Chapter 66
"Ain't the fact that I's here 'nough evidence that I's been born?" Jack grouches, squeezing her hand in his as they wander home from church. Katherine resists the urge to roll her eyes.
"They need to make sure you weren't baptised in another parish, Jack. It'll take an hour to go and get the birth certificate, at the most."
He scrunches his nose in response, but Katherine knows that it's less about his birth certificate and more about how public the baptism needs to be. It's not that Jack's embarrassed, hell, he wouldn't be doing this if he was. It's just that he doesn't know everything and what if people don't think he's good enough for it? It's not like he can quote scripture at them to tell them to stop being snobs, though, to be fair, Katherine probably would do so on his behalf. But, as Katherine and the reverend have both impressed on him (and, he's sure, will continue to do so until he's convinced), faith isn't about having all of the answers. So, he's given in. Baptism in front of the congregation it is. They've promised him that he won't have to take his shirt off to get in the water; that it's not like taking a bath like he thought it might be, so it's fine. Such worries were of great amusement to Katherine, who teased him about stripping off in front of their church family, but Jack's too relieved to care. Nobody is going to see his scars – for all he cares, they can baptise him in Snyder's fucking boathouse, just so long as nobody sees his scars.
"I still think 's stupid." He says, but Katherine can tell there's less annoyance behind the words than there is amusement leftover from the conversation with the reverend.
"You're being stupid."
"I's crushed!" He laughs, yanking off his cap and clutching it to his heart as he staggers away from her on the pavement.
Katherine observes this performance with cool amusement. "I'm sure you'll survive the heartbreak."
Jack chuckles, tugging his cap back on and returning to her side, taking hold of her hand again and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. "Y'broke my heart, y'know, that first day I metcha."
"Liar." Katherine says, smiling even as she flushes, thinking back to her less than warm reception of Jack's initial advances. Her prediction that he would get nothing for his troubles has turned out to be the most inaccurate headline she's ever written. "You didn't even know me."
"Love at first sight, Ace, what can I say?" Jack grins, spinning around to walk backwards along the pavement, facing her. She laughs.
"Love at first sight is a fairy tale."
"An' yet here I is," Jack spreads his arms wide, his smile brighter and warmer than the spring sunshine, "your Prince Charmin'."
"Charming is one word for you." Katherine arches a brow. "I can think of others."
Jack throws her a wink. "I betcha can."
She shakes her head at him, pulling him back into step beside her and snatching his cap from his head in punishment. He makes a playful grab for it, but Katherine twists it out of his reach, holding it aloft and challenging him.
"When did you fall in love with me?" She teases. Jack frowns, stroking an imaginary beard as he pretends to think.
"I think it was when y'told me to shuddup. On the rooftop, y'know. I's always had a thing for bossy girls."
"I am not bossy!" Katherine cries, whacking him with his cap. Jack laughs, taking the opportunity to retrieve his hat and tuck it back securely onto his head.
"Y'are, sweetheart." He grins, leaning in and planting a kiss on her cheek. "But I like it. You ain't afraid to stand up for what you believe in."
And, well, maybe he wasn't entirely wrong about the charming thing. How he's managed to convince her that him calling her bossy is a compliment, she will never know, but she can't help but bless him with a smile, taking his hand once again and then reaching over to straighten his collar. The action is just the tiniest bit possessive, given that there is a gaggle of women on the opposite side of the street who are blatantly staring at them. Though Katherine is ninety-nine percent sure it's because of their impropriety, Jack definitely draws female attention. She just wants to make sure they know whose husband he is, that's all.
Jack, for his part, seems completely oblivious to the other women, instead entirely enchanted by the way that Katherine is looking up at him, affectionate and warm from under her eyelashes, and the way that she says: "And what if I believe in you, hm?"
Jack laughs, shaking his head. Then, a little quieter, not quite meeting her eyes, he asks: "What 'bout you?" It takes Katherine a moment to catch his meaning, but once she does, her response is instant.
"Just after the strike ended. You'd been so brave, you'd done everything right, and you had everything you ever wanted spread out in front of you. You could have hopped a train to Santa Fe right then and there. But you didn't. You stayed. For your family."
"Well," Jack shrugs, red-faced at the praise, "family's the most important thing."
Katherine can't help but agree, though it becomes substantially harder to cling to that belief that afternoon when Constance (an expected visitor) and her father (an unexpected one) turn up on their doorstep. After ushering Constance inside, sending her through to the kitchen where Jack is getting set up for their promised baking session, she turns back to the man on the doorstep.
"Father?" She raises an eyebrow. He coughs.
"I have, ahem, some time off today. I wondered if I might join you a while?"
Katherine bristles. Of course, of course, he isn't just going to let Constance have a nice time with them, because they're 'poor' now, because Jack, in her father's eyes, is still no more than a street urchin, because they definitely need a chaperone to ensure that they don't corrupt the twelve-year-old. She purses her lips, biting back several choice phrases, and reminds herself of the sermon Reverend Byrne gave that morning on how they all must attempt to see Christ in others. It's rather difficult at this exact moment, but still she stands aside.
"Come in."
They make their way into the kitchen, which is already cramped due to four bodies being squashed into it before they arrived.
"Who are these people?" Pulitzer asks, leaning close to Katherine's ear. There's an undercurrent of derision in his tone that makes her blood boil.
"Esther Jacobs and Race." She says firmly. "They're family."
Race is, predictably, sitting at the kitchen table with his feet up on a chair, frowning down at a job advertisement that Katherine found in a paper two days prior.
"Thanks, Mrs-" Jack catches himself, coughs, corrects, "-Esther. Thank you."
The smile that spreads across Esther Jacobs' face erases the lines of worry and care that have formed on her forehead, taking her a good ten years back into youthfulness.
"Don't be silly. I always love to see you and, really, I should be the one thanking you. There's no chance David would ever have ended up with Miriam if it wasn't for your influence."
"Nah, he would." Jack grins. "It jus' mighta taken him a decade."
"And I can't wait that long for grandchildren." Esther says, decisive.
Katherine feels like dying. She knows, of course, that Esther spoke without thinking. It's innocuous enough, after all. But that doesn't erase the pain, a cavity within her. Jack's eyes flick over to her even as Esther continues. He knows.
"My biscuit recipe is a fair trade. I must be getting off – but the two of you will come for dinner soon, won't you? Les misses you terribly."
"Wi' your cookin'? Couldn't keep us away for the world."
Jack smiles down at Esther and even manages not to flinch as she hugs him, before escorting her to the door. As he passes, he reaches out and gives Katherine's hand a quick, meaningful squeeze. She's been with Jack long enough now to know the meaning of each little touch, learned to speak his language of tactility. It's okay, he says, I know it hurts. But we are okay and we are whole. Suddenly Katherine doesn't feel so empty anymore.
She leads her Father to a chair, making sure his afflicted eyes don't cause him to misjudge the distance and crumple to the ground, as Constance takes it upon herself to introduce herself to Race. Constance, still technically forbidden from attending parties and formal dinners, at least without supervision, hasn't yet learned the proper forms of introduction within society. But, then again, neither has Race, so it isn't really, Katherine decides, of very much import.
And then Jack is back, clapping his hands together and lassoing Constance with an apron to keep her frock, likely worth more than the entirety of their kitchen, clean of flour.
It's honestly nicer than Katherine expects. She helps Constance roll out the dough, standing beside her until her movements are more confident, before Jack helps her with the biscuit cutter, explaining why she needs to try and cut from the sides inwards, otherwise she's wasting dough by taking it straight from the middle. The girl isn't a natural by any means, but she picks it up faster than Katherine did, frankly, and so the two of them are taking that as a win. Race steals a bit of raw biscuit dough as he heads out, clapping Jack on the shoulder and glaring at Joseph. It takes Race's glare for Katherine to remember her silent father's presence.
"Here." She hands him a biscuit cutter. "You should have a go, Father."
"I –" Pulitzer coughs, frowning, "I cannot see well enough to-"
"I'll help!" Constance beams, shuffling the entire operation across the table and taking her father's hands in her own, guiding them to where they need to press down, just as Jack's had done on hers a few minutes before.
There's a quiet beauty in press of dainty pink fingers on wrinkled ones, the way in which the flour coats them both the same. That will be them, Katherine thinks, one day, perhaps. Her and Jack, with their adopted children guiding their movements. Perhaps life is not so entirely desperate as she had thought in the January cold of the cemetery.
By the time Constance and her father finally leave, though, she's more than had enough. This rediscovery of family is stilted and draining in the time that surrounds those little blissful moments and she's inclined to think it will be a while before she manages to deal with them for an extended length of time.
Katherine shuts the door behind them and heaves out a sigh, resting her forehead against the cool wood of the door. Closing her eyes, she thinks back to the conversation that she had with Marge a few days prior, sat in the woman's little sitting room with the chintz curtains and blue patterned teacups.
"May I ask something of a… delicate nature?"
"There are no judgements here, you know that."
"I'm worried that Jack doesn't… that he doesn't want me anymore."
"Emotionally? Practically? Sexually?"
"The first two I know that he does, but…"
"You think he doesn't want to have sex with you anymore?"
"I'm worried that he doesn't. He's still fine with everything else, but he always used to be the one to… instigate things."
"Has it occurred to you that he might be trying to be respectful? That he doesn't want to hurt you and is waiting for indication from you?"
"That does sound like something he would do."
"Most problems in marriage can be solved by talking. Try initiating something, share your fears with him. You'll work it out, the poor boy is head over heels in love with you. Besides, he's what, twenty? I really don't think you have anything to worry about in terms of him desiring you."
So, Katherine isn't quite ready to initiate something yet. It's not that she doesn't want to – she does, and it certainly helped that Marge was so frank about it. She just doesn't know if Jack does. It's taken her until now to get used to the idea that maybe her body isn't a disgusting failure that caused the death of their child. What if Jack never gets used to that idea? She shakes her head. That is decidedly not today's problem.
If, however, most problems in marriage can be solved by talking, then this will probably make an excellent practice run. Katherine, after all, should not be this nervous about this conversation. It's frankly ridiculous, because she does not need her husband's permission to do anything, thank you very much. She's going to do whatever she wants no matter what he says. Well, she isn't going to, but she could. She's pretty sure that if Elise and Margot from the suffrage magazine could see her now, they would be screaming at her not to play into her husband's controlling systems of power. Except, this is a decision that will affect Jack, so he does deserve to know. And also (and this, at the end of the day, is the major reason behind it all), she can't really imagine making any sort of important decision or step without him by her side. But she still shouldn't be this nervous, because Jack will be fine with it. He's never been anything less than supportive, even when she had to travel to Texas and goodness knows that nearly tore them both to pieces.
So, she steps into the kitchen and just comes right out and says it.
"I want to quit my job."
Jack whips around, caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. He shoots her a guilty grin, replacing the lid and chewing over a bite before he replies.
"As in, you hate your editor but you's goin' back in all guns blazin' tomorrow kinda I wanta quit my job, or as in an actual handin' in your resignation kinda I wanta quit my job?"
"Actually, handing in my resignation, I want to quit my job." Katherine confirms.
"Can I ask why?"
"Part of it is I hate my editor. Part of it is that it isn't what I want to do anymore. I want to write a book. I've spoken to a few publishers, given them my manuscript, and one of them wants to publish it. They want it to come out by July, though, so it'd be much easier if it was the only thing I was working on."
Jack just blinks at her for a moment and Katherine winces. She definitely should have told him before. First the miscarriage, now this – he's going to hate her, she's an awful wife, he-
"This has been brewin' for a while, hasn't it?" Jack asks, slowly, taking another bite of his biscuit.
"Yes." Katherine doesn't look at him, she can't, instead tracing patterns on the tiles of their kitchen floor with stocking feet.
"An' you didn' tell me 'cos…"
"I didn't want to suggest it and have you worrying about finances if it wouldn't be feasible." And I also didn't want you to see me fail at this as well if it didn't work out.
"Okay."
Katherine looks up at him so quickly she almost gets whiplash. He's just leaning against the kitchen sideboard, cool as anything, and he's just agreed.
"Okay?" She furrows her brow.
"We can manage jus' fine on my salary, Kath." Jack shrugs. "'F this is gonna make you happy, then I wants you to do it."
Katherine nods slowly. "Okay."
A smirk starts playing at the corner of Jack's mouth. All too quickly, he looks every bit the cheeky boy he was the day she first met him. And whilst it's wonderful, whilst she relishes that he's never lost his spark, not even through all of this, it makes her realise the kind of man that he's grown into. And she's so, so grateful for everything that he is.
"Was you expectin' me to start throwin' things or somethin'?"
"No, I just… wasn't expecting you to be so nonchalant."
Jack scrunches his nose, shoving the last mouthful of biscuit in. "Noncha-hoo-ha?"
"Relaxed about it." She fills in. She's proud to say that she has to do that less and less these days – he even used the word doxology in a sentence, correctly too, the other day.
"Kath, you ain't been happy for months." Jack sighs, strolling over and cupping her cheek. Even after all this time, the brush of his calloused fingers trail sparks across her skin. "Work's been tough on you after-"
"It has." She interrupts. Katherine loves him, she loves him so much, and she tries to tell him that with her eyes. She loves him, but she can't deal with that event being spoken of aloud today.
"Yeah." Jack nods. "So, we's gonna manage. Go hand in your resignation tomorrow."
With that, he drops a kiss on her forehead and makes to head out of the kitchen. Katherine spins on her heel in shock.
"Tomorrow?"
Jack turns in the doorway, a smile on his lips, eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you ain't already got it typed up."
"You know me too well."
They don't speak about the book, not at all. Not when Katherine gets the contract for it through the post or when the first draft comes back covered in red pen. It's always been something private, the only thing other than Jack that she could cling to in the aftermath of Lucy. And Katherine knows that Jack would listen, if she did talk about it. She knows that she could bring it up over breakfast one morning, or in the evening when she's scribbling notes and he's sketching out something or other. But it isn't right. Jack has his own ways of grieving, and for the most part they're quiet and wrapped up in himself. Sometimes he doesn't even acknowledge it, just flashing that charming grin, the same one he'd worn the very first day she met him, which feels like a lifetime ago, not less than two years. And sometimes he turns his face into her shoulder, or rips up a drawing, or paints through the night until his eyes are red and swollen and she has to drag him into bed with her if she wants him to sleep at all.
They muddle through. It's what they've always done. So long as they're together. Some days she can barely get out of bed, the pain of it sitting on her chest and pressing her into the mattress, keeping her from breathing. And sometimes she wakes up and Jack is breathing too fast, gulping in breaths like a drowning man, with wild haunted eyes. But they're together. He makes her coffee and helps her out of bed. She rubs his back and whispers nonsense words to him until his heart starts beating at a rate something close to normal. And they're okay, and sometimes they're not, and that's okay too. They have each other.