STARTING ANEW
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rose politely shook hands with Roger Calvert,
as Jack scowled with displeasure.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Rose.
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am, I assure you,”
replied Roger.
Helen arrived just then with their breakfasts
and Roger watched Jack and Rose for a moment. They were obviously newly
married. He could tell that by Jack’s reluctance to share Rose with anyone.
Jack Dawson was one lucky man. Oh, he was a nice fellow, but something did not
match. Rose had the bearing of the upper classes. Not a put on air, but the
grace that could only be gained by living such a life. She looked and acted as
if she had just stepped out of the Vanderbilt’s mansion. He wondered how she
and Jack had ended up together.
He came out of his reverie and asked Jack,
“So, do you folks live around here?”
“No,” answered Jack, abruptly. “We’re from
Denver. We’re just here visiting family.”
Roger thought this odd. If they were
visiting, why weren’t they staying with their folks?
“What do you do out in Denver," asked
Roger, pressing for more details.
Rose looked at Jack to see what answer he
would give. When he said that he worked the paper, it was not a lie, he was
just a little ahead of himself.
Roger had kept glancing at Rose. He had a
funny feeling about her, that he could not explain.
“Excuse me Rose, I can’t help but feel that I
may have met you before.”
“I assure you that is not possible,” answered
Rose. “I am from the East. This is my first trip this way.”
Jack ate quickly and then stood up. He’d had
enough of Calvert and his questions.
“Come on Rose,” he said. “We still have to
finish our unpacking. Roger, we’ll see you out in front at 10. Come on.”
He took Rose’s hand and almost dragged her
out of the dining room.
“Jack, you are acting like a jealous schoolboy,”
she told him as they went up the stairs.
“That Calvert fellow was just getting a
little too friendly with you.”
Rose stopped at the top of the stairs and
smiled at Jack.
“He only asked it we had met before. He meant
no harm, I’m sure,” she said. She looked at Jack and giggled. “Why Jack, I
believe you really ARE jealous.”
“Yeah, well, we won’t see him again after
today. But we just got married, I don’t want someone trying to get all friendly
with you.”
Suddenly Rose’s eyes started to sparkle. She
looked at him and turned her face to the side, giving him a flirtatious look.
“You know Jack, we aren’t leaving just yet.”
The door clicked quietly as then went into
their room.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Jack, where do you want me to let you and
Rose out,” asked Roger Calvert.
Jack was watching the passing scenery. Only
another mile or so and they would be there. He had finally admitted to Roger
that they were going to see his childhood home.
“Just stop where the lane to the farm starts.
I want to walk the rest of the way. Kind of show Rose my old haunts.”
To himself, he thought, “I need to collect
myself before I head up to those graves.”
Roger who was familiar with the area and knew
many of the local people had made a comment that aroused Jack’s curiosity. He
had said that Jack would find that what was going on at this old home
interesting. What had that meant? Helen Williams had alluded last night that it
used to be sad out there. It must mean that someone was living there now.
“Great,” he thought. “I just don’t want to
have to explain and make excuses. I don’t want to meet anyone today. I just
want to be alone with Rose.”
Roger Calvert stopped his truck at the end of
the farm lane. He said goodbye to Rose and Jack.
“Sure you don’t want me to come back for you later?”
he asked.
“No,” said Jack firmly. “We’ll find our way
back somehow.”
“Whatever you want,” replied Roger, reluctant
to see the lovely Rose leave.
Jack helped her out of the truck and they
both thanked Roger Calvert for the ride. His truck bumped off in the distance
and Jack stood in the road holding Rose’s hand tightly.
“He just couldn’t keep his eyes off you,”
said Jack.
“I know,” agreed Rose. “And for some reason
it made me feel creepy. Like I was supposed to know him, but didn’t. I’m glad
he’s gone now,” she said squeezing Jack’s hand.
“Me too,” he said as he kissed the top of her
head.
Jack looked around him. The road to the farm
looked the same. The trees were a little fuller, that was about all that was
changed. Then he saw a sign of civilization. There was a mailbox. The grass
around it was neatly trimmed and a few wildflowers were growing at the base. It
was painted dark red and the name in white was lettered neatly, CARLSON.
“So there is some one living here,” thought
Jack.
“I just can’t imagine anyone being able to
start over here," Jack commented to Rose as they walked along the shady
road that led to the farm. “It was a real mess, when I left.”
Along the way, Jack pointed out the various
trees he had climbed, some bushes he had planted with his dad, and the rocks he
had hidden behind when he had gotten into trouble.
Rose could tell by the tone in Jack’s voice,
that while he was trying to appear calm, he was quite nervous. For his sake,
she would be happy when this day was over.
They walked into the clearing where Jack’s
home had once stood. In his mind, he had expected to see the charred remains.
He looked in disbelief at what appeared before him.
His mom’s once tidy garden, trampled by the
fire’s aftermath, was blooming and beautiful once more. The spring bulb flowers
were fading and a few perennials were poking their heads up into the sunlight.
There was no ruined house, but a handsome new one. Jack had never seen anything
like it. The house that stood there now, was wider than it was tall. It had
been built with boards that were of a width not commonly used in the area.
Instead of the traditional white, it was painted the same dark red as the
mailbox. White lace curtains were blowing in every window and a big red
geranium plant looked welcoming on the front porch. The house was surrounded by
a white fence and the gate swung invitingly open in the wind.
Rose and Jack looked at each other in
amazement.
“I feel like I am in a storybook land,” Rose
said.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “it’s unbelievable, but
wonderful at the same time.”
Suddenly a deep voice called from the house.
“Hu kumma har?”
Jack pulled Rose closer to him, not knowing
what was being said, or who the voice belonged to.
Down the steps came a tall, blond young man,
not much older than Jack himself.
As he put his hand out to Jack, he said in
his curious singsong accent, “Ach, excuse me, we don’t get many visitors, and
sometimes I forget to speak English. Welcome to our house. I’m Anders Carlson.”
Jack relaxed and returned the handshake.
“Jack, Jack Dawson, nice to meet you. And
this is my wife Rose.”
“Dawson?” repeated Anders. “You are related
to the family that once lived here?”
“Yes,” Jack admitted to this welcoming
stranger. “Yes, I grew up here. I came to see my parents' graves and to show
Rose where I grew up.”
Anders nodded his head sadly.
“Yes, I heard the story. People have wondered
where you went to. I figured you might show up sometime. But where are my
manners. You must stay and visit and take lunch with us. My wife Amanda is
inside baking.”
Jack seemed reluctant at first. He really
wanted to go to the graves. But he was worried that he might break down in
front of Rose. It was Anders that came to the rescue.
“Rose, you must come and meet my Amanda. Come
with me. Jack will join us in a few minutes.”
Rose looked at Jack uncertainly. He didn’t
say anything, but his face was working with emotion. He innately trusted this
man. Anyone who could create a setting like this had to be special.
“Go on, Rose,” he said. “I’ll be back in a
few minutes.”
“You’re sure, Jack?” she asked.
“Just go ahead, Rose,” he said a bit
impatiently. He had to get this over with.
Rose looked at Jack once more, then
hesitantly followed Anders into the house.
“Come, please,” he said, “my Amanda would
like to meet someone her age.”