July 1912

Jack used different names, usually a variation of his own. When he could, he preferred using his own name, but he knew how dangerous that could be. It was better to hesitate sometimes when someone called him by an alias than have his real name linked to anything he could be arrested for. He used his real name for anything that mattered, anything he intended to be permanent. It was the name he introduced himself to Rose with, and it was the name he wanted to marry her with.

"Why would you want to marry me?" she asked.

"What kind of question is that? Why wouldn't I want to marry you?"

"Jack, you have to admit, it's a rather conventional thing to do," Rose said. "And ours is a decidedly unconventional life. Not to mention the fact that we've lived as if we were already married for months now."

"So?"

"So I know I'm not the first girl," she replied. "I'm not that naïve. A man like you, well, he's sure to have had lovers."

"So?" he said again. "I never wanted to marry any of those other girls. I want to marry you, Rose."

"Why? Because you love me? Jack, I don't need you to prove that any more than you already have."

"Yeah, because I love you, and because I want everyone to know I love you," he said.

"It's so strange, the way we want other people to know things like that," she said. "It doesn't matter if they do; it doesn't change anything. I would love you just as much if no-one ever knew, but I still want them to. I want all those girls who look at you and sigh to know you're mine, and they can't touch you. I sound ridiculous, don't I?" she asked. "I sound jealous and awful."

"No. I get it," he said. "It's not about being afraid I'll lose you. It's about being proud of you."

"Yes, I suppose that's it."

Jack paid cash for the rings, two silver bands. They were married in a small church just outside Philadelphia, with only the minister and his wife as witnesses. For an extra $5.00 they could have a picture taken. They gave them $20 and asked for four. In one of them they were looking at each other instead of the camera. That was their favorite.

"Aren't you worried someone you know will see us?" he asked.

Rose shook her head. "I don't care if they do. What can happen now? We're married. We aren't doing anything wrong. They have no reason to bother us."

Jack knew she was right, but he was still nervous when they drove into Philadelphia. They couldn't take her away, but they could find other ways to make their lives difficult. One thing was certain, they wouldn't do any business there. It was much too risky, although, secretly, Jack wanted to find a way to involve Cal in a deal. He didn't usually set his sights on that much money at once, but he would have made an exception for him. It wasn't about the money, though. Maybe, someday, Jack told himself, it would happen. Just for fun. Just to show he could do it.

"Can we go?" Rose asked. "I don't want to go in. I just want to see it one more time."

"Sure we can go."

They had no trouble getting to Rose's old house. They left the car a few blocks away and walked up to it, carefully watching for Ruth or Cal. The people they passed weren't especially interested in them, and those who should have recognized Rose didn't seem to. Her clothes were less elaborate, though no less lovely; her hair was loose. Her cheeks were brighter. But the real change was in her demeanor. She wasn't as defensive. She smiled easily and moved as if she were dancing. Watching her, Jack was reminded of a bird being let out of its cage. At any moment, she looked as if she might raise her arms and fly away. He held her hand, not to hold her down, but so he could go with her.

The house was every bit as grand as he expected. A wrought-iron fence surrounded it. It was three stories high. The windows were large and covered by heavy, dark curtain. It had the appearance of having been recently abandoned. A sign on the gate announced it would be sold at public auction the following week. Tours were being given to potential buyers and the curious.

"Do you want to go inside?" Jack asked.

"No. We shouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, maybe just for a minute," Rose said. "I don't know why."

"To say good-bye," he suggested.

They were the last to join the tour. They stayed at the back of the group, not hearing the agent describe the house's many wonderful features. Inside it was warmer than Rose ever remembered it being. Its emptiness startled her. The pictures were gone from the walls. What furniture that remained was hidden beneath sheets. Their footsteps echoed loudly, and she felt a chill despite the heat. It was like being led through a tomb and shown the remnants of its occupant's lives. In the kitchen she saw herself as a little girl, getting snacks and treats from the cooks. She heard herself running up the stairs and her mother scolding. She remembered the hours when she was forced to practice on the grand piano in the parlor.

Rose pulled back the sheet and lifted the lid. The tour had left them behind. No-one noticed they were gone. Jack said nothing as she sat down on the bench and began playing.

"That was beautiful," he said when she finished.

"I haven't played for a long time. Several years. I'm not very good anymore." Rose ran her fingertips over the keys, not pressing down. "We should go," she said.

They never went back to Philadelphia.

…

April 1913

Had it been nearly a year already? It seemed like less and yet like so much more time had passed. They were in Florida then, living in a grand hotel. "We can't stay here," Rose protested when they arrived. "This isn't the place for us. We won't belong."

"Sure we will," Jack said confidently.

"But we don't stay in hotels like this," she reminded him.

"We're celebrating." He pulled her close. "I don't want to do anything for the next week but be with you. I don't want to go get food. Nothing."

"For the entire week?"

"Why not?"

"Are you sure you're up for it?" she teased.

"Absolutely."

If someone had told Rose a year earlier there would be a time when she spent all day in bed she would haven't have believed them. Or she would have assumed it meant she was ill. Terribly ill, in fact. She never expected to find herself making love in the morning, before breakfast, going back to sleep, and then waking up to it again in the evening. Of course, that was before Jack,

They lay tangled in the sheets and in each other, waiting to stop trembling, to breathe normally again. Rose's head rested on his chest. His heart beat under her ear; he was so warm, so solid and soft at the same time. His fingertips moved slowly across her back.

"You've done this a lot, haven't you?" she said.

"Not like this."

"I can't believe that," she said.

"Doesn't make it any less true," he said good-naturedly. "I never wanted to lock myself in a room and stay in bed for days before."

"Not even with your French girls?"

Jack laughed softly. "No. I didn't go to bed with them nearly as much as you think. This—when happens with us, it's different. I don't know why. Maybe because you're my wife."

"It happened before we were married," she pointed out.

"I think you were always my wife. We've always been married, even before this life. In all the others, we were together, and one way or another, we meet again. Don't you feel it?" he asked.

Rose did feel it. She felt the weight of their shared history. The years spent together neither of them could remember and yet both instinctively knew were there. "Maybe sometimes we're switched," she said. "I'm the man, and you're the woman."

"That'd be interesting."

"You'd be a lovely girl," she said, looking up at him. It wasn't too difficult to imagine him as a girl. His hair would be longer, his features just a little softer, his body rounder, but the potential was there.

"I can't see you as a man," he said.

"Why not? Because you wouldn't love me that way?" she said lightly.

"You'd be too beautiful," he replied. "I think I'd still love you," he went on slowly. "If you were still the same person, just in a different body." He looked away from her, afraid he'd said too much. What must she think of him? As if leading her into a life of crime wasn't bad enough.

"It's the soul that matters," she said. "Your body isn't who you are. I love it, but I'd love you even if it changed. If you weren't this gorgeous creature anymore, you'd still be my Jack."

Jack moved so he was looking down at her. Her curls fanned out over the pillow; they were even redder against its whiteness. He touched her face, and she couldn't help feeling he was trying to make sure she was real. She burned when he kissed her, in the way only he could make happen.

…..

It was a simple way of doing business. Rose thought it up herself, and that summer they tried it for the first time. They chose a store that looked successful but not too busy. Only one clerk was there, and fortunately, it was a man. Rose wasn't sure it would work with a woman. Possibly, under the right circumstances, but a man seemed like a safer bet since so much of it depended on her.

She couldn't make herself cry, so she put drops in her eyes. When she burst into the store she looked hysterical. Fake tears rolled down her cheeks. "I lost it!" she cried.

The clerk, a young man, barely twenty, jumped up to help. "Lost what?" he asked.

"My engagement ring. It's gone!" She wrung her hands. "I don't know what I'll do if I don't find it!"

"Where was the last place you had it?" he asked.

"Right outside. It was on my hand, and then it was gone!" she wailed. She looked at him imploringly. "You haven't seen it have you? No-one's turned in a ring, have they?"

She was so pretty and so obviously in need of help. He badly wanted to be the one to put things to rights for her. "No," he said. "But if they do, I can keep it here for you."

"Oh, would you?" Rose touched his hand. "I'd be so grateful. It's worth at least $350."

"Your fiancé must be pretty important."

"He's terribly important," she said. "I know there would be a reward of some kind for whoever found it. Please, keep an eye out." She took a slip of paper out of her purse. "Here's my name and his address," she said, scribbling a name and an address in the next town.

An hour later, after they had lunch, Jack came in, carrying a ring. Had the diamond been real and not made of glass, it would have been as valuable as Rose claimed. To the untrained eye it looked genuine. The clerk spotted it immediately. "Where did you get that?" he asked eagerly.

"Found it outside," Jack answered. He held it up to the light. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Let me have it," the clerk said, moving toward him.

Jack shot him a suspicious look. "Why should I? I found it. It's mine."

"There's a girl looking for it. I promised I'd keep it for her if it was found," he explained. "You gotta let me have it."

"Yeah, but you didn't find it. I did. Why do I care if this girl lost it?" Jack said. "Maybe I got my own girl. Maybe she'd like it. I could never afford to give her a ring like this."

"Please, you gotta understand. This girl was—"

"She was pretty, wasn't she?" Jack said.

"Well, yeah," he said sheepishly.

"Beautiful?" Jack prompted.

"More than that."

Jack couldn't help smiling, proud to hear Rose described that way. He wasn't interested in showing her off, not like an object, but out of all the men she could have married, she chose him, and that was a nice feeling. "Well, this is a pretty valuable ring," he said. "Let's say I let you have it. What'll you give me for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's gotta be worth a few hundred," Jack said. "So why should I let you have it for nothing?"

Ten minutes later Jack walked out, whistling, with $200 taken from the register in his pocket. The promise of the reward for finding it had convinced the clerk that taking the money was safe. His eyes were full of Rose's gracefulness and more money to come as he gave it to Jack.

Rose laughed when he got into the care and placed the money on her lap. "So it worked?" she said.

"Like a charm."

"He didn't give you any trouble?" she asked.

"Not really. We should go. It won't be long before he realized you aren't coming back with a reward."

After they had driven a while she asked, "Should we feel guilty about this?" It was the start of a conversation they had had several times before.

"You mean that last job? No. Why? Do you?"

"No," she said. "I just keep thinking I should. That boy's going to get into a great deal of trouble."

"He knew what he was doing. If he had any sense at all he'dve looked past how pretty you are and realized he didn't know you and had no reason to trust you."

"Should you need a reason to trust someone?" she said.

Jack thought for a minute. "Maybe you shouldn't," he answered. "But you do. That's the way the world works."

"If we weren't on this side, we'd be on the other," she said. "It's not as respectable here, but I like it better. At least we're honest about what we do."

"Me too. And who said we're not respectable?"

"The landlady at that last place," she said. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah. The one who didn't believe we were married."

"And who thought you should be sent away on a morals charge," she reminded him, laughing.

"I was a little worried she'd call the cops," he admitted.

"Were you really?"

"A little," he said. "Anything can happen."

"I can just see it," Rose said. "The police trying to take you away, me with our marriage license, insisting I'm old enough to be your wife."

"I hope it never happens."

But it did happen, two months later in South Carolina. They were staying in a little town near the beach and driving around to neighboring towns to do business. They were small jobs, widows and lost rings. It was too hot for anything else, and they didn't need much money. More often than not they spent the day on the screened in porch at the hotel. Jack drew while Rose read. As far as everyone else was concerned, they were just a young couple on vacation.

The trouble began when one of the local ministers happened to see them coming back from a day at the beach. Rose's curls were loose, and she wore a pale green dress. It was an old-fashioned style, and it gave her an even more girlish air than usual. Her nose was freckled from the sun, and she swung their picnic basket on her arm. Next to her Jack's boyish handsomeness looked mature. The Reverend Martin was horrified to learn they were married—or calling themselves married.

"That girl can't be more than fifteen," he told Mr. Anderson, the hotel's owner. "And he's at least twenty-five. They can't possibly be married. No-one would give them a license."

"Well, it isn't exactly our business," Mr. Anderson said. "They're not from around here." And, he added silently, they pay their bills on time and in cash.

"That makes it even worse," the reverence said. "Her family probably has no idea where she is. What father would consent to this? They must be worried sick. Something should be done."

It was Mr. Anderson's intention to warn them, but the police arrived before he could. "Jack," Rose said anxiously as two deputies approached.

"It's alright," Rose." He put a hand on her shoulder. His mind raced. What had they done lately? There had been three widows the previous week, all well out of that county. A lost ring two days before, but that had been too far away. Hadn't it? But no, perhaps it wasn't. They had been there nearly a month; that was far too long. Plenty of time for a complaint to be made, a description circulated. But they couldn't prove anything. That was his only consolation. They could accuse them, but there was no proof. They were out of Bibles and rings. They didn't have a suspicious amount of cash with them. They'd sent a money order off to the bank just that morning.

Jack did his best to sound pleasant. "Can we help you, officers?" He felt Rose's nervousness as the two men looked them over. Her fear matched his own, and he wished there was some way he could reassure her.

"We came to check out a complaint," the taller of the two men said. The name tag above his badge read T. Rogers.

"Oh?" Rose said. "What sort of complaint?"

The other one, an M. Brady, said, "How old are you, miss?"

"What a question!" Rose replied, feigning polite offence. "Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?"

"We need to know," Rogers said. "There've been some accusations made."

"What sort of accusations?" Jack asked, pretending not to know.

Roberts gave Jack a searching look. "How old are you?"

"Are you accusing me of something?" Jack said.

"Should we be?" Brady asked.

"I can't believe this," Rose said. "Are you implying—"

"Why don't we do down to the sheriff's office and straighten this out?" Brady suggested. Rose took Jack's hand; they knew better than to argue.

They kept them for hours. They sat in a tiny room, just waiting. When the officers did come in they ignored Jack. If they wanted him, they could keep him. Who would make a fuss if he were arrested? It was Rose they were really interested in. Up close they saw she wasn't quite as young as the Reverend Martin had claimed, but she still wasn't old enough to be traveling with a man Jack's age, which they had quickly added several years to. Rose sat stiffly in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, answering their questions as briefly as possible. She pretended not to notice the way they looked at her, the way their eyes were like heavy hands on her. She was accustomed to such looks. Jack held his anger in check. The questions didn't bother him that much; he'd been questioned before. It was the way they were treating Rose. And deep down, he was afraid. There was the chance they might not let them go. The police couldn't prove he'd done anything wrong, but then again, he and Rose couldn't exactly prove they hadn't. They had their marriage license, but so what? Who said she was the same girl it listed? No, this was something he couldn't talk his way out of.

Finally, they let them go, but they took half of their money as payment for the trouble of having to question them. As they left, one of the deputies took hold of Rose's arm. She tried to jerk away, but he held her tightly, starting down at her. Jack moved toward him, and he released her, chuckling.

They packed their things and left. It was night by then, but they didn't care. They had only gone a few miles when they saw the headlights behind them. They didn't have to speak; they both knew they were being followed and why. Rose moved closer to him as he sped up. They each held their breath as they raced through the night.

By morning they were across the state line. No-one was chasing them anymore, but Jack had trouble slowing down. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Maybe I should cut my hair," Rose said when they finally stopped for food.

"Why?"

"So I'll look older," she replied. "Maybe that won't happen again."

"It'll happen again," he said.

"How can you be sure? If I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter what you do, Rose. Or what I do. There's always gonna be a man—men, who think because you're—who think they can—" He couldn't get the words out. Anger blocked his throat.

"Do you think they knew about us?"

"Maybe. They definitely knew there was nothing we could do, no-one we could ask for help," he said. "So they had some fun with us."

"What will we do if it happens again?" she asked.

He didn't have an answer. That afternoon, while she slept, he bought a gun.

AN: This story won't be linear. It's definitely going to jump around from year to year, and it's going to be more episodic than my others. I hope you all like it!