THE SHIP OF DREAMS
Chapter Twenty-Five

"Rose?"

"Do you think she’s all right?"

"Of course…she’s just taken a bit too much in at once…"

Rose opened her eyes slowly, and found she was lying flat on one of the hospital wing’s cots. She felt terribly dizzy, and her vision was not quite clear yet.

"It’s all right, honey." The nurse placed a cool rag over her forehead. "You had a bit of a shock, that’s all."

That’s all? Rose thought, cringing, and noticed Mac and Anastasia at last, who were standing on either side of her.

"They’ve calmed him down," Mac told her softly. "but he’s fallen back to sleep again."

Rose closed her eyes as a flood of memories burst through her cloudy mind. Jack was ill…she wet her dry lips. This hadn’t been some terrible dream…it was real. She struggled to lift her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Jack. But she was too tired to keep her head up for long.

"You need to relax, dear…this has been a trying day for you. I’ll make a cup of tea…that will help." The nurse bustled away, and Rose turned back to the girls.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, hearing Jack cough in the background.

"Oh…not very long," Mac replied. "Only about ten minutes. We came from lunch…"

Rose nodded, rubbing her throbbing temples. "I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this will have all been a nightmare," she told them. "It’s so hard to know that your father was smiling and laughing with me only yesterday."

Mac frowned. "He gets very ill very fast," she replied. "There isn’t really time for warning." She remembered when her Aunt Olivia, before her father came to fetch her after being gone for four years, told her about his health. She’d said that he’d never been truly healthy, and that most of his trouble began in childhood. He had been born a weak baby, nearly dying from scarlet fever when he was only a year old. He also was asthmatic, but that had occurred after he’d been involved with the fire that burnt down his parent’s farm. Mac told Rose this, hoping it would bring some sense to the situation.

"I do wish he’d allow people to help him," Rose sighed, when she eventually felt strong enough to lean up against the headboard. The nurse returned with the tea, and Rose thanked her kindly for it.

"You’re welcome, Miss. Would you be needing anything else while I’m here?"

Rose shook her head. "No, thank you…I’m all right now."

"All right. Just let me know if you think of something." When the nurse went away again, Rose blew on the scalding tea, and carefully sipped from the mug.

"I think my father is just naturally stubborn," Mac told her. "I’m honestly not much better…Ana can certainly tell you that."

Anastasia giggled. "She’s very stubborn indeed!"

Rose laughed. "I think all of us have a bit of a stubborn streak," she admitted. "Quite unfortunate, really."

Mac giggled too, feeling slightly more cheerful than she had in days. She wanted to tell Rose so many funny stories revolving around her father from their life at the palace…how the Grand Duchess’s had enormous crushes on him, and would do whatever they could to spend a few moments alone. She wanted to tell her about her sister-like rivalry between herself and Olga…the two girls always fought like cats and dogs, and once they’d even been caught wrestling in the hallway by the nursery. Thankfully, Pierre Gilliard had been coming in that direction and was able to break the fight before it got too ugly. So many good memories…but she could not tell Rose anything, and that frustrated her very much.

Jack suddenly began coughing again, and he began gasping for breath. Mac and Anastasia hurried over to his bed, each lifting him into a sitting position. Jack shivered violently from the cool breeze hitting his burning body, and gripped onto Mac’s hand when she offered it to him. "Get the doctor," she told Anastasia as he continued coughing, sounding as though something were about to come up.

"Oh Jack…" Rose managed to slide over the edge of her own bed, taking a moment or two to steady herself before joining Mac. "Mac, you should not be here…when Ana comes back with the doctor, I want both of you to leave…you are too young to be watching such things!"

Mac felt terrified, feeling the blood drain from her face. The doctor hurried after Anastasia, and ordered the girls to leave as well. "Go, please!" he said in a desperate voice, and Mac grabbed Anastasia’s arm, dragging her away as quickly as she could. When they were gone, the doctor urged Rose aside, patting Jack’s back to try to loosen the mucus stuck in his lungs. "Fetch a basin or a bowl or something so he can spit into it," he told her, and Rose went to find one. When she came back, she quickly handed it to the doctor, who held it under Jack’s head. Almost instantly, Jack gagged and spit up a yellowish substance mixed with streaks of red. Rose cried out, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Oh God…" she breathed…it was blood. The doctor looked at her, and then at Jack.

"His fever is rising again. We may have to give him a sponge down—I don’t trust moving him from the bed to a bath right now."

Jack gazed at Rose, seeming at the moment to recognize her. "…Rose…" he whispered, once he had stopped coughing, and she kissed his forehead softly.

"Shh…do not try to speak, Jack." She continued to allow him to hold her hand, and felt tears spring to her eyes when he gulped in pain, his breathing becoming more and more labored. When he turned his head towards her again, the doctor stood up.

"I’m going to go and fetch the supplies we’ll need," he told her. "I could use a hand if you truly want to stay."

Rose glanced at him. "All right."

When the doctor left them, Rose rested her cheek against the pillow, allowing a single tear to roll down her face. Jack smoothed her hair, using whatever strength he could muster. "M’ sorry," he whispered, though this whisper sounded more like a hoarse squeak.

"Shh." Rose stroked his forehead, brushing his damp bangs away from his eyes.

"Rose…I love…"

She shook her head. "I know, Jack. I know. Please just try to rest."

He couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he drifted away, he saw her. She was there, smiling at him, her dark eyes shining. Though she made no movements to beckon him to her, Jack knew what she truly wanted. "Alyiah, I…can’t," he croaked, and Rose raised her eyes. "I’m sorry…"

"Jack?" she asked.

"I can’t…not yet…I can’t…"

"Jack, can’t what? Sweetie, what’s the matter?" Rose knew he was talking through delirium, but she wanted to do what she could to help him.

"Can’t go with you…" he replied, and he turned away from her.

Rose felt her heart pounding against her chest…no doubt he was talking to his dead wife. At a loss for words, Rose just continued to sit and stare, waiting for the doctor to return. When he did, Jack had gone under, and his grip had loosened.

"We’re going to have to remove his shirt," Dr. O’Loughlin told her, and Rose numbly nodded her agreement. "He might be a bit more comfortable if you did that, however…"

Rose began to unbutton the shirt, easing Jack into a sitting position so she could pull it over his head. He moaned with the pain from the movement, and shivered again. The doctor wet the sponge, and began to gently and slowly smooth it over Jack’s chest and stomach. Jack’s eyes opened halfway, and he twisted to try to move out of the doctor’s reach. Rose held him still, feeling terrible.

"Rose…" Jack whimpered, struggling under her grasp. "Rose, let me go…"

She instantly broke into tears, unable to stop herself. The doctor frowned as he continued bathing Jack.

"Perhaps you should take a bit of leave," he suggested. "It will not do any good for you to become hysterical…it will only make things worse."

Rose choked back another sob, knowing the doctor was right, but seeing Jack so helpless was enough to tear her apart. Still, the thought of leaving him was unthinkable. "Do you not have your own family to think of?" The doctor asked, his voice kind. "Do not neglect them, if you can help it. I understand how close you are to Mr. Dawson, but you need not forget your own life as well."

Rose wanted to say "He is my life," but she chose not to. After all, Coddie Anna was her life also, and what kind of a mother was she if she had barely seen her daughter for more than a half hour in the past two days? But the thought of going back…the thought of facing Cal and having to explain her whereabouts, made her stomach twist into a knot. However, she had made a point not to let him intimidate her, and he hadn’t. But this was a bit more serious, she knew. Stop it, Rose, she thought closing her eyes for a moment.

"If you will write down your suite number, I will have the nurse come and fetch you if anything goes wrong between now and when you return. I believe you need time to compose yourself?"

Rose nodded, quickly wiping her eyes before accepting a piece of paper and a pen. She jotted down the number, and the doctor folded the slip, placing it inside of his pocket. "If anything changes, I will be certain to let you know immediately."

Rose removed her hand from Jack’s, feeling as though her spirit were leaving her as she did this. She kissed his forehead again, which seemed to be the safest point, and then thanked the doctor for allowing her to stay for as long as he did.

"I am certain I will see you back soon, Madame."

"Oh…" Rose shook her head. "Miss…I am not married…no need to call me Madame," she told him, and he chuckled.

"Miss."

"Thank you, doctor." Rose stood watching Jack’s limp body for another moment before leaving the hospital wing.

*****

Mac sat on her father’s bed later that afternoon, watching as Anastasia held up different gowns for her to decide on for the ball that night. "This one is my favorite," Anastasia spoke, showing off a velvet purple gown with a pink sash around the middle. The neck was outlined with lace, as well as the sleeves. "I think you’d look nice in it. Or the green one…that would bring out your eyes."

"I’d look like a grasshopper," Mac replied, sticking out her tongue.

"Well, Mac, I am running out of dresses! If we were back at the palace, you’d have a larger selection…but this is all Mama packed me."

"I suppose the blue one will be all right…I’m not very fond of lace," Mac admitted, and Anastasia pulled out the blue silk gown with the white sash.

"And I can not forget to give you a pair of gloves to wear," Anastasia added. "Gloves are very important at a dance…"

"Why?" Mac asked, scowling at the thought of having to keep her hands covered all night.

"It is tradition…men are not supposed to touch a lady’s bare hands…it’s considered distasteful," Anastasia explained. "My gloves may be a bit big, but they’ll have to do. Go on, try them." She handed the gloves to Mac, who slipped one on and then the other. They felt strange…like soft leather against her skin. She moved her fingers about in them, trying to get used to it. "Besides…don’t you remember wearing gloves at Olga’s party?"

"I don’t remember wearing them all the time," Mac responded. She’d secretly taken them off and stuffed them in her pockets when the others weren’t looking.

Anastasia frowned. "Oh, well, you must keep them on…all ladies wear them."

Mac removed the gloves, setting them on top of the dress and sighing. The prospect of going to a ball with a boy she’d just met was making butterflies flutter in her stomach. Also, the idea that she hadn’t told her father that she was going was disheartening to. Even if she did tell him she were going, she wondered if he would even be able to process it in his fever-driven mind. Then, the thought of how angry he would be later when he was well made her even more nervous. However, it was Rose who instigated the idea of the dance, and Michael had only encouraged it. Why did Rose feel perfectly comfortable with her going to a dance with a boy older than she was and her father did not? Then again, Rose is not your mother, a voice spoke inside of her head. Your father has true authority over what you do. But he is merely worried that he will lose you if you begin dating, and you are truly much too young.

"Anastasia…" Mac started, and her friend looked up. "Do you think I’m too young to go to a dance with Michael?"

"Well, to be dating him naturally, yes, but it’s just a dance, Mac! Don’t be so silly about it."

"My father will be angry," Mac replied. "I can tell. He was upset when I merely mentioned the idea of dancing with a boy at the steerage party the other night."

"Don’t tell him then?" Anastasia suggested with a shrug.

"I can’t lie to him," Mac sighed. "Not after he’s been so sick. He’ll want to know what I have been doing, and I couldn’t…"

"You can tell him Rose told you it was okay," Anastasia added, and Mac bit her lip.

"He might get annoyed at her…"

"Mac, stop worrying so much! Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see."

"I feel sick," Mac told Anastasia, and the Grand Duchess stepped back.

"You’re just nervous. Perhaps you ought to lie down for a bit."

Mac did just that, after moving the dress away from her feet that is.

"Are you going to…" Anastasia asked, and Mac shook her head.

"Uh uh."

"Oh good…" Anastasia blew out her breath in relief. "Well, it is two o’clock now, an we have five hours until the ball…oh, this is so exciting! Too bad it’s not safe for me to come!" she sat down on Mac’s bed.

"What are you going to do when I’m at the dance?" Mac asked, turning on her side so she could actually see her friend.

"I don’t know. I have books and things."

Mac buried her face into her father’s pillow, wishing she could do something to help her father feel better. "I miss him," she whimpered, feeling tears start to roll down her cheeks. Anastasia stopped what she was doing, and instantly came over to sit down beside Mac on the bed. Mac sat up, clinging the pillow to her chest, and allowing Anastasia to hug her. Mac sobbed against her friend’s shoulder, and Anastasia merely sat quietly.

"He’s going to be fine," she promised, though deep down, it was hard to say whether or not she believed it.

Chapter Twenty-Six
Stories