STARTING ANEW
Chapter Fifty-Two
Rose had pulled two chairs out on the back
porch. She had wrapped herself in a big woolen shawl and was stretched out on
the two chairs, with her feet up. Byron as usual was right at her side. The
feeble afternoon sun warmed her face as she stared across the yard at the
remaining aspen leaves.
“There won’t be many more afternoons like
this,” she thought. “But what difference does it make. Even if there are, I
won’t be here to see them."
Rose had made up her mind that if Jack did
not come home today, she was going to leave. For somewhere, anywhere. But she
would not stay here. She had not forgotten what he had said about his mistake
in marrying her. But on the other hand, she had tried to blame him for her
pregnancy. How could they have tried to destroy each other like that? Could
things ever be the same?
She took a deep breath and thought about her
day. Once she had gotten up, she had come downstairs and started cleaning up
the mess from last night. It really hadn’t taken her that long. She had done
the dishes, finished the ironing and with some small amount of optimism, set
the table for dinner.
“It’s a shame I had to throw out that
scorched shirt. Oh, well. I guess I learned about irons getting too hot. I
guess I learned a lot of things,” she sighed.
Her beautiful teapot was broken. That more
than anything made her realize how fragile love can be. She had managed to find
some glue and now it was held together enough to stand on the table filled with
dry flowers.
She had gone out to the store and bought a
whole chicken and some potatoes. And now they were slowly roasting in the oven.
It smelled good enough that even Byron had been casting looks at the oven door.
The whole problem with yesterday was that she
had tried to make a fancy dinner that failed while trying to catch up on a
week’s worth of ironing. Then when Jane had come a little unprepared for her
lessons, the whole situation had exploded out of control. And Jack just
happened to walk in the door.
“Maybe he was tired too. Why did I say those
things?” she thought, still berating herself twenty four hours later. “I wonder
if Jack will even take me back. I must have looked like a shrew to him.”
Rose looked down at Byron whose nose was
twitching at the smell of the chicken.
“Oh well, Byron, you might have a nice dinner
all to yourself, if Jack does not come home.”
She closed her eyes, put her hands on her
stomach and leaned back into the chair. When she held her baby like that from
the outside, she felt a calmness and serenity that was almost indescribable. In
a few minutes she was sound asleep.
Jack walked up the front steps of the house.
As he stood in the hallway, he could smell food cooking, but heard no sounds
from either from Rose or Byron. Was she even here? But she must be. Rose wouldn’t
leave the house with the stove on. He continued into the kitchen. Last night it
had been a disaster. Now something was in the oven, everything was tidy and the
table was set for two. His heart skipped a beat. Could he hope that she would
take him back?
He set the flowers down on the table, along
with the little brown bag from Lum’s. Then he peered through the screen door
that led to the back porch. There sound asleep was Rose. He put his finger to
his lips as if to tell Byron to be quiet, then noiselessly opened the door.
He sat down on the railing and watched her
while she slept. Once or twice he thought he saw her hand move involuntarily.
And he was in awe to think that was their baby doing that. Moving inside of
her. He wasn’t sure what Rose wanted, but for that baby, he was willing to do
anything.
Even with her eyes closed, Rose could tell
that someone was watching her. She could often sense when Jack was staring at
her. Could it be him? Almost afraid to see if it was, she opened her eyes.
He sat across from her, with a serious and
intent expression on his face. His usually bright, sparkling eyes yielded no
clue as to his feelings. They looked at one another silently for a few moments.
Each one was waiting for the other to speak.
Unable her control her emotions any longer,
Rose began to cry and as she did, Jack came to her side and put his arms around
her. She reached out to him awkwardly, clutching his sleeve, his arm, anything
she could grab onto. He was barely able to understand what she was saying
through her sobs.
“Oh, Jack, I am so sorry. I said such awful
things to you.”
She looked up at him to see if she could tell
what he was feeling. But his face was still blank.
“I was so worried about you. Jack, please, I
didn’t mean it.”
And she leaned against his chest, soaking his
shirt with her tears. Slowly she felt his hand smoothing her hair and she felt
his mouth against her head as he began to kiss her there.
“Shh, Rose. I don’t know what happened last
night either. I know don’t know why I said the things I did. You have to know I
love you.”
It took a great deal of courage to look at
her, but Jack did. He had to convey his sincerity. He took hold of her
shoulders and gave her a piercing gaze.
“I didn’t mean what I said about not marrying
you. I didn’t mean any of it. Oh Rose,” he whispered, crushing her against him.
For several minutes they held each other,
rocking back and forth, comforting their bruised hearts. Jack leaned down to
kiss her and in that instant their pain was forgotten. Through her sniffling,
Rose smiled at Jack.
“Jack, I was so scared that you wouldn’t come
back,” she croaked hoarsely, wiping away her tears.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me back,” he said
in between kisses.
“Jack, I love you.”
He looked at Rose with her tousled hair and
tear streaked face and thought she had never looked lovelier to him. Finally he
grinned at her.
“You look beautiful Rose. I will never stop
loving you. Ever.”
She buried her face against his wet shirt
relishing these moments of their renewed love.
“Help me up, Jack. I made some dinner.”
He helped her out of the chair and together
they went into the house, with Byron following hopefully behind. On the table,
she saw the flowers and the brown bag from Lum’s.
“What’s this?” she asked, mystified.
Jack hung his head and looked at her from
under his shaggy hair.
“A sort of peace offering,” he said
sheepishly.
“They are beautiful,” she said, as she
unwrapped the flowers and reached up on the shelf for a vase.
“What’s in there, Jack,” she wanted to know,
looking at the brown bag.
“I brought you some dinner. So you wouldn’t
have to cook,” he added wistfully.
“Oh, Jack. That’s alright. Byron can eat the
chicken. He’s been eyeing it all day anyway.”
Jack laughed at that and bent down to scratch
Byron.
“Looks like neither one of us is in the dog
house today, eh boy,” Jack chuckled, as Byron switched his tail against the
floor.
Then he saw the broken teapot.
“I’ll get you another one.”
“No, Jack,” said Rose, with a serious tone in
her voice. “Jack, I thought about a lot of things today.”
“And what’s that?” he said pulling her into
his arms.
“When I was mending the teapot, I thought
that we should keep it like this. As sort of a reminder of what happened last
night.”
Jack looked into her eyes.
“Rose, I think that is a very wise thing. I
think we both learned something from last night. But now we’ve done enough
thinking about teapots. Let’s think about something else.”
And without giving her a chance to answer, he
pressed his lips to hers and drew her even closer to him. At least as close
with her pregnant stomach as he could get for right now.
That teapot sat on the kitchen shelf in every
place that Rose and Jack lived. There were sometimes short words between the two
of them, but never again was there a night of such sadness and anger. That
broken teapot was the only reminder they needed.