckled. "Well, the boy is going to be just fine. Despite how skinny he is, he does have quite a bit of strength in him."

Mr. Rockefeller led the doctor down to the front door and helped him into his carriage. Jack, meanwhile, sat up in bed, gazing blankly out the window. He could hear the voices in the hallway, but couldn’t make much sense of them.

I hate to imagine what Mr. Rockefeller thinks of me now, he thought. The illness wounded his pride more than anything. However, his boss did sit with him and pray that he recover—not as often as Margarita, but more than Jack expected.

He gave a small cough, still feeling extremely weak and tired. He was definitely bored and in need of a change of scenery. When Margarita came back with a tray for his lunch, he begged to be moved to the parlor.

"Just for a little while," he said, a bit annoyed at how faint his voice sounded. Margarita raised her eyes, unsure of how she should respond.

"Allow me to speak with Señor first," she said, and Jack lay against the pillows, feeling defeated. Mr. Rockefeller would never allow it—not so soon. But he was in no position to argue the point; not after the struggle he’d been through.

He still waited rather impatiently for the verdict, fiddling with the edge of his blankets. When Mr. Rockefeller came up to see him, Jack tried his best to sit up and look presentable. When he asked the question again, Mr. Rockefeller seemed weary of the very idea. However, he eventually relented and allowed Jack to come down to the parlor in the late afternoon. Margarita held tightly onto his arm as he walked down the steps, encouraging him gently along the way.

"There now, mi hijo. Doing very nicely."

Mr. Rockefeller sat reading through the financial reports, glancing up when Jack arrived.

"I appreciate this very much, sir," Jack said in a hoarse voice as Margarita eased him onto the cushioned couch.

"Of course," Mr. Rockefeller replied. "You are looking much better, thank God."

Jack smiled as he accepted a cup of tea and sipped it slowly.

"I’m sorry," he said, and Mr. Rockefeller raised an eyebrow.

"For what, lad?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, the heat from the fireplace causing him to feel awfully sleepy again. "For all of this," he explained. "I didn’t mean to burden you."

Mr. Rockefeller chuckled. "Nonsense, Jack," he replied. "Illness is natural. Sometimes it is difficult to control, but you should never feel embarrassed to ask for help when you aren’t well. Oftentimes the outcome is much worse if you hide it. Thankfully, we caught your flu early or pneumonia would have been a risk."

Jack shuddered—he hadn’t suffered from that yet, thankfully--at least not since he was an infant.

"That’s for certain," he agreed, coughing a little. Margarita brought him a small plate of bland crackers, encouraging him to eat as much as he could.

"We’ll fatten you up soon enough, chico," she teased, and Jack smiled at her. He remained downstairs for several hours, dozing off on occasion. He ate supper in bed, and the next couple of days followed this routine.

He was grateful when he began to feel strong enough to get on his feet again, though he was expected to remain inside and help with household chores. Cooking was becoming a favorite pastime of his; he aided Phillips in the kitchen and already knew how to prepare several dishes. He also learned how to bake bread and muffins and attempted cookies. Unfortunately, Jack wound up covered in flour more than once, and each time the clouds of fine dust made him sneeze.

"You should congratulate yourself, Jack," Phillips told him after Jack helped prepare the meal for the Christmas holiday. It was hard to imagine that time of year was approaching already, but indeed, the week of Christmas arrived faster than ever.

Mr. Rockefeller introduced Jack to eggnog, which was a thick, egg-based drink that had a very sweet, almost vanilla-like taste. "I can’t believe you’ve never had it," the millionaire exclaimed when Jack admitted this.

"Well, my family in Wisconsin was poor," he replied. "We couldn’t afford things like eggnog. I didn’t even try hot chocolate until last year." Even though he’d hated being poor as a child, he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about his status when he mentioned it to people who were in the upper class nowadays. Probably because I’ve learned to accept who I am, he told himself.

Mr. Rockefeller clicked his tongue and encouraged Jack to have another glass. They were waiting for John, Jr. and his fiancée, Abby, to arrive, and arrive they did on Christmas Eve. They were very kind, and were grateful to hear that Jack had saved Mr. Rockefeller on the Oaysys.

"Such a skinny boy," Abby teased. "You must have some strength to have knocked out that intruder."

Jack glanced at Margarita, who stood off to the side, and she winked at him.

"What is it that you do, Jack?" John, Jr. asked as they were given cups of tea to hold them over until the roast duck was ready for dinner.

"Do?" Jack replied, and sipped from his mug. "Oh, my ambitions, you mean? I’m actually an artist," he added, and Abby seemed genuinely impressed. "I’m planning on traveling to Europe in May."

Mr. Rockefeller set down his mug of tea. "Yes, the boy expressed his wish to focus on his artwork in Paris, so I am using part of his salary to pay for the ticket on board the Baltic."

John, Jr. nodded in understanding. "I see," he replied. "I have been to Europe myself, and I will say so now, Jack, it is a blessing to have the opportunity to go when you are young. You take in so much more of the mystical beauty. I went a few years before I proposed to Abby."

Abby blushed, folding her silk glove-covered hands on her lap. "He met me in Paris," she explained, and Jack smiled.

"She was there visiting relatives," John, Jr. replied. "And we fell for each other almost instantly." He took his fiancée’s hand, kissing it tenderly.

"That’s like a fairytale," Jack admitted, and both of them laughed.

"What type of art do you specialize in, dear?" Abby asked, and Jack picked up his mug of tea. He was getting used to drinking the stuff, though he definitely preferred a cup of strong, black coffee instead. Tea was a bit weak and bitter, but it was soothing.

"I do pencil sketches," he explained. "Portraits, mostly. I try to focus on drawing everyday people…those you see walking by on the street."

John, Jr. nodded. "May we see some of your work?" he asked, and Mr. Rockefeller gave Jack a noise of encouragement.

"Of course," Jack replied. "Excuse me for a moment…my sketchpad is in my bedroom." He set the mug down on the table again and hurried out of the room. Margarita followed him; she’d taken to doing this often following his bout with the flu, keeping a closer eye than usual.

"Aren’t they lovely?" she asked, causing him to jump half a foot. "Oh, dear, I am sorry!" She laughed, and he took a deep breath.

"Don’t do that!" he exclaimed, and went to hug her, which was rather unexpected.

"I still am worried, niño," she replied. "It has not been long."

"I know," Jack replied after letting go. "But I’m fine now." He held his sketchpad to his chest and wet his lips.

"Yes, Mr. Jack," she said. "Go on now. Dinner will be ready soon…and we shall get to taste your mashed potatoes." She winked and Jack laughed.

"I’m becoming a regular chef, aren’t I?" he asked, following her out of the room and down the steps, and she put a hand on his shoulder as they went into the parlor. John, Jr. and Abby pored over his drawings for quite some time, their facial expressions changing with each sketch. They both hemmed uncomfortably at the nude sketches, but did not comment.

"Your work is exquisite, Jack," Abby breathed once they reached the final drawing, and Jack beamed. "How long have you been doing art?"

Jack thought for a moment; it had certainly been for as long as he could remember. "Since I was old enough to know how to hold a pencil," he replied, and they laughed. At that point, Phillips announced that supper was ready, and everybody headed into the dining room. Jack’s mouth fell open as he saw the grand feast before him--roast duck, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, dishes of carrots and peas, and caviar with miniature crackers.

"Wonderful!" Abby breathed as they took their seats.

"Jack is responsible for the potatoes," Mr. Rockefeller began, pointing. "I must say, I’ve become quite accustomed to his cooking. It is delicious."

Jack blushed again and waited until the dishes were passed around before he began to serve himself. They ate the meal mostly in silence, occasionally discussing news about the other Rockefeller family members.

"Alta writes to say she apologizes that she can’t be here," John, Jr. explained. "She is busy with her volunteer work at the soup kitchen."

Jack smiled at his employer; he’d been thankful he didn’t have to wind up going to a soup kitchen at all for food. He’d always had just enough money to buy his own meals, even if it wasn’t a large sum.

Before dessert was served, Margarita ordered them all out to the foyer at once. "You must listen," she begged, and Jack blinked. The group opened the door and saw a crowd of people singing carols and holding collecting tins. Jack felt his lips stretching into a grin—this was the first time he’d actually seen real Christmas carolers.

Abby peered between him and John, Jr., glancing at Mr. Rockefeller. "Oh, dear, we should give them something for their troubles," she said, and Mr. Rockefeller excused himself to go inside for a moment. When he returned, he gave the carolers quite a nice stack of bills and coins, which rendered them speechless.

"Oh, sir," they said. "Merry Christmas!"

Mr. Rockefeller tipped his hat and waved as they started down the street. "And a happy new year," he replied before ushering everyone inside.

"Extraordinary," John, Jr. said.

"I do love the cities," Jack admitted, and they grinned at him.

Dessert included fresh gingerbread, chocolate layer cake, pudding, and homemade cookies. Jack was so full by the end, he didn’t think he could stay awake much longer. He still sat with the Rockefeller family after the meal, pleased that they were so curious to hear about his life. He explained his participation in the movie business, though wasn’t quite sure how to tactfully explain the plot of the film he assisted with.

The Rockefellers soon exchanged gifts, and Jack was stunned when his employer presented him with a wrapped box all his own.

"Sir!" he cried, alarmed, and Mr. Rockefeller laughed.

"Please, open it," Mr. Rockefeller insisted, and Jack bit his lip, doing so very carefully. Inside he found several leather-bound books that he’d grown so fond of during his stay at the mansion. "I noticed you liked to sit in the library and read," Mr. Rockefeller explained. "So, I wanted you to have these. You will certainly need something to do on your voyage to London."

Jack fingered Gulliver’s Travels, Treasure Island, and Frankenstein, feeling tears welling in his eyes.

"There is one more item under the books, though," Mr. Rockefeller added, and Jack nodded, setting the books aside. Inside sat a soft fabric case, which contained sections for his art supplies and a box of backup charcoal and brushes for smoothing.

"If you are going to study art in Europe," the millionaire began, "I would want you to have the correct tools."

Jack stood up and went to hug Mr. Rockefeller, not caring anymore that it would be a rather embarrassing gesture. The old man had become as close to a father figure in the past month or so as he could have, and the idea of leaving forever was painful.

When he parted from Mr. Rockefeller, Jack glanced at John, Jr. and Abby, who were smiling broadly.

"You are one of a kind, Jack Dawson." Mr. Rockefeller chuckled and placed his hands on Jack’s shoulders. "As I tell my own children, don’t be afraid to give up the good for the great."

Jack nodded. "Merry Christmas," he choked, and they laughed.

"Well, it is getting quite late, I am afraid," John, Jr. announced when the hour of ten o’clock arrived. "And I do believe the snow is beginning to fall once again. Come along, my dear." He helped Abby stand and both went to say good-bye and good luck to Jack.

"I am quite sure we will see each other soon," Abby continued, and John, Jr. nodded.

"I would hope that would be the case, sir."

Jack grinned, helped get their coats from the closet, and aided them outside. Indeed, snow was coming down thick and was sticking on the ground once again. He stood watching them for a few moments after they’d gotten into their carriage and left, and felt Margarita put a hand on his shoulder.

"It is time you came in," she said, and he turned to follow her. For a good bit he helped clean up the mess on the table, not wanting Phillips to be left with the entire job himself. However, when the cook noticed he was falling asleep in the midst of scrubbing dishes, he ordered him up to bed at once.

"People have drowned that way," the cook exclaimed, and Jack blinked, scurrying out of the kitchen.

"Get to bed, crazy!" Margarita gasped. "It is nearly 11:30…I will box your ears if you are not in your room by the time I count to ten!"

Jack smirked, dashing down the hall, and within seconds of undressing was under the covers and turning out the lamp. He lay in the darkness for quite some time, just watching the snow fall, and thinking about how lucky he was. I could be spending Christmas in an orphanage, he thought with a shudder, grateful for Esther’s random entrance into his and Olivia’s lives. Had it not been for her, I wouldn’t be here. Or maybe I would be, but not in as easy a way. He listened to sleigh bells as the residents of the city made their way home from late Christmas Eve balls and other parties before deciding to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four
Stories